The Duke of Ellsworth undressed her in a single look from the desk where he sat, his long booted legs propped between piles of letters and books. Ivy fought back a wave of panic, remembering the reason she was here.
“Please, sit down,” he said in a pleasant voice, indicating the chair his steward had brought to the desk for her comfort.
But the steward had disappeared.
And the duke’s voice awakened a chain of conflicting memories in her mind.
“Oh, no,” she said after an eternal silence. “You’re the man who chased me through the garden.”
He grinned. “Yes. It’s me. I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced.” He drew his legs off the desk.
She lowered herself into the chair before her nerves could betray her. This was the time for Tudur courage. She would not lose her decorum over a man whose stark masculinity made her mouth dry. So, he had ensnared her, after all. She had walked into his trap. And she had no plans to escape—her sisters’ future was resting on her shoulders.
* * *
James stood, more as a defensive instinct than to be polite. He recognized the woman the instant she entered the room. Even though he’d had but a fleeting glimpse of her, her memory had robbed him of sleep and provided fodder for countless daydreams until he had convinced himself to let her go.
He recognized her not merely as the woman whose privacy he had violated just this week, but as the young debutante he had kissed at a masquerade ball before he went to war. She had been clutching a velvet mask in her hand. And he had searched for her the next morning at the breakfast party, wondering how many proposals she’d received and whether she would recognize him without his mask.
He never learned her name. He had never forgotten her face. He stared at her intently as she rose unexpectedly from her chair.
“Sit down, please, Miss—”
“—Fenwick. And I prefer to stand.”
Lady Ivy was her correct title. God help her, he knew about the royal mischief in her ancestry. But she showed no sign of recognizing him, which disappointed his male pride. How self-collected she was. A man wanted to know he’d made an impression.
“I’m expecting a female guest to arrive next week,” he said bluntly.
“And I am to be her governess?” she asked with a composure beneath which he detected the slightest hint of reproach.
“No,” he said wryly. “While she and I were making our arrangement, there was an emergency in my family.”
“An arrangement.” The mouth he had kissed lifted at one corner. “I understand.”
He made a face. “Good. I don’t understand it myself. My niece and nephew have been sent here until their situation at home can be remedied. It’s a most inopportune time for me.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, to hear this. I hope it isn’t a grave matter.”
“It is from my point of view, and for my brother,” he added hastily, lest she perceive him to be the selfish demon he was at heart.
She lowered her eyes. “There’s no need to explain.”
“Sooner or later one of the servants would tell you. I prefer you hear the truth from me. The children will ask. It is better we agree upon the story they are to believe.”
She frowned as if questioning the wisdom of this strategy. “But if this story is untrue and they learn the truth?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we? First things first. Let me finish.”
“Pardon me.”
He could pardon her a hundred sins for the secret they had shared in the past. “My brother, Viscount Bramhall, is in the thick of battle,” he said. “His wife abandoned her children to the care of servants for another man. The servants sent my niece and nephew here and then deserted the household, citing an immoral atmosphere and lack of wages for their actions.”
“I can’t say I blame them,” she said, then bit her lip. It was obvious that she was no more born to serve than was he. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t thought.” He walked around the desk to motion her into the chair. It was an excuse to move closer to her, to test his self-control, his memory. He recalled that her eyes were an extraordinary shade of green. But he couldn’t peer into her face without seeming a little peculiar. What if he had the wrong woman? How could he find out without seeming like a complete scoundrel?
There was no need to frighten the lady half to death. But he’d rather she knew what she was getting into now than run off in a panic later because she remembered when they had first met and how.
“I need you to know who I am,” he said, reaching for her hand.