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The Rules of Engagement:Choose a bride from this year's debutantes.
Rules of RespectabilityDevon Mathewes, earl of Kerrich, has a plan that is sure to restore him to the Queen's favor.First, he must hire a sensible, unattractive governess. Next, he will see to adopting a properly grateful orphan, which will surely lend him a patina of respectability. Finally, he must obtain a guarantee that his orphan and the governess will better his character and reputation without unduly disturbing his life--love life or otherwise.
Rules of PassionAs a condition of accepting the governess position, Miss Pamela Lockhart of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses has a few rules of her own. Devon at all times must behave with propriety, an unlikely accomplishment that would delight the ton and completely astonish Pamela herself. She must be allowed to choose a suitable orphan at her own discretion. Most important, Devon must vow to neverever delve into Pamela's background, or her appearance, lest he discover the truth behind the deepest secrets of her heart. But of course, all rules are made to be broken . . .
Rules of Engagement
368 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 1, 2000
Women had dreams? About what? A new pair of shoes? Seeing a rival fail? Dancing with a foreign prince? But Miss Lockhart wasn't speaking of the trivial, and he found himself asking, "What are your dreams?"
"You don't care. Until I spoke, it never occurred to you that a woman could have her dreams."
I am sick of being the object of lovelorn sighs. I have to put up with it in my own household—one needs scullery maids, the housekeeper assures me. But if I must spend time with a governess, and I will have to, then I want to be assured she will not be making cow eyes at me or, God forbid, sneaking into my bedchamber and peeling down to nothing. Which just happened with the senior upstairs maid who one would think knew better."
She wore tinted spectacles, he noted, a sign of weak eyes and excessive learning. Her complexion was bloodless and her lips pale. Her brown hair was pulled back so tightly from her face that any sagging around the chin and neck had been reduced—another feminine trick, and one that would scarcely fool a connoisseur such as himself. A tangled, spidery thin net of gray lace covered her hair, and she sported an absurd decoration that looked like nothing so much as two knitting needles stuck in right angles through the knot at the base of her neck.
He dropped his monocle and seated himself. "Perhaps you'll do," he said.
She nodded and without waiting for an invitation, seated herself in the old-fashioned Hepplewhite chair before his desk. The style fit her. "I was going to say the same for you."

She rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm where a ripple of purple marred the skin. "I got burned."
Standing, Lord Kerrich kicked his chair away. "Miss Lockhart, I can't do this!"
Miss Lockhart lifted her dark brows. "My lord?"
"This is too hard. What if I get fond of that child and she sticks another coal in her pocket? What will happen to me then?"
Kerrich and Lord Reynard leaned against the rail and watched the horses start around the track.
Into the silence, Kerrich burst out, "I wouldn't care what anyone thought, if I could have her on my terms. I want to know I'm going to be happy."
"So you're looking for a guarantee of happiness, are you? You think as long as you're the man in command you'll be happy? What about her? What if she's not happy?"
"I can make her happy."
"Boy, if you think you can make that woman do anything, you don't know her at all."
"You're a governess. You do not recognize a mature man."
"Lord Kerrich, I am a governess. I recognize that most males do not mature, they simply grow taller." Unwise, of course, to retort so wittily, and she waited, interested to see if he would behave like a typical roue and pout or threaten.
He surprised her; he nodded soberly. "Yes. When you look at what some women marry, you realize how much they must hate to work for their living. However, when it comes to my cousin, try not to put too much stock in your own infallibility. You don't like listening to 'I told you so.' "
Finally Miss Lockhart admitted, "I can ride."
"Then I will mount you appropriately." Realizing what he had said, he wavered between laughter and horror.
She stiffened, and in the most stifling of tones said, "You are the epitome of graciousness, my lord."
Laughter won.


[...]For the touch of your hand I would crawl through a horse stable on my stomach. If you wished, you could be the worst kind of tyrant and I would love it, and you. I had to realize that I trusted you not to do that, and submit myself to your rule. Please marry me. I'll always be faithful, and I can never be happy without you."
