When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,102

becoming a shop owner could hardly compare to becoming a lady. And that I must give it all up.” It was hard to keep bitterness from creeping into her tone. “As if I had no choice in the matter.”

Remorse knit his brow, and he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Forgive me, Tessa. I oughtn’t have been so blunt. That particular morning was not my most eloquent moment.”

“Yes, you were busy wrestling with the unhappy realization that because you had ruined Marbury’s granddaughter, you had no choice but to do your duty and marry her.”

“Nonsense. You and I are exceedingly well matched … in more ways that I can name. Surely you can see that.”

In a burst of unbridled passion, he drew her close and crushed his lips to hers. She melted against him, not out of forgetfulness of their rift, but because she was acutely aware this might be their last kiss. Wanting to savor every moment of it, she returned his fervor with his own, gliding her hands over him, memorizing his face and body and wishing his arm were not in a sling so that he might hold her even tighter.

“Tessa, Tessa,” he murmured against her hair.

She clung to him, breathing in his scent and relishing the heat of his embrace. Despite his enticing kiss, however, she knew that only unhappiness could arise from such a disparate marriage. He would eventually come to regret his choice of a wife, perhaps even be ashamed of her, and that would break her heart.

Reluctantly she stepped back out of temptation’s reach. “Oh, Guy,” she murmured, shaking her head in anguish. “There has to be more to a marriage than desire. Similar backgrounds, for one. That is why this will never work.”

“We share more than that. We have the ease of friendship, we both love Sophy, and we enjoy each other’s company.”

“How long will that last before you grow tired of me? Will I embarrass you when I address some great lord by the wrong title or when I let the truth slip out about my past or when I make a thousand other blunders? We’re from two different worlds.”

“Any skills you lack can be learned.”

“So, in addition to educating myself about my fictitious birthplace of Canada, now I shall have to change who I am in order to fit your view of a duchess. It’s no wonder you resented having to offer for me.”

He thrust his fingers through his hair, disheveling the black strands. “Tessa, I never resented you. It’s just that … I had sworn off marriage. I had no intention of ever taking another wife again. That’s the real reason I was troubled that day.”

A tiny devil seized hold of her tongue. “Because you could never find any woman to measure up to Annabelle the Angel.”

His sharp gaze pinned hers. “Measure up? To Annabelle—?”

The sound of a clearing throat made them both jump. Carlin uttered a harsh curse under his breath as they turned to see Roebuck standing in the doorway of the library.

“Your Grace, there is a Mr. Gumbleton to see you. I informed him that you are not receiving callers, but he was most insistent.”

“The manager at Astley’s. Yes, yes, send him in at once.”

Tessa welcomed the interruption. There was no solution to their quarrel, anyway. Carlin would never see matters from her perspective since he was too fixed on fulfilling his perceived obligation as a gentleman. Besides, it was best not to prolong the conversation when she was referring to his late wife in a manner that sounded uncomfortably close to jealousy.

He caught her arm as she headed to the door. “We’ll speak of this later, Tessa. Only promise you won’t cry off just yet.”

There was a gravelly urgency to his voice that called to her bruised heart. “All right, but in return you must promise to keep me informed as to your search for the killer.”

* * *

Three evenings later, after settling Sophy in bed, Tessa felt too fidgety to read as she usually did. Wrapped in a shawl, she had been sitting in the lamplit schoolroom for over an hour, unable to keep her mind on the book about Canada. Carlin had sent it to her the previous day along with a brief note saying he’d learned no new information about the gunman.

That had been his only communication with her. He hadn’t said a word about who he’d interviewed, what clues he was pursuing, or even what Mr. Gumbleton had