Chapter 6
Jack usually spent the quiet hours between dawn and the moment his children awakened outside either on his own acre of land or, like this morning, wandering the castle’s sprawling public park. Nature was usually calming, relaxing, rejuvenating… Not today.
He’d almost kissed her.
God, how he’d wanted to. Sometime in the past two years, Désirée le Duc had gone from being the beautiful, untouchable, younger sister of Jack’s business associates and billiards opponents, toI-don’t-care-seems-worth-it-come-here-and-kiss-me.
The billiard games were no longer an excuse to drink good wine whilst discussing the finer points of his smuggling venture, but an excruciating exercise in pretending he had any interest at all in winning the game when all his eyes wanted to take in was Désirée.
Not just his eyes. His mouth, his hands, his ears. She was clever and kindhearted, wild and funny. She raced phaetons, bakedmille-feuille, solved problems with tubes and pulleys… How could anyone be indifferent to someone like that?
The only reason he’d managed to mask his interest for this long was because he’d believed his secret desires to be one-sided.
Apparently… they were not.
Jack tilted back his head and stared up at the endless sky. Désirée being one-hundred-percent amenable to a bit of no-questions-asked kissing was both the best thing and the worst thing that could have happened.
He would never remarry. He had no wish to complicate his life with an affair. And even if nothing more untoward occurred than a single stolen kiss…
Was anything ever “just a kiss?”
“Good morning, Mr. Skeffington!”
He spun to discover Miss Margaret Church and Miss Eve Shelling strolling up the opposite path. No doubt he’d painted quite a picture, head back, palms open, beseeching the heavens for any sign of what he should do.
“Good morning, ladies. How do you do?”
“My new boots pinch my toes,” Miss Shelling confessed. “I think no more walking for the rest of the day.”
“At seven o’clock? You’ll need to find more comfortable shoes by Monday.” Miss Church turned toward Jack with a smile. “Don’t forget, you promised to come wassailing with us.”
“Andyou promised to provide wassail,” Miss Shelling added. “The only reason half our friends agreed to go caroling is because we’ll be starting at the house with the best wassail.”
“A gentleman keeps his promises,” Jack said gravely. “And so do I.”
They grinned at him. “See you Monday!”
Miss Shelling hobbled off, waving away Miss Church’s attempts at support.
Perhaps ill-fitting shoes were good practice for Monday. After a cup or three of potent wassail, not all of the carolers would manage to walk in a straight line.
He turned back toward his property. Soon, his children would be rising. He and Désirée needed to have a serious conversation first. She was the teacher. He was the parent. She was the employee. He was the employer.
No kissing.
Jack strode back inside his home with a renewed sense of purpose… and absolutely no idea where to find his children’s temporary governess.
She wasn’t with the twins. Or in her chambers. Or the dining room.
It wasn’t until he gave up the search and wandered into the kitchen to spoil his breakfast with one of Cook’s lemon tartlets that he inadvertently stumbled across Cook and Désirée both, their heads stuck in the oven.
“What,” he asked politely, “are you madwomen doing?”
Their heads popped out of the oven at once.
“Oh.” Désirée’s cheeks flushed becomingly. “Although I was hoping to learn more French recipes, Cook showed me some of her traditional English favorites—”
“Though I must admit Mlle. le Duc’s technique for preparingmille-feuilleis quite ingenious—”
