“They are certainly not,” he said. Then, he motioned to a vacant chair and said in a voice that was almost cordial, “Sit.”
Adeline took a seat on the other side of the fireplace from Winston, composing her skirts carefully. Winston found himself appreciating the flow of shadows across her face. They highlighted the structure of her bones from her high cheeks to her button nose. To the strong chin that perfectly framed her budding lips.
“Louisa confessed to me that she has no memory of her mother,” Adeline said, carefully.
“She died when Louisa was still a babe in arms,” Winston replied, “and that is more than your inquiry deserves. I am not accustomed to divulging personal information.”
“But as a governess, it is precisely the sort of information I should know.”
Winston nodded, conceding the point.
“Why is the subject of Louisa’s mother forbidden?” Adeline asked.
Winston controlled himself with effort. His jaw tightened.
“That is not your concern.”
“She is a child longing for answers,” Adeline pressed, voice rising. “You call yourself her protector, yet you guard her from her own past as though it were poison.”
He rose, unable to contain himself.
“Do not presume you know better than I how to raise my daughter.”
“Then stop treating her like glass!” she shot back. “She needs freedom, not chains forged from your grief.”
“Grief! Is that what you think?” Winston laughed, mirthlessly. “There was no love in my marriage. It was arranged as an advantageous match.”
Adeline frowned and sipped again. Her eyes danced to Winston’s and darted away again, skipping from the searing surface of his gaze. His breath came harder now, fury and something else igniting beneath his skin. She was infuriating, impertinent, defiant, unyielding, and reckless. And yet in every word, every spark of fire, he felt drawn tighter to her.
This is ludicrous. Dismiss her for her insolence. Recommend to mother that she be dismissed.
He opened his mouth to do that, to announce it as his intention, but found that he could not.
“I am sorry if I have been personal or impudent. But when I see a child suffering, it is difficult to hold back my feelings on the subject.”
“You do not have children?”
“No. I am not married.”
“Shocking.”
He regretted his sarcasm instantly. Their arguments collided like storm and flame. Her eyes blazed into his. She had risen from her seat; he could not say when. Neither yielded. Neither stepped back.
“I do not appreciate sarcasm,” Adeline said, eyebrow arching.
“Do you not?” Winston said, regretting his flippancy now, “Well, perhaps it was not quite proper of me to resort to it.”
“You think so? Shocking,” Adeline said without smiling, using Winston’s own comment against him.
Winston chuckled. Adeline showed no sign of fear, only irritation. She swallowed. Her bosom rose and fell rapidly. Her lips were parted, cheeks scarlet. Winston had never seen a woman so fierce. So fearless.
“I do think so. And I think it is not your place to confront me. You are not my equal,” Winston said, blithely, hoping for an air of arrogance for no reason other than infuriating Adeline.
“You do not like to be confronted? Then make me stop,” Adeline said, softly, “for I will not stop when you are being rude to me.”
“Then I must up the ante, it seems.”
He moved swiftly, taking her face between his hands, and then he kissed her. It was no gentle thing. It was fury and hunger, years of silence breaking in a single act. And not just from Winston. Adeline melted against him. Her lips were firm against his, her embrace of him equal to his . His hands found her waist, pulling her nearer, the heat between them unbearable. Her fingers tangled in his hair, a gasp breaking from her lips as his mouth traced the curve of her throat. He pressed her back against the desk, scattering papers, the world narrowing to the rush of breath and the fierce rhythm of her heart against his.
