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she knew were back at Lawton.

      But the marquess had hired her! Even after she’d lost her temper with him. Even after that speech of hers about her esteem of learning.

      Hopefully her love of learning would be enough to make her a governess, because she possessed no other qualifications for the job.

      ‘Well.’ She struggled for what to say next. ‘Excellent.’

      His brows lowered again.

      Oh, my. What if he changed his mind?

      She cleared her throat, groping for an idea of what a governess ought to ask. ‘May I ask about the children? How many will be in my charge and—and to whom do I answer regarding their care?’

      That sounded sufficiently like a governess.

      He frowned, as if her question vexed him. ‘Two, only.’

      She tried a smile. ‘Their ages?’

      He averted his gaze. ‘My son is about seven. My … daughter, five.’

      ‘Lovely ages.’ Two children did not sound terribly daunting, especially two so young. ‘And are they at Brentmore Hall?’

      She and Charlotte had looked in the Topography of Great Britain and an old volume of Debrett’s in the Lawtons’ library to learn about this marquess. They knew the marquess’s wife died a little over a year ago, but all else they discovered was that the marquess’s manor house, Brentmore Hall, was in Essex.

      ‘Of course they are at Brentmore,’ he snapped. ‘Where else would they be?’

      Did that question offend him? Conversing with him was like walking on eggs.

      He paced like a panther, a huge wild cat she and Charlotte saw once at the Tower of London. That black cat had prowled its cage, back and forth, back and forth, lethally dangerous and yearning to escape.

      This marquess’s hair was as dark as a panther’s. As were his eyes. When he moved, it was as if he, too, wished to break free.

      In any event, there was no call for him to growl at her.

      ‘I do not know where the children should be,’ she said in her haughty voice. ‘That was the point of my asking. I also wish to know where I am to live.’

      He waved a hand. ‘Forgive me once more, Miss Hill. I am unaccustomed to interviewing governesses.’

      She lifted a brow.

      He pressed his lips together before speaking. ‘The previous governess passed away suddenly.’

      She gasped. ‘Passed away? Your poor children!’ First their mother, then their governess? She felt a wave of tenderness for them. It seemed a lot for two little children to bear.

      He stared at her again and some emotion flitted through those black eyes. Precisely what emotion, she could not tell.

      ‘How are they managing?’ she asked.

      ‘Managing?’ He seemed surprised at her question. ‘Tolerably well, Parker says.’

      ‘Parker?’

      ‘My man of business,’ he explained. ‘Fortunately he happened to be at Brentmore and has taken care of everything.’

      ‘You have not seen the children?’ How appalling.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Not since this happened. Not for a few months.’

      She clamped her mouth shut. It seemed the only way to control it. Charlotte’s governess used to tell Anna to mind her tongue and never forget her station. It had always confused her, because she was also supposed to show Charlotte how to speak up and be bold.

      She changed the subject. ‘Will I answer to your man of business, then?’

      Oh, dear. Did he hear the disapproval in her tone?

      ‘You will answer to me.’ He fixed his panther eyes on her again. ‘In daily matters you will be in total charge of the children. You will decide their needs and their care. The other servants will defer to you in matters regarding them.’

      Her eyes widened.

      His expression turned stern. ‘If you are not up to the task, tell me now, Miss Hill.’

      She could still lose this position.

      She took a breath. ‘I am up to the task, my lord. I merely felt it wise to know the extent of my responsibility.’

      He held her captive with his eyes, which turned unexpectedly sad. ‘Provide my children what they need. Make them happy.’

      For a moment it was as if a mask dropped from his face and she glimpsed a man in agony.

      This glimpse shook her more than the pacing panther.

      ‘I shall try my best,’ she whispered.

      ‘We are done, Miss Hill. I will send word to you when you are to leave for Brentmore.’ He turned away and prowled to the door.

      She remembered to curtsy, but he did not see her. He left the room and a moment later the butler appeared to escort her to the hall. Once in the hall, the butler walked her to the door and opened it.

      She was about to step across the threshold when the marquess’s voice stopped her. ‘Do not leave.’ He stood on the marble staircase, looking down on her.

      Her anxiety returned. Perhaps he had reconsidered.

      ‘It is raining,’ he said.

      The rain was pouring in sheets outside.

      ‘I do not mind the rain,’ she assured him.

      ‘You will be soaked within minutes.’ He descended the stairs and walked directly towards her.

      Her fingers fluttered. ‘It is of no consequence.’

      ‘I will call my carriage for you.’ The marquess gestured towards the open door.

      Her hand flew to her throat. ‘That is much too much trouble, sir. If you insist, I will borrow an umbrella—’

      He cut her off. ‘An umbrella will be useless.’ Again he stared at her and did not speak right away. ‘I must go out. Very soon.’

      The butler made a surprised sound.

      The marquess shot him a sharp glance and turned his panther gaze back to Anna. ‘Wait a few moments. I will drop you off on my way.’

      Ride with him in the carriage? Enter the panther cage? She could not refuse. He all but demanded it.

      She curtsied again. ‘Thank you, sir. It is beyond generous of you.’

      ‘Shall the young lady wait in the drawing room, my lord?’ the butler asked, closing the door.

      ‘Yes.’ Lord Brentmore turned back to the stairs.

      ‘Very good, sir.’ The butler bowed curtly.

      He led Anna to a beautifully furnished drawing room on the same level as the hall. Its brocade-upholstered sofas and crystal and porcelain spoke of opulence. One wall held a huge family portrait from a generation ago. A Gainsborough? It certainly appeared to be. She and Charlotte had seen engravings of Gainsborough’s portraits.

      There was even a fire lit in the room, taking away the early spring chill.

      ‘Do sit, Miss Hill,’ the butler intoned.

      She lowered herself into a chair by the fire and listened to the ticking of the mantel clock as she waited.

      Twenty minutes later Brent was informed that the carriage waited outside. He donned his topcoat and hat, and had Davies collect Miss Hill.

      He was putting on his gloves when Davies led Miss Hill back to the hall. Brent nodded to her and Davies escorted her to the door where footmen waited with umbrellas. One walked her

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