Rules for a Proper Governess Read Free Page B

face was round, her nose slightly tip-tilted, her red lips curving into a charming smile.
    He’d never seen her before, and at the same time, Sinclair felt a jolt rock him, as though he’d been waiting for years for this encounter. The two of them stood together in a warm stillness, removed from the rest of the world as it rushed around them.
    “I’m
that
sorry, mister,” the young woman was saying. “Some bloke put his elbow right in me back, and me feet went clean out from under me. You all right?”
    “I’m whole.” Sinclair forced himself back to the cold of the real world, and studied her with his professional assessment, honed by a long career of watching criminals. She wasn’t a street girl. Game girls had a desperate look, and were too eager to be seductive.
Want me to make ya feel better, lamb?
was the cleanest of the offers Sinclair had gotten as he strode through London’s streets.
    This young woman was working-class, probably on her way home after a long day’s drudgery. She wasn’t dirty, but the sleeves of her velvet jacket were frayed at the cuffs, her gloves threadbare and much mended. Poor, but making the best of it.
    Still, she didn’t have the downtrodden appearance many factory women had. Her smile was sunny, as though telling the world things could be better if given a chance.
    “Well, that’s good,” she said. “’Night, mister. Sweet dreams.”
    Another smile, and in the sudden flare of an approaching light, all Sinclair could see were her eyes.
    Deep and blue, like the depths of the ocean. The Mediterranean could be that color. Sinclair remembered southern Italy and its shores from his leave time, when he’d been in the army and traveling the world. He’d known peace there.
    This young woman with her blue eyes was beautiful, with a beauty that went beyond her shabby clothes and working-class grin. She was a vision of light in the darkness, in a place where darkness had lasted too long.
    Someone else shoved him, and Sinclair turned to step out of the way. When he looked back for the young woman, she was gone. He blinked at the empty space where she’d been, then lifted his gaze and spied her slipping through the crowd, the violets on her hat bobbing.
    The detail of her ridiculous hat kept Sinclair from believing he’d dreamed her. But of course he hadn’t. Visions of beautiful women were of golden-haired sirens with perfect bodies, strumming on lyres perhaps, luring men to their dooms. Sirens didn’t have lopsided smiles and plump faces, and blue eyes that pulled Sinclair out of his despair, if only for a moment.
    But she was gone now, vision or no, and Sinclair needed to go home. Andrew and Cat would have locked their new governess into the cellar by now, or accidentally burned down the house. Or both.
    They didn’t
mean
to be bad, his little ones . . . Well, mostly they didn’t. One of the governesses had claimed that Andrew was possessed by the devil. She’d even offered to contact a priest she knew who could have him exorcised. That governess hadn’t lasted more than an hour.
    A clock struck. Sinclair, out of habit, reached for his watch to compare the time. His watch always ran a few minutes fast and having it repaired made no difference. Buying a new watch was out of the question, because Daisy had given him this one . . .
    Which was no longer in his pocket.
    Reality rushed back at Sinclair with an icy slap. His gaze went to the violet-covered hat as it disappeared around a corner.
    Good God, how stupid had he been? He hadn’t pegged the young woman as a pickpocket, because pickpockets usually didn’t stop for a chat. They stole and slipped away before the victim was aware.
    Her bad luck someone had tripped her. Or had it been luck?
    All this went through his head as Sinclair whirled around and strode after the woman, his feet moving faster and faster as he went. Gone was any thought of finding his coach and going home. Nothing mattered but getting that watch