Page 11 of Enthralled in the Governess' Gaze
“I beg your pardon….” Victoria began, but her words trailed off when she looked up and met eyes with the person. Her stomach dropped, and she blinked, unable to believe what she saw.
It was him. The man from the ship. The scoundrel who had manhandled her.
“You!” she nearly shrieked before she could regain control of herself.
“You,” he growled back. Then, looking her up and down, he smirked and said, “Here I was wondering if perhaps you had thrown yourself off the ship after all. I suppose I should be glad you did not, as it would have made my rescue of you a waste of time.”
Victoria gnashed her teeth as irritation flared within her. What was the matter with this man? Why did he have to go out of his way to provoke her?
It did not help matters that he was so handsome her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had smouldering blue eyes and black hair almost too long to be proper and fashionable. It gave him a wild air, though, and softened the chiselled features of his face.
Silently scolding herself, she tried to remember what kind of man lay beneath that beautiful face. He was not someone she should come to admire in any fashion.
Raising her chin, she gave him a cool look and snapped, “If you would be so kind as to move out of my way, my lord, I would appreciate it.”
He arched one dark brow and replied, “I beg your pardon, miss, but you are the one who is in my way.”
Victoria’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? You cannot be serious. I was clearly on the way to my carriage, which is right there.” She pointed to the vehicle, which sat right behind him. “So, clearly, you are the one impeding my path.”
“Oh, so you believe you are entitled to the entire street then?” he sneered. “Rather presumptuous of you. Not in England more than a day, and you already think yourself better than the rest of us.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. She could tell he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Needle her into an outburst. She would not give him the satisfaction.
“Do you make it a habit of harassing young ladies when they are just going about their days as I am?” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her chin up. “Is that the way of all English gentlemen? If so, it is no wonder English women dream of being swept off their feet by the French.”
The man let out a bark of bitter laughter before replying, “You French women are all the same. Your noses are so high in the air that you are likely to trip over your feet. Ah, you have rather made my point, have you not? Tripping about like you have?”
Victoria scowled. “I am English. I will have you know.”
“Your accent would say otherwise.”
“It is none of your business where I am from,” Victoria shrugged. “You would do well not to judge a book by its cover, my lord. You do not know when you might make a fool of yourself.”
“Are you calling me a fool, miss?”
She shrugged and pursed her lips. “Why would I say such a thing? I am merely offering a word of advice, my lord. If you believe there is more to it than that, then perhaps that is a sign you require some personal assessment.”
“My, but you are an infuriating woman,” he growled. “I have a mind to teach you to be respectful….”
The man abruptly pressed his lips together and took a step back from her, his gaze locked on something over her shoulder. Frowning, Victoria turned and found the coachman hurrying down the sidewalk toward them, pails of water in his hands. He wore a concerned expression as he neared, his eyes bouncing between Victoria and the man standing next to her.
“I must be off now,” the man gruffly said. “Here.”
Victoria turned back to him just before he shoved one of her boxes into her arms. Without another word, he turned and marched off. She watched him go, taken aback by his sudden departure.
“Are you all right, Miss Victoria?” the coachman asked. “Was that gentleman disturbing you?”
Though tempted to say yes, Victoria shook her head and answered, “He was not, Mr Whittle. We bumped into each other, and he was helping me to collect my packages.”
“Well, let me give these buckets to the horses, and I will assist you, miss,” the coachman said before turning to tend to his animals.
Victoria nodded absentmindedly, though she did not bother to look to see if Mr Whittle had even seen her response. She was still staring after the man from the ship. She could not help but feel bemusement toward him. He was infuriating, but he did have beautiful eyes. One could grow lost in those sad, dark eyes.
Even when he was mocking her, she had noticed the sadness in the blue depths of his gaze. It was as though he held that emotion within him at all times. What had caused such sorrow within him? Why could he not let it go?
Releasing a long breath, Victoria turned back to help Mr Whittle collect the rest of her things that remained strewn about the sidewalk. Whatever the source of the man from the ship’s sadness, it was really none of her concern. He was not her concern, really. They had encountered each other completely by accident, and the chances of such a thing happening again had to be nearly impossible.
She would not even spare the man another thought.
