with anxious ambition to soothe his suffering. ‘Nathaniel was very happy in my care. He took to Biscuit right away and the two would play for hours in the garden when he finished his letters and numbers.’
Mr Reese’s brows rose as if surprised.
‘Does he not ordinarily enjoy dogs?’
‘No, not that. Your pug.’ He laughed a low chuckle that skittered through her. ‘The name suits.’ Then he flashed a grin and she couldn’t help notice the dimple in his right cheek. Nate had a smaller mark, a precursor of the lethal weapon his appeal would wield one day. In kind, it seemed Mr Reese had no idea of the power in that charming dimple. His smile proved an armament of great impact. Were he to turn that flirtatious grin on any available female, all defences would crumble in less than an instant. Hers certainly did.
She stared at his face a moment longer, her intent focus on his mouth, her throat gone dry. This was no child in front of her, this was a man. A very handsome man with silver-grey eyes, obsidian hair, and a fading smile which reminded by way of dimple he had one purpose in life: to find his son. Botheration, she needed to get her imagination under control before she fantasized all sorts of inappropriate suggestions that had nothing to do with the singular reason Mr Reese had sought her out in the first place.
‘Viscount Dursley paid me in cash and left no address. Unfortunately, that’s all I know.’ Wishing she could supply more and ease his worry, she touched her hand to his sleeve, surprised at the strength beneath the cloth, all strong, hard muscle, and forced herself to draw back, though an equalled desire insisted she pull forward instead. ‘I’m happy to have reassured you although I feel at a loss in furthering your pursuit of Nathaniel. Is there another way I can help?’ There must be something she could do. She’d truly enjoyed the short time she’d cared for Nate. How wretched the circumstance now she’d learned the truth. She’d only just met Mr Reese but his predicament warranted she assist in his search in any manner possible.
He remained quiet a beat too long. Did he consider her offer with great intent or become lost in a remembrance of his precious son? Where had his mind darted? Another beat and his eyes caught hers with a keen interest she found mesmerizing, as if he worked to decipher her, unlock her resistance and steal the contents of her thoughts. When at last he spoke, his words shocked her to the core.
‘Yes, thank you, I accept your gracious offer. We’ll leave for London first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘London.’ She gasped, the two syllables strangling her throat. ‘I can’t go to London.’ Outrage, surprise, panic; all three rose in protestation to jade her objection in high pitch as she jumped from her chair, nearly upsetting the tea service in the process.
‘Wait, please, Miss Smith.’ His voice sounded a distant call amidst the ambient conversations at the other tables.
He rose as well but it was too late. Her heart hammered faster than her heels tapped retreat on the wooden floor, a hollow, jarring sound that echoed in her pulse and labelled her a coward. She couldn’t go to London. She’d run from London. Fled the horrid circumstances created by her foolish choices and naïve stupidity. No, London was out of the question and she was out the door.
She knew he would follow her, his cause more precious than hers, more desperate too. Mr Reese sought to find his child and, as it should be, would not take her refusal without a fight. Still, a shade of sadness accompanied the acknowledgement because she would not return to London. She couldn’t. Not ever.
‘Wait.’ Luke managed to catch Miss Smith with little effort, his stride eating up the pavement and falling into pace beside her before he lost breath. ‘Please allow me to explain.’
‘There’s no need.’ She didn’t look at him. Gone was the congenial kindness and soft-spoken sincerity witnessed at the teahouse. Miss Smith appeared as scared as a hunted rabbit, dashing glances to the roadway and beyond to the horizon, her blue eyes alight with a wild gleam. From what did she run? Her hurried escape provided all the evidence needed to realize she feared something, some scandal or danger. Frightened to a degree that she would change her name and avoid a city of thousands.
He continued his pursuit though the puzzling reaction wouldn’t release his curiosity. He hardly knew the woman, yet some part of him worried for her predicament. She’d cared for Nate and shown kindness to his son. From what she’d mentioned, Nate enjoyed the time spent in her charge. At the least he owed her a little latitude in her unexpected reaction.
She scurried up the slates in front of her cottage, her hand at work inside her reticule for the key. He couldn’t allow her to enter without hearing him out. He needed to change her mind. He had to. It was his only hope. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, forcing it away. ‘Miss Smith, if you’ll listen a moment about London.’
Two paces from the front door she whirled in his direction, an immediate objection on her lips, but the motion, combined with her harried steps, caused the key to fall straight into the flowerbed beside the path. He leapt to recover it first, only meaning to hold it hostage long enough to gain her attention, but the lady bent twice as quickly and snatched the key along with a wayward flower stem. She inserted the key into the lock before he could stop her, because, aside from words, what other means did he have? He wouldn’t lay a hand on her person and dare frightening her further.
‘Miss Smith.’ He watched in dejected frustration as the door opened. ‘Georgina, please!’
‘No. I said no.’ She fairly shouted her refusal and pushed the door open, but in a blur of beige Biscuit shot across the threshold, the pug’s pernicious snarls startling Miss Smith as much as he. Who would expect such vigilant protection from the pint-sized pup?
‘Oh.’ She gasped. With less than a heartbeat’s length to react, she missed the opportunity to capture her pet and Biscuit bulleted forward at her valiant defence. Rocketing past her skirts, the dog emitted a ferocious growl and latched onto Reese’s trousers.
The scene might have appeared comical if so much weren’t at stake. Miss Smith struggled to free Biscuit from his offensive attack, her skirts an encumbrance as she crouched to reclaim the dog, but too soon she lost footing, her boot heel caught on the uneven edge of a broken slate. Already in an awkward position, she pitched towards the daisies, losing hold of the dog in the process. Luke shot out a hand to steady her, latching on to her arm to prevent the fall, but it proved no use. Caught in the vertiginous melee, Miss Smith teetered wildly, grasping his extended arm with her ungloved hands to hold tight.
With lightning reactions, Luke shook off Biscuit and twisted his body to absorb the impact as they fell to the ground into the flowerbed like two newly planted bulbs, him on his back and Miss Smith, Georgina, warm, wonderful Georgina, sprawled atop his chest.
Her exclamation of surprise mingled with his groan upon impact. Biscuit merely continued his incessant barking.
Clubs, spades, diamonds and hearts.
Georgina’s luscious curves blanketed his increasing hardness in a landing so pleasurable he might have found heaven. Her enticing breasts, lush and wonderful, pressed against his chest in curvy warmth and delicious invitation. The sensual conclusion, that she eschewed a corset, lit a hot flame of lust he could not deny. He knew firsthand every intimate item in a woman’s wardrobe and never had heat permeated through his shirt like in this moment, the lovely Miss Smith intimately atop him. Perhaps the proper governess was not so proper after all.
Their legs tangled in fabric and daisies, urging him to pay attention to sensation. How long had he gone without a woman? Life had taken a different path but he never denied himself company. His blood stirred. He hadn’t experienced any emotion beyond loss in so long he almost didn’t recognize it, but there it was, desire. With that identification, the sudden suggestion of a kiss rose to the forefront, demanding attention no matter how inappropriate. He eased his head from the flowers, daring a better view.
She still hadn’t raised her