When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,81

after all, not yours.”

“As you wish.” He paused, eyeing her. “Have you considered what you’ll do if Marbury doubts your story about the pendant? After all, you were only a little girl when your mother died. He could say that your memory is playing tricks.”

That dreadful scene unfolded in Tessa’s mind as if it had just happened. The speeding carriage. Mama falling onto the cobblestones. The blood pooling beneath her head. “My memory is clear as crystal. She placed the necklace around my neck and said, Hide this … find him … father. And … pain. That was the last word she ever uttered.”

Tessa swallowed. It was hard to reflect on the agony her mother must have suffered. But she wanted Carlin to understand why this was so very important to her.

“Pain?” he repeated in an odd tone.

“Of course. She was struck down and … and she’d hit her head.”

His harsh expression eased slightly, though he still gazed intently at her. After a moment’s silence, he said, “I don’t mean to upset you, Tessa. It’s just that I’m acquainted a little with Marbury since he was a friend of my grandfather’s. I must warn you, I find it difficult to view him as a man who carries on with chambermaids.”

“It would have occurred some twenty-three years ago, when he was younger.” Tilting her head, Tessa dared to add, “And I should think any man could be tempted into an indiscretion.”

At that, Carlin’s veil of reserve vanished. His coal-dark eyes lit with a scorching gleam, a look that turned her insides to molten lava. Though he wasn’t touching her, he might as well have been, so swiftly did her blood race.

“A fair point,” he said silkily. “We shall have to wait and see, then.”

Tessa had the distinct impression Carlin was referring to more than this meeting, that he wished to revisit their intimate relationship. The raw erotic hunger that emanated from him seemed to fill the confines of the carriage. She could feel it in the air, wrapping around her like an embrace. Her breasts tightened, heat suffused her limbs, and passion pulsed in her depths. Since she’d already concluded the affair was at an end, this latest development threw her off kilter.

What did he want out of this? What did she want?

Before Tessa could answer those questions, the carriage came to a halt and a footman opened the door, offering his gloved hand to help her alight. In something of a daze, she found herself standing in front of a brick town house in the damp autumn chill. The familiar coat of arms etched into the triangular pediment above the entry brought her crashing back to reality.

She was about to meet her father.

Her skin prickled from a shiver. Carlin appeared at her side and tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm. “Chin up, Cinderella,” he murmured. “You have more pluck than any woman I know.”

“Then why does my spine have all the substance of a cream bun?”

“Even the brave feel fear. Courage is taking necessary action in spite of that fear.”

As he escorted her into the house, she raised her chin and found that it did indeed bolster her confidence. The entrance hall featured a curved staircase that was lit by a domed skylight. Despite the elegant architecture, the decor had a tired look and the pistachio-green wallpaper had seen better days.

A footman accepted Carlin’s hat and gloves. Tessa kept her shawl and the chip-straw bonnet with the blue ribbons that went well with her best gown, the same one she’d worn to the rendezvous with Carlin. A stylish hat of her own design was a fitting reminder of her purpose here.

The footman slid a glance at Tessa. “Might I inquire as to the lady’s name, Your Grace?”

“No,” Carlin said. “Pray inform Lord Marbury that I’m here.”

The fellow trotted away and returned a moment later to lead them down a corridor and through a doorway. They entered a library, smaller than the one at Carlin House, but comfortable with stuffed leather chairs and a desk at the far end. Most impressive of all were the many books. They filled every nook and cranny and were crammed on shelves, stacked on tables, and piled here and there on the worn Oriental carpet.

Beside a hissing fire sat a white-haired man who was employing a silver-knobbed cane to lever himself out of his seat. Carlin sprang forward to offer assistance and was soundly rejected.

“I’m no invalid,” Lord Marbury grumbled. “It’s this