Chapter 10

James watched Izzy grab the goat's udder, then snatched her hand back when the animal turned her head and let out a loud, plaintive bleat. Helen laughed, which drew a scowl from Izzy. But it also seemed to bolster the child's resolve.

She might be a liar, a thief, and the most contrary being he'd ever encountered, but Clarissa Elizabeth Lindford was brave. Adversity seemed to strengthen her determination. If only she could harness that willpower of hers into a more positive direction.

"Not so hard, Izzy," Phoebe instructed. "Bella is an old dear, and she likes to be handled gently."

Like most females. James turned his focus from Izzy to the woman kneeling in the straw beside her.

What was he to make of Phoebe Churchill — Miss Phoebe Churchill? Though she spoke with a Yorkshire lilt, there was something in her speech that gave the impression of a greater sophistication than he would expect from a country woman. But it was more than that.

He allowed himself to study her as he hadn't before. As he shouldn't do now. But he did it anyway. She dressed like a country woman, in sturdy wool and practical shoes. And her apron was ever-present, pinned at bodice and waist.

Had he ever seen his aristocratic mother wearing an apron? He laughed inwardly at the thought of Augusta, Lady Acton even owning such a common garment. His sister Olivia owned them, and employed them too. But then, for all her success in society, Olivia was perfectly content to be the wife of a Scottish baron, and more than willing to roll up her sleeves and go to work when necessary.

Even his youngest sister, the beautiful and obstinate Sarah, was not above getting her hands dirty — at least she would if her beloved Marsh was involved. No doubt his sister would like Phoebe and her practical approach to life.

But there was a difference. His sisters might be less fastidious than his mother when it came to running their households, but they were that way by choice. They still had servants at their beck and call.

Judging by the simple cottage and outbuildings that comprised the Churchill home place, Phoebe didn't have that sort of choice. Nor had she ever. She milked her goats, cooked her meals, and tended to all the other chores as well.

His gaze followed the line of her graceful neck, slipping down her slender back to the trim waist and flaring hips hidden by her plain twill skirt. She possessed little and seemed to expect little more. How might she respond to a bit of flattery, a few small gifts, the promise of a quarterly allowance, and perhaps a generous stipend for clothes and the other gewgaws women adored?

His breeches grew tight at the thought and the shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. What was he thinking? He could hardly make such a proposition to a respectable woman like her.

Assuming she was respectable.

Perhaps he should make a few discreet inquiries.

As if she sensed his thoughts were on her, she looked up and smiled. "She's getting the hang of it."

Fortunately she turned back to Izzy who was diligently shooting short streams of warm goat's milk into a metal pot. But the vision of Phoebe's uptilted face, and that lovely mouth curving in such an artless smile fired James' imagination anew. Though she did nothing overt to entice him, this winsome country girl had nonetheless started an ache in his loins. He ought to banish it, but he could not.

Did she know what she was doing to him?

Unfortunately, he suspected she did not. It would be far better for him if she did. Mothering her niece and his girls might come naturally to her, but flirting with randy young lords did not. It had been wishful thinking to imagine otherwise. No matter how frustrated he felt and how appealing she looked, she was not that sort of woman. He didn't have to make any inquires to be certain of that.

It was up him to get his base thoughts under control, and to remember what he really needed from this woman. If he really wanted to, he could find female companionship anywhere. But a good governess who could deal with a finicky baby and a belligerent ten-year-old? That was a damned sight more rare. He'd best consider what he needed most from Phoebe Churchill and not ruin matters just because his Prince Charming stood at attention every time she was near.

"I'm going outside. To check on the horse," he added when Izzy's gaze jerked up to him.

"Don't you think Izzy's going well?" Phoebe asked, staring intently at him. "I think she has a natural talent for animal husbandry."

"Ah ... Yes. Yes, she does," he agreed, only belatedly understanding her silent message. "You're very good at milking," he said to Izzy. "Very smart to catch on so swiftly."