The Rake's Enticing Proposal. Lara Temple

an instinctive surge of pity.

      ‘Don’t dismiss the possibility. Who knows? Perhaps a distant relative will demand you accompany her and her seventeen pugs on a voyage to the orient.’

      ‘Seventeen? Must it be seventeen?’

      ‘It must. In fact, you will set out with seventeen, but there might well be a few more by the time you arrive.’

      She burst into laughter.

      ‘A pug harem. It sounds even more tiring than managing Whitworth.’

      ‘Adventure is often tiring. But if it is calm you seek, I could find you a post acting as governess to the heir to Shaykh Abd al-Walid, Prince of the White Desert.’

      ‘Being a governess isn’t at all calm. Before my... We once had a governess and, believe me, the poor woman was run ragged between us.’

      ‘This is not a household of sardonic and argumentative Walshes hiding under prim veneers, but a single, indolent and very plump little boy who can be appeased with sweetmeats and who naps most of the day.’

      ‘He sounds rather like a cat.’

      ‘Not like my sister-in-law’s cat. Inky is the size of a bear cub and, though she has a sweet tooth, she is definitely not indolent.’

      ‘Then I shall stick to my plump charge, though I doubt even someone as silver-tongued as you could convince a prince to employ someone as unqualified as I.’

      ‘You underestimate me, Miss Walsh. I have more skills than my silver tongue and as a servant of the Crown I can be...convincing.’

      The laughter in her eyes was suddenly tinged with speculation.

      ‘Are you a servant of the Crown?’

      ‘Aren’t we all?’ he riposted.

      As if she sensed his evasion, her eyes fell from his and she went back to her seat, sinking into it with an abruptness that made her skirts billow for a moment.

      ‘This is all amusing, but rather silly. I am unlikely to leave Whitworth so there is no point in dreaming of Egypt.’

      ‘You mean Huxley.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You said you are unlikely to leave Whitworth.’

      Her cheeks turned as pink as the sunset in Sam’s painting.

      ‘Of course. I meant...it was a figure of speech. I am still not accustomed... You know what I meant. In any case, they are both a long way from Egypt...’

      The squeak of the gallery door interrupted her and Chase pushed to his feet in annoyance as a footman entered with a generously stacked tea tray.

      No doubt the servants were told to keep them supplied with refreshments so they did not leave Huxley’s wing unless absolutely necessary, he thought.

      Ermy’s campaign to separate Miss Walsh from Henry was clearly underway.