“The groom said he arrived on horseback,” a girl said—it was Ellie, one of her pupils. “But he didn’t come in the house.”
“Where’d he go?” her sister Maria demanded. “I don’t want to wait another minute to see him.”
“Nash in the stables said he went in this direction,” Ellie said. “He’s got to be here somewhere. Maybe Goblin can find him—where’s Owen, boy?”
At once, Cecilia and Owen broke apart.
After smoothing her hair as best she could, she crossed her arms over her chest to cover her hardened nipples.
“We cannot hide here,” Cecilia whispered.
He nodded, his expression tight.
They left the shelter of the oak and headed toward the sounds of Maria and Ellie. The girls stood in a small clearing in the midst of the trees, the dog trotting around and nosing at the underbrush.
“Owen!” Ellie cried out. “You’re here!”
Cecilia pasted on a smile—glancing over, she saw Owen do the same—as they approached his sisters. The two girls beamed at their older brother, their voices overlapping as they peppered him with questions.
“When did you get back?” Maria demanded. She was thirteen, approaching maturity but sometimes very much a child. Since her father’s death, she’d needed to sleep in a cot beside her mother’s bed. Cecilia’s heart ached for the girl.
“Which horse did you take?” Ellie asked. At eleven, she was currently fascinated with anything involving horses or murder. She loved a good ghastly tale. And yet her grief over her father manifested in the way she clung to her sister.
“Have you missed us terribly?” Maria pressed, tugging on his sleeve.
Fortunately, neither of her pupils seemed to observe Cecilia, which gave her a moment to calm her frustrated, throbbing body.
“To answer your interrogation, I arrived within the past hour, I rode Orion, and I was beside myself with missing both of you ducklings.”
“Why did you not come straight in?” Ellie wondered.
Owen’s gaze met Cecilia’s. She gave her head the slightest shake, though she had little fear that he’d blurt to his sisters that he’d been moments away from making their governess come.
“I had a bathe,” he said lightly, “and afterward Miss Holme happened by, and she wanted to find some insects for your lessons, so I helped her.”
“Oh, Miss Holme!” Maria turned toward her. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice that their governess’s coiffure was slightly mussed.
“Isn’t it wonderful that Owen has come home?” Maria asked.
“Quite wonderful,” Cecilia answered as brightly as she could. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing your brother again.”
Ellie fussed with the jet buttons on her black mourning dress. When the sisters had first put on their somber clothing, they had wept, missing their father, longing for their brother. Cecilia had comforted them both, soothing them with assurances that Owen would be returning soon.
Only a few minutes ago, she’d fondled his cock as he caressed her breasts.
Shame washed through her. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her, that she would completely lose control of herself and drown in her lust for a man nine years younger? A man who was, as he’d said, her employer. There were so many ways that indulging in her desire for him could lead to disaster. She should have learned from her past, but no, she’d been heedless of everything but wanting him.
There was freeing oneself from the cage of propriety, and then there was utter recklessness.
For as long as she could remember, Cecilia had possessed a ferocious sexual appetite, but short of marriage, sating that appetite had been impossible. There had been no man that had tempted her to trade her freedom for access to cock.
If she had stayed in her small town, her path would have been set. Marriage to a man who would likely take over her father’s shop, then she would become a mother, and creep from middle age to dotage with barely any life experience beyond the mile marker at the edge of town.
Instead, wanting more for herself, she’d taken a position as a governess to a couple who lived on the Continent.
When she had been abroad, employed by Sir Kenneth and Lady Juliet Whelan, the unconventional, broadminded couple had encouraged her to pursue her own amours. Cecilia been surprised there was even a possibility that an unwedded woman could take a man to her bed. Lady Juliet had explained what was required to prevent pregnancy—as well as pointed out the hypocrisy in permitting men the freedom to pursue their sexual desires, while women were shamed for it.
With that knowledge, Cecilia had truly learned what it was to be fully in command of herself, taking lovers from the Whelans’ circle of similarly open-minded people. She’d done so with the gusto of a woman finally liberated from an unreasonable double standard.
But she was in England now, not the Continent. Things were quite different here. And Owen was her employer. She did not know if he would abuse his power, as Sir Kenneth ultimately had, but she could not take that chance.
Ellie chirped, “Mother’s inside and she has told Cook to prepare all your favorites for supper. Chicken pie, and roast asparagus, and strawberry flummery.”
“My mouth’s watering,” Owen answered, but he looked at Cecilia as he spoke.
In response, Cecilia’s stomach leapt. It didn’t seem to matter how much she lectured herself, she still wanted him—and he wanted her. Resisting that pull would take all her strength.
Ellie’s recitation of the menu reminded Cecilia that she hadn’t shared a meal with Owen. Before their father’s passing, the girls took their meals in the nursery, with Cecilia joining them. But since the late duke’s death, the duchess did not want to sup alone, and so her daughters and Cecilia ate with her in the dining room.
“No more lessons for today, Miss Maria, Miss Ellie,” she said.
“Surely you could find time for another lesson.” A blush tinted Owen’s cheeks as he spoke.
Ellie and Maria groaned, clearly uninterested in more schoolwork. Cecilia took no offense at their reluctance. Who wanted to spend more time learning when the day was fine, and their brother was home?
Of course, the kind of lesson their brother referred to was a very different sort.
Cecilia pasted on another smile. “Spend as much time as you want with your brother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She rushed away to the house before she said or did something incredibly foolish—like instruct Owen on how to finish what they had started.
Chapter Three
Owen slammed an accounting ledger shut and dug his hands into his hair. The room’s walls loomed over him, capturing him, confining him. Air was scarce, and he fought to draw it into his lungs.
He used to love being in his father’s study. The rows and rows of book-laden shelves promised adulthood, while the smell of leather and paper was redolent of maturity. The large and heavy mahogany desk was where all knowledge concentrated, helmed by his father—who, to Owen’s young mind, was a man of infinite comprehension and wisdom.
The late duke hadn’t been much older than Owen when he’d married Owen’s mother, and within two years of that marriage, became a father. Of course, when Owen’s father had married, he hadn’t yet inherited the duchy, so there had been more time to ease into the role and learn from Owen’s grandfather what was expected of him.