Page 31 of From Rakes to Riches

She stiffened when he first touched her, but she did as he bade her, keeping silent and still. It seemed to take ages, and bythe time he was finished he was desperate to stop touching her. “There. You’re free.”

As soon as he’d untangled the last lock and slid his hands free of her hair, she scampered down the tree, hopping from branch to branch as quick and agile as a monkey, the sun caressing her shiny curls. “Thank you, my lord.”

He followed at a more cautious pace. Getting down a tree in one boot was a devil of a business, as it turned out. By the time he reached the bottom, she’d gathered up the clumps of mistletoe she’d liberated from the branches above.

“Making away with your ill-gotten gains, are you?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the tree. “What in the world are you going to do with all that mistletoe?”

“It’s for the St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s Christmas fete. We’re, ah…well, we’d planned to make kissing balls to decorate Goodall Abbey. The monies raised from the fete benefit the church fund, you know, but if you object to giving your mistletoe to the cause, we can always?—”

“Take it. Never let it be said I don’t support the church. Or kissing.” Between the missing boot and hat and the stench wafting from him, he was far from being the charming gentleman who beguiled London’s beauties, but he was rather proud of this little bit of gallantry.

Alas, it was utterly wasted on her. She didn’t even appear to hear him, so preoccupied was she with stuffing the mistletoe into the pockets of the outrageous yellow cloak she was wearing. He’d never seen a more ridiculous garment in his life, but either she didn’t realize it, or she didn’t care, and thus she carried it off in a way few ladies could have done. “May I have the pleasure of knowing who hurled my own mistletoe at my head this morning?”

“Nonsense. I never hurled anything.” She raised her face to his, cocking her head. “Are you always this cross, my lord?”

Her face was not what he’d been expecting. She wasn’t a great beauty, exactly—her generous mouth and pointed chin defied any claim to it—but hers was the sort of face that fascinated.

Her eyes were wide, thickly-lashed and an unusual clear, grayish blue. Not the glittering, dark blue of sapphires, or the gray of storm clouds, but something in between the two, rather like…oh, he didn’t bloody know. Blueberries? No, that wasn’t it. Winter frost, perhaps?

He’d never seen eyes like hers before, but then Hawke’s Run was a place ofnever beforesandnever agains.

Everything about her, from her full red lips to the high arch of her cheekbones to the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose so arrested him it was as if the bright sun had once again scorched his eyeballs.

She must have noticed him staring, but it didn’t seem to trouble her. She merely raised her chin and met his eyes. “How do you do, Lord Hawke? I’m Miss Helena Templeton.”

Helena Templeton? The last name sounded vaguely familiar. Hadn’t he heard some gossip about some chit or other with the surname Templeton? Yes, there’d been something, but he couldn’t recall what exactly, and the first name hadn’t been Helena, in any case.

So, who the devil was she, and what was she doing up his tree? “Who?”

Her brows drew together. “Miss Helena Templeton. Your sons’ governess, my lord?”

“Nonsense. I don’t employ a governess.” Certainly not one who was as much trouble as her. He’d sooner lay his neck upon a chopping block than permit such an impertinent chit in his house. Anyone could see the girl was trouble, and he had enough of that already. As for her distracting face and unusual eyes, he didn’twantto be fascinated by them, or by her.

He simply wanted peace.

“I assure you that you do indeed employ a governess, Lord Hawke. I’ve been here these past six months now. Your boys are a delight. I’m tremendously fond of them.”

Ryan and Etienne, a delight? Now he knew she was lying. He loved his sons, but he’d yet to hear any governess describe them as delightful. Though if she really was their governess, it would explain why she was up that tree. They’d likely chased her up there, and even now were watching from the windows to see if she’d find her way back down.

God knew it would be easy enough for them to intimidate a petite, slender thing like her. The boys were young yet, only six years old, but they were wild, just as he’d been at their age, and then there were two of them. It wouldn’t take much for them to overwhelm her.

It seemed it was time to have a word with his housekeeper, Mrs. Norris. “Go on back up to the house, Miss Templeton. You’re dismissed for now.”

“Of course, my lord.” She offered him a curtsy. “Welcome home, Lord Hawke.”

“No need to trouble yourself with the courtesies, Miss Templeton.” He swung back up into the saddle with as much grace as a man missing a boot and his hat could summon, and peered down at her. “I won’t be here long enough for it to make any difference.”

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t spare another word for her, but jerked his horse’s head toward the castle and thundered up the drive without a backward glance.

2

Helena wandered up the drive toward the castle in Lord Hawke’s wake, her pockets filled with prickly bunches of glossy green mistletoe, her head still ringing from the wicked curses that had just spilled from his lordship’s lips into her unsuspecting ears.

Such a prodigious quantity of them, and in such quick succession, too!

He was a bit, er…well, she’d been expecting someone a trifle more…that is, the rumors she’d heard of him hadn’t been to his credit, certainly, but she hadn’t imagined he’d bequiteso…

Oh, for pity’s sake. There was no sense dancing about it.

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