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Lady Christine Claybourne isn’t the shy governess she is pretending to be. She has adopted the disguise to escape an arranged marriage, but it only takes a moment for roguish William Preston, Lord Kingston, to see through her ploy...and reveal himself as her jilted fiance’s brother.
Christine is desperate to keep her identity secret…enough to make William a wickedly wanton offer: her body in exchange for the rake’s silence.
The Lady’s Bargain
Leslie Dicken
Contents
The Lady’s Bargain
Posing as a governess should have been a simple matter, but when Lady Christine Claybourne altered her name and appearance to match her new station, she hadn’t counted on the childish whims of Miss Ellie Preston. Fingers clamped tightly to the rough bark of the tree she currently found herself stuck in, Christine closed her eyes and listened to the incessant pounding of her heart.
“I’ll be back, Miss Archer,” called the mischievous voice from below. “Don’t go off!”
Humor from a ten-year-old was not what Christine needed right now. Especially since that ten-year-old was responsible for her present predicament.
She sucked in a deep, courageous breath and slit her eyes open, forcing herself to look at the ground below. It didn’t seem that far as she was climbing, or maybe it was just the motivation to reach her pupil who claimed being stuck. When, in fact, Miss Ellie Preston could easily climb up and down this large, ancient oak.
“Help is here!” the girl yelled.
Her stomach already in knots, Christine slowly took a full glimpse of the figures at the bottom of the tree. Next to her rotten pupil was a man with a ladder. He leaned it against the trunk, and Christine’s heart sank when the top rung came to a rest several feet short of her perch. The man said something to Ellie. She nodded and ran off while the man climbed not the ladder but the tree.
He scaled the oak without effort. His lean, muscular legs and powerful arms pushed off the trunk and branches with masculine ease, stirring a long forgotten tickle in her belly. His yellow curls caught the sunlight and shimmered with golden highlights. Christine assumed he was tall, certainly more than her, for he reached branches without any of the stretching she had to do.
Finally, just before reaching her, he stopped and looked up. Her breath caught at the hard angles of his face. Pale gray eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, rested above high cheekbones. A slight dimple in his chin softened a strong jaw.
“Good afternoon.” A deep voice shimmered over the words, quickening her pulse. “You must be Ellie’s new governess.”
Dressed casually, this man might have been a gardener or someone from the village. But something in his demeanor, his speech, led her to believe he was of a much higher station. Someone who could prove most dangerous to her.
“How do you know that?”
He scratched his chin. “Well, let’s see you are the fourth one in two years. And every one of them has left after she sent them up this tree.”
Christine groaned. It wasn’t bad enough that she was stuck way up in this tree, but that she had been as gullible as the others before her. Well, she wouldn’t dare leave because of this trick.
The curl of his lips hinted at a devilish rake. “Mind if I join you?”
Before she could answer, he swung himself up on her branch and sat, causing it to bounce with his weight. Ice washed through her blood. Instinctively she clutched his leg.
A large, warm hand settled over hers. Sparkles tingled up her arm. What was the matter with her? It had been years since a man affected her this way.
“It won’t break. I promise you.”
She swallowed both her fear and her wantonness and looked from their hands to his face. “Haven’t you come to collect me?”
He nodded.
“Why…why are you sitting here with me then?”
“Getting to know you.” His eyes danced.
“My name is Miss Archer. I am the governess for Miss Ellen Preston, third daughter of the Earl of Remington.” She sighed. “Now may we get down?”
He ignored her question. “Have you a first name, Miss Archer?”
Even a recluse like her knew the rules of society. He was either trying to be rude or he was flirting with her. “I have,” she answered.
“Is that your name? I have? It sounds Scandinavian or maybe German.”
She wanted to be annoyed at him, teasing her while she was frightened for her life. But his charming grin and sparkling eyes disarmed her. “Victoria,” she said the name she’d given herself six weeks ago.
“Our queen.” Skepticism colored the words.
A tremor of concern flickered in her chest. “Yes. And my name. Victoria Archer. Are you satisfied? Now can we get down?”
“You don’t look at all like Queen Victoria.” His gaze took a slow sweep of her, dragging down her loose fitting bodice and back up again. “No. Victoria doesn’t suit you.”
Her body burned at his glances. Heat gathered between his legs. Oh, Lord, she’d denied herself for too long. She sucked in her breath, but it only made her aware of his heady masculine scent.
“I−I believe you should be referring to me as Miss Archer. My Christian name is quite irrelevant.”
Those gray eyes of his stared at her, then suddenly shifted away. He appeared to struggle with himself, debating whether or not to say something. But the smile returned to his face and he said, “I’ve always liked to break the rules.”
Christine swallowed, somewhat unnerved by his admission. She wanted to ask who he was, what his name was, why he didn’t introduce himself. But she couldn’t find the right words.
A breeze gusted up the branches, rustling the leaves and lifting his hair. An urge bubbled inside her to brush her fingertips along the hard planes of his face, down the skin of his strong forearms. Something about him mesmerized her, captivated her. He could be her downfall if she wasn’t careful.
“Why aren’t we getting down?” she asked, changing the subject.
“See that ladder?” He pointed to it. “I need two men to come and hold it still.”
Christine gripped the tree tightly. “How are we going to get from here to the ladder?”
“I’ll carry you.”
“Carry me?” Her heart resumed its frantic shuddering. But she now wondered if it were from being so close to him rather than fear. “How?”
He lifted one shoulder, his sly grin returning. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder, of course.”
“Shoulder?” she echoed. She licked her lips and glanced down at the grass. The distance made her gasp. It was so far to drop. And yet, being so close to his body, held in his power…
She’d been a recluse far too long.
Thick fingers tipped her chin toward him. A shiver spread through her breasts, making them ache. “Is it the height or the fall that frightens you?”
“Both,” she answered. “What frightens you?”
He raised his eyebrows.