Page 19 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Her heart quivered. She wasn’t a lady. She was his governess. They were not equals, and never would be. She may as well be crying for the moon.
Chapter 10
That evening, Ian sipped a brandy in his study, gazing at the flickering flames of the fire, as the wind howled outside. He shifted in the comfortable upholstered armchair, feeling unbearably restless, as if he couldn’t stand being in his own skin, and needed to jump out of it.
It is Miss Bomind’s fault, marching in here with her complaints. Who the deuce does she think she is? How dare she challenge my decision making regarding my own daughter?
He put down the brandy, getting up, and leaving the room. He wandered down the long hallway, not even sure where he was heading. It was cold in the hallway—winter had arrived, with a vengeance, and aside from the rooms where fires were lit, it was always freezing in the house. It was so large.
It is too large. There is only me and Lenore rattling around it, along with all the servants, of course. But they are only here to serve us. It isn’t their home. It seems ridiculous having an army of servants to tend one man and a child.
His heart contorted. Thinking about the servants inevitably led to thoughts of the governess again. He bristled. She had gotten beneath his skin, in more ways than one. On theone hand, she infuriated him, but on the other hand, he was feeling more alive than he had in a very long time. As if he were slowly thawing after being on ice.
It doesn’t matter how she makes you feel. She is a governess, not a lady. And you can never bridge that gap. Besides, you don’t want to. You never want to be so close to a woman again. Not after what happened to Mary.
He stopped, hesitating, outside the library, rubbing his neck. Perhaps a book would settle him. He could read until he felt tired. It might banish the disturbing thoughts and feelings.
He walked into the room, then stopped, his heart pounding. Miss Bomind was there, standing on a footstool, reaching for a book. She was holding a candle in her hand. The flame flickered, casting a small pool of light onto her.
He hesitated, his heart thumping harder. She hadn’t seen him yet—he could turn around and walk out of the room. It was what he should do. He had resolved to avoid her as much as possible.
But then, almost against his will, he kept walking toward her, making sure that his footsteps were loud enough to be heard. He didn’t want to startle her so badly she fell off the stool.
She turned, seeing him. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Carefully, she got off the stool, holding the candle high.He saw now she held a book in the other hand. She placed the candle on a table, then turned back to him.
“Miss Bomind,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping over her. “This is unexpected.”
“Your Grace.” She swept into a curtsy, looking uncertain. More uncertain than he had ever seen her look before. “I… I do apologize for being here so late.” She held up the book in her hand. “I was trying to find some books to aid my teaching for tomorrow’s lessons with Lady Lenore.”
“I see,” he replied, taking a step closer. He held out his hand. “May I look at the book?”
She looked startled, but complied, handing him the book. He looked at the title, frowning. It was called A New Way forward with Arithmetic, by a professor on the subject, who was quite controversial. He actually had no idea how the book had managed to make its way onto a shelf in his library.
“I have heard of this book before,” said Miss Bomind, smiling hesitantly. “Apparently, it offers a very clear and concise way to teach arithmetic that children respond to very well.” She paused, gazing at him. “I thought it worth looking at, as I have discerned that Lady Lenore is not fond of the subject…”
“Are you insinuating that my daughter has no aptitude for numbers?” He looked up from his perusal of the book, staring at her sharply. “Are you saying that she is a dunce, Miss Bomind?”
“I am not saying any such thing,” she retorted, her eyes glittering. “I am merely saying that she lacks confidence with it, which is quite common.” She frowned. “Why would you object to me using a different method to how the subject is usually taught if it reaps results?”
“Because I have heard of this fellow,” he replied, in a crisp voice, handing the book back to her. “His method is unconventional. Most of the leading minds on the subject disapprove of his approach. I have no idea how this book is in this library. I certainly did not approve its purchase.”
She looked down at the book, then back at him, her frown deepening. “Do you always try to oversee each and every book purchase for this library?”
He was momentarily taken aback. “Of course,” he replied eventually. “It is my library, Miss Bomind. Why would I want books that I have no interest in reading on the shelves? Books that I do not approve of?”
“Because it is good to read outside of your sphere of comfort, Your Grace,” she replied, her eyes snapping again. “I believe that it keeps one open minded. At the very least, you will become better acquainted with the theories that are presented,so you can argue against them when needed.” She paused. “Or they could persuade you to change your mind on the subject entirely.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Well said, Miss Bomind. You should have been a barrister. Do you always argue your case so eloquently?”
Her eyes widened. “I do like spirited debates,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “But alas, the law of the land will never allow me to go into such a profession, Your Grace. Even if I was a man and had the means to study at university, which I do not.”
His eyes flickered over her, taking in her slender figure in a plain, yet elegant, gray dress, the swan like sweep of her neck, the glossy chestnut hair piled high upon her head, with small braids interwoven in the bun. The new hairstyle he had admired today, which had made her uncomfortable.
“Clearly, you are not a man,” he said, in a low, husky voice, his eyes lingering on her. “And looking at you now, I am very grateful for that.”
Her jaw dropped and her color deepened. She took a step back, colliding with the footstool behind her, the book slipping from her hand and landing in a dull thud on the floor.
They both reached for it at the same time, colliding with each other. She was so startled by the contact that she leaptback, like a scalded cat, hitting the footstool again and losing her balance.
