Read Online Playing to Win by Diane Farr - Free Book Online Page B

dedicated
teacher because she happened to be born on the wrong side of the
blanket. And probably, he thought, because she was so startlingly
beautiful. One of those sins she might have been forgiven, but not
both. He also felt anger at Gianetta, who had cold-bloodedly tried
to sell an innocent girl into prostitution. Her own daughter!
Gianetta's sins against himself, and against poor Bates, were
nothing compared to this.
    Oh, he entered into Clarissa's
feelings, all right. He understood them perfectly. And for a moment
wished that he could lay his hands on the dolts and villains who
had misused her. His hands clenched into purposeful fists as he
thought longingly of that lovely prospect.
    Good God, he had almost abused her
himself. That thought made him angrier than ever. Gianetta had
tipped him a doubler. She, at least, would pay. There was probably
nothing he could do to get Clarissa her position back at the
Bathurst Ladies' Academy, but La Gianetta he could certainly put to
rout.
    He glanced over at Clarissa and saw
that she was watching him, eyes wide with alarm. He uttered a short
laugh, and she relaxed a little.
    "You looked ready to murder someone,"
she said.
    "I wouldn’t mind ridding the world of a
certain Jane Feeney," he admitted. That seemed to please her, he
noted with amusement.
    "I am sorry I stabbed you," she said
handsomely. "You are not at all what I supposed you
were."
    As if to prove her good faith, she
picked up her bonnet and neatly tucked her weapon through its
brim.
    He grinned. "I could say the same of
you. But you are in the devil of a scrape, you know."
    Clarissa looked up from her task, a
touch of anxiety in her face. "I realize I should never have
consented to ride in a closed carriage with a gentleman who is not
related to me."
    He waved that aside impatiently. "You
did not consent. You had no choice. That is not what I
meant."
    "What did you mean?"
    "I meant, my dear Miss Feeney, what is
to become of you? And what's more to the purpose—since you are, in
fact, riding in a closed carriage with me—what am I supposed to do
with you?"
    She leaned forward anxiously. "You said
I was under your protection. Could you—would you—consider employing
me?" Her voice was timid. She looked eager, embarrassed, and
pitiful.
    He stared at her. "Employ you? As
what?"
    A blush was mounting in her cheeks, but
she did not drop her eyes. "Well—I had hoped, one day, to be a
governess. I was educated to that end. I am a rather gifted
teacher, in fact. Do you have children?"
    Mr. Whitlatch struggled for
words.
    "I sincerely hope not!" he finally
managed. "I am not married! Why the devil would I offer to set you
up at Morecroft Cottage if I had a wife?"
    Her blush deepened. "I beg your
pardon!" she stammered. "But I thought—that is, one hears—that many
married men—well, my own father—" She stopped, covered with
confusion.
    "I see," he said grimly. "But I am not
among those who wink at that sort of arrangement. I don't pledge my
word lightly, and I don’t make vows I mean to break. The day I take
a wife is the day I have done with mistresses."
    "Oh, I do beg your pardon!" she
gasped, scarlet with distress.
    "Besides," he went on, stretching his
long legs across the coach, "I don't expect I shall regret
marrying. Unlike most people, I can afford to marry for love.
That's one of the advantages of wealth."
    "Yes, I—I suppose it would be," agreed
Clarissa, edging a little away from the booted feet he had propped
on the cushion beside her.
    Mr. Whitlatch settled back against the
squabs with great satisfaction. "This year, in fact, I'm not going
back to sea. I'm staying in the City. Once the Season starts, I
intend to look around a little."
    She eyed him dubiously. "The Season? I
thought you were a merchant."
    A grin flashed white in his
sun-darkened face. "Do you think the fashionable hostesses won't
let me near their well-bred daughters? You underrate me, my
dear."
    Clarissa sat very straight, her