Lowering the letter she’d been reading, Louise Potter held the expensive sheet of paper between her fingers and glanced at both of her sisters in turn. “I have been accepted for the position. Lady Channing would like me to start immediately.”

“That is what you wish to do, is it not?” Josephine asked. At six and twenty, she was two years older than Louise and six years older than their youngest sister, Eve.

“It certainly is a welcome opportunity.” With the townhouse serving as their only inheritance, and Josephine working hard to make ends meet for all of them, Louise wanted to find a way to help her older sister. As a result, she now had the chance of becoming a governess to three young children. “My only regret is I shall miss Christmas with the two of you.”

“Perhaps the countess will allow you to see us on that particular day?” Eve suggested.

Louise bit her lip. Her employment would require a major move, which was something she hadn’t yet mentioned to either of her sisters. “I’m afraid not. If I’m lucky, I shall be able to come to Town during the spring and part of the summer while the Season is underway. Otherwise, most of my time will be spent near Whitehaven.”

Her sisters stared at her. “I forget where that is,” Eve finally said.

“I believe it is in the north,” Josephine told her.

Louise nodded. “It is indeed.”

Eve’s mouth dropped open. “But then we shall never see you again!”

“As I mentioned, I might return to Town once Parliament opens and the Radcliffe family chooses to relocate to their London home.” She paused to consider their unhappy faces. “Unless I decline the offer and remain here. I can do so if you are loath to see me go.”

“No.” Josephine quickly smiled, though the effort did appear slightly strenuous. “You have been given the chance to accept respectable employment with a highly regarded aristocratic family. Neither of us will stand in your way.”

“Are you certain?” Louise was beginning to doubt her own resolve.

Travelling north had seemed like a grand adventure until she’d told her sisters about it. They’d never been apart before, and since their father’s death, they’d been especially dependent upon each other, not only to get through the grief, but also to find a way forward in the following whirlwind of chaos.

Louise’s grandfather had been the third son of an earl. As such, he’d gone into law and had eventually, upon his death, left his thriving practice to his son. But he had not been as skilled a barrister as his father, nor did he have a head for the business. After he lost a string of cases, clients had chosen to seek counsel elsewhere. As time had progressed and the funds had dwindled, the larger houses had been sold and the meeker residence where Louise and her sisters now lived had been purchased instead. But even this house would be lost to Louise and her sisters unless a decent income could be secured. Especially since their uncle, the current Earl of Priorsbridge, had neglected to take on his responsibility as their guardian.

“This is a wonderful opportunity for you,” Josephine said. Meeting Louise’s gaze, she did not need to say the money her work would produce could ease their concerns. Instead, she asked a practical question. “When do you intend to leave?”

“Tomorrow.” Knowing how surprising this comment was, Louise hastened to say, “The countess has offered conveyance if I do. It seems her uncle, Lord Alistair, will be travelling up then as well, so it has been suggested we go together for practical reasons.”

“I suppose doing so would provide you with a better carriage for such a long journey,” Josephine said. “But is it wise for you to travel alone with a man whom you’ve never met before?”

Louise made a face. “At my age?” She shook her head. “You know as well as I that I am almost as firmly on the shelf as you are. And since I am not a young lady with marriageable prospects but rather a soon to-be-governess, I dare say no one will think much about it. Not to mention this uncle must be at least fifty years old considering the countess’s age.”

“How can you possibly know her age?” Eve asked. “It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing she would share in her letter to you.”

“Quite right,” Louise told her, “but her eldest son is eleven, so I can make an intelligent guess.”

“I suppose that is true,” Josephine murmured. “Which means you’re probably right about Lord Alistair. Besides, I doubt the countess would suggest his escort unless she was sure you’d be safe in his presence.”

Louise agreed. “It is settled then?”

“I believe so.” Josephine said.

Her remark propelled Louise to hug both her sisters. She then hurried on through to her room and pulled her valise out from under the bed. It was time for her to start packing.

* * *

Enjoying a last minute brandy in his study, Alistair Clay Hedgewick, considered his niece’s request to bring her new governess with him to Whitehaven. He groaned at the prospect of it–of having to spend a week with a middle-aged spinster instead of alone in his own company as he’d been expecting. Dreading it, he took another sip of his drink. It was a bit early in the day to be imbibing, but under the circumstances he felt he needed the fortification before setting out in another half hour.

He glanced toward the clock on the fireplace mantle. An hour had passed since he’d sent his carriage to collect her, so she should be arriving at any moment. A knock sounded at the door, and Alistair called for his butler to enter.

“My lord,” Mr. Fox said while maids and footmen scurried around behind him, gathering last minute items in need of packing. “Miss Potter has arrived. Would you like me to show her in?”

Alistair considered the question. He could hardly say no, could he? It was tempting since doing so would allow him that extra half hour of peace before embarking on a journey that would force him to stay on his best behavior. Taking his shoes off and relaxing his feet would not be possible. Nor would sleeping, since he had no desire to snore in her presence. In fact, he was giving up a great deal of comfort for a woman he’d never met and did not care about.

“Very well,” he sighed, before downing the rest of his drink and rising. He might as well meet his travelling companion, he reasoned, since it was the polite thing to do. Like it or not, he always strove to do what was right and play the part of the well-mannered gentleman, no matter how impractical or aggravating it could be. His behavior, however, reflected not only on him but on his entire family, and being called to task by his brother was something he always tried to avoid.

Mr. Fox returned. “Miss Potter,” he said, before stepping aside so a slim woman, wearing a grey gown and a matching pelisse, could enter. On her head, she wore a straw bonnet beneath which he was able to spy a golden display of neatly combed hair. But what shocked him the most was her face, because it did not belong to the middle-aged, rotund matron he’d envisioned, but rather to the angelic youthfulness of a woman in her prime. More than that, she was the perfect picture of beauty, her delicate features lending an elegance even the highest ranking ladies of society lacked. Her eyes, he noted, were a bright glow of hazel while her lips, parting now with undeniable surprise, were the sort men dreamed of in their wickedest fantasies.

Aware he was staring, he gathered his wits, schooled his features, and stepped toward her. “Miss Potter, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She gaped at him. “Are you Lord Alistair?”

“The one and only.”

She shook her head. “You can’t be.” Glancing around as if seeking another gentleman, she gradually returned her gaze to him when none was to be found. “You…you…” Waving her hands as if hoping to fashion the necessary words, she finally blurted, “You are twenty years younger than you ought to be!”

* * *

Clamping her mouth shut, Louise stared at the man who stood before her. He was not the older gentleman she’d anticipated. Instead he was young, about a head taller than she, and solidly built, judging from his stance. His face, constructed from angular planes, contained a pair of serious eyes, a patrician nose, and a mouth set in a firm line. Whether or not the last feature was capable of smiling had yet to be determined.

“You are not who I expected either, Miss Potter,” he said, boldly allowing himself to assess her.

She didn’t like the nervous quickening of her pulse or how her insides squirmed with discomfort. Determined to fight it, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “How do you mean?”

He drew a breath and appeared to consider. “I assumed you to be in your forties and in possession of a plump figure. All the governesses I have ever seen have been like that. Apparently, that opinion is misguided. You do not fit the image I have of governesses at all.”

“I do not know if I should be flattered or insulted,” Louise confessed.

His eyes widened with a distinct look of surprise. “How can you think my comment was anything but a compliment?”

“Because you appear to be judging me solely on my appearance.”

“Naturally.” His tone was dry. He paused as if wondering what to say next, then asked, “What else would you have me judge you on?”

She stared at him. What a typical male thing to ask. It was no different than the sort of comments she’d gotten from her father as a young girl. As well-meaning as he’d been, she’d resented the insinuation that she would do well in life because she was pretty. Which prompted her to say, “My mental faculties for a start.”

His lips twitched as if he found her statement amusing, which made her want to hit him right there in the middle of his own study. But then he spoke. “While I may be more capable of judging you on such a fine attribute now, after we’ve had a brief exchange of words, I certainly wasn’t at the time when I made my remark.”

Acknowledging her mistake, she gave a tight smile. “Forgive me, my lord. It was not my intention to sound ungrateful.”

“And yet you managed to do so anyway,” he murmured, making her want to hit him all over again.

The man was not only arrogant but infuriating, and she was meant to spend several days with him in a carriage? She would rather enjoy the company of rodents and was contemplating saying so – or something equivalent but less rude – when the butler returned. “Your carriage is ready, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” Lord Alistair said. He cast a contemplative glance at Louise before telling the butler, “I’d like you to ask one of the housemaids to join us.”

Louise almost sighed with relief.

The butler dipped his head. “Understood.” He then turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Considering Lord Alistair, Louise wondered if he might be dreading their journey as much as she was. But he gave her no reason to suppose such a thing. Instead, his expression remained inscrutable as he gestured toward the door. “After you, Miss Potter,” he said. “I believe we had best be on our way.”

* * *

Alistair knew the sort of woman she was. He was familiar with her type – the type of woman who wanted to be admired for her brain rather than her beauty. The countess was the same way, but unlike Miss Potter, Abigail had good reason to demand such admiration since she’d written several renowned books on the principals of mathematics.

Miss Potter, on the other hand, had yet to prove herself worthy. For as he’d suggested, looks was all he’d really had to assess her by so far. It was much too soon to determine whether or not she was simply a pretty face or if there was actually a sharp mind behind those hazel eyes of hers. Considering her stalwart manner, he suspected there might be more to her than he imagined.

At any rate, she would probably prove to be better company than the sort of woman he’d been expecting, even if he still wouldn’t be able to take off his shoes or sleep in her presence. One thing was certain, she would be easy on the eyes even if she elected not to speak with him for the duration of their journey. A possibility, judging from her determination to admire the view from the window.

They’d left London without exchanging another word. A muttered, “Thank you,” was all he’d received upon helping her into the landau. Then nothing for the next half hour. And since Bridget, the maid who’d been chosen to act as chaperone, had nodded asleep almost instantly, Alistair could not rely on her for conversation either.

Which brought them to this point.

Discreetly, he considered Miss Potter’s profile, which was not so easy to do because of her bonnet. With her face turned away from him as it was, the brim concealed most of her face and all of her hair. A shame, since he would have liked to study those golden tresses more closely.

“It will be at least five hours before we arrive at the first posting inn,” he told her.

Starting as if surprised to hear him speak, she turned away from the window, those hazel eyes of hers meeting his from beneath her long lashes. “I suspected as much,” she said.

Ignoring her rigid tone, he relaxed against the squabs and stretched out his legs. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. You can take off your bonnet, if you like. Nobody would fault you for doing so.”

She seemed to consider this suggestion which had been equal parts selfish and considerate. Forcing a blank expression, he held his breath in anticipation of what she might do. Her eyes slid toward the spot on the bench where he’d placed his own hat and gloves. A frown puckered her forehead, and he instantly knew what was going on in her head. She wanted to take off her bonnet, perhaps even her gloves, but she worried doing so would remove a shield – break down a necessary barrier between them – and perhaps… No. He would not allow his thoughts to wander in that direction. Still, he found himself praying she would surrender to comfort and sate his damnable curiosity.

After a moment, she returned her gaze to the window. Her hands remained in her lap, and Alistair felt a peculiar pang of disappointment. Not that he would allow it to bother him. She was only a woman after all – perhaps the most delectable one he’d ever seen – but a woman nonetheless.

She was not worth thinking about for any extensive length of time.

He had other, more important, matters to consider. Perhaps he ought to set his mind to them instead of wondering about Miss Potter’s hair. Reminding himself she was nothing more than an inconvenient obligation, he prepared to reach for his satchel and pull out his newspaper, when a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Glancing toward her, he noted her hands had risen to the bow at her chin where her fingers now carefully tugged at the ends, loosening it with a slow pull that made Alistair’s mouth go dry.

Never in his life would he have presumed a bow might be untied so sensually or that he would ever consider the act of doing so arousing. But he did, damn it. His entire body responded, forcing him to cross his legs and straighten in his seat. Then she carefully plucked the bonnet off her head, and as she did so, it took every bit of willpower he possessed to stop himself from staring. Because her hair was indeed as glorious as he had imagined it– more so even – for it wasn’t blonde alone, but streaked with silky strands of honey, gleaming in response to the light coming in through the window.

His only regret was how it was tied back in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Because now that he’d seen it, he wanted to know its length and how it might look spilling over her shoulders. And once he knew this, he’d probably want something else – something far more dangerous than simply taking a look at her hair.

“Feel free to remove your gloves as well, if you like,” he said as he bent to retrieve his newspaper.

He would not look at her any more – not directly at least – lest she worry about being trapped for a week with a man she’d be wise to steer clear of. Honestly, he would have to have a word with Abigail once he saw her. Neglecting to inform him of Miss Potter’s young age had been a careless omission on her part. It had also resulted in a twenty minute delay while Bridget packed a bag and prepared herself for departure.

“Thank you,” Miss Potter said – the first words she’d spoken to him since climbing into the carriage. She made no effort to do as he suggested, but she did, much to his surprise, continue talking. “I am sorry if I seemed defensive earlier. It was not my intention.”

Drawn by the hushed sound of her voice, Alistair allowed his eyes to meet hers. A mistake, since he found himself thoroughly transfixed by their color. To say they were hazel was far too simple. They were a brilliant shade of green at the center, surrounded by warm tones of toffee. Years of practice allowed him to maintain his serious demeanor and not reveal the physical torment which he was starting to suffer. Only two hours in her presence and his gentlemanly ways were being severely tested. It did not bode well for the remainder of their journey.

“Then what was your intention, Miss Potter?”

Her lips parted on the precipice of speech, but then she appeared to force back whatever remark she’d been meaning to make, paused for a second, and finally said, “Beauty can be a blessing as well as a curse. It has always been assumed I would get by on my looks – that men would flock to my door after taking one glimpse and then promptly offer me marriage.”

“Most women would be glad if they were so fortunate.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But in my case, circumstance got in the way. I found myself in a situation where a pretty face would not suffice. Fortunately, my mother, bless her heart, always strove to prepare my sisters and me for such a possibility. She was a practical woman. So while our father insisted there was no need for anything more than basic lessons, Mama demanded proficiency in mathematics, science, literature and French. And because our father doted on her, he allowed it, affording us all an education we can now use to our best advantage.”

He took a moment to consider this forthright statement. “You speak of both parents in the past tense.” Noting the way her eyes shifted, he quietly said, “I take it they are no longer with you?”

She gave a tight nod. “We lost Mama four years ago. Papa passed last summer.”

Which explained her dull attire. “I am sorry to hear it.”

A weak smile was her only response, and then, as if seeking a different topic, she quickly asked, “How is it you are as young as you are? Lady Channing referred to you as her uncle, so I rather assumed you were going to be a bit older.”

“Yes. You did make that quite clear the moment we met.”

Blushing, she glanced at him timidly from beneath her lashes. It impacted him in the strangest of ways. “Forgive me. It was terribly rude of me to respond as I did. I’m afraid surprise got the better of me.”

She wasn’t the only one, he reflected. “The fact is, my father was thirty years old when my brother, the current Duke of Langley, was born. His mother died in childbirth, and our father remarried, to a woman who bore him no children. After her death, our father married his third wife. By then he was in his fifty-seventh year, while his wife, my mother, was a widow twenty-five years his junior. Hence, there are twenty-eight years between my brother and me since I was born a year after the wedding. Indeed I am closer in age to my niece, Lady Channing, who is only three years younger than I.”

“How strange,” Miss Potter murmured. “I cannot imagine what that might be like. You’re practically an only child.”

He couldn’t deny it. “The duke has been more of a parent to me than a brother. I was only ten when Papa died.”

What he would not say was how much the death had affected him. His father had doted on him, perhaps because he’d been the spare he’d been trying to have for two full decades. There was also the possibility his father had tried to avoid the mistakes he felt he’d made when raising his brother. From what Alistair gathered, little love had been given to the current Duke of Langley. Everything had been about duty and discipline. So when Papa died and Langley stepped in and took his place, Alistair’s carefree childhood had come to a grinding halt.

“I am sorry to hear it,” Miss Potter said, capturing his attention. “No child should have to lose their parent at such a young age.”

Appreciating the sympathy but disliking the mood their discussion had led to, he nodded, then turned his attention back to the newspaper he’d brought along for the ride. Opening it, he set his mind to finding a new investment opportunity – something that would save him from bending to Langley’s will.

* * *

Hoping she managed to do so discreetly, Louise considered Lord Alistair while he read the crisp newspaper he held. His brow was knit in serious contemplation, his eyes skimming the pages with intense interest. Turning a page with a rustle, he leaned slightly forward as if studying part of the text in greater detail.

Being a relatively large man, he seemed to fill the carriage with his presence. The space had felt even smaller when he’d been looking at her. Thankfully, he’d stopped doing so now, allowing the fluttery feel in her belly to settle into something much calmer and more relaxed. His dark perusal invariably made her tighten up inside. It bothered her to no end that she couldn’t discern what he was thinking. To do so was impossible when he kept the inner workings of his mind carefully masked behind layers of strict severity. What shocked her most, perhaps, was her reaction to this, for it made her want to shake some emotion out of him. Of course, doing so would likely result in the termination of her employment before it even began.

As she watched him, a dark lock of hair fell across his brow. It made him appear more carefree somehow, even if his expression did no such thing. Flexing her fingers, she fought the urge to reach out and force the errant hair back into place. To do so would be scandalous – completely and utterly shocking.

With this in mind, she drew the blanket he’d given her at the onset of their journey tighter across her lap. As concerned as she’d been about travelling with him after their initial meeting, she had begun to warm to the idea of sharing his company.

For one thing, it was a chance in a lifetime, because being confined to a small space with the best looking man in England was not the sort of thing that was likely to happen ever again. For another, she would not be alone with him. Even if the maid who’d joined them slept the entire way to Whitehaven, her presence ensured propriety would be maintained.

So why worry? Rather, Louise decided she might as well spend the next few days admiring Lord Alistair’s perfect figure, the breadth of his shoulders, and how perfectly his well-tailored clothes hugged him in all the right places. This was a rare treat she’d been given, and she’d be a fool not to take advantage.

So she sat back and let her gaze wander up the length of his legs and across his thighs. He turned another page, and she studied the movement, admiring the size of his hands. They were so much larger than hers, though elegant in their own right as they carefully held the newspaper.

Sliding her gaze upward, she took in the leanness of his chest. Many men would have a belly protruding when sitting down, but he did not. Rather, his jacket sat completely flat against his torso, which rather intrigued her. Continuing up over his chest, she reached his shoulders and then the side of his neck where a few fine tufts of hair curled right beneath his earlobe.

“You’re staring at me,” he murmured.

Louise’s heart slammed against her chest and her gaze shot toward his. He was studying her with those dark eyes that revealed nothing of what he was thinking, but they did produce a rush of heat that instantly made her think of flinging herself from the carriage if only to escape her own embarrassment.