What the Duke Wants(7)

Not the tempting beauty regarding him calmly. Calmly? Shouldn’t she be at least mildly afraid? He was a duke after all, and his reputation did precede him. Surely, she knew, unless she was foreign?

“Hello, ladies.” He bowed crisply then strode over to the head of the table.

Murray appeared in short order, filling his wine glass and setting a place for him.

“Your grace,” the beauty replied, the girls echoing her voice in quick succession.

“I trust you are the new governess?” he asked.

“Yes, I was hired by your housekeeper just this morning,” she replied, clearly not foreign but proper English.

“Very good, and you lovely ladies, must be the misses Lamonts.”

“Yes, your grace,” they murmured in unison.

“I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of such lovely ladies.” He nodded, but his gaze slid over to the governess.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as if seeing through him.

Perhaps she did know his reputation then. No matter, in a few day’s time, at the most, she would be gone to Bath with the girls, removing the temptation.

****

As his bloody luck would have it, it rained. Not the typical English spring shower, but a monsoon-like torrential downpour.

And after the first day, he had tried to escape the confines of his house and ended up soaked before he made it to the second step, even with an umbrella. No longer feeling adventurous, he decided he needed to catch up on his business.

By mid-afternoon, his eyes blurry and fully ready to direct themselves somewhere other than fine print, he strode out to the library.

And found it already occupied. Before he was noticed, he began to close the door then paused.

“Miss Lottie? How do I waltz?” one of the girls asked, he assumed the oldest.

“Waltz? Well, first you should learn the cotillion, quadrille—”

“Oh! I know those! I just never… well we were going to learn the waltz next but…” Her voice trailed off, distinctly hesitant and… sad?

Belatedly he remembered the ward’s loss of their parents. He knew the empty ache of loss that accompanied the death of one’s mother and father, but he suspected that his wards had been far more attached to their parents than he had been to his.

“We shall remedy that, then.” The governess spoke again her tone overly bright, as if she had heard the sorrow as well. Carlotta. He practiced the name in his mind, letting its cadence float to his lips in a whisper. It was a beautiful name, a passionate name. The sound of it evoked the idea of color and desire.

It was not the name for a governess, he decided, but a temptress.

Which was all too accurate.

A governess masquerading as a temptress. Heaven help him.

“Now, Beatrix? Can you play the pianoforte for us? Slowly, if you please.”

“Yes, Miss Lottie.”

“Bethanny, I’m going to lead. But first, you must know that before you waltz, you must have permission from a patroness of Almack’s. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Lottie.”

“Now, then. My hand will hold your waist, and your hand will rest on my shoulder. Very good. Beatrix? If you will?”

The music began, painfully slow and all other instruction given was unclear. Charles stood to leave, took a full step away from the door and then—

She laughed.

It was a glorious sound, deep and rich, unabashed and unapologetic with a joy that came from deep within. It was artless, it was full, it was perfect.

Turning back around, he stared at the door, willing for the beautiful laughter to ring again.

He wasn’t disappointed, and to his amazement, he felt himself grinning, then chuckling as he heard the other girls join in with the governess’ amusement.

Unable to resist, he knocked.

Then entered, because well, it was his house.

“It seems that you are having entirely too joyful of a time in here,” he said as he entered.

The music stopped.

The girls stood up straight.

The laughter…ended.

And his grin left at the same time.

“Is there a problem, your grace?” the governess, Carlotta, asked.

“No, no problem. I seem to be needed, however.” He felt a roguish grin take the earlier one’s place as a wicked thought entered his mind. “It seems that you are attempting to teach a waltz, am I correct?” he asked, walking forward.

“Yes, your grace,” Carlotta responded, her clear green eyes alight with curiosity.

“It is very difficult to learn unless observed first. Er…” He turned to the oldest girl, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember her name.

“Bethanny,” Carlotta helped.

“Yes, Bethanny, have you ever seen a waltz?”

“Once, my parents showed me but it’s been quite a while, your grace,” she stammered, her cheeks high in color.

“Then allow me to assist.” He turned towards Carlotta, took three steps and held out his hands. “May I have the honor?” He bowed.


“Of—of, course, your grace.”

Her cheeks were blooming with a delicate shade of rose, her eyes widening in surprise as she caught her lower lip in her teeth in what appeared to be a show of anxiety.

Glancing over to the piano player, he lifted his chin and then lowered it, signaling for her to begin.