“Have you ever taught anyone else the ways of pleasure?” he asked.
“Never.” Once, she had been the student. With Owen, she could educate him in the ways of being a considerate—as well as skilled—lover.
He’d take some other woman to his bed. A wife, someday. A mistress, perhaps.
Did she educate him for that unknown woman’s sake, or his?
Or her own?
The thought made her pause. She could not form an attachment to him, for so many reasons. Yet…he had been so focused on following her guidance. And the way he looked at her now, as though she were not merely an object of desire, but a person who was worthy of care… She battled the call of her heart, the foolish piece of her that wanted more than physical pleasure.
“Would it matter if I did?” she asked, striving for distance. She moved away from him, picking up the blanket and setting it back into the chest, as if that task were vitally important. “Would your opinion of me decay?”
He was on his feet and beside her in a moment. “Nothing could make that happen. But I suppose if there had been others…” He took her hands in his. “I can’t deny that I would have been jealous.”
She didn’t want to be pleased. Jealousy had never been a quality she encouraged in prior love affairs. Even so, there was something gratifying in his possessiveness—that he, too, wrestled with feelings that went beyond attraction.
But she ought to discourage it to protect them both. She had to end this now, before the seed of affection began to sprout roots. The tender growth could not be allowed to flourish and flower.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She and Owen froze, both careful to keep from moving lest the slightest creak of the floorboards give away their presence. Her pulse was an anxious throb within her.
“Just left a book up here, the one about the wife who poisoned her husband,” Ellie said, her voice muffled by the closed door. The doorknob rattled. “Strange. Miss Holme doesn’t lock the door.”
“Maybe she left something valuable inside,” Maria answered. “Wager we could get Mrs. Baines unlock it for us so you can get your book.”
“Good idea. Let’s…”
Their voices faded with the sounds of their retreat in the hallway. As soon as they were gone, she and Owen exhaled. Yet he didn’t let go of her hands, and she didn’t step away from him.
“We should go,” she said reluctantly. “It’ll take them all of ten minutes to find Mrs. Baines and come back.” She started to slide her hands from his. “This can’t happen again.”
He looked on the verge of protesting. And then he nodded. “If that’s what you desire.”
Relief—of a sort. Because they would never know what more they could give each other. “We nursed a mutual infatuation and yielded to it. But it’s never to be repeated.”
She slipped from his grasp and moved quickly to the door. After unlocking it, she paused for a brief moment, her back to his. Then she opened the door and walked out without looking back.
Chapter Four
Cecilia’s emotions swung like a pendulum the rest of the day and through the night, alternating between horror at what she’d done and the glow that came in the wake of astonishing pleasure. How could she have crossed that line with Owen, the duke? True, he was no longer responsible for her employment, and he was a grown man—but lusting for him and acting on that lust were still forbidden, no matter how he’d made her feel.
She did her best to avoid him the next day, but cruel and sardonic fate kept putting him in her path.
In the morning, she nearly collided with him in the corridor outside the breakfast room. He stared at her with what seemed like hunger and longing, until he smoothed his expression into one resembling indifference.
“Miss Holme,” he said.
She curtsied, praying that her own face didn’t reflect her pleasure and agony in seeing him again. “Your Grace.”
Before either of them could do something regrettable, she hurried away. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from looking back at him.
He remained where she’d left him, standing in the hallway, watching her avidly.
She rushed to the schoolroom, seeking refuge from the pull between them. But it was haunted by the remembrances of yesterday. She could barely look at the desk where he’d eaten her cunt so superbly. And sitting at her own desk only brought back the feel of his cock between her lips, his taste, and how readily and beautifully he’d fucked her mouth.
Still, she managed to collect herself enough to give her students their morning lessons. Perhaps she could conquer her desire for him and go on, as she had before he became the duke. They could live under the same roof and be cordial strangers.
By midday, when the girls were out for their afternoon ride, she fought the impulse to run to his study and demand that he fuck her, kiss her, touch her, anything.
She went quickly to the library. At this hour of the day, doubtless he’d be sequestered with his men of business and immersed in the work of being a duke. There would be no danger of running into him in the hallways, or anywhere else.
Stepping into the cool, dim library, she drew in a ragged breath, as if the scent of paper and leather could calm her sensitized body. Moving toward one wall covered in bookshelves, she studied the titles printed on their spines. One of the benefits of her employment at Tarrington House was the liberal policy regarding the use of its vast collection of books.
She trailed her fingers over them, attempting to ground herself in their feel. As she did, she searched for something that could keep her mind from returning to thoughts of Owen. Governesses always benefitted from learning new things, but today none the history texts, natural philosophy treatises, and tales of faraway places could hold her. And she’d no desire to read accounts of fictional people’s trials and triumphs.
There was no hope for it. Nothing could distract her.
She was halfway to the door when, unexpectedly, he strode in.
They stared at each other. It had been mere hours since the encounter outside the breakfast room, yet excitement jolted through her to see him again.
His gaze was bright and hungry. Wordlessly, drawn by undeniable force, they narrowed the distance between them.
“I need to see you again,” she whispered urgently. It took all her strength to keep from reaching for him and pulling him to her so they could kiss.
Owen’s hands flexed as if he, too, wanted to hold her. “Anywhere,” he answered, low and fierce.
“Not here in the house.” She glanced toward the open library door. Anyone could walk by and see them standing too close, hear them speaking in passionate murmurs.
“The gamekeeper’s cottage.”
The little house stood some distance from the main house, sheltered by the woods. Mr. Lytton had retired from service five months ago, and once a month the housekeeper dispatched a handful of maids to clean and tidy it for his eventual successor.
“Midnight,” Owen said.
Voices came from the hallway—two footmen, by the sound of it. They came nearer.
Alarm shot through her. “Go,” she urged him.
“Tonight?” he pressed.
“Tonight.” Her heart knocked with excitement and terror. “Now, you must leave.”