The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  He’d completely and utterly flummoxed her. Because… in this instant, it mattered very much the abuse poor Mrs. Sarah Elton had endured. By the very history Duncan had shared of the woman’s marriage, the bounder who’d beaten her had deserved the end that came to him.

  Duncan had taken his brush and added different shades to those once clear blacks and whites, crafting them into varying levels of gray.

  And by the knowing glint in his gaze, he knew precisely the effect his telling had had on her.

  Only, he wasn’t done. He dropped to his haunches so he could meet her eyes more directly. “Are some men and women who are found guilty of a crime guilty of the charges leveled upon them?” He answered that rhetorical question himself. “Many times, yes. In other instances, those found guilty are, in fact, innocent. And in other cases, sometimes?” He sank back on his haunches. “Sometimes there is more to a story. And those men and women deserve to at least have their story understood,” he said gravely.

  It was in that moment that she had the answer to the question that had compelled her here this day.

  The air crackled and hissed and snapped all around them with a tension born of far more than the powerful lesson he’d rendered here.

  And close as they were, she found herself enthralled by the figure at her feet.

  The man she’d believed she would marry had been Duncan Everleigh’s foil… in every way.

  One wiry and one broad.

  One with classically beautiful features, the other harsh.

  One raw in his honesty and opinion, while the other? Spineless with his affection. He’d wanted her until his family’s reputation had mattered more, and he’d easily set her aside.

  For all the differences in them, both men proved similar in the ill opinion they carried of her.

  Only one, however, had told her as it was.

  Duncan’s gaze lingered on her mouth. There was a searing heat in his eyes that had never been there in Lucas’.

  But as quick as it had come, it was gone. She might have merely conjured it of her own imagination.

  Which she surely had.

  For as he straightened, Josephine found herself with nothing more than the disdain that had underscored his words as he’d chastised her moments ago.

  Josephine cleared her throat. “This has proven very enlightening, as I’d come hoping to determine your suitability as an employer.”

  He cocked his head. “As an employer for who?”

  Emboldened to continue to the reason for her visit, she went on. “Given even our very brief encounter yesterday, it took little time at all to determine you are in desperate need of assistance.”

  “Youu?” Shock leant an extra syllable to his reply. “You’re speaking of yourself.”

  Josephine nodded.

  “And you expect I’d hire you, a stranger, to care after my daughter?”

  Care after his daughter? What in thunderation? Josephine choked on her swallow. “Good God, you think I’m here to serve in the role of governess? Are you maaad?”

  His eyes radiated displeasure. “Do you have a problem with my daughter, Miss Webb?”

  “Pfft. Not at all. I have a greater problem with surly, small-minded gentlemen who expect the only work a woman should do is related to children and babes.”

  He flared his nostrils. “Have you just insulted me?”

  She shrugged. “Only if you consider yourself a surly, small-minded gentleman in possession of limiting views on women and their capabilities.”

  Duncan narrowed his eyes on her, and for a very brief moment, Josephine considered the door… and her departure.

  The perplexity in his gaze deepened. “If you’re not here seeking the role of part-time governess, what are you referring to?”

  Josephine gestured to the untidy workspace. Lord leave it to a man to have no idea where he truly needed help.

  He whistled through his teeth. “You are mad.”

  That slight emphasis proved he’d already arrived at a determination of her sanity and had the confirmation he’d required. Refusing to put on an outward display he no doubt expected, she met his insult with calm. “And why am I mad? Because I’m a woman seeking employment?” How quickly she’d gone from offensive to defensive in this exchange.

  Because he is a nimble barrister. A very nimble one.

  “Your being a woman in search of work is hardly an offense. Plenty of women work, Miss Webb.” He took a step closer. “In fact, I believe women are as capable as any man. There are, however, any number of things I do take offense with where you’re concerned.”

  I believe women are as capable as any man. A warmth fanned low in her belly and spread out, touching very near the place her heart beat. Josephine’s eyes slid shut. If he’d not just completed a rather impressive takedown of her, she’d have fallen head over heels hopelessly in love with him. That was, of course, if romance hadn’t been dead to her after her breakup.

  “Are you going to faint on me?” Duncan snapped.

  Mortification sent her toes curling tight against the soles of her boots. “Faint?”

  “You’ve gone all red and queer and—”

  Just like that, all those foolish romantic butterflies were dashed. She swatted at his hand. “I assure you, I’m quite fine.” It had been nothing more than an inexplicable moment of insanity. One that she’d not allow herself again. “I trust you will enlighten me as to why you find me wholly unacceptable to work for—”

  “You broke my window.”

  “That was obviously an accident that could have been avoided had you answered my knocking.”

  She might as well have not spoken, for the attention he paid her rebuttal. Planting his hands on his sloppy desk, he leaned over, erasing some of the space she’d put between them. “A broken pane that required me to hire a garrulous window-maker, who somehow managed to bring me to contract for future work.”

  “Mr. Alby seemed perfectly lovely.”

  His nostrils flared. “You’re teasing me again.”

  “Yes.” Josephine lifted her thumb and forefinger a fraction. “Just a tad and only in an attempt to diffuse some of your ire so we might return to a reasonable discussion on my potential employ—”

  “You insulted me as a father.”

  She opened her mouth to remind him of her very good reasons for doing so, but something in his tones, a somberness, spoke to the gravity of this particular charge. And where yesterday she’d happily hurled insults in his face, this newfound discovery held her back.

  A lousy father was not one who’d care either way about that charge she’d tossed at him.

  She made herself silent.

  Alas, that restraint appeared to matter not at all.

  “I ordered you gone yesterday and advised you never to return.” As he spoke, Duncan tapped a fingertip into one of his many leather folios hard enough that it was a wonder he didn’t sprain the digit. “And yet, somehow you took that into your head to mean I might in some way wish to employ you.”

  There was a brief pause, and Josephine lingered with it, waiting for him to continue, and when he didn’t carry on, she cleared her throat. “Is that a… quest—?”

  “Furthermore,” he interrupted.

  He was not finished, then. This was hardly promising.

  “What makes you believe I’d wish to hire someone who crucifies a person for crimes you know nothing of?”

  Vitriol burned from his gaze, singeing her. And Josephine, who’d never backed down from any battle, found herself unable to meet that blistering stare. She glanced down at the scuffed wood floor.

  Which was no doubt what he’d intended—to cow her—and he’d been successful. For when he’d presented it plainly, in the terms he had, Josephine acknowledged he was right. She didn’t know anything of Lathan Holman’s case. Not truly. Not really, in any way. She knew no more than Society had gleaned in the gossip columns and had found him guilty for those reasons alone. That, when she herself knew all too wel
l how often the ton was wrong about people and scandals and sins.

  Duncan Everleigh was right in his opinion of her.

  Even so, she forced her head back up, and when she managed to meet his stare, he spoke.

  “You play arbiter of fates and futures,” he said, “based on nothing more than flimsy details, all the while being dispossessed of meaningful information about those same individuals.” With that, he whipped upright and started for the door.

  When she’d resolved to speak to him, she’d never imagined that she would come here and have the moral ground kicked out from under her so that she was forced to confront the rightness in the charges he leveled at her.

  Josephine stared after him, her eyes locked on his broad, retreating frame as he no doubt set out to open the door and turn her out once and for all.

  As he should…

  It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to admit she’d been wrong. She’d done so before.

  But those errors on her part had been… different. This was different. This was a matter of Josephine viewing life through black-and-white lenses and failing to realize she was doing so—until Duncan Everleigh and his expertly delivered lesson.

  “You are right,” she said solemnly.

  That brought him up short. Duncan stopped in his tracks, turned, and faced her.

  Coming to her feet, she clutched the handle of her satchel, and the other palm, she turned up. “I’d… not considered that.” She grimaced. “Any of the points you raised,” she clarified.

  Now, she considered her brother’s allegations… that her offer of assistance had largely been driven by her own resentment of Lord Grimslee. She’d denied that charge, but could acknowledge that, in some small part, resentment for Lord Grimslee had spilled over to her feelings about all his family—particularly Mr. Lathan Holman. In this, she’d proven no different than Polite Society judging her for her family’s shortcomings and failings.

  At the protracted silence, Josephine shifted on her feet.

  All the while, Duncan studied her from under the thick hood of his dark lashes.

  Again, he gave no outward show as to what he was thinking. And it proved that in the moments he’d conveyed his disdain, he’d done so purposefully. He was a man who was a master of his emotions.

  “Very well,” he finally said, breaking the impasse. He returned to the desk and drew out his chair so swiftly, the papers atop stirred. He automatically pressed a palm down on them. He caught her gaze on that gesture. “Let us hear it, Miss Webb—”

  “Josephine,” she quickly interrupted.

  “What have I failed to consider that should take precedence over any of the pieces I’ve already gathered about you?”

  And then it hit her.

  He was… interviewing her. Her heart did a wild leap. Composing her features, Josephine drew the heavy chair around the front of the desk so that she and Duncan were seated opposite each other.

  Or is it simply that you need some tangible divide between you?

  Unnerved by that niggling voice at the back of her mind, Josephine struggled to formulate some clever rejoinder.

  And failed.

  Clasping his hands behind him, Duncan leaned back. Jacketless as he was, the white lawn shirt stretched across his broad chest, and her eyes unwittingly went to the faint whorl of dark curls there. Nay, no barrister had a right to Duncan Everleigh’s form.

  “Well?”

  Jumping, Josephine yanked her gaze up to meet his. “First, I feel I should point out—”

  “Whether or not Lathan Holman is, in fact, innocent,” he said mockingly, and her cheeks warmed under the unrestrained condescension in his voice. “Yes, I’m well aware of your terms. How very… noble of you.” His cool gaze made it clearer than even his own words and tone that he’d a low opinion of her and her honor. “Let us first ascertain your suitability to work here for me, Josephine.”

  It was the first time he’d put to use her Christian name.

  It was a name, despite her words to the contrary to Charlemagne, Josephine had long despised for its masculine overtones. But hearing this man speak the three syllables in his commanding, slightly silken voice sent a warmth through her. “It bears noting that this time I wasn’t going to speak about Mr. Holman.”

  “How magnanimous of you,” he said dryly.

  He was testing her. Attempting to gauge how sensitive she was to being challenged. Unlike previous times, Josephine did not take his bait. “I’m quite competent at note-taking. I’m fastidiously organized.” Josephine looked pointedly around at the piles upon piles of papers littering his workspace. “Which is a skill that your offices would benefit tremendously from.”

  He leaned forward. “Are you insulting me in your interview question?”

  “I’m speaking to you candidly.” Josephine sat upright. “I’m a plain-speaker, Duncan,” she said, turning that perceived weakness into a strength. “Therefore, you can always rely upon my honesty pertaining to matters of your business or cases.”

  She knew the precise moment that he ceased toying with her and truly started listening.

  He slowly unclasped his hands and lowered them to the arms of his chair. “Have you experience?”

  For the first time since he’d begun conducting her interview, she felt the first real stirrings of hope that he might, in fact, offer her work.

  “Josephine?”

  “No,” she said, giving her head a clearing shake. “I… I’ve visited other barristers’ offices.” Which was not untrue. She, however, opted to leave out mention of her brother Henry—with whom, for this particular case, Duncan was in direct competition. Her mouth tightened. “They were not at all receptive to the idea of hiring a female.” She felt the faintest stirrings of guilt at the prospect of aiding Henry’s opposition.

  As Duncan continued to study her with that intent expression, Josephine shoved back those sentiments. It was not as though Henry, protective as he was of his work, would allow her to provide assistance on his case. Furthermore, she’d offered her services to Henry. He’d declined, and she was now in a position where she might earn her own funds… and do so with work she enjoyed.

  “I need someone to care for my daughter on Sundays. That’s the only help I’m in need of at this time.”

  As quick as the flame of hope had sparked to life, it went out. “I’ve already told you I’ve no experience with children, and I’ve no desire for the post of governess or nursemaid or anything to do with little girls and boys.”

  “That is certainly informative,” he said drolly. “But again, I was not offering you that post either. I was simply informing you of the only services I am in need of. None of which are open to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” He pushed back his chair and made to stand.

  “Wait!” Josephine held up a frantic hand, and miraculously Duncan remained seated. He stared back at her expectantly.

  More like, expecting you to leave…

  Josephine drew in a breath and opted for candidness. “My family’s finances are…” She grimaced. “Not dire, but neither are we comfortable.” Nolan had married where his heart led him, and she was only proud of that decision. The truth, however, remained that the Pratts had not emerged triumphant as couples did in the romantic tales she’d once favored. And Josephine was not one who’d not see—even in some small way—to her own needs.

  Duncan studied her carefully. “And your family has asked you to seek out employment?”

  She shook her head. “Quite the opposite. They’re of the opinion that”—a lady—“a woman should not take on any work.”

  “And you are of a different opinion.”

  “Obviously.” She smiled. “Otherwise, I’d not be here.”

  Picking up a pen, Duncan tapped it in a distracted back and forth—tip to bottom, tip to bottom. All the while, that intent stare remained leveled on her.

  “I trust it would be… valuable for your daughter to see young women are capable of filling even the most uncon
ventional of roles.”

  “That is a bold presumption about my views of women and work.”

  It was. “You’ve provided enough clues that you do not necessarily ascribe to the same views held by most regarding women and their rights.” His defense of Sarah Elton and his insistence upon her arrival that his contention wasn’t with all women, but with her, were testament to that.

  “Very well.”

  She scrambled to the edge of her seat. “What?” she blurted. Surely she’d misheard or misunderstood him.

  “I’ll accept your services as an office assistant. You’ll organize, but only that which I expressly allow. You’ll only touch documents and files that I permit. I’m not looking for assistance on my cases, this or any, because frankly, I don’t need it.”

  If her heart weren’t already thundering at a clip of a million beats with excitement, she’d have pointed out the extreme arrogance in that conjecture. But then, with how quickly he’d broken down her opinion on Lathan Holman’s right to a trial, he’d proven himself deserving of that confidence.

  “Payments will be made in the amount of thirteen shillings per week. Mondays are yours. Sundays, you will care for my daughter. When you are here, you’ll arrive at eight o’clock and leave at four. If you’re requiring certain days, you’ll provide me with advance notice. I value punctuality. Are there any questions?”

  That list came so rapid-fire she almost missed one bit of information tucked within the middle. Almost.

  “I’m not here to serve as governess or nursemaid,” she repeated for a third time.

  “That item is nonnegotiable, Miss Webb.” He reclined onto the back legs of his chair, balancing himself in that precarious position as he scrutinized her. “The decision is yours. I require assistance but one day of the week with my daughter.”