The Secret Desires of a Governess by Tiffany Clare

he folded his hands over his work. “Did you make the trek well yesterday?”
    “There was a spot of rain and thunder rumbling across the skies quite frightfully last night. The walk was not comfortable.” Cool as ever she had set him down, though he didn’t look away from her.
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” There was no sympathy in his voice for her ordeal. “How may I be of assistance?”
    “I’d like to retrieve my belongings, if you please.”
    The attendant’s kind expression turned dark. The laugh lines scrunching the corner of his mouth moments ago turned to scowl lines. His gaze shifted to her left and narrowed. All the kindness in his expression was void. Absent. Not so fatherly now.
    She didn’t need to turn to know Lord Brendall stood close to her like the very dev
    il on her shoulder. She imagined— it had to be her imagination because she was wearing so many layers of cloth and linen, it couldn’t be the truth— that she felt the warmth of his body engulf her.
    Nearly suffocating her with its heated proximity.
    His penchant for invading what she liked to call her personal space needed to stop. It overwhelmed her. Made her feel less in control.
    The old man finally tore his gaze away from Lord Brendall and pulled open a drawer on his desk. Picking something up from the top— a key, most likely— he stood, straightened his jacket, and squared his shoulders as he led them to the storage room.
    Opening the door wide, he pulled his fob, checked the time, and announced, “Your cases are all there on the right. If you could please take them quickly, I have a train arriving in three minutes.”
    Abby didn’t need to be told twice. On entering the room, she made her way to her portmanteaus.
    She was intercepted by the men who had followed in on her heels as though she were some great dame. She nearly snorted at the image that presented in her mind. Too bad she couldn’t be more lighthearted about this. Not with Lord Brendall dogging her every step.
    He took the larger of her trunks back out to the cart, giving her a much- needed moment to pull herself together so she could face him again with cool regard. She dragged one of the smaller cases too heavy to carry.
    She only made it outside the door of the station before the very man she was trying not to think about took the case directly from her hands. She squealed in surprise when he once again picked her up by the waist and set her in the seat of the cart.
    “I’m far from helpless, my lord,” she quipped as she settled her skirts around her.
    Hard to say if the anger she felt was directed toward him or herself. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want to think about the infernal man another moment. Ignoring him would be best.
    “I understand perfectly.”
    What did he understand? Did he realize it made her uncomfortable when he was in close proximity? She gave an annoyed huff and stared at the twitching ears of the old nag set to pull them home.
    Home?
    How interesting that she’d already labeled the castle as her home. Was she so desperate to be out of her sister’s manor that any house would do in place? She’d never considered anyplace a home aside from the one she’d grown up in with her sisters and parents. That house had gone to some cousin of hers last in line to take her father’s title.
    Thomas did not immediately join her. She guessed the men were parting ways since they spoke for some minutes away from her range of hearing.
    “Miss,” a woman said to her from the side of the cart.
    She was older, in her sixth or seventh decade. Her black and gray hair was braided and fell like a thick rope down her back. Her clothes were tattered and moth- eaten; tears and holes the size of a shilling speckled her burgundy plaid shawl and old sackcloth dress of the same ratty material.
    Was this a beggar that had approached her? She loosened the string on her reticule to find a farthing.
    “Miss,” she said again, shaking her head at the coin