Temptation Of A Governess. Sarah Mallory

and swept around the curling drive that snaked towards the front door of Chantreys. Alex was leading the way in his curricle, with Lady Frances beside him. As he drew his team to a halt she placed her hand upon his leg, saying with a laugh,

      ‘My dear Alexander, it is quite, quite charming!’

      He had to admit it was looking particularly well in the late-spring sunshine, a perfectly proportioned little confection of a building. Rather than ruin the aesthetics by extending the house itself, successive generations had added two pavilions to flank the house and provide extra accommodation.

      Alex glanced upwards. The rooms under the eaves had once been the servants’ quarters but his parents had moved the staff outside into one of the pavilions and converted the whole top floor into a nursery. He wondered if Diana and the children were looking out for their arrival. Or perhaps they were waiting just inside the wide door, which was now thrown open as the servants came spilling out to welcome Lord Davenport and his guests.

      Alex jumped down and walked around to help Lady Frances alight. He led her past the row of wooden-faced servants and into the hall, cool and light with its pale marble floor and white-painted walls. He paused there, waiting for the rest of the guests to follow them inside. It was a small party, only six guests, as many as the house could hold without opening up the south pavilion to accommodate them. Gervase Wollerton was the last to come in, looking about him in appreciation.

      ‘You are right, Alex,’ he declared, ‘it is a very pretty place. Is this where you plan to put the Canova, opposite the stairs? The plainness of that wall would be the perfect foil for it.’

      ‘Yes, but not while the children are in residence,’ murmured Lady Frances. ‘One dreads to think of what might happen to such a precious statue with little ones running riot through the house.’

      ‘Quite,’ replied Alex. He beckoned to a hovering servant. ‘And talking of children, where are the girls, Christopher?’

      The footman gave a little bow. ‘Miss Grensham begs that you will advise her what time you would like your wards sent to the drawing room.’

      Alex felt a hand on his arm and heard Lady Frances softly laughing beside him.

      ‘Dear me, I hope you will allow us time to change out of our travelling clothes and rest awhile, my lord.’

      ‘If you wish it,’ he replied, ‘although I had thought this an easy distance from town.’

      ‘It is, of course,’ she returned smoothly. ‘But I should like to refresh myself and look my best when I meet your wards.’

      ‘Then I shall hand you over to Mrs Wallace.’ He beckoned to the housekeeper, who was hovering expectantly. His glance swept over the guests now assembled in the hall. ‘She will show you to your rooms while Fingle and Christopher deal with your baggage. If you will excuse me.’

      With a brief smile he left them and ran up the stairs two at a time, a pleasurable anticipation speeding his steps as he made his way to the schoolroom. He opened the door on a particularly domestic scene. A sofa had been placed beneath one of the windows and Diana was sitting there with Meggie and Florence on each side of her while she read to them from a large, leather-bound book.

      At his entrance all three rose, the young girls’ faces breaking into smiles of delight, while Diana’s conscious look and sudden blush told him she had not forgotten their last meeting. Neither had he, Alex thought ruefully as he stifled a sudden rush of desire at the memory of that one, sizzling kiss.

      ‘Uncle Alex!’ Margaret ran forward and he scooped her up in his arms, laughing.

      ‘Yes, I am here, Meggie.’ He hugged his niece, then set her down and turned to greet Florence, who had followed more slowly. That gave him a few moments to compose himself before he looked up and acknowledged Diana with a friendly nod. ‘Miss Grensham.’

      She dropped a slight curtsy to him.

      ‘Lord Davenport.’

      He surprised a slight, puzzled look in her eyes.

      ‘Is anything amiss?’

      ‘Your neckcloth...you are no longer in mourning?’

      He put his hand up to the froth of white linen at his throat.

      ‘I shall always mourn my brother, but I decided it was time for a change.’ He wanted to say more, but the words would not come. All he could think of was how her simple cream gown enhanced her flame-red hair, which was pulled back from her face into a knot, almost tamed, save for a few silky curls that had escaped and now kissed the back of her neck. His eyes regarded that neck, noting the elegant way it rose from the folds of the muslin fichu covering her shoulders. Demure as a nun. Was that for his benefit?

      ‘Look, Uncle Alex, we have new gowns.’ Meggie was pulling at his sleeve. ‘Diana ordered them. Do we not look well?’

      ‘As fine as fivepence,’ he told the girls as they twirled before him.

      ‘They are ready to meet your guests, my lord, as soon as you wish me to send them downstairs.’

      ‘I wish you to bring them downstairs, Miss Grensham,’

      ‘There is no need for me—’

      There is every need,’ he interrupted her. ‘You are as much their guardian as I am. In fact, more so,’ he added, ‘since you are in charge of their education.’

      A mischievous gleam put to flight the rather anxious look he had seen in her eyes.

      ‘I think that rankles with you, my Lord Davenport.’

      Alex’s lips twitched.

      ‘I am not deceived by your demure tone, Miss Grensham,’ he growled. ‘You revel in your superiority in this matter.’

      ‘That would be ignoble of me, sir.’

      She was smiling, clearly more comfortable when they were teasing one another. As was he.

      ‘It would indeed,’ he replied gravely. He glanced down at his dusty boots. ‘I beg your pardon for appearing in all my dirt. I wanted to come up immediately to see the girls.’

      The faint blush was on her cheek again but she spoke calmly enough.

      ‘Not at all, Lord Davenport, your eagerness to see your charges does you credit.’

      * * *

      Diana hoped he could not see how he discomposed her. From the moment she had heard his booted tread outside the door her heart had been racing. She would have liked to say it was from anger, or indignation, but she had to acknowledge the frisson of pleasure that ran through her at the thought of seeing the earl again. And when he had appeared, she had thought for an instant how much less severe he looked, but that might have been merely the fact that he was no longer wearing the black neckcloth, which had certainly heightened the glowering effect of his heavy black brows. Really, she must be desperate for adult companionship if she had been looking forward to this visit! That is what she told herself, but in her heart she suspected it was specifically Lord Davenport’s company she enjoyed. The verbal sparring. The kiss.

       No!

      As the children took their visitor to the table to show him their drawings she busied herself with gathering up the books and slates and putting them away. The kiss had nothing to do with it. That was a mistake, the result of too much wine, nothing else. She had been alone too long at Chantreys. Since the death of her sister and brother-in-law she had shut herself away too much with the children. That was all.

      ‘I must go and change.’ The earl’s voice broke into her thoughts. Diana turned to see that he was moving towards the door. ‘You will bring the children to join us after dinner, Miss Grensham.’

      Diana would have preferred to send the girls downstairs with Nurse, but there was something in the earl’s tone that told her he would brook no defiance. She would not argue. At least not in front of her charges.