A Man Of Many Talents by Deborah Simmons Page B

that ours was to be strictly a business arrangement. Indeed, you demanded that I avoid any situation that could be misconstrued. I might not be your social equal, my lord, but I feel I am entitled to the same courtesy.”
    Christian nearly recoiled at her biting tone. She hadn’t kicked him that hard, but he was beginning to ache. And not just in the groin area. When had he failed so miserably with a woman? Hell, when had he ever failed at all? And then, as if to add insult to injury, she spoke again.
    “Believe me, I have been prey to your sort before, the idle, rich young gentlemen of the ton who make a jest or game out of trying to ruin the governess or the companion or any other poor female struggling to make a living who chances to fall into their orbit. Perhaps I was powerless before, but I will not stand for such abhorrent behavior in my own household.”
    Christian flinched, her accusations paining him far worse than any blow. And then, as the gist of her words sank into his muddled mind, Christian stared at her in horror. Was she truly a governess?
    “You’re a governess ?” he croaked.
    “A companion,” she corrected.
    Christian gaped, dumbfounded, as he realized that he knew nothing at all about this woman who so intrigued him—and so aroused him. She was a gentlewoman, he was sure of that, but beyond her birth and her straitened circumstances, he knew little enough, and that discovery made him feel even more uncomfortable.
    “How? When? Where?” Christian asked, seized by sudden trepidation. Had he met her before? Treated her cavalierly in some long-forgotten encounter? That would explain her scorn. He shifted uneasily. How many dowdy, unassuming figures had he greeted in passing over the years without a thought to their difficult existence?
    In response, his hostess drew herself up stiffly. “After the death of my parents, I took a position with Lady Holland, whom I served until just recently, when I learned of my inheritance.”
    Lady Holland? Christian couldn’t place the name, so it was with some measure of relief that he dismissed the possibility of a previous meeting with Miss Parkinson. He could not so easily dismiss his new knowledge of her life, however. Although Christian initially had believed her to be a dependent, the confirmation disturbed him, as did the discovery of her vulnerability. It was one thing to imagine the imperious Governess slapping the wrists of her young charges, quite another to picture her fending off the importunities of full-grown males.
    The idea enraged Christian, and the blood that had been heating his cheeks began to pump through his body, fast and furious. “Who? Who dared touch you?”
    “It was nothing, I assure you, and that is how I view it,” she answered, dismissing him as easily as she had his kiss.
    “Who? Name them, and I shall see they never bother another defenseless female!” Christian said, seized by a sudden wild need for revenge upon the nameless, faceless males who had dared touch this woman. He took a step forward, only to note the soft tread of her slippers as she moved up the stair into the blackness.
    For a long moment Christian thought she wasn’t going to answer him, and then it came to him, that voice, positively dripping with contempt, floating from somewhere above him. “Why, Lord Moreland, the most recent miscreant was… you!” Then he heard her continue lightly up the steps, obviously unafraid of the darkness.
    Or of him.

 
     
     
     
    5
     
     
    C hristian slept late, having spent an unusually restless night. He never wasted a lot of time pondering things, especially his actions. He usually did what he liked within reason, while adhering to the prescribed codes of honor and civility that were his birthright. But something had gone wrong last night, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.
    It was not the remnants of the kiss, for that lingered beneath the bitterness like a sip of heaven. In fact, despite his best efforts,