The Spring Duke (A Duke for All Seasons) Page 3

  The Duke of Blackburn had been looking out the window, but he turned when she entered his study, his sharp blue gaze somehow both intensely personal and coldly dismissive as it swept down the length of her wrinkled and dusty traveling dress before snapping back up to her face. His mouth curled. “The agency really must be running low. Have a seat in front of my desk, Miss Dogwood. We’ll make this short.”

  Athena’s spine stiffened. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but she recognized an insult when she heard one. “I would prefer to remain standing, if it is all the same to you.”

  A thick ebony brow shot upwards, the only sign he gave that he was not a man accustomed to being challenged. “Then you will not mind if I sit.”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  Moving with the muscled elegance of a panther, the duke crossed the room and sat behind his desk, resting his elbows on top of the glossy wood and linking his fingers together. A crackling silence filled the air as they studied one another and Athena, who was never at a loss for words, suddenly could not think of a single thing to say. Instead she found herself staring at the duke’s hands, the knuckles of which were lightly dusted with wiry black hair.

  His nails were neatly trimmed. His skin smooth and sun kissed, revealing he spent a good amount of time outdoors, and she wondered if his palms were smooth to the touch or rough with callouses. The latter, she imagined, as the duke did not strike her as a man who spent his day languishing in a parlor or drawing room.

  What would it be like to have those hands upon her body? To feel the brush of hard callouses against soft, sensitive flesh. To be caressed in all the places she’d always secretly yearned to be touched. To experience passion the likes of which she had only dreamed about...

  “Well then.”

  The duke’s deep voice startled Athena so much that she jumped. Blushing, she jerked her gaze away from his hands and prayed he did not have the ability to read her mind. If he did, their conversation was about to take a very awkward turn.

  It was one thing to show up unannounced. Quite another to be caught fantasizing about callouses of all things. Which really shouldn’t have been the least bit appealing to begin with, except they happened to belong to a man who was very appealing.

  Very appealing indeed.

  “I suppose we can start by you telling me a little about yourself,” he said, thankfully not giving any indication that he’d somehow managed to slip inside her head and heard her wicked thoughts.

  “My name is Athena Dogwood. I am twenty-nine years of age.” Her heart began to unexpectedly pound as she stepped away from the door. “I was born and raised in Boston.” Thump, thump. “My favorite color is red.” Thump, thump. “I do not like carrots.” Thump, thump. “And I came here to marry you.”

  Chapter Three

  “I’m sorry,” Ambrose said politely. “You came here to what?”

  He knew men who lusted after their governesses, but he had never been one of them. Until the moment he stepped into the parlor and laid eyes upon Miss Athena Dogwood. Although he was quickly beginning to suspect she was not, as he had first presumed, a governess.

  Aside from the fact that she had just proposed marriage – something a governess would never do – she did not look the least bit like the women who had watched over his recalcitrant daughter in the past.

  Governesses were dowdy creatures who wore ill-fitting gowns and lace caps. They were not ethereal fairies with hair that glistened like starlight and a face that had surely been sent from the heavens above. Yet such a fairy stood before him now, her skin as pale and perfect as porcelain, her cheekbones high and arching, her mouth pink and plump.

  She had the most fascinating eyes he had ever seen. In the parlor they’d looked dark blue but here, in more natural light, he discovered they were a shade of violet and framed with long, thick, luxurious lashes.

  A man could get lost in eyes like those if he weren’t careful. Fortunately for Ambrose he was always exceedingly careful, particularly when it came to anything that involved a woman, emotions, or marriage proposals.

  “Marry you,” Athena replied. “I know how that must sound, but–”

  “It sounds bloody ridiculous.” Standing, Ambrose braced his hands on the edges of his desk and fixed the fairy governess with a narrow-eyed stare. “If this is somehow a ploy to gain employment, I must tell you it is not working.”

  “I do not need employment. Well, I might if my parents refuse to take me back, and – you know what, I think I will sit down.”

  Ambrose opened his mouth to object but before he could utter a single syllable Athena had plunked herself down in a leather chair.

  “There,” she said, smoothing a hand across her wrinkled skirt. “That’s better. I did not anticipate feeling so lightheaded. It’s probably because I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. You don’t happen to have any coffee or scones handy, do you?”

  “I will have some sent in. Miss Dogwood–”

  “Please, call me Athena.”

  Ambrose frowned. “I certainly will not.”

  “It’s all right if you break a rule.” She leaned forward and said in a conspirator’s whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”

  He did not like what that velvety whisper did to his loins.

  He did not like it at all.

  “Miss Dogwood,” he said sharply, “there seems to be some sort of misunderstanding. Are you, or are you not, here to apply for the position of governess?”

  “Not,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Ambrose was surprised at the prickling of disappointment he felt. God only knew the last thing he wanted – or needed – were the sort of complications a governess like Miss Dogwood would inevitably bring. And yet there was at least a small part of him that wondered, as he hadn’t wondered in a very, very long while, what it would be like having a woman of Miss Dogwood’s dynamic persona and beauty living under his roof.

  Chaotic, he thought silently.

  Inconvenient.

  Annoying.

  Tempting.

  His jaw clenched. When was the last time he had been tempted by anyone, let alone a tiny silver-haired fairy with lavender eyes and a mouth that promised pure sin? Devil take it, he couldn’t remember. No. That wasn’t quite true. He didn’t want to remember. Because remembering brought nothing but memories, and memories brought nothing but feelings, and feelings brought nothing but pain. Pain he never wanted to experience again, which was why he had taken great care to keep his distance from anything – or anyone – that tempted him.

  “I see,” he said, expertly masking his conflicting emotions behind a stoic façade that could have been carved from stone. “In that case, I must kindly ask you to–”

  “I came to apply for the position of wife.”

  Ambrose blinked, then scowled. “That position is not available.”

  “You’re married, then.” Athena slumped in her chair. “I was afraid you might be.”

  “I was married,” he clarified. “I am not any longer.” His dark brows veered together over the bridge of his nose. “Miss Dogwood, what are you really doing here? Have we met before?” He didn’t think so – surely he would have remembered her – but perhaps their paths had briefly crossed at a ball or a soiree. It was the only thing he could think of (short of her being addled) that explained her presumptuousness. Athena wasn’t the first young miss to try to make herself a duchess, but damned if she wasn’t the boldest.

  “No. We’ve never met.” Her tiny hand delving into the pocket of her pelisse, she retrieved an old, tattered looking letter. “But our great-grandparents did. It’s all right here. Read it.” Hopping to her feet, she waved the letter in front of his face as if it were a red cape and he a charging bull.

  Snatching the letter out of the air, Ambrose gave her a fierce glower that would have halted most grown men in their tracks. But his little fairy only smiled.

  “Go on,” she urged. “I found it in a
n old desk. Just be careful. The parchment is very thin.”

  He would have been well within his rights to rip the letter in half and have her removed from his study at once, but his curiosity got the better of him. The vellum crackled as he unfolded the letter and laid it flat upon his desk. Almost immediately he recognized the bold, slanted handwriting and he looked up at Athena, his brow mired in confusion. “Was this–”

  “Written by your great-grandfather? Yes,” she nodded.

  “How did it come to be in your possession?” He traced his thumb across the signature at the bottom of the page. He had never met his grandfather’s father, but the fourth Duke of Blackburn had been a prolific writer and Ambrose’s study was filled with his journals. He’d read every single one, some of them two and three times, which was how he knew this letter had been penned by his great-grandfather’s hand. What he did not know was how the hell it had ended up in the desk of an American. Particularly since Britain and the Thirteen Colonies would have been at war when the letter was written and any personal correspondence between the two countries would have been deemed treasonous.

  “Read it and you’ll find out.” Athena’s shadow darkened his desk as she leaned forward expectantly. Annoyed by her closeness – and his body’s unwelcome response to the delicate scent of her perfume – he snatched up the letter and moved to the window.

  Holding the thin parchment up to the light he read quickly and thoroughly, his incredulity growing with every word. When he reached the end he read it again, and then again while Athena paced back and forth on the other side of his desk, her agitation readily apparent in the way she kept stopping and then starting, a small anxious bird hopping from branch to branch, unable to remain still for more than a heartbeat.

  “Well?” she demanded at last, her patience having apparently reached its limit. “Have you read it or not? What do you think? Did you know–”

  “Be quiet,” he said, holding up his finger as he turned around.

  “But what do you–”

  “Damnit woman, be quiet and let me think!” His roar took them both by surprise. Athena recovered first. The corners of her mouth tucking into a mulish frown, she stepped back from his desk and crossed her arms.

  “There’s no need to yell,” she sniffed.

  “You’re right.” In all the years he had known Sophia he’d never raised his voice to her. Not once. That he would be provoked to do so with Athena, a woman he knew not at all, was as baffling as it was uncharacteristic. “I apologize,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s sit down and discuss this matter with civility.”

  “And scones?” she said hopefully as she resumed her seat.

  “If you wish.” He rang for a maid and waited until a platter of scones, hot from the oven, and a fresh pot of coffee had been delivered on a large silver tray.

  “Now then,” he said as soon as the door closed, “tell me again how you came upon this letter.”

  “I found it in my great-grandmother’s old writing desk.” Helping herself to a plate and a scone, Athena began to break the sugary treat into smaller pieces. “Once a year my mother likes to rearrange the entire household. She moves the drawing room furniture into the parlor and the parlor furniture into the library and the library furniture into the–”

  “I think I have the idea,” Ambrose interrupted.

  “You do that a lot, you know,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  “I do what?”

  “Cut people off when they’re speaking.”

  “I hadn’t realized.”

  “I should hope not, or else that would mean you were doing it on purpose and I am almost positive there is some type of rule against it.”

  “Rule?” His brow furrowed. “What rule?”

  “If you don’t know I can’t be the one to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About the rule.”

  “What rule?”

  Athena sighed. “This is why I avoid rules all together. They’re much too confusing.”

  “Perhaps it would be best if we returned to the matter at hand,” he said through gritted teeth. Before I lose my bloody mind. The woman wasn’t making a bit of sense, and for Ambrose – who prized reason and order above all else – trying to follow her logic was more painful than when his cousin had accidentally broken his nose during a rousing game of shuttlecock.

  “Indeed.” Athena popped a piece of scone into her mouth. “As I was saying, I discovered the letter when my mother was redecorating. I was looking for a quill, you see, and it’s a good thing I was or else I never would have opened the desk and it would have been put into storage without anyone being the wiser as to its contents. A fortunate bit of happenstance, don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose,” he said guardedly. Not knowing where Athena was going – but almost positive he wouldn’t care for the destination – Ambrose slowly sipped his coffee. “None of that explains what you are doing here, however.”

  “It’s quite simple, really.” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, drawing his gaze to her mouth. It was pretty as a peach and just as ripe, making him wonder what she would taste like. Sweet with just a hint of tartness, he imagined, and heat surged through his loins as he considered taking a bite.

  “Our great-grandparents were very much in love,” Athena continued, completely oblivious to the lascivious direction his thoughts had taken. “But they never had the opportunity to marry or have children or grow old together. Don’t you think that is terribly sad?”

  The only thing he was thinking about was grabbing a fistful of that silky blonde hair and bending her over his desk. “Indeed,” he murmured without having any idea what she’d just said. “Terribly sad.”

  “I am glad you agree.” Her breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “Which is why I think it is our responsibility to pursue what they did not. What they could not, given the war and the distance between them. Would you prefer a summer or fall wedding?”

  That got his attention. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” she frowned.

  No, I’ve been fantasizing about that delightfully plump mouth of yours wrapped around my–

  “Yes,” he lied. “I’ve heard every word.”

  “I know how it must sound. And I admit, it was somewhat impulsive of me to come here, but I–”

  “Somewhat impulsive?” he snorted, lifting a brow. “Based on an old letter you decided to leave your family, your home, your country and sail across the bloody ocean to propose marriage to a man you’ve never met and know absolutely nothing about! That is not impulsiveness, Miss Dogwood. That is sheer insanity.”

  Her lips pursed. “Well when you put it that way it does sound somewhat ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous.” She was ridiculous. This entire bloody conversation was ridiculous. And yet...

  And yet.

  “I do not remotely want or desire a wife, Miss Dogwood. But,” he said when her lips parted, “I do find myself in need of a governess. Clearly you are far to impetuous to fill that role–”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “–but it seems there is currently a shortage of governesses, which means I may have a use for you until a more suitable candidate can be found.”

  She blinked at him. “You want me to watch your children?”

  “Child,” he clarified. “There’s just one. My eleven-year-old daughter, Victoria.”

  “For how long?”

  “Only until I am able to hire a real governess. A few days, a week at the most.” Normally he would never consider entrusting Tori with a stranger, particularly an American stranger with absurd notions of marriage, but he had an inkling that Miss Athena Dogwood might be just the person his daughter needed to set her back on the straight and narrow. It had nothing to do with his only feelings or desires. Absolutely, positively not. That would be as absurd as sailing across an ocean and proposing to a duke
.

  “I trust you can read and write?”

  “In three different languages. But–”

  “And even though you have displayed an appalling lack of them thus far, I assume by your speech and dress you were taught the manners and etiquette of a lady?”

  “Unfortunately. However–”

  “Excellent,” he declared. “Then it’s decided.”

  “I really don’t think–”

  “I’ll have a room prepared for you.” Before he could change his mind, he abruptly rose and walked out of his study, leaving Athena staring after him in open-mouthed astonishment.

  Chapter Four

  Athena still wasn’t completely certain how she’d become a governess, but she wasn’t going to complain or ask any questions. Not when her new position came with a roof over her head, food to eat, and access to the duke. Because the truth of the matter (although she’d rather lop off her ear than admit it out loud) was that leaving everything and everyone she knew behind had been insane. Especially considering she’d left with only enough money to purchase passage for herself and Dana and an extra cabin for her hat boxes.

  She had been so desperate to be free – free of her parent’s disappointment, free of her peer’s judgement, free of the mundane future that awaited her – she hadn’t stopped to consider practical things like where she would sleep or what she would eat should the duke turn her away. Which, thank heavens, he hadn’t done.

  What he had done – much to the general disbelief and irritation of his butler who had returned to the study expecting to escort the impertinent American out only to lead her upstairs instead – was give Athena a private bedchamber and a generous salary that would allow her to buy whatever necessities she needed.

  Her new room was comfortably furnished with a large canopied bed, dresser, writing desk, and wash basin. It also connected directly to the nursery, and after cleaning up and changing into a light blue muslin dress (the only gown she’d brought with her aside from the worn, wrinkled traveling habit), Athena prepared herself to meet her new charge.