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must be getting used to his abrupt changes in topic, because his question failed to jar her this time.
    “Obviously,” he went on, “I’m ill equipped to rear a child. Jacqueline’s been torn from her country and her family. She needs you, Miss Crawford.” His voice lowered. “I need you.”
    Had Anne believed in sorcery, she would have sworn he’d hidden a compulsion spell within his last three words.
    An image of Jacqueline sobbing into her pillow surfaced. How many times had she done so since coming to this foreign land? The girl must feel utterly alone, being so far away from her friends and the only family she’d ever known. The steel lock holding back Anne’s rash actions broke, and she heard herself say, “Three months, my lord.”
    “Pardon?”
    If Anne hadn’t been so terrified by the events she’d just set in motion, she would have celebrated her small victory of baffling this unflappable lord. “I accept the position of governess for three months. Long enough to help settle Jacqueline and find her a more appropriate governess.”
    A slow, triumphant smile spread across his too-handsome face, and Anne knew then she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

 
    Chapter Three
     
    Shev tiptoed toward the schoolroom adjacent to the nursery on the third floor of his London town house to see what mischief Jacqueline was causing her new governess today.
    Since Miss Crawford’s arrival at Shevington House five days ago, the banshee had lived up to her moniker. One look at Miss Crawford’s traveling trunk had been enough to send Jacqueline shrieking up the stairs, shouting, “Go away, go away. I don’t want you. Go away.”
    He had to give the governess credit. She hadn’t blinked an eye at her new charge’s hysterics. She simply smiled at his mother and housekeeper, complimenting both on such a beautiful, well-maintained home. Which, of course, immediately endeared her to his mother and Mrs. Frickert.
    “Jacqueline,” came Miss Crawford’s muffled voice, “if you practice your numbers, we can go to the park later.”
    Shev leaned closer, pressing his ear to the schoolroom door.
    “ Maman said the sun is a spinster maker,” the girl said in French.
    Silence.
    “I’m not sure I understand,” the governess replied in English.
    “Spots. Maman said boys don’t like girls with spotty skin.”
    “There are ways to protect your skin from the sun’s harsh effects and still enjoy the outdoors.”
    Jacqueline prattled off more objections in her native tongue. The two had been playing tug-of-war over language ever since Miss Crawford announced they would begin working on Jacqueline’s English. The girl had only a rudimentary grasp of the language—enough to make her wants and desires clear, vociferously. And now she refused to speak the little bit she knew, convinced her mother or French father would arrive soon.
    When had Jacqueline’s mother begun teaching her daughter English? Shev wondered. The moment her doctor diagnosed her condition? From the instant the girl could speak?
    Giselle had been both intelligent and beautiful. She had been an accomplished lover and political conversationalist as well as a ballroom gossip. The latter two characteristics were the reasons why she had drawn his notice. He was in the information-gathering business, and Giselle enjoyed sharing the bits of political intrigue she came across.
    Had he been a better man, he would have mourned her return to France. But the only emotion he’d been able to muster was relief.
    “Can we get an ice?” Jacqueline asked, drawing him back to the war of wills going on behind the door.
    “That depends.”
    “On what?”
    “On you counting to ten in English.”
    Another long silence.
    “Jacqueline?”
    “Why do I need to learn English if I’m going home soon?”
    “Because for now you’re in an English-speaking household. A household full of dedicated staff whose job, in part, is to take care of you and keep you