The Duke's Governess Bride (9 page)

‘What is this,
cara?
’ he asked with surprise as he rose with her. ‘If I have misspoken, then I—’

‘You haven’t,
signor,
not at all,’ she said. ‘Rather, you said exactly what I needed to hear.’

Impulsively she reached for his hand and pressed it lightly, wanting him to understand how much she appreciated his concern. Then, before he could try to stop her, she hurried away, from him and from the sweet-smelling warmth of the chocolate shop, and back into the cold and towards the apology she must make.

‘The lady has gone,
signor
?’ The waiter frowned, standing expectantly beside the table with the pot of chocolate in his hand. ‘She is finished?’

‘So it would seem.’ Di Rossi could still see Jane as she crossed the Piazza, her small figure bobbing resolutely along. She wouldn’t come back to him, not now. He knew her well enough to realise that once she’d decided her mind, she wouldn’t change it—another unpleasant English trait, really, that stubbornness of hers.

And here he’d been sure he’d had her. He’d been her rescuing knight, and there were few things that could push a virtuous woman towards sin more successfully than gratitude. She’d been poised, ripe for him, with those plump, unpainted lips of hers parted in breathy, innocent expectation as she’d hung on his words, until—

Until he’d said the wrong thing, and lost her.

A thousand saints in Heaven, he couldn’t guess what it had been, though it wouldn’t have any lasting effect on his seduction. This would only be a temporary hindrance in his plans, the kind of delay that a philosopher would say would sweeten the inevitable conquest. He’d send her a small token tomorrow and a prettily worded billet-doux,
and she’d return to him.

But the presence of this English duke was a complication he hadn’t counted upon. The man had power over Jane Wood, and clearly the conversation between them earlier in the day had gone far beyond what was customary for a governess and her master to have caused her such pain.

For a moment, di Rossi wondered if Aston had already claimed her maidenhead, and immediately discarded the notion. He was sure his little English dove was still a virgin: her air of innocence was unmistakable. The duke might desire her as well, but he hadn’t taken her.

That, inevitably and most pleasurably, would fall to di Rossi, and with a smile of anticipation, he tossed a handful of coins on to the table, and left.

Chapter Nine

‘Y
ou’re not Miss Wood.’ Richard set down the book he’d been pretending to read with a thump on the desk. ‘Damnation, Wilson, where is she?’

‘Beggin’ pardon, your Grace, but how the devil should I know where’s Miss Wood’s taken herself?’ Wilson set the tray with Richard’s coffee on the desk beside him, managing to convey his cross-tempered indignation with every movement. ‘The foreign lady what keeps this house—that Mrs Battista—says she’ll send Miss Wood up directly when she returns.’

‘
When
she returns,’ muttered Richard darkly. ‘More likely
if
she returns. I should never have let her go, not into this ridiculously confusing city. By now she could have drowned, or been ravished, or murdered outright by one of these rascally Venetians—’

‘Beggin’ pardon, your Grace, but Mrs Battista says Venice is safe as can be during the day,’ interrupted Wilson. ‘Mrs Battista says Miss Wood knows her way about same as folks who’ve lived here all their lives, and that Miss Wood’s likely looking about at old churches and such, same as she was with you. Mrs Battista says that she’ll come back here whenever she’s ready and—’

‘No more “Mrs Battista”, Wilson,’ said Richard, turning away to stare out the window with the empty hope that he’d see Jane Wood returning. He didn’t care how familiar she’d become with this city. She was a small, vulnerable Englishwoman alone among strangers, and his imagination was providing every manner of hideous perils for her to tumble into.

‘Not another blessed word, mind?’ he continued, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. ‘It’s only Miss Wood I care about, not the opinions of some foreign lady whom I can scarce understand.’

‘Beggin’ pardon, your Grace, but Mrs Battista’s the housekeeper,’ Wilson insisted, ‘and housekeepers always have a rare way for knowing everything worth knowing.’

‘Please do not speak so in the
signora
’s hearing, Mr Wilson,’ Jane said. ‘She is the owner of this venerable house, not its housekeeper, and her family is one of the most honourable of this region.’

At once Richard wheeled around. ‘Miss Wood!’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ She bowed her head and curtsied, as calmly as if she’d just appeared in his drawing room at home and not from God only knew where here in Venice.

‘You’re safe?’ he demanded. ‘Unharmed?’

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, without raising her chin. ‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘You are certain? No misadventures?’ He was persisting beyond reason, but he couldn’t help himself, not when he thought again of how much he’d feared for her. ‘You understand that as long as you remain in my household, your welfare is my responsibility.’

‘Yes, your Grace,’ she said, slowly rising. ‘I understand, and I am most grateful for it.’

‘Yes.’ Richard cleared his throat, now feeling vaguely foolish.

‘Indeed, your Grace.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘Signora della Battista told me you wished to see me directly upon my return.’

‘I did.’ He waved his hand brusquely to send Wilson on his way, and cleared this throat again. ‘Yes, I did.’

He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say to Miss Wood, but he did know he’d no wish to say it before gossipy Wilson. Her composure wasn’t helping him, either. The dark wool of her cloak was dotted with spray from the canal, and the tiny dots of water caught the firelight like dozens of tiny jewels. Wispy ringlets of her dark hair had worked their way free of her cap, and they, too, sparkled with droplets around her face—she even had them, he realised, in her lashes. Her cheeks were rosy from the damp cold, her lips slightly parted and her breathing quick from the exertion of doubtless running up the stairs to join him.

She was, in short, dazzling.

When in blazes did she begin to look like this?

He knew he was staring at her—no,
gaping
at her like some sort of mooncalf boy, and like a mooncalf boy, the words he’d planned to say had fled completely from his head.

He wanted to tell her how she’d no right running off like she had, with neither warning nor leave from him. He didn’t mean to scold her exactly, but rather to let her know how much he’d feared for her safety, the way he would for anyone in his employ. Yes, that was it. He’d always prided himself on being a responsible master to his staff, hadn’t he?

Yet where Miss Wood was concerned, it might not be quite so simple. In her company this morning, he’d enjoyed himself more than he had in years, there in that gliding gondola. He’d lost himself in listening to the pleasing timbre of her voice, and seeing how brightly her eyes shone in the pale winter sunlight. She’d put him so at his ease that he’d spoken to her of his wife, of things he’d never spoken of to anyone else, and he’d enjoyed that, too, though in a bitter-sweet way. He’d even listened with fascination to her own tale of lost love, realising how she’d trusted him enough to tell it. Women didn’t make confidences like that easily, especially women like Miss Wood. He wanted to hear more, which was part of the reason he’d been so stunned when she’d abandoned him in the boat. He’d tried to follow, but because she had had a head start, she’d soon disappeared, and he’d hadn’t a prayer of finding her in this rabbit warren of a city.

He intended to tell her that, of course, and to explain how he’d never wished to offend or to wound her as he apparently had. He meant to apologise, too. He probably shouldn’t confess that he’d no idea of how he’d misspoken, but he was still willing to take all the blame on himself. How could he do otherwise, considering her expression before she’d leaped from the gondola? For once, it seemed more important to make things right than to
be
right.

That
was what he wished to tell Miss Wood now, and a great deal more besides. All this afternoon he’d planned his speech, rehearsing it a score of different ways in his head until he’d got it exactly right. Yet now, with her standing before him twinkling in the firelight, he couldn’t remember one blasted word.

Fortunately, however, Miss Wood didn’t seem to notice. Instead she was too intent on delivering a rehearsed speech of her own.

‘Your Grace,’ she began with a small, resolute shake of her head, ‘pray forgive me for speaking first, but I wish to apologise for what I did earlier today.’

Mystified, Richard nodded and motioned for her to sit, an offer she either ignored or failed to notice. Ordinarily he would have sat regardless of whether she had or not, a prerogative of his rank. He was a duke, and dukes generally sat where and when they pleased.

Yet because he’d no wish to put any further distance between them, he, too, ignored the chair and remained standing, where he was certain not to miss every last emotion flicker through her blue eyes.

Yet there was also another reason, if he were honest with himself. By standing so evenly before her, he felt more her equal, less a duke and governess than simply a man and a woman—a man who was finding this particular woman more intriguingly attractive by the minute.

She took another breath to settle herself before she began, her breasts rising beneath the unadorned woollen gown.

‘I must beg your forgiveness, your Grace,’ she said, her words now coming in a rush. ‘This morning you chose to confide in me, and I misunderstood the nature of your confidences. I fear that in that state of—of misunderstanding, I grew distraught, and acted on impulse and in haste, and fled the gondola without your leave.’

‘You fled
me,
which is much more to the point,’ he said gruffly. ‘It didn’t matter one way or the other to the gondola.’

She flushed, yet did not look away from him, a rare and enchanting mixture of vulnerability and resolve.

‘Yes, your Grace,’ she said. ‘It did not matter to the gondola, but it did to me, which is no excuse for—’

‘It did?’ he asked, surprised beyond measure. And here he’d been thinking his attraction to her was a one-sided affair! ‘It, ah, mattered to you?’

‘Of course it did, your Grace,’ she said, her voice shaking with a small wounded tremor that could have humbled a man twice the duke’s size. ‘You honoured me by telling me of her Grace, and I responded most inappropriately by speaking of a gentleman who was once dear to me. It was most grievously improper of me, I know, and I beg—’

‘But it wasn’t improper, or inappropriate,’ he said. ‘Not at all.’

‘Forgive me, your Grace, but it most certainly was!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening with indignation. ‘As you yourself have said, your Grace, I am a member of your household. It is my place, my duty, to put aside my own wishes and instead to obey yours, and I—’

‘Dine with me,’ he said. ‘Now. I’ve kept the cook waiting long enough.’

‘Yes, your Grace,’ Jane said, already sinking into another curtsy of acquiescence. ‘As you—’

‘No, not because it pleases me, but because it pleases
you.
’ Now the words came, though they certainly weren’t the same ones he’d originally planned. ‘I’d be honoured if you agree.’

She frowned. ‘As we dined this morning, your Grace?’

‘Not like that, no,’ he said. ‘That is, yes, to dine together at the same table as we did this morning, but in a different fashion, a different—oh, blast, I’m babbling like an idiot.’

‘No, your Grace,’ she said, a hint of amusement flickering through her eyes. ‘Not at all.’

‘Oh, yes, I am,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘and that’s what I’m trying to explain. My daughters don’t require a governess, and I don’t require a guide or other contrivance meant to educate me further. At my age, I’ve likely learned as much as I ever will, and no amount of further lecturing from you, however informative and well meant, will change that, or me, either.’

She did not move, yet in some indecipherable way she seemed to wilt before his eyes. The tiny drops of water scattered over her had dissipated, too, and with it her fairy-like sparkle.

‘I understand fully, your Grace,’ she said softly. ‘With my services no longer required, I will make arrangements to leave in the morning.’

Resigned to dismissal, she began to curtsy once again, until Richard seized her arm to stop her.

‘Damnation, that’s not what I intended at all!’ he exclaimed. ‘I meant that I don’t need a nurserymaid. I’m not so old as that. I need company, feminine company.’

Her eyes widened, now sharp with outrage where they’d been soft, and she looked pointedly at his hand around her arm. ‘This is Venice, your Grace. You’ll find a courtesan eager to oblige you waiting in nearly every doorway.’

‘Surely you know me better than that, Miss Wood,’ he said, his words clipped and his outrage now a match for hers. ‘I wish
company,
not an amorous plaything who’ll try to rob me blind. I want the company of an Englishwoman who’ll accept me for what I am, and amuse me with her conversation.’

‘You are still a duke, while I am a governess without a place.’

‘Here I will be your host, and you my guest. We can put aside the rest.’

‘You ask a great deal, your Grace,’ she said warily.

‘Not so much,’ he said, all blunt honesty. ‘I’m lonely, lass. I miss my girls.’

‘So do I,’ she said wistfully. ‘But is that enough?’

‘In Venice, it is,’ he said. ‘Mind you, here they put ham and chocolate together.’

She smiled, a wondrous, unexpected sight that pleased him no end. He released her arm, sliding his hand lightly down its length.

‘I need someone I can talk to,’ he said. ‘Someone who’ll listen to me, but who isn’t afraid to speak her own thoughts in turn, or tell me when I’m being an ass. You’ll do that, Miss Wood. I’ve no doubt of it.’

She looked up at his face. ‘Your Grace, I have never in my life called anyone an “ass.”’

‘Then you have never been sufficiently provoked,’ he said, teasing her. ‘I must try my best, yes?’

He laughed and she laughed with him, shyly, but laughing still. It felt good, that shared laughter, something he’d been missing from his life for years and years. All that time, he’d believed he’d honoured his Anne by keeping to himself, with only her memory for company. He’d believed his heart had wanted nothing more. He’d been strong before everyone else, solitary in his grief and suffering, and admired by the world for his fortitude and courage.

But now, because of the laughter of a single small woman far from home, everything he’d believed in was changing. Though he’d never have expected it last night, this was what he wanted, what he needed. It was startling, even bewildering, and yet he couldn’t deny that it somehow felt
right,
clear to his once-wounded heart.

He needed his daughters’ governess. No, not quite—he needed Miss Jane Wood.

He let their mingled laughter fade, his expression turning solemn. ‘You will join me, then?’ he said, his voice more serious than he’d intended. ‘We’ll go below and dine together?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled shyly, just enough for him to realise how great a step this was for her. ‘Because this is Venice, not Aston, and everything here is magic.’