The Earl and the Governess. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

he winced and instantly dropped the bag, spilling its contents on to the street.

      Will was a full head taller than him, and as he looked down at the boy’s face he saw fear. Real fear, that he would be arrested and hanged for attacking a lady.

      He released the pressure.

      ‘Run along.’

      The boy did as instructed and immediately disappeared down an alley. Will watched him go, wondering how his thus far pleasant day had ended up like this. The girl was at his feet, hurriedly trying to collect her belongings. He couldn’t see her face. Just the back of her head and her slender neck. Her hair had become loose in the struggle, and a long curl was now tumbling about her shoulders. He realised he was staring and knelt to help her.

      ‘Here, let me…’

      She didn’t acknowledge his presence, just started pushing things into her bag faster. Will’s eye was drawn to one item in particular. A smart red morocco case, half-opened to reveal what appeared to be a pearl necklace. He reached out to retrieve it for her, but her hand darted out to grab it first.

      ‘I don’t need assistance, thank you,’ she said, not even bothering to look at him. She hastily shoved the case back into her bag and closed it, carefully buckling it this time to prevent further accidents. Her voice sounded soft and rich…if rather hostile. She obviously thought he was as much of a threat as the boy had been.

      She rose stiffly.

      Will rose, too, proffering his hand in assistance as he did so. She ignored it, but finally looked up. He was struck once more by her beauty. It was an odd sort of beauty, and her features might have looked misplaced on any other face. Her lips, slightly parted in surprise, were luscious and temptingly kissable. Her nose was small, pert and sprinkled with freckles. His gaze wanted to travel down her neck, looking for more freckles, but with great willpower he managed to direct his attention elsewhere. He looked at her eyes instead—a disconcerting violet blue, very surprised and staring back at him.

      Isabelle Thomas looked at the ground the second her gaze met his, but she couldn’t conceal the blush that started at her neck and bloomed all the way to the roots of her red hair. She’d expected him to look like every other disreputable man she’d seen on the street; at worst, she’d expected him to look exactly like the man who—if she wasn’t mistaken—had been following her all morning. The man she thought she’d finally managed to elude.

      She’d certainly no idea that her wary gaze would settle on a gentleman, and an impossibly handsome one, at that.

      She hadn’t meant to speak so sharply to him…it was just that her nerves were on edge and she’d fully anticipated that he’d carry on where the boy had left off. She silently cursed her overly active imagination, but when she looked up once more, he seemed oblivious to her rudeness—that, or completely unimpressed. She rather suspected the latter.

      She’d hoped he’d be less attractive upon second viewing, but he was still downright devastating. Too perfect, if that were possible. Tall and broad shouldered, with slightly dishevelled blond hair and emerald green eyes. Dressed impeccably in buff breeches and a dark blue, woollen coat. And she…oh, she, like a bedraggled grey mouse who’d just lost a bout with an alley cat.

      It didn’t help that he was still staring at her, but she quickly realised that he’d asked her a question and was simply waiting for her answer.

      ‘Hmm?’

      He moved a step closer, possibly because he now thought she was hard of hearing. Yet his voice was quiet. ‘I said I hope you’re uninjured.’

      ‘I…I am all right.’She hadn’t even had time to consider if that was true. Was she? She felt well enough, except for her backside, which had managed to land in a puddle. She couldn’t bear to think of the state of her dress.

      ‘Do you have everything? Is that your paper?’

      She looked down at her feet, where a slip of paper floated in a shallow puddle the colour of milky tea. It was hers, and the address she’d scrawled across it that morning in black ink was gradually dissolving.

      ‘Oh!’

      She moved quickly to grab it, but he leaned forwards at the same time. Their foreheads connected loudly. They both straightened immediately.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said awkwardly.

      He grinned ruefully, and she realised that in addition to golden hair and a chiselled jaw, he possessed dimples and straight, white teeth. ‘That wasn’t very coordinated of us. Shall I…?’

      She was too embarrassed to protest, so she just stood there dumbly and allowed him to pick up the paper. He handed it to her. The writing was now barely legible, but she could just make out the words 16 Litch—luckily, she remembered the rest. Sixteen Litchfield Terrace. That was where she’d find one Josiah Fairly, surely an ironical name for a pawnbroker. She’d been given the address by Samuel, the boy who delivered coal to the boarding house where she’d taken a room. Fairly was his uncle and she’d been assured he’d offer an acceptable price for her possessions.

      ‘Can you still read it?’ the man asked.

      ‘Read it? Oh, yes.’ She stuffed the paper in her pocket. ‘I must go. Thank you for helping me.’ She turned to continue walking, but she felt his hand on her arm. Warm and firm—not hurting her, but not letting her go, either. She turned around slowly, looking down her nose at the offending object.

      ‘You shouldn’t be carrying that bag,’ he chided. ‘Not unless you want to be robbed again. I’ll accompany you wherever you’re going.’

      She knew he was right. She’d known she was being foolish when she’d started out that morning. But she hadn’t had much choice about it, and she didn’t need him to tell her. ‘Remove your hand, sir.’

      He raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone, but did as bid. He also took a step closer. Although she was tall, she still found herself craning her neck to look up at him. She wasn’t used to that. His voice remained reasonable, but she suspected he might be losing his patience. ‘Half the street knows you’re carrying something worth stealing. If you’d like to keep your possessions, I’d advise you to accept my offer.’

      Her gaze darted quickly from left to right, assessing the risk. They made a conspicuous pair, to say the least, and several people were blatantly staring. If he walked away right now and left her there alone, then she’d no doubt that someone would soon relieve her of her belongings—in fact, her belongings were probably the least of her worries. She’d be lucky to make it home unharmed.

      She returned her attention to his face. He was certainly big enough to make anyone think twice—and, if she really were being followed, that wasn’t such a bad thing. And yet she didn’t want him to come with her. It didn’t matter that she’d no idea who he was and would never see him again. She was going to a pawnbroker’s, and it was too humiliating.

      Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip in indecision. She tried to sound confident, but she knew she didn’t quite succeed. ‘I’m going rather far. I imagine you have better things to do.’

      He seemed to sense her uncertainty. His tone brooked no refusal. ‘Actually, I have the afternoon free, and we could take my carriage. It’s just across the road.’

      She turned her head. His carriage gleamed with a fresh coat of glossy green paint, and two sleek bays waited impatiently to depart. His coachman, in green livery to match, had alighted in order to confront a cart driver over some infraction. A coat of arms surmounted by an earl’s coronet decorated the carriage door.

      Oh, God. He was not only handsome, but he was rich and probably titled, too.

      ‘Your driver is making friends, I see,’she said drily. She was now more resolved than ever that he would not come with her. She’d some pride left—not much, maybe, but enough that she didn’t want him to witness her sell the last of her valuable possessions.

      He smiled