The Ladyâs Bargain
Posing as a governess should have been a simple matter, but when Lady Christine Claybourne altered her name and appearance to match her new station, she hadnât counted on the childish whims of Miss Ellie Preston. Fingers clamped tightly to the rough bark of the tree she currently found herself stuck in, Christine closed her eyes and listened to the incessant pounding of her heart.
âIâll be back, Miss Archer,â called the mischievous voice from below. âDonât go off!â
Humor from a ten-year-old was not what Christine needed right now. Especially since that ten-year-old was responsible for her present predicament.
She sucked in a deep, courageous breath and slit her eyes open, forcing herself to look at the ground below. It didnât seem that far as she was climbing, or maybe it was just the motivation to reach her pupil who claimed being stuck. When, in fact, Miss Ellie Preston could easily climb up and down this large, ancient oak.
âHelp is here!â the girl yelled.
Her stomach already in knots, Christine slowly took a full glimpse of the figures at the bottom of the tree. Next to her rotten pupil was a man with a ladder. He leaned it against the trunk, and Christineâs heart sank when the top rung came to a rest several feet short of her perch. The man said something to Ellie. She nodded and ran off while the man climbed not the ladder but the tree.
He scaled the oak without effort. His lean, muscular legs and powerful arms pushed off the trunk and branches with masculine ease, stirring a long forgotten tickle in her belly. His yellow curls caught the sunlight and shimmered with golden highlights. Christine assumed he was tall, certainly more than her, for he reached branches without any of the stretching she had to do.
Finally, just before reaching her, he stopped and looked up. Her breath caught at the hard angles of his face. Pale gray eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, rested above high cheekbones. A slight dimple in his chin softened a strong jaw.
âGood afternoon.â A deep voice shimmered over the words, quickening her pulse. âYou must be Ellieâs new governess.â
Dressed casually, this man might have been a gardener or someone from the village. But something in his demeanor, his speech, led her to believe he was of a much higher station. Someone who could prove most dangerous to her.
âHow do you know that?â
He scratched his chin. âWell, letâs see you are the fourth one in two years. And every one of them has left after she sent them up this tree.â
Christine groaned. It wasnât bad enough that she was stuck way up in this tree, but that she had been as gullible as the others before her. Well, she wouldnât dare leave because of this trick.
The curl of his lips hinted at a devilish rake. âMind if I join you?â
Before she could answer, he swung himself up on her branch and sat, causing it to bounce with his weight. Ice washed through her blood. Instinctively she clutched his leg.
A large, warm hand settled over hers. Sparkles tingled up her arm. What was the matter with her? It had been years since a man affected her this way.
âIt wonât break. I promise you.â
She swallowed both her fear and her wantonness and looked from their hands to his face. âHavenât you come to collect me?â
He nodded.
âWhyâ¦why are you sitting here with me then?â
âGetting to know you.â His eyes danced.
âMy name is Miss Archer. I am the governess for Miss Ellen Preston, third daughter of the Earl of Remington.â She sighed. âNow may we get down?â
He ignored her question. âHave you a first name, Miss Archer?â
Even a recluse like her knew the rules of society. He was either trying to be rude or he was flirting with her. âI have,â she answered.
âIs that your name? I have? It sounds Scandinavian or maybe German.â
She wanted to be annoyed at him, teasing her while she was frightened for her life. But his charming grin and sparkling eyes disarmed her. âVictoria,â she said the name sheâd given herself six weeks ago.
âOur queen.â Skepticism colored the words.
A tremor of concern flickered in her chest. âYes. And my name. Victoria Archer. Are you satisfied? Now can we get down?â
âYou donât look at all like Queen Victoria.â His gaze took a slow sweep of her, dragging down her loose fitting bodice and back up again. âNo. Victoria doesnât suit you.â
Her body burned at his glances. Heat gathered between his legs. Oh, Lord, sheâd denied herself for too long. She sucked in her breath, but it only made her aware of his heady masculine scent.