Why was he so drawn to her?
The unexpected crunch of shoes on the gravel path reached him then, jolting him from his maudlin reveries. Tensing, he abandoned the whisky and reached for the small pistol he had worn for the day’s festivities on the chance it was required. He rose to his full height, prepared to attack any interloper if necessary. He had felt comfortable in the knowledge that more than a dozen armed men prowled the grounds, ensuring that nothing and no one would intrude upon Clay and Ara’s idyll.
But his instincts had him on edge despite the skills of the trained assassins he had scattered throughout Harlton Hall. Until the mysterious interloper emerged from behind a hedge.
And there she was.
The governess.
He could not stay the smile that curved his lips as he carefully replaced his pistol in its hiding place. “Miss Palliser.”
She stopped in her tracks, skirts swaying in the moonlight.
“Your Grace!” She dipped into a passable curtsy, and villain that he was, he imagined her dropping to her knees entirely. Staying there. Asking him to come to her, opening her sweet pink lips to accept his cock. “You gave me a fright. I did not expect anyone else to be in the gardens this evening.”
He swallowed to banish the unworthy thoughts adulterating his mind. “Miss Palliser. What are you doing out here all alone, in the darkness? Has no one ever told you nothing good can come of ladies wandering at night?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she said with her signature brand of boldness. “I was given to understand you were taking your leave this evening after dinner.”
It was true that had been his plan. But then his head had begun to feel as if it were laden with Fenian dynamite, and the darkness had threatened to claim him, and for the first time in quite a long time, he had not wished to be alone. But he would admit none of those weaknesses aloud to anyone, and certainly not to this lovely, yet strange creature, who had chosen to tempt fate by walking nearer to him instead of turning and fleeing in the opposite direction as fast as her feet could fly.
Leo allowed his gaze to travel over her fine figure, noting the way the gray color of her gown took on an almost otherworldly sheen beneath the bright moon, that she wore no hat, and the lunar glow turned her raven hair to an enchanted silver. “Yes. That was to have been the plan. But I have decided to alter my travels. I will be remaining for the next day at least.”
“I see,” she said, and he could not miss the note of disappointment in her voice.
Had she wished him gone then?
He recalled her passionate response, followed by her hasty retreat, the evening before.
Did she fear for her position?
If so, he could allay her concerns. Though his baser nature longed to take her in his arms and claim her lips once more, he had not come to Harlton Hall to dally with the governess. Nor had he suspended his return to London to do so.
“Miss Palliser,” he began coolly, “you need not be concerned I shall relay what happened in the library to the Duchess of Burghly. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Secret, Your Grace?” Her tone was hushed, equally frosty. “I confess, nothing about my time in the library was particularly memorable for me, and I cannot recall whatever it could be you refer to.”
Her goad made him grit his teeth. He ought not to remind her, but he had already downed far too much whisky to make rational decisions where she was concerned. Something about the governess vexed him. Lured him. Intrigued him. “Delude yourself all you like, Miss Palliser. I am certain we both recall the manner in which you clung to me and offered me your lips. The way you kissed me back as if you wanted to devour me.”
He had not meant to say the last, but it was true. She had kissed him with a tumultuous frenzy, and he had never in his years experienced as searing a joining as the kisses he had shared with Miss Palliser. A buttoned-up governess he could not touch. His nephew’s governess, he reminded himself. And if there existed any governess he ought not want to fuck, surely it was his nephew’s.
“Youkissedme, Your Grace,” she returned, chin tipping up in defiance.
Her bravery knew no bounds. Nor, it seemed, did her capacity for deception.
He moved closer to her, the moonlight and the whisky rendering him reckless and foolish. “You seem to be confused, my dear, for it was undeniablyyouwho kissedme.”
“You are wrong, sir,” she contended, holding her ground.
One more step. Then another. And another. Until she was near enough to touch. To take in his arms should he wish it—strike that—should he deem it wise. For everything inside him wished it. Screamed it, in fact.
Something about this woman called to him. Something made him want to haul her in his arms, slam his mouth over hers, and consume her. To make her his. To peel back the prim layers of her governess weeds and reveal the wildcat he knew lay hidden beneath her careful exterior.
“I have it on good authority that I am never wrong,” he argued, his lips quirking into a smile he could not quell. This woman invigorated him as well. Intrigued him. Who was she? Where had she come from?
To Leo, it was painfully obvious she was no ordinary governess.
“Indeed?” Her voice had taken on a breathless quality, betraying her susceptibility to him. “And on whose authority would that be, Your Grace? Your own, perhaps?”
