If she waited until the next day…
It may well be too late. Here was an undeniable opportunity. He could have brought sensitive documents along with him. He could reveal information to her with the proper incentive. She had found him unawares, the illustrious Duke of Carlisle, who scarcely emerged from his London lair. Pried from his familiar surroundings, plied with drink, he could be malleable. All she needed to do was give him the proper lure.
She could allow some kisses. Perhaps even more. She had suffered unwanted attentions before, and she would do so again.
Of course, if the Duke of Carlisle kissed her, it would not precisely be suffering, and she knew it.
Curse his miserable hide and equally miserable face.
John had told her so much about the duke. He had fed her every detail of pertinence. But he had not warned her against the magnetism the man exuded.
“You have not answered me,” the duke reminded her softly, and he was even nearer now, even more of a threat. More of a temptation. “Must you go? I have any number of distractions for you here if you but say the words.”
“Of course I must.” She pretended to hesitate, running her tongue over her upper lip once, twice. The stab of guilt she ordinarily experienced whenever she thought of Cullen eluded her now. In its place was something else. Something worse. A deeper, darker want. Some base part of her wasenjoyingthis. “I must bid you good evening, Your Grace.”
His eyes were on her mouth again. “No one need know.”
She imagined if the devil were to appear before her, tempting her to sin, his voice would sound the same as the Duke of Carlisle’s: low and smooth and laden with wicked promise. “I run the risk of losing my position.”
“You ran the risk of losing your position the moment you entered this library with me, and yet, here you stand.”
One more step, and he was now close enough to tip up her chin with one long finger. Just a slight touch, scarcely any pressure behind it. But the contact of his bare skin on hers was a maddening jolt to her senses. Her body did not understand this man was her enemy.
“As I said before, you waylaid me.” She remained still with great effort. Part of her wanted nothing more than to move closer to him, and part of her wanted nothing more than to flee.
“Have you always been a governess, Miss Palliser?” he startled her by asking, allowing the pad of his thumb to settle upon her chin as if it was where it belonged. “Was it your choice for yourself, to live a prim spinster’s life and tend to the children of others?”
“Most born into this life do not have the liberty of choice, Your Grace.” But she would not expect someone like him to understand.
And here, again, he had shaken her from her path. Distracted her from the role she was meant to play. She was not meant to clash with him, but to protest. To allow him to persuade. Make him think her a conquest. Encourage his lust.
“It may surprise you to discover how little choice any of us has.” He sounded grim, as if he carried a great burden. “Myself included.”
More vulnerability. She could press it like a broken rib, cause him pain. Parting her lips, she allowed her eyes to search his before lowering to settle upon his mouth. “What choices were you robbed of, Your Grace? I find it difficult indeed to believe a man as powerful and wealthy as a duke would not have his complete liberty.”
“As I said,” he began then paused, withdrawing his hand, “the truth may surprise you.”
What choice had been taken from him? She wanted to know, and it disturbed her greatly to realize that want derived from herself, from Bridget, and not from the machine of war she had been forced to become.
She searched his gaze. Within it, she found a haunting sadness. Something inside her shifted, and for a moment, she knew a surge of empathy before she ruthlessly battled it down. “What is it you want from me, Your Grace? The more I linger here, the greater the danger of my discovery. I cannot think the duchess would approve of my presence here in the library, so late at night, alone with you, or any other gentleman for that matter.”
Her employer the Duchess of Burghly cared deeply for her son, that much was apparent. She had rigorously interviewed Bridget upon her arrival, and in her prim widow’s weeds, she seemed the sort who would not countenance her son’s governess dallying with a gentleman, be he a duke or even a king.
“Stay with me.”
Three words. Separately, they held no significance. Strung together, spoken by the Duke of Carlisle, they held untold meaning. The tone of urgency in his voice—as if her presence was not just something he desired, but a necessity—meant even more.
“It would be folly,” she argued softly, stepping closer to him in such proximity, her skirts swayed against his trousers.Play the game, Bridget. Do your duty.
“Please.” His jaw tightened after he conveyed the lone, raw plea.
He seemed a man who did not often need to ask for what he wanted. She longed to discomfit him, to sneak beyond his defenses. To probe and nudge him, to make him reveal himself to her. “Why?”
“Because there is sadness in your eyes, Miss Palliser, and I know it well,” he said, surprising her again. “Because I am lonely. Because you are beautiful. Because I want very much to kiss you.”
She hated this man, hated everything he stood for. And yet, he moved her. Some part of her she had thought long banished returned. For a beat, she forgot who she was. Forgot who he was. Forgot this was war, the battle formations clear. Forgot the hatred burning inside her, the need to save Cullen and herself.
And in that brief, terrifying, ruinous moment, she became merely Bridget, whose heart thumped madly, who was staring up into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. A man who had just declared he wanted to kiss her. A man she could not deny she wanted to kiss in return.
