Free A Little Scandal by Patricia Cabot

normally admired—he preferred dark-haired women to blondes, and liked, on the whole, a more robust figure, than the one Miss Mayhew possessed. Yet her honey-colored hair seemed to suit her, the fringe in which it had been cut across her forehead emphasizing the enormity of her grey eyes, the lashes of which were a darker shade than her hair. Her plain, neat dress—a blouse and skirt, entirely suitable attire for a governess—only made one more aware than ever of the narrowness of her waist, and if she hadn’t a lot to fill the front of that blouse, what she had was at least perfectly in proportion with the rest of her.
    It was her mouth, however, which Burke found difficult to ignore. Miss Mayhew’s mouth was, like the rest of her, exceedingly small—smaller than any mouth he’d ever seen, except perhaps on a child. And yet it was an undeniably appealing mouth, the lips delightfully curvy and surprisingly mobile, twisting into all sorts of different expressions in the same manner that a flag twisted in the wind. Currently it was hanging open, as she stared at him in astonishment. He was awarded a glimpse of some straight white teeth and a sharp little tongue, and found the glimpse quite charming ….
    Then wondered if perhaps he wasn’t overtired, since he normally didn’t find views of the interior of anyone’s mouth charming, to say the least.
    “Miss Mayhew,” Burke said, since it didn’t appear to him that the pretty Miss Mayhew was going to be able to speak again anytime soon, so great was her astonishment over his proposal. “Are you all right?”
    Mutely, the girl nodded.
    “Can I get something for you? Water, perhaps? Or a glass of wine? Perhaps you ought to sit down. You look quite done for.”
    The girl shook her head. Burke, perplexed but resolute, went on. “Well, then, I suppose the thing to do would be to make arrangements to have your things brought over. I’ll send my footmen, Bates and Perry. How soon do you think you can be packed? Would this evening be too soon? Isabel has some dance or other she insists on going to, and it would probably be just as well if you started right away. In fact, if you like, I can send my housekeeper over to pack for you—”
    The little pink mouth snapped shut, as if the girl were a marionette, and the puppeteer in control of her had pulled an unseen string.
    “I couldn’t possibly!” the girl declared, in tones, Burke couldn’t help thinking, of horror. But why should she be horrified? A fanciful imagining on his part. Her tendency to fantasize was contagious, perhaps.
    “Well,” he said. “I suppose you feel you need to give the Sledges time to find a replacement for you. I quite understand. What was your agreement with them, then? A week’s notice? Not two weeks, I hope.”
    “I—” The girl shook her head. As she did so, strands of dark blond hair that had fallen from the knot atop her head swayed around her face. Not curling—she hadn’t a single curl about her—but swaying, like seaweed in water.
    “I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” she said. Her voice, Burke found, was as pleasing as the rest of her, low in pitch and not at all screechy, as young women’s voices often were.
    A second later, however, he didn’t find her voice half so nice, when she went on to say, “But I couldn’t possibly come work for you. I’m very sorry.”
    Burke didn’t move. He was certain he didn’t so much as twitch a finger. But suddenly, Miss Mayhew darted behind the atlas stand, as if desirous for some sort of barrier between them. Clutching both edges of the wooden structure, which came up to her chest, she added, “Please don’t be angry.”
    Burke stared at her. He wasn’t angry. Exasperated, maybe, but not in the least angry. He had given up anger long ago. His temper was something he’d never had much skill at mastering, and so he’d simply given over being angry about anything. Except Isabel, perhaps, and that young man of hers. The name