Page 24 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

Involving Sticky Badgers and Sticky Beaks; Bird-wittedness and Brazen Moves; Champagne, Meringues, Cream, and a Far Too Tempting Invitation…

As Emmeline suspected, His Grace was in his study. Bertie, who was on “guard duty” in the hall, gave her a wide smile before he knocked on the door and announced her arrival.

As soon as Emmeline entered the room, Horatio, who was on his perch behind the duke’s desk, bobbed up and down and cawed a soft greeting.

Nanny Chase , he remarked in her head. So lovely to see you.

I enjoyed the puff balloon pudding you made immensely.

Although I am now stickier than a badger who’s plundered a beehive…

For effect, the raven wiped his glossy black beak on his polished mahogany perch then ruffled his feathers.

Yes, it’s an inevitable hazard I’m afraid , returned Emmeline. But I’m very pleased to hear you enjoyed it, Horatio. Concerned that she might appear to be bird-witted if she regarded the duke’s raven for too long, Emmeline transferred her attention to her employer and dipped into a curtsy.

As for His Grace, he’d already placed his silver fountain pen in its stand, pushed aside his work, and had risen to his feet as though Emmeline were a fine lady who’d come to visit.

It seemed to be a habit of his—treating her as though she were someone from his exalted class—and she was always surprised (and secretly more than a little flattered) by his gentlemanly manners.

It made Emmeline feel special, and the warm flutters she felt in her belly whenever he behaved in such a way had everything to do with the fact he was kind.

(And nothing at all to do with the fact he was austerely handsome and respectful.

Or the delicious richness of his voice which always turned her insides to a mushy puddle.)

“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace,” she began at the exact same moment he said, “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Mrs. Chase?”

Emmeline laughed, then her face grew hot when the duke held her gaze in that very direct way of his. Like he was interested in her and couldn’t stop studying her expression. Or he was trying very hard to discern her thoughts.

Hoping the duke wouldn’t notice the telltale color in her cheeks—Emmeline had honestly never blushed so much in her entire life—she reminded herself why she’d come.

“I know we usually talk in the evenings, but something unexpected has occurred,” she said.

“Another difficult-to-explain household disturbance. It’s nothing disastrous, and your wards are perfectly fine, but I thought you should hear about it right away. ”

“I see,” said the duke, his brows descending into a deep frown. He gestured to the wing chairs in front of the fire. “Shall we be seated for this discussion?”

Emmeline agreed and once they were settled, she proceeded to describe the “upset paintings incident.” She also gave an abbreviated account of Fanny’s disclosure about the ghost of St Lawrence House.

“Fanny also told me that some of the staff think—” Emmeline paused and bit her lip.

She would need to choose her next words carefully.

The last thing she wanted to do was upset the duke by being tactless.

“Yes,” prompted the duke. “Go on, Mrs. Chase.” His mouth tipped into a wry smile. “Although I suspect I know exactly what you are about to say. Is it something to do with my mental fitness? Or lack thereof? That various staff members often whisper that I might be as mad as a hatter?”

Emmeline grimaced. “I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”

“And what do you think about that idea?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“I think it’s utter nonsense,” returned Emmeline firmly. “Not to mention terribly rude. And I told Fanny so. I also advised her not to repeat that sort of gossip.”

The duke inclined his head. “Thank you for nobly defending me. Although, rumors of that nature have been circulating about society for quite some time, so I’m not surprised nor offended. My singular tastes and undeniable obsession with horology have marked me as… different. Even amongst my peers.”

“You’re not a usual sort of duke,” said Emmeline with a smile meant to convey her understanding.

“Exactly,” said His Grace, the faintest trace of an answering smile playing about his wide chiseled mouth.

“I suppose the most noteworthy thing about this particular ‘painting’ incident is that the perpetrator has decided to wreak mischief in the middle of the day rather than in the middle of the night. Which is a particularly brazen move, I must say.”

“It must be someone on your staff,” asserted Emmeline. “Nothing else makes sense.”

The duke steepled his gloved fingers beneath his chin.

“Yes… Of course, I’ll question Woodley and the footmen stationed at the front door.

And Mrs. Punchbowl, who’s always in the kitchen.

There are daily deliveries—food, newspapers, coal, and mail—so any number of strangers visit the house.

But given everything else that’s occurred over the last few months, it stands to reason that the mischief-maker is someone who not only works but resides here. ”

“I’m reasonably certain it isn’t Fanny,” said Emmeline.

“She did seem genuinely shaken when I found her in the hall outside the nursery. It was her shriek that alerted me to the fact that something was wrong in the first place. Unless she ducked out of the nursery and tampered with the pictures when I was repairing my appearance upstairs.”

“It does seem unlikely,” agreed the duke. Then his gaze combed over Emmeline, slow and assessing. “Along with the need for you to repair your appearance. You always look immaculate, Mrs. Chase.”

“Not after making puff balloons, I’m afraid,” said Emmeline with a sigh. “I was rather floury and syrupy.”

“Ah, the puff balloons.” The duke smiled. “Horatio did enjoy the one that was sent up. I was almost tempted to try it after I’d heard you’d made it. But alas, I do not enjoy sweet fare.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Emmeline. “Your wards enjoyed cooking them at any rate.”

“I’m sure they did.” There was a slight pause in which the duke regarded Emmeline, his expression deeply thoughtful. “I told a lie before, Mrs. Chase. Your appearance is always immaculate… except for one thing.” His attention settled on the top of her head.

Emmeline self-consciously touched her utilitarian coiffure. Was her coiled bun coming undone? Had some of her curls escaped? Her untamable locks were the bane of her existence. “My apologies if my hair is not quite right,” she began, but the duke held up a hand.

“It’s not your gorg—It’s not your hair that’s the problem,” he said.

“It’s that godawful nanny’s cap that the Parasol Academy makes you wear.

If I had my way, I’d burn the ridiculous thing.

It’s as pointless as a broken compass. Why anyone thought that something that resembles an exploded meringue would make a good hat, I’ll never know. ”

Emmeline couldn’t contain her laughter. It fountained out of her like a frothy spill of champagne from an uncorked bottle. “Oh, Your Grace, I do happen to agree with you. But as per the Parasol Academy Handbook —”

“You have to wear it,” finished the duke with a sigh. “Tell me, Mrs. Chase”—his blue eyes, now glowing rather than icecool, bored into hers—“do you always follow the Academy’s rules?”

“I do,” Emmeline declared with a decided nod. (A little white lie.) “I must.” (Not a lie.)

“Ah, but you are in my house now, Mrs. Chase.” The duke’s voice grew deeper. His blue gaze more intense. “Shouldn’t you follow my rules?”

Emmeline’s pulse accelerated like a runaway train, clickety-clacking so loudly, she wondered that the duke didn’t hear it.

“I-I will always try to, Your Grace,” she stammered.

“As long as your rules are not in direct opposition to the Academy’s.

” Although, deep down, Emmeline feared that her commitment to certain parts of the Academy’s prescriptive handbook—such as its strict uniform policy—could very easily falter.

In fact, right at this moment, her resolve was wavering like a candle flame guttering in a draft.

She sat up straighter as though the mere act of improving her posture would somehow reinforce her willpower. Yes, her determination was like steel, and not at all weak like a soggy biscuit that had been dunked in a cup of tea one too many times.

“Hmmm.” That small, disgruntled rumble implied the duke was not particularly pleased with Emmeline’s response.

His gloved fingertips drummed on the arm of his leather chair.

“What if I proscribe the wearing of that abomination you call a nanny’s cap while inside the walls of St Lawrence House?

” he continued. He cocked a brow as though presenting her with a challenge.

“I won’t tell the Academy if you don’t. No one will know. Why don’t you take it off right now…?”

Scorching heat flooded Emmeline’s face. She felt as though the duke had asked her to strip naked, not just take off her cap.

But perhaps such indecorous thoughts had invaded her mind because the man himself was currently dishabille—coatless and necktie-less with a loosened collar and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

Indeed, the entire time she’d been in the duke’s study, Emmeline had been secretly wondering how the duke would look, sans clothes.

Oh, she was a naughty, wicked nanny. A frustrated widow who hadn’t had any sort of fulfilling “relations” for far too long.

Thank heavens her employer couldn’t read her direct thoughts.

“I-I suppose I could dispense with my cap,” murmured Emmeline, raising her hands to the top of her head. “I wouldn’t want to displease you, Your Grace.”

As she began to carefully remove the half-dozen hairpins that kept the confection of linen and lace in place, heat flared in the duke’s eyes. Was it a spark of triumph? Desire?

Surely not. Emmeline’s imagination was simply running wild down all sorts of libidinous paths that in the end would only trip her up. She was far too fanciful, and her inappropriate thoughts were bound to get her into trouble if she didn’t rein them in. And quickly.

One should not lust after one’s employer. Like and respect and admire, yes.

Desire, no.

No, no, no, with an enormous dollop of never, ever, ever on top.

She couldn’t risk her position here. She needed the money. Her father needed the money. She must be ruthless. Mercenary. She must not put a foot wrong. Not when there was so much at stake.

The duke smiled like the cat who’d lapped up an entire bowl of cream when Emmeline was capless. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile in that way before. Like a rake. Like a man who’d gotten his way and was pleased beyond measure.

She tucked her cap and hairpins into her pocket then said in a voice that was far too breathless, “Well, I hope my appearance now meets with your approval, Your Grace.”

“It does.” His voice, low and soft and intimate, stroked over her, making her shiver. “Very much.”

Oh, my days. Emmeline didn’t know where to look or what to say. In the ensuing silence, the only things that could be heard were the ticking of the mantel clock and the crackle of the fire. And perhaps the wild thud of her heart against her ribs.

Emmeline smoothed her damp palms down her skirts as she tried to school her thoughts into some semblance of order.

To not think about the duke in ways that she shouldn’t.

She most certainly wouldn’t look at the duke’s thighs and the way the fabric pulled tight over the hard muscles.

Or the fact that his rolled-up cambric sleeves revealed his lean, corded forearms with their fine dusting of hair.

To think those lean strong arms had been wrapped around her at her interview…

It was a memory she’d been steadfastly trying to avoid, but when she was alone at night, it would slip into her mind, taunting her, teasing her until she took matters into her own hands to relieve her pent-up, physical tension.

She wasn’t an innocent young virgin. She was a widow and she had needs, damn it!

And the duke was a very attractive, intriguing, powerful man…

Emmeline had the sudden, completely mad urge to want to see the duke’s bare hands.

He always wore fine black leather gloves that seemed molded to his flesh.

If she peeled off those gloves, what would she find?

He had long, almost elegant fingers and she imagined his nails were well-kept.

Would there be a fine sprinkling of hair on the backs of his hands too?

Oh God, now she was wondering what he could do with those hands. How it would feel if he inched up her wool skirts and pristine white petticoats and rested his large palm against her drawer-clad thigh. Skated his fingertips up higher, higher, until he found her—

No. What happened to no, no, no, with an enormous dollop of never, ever, ever on top, Emmeline Chase?

Remember Chapter Five, Paragraph 3.2, Part a ) of the Parasol Academy Handbook ?

The bit about fraternizing with one’s employer.

That it’s entirely and utterly forbidden!

? (Yes, it was even underlined in the handbook.)

Emmeline swallowed. Closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Think about something irksome. Something horrid and annoying. Like burnt toast and rotten potatoes for tea. Like enormous spiders and dog-eared pages or impossibly knotted bootlaces. Or anything written by Charles Dickens.

Once she was feeling less discomposed (that is, her lust was locked away securely behind a bolted door) Emmeline faced the duke.

“Well, I shall continue to keep an eye out for the St Lawrence House saboteur,” she said.

“It’s such a shame that I didn’t catch whoever it is in the act earlier on.

Although, if the saboteur is getting bolder, perhaps he or she will reveal their hand before too long. ”

The duke released a sigh. “We can but hope.”

“Right… If there’s nothing else…” Emmeline moved to the edge of her seat.

The duke took her cue and rose as she did. But instead of dismissing her, he said, “Ah, but there is something else, Mrs. Chase.” He held out a gloved hand like he was inviting her to dance. “Come. I have something I want to show you.”