The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(64)

“Do I?” Reggie plucked the sheet from Gertrude’s fingers. Had she always been this spirited? Somewhere along the way he’d underestimated her, mistaking her loyalty for meekness. “I have”—she proceeded to jab her fingers at the page—“one, two, three, four, five problems with them.” With every battle, she wrested the upper hand and knocked him off-balance. “Lord Landon is a rake who courted not one of your sisters but two of them in the hopes of securing a fortune. Now he’d shift his attention to a third? Lord Mitchell is a consummate gambler in fifty thousand deep. To just you. Lord Harrington revoked his membership because you ended prostitution within the clubs. Lord—”

“That is quite enough,” he gritted. An annoying muscle ticked at the corner of his eye.

Gertrude suppressed a smile behind her gloved palm.

Reggie feigned a wide-eyed innocent look. “Are you certain? You don’t wish for me to continue? Because I might also mention that Lord Harrington is not only allergic to cats but was also quite cross when Gus mistakenly found his way to his rooms.”

Gus picked his striped feline head up.

“Oh, yes. He will certainly never do,” Gertrude murmured, patting that damned cat reassuringly.

Broderick dug his fingertips against his temples and rubbed. He’d erroneously believed he’d secured her assent and that would be enough. Yet, again he’d proven himself two steps behind the minx. “You’ve quite made your point.”

With an arrogant toss of her head, she returned the note to Gertrude . . . who promptly crumpled it.

She tossed it on the floor of the carriage just as it rocked to a slow halt outside a white stucco townhouse awash in candlelight.

A servant drew the door open and helped hand Gertrude down. Reggie made to follow, but Broderick called out, staying her.

“Miss Spark?”

She stared back.

“I see I’ve not been clear where your duties are concerned. Before we go, I think it important to go over some essential details about your altered role within my family.” If that intended jab hurt, the spitfire across from him gave not so much as a hint of it. She held his gaze, her own unreadable and stony in ways it had never been. Disconcerted, he hurried to right his thoughts. “I’ll not have you insert your opinions on matters as they pertain to my brother and sisters. And certainly not when you undermine their safety and security.” Passion blazed to life in her gaze. “Nor will I be challenged at every turn by you.” Dropping his hands on his knees, he leaned across the carriage. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Abundantly so,” she said, enunciating each of those five syllables. “Now let me be clear.” He stiffened. “You may have forced me into this task I did not want. You may have cut me from the fabric of your family as though I’ve been nothing but a servant.”

God, she was breathtaking in her fury. With the bright splashes of color that suffused her creamy-white cheeks and the depth of fire in her eyes, he was torn between going to battle with her and taking her in his arms.

Bloody hell. I’m a damned cad, lusting after a woman I forced into the role of companion for my sister. And yet, through that guilt, a powerful hungering for Reggie held him ensnared.

“I’ll not be made to feel guilty for reassigning your role within my staff and household, Reggie,” he purred. Her betrayal had given him every reason to doubt her and strip her of her role of once valued confidante.

Reggie leaned close, closer still, until he could make out every last, endearing freckle on her flushed face. “Do not think I’m here to serve as a silent companion. I’ll protect her from the bounders you’d name as potential husbands for her, and I’ll protect her from you.”

Any other moment that biting insult would have commanded all his focus. Not this time. Not with this woman. His gaze dipped lower. Reggie’s shoulders rose and fell rapidly with the force of the breaths she drew. His eyes went lower, and lower still, to the creamy swells of her breasts. When he again met her stare, there was a guardedness to her features.

He caressed a finger warningly down the curve of her cheek. Her breath caught, and he reveled in the evidence of her shared awareness. “Do not ever question my ability to care for my siblings.” He wrapped that warning in a husky murmur.

Reggie caught his wrist and drew his hand back, and yet she still made no move to release him. “I’ll strike a deal with you. I’ll stop questioning your capabilities as a loyal brother when you give me reason to.”

And with that cheeky vow, Reggie yanked her hands back, grabbed the edges of the carriage, and leapt down without assistance.

From where he sat, he stared after her quickly retreating figure. She walked with long, unapologetic strides, and yet there was a grace to those steps that carried her quickly across the pavement.

With a growl, Broderick adjusted his cravat.

His sister’s cat stretched out on the now abandoned bench, settling himself into the red velvet squabs.

“Oh, hush. You don’t know anything about it,” he muttered.

The creature stared back with a taunting expression.

Now I’ve been reduced to conversing with a damned cat.

Giving his head a hard shake, Broderick jumped down and prepared for the Killorans’ formal entry into Polite Society.





Chapter 17