More Than a Governess. Sarah Mallory

      “She might be quite pretty, if she were dressed up.”

      Damon thought of the little governess in her dull clothes with her soft brown hair braided so modestly around her head.

      He sipped his wine, imagining the girl in an evening gown. Silk, he thought. It would cling to her slender body. And emerald-green, to match her eyes, eyes that could suddenly gleam with mischief. He gave himself a little mental shake.

      “No, I’ve no interest there. It has never been my way to tamper with innocents, or raise false hopes.”

      

      More Than a Governess

      Harlequin^®Historical #233—April 2008

      SARAH MALLORY

      was born in the West Country and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. Born in Bristol, Sarah left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond, and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.

      More Than a Governess

      SARAH MALLORY

      TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

       AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      Available from Harlequin^®Historical and SARAH MALLORY

      More Than a Governess #233

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      #893 A SINFUL ALLIANCE—Amanda McCabe

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      #894 THE WANTON BRIDE—Mary Brendan

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      #234 THE KNIGHT’S VOW—Catherine March

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      To Terry,

       my rock and inspiration

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter One

      Juliana Wrenn thought she had rarely entered a more uninviting chamber than cousin Pettigrew’s drawing room in Bouverie Street. Unpolished panelling, dark hangings and dull green paint on the ceiling seemed to swallow up the sunlight that was valiantly fighting its way through the dirty windows. She felt a little hand gripping her fingers and looked down, summoning up a smile.

      ‘Are you cold, Amy? I am sure Cousin Pettigrew will not keep us waiting much longer.’

      Her little sister hugged her rag doll closer.

      ‘I want to go home!’ she whimpered.

      Juliana sat down on a worn sofa and pulled the little girl on to her lap.

      ‘You know we can’t do that, love. We must see if Cousin Alfred can help us.’ She smiled up at her younger brother, a stout twelve-year-old who was hovering beside them.

      ‘Come and sit down, Tom.’

      ‘I would rather go back to the kitchen,’ said Thomas, thinking of the fruitcake he had left behind when they had been summoned upstairs.

      At that moment the door opened, and the three of them jumped to their feet, their eyes fixed on the florid-faced, bewhiskered gentleman who came in.

      Juliana gave him her best curtsy.

      ‘Good afternoon, Cousin. Thank you for seeing us.’

      Alfred Pettigrew advanced into the room, stripping off his gloves and dropping them, together with his silver-topped malacca cane, on to a side table.

      ‘Yes, well, I have just got in—had to carry out the reading of a will in Mount Street. I gather you have been here all morning?’

      ‘Yes, sir. We asked if we might wait for you and your housekeeper, Mrs Churwell, kindly looked after us.’

      ‘She gave us cake, and a glass of milk,’ added Amy and was nudged by Thomas, who hissed at her to be quiet. Juliana ignored the interruption.

      ‘I wrote to you, Cousin.’

      ‘Aye, you did, and I responded, did I not? Even more, I paid for your father’s funeral, and saw to the settlement of his affairs for you.’

      ‘Yes, sir, and we are very grateful. But that was three weeks ago, and circumstances have changed.’ She hesitated, for the first time losing some of her self-assurance.