Lips twitching, but maintaining his austere demeanor, the butler opened a large wooden door with elaborate carvings, and sniffed before announcing, "Lady Charlotte Spencer, Lady Clare Spencer, and Miss Meredith Chambers."

The girls clung harder, making it practically impossible for Merry to enter the room. She dragged one limb, then the other, until she reached the massive oak desk. Breathless from her effort, she looked up into the most arresting brown eyes, with specks of gold, she'd ever seen. Above the eyes, sharp black eyebrows rose almost to the hairline of wavy black hair. Below the eyes an aristocratic nose led to sensual lips drawn into a tight line.

"Your Grace." She puffed and attempted a clumsy curtsy.

The only sound in the room was the soft click of the door as the butler exited. Merry waited patiently to be invited to sit. Instead, the brown eyes kept staring at her, then leisurely slid their way down her person, and obviously from the additional tightening of his full sensual lips, finding her wanting.

Eventually, a long–fingered hand flicked in the direction of one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. "Sit."

Merry sat abruptly, feeling like a dog panting in front of its master. The two girls ended up on their knees on the floor, still buried in her skirts.

"Is there something wrong with the young ladies?" The deep voice rolled over her, setting her heart to pounding.

Merry grasped the girls' arms and attempted to pull them to their feet. They held tighter. "No, Your Grace. They're merely a bit anxious."

"Indeed."

How was it possible to put so much disapproval into one word?

After a moment, he settled back in his chair, his fingers clutching a quill pen he tapped on the desk. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

With all the liquid in her mouth dried up, she merely nodded.

"I understand from my solicitors you've had sole charge of the girls since their parents passed away a month ago?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Good. She was finally able to pry her mouth open.

"And you cannot control your charges enough to insist they sit as proper ladies?"

Heat rose to Merry's face and anger washed through her. The arrogant arse! "They're confused and a bit distressed." She bent and whispered furiously to the girls. "Please get up, His Grace is not happy."

"No." Two voices piped up, muffled in her skirts.

She smiled slightly at the duke and shrugged. If possible his eyebrows rose further, disappearing underneath the wave that rested against his forehead.

"It appears to me, Miss Chambers, that Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare have arrived here just in time." He pushed his chair back and stood. "I arranged for a governess to train them in proper behavior. She will instruct the girls in the skills necessary for a lady." He waved his hand. "Sewing, French, watercolors, and so forth."

Merry stared at him, her jaw slack. Well over six feet, David, Duke of Penrose, was a sight to behold. Every inch the lord of the manor, his coat fit him as if it had been painted on. His white–on–white waistcoat hugged his impressive body above well–fitting tan breeches tucked into black Hessian boots. A snow white, intricately tied cravat was a stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin.

Lord Penrose rested one hip on the edge of the desk, peering down at her, his foot swinging back and forth. "I shall allow a bit of transition time for the young ladies. You may stay on for a week or two. Then I will see you receive a generous stipend to tide you over until you can secure another position."

Two blonde heads popped up from behind Merry's skirts. "No!"