The young woman looked down at her feet. Her shoulders were tight. Presumably with embarrassment.
‘There is no need to be missish,’ he said, a little of his frustration coming out in his tone. ‘It’s already dusk and you don’t want to be alone on the road.’
‘Where are you going to take me?’
‘Hampford Castle, of course.’
‘But I don’t want to go there.’
Wick huffed, gritting his teeth. ‘It’s too late to go anywhere else. And I promise that my sisters will be on their best behaviour. We can discuss where you want to go tomorrow. I will send you anywhere you wish to go in a blasted carriage.’
If he couldn’t convince her to stay. At least until he could find a suitable replacement. It was clear that this shy miss was too young, too pretty and too sweet to be anyone’s governess. Certainly not wild hellions like his sisters.
He offered his hand again and this time she took it. Wick pulled her up beside him. They were too close, their bodies lined up next to each other. Her wild curls were in his face and she smelled of vanilla. It was his favourite scent. Breathing her in once more, Wick resolved to be as impersonal as possible. He scooted over on the seat so that they were no longer touching and urged the horse into a brisk trot. He forced himself not to think of her lovely shape, or of the fact that she was sitting next to him.
The young woman said not a word. Which was good—for Wick had no idea how to speak to a governess. Particularly a recalcitrant one who was attracting him against his will.
His mouth was dry when they finally reached the north gate. The courtyard was full of lanterns and torches. He drove to where a groom stood waiting to take care of the curricle and horse.
‘Time to get down, miss,’ he said, jumping out of the vehicle.
Without waiting for her to respond, he lifted her down. Her soft form rubbed against him and he felt another wave of desire for the woman. He released his hold on her waist as if she was a hot potato, burning his hand. The heir to a dukedom did not court a governess, and Wick had no intention of paying his addresses to any woman. No matter her rank. He was perfectly happy to remain a bachelor and he already had enough responsibilities.
Wick strode towards the house.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the young woman was still standing where he had put her. ‘Why aren’t you coming?’
She pointed at herself with her thumb. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you,’ he said impatiently, beckoning her with his hand. ‘Come. I’ll put you in the capable hands of the housekeeper and you can get dressed for dinner. I’m dashed thirsty and starving.’
The governess took a few shaky steps towards him. ‘I am to eat with you?’
‘And my sisters, of course,’ he said, taking off his hat and running his hand through his sweaty hair. ‘Unless you’d prefer to eat alone? Then a tray will be sent to your room.’
‘I should like to eat with your sisters,’ she said, taking the last few steps until she was at his side.
Blast it! Did a marquess offer his arm to a governess? He was too tired to care. He squashed his hat back on his head and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the house where Mrs May, the housekeeper, stood waiting. She was a thin, middle-aged woman, with dark hair and eyes, a hooked nose, and a smile that could melt butter. Except she wasn’t smiling now and her gaze was dull and flat.
‘Please show her to the governess’s room and give her any assistance she needs to dress for dinner,’ Wick said, dropping the young woman’s hand. He’d liked holding it all too well. ‘I should like to eat dinner in no more than a half an hour. Please ensure that my sisters join me.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Mrs May said with a sharp curtsy.
Wick felt a pain in the back of his throat. He shouldn’t have been so curt with the housekeeper. She’d been his ally since he was a boy in small coats.
Striding to his father’s study, he pulled out the best whisky and poured himself a glass, knocking it back with one large swallow. How quickly he’d lost control of his sisters. He dared not leave them unattended again. The alcohol burned out the dryness and pain in his throat. He wanted a second glass, but he didn’t dare before dinner and on an empty stomach. He couldn’t afford to be incapacitated with his sisters at home. Who knew what trouble they would concoct?
Wick found his valet in his room, already laying out his dinner clothes. He was only too happy to change out of his dusty riding coat. Giving himself a sponge bath, he wiped away the grime of his trip from London and his second outing to find the governess. His valet handed him his clothes, lastly his dark green double-breasted tailcoat of superfine with gilt brass buttons. Then he arranged his hair in the style of the Brutus and Wick went down to the breakfast room.
The family rarely used the formal dining room for dinner, unless they had company. It could hold over fifty people. It was also farther from the kitchens, which caused the food to be a bit cold. He passed the large painting of Charles II on a horse that took up an entire wall. The dead King with his long black locks leered down at him and did nothing to improve Wick’s mood.
His sisters entered the room together. They all looked cleaner and in the best of spirits. There was no mud to be found on their faces or skirts, but Helen’s four-foot-long pet African snake was draped around her neck and shoulders like a wrap.
‘No reptiles at the table,’ he snapped.
‘No one is here but us,’ Helen protested, patting her snake as most people might stroke a dog. ‘Besides, Theodosia is family.’
Wick would be boiled in his own pudding before he ate his supper with a snake named Theodosia. ‘Your governess is back and I don’t want you to scare her away again with your reptile friends.’