Miss Pamela Lockhart knew that proper behavior could
guide a governess through any trying situation. The rules
were straightforward: never become too familiar with your
employer, always take your meals upstairs on a tray, and
remember your station at all times. But what happens when
your employer is devastatingly handsome... and his behavior
is anything but proper?
"You consider marriage the sure route to misery."
"Not really." He stroked his chin, a gesture he had adopted
from his grandfather. "The trick to marriage is not letting
expectations get in the way. A man needs to understand why
women get married, that's all."
Her mouth drew down in typical Miss Lockhart censure. "Why,
pray tell, do women get married?"
"For money, usually." He could tell she was offended again,
but with Miss Lockhart, he didn't have to worry overly much
about offense. After all, she didn't. Besides, he thought
his assessment quite fair. "I don't blame them. The world
is not fair to a spinster. She has no recourse but to work
or starve. So if she's asked, she marries."
Obviously, Miss Lockhart did not consider his assessment
fair. She slapped her mug on the table so hard the crockery
rattled. "Do you have any idea how insulting you are? To
think a woman is single because she has never been asked,
or if she is married, she has done so for monetary
security?"
He found himself entertained and very, very
interested. "Ah, I've touched a nerve. Are you telling me
there is a man alive who dared to propose to you?"
"I am not telling you anything." But swept along by her
passion, she did. "A man can convey financial security,
butwhither thou goest, I shall go, and all that rot. A
woman has to live where her husband wishes, let him waste
her money, watch as he humiliates her with other women, and
never say a word."
"Men are not the only ones who break their vows."
"So fidelity is a vow you intend to keep?"
Of course he had no intention of keeping that vow, when he
was forced to make it, and falling into that trap which had
so neatly snared his father. "I've supported more women
than Madame Beauchard's best corset-maker. If I let
marriage stop me, think of the poor actresses who would be
without a patron."
She wasn't amused. "So nothing about your wife would be
sacrosanct, not even her body. Your wife will cherish
dreams that you never know about, and even if you did they
would be less than a puff of wind to you."
Women had dreams? About what? A new pair of shoes? Seeing a
rival fail? Dancing with a foreign prince? But Miss
Lockhart wasn't speaking of the trivial, and he found
himself asking, "What are your dreams?"
"You don't care. Until I spoke, it never occurred to you
that a woman could have her dreams."
"That's true, but you are a teacher, and already you have
taught me otherwise." Leaning back in his chair, he gazed
at her and with absolute sincerity said the most powerful
words in the universe. "Tell me what you want. I want to
know about you."
She had no defense to withstand him. She leaned back, too,
and closed her eyes as if she could see her fantasy before
her. "I want a house in the country. Just a cottage, with a
fence and cat to sit in my lap and a dog to sleep at my
feet. A spot of earth for a garden with flowers as well as
vegetables, food on the table, and a little leisure time in
which to read the books I've not had time to read or just
sit ... in the sunshine."
The candles softened the stark contrast between her white
complexion and that hideous rouge. Light and shadow
delineated her pale lips, showing them in their fullness.
Her thick lashes formed a ruffled half-circle on her skin.
When she was talking like this, imagining her perfect life,
she looked almost ... pretty. "That's all?"
"Oh, yes."
"That's simple enough."
"Yes, very simple. And mine."
Careful not to break into her reverie, he quietly placed
his mug next to hers.
"Why do you want that?"
"That's what I had before --"
She stopped speaking so suddenly he knew what she had been
about to say. Moving to the side of her chair, he knelt on
the carpet. "Before your father left?"
At the sound of his voice, her eyes flew open and she
stared at him in dismay. She had been dreaming, he
realized, seeing that cottage, those pets, that garden, and
imagining a time when she could sit in the sunshine. Her
countenance was open and vulnerable, and his instincts were
strong. As gently as a whisper, he placed his fingertips on
her cheek. "There's one dream you didn't mention, and I can
make it come true." Slowly, giving her time to turn if she
wished, he leaned forward ... and kissed her.
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