from the party. She’d no desire to see the other guests—it was only too likely she’d be recognized and pitied.
The faint scent of earth and new growth lingered in the air as she stepped away from the house. She breathed it in, relaxing slightly. The moon hung low and bright in the sky. She and the solitary orb had something in common: they were alone. She forced her mind to focus on it, letting the tinkling sounds of the house party wash over her like harmless waves.
She was away from Harold, and she had employment. She’d just never realized how lonely her new life would be.
Inside, Alex smiled obligingly at the comely miss—what was her name?—with whom Marian had set him up. He stifled a yawn.
Alex loved his sister dearly, but this party was beyond mundane.
“I think I need a bit of fresh air,” he lied.
The young lady brightened, no doubt imagining a romantic interlude. “Shall I accompany you, Your Grace?”
“No.”
Her face fell. She gathered her skirts and, with a hasty curtsy, rushed off to join the gaggle of women surrounding his sister. Perfect. Marian would undoubtedly hear firsthand about his beastly behavior. Alex tossed back his wine, wishing it was brandy. Marian could scold him if she wanted, but he wasn’t about to start encouraging every vapid miss that came his way. His heart wasn’t in it.
Before another of Marian’s guests could attach herself to him, Alex made a hasty exit, heading outdoors to back up the claim he needed air. He could always come back in through another entrance and seek the solace of his rooms.
Perhaps he’d become too accustomed to more wicked pursuits, because tonight, when the “entertainment” consisted of sipping wine and politely listening to pianoforte performances, he felt as though he were dying a slow death.
As he rounded a path outdoors and spied the silhouette of a young woman standing alone in the garden, the evening became infinitely more interesting—particularly because the gleam of moonlight on auburn hair immediately gave her identity away.
Unconsciously, he softened his step. This time, she’d not be able to avoid him.
He waited until he stood just behind her before asking the question he’d been pondering since discovering her in his sister’s employ. “Why are you here?”
She whipped around, eyes large. “Your Grace.”
He inclined his head.
“I was just, that is”—she gestured toward the sky—“the moon is lovely tonight.”
“So it is. But that only answers part of my question.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What brings you here, Miss Medford? To Garden Home?”
“You know the answer to that, Your Grace. I am governess to your nephew and niece.”
“Of course.”
“What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Her chin went up. “Your sister was kind to hire me, and I am thankful for the position.”
He admired her unique combination of spirit and humility. She wasn’t too proud to admit she was grateful to have work, but she was strong enough to defend her choice. And now that he’d met Harold Wetherby, Alex had an inkling of why she’d made that decision. But he wanted to hear it from her. Why had she run away, when so many other women in her plight would have submissively married the prig?
“I had the pleasure of meeting your fiancé,” he announced, keeping his tone jovial.
She frowned. “My fiancé?”
“Wetherby informs me you two are to marry.”
Even the moonlight couldn’t hide her deep flush. Embarrassment, or something else? Anger, perhaps?
“Oh, yes. We’re very much in love,” she choked out.
“So Wetherby says,” Alex lied. “He is…really something. However did you manage to catch him?”
A strangled laugh escaped her throat. “Sheer luck, I suppose.”
“Oh, come now,” he teased. “A beauty like yourself? Wetherby must have done away with all your other suitors to even have a chance.”
“Something like that,” she said faintly, and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.
Ah. So she hadn’t had other offers. At least none her father had accepted prior to his death. Elizabeth was attractive, but her lack of dowry was public knowledge. Guilt pricked him, and he resisted the urge to draw her close and protect her.
Instead, Alex decided to raise the stakes of their verbal game. “So, tell me. How does Wetherby feel about his fiancée working as a governess?”
Some unidentifiable emotion flickered in her eyes, but she kept her stance proud. “I was quite grief-stricken when my father died, and not at all ready to wed. Harold understands that. And he understands the necessity of working to support oneself, having done so himself.”
Alex was willing to bet Wetherby would happily live off another’s largess, given the opportunity. But that was not his main concern.
“Ah. So he does know you’re here.”
She hesitated.
The game was up.
“Elizabeth? The truth, if you please.”
She looked away, her posture so rigid that, especially in the moonlight, she could have been made of marble.
“All right. If you must know, Harold does not know my new location,” she murmured.
“And you wish to keep it that way,” he surmised. She’d rather toil in obscurity than marry that cretin. It was a decision few of her sex would make, but one he could respect.
“You won’t say anything to him, will you?” she pled, stepping closer and placing one hand on his jacket. There was real fear in her voice.
He placed his hand over hers. Wetherby was more of a bastard than he’d thought, if he frightened her so. Alex gentled his tone. “No. I will say nothing.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. She made a tiny motion to withdraw her hand, but he held it firm.
“But you must make me a promise in return.”
“My lord?”
“I’ve yet to have a dull encounter with you, Miss Medford. Which sets you apart from most of your female counterparts.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” she answered. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips.
A flash of heat, of pure sensual awareness, passed through him. He released her hand in surprise. “It was indeed intended as a compliment,” he told her.
“But
