Page 36 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

“We’ll duck down there and see if they follow us.

Are you all right with that?” Xavier studied the nanny’s face in the growing gloom, but he couldn’t detect any fear in her expression.

“Feel free to say no. It could be dangerous if they mean either, or both of us, harm. I can simply hail a hansom cab.”

“No. This is important.” Mrs. Chase’s voice was firm.

“I feel certain these men are shadowing you. If we can confront them and extract information from them, you might find out who’s behind this sustained campaign to intimidate and discredit you, once and for all.

Besides”—her mouth lifted in a faint smile—“I can hold my own in a fight if it comes down to that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Xavier. Which was true, but the gentleman in him was loath to put this young woman in danger, no matter how fearless she might be or how proficient she was in the art of self-defense. He prayed these men weren’t hired thugs and there wouldn’t be a physical altercation.

Perhaps they were both simply starting at shadows.

Except they weren’t. As soon as Xavier and Mrs. Chase entered the narrow lane, Xavier could hear heavy footsteps behind them. The round, domed building of the Temple Church was up ahead on their left. Perhaps they could duck inside and catch a glimpse of the men without confronting—

At that moment the heavens opened up and it began to pour. Heavy, ice-cold raindrops pummeled them, and Xavier gritted his teeth. He would soon be soaked to the skin and he didn’t have time to be distracted by his strong dislike of damp fabric clinging to his body.

Then all of a sudden, Mrs. Chase opened her umbrella. Huddling closer to him, she thrust the canopy over both their heads. “I have an idea,” she murmured, her deliciously warm breath fanning over his cheek. “Do you trust me, Your Grace?”

“Implicitly,” he returned without hesitation.

The lane they were following was coming to an end up ahead.

It diverged—one path veered to the left, leading one around the outside of the church.

The other branched to the right, tracing a path between tightly packed barristers’ chambers.

From previous excursions, Xavier knew it ended in a closed courtyard.

“Turn right,” urged Emmeline, increasing their pace.

No sooner had they dashed around the corner, she was pushing him beneath a stone archway into a narrow recess—a tight alleyway—between two buildings.

It was such a small, cramped space, Mrs. Chase was crushed hard up against Xavier’s chest. It was a wonder the umbrella fit.

A frisson of panic shot through Xavier. They were effectively squashed.

Trapped. Sitting ducks with no room to move or fight back.

Beneath the tattoo of the hammering rain, he could hear the resounding wet slap of approaching footsteps on the pavement.

Men running. Drawing ever closer. “What are you do—” he began.

“Shhh.” Emmeline pressed a gloved finger to Xavier’s lips. Then she whispered the strangest word he’d ever heard. “ Cloakify .”

Cloakify? Xavier didn’t have time to think on it further as an enormous peal of thunder boomed and reverberated down the lane.

A strange haze—a soft purple-hued mist—seemed to envelop them and meld with the shadows.

Was it a trick of the light? Something to do with the tempest breaking over London? The electricity in the air?

Surely it hadn’t anything to do with the peculiar word he’d thought Mrs. Chase had uttered.

Glancing out from beneath the brim of Mrs. Chase’s umbrella, Xavier spied one of their pursuers, silhouetted in the entrance to the alleyway where they hid.

Damn.

Holding his breath, all senses on high alert, Xavier pressed the catch on the top of his cane. He wouldn’t hesitate to draw his rapier—or use it—if he had to. But to his astonishment, the man—the thug—didn’t seem to be able to see him or the nanny.

How could that be? Perhaps the shadows, the mist, and the deep gloom of the alcove were enough to completely hide them.

Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the stranger.

The heavily built brute was scowling, peering into the gloom as rain sluiced down his face.

A prominent scar carved a path across one cheek, right down to the corner of his mouth.

“Where did they go?” he called over his shoulder, back toward the church.

The second man appeared beside his partner. “Bleedin’ ’ell,” he grumbled. He was wearing the simple garb of a workman. A cap and ill-fitting sack coat, loose trousers and heavy boots. “We can’t ’ave lost ’em.”

The first man removed his beaver hat and combed a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Looks like we ’ave.” He glanced back toward the Temple Church, then to his left where the closed courtyard lay.

“Do you fink they’ve taken shelter in one of these legal toffs’ rooms? Or the church?”

“Maybe. But we’re not supposed to be creatin’ a fuss that will get noticed.

” Thunder growled again as the scarred stranger jammed his hat back on his head.

“Righto. Not much point in searchin’ for Lunatic St Lawrence now.

We’re sure to ’ave put the wind up ’im at least. The guv’nor oughta be ’appy about that if nuffink else.

There’s no sense stayin’ out ’ere when it’s rainin’ like the end of the world is nigh. ”

The thugs disappeared from view and Xavier released a relieved sigh. Thank God. And thank heavens for Emmeline’s quick thinking, pulling them into a darkly shadowed recess and using her umbrella to hide them.

“Who do you think the ‘guv’nor’ is?” murmured Mrs. Chase, claiming his attention again. She was still pushed up against him, his legs crushing her skirts. The soft mounds of her breasts were pressing into his chest.

Xavier swallowed. Hard. How the hell was he supposed to think, let alone speak in this situation? “I’m not sure,” he managed roughly. “It could be Sir Randolph. Maybe my uncle or cousin. Or someone else entirely.”

“I’m sorry that oaf called you such an awful name.”

Xavier shrugged a shoulder, the fabric of his frock coat scraping on the bricks at his back. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

One of Mrs. Chase’s hands, the one not holding the umbrella, was lying against the front of his coat. Right where his heart thudded wildly against his rib cage. “That doesn’t make it all right, Your Grace,” she said softly.

“No. It doesn’t.” He drew a breath, intending to suggest they leave. But he found himself frozen to the spot. Reluctant to move.

Transfixed by whatever magical spell the nanny was effortlessly weaving beneath her umbrella.

The sheeting rain was still pouring down all around them.

Thunder grumbled and lightning flickered but Xavier barely noticed.

Even though there was scarcely any light in the alley where they sheltered, he could just make out the pale oval of Mrs. Chase’s face, framed by her coppery curls and the brim of her black bonnet. The soft gleam of her large eyes.

His gaze dipped lower. The gentle curve of her lush mouth…

His banked desire stirred. His blood, already afire from the chase and the act of steeling himself for a fight, seared through his veins, awakening the peculiar ache—stark yearning—in his chest again.

He licked his lips. “Mrs. Chase,” he whispered huskily. He shouldn’t kiss her. He shouldn’t be taking advantage of this woman—any woman—in this situation.

But this was Emmeline Chase. The delicious figment of his dreams. The calm center of his spiraling universe.

“Emmeline…” His whisper was edged with a need so sharp, she must hear it.

“You want me,” she murmured.

Was it his imagination, or did she tilt her face up toward his? Was she really inviting him to—

There was a shift in the air. A crackle of electricity. A quickening of breath—both his and Mrs. Chase’s—and the sharpening of all Xavier’s senses. Everything around them suddenly seemed to be limned in a silvery-lavender light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Your Grace?” Mrs. Chase’s fingers curled into his lapel.

The tip of her pretty pink tongue swept over the plush pillow of her bottom lip, leaving behind a soft sheen of moisture.

Her delicate feminine scent—violets and perhaps vanilla and something that was essentially Emmeline—floated around him, teasing him.

Dear God. Xavier couldn’t resist such a sweet temptation.

He’d been trying so hard for so long to not give in to his desire.

Telling himself all sorts of lies and inconvenient truths, like she was an employee, and he was a nobleman with a duty of care.

But in this particular moment when his pulse was careening out of control and Mrs. Chase was all but offering her mouth to him, his resolve was dissolving faster than a sugar lump in a cup of coffee.

He raised a hand—sweet Lord, he was so nervous, he was trembling—and dared to cup Mrs. Chase’s cheek.

To cradle the gentle curve in his gloved palm.

To brush a raindrop off her satin-smooth skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I know that I shouldn’t, but yes, I do want to kiss you,” he all but groaned. “Most desperately. Most ardently.”

Her breath drifted over his mouth, warm and humid in the frosty air as she reached up and slid her hand behind his neck. Her fingers threaded through his hair. “Then what are you waiting for?”

That was a very good question, and damned if Xavier could mount a single objection that actually mattered.

Bending his head, he brushed his lips over Mrs. Chase’s in an experimental glide.

A tentative exploration. It had been forever since he’d kissed a woman, and he prayed that he still possessed a modicum of finesse.

She’d been married. She would know everything there was to know about the art of kissing.

Even so, despite his lack of recent practice, he would try to make this good.

No, better than good.