The Governess Affair

Still, by the time she’d bested him—for the third time!—with that snipe about fates worse than death, he’d had an enormous grin on his face. It hadn’t faded, not through the hours that passed, not even though he’d needed to stay long past his usual time to finish his work.
    He came out from the mews, turning onto the street, tapping his walking stick against the ground in a happy rhythm. And then he stopped.
    Miss Barton was still sitting on the bench.
    He’d not seen her in the dark from his window. He’d assumed she was gone. If he’d known she was still present… No. He wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he’d known she was waiting in the dark where any blackguard might prey upon her. He crossed the street slowly.
    “Miss Barton?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. “What are you still doing here?”
    She stood at his approach. Her face was grim. “What do you think? I’m waiting to speak to you.”
    “Me?” He took another step toward her. “Why?”
    He couldn’t see her expression. The street lamp was ten feet behind him, casting her face into shadow. She started toward him, and his latent awareness of her roared to life. She was a good bit shorter than he was. The fabric of her skirts rustled in the darkness. Her strides were sure and confident; her kiss would be as certain. His skin prickled in anticipation as she came up to him, within touching distance.
    Before he had a chance to think, she made a fist and punched him in the jaw.
    He caught her hand before she could do it again. “Never hit a man with a closed fist,” he told her.
    He could feel her pulse.
    “Why? Because it gives you an excuse to manhandle me?”
    He let go. “Slap his face instead.”
    “Ha.”
    “It will make him take you less seriously, and then he won’t be expecting it when you knee him in the groin.”
    She let out a surprised burst of laughter at that.
    “That’s better,” Hugo heard himself say. “I spent my day flirting with a beautiful, maddening woman,” he told her. “How was yours?”
    She snorted. “I spent mine receiving cowardly threats of violence,” she tossed back. “Other than that, it was just lovely.”
    Hugo’s bright, pleasant mood grew a shade darker. “Did you, then.”
    “Yes,” she said passionately. “And as soon as he lets down his guard, I’m going to smack some sense into the fellow who threatened me.”
    “Was I as bad as all that, then?” Was he apologizing to her for doing his work? No. Of course he wasn’t. That would be ludicrous.
    She set her hands on her hips. “You convinced my sister’s landlord to toss her out on her ear with almost no notice. We must vacate in two days. Two days .”
    “Have you nowhere else to go?”
    “You don’t understand. Were it just me, this would pose no difficulty at all. But my sister…she doesn’t leave her rooms, not unless she has to. When she met me at an inn a few weeks ago, she almost fainted in the crowds. It will kill her to leave.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said before he could think better of it.
    Apparently, he was apologizing. Apparently, he even meant it.
    “You should be.”
    To his horror, he heard a faint sniff. That quiet suggestion of tears was quite possibly the worst thing she could have done.
    He stepped closer to her. “You’re not letting me get you down, are you? I have it on the best of authority that the Wolf of Clermont is all shoulders, no neck. He doesn’t deserve an inch of your sentiment.”
    “Make up your mind,” she snapped. “Either threaten me with bodily harm or be kind to me. Don’t do both. It’s bewildering.”
    “Don’t exaggerate. I threatened to destroy your livelihood. But I don’t threaten women with physical violence.”
    “Oh?” she demanded. “How do you explain your last message, then?”
    It took Hugo a moment to recall what he’d said. Those impulsive two words—he’d not even known what he meant by them.
    “You cannot tell me it was a serious proposal of marriage,” she said. “It was intended to intimidate. And I will not be intimidated.”
    Hugo swallowed. “Marriage—to anyone—has never entered my mind. I am not the sort of man who is destined for matrimonial bliss. I have too much I wish to do with my life to saddle myself with the expense of a wife and children. Take those words as they were intended—as my frankest expression of admiration for a worthy opponent.”
    “You’re a clever fellow,” she retorted.