Offering him an abbreviated curtsy, she fled.
It was only when the door clicked safely closed behind her and she heaved a sigh of relief that she realized she had left her lace fichu behind. She hesitated for a beat before deciding—wisely, she was sure—that entering the Duke of Whitley’s den of iniquity once more would only lead her further into ruin.
He could keep the fichu, for now. She would rescue it later. All that remained for her to do was to return her mind and focus to the twin tasks at hand: play governess to his sisters and prove his guilt.
Or his innocence.
As she walked away, heart galloping and palms damp, she could not honestly say which of the two outcomes would prove worse.
Chapter Nine
The proficient notesof Pleyel on the pianoforte that evening were not as much of a chore as Crispin would have expected. He listened and watched as Nora played with skill he had not imagined she possessed because he had never asked. Nor had he remained following dinner if he dined with his hoyden sisters at all. The sight of them—not to mention their bloody antics—generally gave him a headache, and he strove to eschew their company altogether in favor of the immeasurably more pleasant presence of whisky and strumpets.
His gaze flitted over the occupants of the chamber. Nora was dressed in pink and looking far too much like a young lady as her fingers deftly navigated her instrument. Con’s wide-eyed expression as she surreptitiously glanced his way—as if to ascertain he had not disappeared from his chair—struck him.
And thereshewas, dressed like a blind beggar woman in her latest dun-colored sack, hiding her glorious hair beneath yet another hideous cap, and presiding over the tableau with a smile of satisfaction she did not bother to hide. There was something oddly comforting in the scene. In the place where his dark, vicious heart beat within his chest, something odd happened.
He felt, in a way he had not for as long as he could recall,content. What a singular emotion. How perplexing and confounding. He could scarcely countenance it himself, but here he sat with his minx sisters and their governess, and he was not bored or restless or angry. He did not even long for a drink. And wonder of wonders, he was not incapable of feeling as he had supposed.
Here, in this moment, a wealth of other assorted emotions he had not fancied himself capable of washed over him, reviving him, demonstrating he was more than the shriveled husk that remained in the wake of that cursed day in Spain. It was mystifying, this unexpected capacity to feel. He did not like it, and all the same, with it having been unleashed, he was not certain he could stifle or contain all such natural human inclinations.
The blame for his current predicament could only be placed upon one sunset-haired witch. He stared at the vexing woman he could not help but want more with each passing breath. Those stolen kisses had undone him. Even now, he could recall the precise shade of her nipples.
Their gazes clashed for a beat before she frowned and looked away.
Damn and blast.
Perhaps Miss Governess was not wrong.
Perhaps he had not given any part of himself to the very ladies who needed it the most: his sisters. For although Con and Nora had not been on the battlefield and would never know the hells of war, they, too, had suffered loss and upheaval and bitter disappointment.
He did not wish to think her right about anything. Indeed, he would prefer not to think of her at all now that she had so thoroughly rejected his suit. But there she sat, mere feet from him. She slept beneath the same roof. They walked the same halls. This morning, he had been so very close to making her his. He longed for her so much his teeth ached.
Tup the governess, Duncan had urged. What a strange creature she was, for it almost seemed to him she would have sooner allowed him to take her right there on his desk than to accept his protection and become his mistress.
As his mistress, she would want for nothing. He would set her up in a fine house, buy her whatever fripperies and gowns she wished, and see her settled with a proper household. But as a governess, she had no freedom. She was at the whims of his sisters most days, little better than a servant, and bloody hell, he had been an unabashed bastard to her as often as possible.
Because she nettled him.
She burrowed beneath his skin.
She bloody well unsettled him. And he did not like it. Not one whit.
The haunting strains of the piece Nora had chosen to play reached their crescendo before lulling back to a fulfilling finale. He clapped loudly as the last note settled, perhaps with more force than necessary, but he wished to distract himself from the unwanted spring of his erection against his breeches.
Whilst he was relieved that his cock was not broken, he did not wish for the damned appendage to be asserting itself in the presence of his sisters. Unfortunately, he had somehow abdicated control of his body and mind both, however. He could neither force his arousal to abate nor banish maudlin sentiment. For it was surely nothing more than that which made him recall days in his youth when he would listen to his mother play pianoforte.
“Well done, Nora,” he said with a throat that had gone suddenly thick at the reminiscence. “It is apparent that you inherited Mother’s gift for playing.”
Nora’s cheeks flushed pink enough to rival her gown, a smile quirking her lips. “Thank you, Brother, but Con plays just as well as I.”
He turned to his youngest sister. “Con, is this true?”
She grinned, looking a trifle embarrassed at their sister’s words of praise. “Nora is far more skilled than I, I am afraid.”
“That is not true, Lady Honora,” came the dulcet voice of Miss Governess. “You are equally talented. Would you not like to show His Grace your proficiency as well? I am certain the duke would adore hearing your command of the pianoforte. Would you not, Your Grace?”
She snagged his gaze once more, and he felt the connection of their stares like a physical jolt. He could not keep himself from glancing at her lips and recalling them against his that morning. He would not rest until that mouth was wrapped around his cock.Yes, that was precisely what he needed. Miss Governess on her knees before him. He would pluck the cap from her hair, sink his fingers into the lush skeins of red-gold, and guide her to his prick. Debauching her would be his greatest pleasure. Spending down her throat his paradise on earth. Second only to spending between her luscious thighs…
