From that day on, she set rigid rules for her own behavior. Rules that protected her from importuning younger brothers and philandering male cousins who came to visit when their pockets were to let. Never again would she allow protestations of friendship to draw her above stairs. Anna had been successful until Lucinda Dandridge had convinced her to attend her soirée. Anna sighed heavily. Even that small foray into the ton had been an error.

Now, apparently not content to err only once, she’d compounded her error by kissing her future employer. There was no excuse for it. And it would not happen again. Anna sat up and tossed the sheets aside. The first pale glow of dawn approached, breaking through the cracks in the curtains and casting long fingers of pale light across the rug.

That was all Anna needed. She hurriedly rose and pulled on a gown. The rest of the morning was taken up in a flurry of preparations that did not leave time for useless wonderings about Greyley’s kiss or her own heated reaction.

At exactly ten, Anna sat in a stiff-backed chair by the fireplace in the front room, waiting. The carriage arrived only a few moments later, just as Anthony promised. Anna held her breath as the door creaked open, and Hawkes beamed as he announced the earl. Taking a deep calming breath, Anna stood and faced the earl.

Dressed for riding in buff breeches, black boots, a blue coat stretched across his broad shoulders, he looked devastatingly handsome. He came to an abrupt halt on seeing her. “Good God, what are you wearing?”

Anna’s hands went to the stiff skirts. It was an old gown, one she’d consigned to the attic long ago, brought out only for the annual spring cleaning she insisted occur each and every year, much to Mrs. Duckrow’s chagrin. Anna suspected the dress, made of stiff gray bombazine, had once been a mourning gown, for it relentlessly covered her from neck to foot. But it was plain and functional, and would serve to remind both her and Greyley of her position in his household.

He lifted his eyeglass from where it hung from his waistcoat and regarded her from head to foot. “Did you make it yourself?”

“No, I did not,” Anna replied. “Though you should be glad I didn’t for I could have taken offense at your tone.”

“You have too much sense to be such a ninny.” He dropped the eyeglass and let it swing back and forth on its ribbon. “You look like a nun. What’s that gown made of? Sackcloth?”

“No. It’s very good bombazine.”

“The blue gown you had on yesterday had more…” He gestured vaguely. “…drapery or something. I liked it better.”

“How intriguing,” she replied flatly.

“I daresay you don’t care what I think of your clothing. Still, I demand an explanation. Women never dress without thought.”

“This gown is proper attire for a governess. And that, my lord, is exactly what I am.”