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could see he was mulling over the idea.
    “It need not be a big dog, my lord, for Marissa should learn how to care for it, after all.”
    “Yes, that would teach her some responsibility, and there is always a footman to take it for walks.”  He studied her for a long moment before nodding his head.  “I shall give your idea due consideration, Miss Forsythe.”  It was not the answer she’d hoped for, but she supposed it was better than an outright denial.  “Your second remedy?”
    “Do you have time to take tea at home in the afternoons, Lord Raynor?” Georgeanne asked, her tone ever so sweet.
    “On occasion,” he responded carefully.
    “Would you be willing to include your niece two or three days a week?”
    “Yes, but can you promise Marissa will not throw any tantrums?”
    Georgeanne wrinkled her brow as she considered his question.  “No, not always.  But I can promise you some delightful times.  Marissa is such a lovable little girl once you get to know her.”
    He gave a curt nod, then rose.  “Shall we begin tomorrow, say four of the clock?”
    “Done!” Georgeanne replied, extending her hand across the top of the desk to seal the bargain.  Meeting her eyes, Lord Raynor accepted her slender fingers, clasping them firmly in his large hand.  The warmth she felt from the contact of his bare skin sent a tremor and brought heat to her cheeks.  Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she gave a gentle tug to break his grasp.
    Lowering her eyes, Georgeanne curtsied, stepped around the chair and began backing toward the door.  She heard the door open behind her but did not turn around.  She was brought up short, though, when her heel came down on the arch of the man’s foot.
    Georgeanne quickly hopped off the highly polished Hessian and whirled around to stare up into a handsome face, split into a wide, captivating grin.  His light brown hair was carefully brushed in a disarray of curls.  He was of medium height and lean build, and as he reached out one hand to steady her, his hazel eyes warmed with open admiration.
    “Please excuse me, sir,” she begged a little breathlessly.
    “My pleasure, madam.  In fact, you may tread on me any time you like,” he answered with a deep laugh that rumbled through the room.
    Raynor came out from behind the desk.  “That will be all, Miss Forsythe.”
    Georgeanne curtsied once again.  “Until tomorrow then, my lord,” she said before leaving in a whirl of skirts.  She almost ran up the stairs to her room.  Once inside the cozy chamber, she closed the door, leaning back against it, and tried to slow her ragged breathing.
    Whatever was she thinking?  She was the governess, Lord Raynor’s employee.  How could she ever hope to attract his attention as an eligible parti ?  More likely, he would take her sauciness as an invitation to offer her a most dishonorable position.  She’d do much better to simply remember who she was and keep to her plan.  Besides, Marissa would be the one to suffer if she got herself fired for being impertinent with the child’s uncle.
     
     
     
     
    ***   Chapter 3   ***
     
    Lord William Townsend gave his friend a quizzical look, then lifted the back of his claw hammer coat of robin egg blue and seated himself upon the very chair Georgeanne had just vacated.  With the candidness of a loyal and trusted friend, he said, “She isn’t a light skirt?”
    “Hardly, she is Marissa’s governess,” replied Raynor in a tone that declared the discussion of Georgeanne was at an end.  He’d recognized the all too familiar predatory gleam in his friend’s eye when Townsend had clapped eyes on Miss Forsythe.
    “Never say so?” exclaimed Townsend, deigning to ignore his host’s wishes.  “Is she any good?  I mean as a governess,” he amended quickly when Raynor’s face took on a ruddy hue.  “Meant no offense,” he blundered on, “but you must admit, she ain’t in the regular way of governesses.”
    Leaning back in his