More Than a Governess. Sarah Mallory
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“She might be quite pretty, if she were dressed up.”
Damon thought of the little governess in her dull clothes with her soft brown hair braided so modestly around her head.
He sipped his wine, imagining the girl in an evening gown. Silk, he thought. It would cling to her slender body. And emerald-green, to match her eyes, eyes that could suddenly gleam with mischief. He gave himself a little mental shake.
“No, I’ve no interest there. It has never been my way to tamper with innocents, or raise false hopes.”
More Than a Governess
Harlequin®Historical #233—April 2008
MILLS & BOON
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SARAH MALLORY
was born in the West Country and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. Born in Bristol, Sarah left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond, and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.
More Than a Governess
SARAH MALLORY
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Available from Harlequin®Historical and SARAH MALLORY
More Than a Governess #233
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To Terry,
my rock and inspiration
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter One
Juliana Wrenn thought she had rarely entered a more uninviting chamber than cousin Pettigrew’s drawing room in Bouverie Street. Unpolished panelling, dark hangings and dull green paint on the ceiling seemed to swallow up the sunlight that was valiantly fighting its way through the dirty windows. She felt a little hand gripping her fingers and looked down, summoning up a smile.
‘Are you cold, Amy? I am sure Cousin Pettigrew will not keep us waiting much longer.’
Her little sister hugged her rag doll closer.
‘I want to go home!’ she whimpered.
Juliana sat down on a worn sofa and pulled the little girl on to her lap.
‘You know we can’t do that, love. We must see if Cousin Alfred can help us.’ She smiled up at her younger brother, a stout twelve-year-old who was hovering beside them.
‘Come and sit down, Tom.’
‘I would rather go back to the kitchen,’ said Thomas, thinking of the fruitcake he had left behind when they had been summoned upstairs.
At that moment the door opened, and the three of them jumped to their feet, their eyes fixed on the florid-faced, bewhiskered gentleman who came in.
Juliana gave him her best curtsy.
‘Good afternoon, Cousin. Thank you for seeing us.’
Alfred Pettigrew advanced into the room, stripping off his gloves and dropping them, together with his