Duke of Bainbridge.
For a precious moment she could only stare at the elegant scrawl. So cold and dismissive. It was only when her tears dropped on the paper that Sarah realized she foolishly cried. Squaring her shoulders, she made to walk away, and then she recalled that line fromA Wallflower’s Guide to Becoming a Bride.
‘When a lady is left with little choice, always do the unexpected.’
As if she would even listen to that wretched advice anymore. If she were in town, she would march to Hatchards, find the book, and burn it. Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned around, wrenched the door open, and closed it with a decided snick.
The duke, who had apparently resumed his position at the windows, whirled around.
“Yes, Miss Bellamy, is something amiss?’
The insufferable, arrogant…she could not find the words to privately curse him.
“Why must my services be dismissed?” she demanded daringly. “I am exceptionally qualified to teach your daughters how to be wonderful young ladies, Your Grace. I am educated in language, dance, music, painting, and liberal arts. I…I planned forHolbrooke Manorto be my home for several years as I watch them grow and mature into lovely girls.”
He took two steps closer, his eyes flashing with an emotion she could not identify. “Miss Bellamy, your main job is to teach my daughters decorum and propriety. Surely you do not still consider yourself qualified.”
The shock that darted through her almost felled her to the floor. He was referring to the fact that she had given herself to him, to a stranger at a ball. The duke now saw her as a woman of questionable virtue and reputation and might not be fit to teach his daughters, no matter Sarah’s accomplishments. Her heart pounding, she could only stare at him until fury washed over her. Marching over to him, she jabbed his chest with her finger.
It was his turn for shock to flare in his golden gaze.
“How dare you try to judge me for a moment that you were wholly a part of. Have you judged yourself with the same unfair harshness, Your Grace? Have you questioned if you are now qualified to raise your daughters because you met a stranger at a ball, and at that ball you connected, and it…it…” to her horror her voice cracked, and tears burned inside her throat. “You are the one who should be ashamed, doing what you did, knowing you have a wife awaiting you! Howdareyou!”
She was so angry she could not speak. Sarah whirled around and stormed away. Her hands on the door, his voice arrested her exit.
“My wife…the duchess died. I am a widower.”
The stark bleakness in his tone had her releasing the doorknob. She slowly faced him, noting how pale he suddenly seemed. He had not been an unfaithful prig. The duke was a widower. She felt relieved to know he had not been disloyal to his vows. The man who had commiserated with her betrayal had felt like he had so many more complex layers. “I am terribly sorry,” she whispered.
He took another step closer but ensured there was enough distance between them. That space hurt when it should not.
“Forgive me for being an ogre,” he said gruffly. His eyes were dark, intent, watching her closely. “I did not intend for you to cry.”
She lifted her hands to her face, startled to feel the track of tears. He came over to her, took the envelope from her suddenly nerveless fingers and tore up the note. “Perhaps we might start over, Miss Bellamy, I am Robert Kittridge, the Duke of Bainbridge. It is an honor to have a woman of your background and education teach my daughters deportment lessons and so much more.”
Sarah wasn’t sure she understood what was happening, but she did not want to leave this place and return to her cousin’s home. She could only live under his largesse for so long. She had a plan, and that plan was to save the small fortune she would make as a governess to provide for herself a suitable living in the future. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered. “You will not be disappointed with my efforts.”
They stared at each other.
Are we ever going to speak about our midnight rendezvous, Your Grace?
Sarah fancied the silent question in her heart was answered in his gaze.
Never, Miss Bellamy. Never.
Chapter 7
Robert could not sleep that night, and instead of retiring to bed, he was in his library sitting on the edge of his desk with whisky in his hand. He was drinking straight from the decanter, and he wondered if his intention was to become drunk. A state he had not been in since his wild and carefree days of his grand tour. That would not do, and he located a tumbler and poured himself a large measure, stoppering the decanter.
He had not thought he would ever see Sarah again; he had been given the opportunity, and he had acted the damn arse. What could he have done? Only last week he had visited Viscount Sheffield who had a lovely summer home nearby and made his intention known that he would be courting his daughter.
It wasn’t a marriage offer, but it bloody well might have been, given how Lord Sheffield had reacted. Robert had not met the girl as yet for she was off to London having a second season. No one in his estimation could be better than a duke of wealth and consequences. Lord Sheffield had traveled to town right away and plucked his daughter from the marriage mart, and yesterday she’d taken tea with him and Esther. The girl was a bit young, only one and twenty; however, she had displayed charming and intelligent manners. He had invited her to a picnic on the lawns of his estate in a few days’ time.
Robert scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. When he had recognized Sarah, he had wanted to lift her into his arms, take her to his chamber and ravish her for the entire day and perhaps the night as well. It was then he had known he had to let her go or have her as his mistress. The desire for her was too visceral, feeling almost unmanageable. With another curse, he lifted the tumbler and took a deep swallow.
All he needed to do was place the appropriate distance between them and allow her to do her job. With that thought, Robert lowered the tumbler to the table and went upstairs to his room. It would be a long night; one in which he knew he would dream about her. He already spent too many days reminiscing about that night and the gardens, their conversation and pleasures. To his mind everything had been bloody perfect. Drawing upon his resolve he reminded himself that their moment had been that, just a tryst, which had burned with raw and rare passion, but it had ended weeks ago. Given her reaction, she had never intended to see him again, and as she told him, it had been an adventure. Nothing more.
* * *