The moment they lapsed into silence, Juliana’s thoughts wandered back to Mr. Notley. She’d scarcely slept at all the previous night, nor could she read the book she’d retrieved from the library. Instead, she lay awake, replaying her last exchanges with Mr. Notley in her mind.
His gaze had heated her through her frock during their tea, and it continued to heat her every time she thought on it. Their discussion in the library had been stimulating; she wanted more.
She’d very much wanted to discover what thoughts had been behind those looks of his. Had he thought of kissing her? Because imagining kissing him—and doing far more depraved things to him—had begun to consume her evenings…and her mornings…and whenever she had a moment to think.
His lips, she mused, would be soft, his beard coarse. She thought of running her hands through his long blond hair, of raking her fingers against his scalp and hearing him moan—wouldhe moan?
Both dogs bounded toward them, having been released from a footman’s care. The young man hurried forward with a contrite smile on his lips. “Me apologies, misses. I fink Boots and Kitty ’eard you coming.” His thick east London accent was low and rough, but somehow pleasing.
“It is quite all right, I assure you.”
“Vey’ll keep you company on your walk, and tru’fully vey could burn off some energy.”
Juliana smiled at him, and his ears pinkened slightly.
“Is vere anyfing else you be needin’, Miss Smith?”
“No, thank you.”
She smiled again, and he turned down another corridor with a deep bow.
The dogs pranced around them, and Lizzy released Juliana’s hand so that she might join them.
“Is everything well with Samuel?” Mr. Notley asked gruffly from behind her.
Juliana halted and spun to face him, her absurd imaginings of the night before still hot and fresh in her memory, and she was struck dumb. No matter the dated fashion, the man was magnificent in matching grey waistcoat and breeches and deep-blue wool coat. His hair curled over his shoulders, and his shorn beard brushed the knot of his starched white cravat. Lord, but she wanted desperately to touch it.
“The man ran off with a crimson face,” he continued.
Juliana’s gaze met Mr. Notley’s, and a puzzled frown pinched her brows together. “Goodness, I do hope that he wasn’t upset. He’d just brought the dogs—”
“Uncle Leo!” Elizabeth skipped toward him and wrapped her arms about his leg. “I’m so happy that you came.” She released him and bounced up on her toes.
Juliana’s heart gave a squeeze at the softening of Mr. Notley’s features, and she forced herself to turn away. In accepting the position as a governess, she had acknowledged a duty to educate Miss Notley. It was decidedlynotan opportunity to lust after her uncle.
“Shall we continue on?” she asked brusquely, leading the way down the brightly lit hall.
* * *
The dogs raced aheadof Miss Smith, and Lizzy gripped Leo’s hand, chatting animatedly about all that she might sample during their walk. Leo listened with half an ear and responded when necessary, but his attention was unwaveringly fixed on Miss Smith’s retreating form.
A wave of self-loathing rippled just beneath his skin but, Lucifer help him, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the rounded sway of her hips. He wanted to grip them and bury his face in the soft globes of her flesh, nibble at them, and have her squirm beneath him. Damn, but he wanted to see them bounce as he took her from behind. He—
“Here we are,” Miss Smith said brightly, stopping before the conservatory’s door.
Shite. Leo cleared his throat and stepped aside, allowing Lizzy and Miss Smith to precede him. Giving his cockstand a discreet pinch, he took a bracing breath and followed them inside.
The air was warm and humid, and carried the sweet and piquant scent of fruits and herbs. It was a point of pride for him that he’d managed to keep both of his ancestors’ conservatories producing, and often had a surplus to give as offerings to his servants, the tenants, and their families.
“Oh, I love these!” Lizzy squealed as she plucked a blackberry from its bramble against one wall and popped it into her mouth.
Miss Smith’s eyes had widened in wonder as she’d begun to explore, the column of her neck stretching delicately backward as she took in some of their taller trees.
“How did you amass such a collection?” she asked.
Leo clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, forcing his mind to focus on her question and not on how he’d like to graze his lips along her neck. “In his youthful years, my father paid a substantial sum to have plants brought from around the world to the conservatories. I am uncertain what began his fascination, but he continued to collect until his death.”
“Remarkable,” she breathed. “How do you maintain them?”
