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things—a most
loving, devoted, caring child. Perhaps you shall wish to
concentrate on Helena instead. She’s not nearly so quick, but she’s
an amenable-enough little wigeon.”
    Harry was confused. He thought he had been
handed a problem that could be settled with the simple application
of money. “Why should I have anything to do with either of them
beyond gifting them with a few hundred pounds?” he asked, hating
himself for having to voice the question.
    Miss Stourbridge smiled yet again, and
Glynde realized he was fast becoming very disenchanted with the
woman’s smile, as it smacked of condescension. “Why, your grace, I
would have thought it should be obvious. I wish to have my charges
settled—permanently. What better way, I ask you, than to have you
pick one of them for your wife?”
    Willie and Andy tried to make a break for
it, but were halted in mid-flight when Harry’s hands clamped down
hard on their respective shoulders. “My what ?” he all but
yelled. “Madam, you must be insane!”
    Miss Stourbridge turned smartly on her heel
and headed for the door. “I hardly think so, your grace,” she said,
not turning around. “After all, you must consider the alternative.
You can’t murder four women without raising some suspicion, and you
can’t just set us off to tell our sordid tale of revenge and rapine
to anyone who will listen. I can think of at least three newspapers
where my story would most likely gain an interested audience.”
    She stopped and turned to incline her head
in farewell. “And now I must bid you good day, your grace, for it
has been, all in all, a most exhausting day. I’ve already informed
your butler—Pinch, I believe the man said he was called—that the
Misses Somerville and I will be taking our evening meal in the
comfort of our rooms, so you may feel free to tear off strips of
the lads’ hides anytime from now until tomorrow without fear of
upsetting any female sensibilities.”

Chapter 4

    T rixy Stourbridge
retraced her steps to the west wing, her head held high, her
footfalls even and purposeful, her outward appearance—although her
gown was most depressingly outdated, a problem shared by her twin
charges, who had dissolved into tears more than once while
discussing the subject—one of complete and utter composure.
    Inside, however, Trixy Stourbridge was a
seething mass of apprehension.
    His grace was so imposing, so fiercely
masculine—so unexpectedly handsome. She was surprised she hadn’t
melted into a senseless puddle the moment she clapped eyes on him.
Having prided herself on her ability to outwit any man, she had
been momentarily taken aback by the cool shrewdness that had shown
through the anger in Glynde’s dark eyes.
    Trixy had nearly forgotten what it was like
to see some hint of intelligence peeping at her from the eyes of a
man. She hadn’t been gifted with that sight since the death of her
beloved schoolteacher father six years earlier, an untimely death
that had left Trixy all alone to face the world, and completely
penniless into the bargain.
    It had been a long six years, made even
longer by the drudgery of the various employments she had been
forced, without connections, without references, to accept in the
interim. Her first positions had been more menial than instructive,
and she had wiped far more childish noses than she had opened young
minds to the glory of learning.
    Difficult as it was to believe now, her
position as governess-cum-companion to the Misses Somerville for
the past two years had seemed to be a giant leap upward in her
checkered career, with hopes of helping Myles Somerville present
his beautiful blond twins to society in just a few short months
acting as a carrot to give her lagging spirit the energy to go
on.
    That idyllic dream, the one that had a lot
to do with Trixy hovering on the edge of some candlelit ballroom
just as a rich, handsome peer of the realm strolled into the room,
spied her, and immediately fell to his