Her Secondhand Groom Page 11

  He shrugged. “You’re a viscountess now. She’s not. Surely you see how that could lead to jealous feelings?”

  “If you say so.” She crossed her arms and averted her gaze, mumbling something.

  He crossed his arms, too. “Well, I say so.” Truthfully, Miss Grant sounded perfect for the post, but he’d be damned if he knowingly invited more miserable tension into the house. That was the last thing Briar Creek needed. As it was, tension was slowly choking the life out of everyone who lived here, this particular moment was no exception.

  Finally, an unsettled Links walked through the door and ended their silent torture.

  “My lord, Miss Cordelia Sharpe is here for her interview.”

  Patrick nodded for Links to let her in. What could have happened to have shaken Links’ solid resolve?

  In less than five minutes’ time, he knew.

  Miss Sharpe, stepped through the door and attempted a curtsy, nearly tipping forward as she did. Straightening, she mumbled a word that Patrick could have sworn sounded a lot like “bugger”. He shook his head. Surely not, she was applying for a governess post, after all.

  Miss Sharpe attempted another curtsy, this time placing more weight on her back foot, and nearly falling backward. Juliet moved to help her up and cast compassionate eyes at Patrick, which he took to mean he better not let her inability to curtsy properly be a strike against her.

  Once up, Miss Sharpe attempted yet another curtsy and halfway down muttered, “Oh bloody hell, bugger it all.”

  Juliet’s mouth gaped, and so did Patrick’s.

  Without a word of invitation, Miss Sharpe walked into the middle of the room, plopped down on the settee, and kicked off her slippers. “Shall we start this interview?”

  Patrick studied this woman. He already knew there wasn’t even a particle of a chance he’d allow his daughters alone with this woman, but he owed it to Juliet to at least attempt to interview this woman. He took a seat and looked to Juliet to start the interview.

  Juliet licked her lips. “Do you have any experience as a governess?”

  “Aye.”

  “Excellent. Did you happen to bring your letters of reference?”

  Miss Sharpe scowled. “No.”

  “Do you have a letter of reference?” Juliet asked.

  Patrick would have inwardly chuckled at her innocence if not for Miss Sharpe’s course response. “No, I don’t got no bloody reference. That bloody Lord Tarley couldn’t keep his bloody hands off me.”

  Patrick frowned. He didn’t believe that for a second. He might not be that familiar with Lord Tarley, but he knew him well enough to know the man wouldn’t have relations with his staff, especially one such as Miss Sharpe.

  Juliet cleared her throat. “And how long were you in his employ?”

  “Six bloody years.” Miss Sharpe crossed her arms. “Am I hired, or not?”

  “Pardon?” Juliet asked, drawing Patrick’s attention. He’d only heard that tone directed at him. He nearly smiled at the knowledge someone aside from him had the power to get her dander up.

  “I said, am I bloody hired?” she repeated as if it was the normal way of things for the potential employee to come into the interview using rough language and demand answers.

  “No,” Juliet and Patrick said in unison.

  He glanced at Juliet. They may disagree about nearly everything else, but for once they were in perfect agreement.

  “And why the bloody hell not?’

  “Because your manners are better suited for that of a stablehand rather than a governess.” His eyes narrowed. “And no, I am not currently seeking an employee for such a position.” Not that I’d even think of letting you near my prized stallion.

  “Just as well,” Miss Sharpe said, jamming her feet back into her slippers. She stood and walked straight out the door.

  Patrick moved to follow her. The least he could do was show her out. Just as he rounded the corner, he saw Links was waiting and gave the man a curt nod. Now he had a clear understanding of how his calm butler looked anything but calm when he showed Miss Sharpe in.

  “Are you willing to interview Miss Grant, now?”

  His mouth formed a tight line. “No.”

  “Well then, I must be off, too,” Juliet said crisply.

  Patrick blinked. “Is there a reason you’re unhappy with me?”

  “Yes. You refuse to see reason.”

  He crossed his arms. “No. I see reason just fine. Hiring Miss Grant is not the solution. I’ll contact the staffing agency again.”

  Juliet flicked her wrist. “Don’t bother yourself with such trivial details. We both know you have no real desire to hire a governess when I’m available.”

  “Now see here,” he thundered. “I’ve spent the last two days interviewing ladies for the post. You cannot fault me for who the agency sends.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But I can fault you for passing up two perfectly good candidates.”

  “And who would those be?” Surely she couldn’t be talking about Miss Farrell or Miss Sharpe, or the uneducated ladies from yesterday, Miss Smythe and Miss Temple.

  “Miss Grant for one,” Juliet said pointedly. “And Miss Farrell for the other.”

  “No and no. As I said, I will not knowingly invite more trouble into this house, nor will I have a lady who spits her fingernail clippings on her lap, then brushes them onto the floor, be responsible for educating my daughters.”

  “She was nervous.”

  “No. She was disgusting.”

  Juliet threw her hands in the air. “Have you ever considered that you might make people uneasy, Lord Presumptuous?”

  He bridled at her use of the nickname she’d given him. “No. And whether I made her nervous or not, that is no excuse for her to bite her fingernails and spit them out in my study.”

  Juliet sighed. “All right. Fine. I agree she was unsuitable. But what of Miss G―”

  “No. Don’t even bring her name up again, Juliet.”

  Juliet nodded curtly. “I see how it’s going to be.” She took a sidestep toward the door and he moved to stand in front of her.

  “And how is that?”

  “My opinions will never matter to you.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  He ground his teeth. “Why would you think that?”

  “Why shouldn’t I think that?” Her eyes were flashing fire.

  “Well, I invited you in here, didn’t I? I could have made the decision all on my own, but I asked you to help.” His eyes narrowed in on her, daring her to object.

  “Yes, you did. Though why you bothered to do so when you had no intentions of listening to my suggestions, I’ll never know.” She crossed her arms, and her eyes grew more intense, if such a thing were even possible. “Unless you brought me in here as a way to prove to me there was no one suitable so I’d continue to act my role as motherness.”

  “Are you implying, I would be so selfish as to request unsuitable ladies be sent, then invite you in here to witness their unsuitability as some sort of ploy to trick you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 13

  Patrick tucked Caroline’s invitation into his breast pocket and stood. It had been more than a day since his argument with Juliet about the governess. After her last damning insinuation that he was some sort of heartless instigator in this whole governess mess, she’d swept from the room before he’d had a chance to ask her to attend Caroline’s dinner party. He hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, which had probably been for the best seeing as how neither of them had been in a mood fit for company. But he’d go see her now. If she stayed true to schedule, she’d be upstairs getting ready to take her afternoon tea with the girls. Which meant it was the perfect time to visit her.

  His foot landed on the top step that led to the third floor and Patrick froze. He’d been married to Juliet a full month now and hadn’t heard her hum before. A small smile tugged on his lips, his heart
lifting. He didn’t know what was making her so happy, but whatever it was, was in his house! Four weeks ago he wouldn’t have given a fig whether or not she were happy in his house, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved to know she’d found some sort of contentment here. He paused. That wasn’t true. She’d seemed very content in the presence of his girls. He leaned against the door her humming was coming from and folded his arms across his chest. His forearm pressed against the invitation in his breast pocket, reminding him of his purpose. A broad smile spread across his lips. Perhaps he, too, would soon be able to be the reason for her happiness.

  Quiet so not to alert Juliet to his presence thus bringing her merriment to an abrupt end, Patrick turned the doorknob and used extra care to ease the door open. The door opened only halfway and Patrick’s body stilled. His eyes were captured by the breathtaking sight in front of him: Juliet naked and wet in a hot, steamy bath. Her eyes were closed, her head leaning over the back edge of the tub, face pointed up at a ninety degree angle toward the ceiling. Her right arm rested along the right side of the copper tub, her left hand holding a soapy cloth, methodically moving it up and down her right arm, leaving a trail of slippery bubbles in its wake before moving to her chest. Mesmerized, his eyes followed her hand and stared shamelessly as she brought the cloth along the top of her chest then down to her perky breasts. He clenched his hands into two tight fists. He could no more will his eyes away from her sudsy breasts than he could make himself stop breathing.

  You’re only staring at them because you didn’t think she had any. He shook his head. No, not even that thought could explain why he was staring at her breasts as if he’d never laid eyes on a set before. She brought the cloth up to get her neck. Slowly, almost torturously, she dragged the cloth from one side of her neck to the other. Rivulets of water flowed from the bottom of the cloth right down her chest. Naturally, his eyes followed―his blood, face, and desire heating up to the temperature of an inferno. A little stream of water ran straight down the middle of her breast, rinsing off all the bubbles in a line that ran directly over her nipple. A sound he didn’t recognize escaped his lips.

  Juliet shrieked and plunked herself under the water in the most haphazard, unladylike fashion imaginable. She reemerged, wet but free of soapy bubbles, her hands wildly feeling about for her spectacles. “Who’s there,” she demanded.

  Her panic cooled Patrick’s ardor and heat fueled by embarrassment warmed his face. “Your husband.” He winced at the raggedness of his voice.

  “Why did you have to scare me like that?” Juliet asked, fumbling to put her spectacles on, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks.

  Patrick averted his eyes, feigning interest in the tops of his shoes. “I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, blood roaring in his ears.

  “Was there something you needed?” Juliet queried from the tub.

  Wasn’t she going to cover up? There was a towel sitting right there. Why wasn’t she wrapping it around herself? “We can talk later.” He took a step back.

  “I’ll be occupied later. What was it that was so important you needed to interrupt my bath to discuss?”

  Patrick’s throat worked. “I didn’t realize you were bathing,” he stammered. He cautiously raised his eyes just enough to see her, but not be too obvious about it.

  “Of course,” she muttered. She frantically took that little rag full of soapy water and hastily ran it over her body.

  “I’ll come back,” Patrick said inanely, forcing his feet to take yet another step backward.

  Juliet stood. Patrick froze, utterly paralyzed. The only sound in the room was the loud thunking ker plunk of Juliet’s discarded rag hitting the bathwater. “No need, my lord.” She reached both hands up and started squeezing the water from her hair, the simple task lifted her pert breasts and made them gently bounce as she continued to wring out her hair. “What was so important?”

  Patrick remained motionless. Even his mouth couldn’t move to so much as attempt to form a sentence. Here his wife stood completely naked in front of him and he was reduced to staring at her as if he were a green lad who’d never seen a woman in a state of undress before.

  Juliet cleared her throat. “Now that you’ve gotten your chance to enjoy the view, will you tell me what you came to say? I need to get back to the girls.”

  “Girls,” he choked, blinking out of his haze. Just where were the girls? And why was she in here taking a bath in the middle of the day? His jaw clenched. More importantly, why was she in this room taking her bath? So many questions raced through his mind, he barely registered Juliet was stepping out of the tub.

  “Yes, girls,” Juliet intoned coolly. She used her towel to dry off the wet skin of her left arm. “I need to finish their lessons.”

  “Where are they now,” he forced himself to say, commanding his eyes to look anywhere but at her naked body that was beckoning to him.

  “Taking their own baths, I’d presume,” she said easily, now drying her right arm. “We went for a walk after lunch.”

  Patrick glanced out the window. When had the rain started? “Did you get a chill?” He started, surprised by the genuine concern that had just filled his voice.

  She looked up from where she was now bent over drying her legs and blinked at him. “No, just a little muddy.” Juliet stopped toweling herself off long enough to use her right hand to gesture to her discarded gown, the bottom of it covered in mud. She sighed. “Could you please tell me what you came for so I can dress?”

  “Right,” Patrick clipped with a curt nod. “I uh...” He swallowed the surplus liquid that was filling his mouth. The sight of her naked chest and shoulders glistening with a thin layer of moisture was draining all the blood from his head and channeling it down to another part of his anatomy. The part that had no business being active in her presence. He couldn’t possibly have a conversation with her until she covered herself. “Would you please wrap that confounded towel around yourself?”

  Juliet looked down at the towel that was in her hand. “No, I’m not done drying off yet.”

  “You’re dry enough. Just cover up,” he snapped, running his hand through his black hair.

  “Why should I?” She bent her head forward and wrapped the towel around her hair as best as she could. “It would seem that when I’m in my room I should be allowed to wear whatever I wish, even if you are the lord of the manor, and I am but a mere servant.”

  Her room? Lord of the manor? A mere servant? A sinking feeling settled in his gut. “Juliet,” he said thickly, his brain unable to think of what to say next, and this time his inability to think had nothing to do with the fact that she was naked.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you please explain your last statement to me?”

  She shrugged, her creamy, pink-tipped breasts bouncing before his eyes once again. “I meant nothing by it that you don’t already know. You’re the master and lord of the manor to which I am the servant, but even as a servant I should think I should be allowed a bit of privacy in my own quarters. But I guess even that’s not meant to be. Not that I should have expected anything different from you.”

  “Your quarters?” he repeated, looking around the room. His eyes grew wider with every object they landed on. A small table no bigger than one of his nightstands was cluttered with combs, brushes, and other vanity pieces, albeit they weren’t very nice vanity items, but they were usable. He shifted his gaze to a little trunk resting next to the makeshift vanity. Before he knew what he was doing, his feet carried him to the chest. He extended his nearly-numb fingers and lifted the lid of the chest. Patrick mutely stared at the chest full of the clothes he’d had commissioned for her the day after they’d married. “How long?”

  She seemed to understand his question well enough. “Since the day we married. Of course you’d know that if you’d ever seen fit to visit my bed. But you didn’t marry me to make me a wife, just a motherness.”

  Patrick’s mouth went dry. The hurt in her voic
e was utterly unmistakable. Even a fool such as he couldn’t have missed it. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered harshly. For the first time since he’d entered her room, he looked into her slate grey eyes. Though she was standing there not wearing a stitch of clothing, he couldn’t force his eyes to leave hers. He’d been able to sneak a glimpse of laughter and excitement in them when he’d watched her and the girls undetected. He’d seen what he thought was cold indifference or even irritation in them most times when she knew he was close by. But right now he wasn’t sure what was in her eyes. They looked distant...broken perhaps. No, resigned. That’s what it was. She was resigned. His chest clenched in the most unusual way as he remembered her insinuation from yesterday about him purposely avoiding hiring a suitable governess because she was around. The enormity of the situation hit him like a shot to the heart. “Will you meet me in the drawing room in half an hour?”

  Juliet’s head nodded a fraction. “All right.”

  Doing his best to tamp down the vast array of emotions that were threatening to consume him, Patrick quit the room and went downstairs to await Juliet, racking his brain for the appropriate words as he went.

  By the time he crossed the royal blue carpeted threshold of the drawing room, Patrick hadn’t thought of a single thing to say to Juliet. But there was one thing he’d determined: tomorrow he’d be employing a real governess, even if it meant temporarily hiring the spitter.

  ***

  Juliet had never been so uncertain of anything in her life and that included that unfortunate surprise she’d received four short weeks ago when she realized she was marrying Lord Presumptuous in truth. She grabbed her towel and clutched it tightly to her chest. Closing her eyes as tightly as she could, she willed her nerves to settle down. Her harsh command went unyielded. Her fingers clung to the plush towel so tightly her fingertips and knuckles grew white and her lower lip quivered uncontrollably. Why did he have to have this effect on her? What gave him the power to shatter her control?

  She exhaled and buried her face in her towel, the events of the last ten minutes replaying in her mind’s eye. Had she given herself away? Had she said or done anything that would give him reason to believe she was anything but the strong, unaffected woman she wanted to portray? The chime of the clock yanked her from her thoughts. There was no use in sitting here wondering if she’d made a slip. She needed to get downstairs and see what Lord Presumptuous had to say.