The Perfect Duke (3 page)

She sounded sincere. Perhaps he should make allowances—this time.

If only he could be certain that she would never damage the Kendal name. Scandal could so easily destroy the reputation he’d spent fourteen years cultivating.

He turned. Awe stilled him in a way his practiced indifference never could. This fragile, vibrant woman belonged to him. She was his destiny.

Or might have been.

He studied Cara, attempting to be impartial. A duchess needed to have aristocratic features, like Regina’s. She was deemed a classic beauty by the
Ton
.

Still, if he’d been allowed a preference, he’d have chosen Cara’s ethereal beauty. With eyes almost too large for her heart-shaped face, she reminded him of the angels painted on the drawing room ceiling.

He clamped his jaw shut. How ironic that his angel had come back to life and he was forced to play the Deceiver. It seemed appropriate, considering he already lived in hell.

Cara shifted under his scrutiny.

Garret indicated a massive wooden chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, Miss McClure.”

She came forward and perched on the edge of her chair. Garret followed her uneasy gaze as she studied the room. The paneled walls displayed all matter of battle regalia he’d never considered imposing—until now.

He took a seat behind the broad desk, neatly piled with correspondence. “As to your suitability . . . we shall see. I believe a duke’s estates are a reflection of his abilities, including the attire of those in his employ. In future, I will provide your clothing. Until something suitable can be made up, I will send you several of my sister’s old gowns.”

Cara gave him a brilliant smile that made his stomach clench. “That’s very kind, Your Grace, but you needn’t trouble yourself. I have several serviceable gowns.”

He didn’t want her to be accommodating. A lady was never accommodating, at least none of the ladies of his acquaintance. “The matter is not open for discussion. Your gowns may be serviceable in a church parish, but I assure you, they will not be appropriate for Belcraven.” Her smile didn’t falter, but hurt shadowed her eyes.

He averted his gaze. Perhaps he’d handled that badly, but what right did she have to be upset? Didn’t every woman desire new clothes? He was being damn generous. Schooling his features into a nonchalant mask, he stared at her.

Cara’s brow furrowed. She studied him a moment before her soft voice enfolded him, only the slightest tremor revealing her distress. “Very well, Your Grace. Though I don’t see what need a governess would have for finery. The schoolroom won’t often entertain guests.”

“That’s true.” Garret leaned back against the leather seat. “But Lady Mallory, my sister, has decided to visit our aunt for the next month. I would like you to act as hostess in her stead.” For once, Mallory had gone along with his suggestion to visit their aunt, without an argument. Her ready agreement still made him uneasy.

Cara stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to act as your hostess?” With her eyes wide, she reminded him of a child who’d been promised a favorite toy. Garret hoped whatever was in her reticule could stand being crushed.

“What better way to prove your abilities?” He was taking a chance. As his governess, no one would question his decision to appoint her hostess, but he’d still make sure only minor nobility visited until he could determine her competence. Fortunately, Belcraven was secluded.

He straightened a stack of papers in front of him. “I will, of course, make allowances. Rachel’s classes will take place in the afternoon, leaving you free to deal with the household details in the morning.” He stood, crossed to the tapestry bell-pull, then tugged on the ancient cloth.

Cara’s topaz eyes appeared to glow. “I will endeavor to be everything Your Grace would desire.”

Everything he desired? Lust, pure and simple, coiled through his body, taking him by surprise. He fought his attraction. Above all else, he needed to make an unbiased decision, yet he couldn’t keep his gaze from lingering on the delicate curve of her lips.

A footman appeared, clad in the Kendal livery of gold and blue. Garret ran a practiced gaze over the man from his powdered wig to his heeled and buckled shoes. Nothing appeared out of place. Even his grandfather wouldn’t have found fault. “Inform Timmons and Cook that in Lady Mallory’s absence, Miss McClure will be acting as my hostess.”

The footman nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

“One more thing, I expect promptness from my staff. In future, your tardiness in answering my summons will not be tolerated. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” With a slight bow he departed, the rapid click of high-heeled shoes on marble echoing in the passageway.

Cara opened her mouth, then shut it again. She didn’t need to speak. He could judge her disapproval from the puckering of her dainty mouth.

If she considered his dealings with his servants harsh, she’d never survive the evening meal, let alone his guests’ curiosity. Then he’d have to admit she couldn’t be his duchess and he’d tell her about the Pembertons.

Oddly enough, the thought held no appeal.

He returned to his seat behind the desk. “Should you prove as capable as you have led me to believe, we will discuss your future. Now, I believe you have much to attend to.”

She rose, her damaged pannier making her look like a dove with a broken wing. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” That was perhaps the only truth he’d given her. He came around the desk and peered down on her smudged face, his fists clenched to keep from acting on the sudden impulse to brush the dirt from her smooth skin. “If you are not above reproach as my hostess this evening, you will leave in the morning, without ever meeting your charge.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Apprehension, confusion, and excitement played across her features. She dropped into a small curtsy, smiled, then practically skipped out of the room.

He rubbed at the scar on his chin, the repetitive motion doing nothing to ease his jumbled emotions. He wasn’t being fair. She had no idea what was at stake. But if she knew, would she want to be his wife?

And the little cinder girl wished with all her might that her dreams could come true. But dreams can be a tricky business.

Cinderella

Cara sat on the edge of her chair, using her best ‘ladylike’ posture
. How difficult could dinner be?

Lady Mallory’s gown fit her better than she’d hoped and in this elegant attire she could accomplish anything. She ran her hand over the golden velvet that glowed in the candlelight. The gown boasted a split skirt, allowing the ruffled crème underskirt to show. It was the kind of gown a princess wore and joy bubbled through her like a fountain, bursting out in the smiles she gave her guests.

The last few hours hadn’t seemed real. As a child, she’d prayed to find Prince Charming and his castle. A Latin proverb came to mind.
When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.
There couldn’t be any harm in enjoying her time here. She was playing a role, much like her friend Tess. When the play ended, Tess went home. And so would she.

Cara studied the small grouping of guests, trying to remember their names. The beautifully dressed diners were worse than new pupils. She never had trouble remembering the children’s names, but these aristocrats all seemed the same to her. One slip, and they would find her wanting. Her gaze rested on the duke at the head of the table. He was watching her again. She fidgeted with the end of the napkin in her lap.

When she’d first entered the drawing room in her new gown, he’d seemed unable to move. But perhaps that was his way. During their brief meeting he’d remained controlled, as if an excess of motion would relegate him to the category of mere mortal.

He certainly did not fall into the flamboyant set of nobles she’d often seen at the theatre. She stared back, her heart pounding faster because in spite of what she knew to be true, he did indeed resemble the man in her dream.

Her friend’s warning reverberated in her head. Poor Tess had the silly idea that because he was a duke, she’d think him terribly romantic and fall at his feet. Well, she’d be relieved to know the flesh-and-blood man was thoughtless, cold, and arrogant. She tilted her head and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Still, something about him puzzled her.

He turned away. She suspected it was only because the other guests might notice. For several minutes he conversed with the portly gentleman next to him, but when she started to place the fricassee of turnips in the center of the table, he turned and pinned her with that strangely compelling gaze. She could almost hear Madame Hasting’s voice.
Accompaniment dishes are set on the sides and corners of a table.
Cara quickly shifted the gold-edged vegetable platter to her right.

He watched her lower it to the damask tablecloth. She lifted her chin. A spark of amusement danced in his gaze, warming her. Perhaps he was human after all. Her answering smile caused his eyes to go cold once again as he turned away.

She tapped her foot under the cover of her skirts. Would this dinner never end? She was tired of watching what she did. The meal had more rules than the Lord’s Ten Commandments and made less sense. She’d never understood why society dictated that the servants put the entire first course on the table. By the time everyone had eaten their soup—then toasted each person’s health—her meal had gone cold.

She ate sparingly, making sure to use the proper utensils. They were halfway through the second course. She only had dessert left. If she ignored the duke, she should be able to focus and get through the meal without a mistake. He couldn’t blame her for the turnips; she hadn’t actually set them where they didn’t belong.

At least she didn’t need to worry about the guests. Since the duke had introduced her as his hostess and
governess
to his niece, they’d acted as if she didn’t exist.

Lady Fenton, a pinch-faced woman sitting to her left, leaned forward and spoke to her in a wheeze that grew in intensity, like a bellows filling with air. “You must feel fortunate to have gained a position with the duke.”

She wanted to groan.
Not now.

All ten guests fell silent and turned to look at them. Lady Fenton preened under the attention.

“Yes.” Cara studied her plate, speared a piece of what she took to be venison and placed it into her mouth. The savory flavor surprised her. She’d thought all meat had that peculiar rancid smell and taste. When she glanced up, Lady Fenton still hadn’t lost her interest in their conversation.

“You must have had wonderful references, my dear.” Lady Fenton’s expression of feigned interest emphasized the lines around her mouth. “Have you cared for the children of other noble families? Perhaps I could recommend you, when your position has ended here.”

The woman reminded her of the gossips who sat together at church on Sunday morning. Cara glanced at the duke. His expressionless face told her nothing, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t approve a discourse of his affairs.

She tilted her head, leaned toward the woman, and softened her voice. “Speaking of noble families, were you at the ball where King George paid special attention to Lady Chatham?”

Laughter bubbled up inside her at the indecision on Lady Fenton’s face. And Papa used to say reading the
Gazette
was a waste of time. Gossip won out, and Lady Fenton launched into a lengthy discussion of the most recent scandal.

By the time the woman ran out of conversation, Cara had finished her dessert and wine. She rose to lead Lady Fenton and one other female guest, whose name escaped her, to the drawing room.

Before she turned for the door, she risked one more look at the duke. He raised his glass of port to her and inclined his head—no smile, no frown, no expression.

He was the oddest and most disturbing man she’d ever met. His blue velvet coat and high starched cravat gave him the appearance royalty, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he used his accouterments as a mask.

Lonely.
Even in this room, among his peers, he held himself apart. The guests didn’t seem to notice, caught up in their own intrigues and discussions. How could they not? His pain was almost palpable to her.

She shivered as she turned away from his haunted eyes and led the women into the hallway. What would cause a man to remain so alone? It shouldn’t be her concern. He was a duke.

But something in his gaze had called to her, willing her to understand.

Cara’s eyelids snapped open at the sound of someone yanking the curtains apart.
Who would be in her bedroom?
She squinted as sunlight burst over her face.

Esther, her lady’s maid, prim in her starched blue gown and white mop cap, gestured toward a silver tray next to Cara’s bed. “‘Morning, Miss. I brought tea and a bit of breakfast, His Grace’s orders. Yer to meet him as soon as yer ready.”

The test. Had she passed? She sat up, then tried to straighten her ‘Medieval Maid’ nightgown so it rested properly on her shoulders.

“Esther, have you heard if the duke’s niece is to be present at the meeting?” She swung her bare feet to the floor and dug her toes into the thick patterned carpet. The springy softness reminded her of walking barefoot over a patch of moss. With carpets like these, it was a wonder any of the Ton wore shoes.

She stood, the yards of wispy material twisted around her waist. With care, she slid the gown around until it draped her body. When the maid didn’t respond, Cara looked up.

The girl’s stare brought heat to Cara’s face. She’d forgotten how unusual her nightgown would seem. “I made it.” She slid her hand over the thin silk. “I have a friend in the theatre, and she helps me with the patterns.”

Esther shuffled over and picked up one trailing sleeve. “Lud, I wish I could make something this pretty.”

Cara felt a momentary burst of pride. Tess and Papa were the only people who’d seen the nightgowns and neither one had understood why she wanted them. “I could help you make one. Where’s my trunk?”

The maid pointed to a spot near the window seat, her plain face wreathed in smiles. “In the corner. I’ve not had time to unpack it.”

They crossed to a worn wooden box that stood next to the imposing trunks that held Lady Mallory’s dresses. Cara knelt, undid the leather straps, and peered inside. She removed several day dresses before coming to the nightgowns. “I like to give them names. This is my ‘Greek Goddess’ gown.” The layers of semi-transparent white material had tiny ties sewn at equal distances along the bodice. “I have to admit, I don’t oftentimes wear this one. The ties are a bit tedious.” The nightgowns were her one extravagance, and she’d put all her longing into every detail. It was silly. But somehow, at night, in one of her creations, she could be whomever she chose.

“Do ye really think ye could teach me how?” Even Esther’s black curls seemed to bounce with excitement. “I don’t know much ‘bout fancy sewin’.”

Cara picked up the gowns and piled them onto the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll have all summer to teach you.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized they might not be true.

Apprehension wormed its way into her contentment. If the duke didn’t let her stay, what would she and Papa do without the income? A guilty little voice in her head also had to admit she wasn’t ready for her adventure to end. “Esther, you didn’t answer my question. Is His Grace’s niece going to be with us this morning?”

The maid started to fold the gowns. “I don’t know, Miss McClure. Truth be told, I barely know the poor mite’s in the room. You’ll not have much trouble with her.”

It wasn’t the child Cara was worried about.

The duke stood at the end of the elegant morning room. He far overshadowed anything else in the space, and Cara felt that now-familiar tug at his presence. His attire consisted of a golden brocade waistcoat that accentuated his shoulders, a fine lawn shirt, tight black breeches, and an intricately tied cravat, edged in lace. He seemed so like a prince in one of her stories that she blinked to assure herself he was real.

In the bright light pouring through the window, Cara decided his eyes were green, just like the man who haunted her nights. Still, no laughter lurked in their depths.

As if to emphasize the point, the duke put his arms behind his back and stared at her with that mesmerizing gaze. “You are late. In future, I expect you to rise with the rest of the staff if you are to see to their activities.”

He wanted her to stay.

Cara would have twirled around the room, but
he
would have considered it unladylike. This must be how Tess had felt when she’d received her first role on stage. Cara’s relief and anticipation far outweighed the kernel of outrage that seeped through her at his comment.

How could she be late? She hadn’t known what he expected of her. Cara opened her mouth to say as much, then noted a young girl in a chair behind the duke. If the girl hadn’t taken that moment to adjust the ribbon in her hair, she never would have seen her.

Cara closed her mouth. He wanted her to argue with him in front of the child. Then he’d have a reason to ask her to go. “I was unaware of your requirement, Your Grace. Henceforth, I will endeavor to see to my duties by the appointed hour.”

The duke stared at her and she had the feeling a war waged under that cool exterior, then he turned abruptly and stepped back to the girl. “Lady Rachel, this is your new governess, Miss McClure.”

The child gave Cara a tentative smile, so like Emily’s, her youngest pupil at the school. They both seemed to have that intensity in their gaze, though Rachel appeared several years older.

Cara stepped forward and smiled at her new charge. Guilt stabbed at her. How was Emily faring without her? For a fleeting moment she wanted to turn around and go back to her old life. But she was just being silly. Papa was taking good care of Emily. Perhaps the time away was for the best, she may have been spoiling her littlest student.

At the duke’s curt nod, Rachel sprang from the seat like a coal from the hearth. She stared up at him with frightened eyes, while he scrutinized her as if she were a remiss servant. “Well, where are your manners? Do not tell me that my brother has not even taught you how to greet your elders.”

The girl scurried over to Cara and executed a perfect curtsy. “Good morning, Miss McClure. I shall be pleased to have you as my governess.”

Cara smiled down at her. “And I shall be glad to instruct you. If you are as apt at other subjects as you are at a curtsey, then we shall get along splendidly.” Rachel’s face turned pink at the compliment.

Why didn’t people remember this child? Her long honey-colored hair, caught up in a blue ribbon, trailed down her back. Not one ounce of guile shadowed her dark-edged blue eyes. Cara, so used to guarded expressions from her students, suspected Rachel would enjoy many of the same things she had as a child. She began to mentally catalogue all the books she’d read at that age. “Lady Rachel, do you like stories?”

“I will assign her lessons.” The duke’s low, austere voice filled the room.

Cara had forgotten about him, although how that was possible, she didn’t know. When she raised her head, his deliberate assessment reminded her she couldn’t afford the slightest misstep. “Of course, Your Grace. I only thought we might become better acquainted.” She glanced down at Rachel. The duke couldn’t see his niece’s grin. “If it’s agreeable to His Grace, perhaps we might take a walk in the gardens. I could teach her the names of the statues on the terraces.”

There,
His Grace
couldn’t object to that. She’d be incorporating a lesson in myth, while she got to know her charge.

The duke glanced from one to the other, and Cara suspected he didn’t want to let his niece out of his sight. She doubted it was due to any caring on his part, but rather a desire to keep Rachel from leaving with her.

“For an hour, no more.” He advanced toward Cara, then stopped much closer than etiquette demanded. His breath warmed her face as he leaned over and whispered, “I expect my niece to behave like a lady. At the first sign she is learning anything inappropriate, you will be dismissed. Is that understood?”

Cara felt a strong impulse to reach up and trace the hard planes of his handsome face with her fingertip, but she nodded instead. The duke held her gaze for a moment, then left. She couldn’t decide whether her relief stemmed from his departure or the fact that he no longer stood so close to her. What would he have done if she had acted on her absurd urge?