Her back was to him, her head down, and she seemed to be searching the Aubusson for something. What, he had not an inkling. He longed to protest the retreat of her warmth and her soft, sweetly curved body. Instead, he turned, watching the soft play of light in her gleaming hair.
Ah. He must have removed her hideous cap in the throes of passion, and she sought to find it. “One more day,” he said, darkly amused when she could not seem to locate the bloody thing anywhere. He could only hope he had tossed it somewhere she would not look.
“One more day, and then what shall it be next?” She spun back to face him, her expression pinched, her tone rife with exasperation. Her dun gown fluttered about her, and even in the shapeless, joyless sack, he could not help but be stirred anew at the sight of her.
He started toward her. “One more day, and then the next shall worry about itself.”
“But I shall worry about the next,” she said softly as he reached her. “For I am the governess to your sisters, and I… there is much about me you do not know.”
Of course there was. She had a past. So did he. Hers intrigued him rather than repel him. He longed to know everything there was to know about her, and he could not recall ever being so inclined when it came to a female. Before her, women had been for pleasure and distraction, first at war and then at home. But she was different. She was not like all the rest.
Crispin could not resist cupping her pale cheek and strumming the delicate line of her jaw. Here was a stray freckle, just the one, and he was endlessly fascinated by its solitary presence. “There is much about the world I do not know, Cin, and yet I go about each day continuing to live in it.”
Her breath hitched. The golden flecks in her eyes darkened. “That is different and you know it. We could not be farther apart. I am your servant, and you—”
“And I amyourservant, my love,” he interrupted, continuing his slow and steady strokes—nothing but the pad of his thumb. “That is all I am, here and now, to you.”
“Now,” she argued, “but there will come a day when that changes. If not tomorrow, then the next, or perhaps the fortnight after.”
He could not quell her fears, it seemed, and he wondered what had happened to her—who had hurt her—that she could not trust enough to take a chance on what he offered: companionship, passion, his purse and person at her command. Perhaps the only way was to leave the choice in her hands and hope she made the right one.
Crispin withdrew his touch although it pained him to have her so near and yet keep his hands at his sides. “I want you to have tomorrow to yourself.”
Her forehead wrinkled with confusion. “But tomorrow is not my scheduled day.”
He raised a brow. “In my household, I make the rules, madam. You shall have the entire day to yourself tomorrow, to do with as you wish. Con and Nora shall do fine with a day’s break in their studies. One can only hope they do not revert to their old ways of sledding down the grand staircase, of course. Think of it as a test of your efficacy thus far, if you must.”
When he had initially planned for her to have a day of rest tomorrow, he had not envisioned giving hercarte blanche. Rather, he had hoped he might send her to a discreetmodisteso she could acquire a costume for Duncan’s masque. And then he had envisioned squiring her away in a carriage, feeding her hothouse strawberries, drinking copious wine, and dancing with her until the candles sputtered out before fucking her so hard and deep, he was imprinted upon her memory and her body forever.
But in truth, he did not want to take her day from her and make it his. He wanted her to choose it for herself. He wanted her to choosehim, damn it.
“All of tomorrow to do with as I see fit?” she asked warily.
He suppressed a wince, for he well knew what his compromise could cost him. “Yes, though there are any number of choices available to you, should you wish to investigate them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Please elaborate upon these… choices.”
“My carriage will be at your disposal. If you choose, it will take you to the finestmodistein London, where you can choose a gown and mask to wear to a masque ball in the evening.” He gave an indolent shrug of his shoulders as if he hadn’t a care. “Or, you could choose for it to go anywhere else within London. You may also remain here at Whitley House. Your enthusiasm for the library, while a trifle geographically inept, leads me to believe you may find any number of tomes within of interest. Or keep to your chambers if you prefer.” Here he paused, and he could not help himself. “Better still, come to mine.”
She was silent, studying him, and how he wished he could read her thoughts. Everything within him longed to haul her back into his arms and take her all over again. To ply her with kisses and caresses until she capitulated to his every wish.
“A masque ball?” she asked softly, finally.
He had piqued her interest, it seemed. Was it possible that beneath her atrocious brown gowns and ridiculous caps and generally hideous spinster attire, there beat the heart of a woman who longed for a beautiful gown and a turn about the ballroom? He would not have supposed Miss Jacinda Turnbow’s head could be turned by a masque ball, but perhaps there was hope for his plans yet.
Crispin cleared his throat against a sudden thickness that had taken up residence there. “Tomorrow evening. I would be honored to have you accompany me as my guest, but the decision is yours alone.”
She pursed her lips, calling his attention—never far from them—back once more. “I shall consider your offer.”
A surge of triumph streaked through his chest, but he fought to keep the foolish, ridiculous joy from his expression. How much power she wielded over him. It was astonishing to think only two months ago, he had not known of her existence. How bloody horrid. The notion left him with a stark and hollow feeling in his chest, as if a gaping chasm had opened up. He resented each day he had spent in his life without her in it.
But he schooled his features into a cool mask, bowing. “Again, the choice is yours. I shall not expect you at breakfast or for the rest of the day, for that matter. But if I shall see you in the evening for the ball, we leave at eight o’clock.”
Her lips tightened. “You will attend whether or not I accompany you, Your Grace?”
A hiss nearly left him at her return to formality, but he managed to suppress it. Perhaps this was the nudge she required. “Yes.”
“Of course.” Her gaze lowered. “Oh, there it is.”
