To Tempt A Rogue by Adrienne Basso Page B

Harriet called out. “Good morning. I am the new governess, Miss Sainthill. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to show me to the dining room? Mr. Wainwright is expecting me to join him for breakfast.”
    Harriet moved forward quickly as she spoke, hoping to gain an answer, but as she drew near the candle placed in the wall sconce flickered as though caught by the wind, the light went out and the servant in the mud-brown garment simply disappeared.
    Harriet stood rooted to the spot, squinting into the dull light, uncertain if it was her eyes, her imagination or her lack of sleep playing tricks on her mind. Yet she was certain she had seen something.
    A sudden, exploding crack of thunder reverberated through her very bones, sending a shiver up her spine. Streaks of color lit up the hallway and for an instant she saw a Scottish warrior, fierce, bloodied and wild, with his sword raised high.
    Her mouth fell open in horror, but the scream died within her throat when she realized she was staring at a portrait, an image captured on canvas yet so real and lifelike it could strike terror upon any unsuspecting fool. Harriet winced, then shook her head, scolding herself for allowing her imagination such free, lurid rein. She was by nature a reasonable and logical woman, yet the eerie atmosphere of this strange castle was addling her wits.
    Her heart continued to pound in an unnatural, rapid rhythm, but she was unable to resist moving closer to the portrait, searching among the proud, handsome features of the subject for a family resemblance to her new employer. She could see none in coloring, stature or physical characteristics, yet this noble warrior and Mr. Wainwright shared one rather striking similarity.
    They were the kind of man that caught a woman’s eye.
    An odd noise behind her distracted her study. She tilted her head to one side and listened intently, but did not turn around. She heard it again. Was that the creak of a footstep?
    â€œGood morning, Miss Sainthill.”
    Harriet gasped, then brought her hand to cover her mouth. She swung around. “Ahh, s . . . shirh.”
    She had lost control of her voice, her words were garbled. She sniffed, hiccupped then with sheer force of will slowed her breathing to normal.
    â€œMr. Wainwright. You startled me. Good morning.”
    She caught herself before dipping into a curtsey, remembering he was a mister and not a lord. His dark eyes gleamed like the blade of a sword, but hidden beneath their depths she saw the hint of amusement.
    He had deliberately set out to frighten her! Harriet felt certain of it. But why? Did he enjoy tormenting his employees, or had he already taken a specific dislike to her?
    â€œYou are already five minutes late, Miss Sainthill, and instead of rushing to the dining room I find you dallying in my portrait gallery,” Mr. Wainwright said, clasping his hands behind his back with an air of authority. “You’ll have to do much better in future. I abhor tardiness.”
    Harriet nodded stiffly, lowering her eyes in a docile, submissive gesture. Inside she was seething, with indignation and annoyance, but it would be neither prudent nor proper to show her true feelings.
    â€œIf you would lead the way, Mr. Wainwright, your breakfast will not be delayed any longer,” she said. And then, finding it utterly impossible to bear the brunt of his censure when she was so unjustly accused, Harriet could not stop herself from adding, “Unfortunately I was not supplied with a map last night and consequently have no idea where the dining room is located.”
    He angled his head back slightly and smiled. She could not tell if he was annoyed or amused by her comments, but his direct gaze never wavered. The moment became oddly intimate. Harriet felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush spread up her neck to her cheeks and she fervently hoped the dull light would hide her reaction.
    â€œThis way,” he said curtly.
    He did not