The Governess Affair

the problem if he didn’t know what he was facing, and if she worked herself up into a fear of him, he might never learn the truth—not until he saw it on the front page of a newspaper.
    Still, he didn’t like lying. Not even by implication.
    “Whatever you are up to, Miss Barton,” he whispered, “you will not cost me my five hundred pounds. I have worked too hard for it.”
    Fifty yards on the other side of the pane of glass, she swung her head, startling him with the sudden movement. He stepped back—but she was only watching a bird that had landed on the ground in front of her.
    With a sigh, Hugo pushed the rest of his papers aside. No sense wasting any more time wondering, when he could be finding out.
    He exited the house via the servants’ door, tromped back through the mews, and then back ’round to the street. Miss Barton was still sitting there when he crossed into the square. She gave him a smile, this one a little warmer than the one he’d received yesterday.
    There was something about her that drew his eye.
    “Mr. Marshall,” she said. “I did say you wouldn’t be successful in your quest for gossip, did I not?”
    “You wound me.” He didn’t smile, and her own expression fluttered uncertainly. “You assume that I only have interest in gossip, when in fact, I might just be searching out your company for the sheer pleasure of it.”
    She thought this over, tilting her head to one side. Then: “I have now considered that possibility. I reject it. Come, Mr. Marshall. Tell me you didn’t come out here hoping for some sordid story.”
    “So you admit the story is sordid.”
    She wagged her finger at him. “I am guessing as to your own thoughts. There’s no need to prevaricate. I know what people are saying about me. Secretly, you’re judging me, and you’ve already found me wanting. You’re all saying that I’m no better than I should be.”
    Hugo shrugged. “I’ve never understood that saying—no better than you should be. Why would anyone want to be better than required? I only behave when it counts; I wouldn’t begrudge you similar conduct.”
    She stared at him a moment.
    He was misleading her enough as it is. He had no intention of outright lying to her. “You don’t believe me,” he said. “I can’t help it—it’s my face. It makes everyone think that I’m quite friendly, when anyone who knows better will warn you off. I’m entirely ruthless. Quite without morals.”
    The smile she gave him was patronizing. “Is that so? Well. I’m sure you’re a very, very bad man. I’m so scared.”
    Hugo looked upward. “Drat.”
    “Drat?” She hid a smile. “Surely a man as awful as you could conjure up a ‘damn’ in mixed company.”
    “I don’t swear,” he explained. “Not in any company.”
    “I see. You are bad.”
    He glanced at the sky in exasperation. “I am aware that this fact in isolation hardly proves my point. Which is this: If you wish to speak to me in confidence, if you wish to tell your tale without fear of judgment, I’m your man. Nobody would dare to gossip with me.”
    She stared at him. “You’re very convincing,” she said, in a tone that implied she believed anything but. “But you are…what, an accountant? Someone who keeps the household books?”
    He nearly choked. “You could say that,” he finally said. “I suppose I make sure the books balance at the end of the day.”
    She gave him a patronizing nod of the head. “All that ruthlessness, and only the books to balance. Poor Mr. Marshall.” She smiled at him. “I consider myself a good judge of character. And you, sir, are safe.”
    Safe.
    It had been so long since someone hadn’t taken him seriously that he’d forgotten what it was like. But here she was, dismissing him.
    He sat gingerly on the edge of her bench.
    “Maybe I am safe,” he said. “I don’t swear. I don’t drink spirits, either.” He took a deep breath. “You’re sitting here for a reason, though, Miss Barton, and I doubt it’s for your health. Is it so wrong of me to want to help?”
    All the latent humor bled from her face. “Help,” she repeated blankly. “You want to help .”
    “This is no triviality before you. A lady does not risk the wrath of a duke without reason. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
    “Why not?” she asked. “If you’re so ruthless.”
    He smiled in spite of himself. “ Ruthless doesn’t mean that I survey the available options and gleefully choose the cruelest