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He almost relented when he saw the fear present in his daughter’s eyes. A fear of him and what he might do. Frederick hated that his daughter was scared of him, reviled by the very concept. He wanted her to love him. To know how much he loved her. But he needed her to understand that this was not a game, that what he did was for her benefit, and while she might hate him for it, one day she would thank him. He hoped.

“I… I…” She could hardly speak, again looking for support from Miss Dowding.

“Isabella is right, it is not what you think,” Miss Dowding spoke up. “And I would ask that you stop scaring your daughter.”

He turned on Miss Dowding, happy to level his gaze upon her instead. Baring his teeth, he was reminded suddenly of the previous evening… the way he had stood over her before diving between her legs. And the determined look she returned at him…

“I was speaking with my daughter,” he growled at her.

“My student,” she responded coolly. “And we were in the middle of a lesson.”

“Yes, that is why I hired you, is it not? To teach her—to show her what it means to be a lady of the peerage. But from what I can see, all you are interested in is fostering the side of her which I had expected you to quell.”

She snorted. “That is not at all what?—”

“Do not argue!” he bellowed, forcing her to fall back. “There was blood in her sheets, and unless you can give me a reason beyond what I know, then I have no choice but to… to… assume that you have failed her.”

He looked at them both for an answer, not that he expected one. What could they possibly say? He knew the blood to be caused from some scratch or wound she had taken climbing a tree orrunning when she shouldn’t have been or playing a game not meant for little girls. That was all it could be.

“Well?!”

Isabella looked desperately at Miss Dowding. Eyes wide, it seemed that they were having a silent conversation of some sort; pleading was what it looked like. Such that Frederick fully expected Miss Dowding to lie for her again. Only…

“You are right,” Miss Dowding sighed regretfully. “The blood was caused from…” She clicked her tongue. “We were playing earlier, and Isabella fell and cut herself. I thought I had cleaned the wound well enough, but evidently, I had not.”

His eyes flashed fury, and he was back on his daughter. “You are not to leave the manor without my say so.”

“Father—”

“And I do mean the manor,” he warned her. “You are not to step foot outside unless you are in my presence. Is that understood?”

His daughter looked at him defiantly, anger and fury and loathing in her glare. He matched it, bearing over her, and she relented and dropped her head from shame. “Fine.”

“I really think that is too much!” Miss Dowding spoke up. “The fault lays with me, not?—”

“Oh, I am not finished with you!” He turned on her next, working overtime to separate the feelings of arousal that swarmed him when their eyes met. Again… yesterday evening… the desire to punish her for what she did. Oh, how he wished to. “I told you what is expected,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“And I have done that,” she responded just as acidly.

“You have not.” The side of his mouth twitched. “While I admit that in some facets you have been a boon, they pale in comparison when put beside your failures.”

“That is not—” She caught her tongue, biting back her response in a way that he could see she struggled to do.

“Not fair?” he scoffed. “I knew you were wrong for this role from the first day. And it seemed that I have been vindicated.”

“Father!” Isabella cried. “That is not fair?—”

“Quiet!” he snapped at her without so much as a glance, all attention focused on Miss Dowding. His trip to London and the conversation he’d needed to have with Miss Dowding had plagued him all day, for he had wondered how he might brooch it without breaking. Now, with all that had happened, that hardly seemed a concern. “This role of yours, it was only ever meant to be temporary.”

“I am aware,” she said, unblinking in her gaze.

“It is for that reason that earlier today I travelled to London where I have started the hiring process for a new governess?—”

“Father! Please!”

“—which I expect to be completed within the week,” he continued. “Which means that come that time, your services will no longer be required. You are my mother’s companion, and I think we can both agree that is a role which suits you best.”

Oh, he could see the shock. He could feel the anger. Her eyes widened, glaring white-hot daggers as if she expected to cut him. Fists curled into balls. Jaw clenched. If his daughter was not present, he could only imagine what she might say… and what he might say in response.