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body heat. She prayed the gloom hid her blush. How foolish of her to imagine, even for a moment, that he’d intended to commit murder. The wildness of the storm must have addled her senses.
    That, and the novel sensation of being held by a man.
    Combing his fingers through his wet hair, Lord Simon cast an irritated glance at her. He clearly viewed her as a nuisance. She could only imagine how utterly unlike a proper governess she must appear in her bedraggled garb. Would he send her packing as soon as the rain died down?
    “M-my lord,” she said, her teeth chattering, “if—if you’d permit me to explain m-my presence here—”
    “Come,” he snapped.
    His boot heels rang on the flagstone floor as he strode away down the corridor. Resentment locked her in place. Did he think her a dog to obey his command?
    Then prudence asserted itself, and she made haste to follow him. He had every right to issue orders, Annabelle reminded herself. Who was she but a lowly servant? Worse, she was a mere applicant for the post of governess since the position she had believed to be hers now appeared in grave jeopardy.
    Her wet shoes squelched on the stone floor. All of her earlier optimism had vanished, leaving her confused and uncertain. Oh, why hadn’t he been expecting her arrival? Lady Milford’s letter must have gone astray. Yet the problem was more than just that. He appeared to have no knowledge whatsoever of any governess being engaged. It begged the question as to why her ladyship had neglected to obtain the approval of the duke’s guardian.
    Lord Simon started up a narrow winding staircase with Annabelle close at his heels. Rain blew through a window slit. In spite of her anxiety, she looked around with interest. By the rounded walls, this must be one of the towers. The stone steps were worn in the middle from centuries of usage. She felt a keen desire to learn the history of the castle. Would she have that opportunity?
    Her stomach twisted. The prospect of being sent away hung over her like a guillotine. She couldn’t return to Mrs. Baxter’s Academy. She had burned her bridges there. Anyway, to resume her former life would mean giving up her dreams of adventure. She shuddered to think of withering away as an old maid, confined to the prison of the school, never to experience anything of the outside world …
    The man who held her fate in his hands walked ahead of her. He led the way down a long corridor decorated by dusty old tapestries and shields hanging on the stone walls. With his lord-of-the-manor arrogance, he fit the gloomy ambiance to perfection. She imagined him in knightly armor and helm, crushing his opponents in a tournament, and afterward, striding triumphantly to join his lady …
    Annabelle stared at his broad back. Did Lord Simon have a wife? Surely not. Lady Milford had said the young duke had no female relatives to take the place of his mother. Given his boorish manners, Lord Simon probably frightened off all decent women.
    He was grumpier than Mr. Tibbles.
    Annabelle clapped a hand to her mouth to stop an untimely giggle. She mustn’t compare her potential employer to a spiteful tomcat. And truly, her situation was too dire for humor. Though perhaps if she didn’t laugh, she might weep.
    He halted by an open doorway. His critical gaze flicked to her bosom, then returned to her face. “You’ll need dry clothing. I don’t suppose you’ve brought any.”
    Does it look like I have? She squelched the sarcastic retort. “My trunk is at the inn. I had no means to transport it here.”
    His scowl deepened. “I’ll have the housekeeper find you something. The moment you’ve changed, you’re to come straight to my study.”
    As surly as ever, Lord Simon turned his back on her and stalked down the corridor. Annabelle parted her lips to remind him that she didn’t know her way around the castle. But perhaps it would be best to keep her own counsel. Asking him for anything, even directions, would only