‘Go on, Helen,’ Frederica said with a wave of her hand. ‘Your snake deserves somewhere warmer...like Wick’s bed.’
‘If I find that blasted snake in my bed, I’ll throw it in the fire,’ he said, massaging the back of his neck. His patience was long gone.
Helen covered her mouth with her hand. ‘You wouldn’t!’
‘I would.’
Becca placed a hand on Helen’s arm, near the snake’s tail. ‘He won’t. Wick wouldn’t harm a fly. Let alone a lovely creature like Theodosia.’
Helen gave her brother a withering stare and left the room with a sniff.
The door opened again shortly after, and it wasn’t his sister, but the pretty governess. The cream dress she wore was clean, but it seemed to have been made for another woman. It was six inches too short and showed her lovely ankles. The bodice seemed to hang on her slim frame, showing the gentle swell of flesh at the top of her chest. He felt his body tighten again.
The governess’s wild curls had been mostly tamed into a bun at the back of her head, but a few tendrils escaped from it. Both of his hands itched to touch her hair, to pull out the pins that contained it. He had to resist the animal attraction that he felt for her. It was improper. Unseemly. And dashed inconvenient.
Shaking his head to clear it, he pointed to his sister. ‘Frederica, apologise to the governess.’
His sister blinked, and then glanced from the young woman to Wick and back again. It wasn’t like Frederica to be silent on any occasion. Her mouth hung open.
‘Wick,’ Becca said, tugging on the sleeve of his coat. ‘You’ve brought home the wrong governess.’
His mind had difficulty processing her words. He pointed stupidly at the redheaded young woman. ‘This isn’t Miss Young?’
The not-governess’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink. ‘I am not.’
‘She is not,’ his sisters said, at the same time as the unknown lady.
Wick gulped. Could this day get any worse? ‘Then who the devilareyou?’
The young woman shook her head and a few more red curls escaped. His hands twitched.
‘I am afraid I cannot tell you,’ she said.
Wick groaned and brought a fist to his forehead. ‘There is no need to play coy, miss. Tell us your name and we will see that you are taken home safely.’
Her green eyes watched him mournfully. ‘I would tell you my name if I could...only I can’t. Because I do not wish to go home.’
The young woman spoke and acted like a lady, but why had she been all alone on the road? Could she have run away from home? Did she live in a vicarage? A manor? His teeth clenched. The last thing he needed was another wild young woman on his hands. He already had three. He had no intention of taking on more responsibility.
Frederica clapped her hands together. ‘Ooh! A lady travelling incognito. Iknewcoming home from school would not be dull.’
‘It will be dull as soon as we return this young woman to her home,’ Wick threatened. ‘Now, no more games, miss. What is your name? And where is your home?’
She looked at him with luminous green eyes. They were filled with unshed tears. ‘Please, sir. I cannot tell you.’
He raked his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to rein in his impatience and failing. ‘Cannot or will not, miss?’
The young woman pulled her shawl up around her shoulders. It appeared to very fine—like something his mother would have worn. Perhaps she wasn’t from the middle class, but the upper one. But if that were the case surely he would know of her family?
She shook her head resolutely, but her chin quivered. ‘I have worked too hard to escape. I will not go back home. I should be grateful to spend the night here, but I will not tell you my name.’
Wick sighed. A string of the foulest curses went through his mind. He had mistaken a runaway for his governess. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up in hot water. He needed to find out who she was and return her home as quickly as possible. In the meantime, Mrs May would have to be chaperone. He didn’t want to put himself in a compromising position and be forced to marry her if she was indeed a lady.
‘Does she look like anyone you know?’ Becca asked her sister, in a loud whisper that everyone in the room could hear.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Frederica said loudly, not even attempting to be discreet. She turned back to look at the not-governess. ‘Your hair is entirely gorgeous, and I am sure that if I had ever seen this particular shade before I would remember. I’m Frederica, by the way. If you want to be formal and tedious my name is Lady Frederica Stringham. And this is Lady Rebecca. But we all call her Becca.’
The young woman bowed her head. She certainly had good manners, whatever her real name and situation. ‘It is an honour to make your acquaintance.’