Patricia Rice Read Online Free PDF Page A

father had sought to please her by buying her things. She’d about run
out of places to put them. In any case this man would be too large for
any room he entered.
    With an exceedingly masculine growl, he retreated to
the fireplace, where he leaned against the mantel and all but barked at
her.
    “I need a place to keep the children while I’m waiting for my ship.”
    Well, he could tarry all he liked—somewhere else.
She had enough problems of her own. Beatrice dared to stare at him while
she waited for him to realize she had nothing to offer. He had a
piercing way of looking at her that made her feel bubbly inside, but she
refused to let that daunt her. She was safe here, in the protection of
her own lovely home. And he was a rude, crude, uncouth stranger who
shouldn’t expect anything.
    “I need a nursemaid,” he clarified, with some urgency.
    Perhaps... if he needed a nursemaid as desperately as she needed...
    He did, if his look of agitation meant anything.
Despite his rumpled appearance, her visitor wore a gentleman’s clothes.
She recognized the richness of the embroidery on his satin waistcoat and
the fashionable cut of London tailoring. Gentlemen should know of
estate management.
    Bea took a deep breath and let the notion spill out before she could reconsider. “I need a teacher of estate management.”
    “You’re in need of an estate manager?” he asked with polite curiosity, apparently startled by her sudden change of topic.
    “A teacher,” she said as firmly as she was able.
    “A teacher?” he asked, incredulous.
    “A teacher of estate management,” she confirmed.
    “A teacher.” He didn’t look pleased.
    Casting him a sidelong glance, she could tell by the
way his jaw muscle twitched that he was appalled at the idea, as any
man would be, she supposed. She should know better than to believe in
miracles.
    He grimaced and ran a hand over his face. “I’m not a
teacher. I’m a businessman. But I’ve worked my father’s plantation and
have some grasp of land management, although you’ve an entirely
different set of circumstances here.”
    Beatrice pressed her hands against the knot in her
stomach and tried not to leap to conclusions. She couldn’t pay him, but
she didn’t dare say that aloud.
    Every able-bodied person in the village would pack
up and leave if they knew she could not pay her bills. She nodded, as if
she understood where he was leading.
    He clenched and unclenched one great fist, pounding
it impatiently on the mantel. “You’re a woman. You should know what the
children need. Give us a place to stay, and I’ll take a look around, see
what I can do, maybe have my agent in London find you an estate manager
who can look after things.”
    “I want a teacher,” she said decisively. His
assumption that she could deal with his children was laughable. As if
she knew any more of babies than she did of estate management.
    “I’m not a teacher.” He glared at her again. “You
can tell me what you want done, and I can tell you how I’d do it. That’s
the best I can offer.”
    Her stomach clenched and hope trembled. “In exchange for room and board?”
    “And nursemaids for the children.”
    She’d wanted a miracle, but now that one had walked
in her door, she was suspicious of its origins. Why would a man like
this—even an uncouth American—offer to help in exchange for room and
board?
    She was a fool to agree.
    She would be a fool not to.
    Oh, my . Could she do this?
What would the curate say? And the Misses Miller? She would be the talk
of the town. He hadn’t even promised to teach her.
    But he wouldn’t stay long, so he couldn’t run all over her like another man might.
    And his fingers were clenched as tightly as hers, his frown just as anxious.
    Taking a deep breath, Bea nodded. “You may have the
steward’s cottage. Mary has experience with children. She will look
after them while we work.”
    Butterflies danced in her belly,