“Chemistry, for instance?”
“For those with an interest, I suppose.”
Dominic ran a finger along the shelf, picking up dust and staring at it with a lazy grin. “Some of us, Henrietta, are more interested in chemistry than others.” His gaze met hers, and the mellow lights of the candles caught the sparkle in his eyes.
Swallowing, she clutched the book to herself.
“It is quite a bit of dust,” he murmured.
“More than what is acceptable.” She had noticed other problems as well, but it was not her place to mention them. With great purpose, she pressed her lips together to avoid speaking out of turn. “If that will be all, I shall go up to my room now.”
He turned to her, brow furrowed. “All is to your liking?”
Words jammed against the roof of her mouth. She squeezed the book, pressing her fingers into it as though she could halt the flood of opinion fighting to be freed. “My room is comfortable. Good night, my lord.”
He nodded, his eyes watchful, and she felt his gaze boring into her back as she skirted out of the room.
* * *
Dominic shoved the papers on his desk to the side. The piles seemed to grow every day and so did his frustration. He jammed his fingers through his hair, groaning. Sunlight streamed across the desk that used to be his brother’s.
Edmund had most likely kept it much neater.
He plucked the note that had been delivered this morning, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. In a burst of temper, he swept his arm across the surface of the desk, scattering everything to the floor. Inventories and bills and documents to be signed.
Now the desk gleamed at him, dust gathered in the spots where the papers had not sat. He didn’t want an earldom or epilepsy. He wanted to be in London. Lounging at White’s with his friends or sitting at Ascot to marvel at the horses primed for racing. Right now, he could use a few pugilistic bouts to release the tension building within.
But no. He was stuck in the country. Getting blackmailed.
How it rankled to be threatened with losing Louise. At least she was thriving beneath Henrietta’s tutelage. He would continue to resist both Barbara and his blackmailers until he could find a cure.
Getting up, he stalked out of his office. He prowled the house until he spotted his niece and Henrietta from the huge window in the breakfast nook. They were on the lawn. Playing some sort of game.
Last night had been dangerous. He needed more to divert his attention. When he’d wandered into the library and found Henrietta’s delicate features absorbed in the books, then her dark and forward eyes fastening on him, he’d felt a strong current of attraction that had been difficult to ignore. They were growing closer. Perhaps he should not have told her to call him by his given name.
Frowning, he stood at the window and watched them running across the grass, apparently laughing if one could judge by the thrown-back heads and happy movements. The arms across the stomachs as they bent at the waist, trying to contain something that could never be contained.
Henrietta was good for Louise. She understood the girl, somehow. What he’d felt for her was nothing more than appreciation of her good looks mingled with respect. That was all. He’d been gone from London too long.
This attraction to Henrietta, his governess, could be nothing more than boredom. In fact, he’d go outside and prove it to himself.
It took only minutes for him to reach the two females. By the time he’d walked up on them, they had collapsed on a sizable blanket, where their hats were strewn and a lunch basket was filled to the brim, their giggles feminine and irresistible.
He loomed above them, the noon sun casting very little shadow to announce his presence. “Shouldn’t you two be in the schoolroom?”
Their laughing ceased.
Louise jumped up. “Dom!”
She propelled herself into his arms and he hugged her, thankful for the energy pulsing through her, the life, the healthy shudders of exertion rather than fever.
“This is our schoolroom.” She twirled, her skirts fluttering. “Henrietta says we’ll learn more out here than we ever will in a stuffy old room.”
He let himself look at Miss Gordon then. A jolt jerked through him. Her hair was a messy mass of blond-streaked strands floating about pink-stained cheeks. Her flushed lips looked like roses after a spring rain and her eyes shone like melted chocolate.
“I hope you don’t mind, my lord, but I gave her permission to call me by my given name. It seemed appropriate considering the circumstances.” Her smile was plucky, and a twinge wrenched its way through his chest.
“It’s unorthodox.” He managed to squeeze out a coherent answer, though he wasn’t sure how as his heart galloped faster than the racers in the Royal Ascot. Yes, he needed to escape back to his home in northern England, away from the emotions assaulting him.
“But not uncommon in America.” She pushed to her feet, swiping at her skirts as if she could undo the wrinkles growing there.
“In my presence, Louise, you are to call her Miss Gordon.”
“That’s very crotchety of you, Uncle.” Louise put her hands on her hips. “She says in America no one uses titles. People are practical and on the same social level.”
“She’s teaching you already, I see.”
Henrietta’s grin widened. That spontaneous curve to her lips quickened his pulse, sent his thoughts flying into a mass of confusion. Louise grinned, too, her top teeth a tad too big for her face, giving her a puckish, piquant air.
“Everything in life is teachable.”
“Then shall we resort to nicknames? We can’t let those Americans have the upper hand.” He waggled his eyebrows at them both. “I hereby dub you Retta.”
“Retta?” Louise squealed and grabbed him in a hug. Her
