Page 13 of What a Difference a Duke Makes

Even a governess knew as much.

“I’m perfecting a design right now with my chief engineer for a new version of a steam-powered fire engine that will be smaller in size and weight, while still generating far more pressure than the hand-pumped variety,” he explained.

“Pray, don’t encourage him, Miss Perkins,” drawled India. “He’s quite passionate on the subject and we’ll be here until midnight having an exhausting conversation about exhaust pipes, molten metals, and all manner of ever-so-fascinating ramming and smelting techniques.”

Molten. Ramming. The words echoed through the chamber.

Miss Perkins’s cheeks flushed a deep pink.

His hands were still under her skirts.

End this swiftly.

“The laces must be cut and the boot removed,” he said gruffly. “India.” He held out his hand and his sister provided the dagger she always kept in a leather holster at her side.

“Oh,” squeaked Miss Perkins, at the sight of the knife. “Must you cut them?”

His fingers closed around her calf, steadying her for his blade. The touch sent sparks running up his fingers, and fire licking along his spine.

Their gazes locked. Her lips parted.

He’d been so intent on his work, of late, with no time for female companionship.

No time for soft, slender limbs. Blue eyes like oxidized copper.

Her lower lip trembled when he raised the dagger. He made short work of her frayed bootlaces.

Her corset laces would be much more fun to cut.

Enough.

He clenched his jaw. He was no profligate like the late duke.

He wrenched the boot and the engine free and rose from the floor. Probably irreparably damaged, but he could try to bend it back into shape.

Miss Perkins folded her foot under her skirts, and her hands in her lap. “I trust you’ll return my boot with expediency, Your Grace.”

“And I trust that when you have both your boots, you’ll use them to walk out of my library with expediency, Perkins. Straight back to your agency where you will inform Trilby that I require an older, more experienced, and far less fragile-boned governess.”

“Humph.” She gave an injured sniff. “I’m hardly fragile.”

“Edgar,” chided India. “Surely you won’t send the poor thing away with cut bootlaces. You should purchase her new footwear, at the very least.”

“Theyaremy only remaining shoes,” said Miss Perkins. “My trunk was stolen by thieves this morning at the coaching inn.”

“That’s not my fault, Perkins,” he growled. He couldn’t keep from growling. These inconvenient urges were making him feel out of sorts. One more thing in his life that he didn’t have any control over, it seemed.

“How dreadful.” India clucked her tongue. “Well never mind. I’m sure you’ll be able to purchase an entire new wardrobe with Edgar’s very generous salary.”

Now that was helpful.

If his hands hadn’t been full of the shattered remains of his model engine, he might have throttled his meddlesome sister.

“About my salary, Your Grace,” said Miss Perkins cheekily. “I’ll require five pounds over what Miss Dunkirk was to be paid.”

She was bold, he’d give her that. “You expect thirty-five pounds per annum?” he asked skeptically.

A momentary flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “I’m a bargain at any price,” she said.

---