The Reluctant Governess by Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online Page A

London.”
    â€œI expect my dinner guests will succumb as well, poor devils. Welcome home, Nicky.” He didn’t sound bitter, just resigned.
    â€œPerhaps not. If you like, I can write to your friends and advise them of your difficulty. Warn them.”
    â€œThat would be kind. Thank you, Miss Lawrence.” He shuffled back toward the bed and climbed under the covers, robe and all.
    He must realize that Eliza had put him to bed earlier. Perhaps she should have found him a nightshirt, but she was so anxious to tuck him under the covers that she hadn’t bothered to rummage in his drawers. Nicholas Raeburn was probably not a nightshirt-wearing fellow anyhow.
    She had not been in the house twenty-four hours, yet she felt on much-too-intimate terms with her employer.
    â€œWere you, uh, expecting models in today? I should contact them as well.” The last thing she needed was nubile naked women prancing about.
    Mr. Raeburn looked as if his brain hurt as he recollected, but then replied, “No, I fixed the appointment for next week, I think. Can I really not sleep? I’m very tired.”
    â€œDr. Samuelson was quite specific. You need to be stimulated.”
    He flicked an eye at her, then stared at his swollen fists. The knuckles were grazed from his fight. What a foolish thing for a man who relied upon his hands for his livelihood to do.
    â€œSo, stimulate me.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œMake it worth my while to stay awake.”
    Eliza felt at a sudden loss. She was not used to entertaining a man like Mr. Raeburn. She was not used to entertaining any man, period.
    When she was a girl stenographer, she had of course taken orders from Mr. Hurst and his partners. No one had asked her for her opinion on anything, and that had suited her, for they might not have liked what she said. Even when she served as a governess in Mr. Hurst’s home for almost a year, he’d been too preoccupied with his cases to give her so much as a look over the breakfast table, and that had suited her, too. She was not going to fall into some Jane Eyre trap, pining for her distant master, no matter how very attractive he was.
    It was hard to imagine Mr. Hurst as Mr. Rochester anyhow—he was not in the petticoat line. After his wife died, he threw himself into his work with even more ferocity, making exceptions only when the welfare of his two children was in question. His daughter Penelope suffered from acute asthma and son Jonathan suffered from being a wild little boy, both conditions challenging enough for Eliza without the complication of a forbidden romance.
    Not that she had thought of romance. Oh no. She was much too sensible to develop a pash for Mr. Hurst. Mostly. But it had been hard not to notice him, even if he didn’t notice her.
    There was his noble, intelligent forehead. His very broad shoulders, so nicely covered with impeccable suits. Even his manly beard, though she was generally opposed to facial hair. The piercing blue eyes that took in every detail, except for her. Why would a handsome, important KC have any interest in his typing governess anyway? They were worlds apart—
    â€œI say, Miss Lawrence, you look flushed. I hope you are not coming down sick, too.”
    Eliza reluctantly shook Richard Hurst out of her head. There truly was no place for him there, now or ever.
    Drat.
    â€œI am perfectly well so far.” She looked around the room. Architectural renderings of Italian villas covered the cream Morris-papered walls. Blue and white ginger jars lined the mantel. It was all rather serene and restful—no wonder he wanted to go to sleep. She suppressed a yawn. “Shall I read to you?”
    â€œI doubt you share my taste in books. Why don’t I sketch you for a little while?”
    Eliza blinked. “Sketch me?”
    â€œFully clothed, of course. That is a damned ugly wrapper, by the way.”
    Eliza had been so busy running up and down the