Not Just a Governess. Carole Mortimer

to realise that was no longer the case, as Lord Hawthorne’s narrowed grey gaze slowly perused her from head to toe in what was obviously a totally male assessment. ‘Lady Cicely.’ She nodded a polite greeting to the elderly lady. ‘Stand up and greet your greatgrandmother, Amanda,’ she instructed as she realised her young charge was still seated at her desk.

      Elena had found it strange at first to realise that there was none of the spontaneity of affection in this household that she had been used to during her own childhood, Lord Hawthorne spending only half an hour of each day with his daughter, and even that was usually spent in discussing and questioning what Amanda had learnt during her lessons.

      Consequently, Amanda became a quietly reserved child whenever she was in her father’s company, the perfect curtsy she now bestowed upon Lady Cicely also reflective of that reserve.

      ‘Great-Grandmama.’

      Which was not to say that Elena did not see a different side of Amanda when the two of them were alone together in the nursery, Amanda as full of fun then as any other six-year-old.

      Tall for her age, Amanda’s face already showed the signs of the great beauty she would become in later years, her eyes a deep blue, her cheeks creamy pink, her little mouth as perfect as a rose in bud, her hair the colour and softness of spun gold. Amanda looked especially enchanting today in a deep-pink gown that perfectly complemented the fairness of her colouring.

      A look of enchantment totally wasted upon her father as he stood across the room, his attention focused on Elena rather than his daughter. The same gentleman whom Elena, after only a week spent in his employment, considered to be utterly without any of the softer emotions.

      Which was why she now found the intensity of his regard more than slightly unnerving, as if those deep-grey eyes were seeing her as a woman for the first time…

      And Elena had no wish for any man, least of all Adam Hawthorne, to see her as anything other than his mousy and widowed employee. Any more than she wished to acknowledge him as being anything more than her employer, even if he was devilishly handsome…

      She straightened determinedly. ‘I will leave the three of you alone to talk whilst I go and tidy Amanda’s bedchamber. If you will all excuse me…’ She did not wait for a response before hurrying from the schoolroom.

      Only to find that she was shaking so much by the time she had reached the safety of Amanda’s bedchamber that she had necessarily to sit down for a moment in order to attempt to regain her senses, pressing a trembling hand against her rapidly beating heart as she fought the rising panic at the thought of Hawthorne seeing her as a woman rather than an employee.

      Circumstances had conspired to leave Elena completely alone in the world, and necessitating that she go out to work in order to support herself, and so surely making her life already desperate enough, precarious enough, without the added burden of the sudden interest of the forbidding and forbidden Lord Adam Hawthorne?

      Elena was only too well aware that many gentlemen took advantage of the charms of the unprotected females in their household. Indeed, her own cousin—

      She would not…could not think about it. Even to think of what that worm—for she could never think of him as a gentleman!—had done to her was enough to make her feel ill, the nausea rising even now inside her—

      ‘Are you quite well, Mrs Leighton…?’

      Elena stood up so swiftly at the unexpected sound of Hawthorne’s voice that all of the blood seemed to rush from her head, rendering her slightly dizzy and causing her to sway precariously on her ankle-booted feet as she reached out blindly for the back of the chair in order to stop herself from falling.

      But not quickly enough, it seemed, as he crossed the room in three long strides to take a firm grasp of her arm, allowing her to feel the warmth of his long and elegant hand through the thin silk of her black gown. ‘My lord?’ Elena looked up at him warily, her breath catching in the back of her throat as she realised how close he was standing to her. A closeness she had not thought she would be able to tolerate from any man. So close that Elena was aware of, and yet not overwhelmed by, how much larger and taller he was than she. So close she could see the circle of black rimming the deep grey of his eyes…

      They were, Elena acknowledged as she found herself unable to do any other than continue to stare up at him, the most beautiful eyes she had ever beheld: a deep-smoky grey, with that black rim about the iris, his lashes dark, long and silky.

      ‘Mrs Leighton?’ Adam returned softly, frowning slightly as he realised he could smell the citrusy perfume of lemons in her silky dark hair.

      Just as he had become aware, having studied her closely in the nursery a few minutes ago, that she was far from being in her late twenties or early thirties, as he had originally assumed her to be. Indeed, she looked possibly one and twenty at most now that he was standing so close to her and really looking at her intently; the alabaster skin of her face and throat was absolutely smooth and flawless, those wide blue-green eyes seeming to possess an innocence as she gazed up at him warily, her slender figure also seeming that of a young girl rather than a mature woman.

      His mouth tightened along with the hold he had upon her arm.

      ‘Exactly how old are you?’

      She blinked long dark lashes. ‘How old am I?’

      Adam’s jaw tensed as he nodded. ‘A simple enough question, I would have thought.’

      She moistened rose-coloured lips with the tip of her tongue before answering him. ‘Simple enough, yes,’ she confirmed huskily. ‘But is it not impolite to ask a woman her age? I also fail to see the relevance…?’

      Adam’s mouth thinned at her continued delay. ‘You will allow me to be the best judge of that and please answer the question!’ He had little patience at the best of times—and this was far from the best of times; he disliked, above all things, being lied to, and he was very much afraid, that if Elena Leighton had not lied to him outright, that she had at least been economical with the truth.

      ‘I—Why, I am—I am…’ Elena paused to flex her nape where it ached from staring up at him for so long, as she weighed up the possibility of this man believing her if she were to lie and claim to be five and twenty, an age that surely even he would consider to be sensible. If untrue. ‘I am one and twenty.’ Almost. Well…in eight months’ time, her birthday falling on Christmas Day, her family having always ensured in the past that they were treated as two separate occasions. Not that there would be any celebration of that event this year, for the simple reason Elena had no family left with whom she wished to celebrate…

      ‘One and twenty,’ he repeated evenly, his long and elegant fingers slipping down her arm until they firmly encircled her wrist. ‘That would place you as being a mere nineteen when you were widowed and began your employment as tutor and companion to the Bambury chit, is that correct?’

      Elena gave an inward wince at this reminder of the reference she had presented to the employment agency some weeks ago, when she had gone to them seeking a placement in a respectable household. A reference, having had no previous experience in employment of any kind, Elena had necessarily to write herself…

      She met Adam Hawthorne’s scathing gaze unflinchingly. ‘That is correct, yes. If you are not satisfied with my work, then I am sure that—’

      ‘Have I said that I am not?’

      Her chin rose slightly. ‘You implied it.’

      Those chiselled lips curled slightly, into what could have been a smile, but was more likely, in this gentleman’s case, to be a sneer. ‘No, my dear Mrs Leighton, I implied nothing of the sort,’ he drawled. ‘Perhaps it is a guilty conscience which now makes you assume so?’

      Elena’s heart skipped several of those guilty beats as she looked searchingly up into Lord Hawthorne’s hard and unyielding face; those grey eyes were narrowed to icy slits, the skin stretched tautly over high cheekbones, deep grooves having appeared beside his nose and chiselled lips. It was the face, Elena