The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,21

coldly at Julian's raised eyebrow. "One should never mock those less fortunate."

"Hah!" Julian snorted. He averted his eyes as though unable to look at the atrocious garment.

"You shouldn't be here, Lord Wilton."

"I was passing by."

"Really, your lordship? Looking for the children, no doubt?"

"All right. All right. I came to apologize," Julian muttered under his breath.

Cara had to smile at his peeved tone of voice. It was obvious that her husband was unused to apologizing for his behavior. Yet despite her gratification at his words, she still felt anger.

"When I took the position as governess I did not suspect that I would be subjected to such insults, Lord Wilton," Cara accused.

"I assure you, Miss Farraday, that your sensibilities will not be further enraged. Put it down to a touch of the sun and the uncontrolled lusts of a gentleman."

It was Cara's turn to snort with amusement. Although Julian's apology was laced with sarcasm, she did sense embarrassment behind the taunting words. Straightening her spine, Cara prepared to be gracious.

"I think it will be best for us to start over, Lord Wilton. The encounter in the woods never happened."

"I have already forgotten it," Julian replied, his voice filled with indifference.

Cara was surprised when she felt a sharp pang of regret at his words. She chided herself, remembering that Julian's behavior was insulting at best, adulterous at worst.

"Is there anything else, Lord Wilton?"

"My man Craten recommended Barrett," Julian said to Cara's total mystification.

"Recommended him for what? And who is Barrett?"

"Barrett is one of the footmen. He's just sixteen and, Craten, my valet thought he ought to be able to take care of Richard."

"I see," Cara said, understanding that they were talking about a servant to act as valet for Richard. "I'm glad."

"Craten's standards are more exacting than the Regent's. He'll keep an eye on Barrett so that by the time Richard goes through the man-milliner stage he can keep the boy from some of the gaudier excesses of fashion."

Julian's words filled Cara with a warm glow of gratitude. She searched her husband's face looking for a softening of his normal autocratic expression. Her eyes were drawn to his lips and she remembered their pressure on her own mouth. Hot color rose to her cheeks and she pulled her bathrobe around her.

"What will happen to Janey?" Cara asked, pulling her thoughts back to the discussion.

"She'll help Mrs. Clayton do, uhh, things." Julian airily waved his hand to indicate Janey's new duties.

"Thank you, Lord Wilton."

At the softly spoken words, Julian's head swung around to stare at the governess. He had expected a more acerbic comment and was surprised at the simple response. He winced at the garish robe, his eyes transfixed by a particularly discordant shade of orange that ran around the uneven hem. As if the girl sensed his scrutiny she tucked her bare toes modestly away from his prying eyes. The childish gesture struck Julian with the vulnerability of the girl and he was further discomfited by his behavior in the woods. He wondered at his own presence in the schoolroom at such an hour and chastised himself for remembering the soft innocence of the young girl's lips.

"That will be all, Miss Farraday," Julian announced, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Cara stood transfixed, staring after the departing figure. Although relieved, she felt a spurt of anger at the suddenness of his departure. Grumbling and muttering over Julian's rudeness, she banked the fire for the night and returned to her bedroom.

Wriggling luxuriously under the covers, Cara woke slowly. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned, letting full wakefulness steal through her body. She was surprised at the bright sunshine that poured in the windows, puddling in cheerful splotches on the carpet. Reaching for her watchpin on the table beside her bed she was aghast at the lateness of the hour.

Cara leaped out of bed and hurried to the wardrobe, wondering that no one had roused her for breakfast. Making a moue of distaste she pulled a brown merino dress out of the wardrobe. She remembered all the fashionable dresses she had brought to England and moaned at the graceless dress with the prim white collar and bulky skirt. She gazed into the mirror as she tied the stiff cloth of her headdress making sure that her hair was covered. I look like a poor postulant waiting with little joy the prospect of joining the nunnery, she thought. She sighed and opened the door to the nursery.

On entering the