The Duke in Disguise by Gayle Callen

night."

Stephen shrugged and dug into his dessert. Miss Shelby left hers untouched, her eyes downcast and her face devoid of expression.

"Why don't you bring your pretty friend," Yardley said, eyeing Miss Shelby lasciviously.

The other two women pouted.

Miss Shelby's formidable gaze took in Yardley, and before Richard could speak, she said, "I am Lord Ramsgate's governess, my lord."

"You don't say?" Yardley said. "Means you need a night off, I think."

She drew in a deep breath, but said nothing else.

Richard grinned at her. "Nurse Weston could escort Stephen to bed, Miss Shelby. You seldom get a chance to converse with adults. We'd be happy to have you join us."

Meriel wondered if her skin was as fiery red as she imagined, from both anger and humiliation. She could not believe that the duke would ask her to socialize with him— in front of his own son, no less! It was one thing to be invited to a family event, since she was a member of the household. But this was going too far. Luckily, Stephen was too young to realize the lewdness of Lord Yardley and his friends.

But deep inside, a restless, dark part of her soul imagined being with the duke as she used to be, a young woman of potential, of fortune, whom men had wanted for a bride— not a conquest. "You are kind to offer an invitation, Your Grace," she said, "but I must decline. I had already promised Lord Ramsgate a tour of the portrait gallery."

"Won't it be too dark to see much?"

Stephen grinned. "Miss Shelby promised a lesson on my ance— ancest— "

"Ancestry," she corrected.

"Ancestry," the boy repeated dutifully. "But I'm looking for ghosts."

The three uninvited visitors hooted with laughter at that, but Meriel noticed that the duke only smiled.

"Let me know if you find any," he said to his son.

He looked back at Meriel and gave her a short bow that provided even more amusement to his friends.

"Have a good evening, Miss Shelby," he said.

"Thank you, Your Grace."
    * * *
    Meriel had done her research before attempting to speak with Stephen about his ancestors. In the library, she had studied several history books written about the centuries-old Thanet dukedom, and even questioned Mrs. Theobald about the most recent duke, the grandfather who'd died before Stephen was born. All it proved to Meriel was that such power and wealth could corrupt easily. It was up to her to help Stephen be a better man.

Not that she thought the present duke was exactly corrupt, she realized as she escorted Stephen through the immense house to the portrait gallery. The duke treated his servants— especially the women, she thought dryly— well enough, and she had yet to hear any complaints about him. He was seldom in residence for more than a few days at a time, so the household usually moved through each day undisturbed. But she sensed an eagerness connected to his visit that she didn't quite understand, especially among the maids, if Beatrice was any example.

She tried to examine her feelings. Would Meriel herself be eager to see him again after his inevitable departure? He brought uncertainty and arrogance— and sometimes amusement, she admitted reluctantly. Tonight she imagined him with those rude, drunken people who disgusted her.

But he didn't. Was she beginning to think of him as above the everyday sins he committed? Maybe that made her no better than the lovesick Beatrice. A man was surely the sum of his actions, not what Meriel hoped he could be. She didn't know why she wished he were a better man— except for Stephen's sake, of course.

They reached the portrait gallery, which stretched the length of the house on the first floor. There were windows on either side, overlooking the front drive, as well as the inner courtyard to the rear. But the windows were dark now except on the courtyard side, where the lights of the far wing of the house glittered. Mrs. Theobald had seen to the candles being lit, but Meriel also carried an oil lamp to hold up near each