Adeline’s hands raked through his hair, and the suggestion of wanton desire from her inflamed Winston’s blood. His hands roamed down her back, possessing her body. He cupped her buttocks and lifted. She gave a surprised squeal as he placed her upon the desk. His lips found her throat; he breathed in her scent, finding it a more effective intoxicant than brandy. Her skin was perfect. Soft and pale. Deliciously feminine.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head back so she could press her lips to his once more. He grinned around the kiss, feeling as if she were revealing something of her truenature. Lady-In-Waiting by day, but temptress by night. His body responded to these thoughts in an undeniable way. A way she could not help but feel in her current position.
Winston knew when she suddenly gasped.
“I have not…” She stammered, “I’ve never felt…”
Winston looked into her eyes, became lost in their emerald depths. He had never known such expressiveness nor such beautiful eyes. They should be the definition of the word; they outshone the precious stone that shared their name. When at last Winston pulled his lips from hers and the pair broke apart, both were flushed, breathless, and trembling.
“This is madness,” Adeline whispered.
“Yes,” Winston said hoarsely. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Perhaps you should leave?”
“Perhaps you should,” she countered, making no move to distance herself from him.
“I do not wish to.”
“Neither do I.”
For a moment, the charged air between them seemed to draw them together, to hold them like magnetism. Then came thesound of footfalls outside the room, followed by a knock at the door. Adeline jumped. Winston growled in frustration, releasing her from his embrace. She took a number of quick steps, positioning herself on the other side of the room.
“Come in!” Winston barked towards the door.
It opened to reveal a servant. Adeline picked up a book from a nearby table, pretending a deep-seated interest in its contents. The servant bore firewood to replenish the supply before the fireplace.
“Hurry up!” Winston snapped as the man worked.
He looked around to see Adeline slip from the room. He sat down, feeling disconsolate and lost. He berated himself for the feeling. It was ludicrous. A Duke with any shred of honor could not pursue a governess. The attraction he thought he felt for Adeline was a triviality. It was not important.
Chapter Six
The flames licked higher, devouring beams and walls until the house groaned beneath its own death. Smoke clawed into her lungs, heat seared her skin, and somewhere behind her the faceless figure gave chase. It was relentless, inescapable.Adeline’s legs burned as she ran, skirts catching fire at the hem, hands raw from clawing at doors that would not open. The air roared with crackling timber and shrieking wind. She stumbled, the faceless shadow looming, reaching.
Then arms seized her. Strong, unyielding. She was lifted clear, pressed against a chest she knew even without seeing. Winston. His voice cut through the smoke, commanding, grounding.
“You’re safe,” he swore, and the dream shifted, her terror melting beneath his nearness. His lips found hers, fierce and claiming, fire outside replaced by the fire within. Her body arched into him, surrendering to the heat, the urgency, the forbidden.
Adeline gasped and awoke.
Her chamber was still, moonlight spilling across the coverlet of her bed. Her skin damp with sweat, her heart hammering. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips.
Always the same nightmare. The same pursuit. The same suffocating dread. But different this time.
This time, fire consumed it, fire and Winston’s sudden, impossible rescue. His kiss still burned on her mouth, though it had been no more than a dream. After the fire at Cordelia’s home, it came as no surprise that it would incorporate itself into her regular dreamscape. That Winston should now intrude into her mind was more concerning.
He kissed me. He did not ask permission. He took. Just like he touched me without permission. Bit me!
She felt herself blush. She had bitten him first, after all. But this latest outrage was too much. She lay in her bed thinking of the explosion of passion that had torn through her with even more ferocity than the fire of her nightmare.
Was I used or did I take as much as he did?
She could not believe that she had been as brazen, as arrogant, as conceited as he had been. That she would have indulged in such an act of her own volition and right mind.
I was under a spell. Or, more likely, some sort of shock after the fire and the relocation. I took leave of my senses.
She pushed herself upright, wrapping her arms around her knees. Sleep would not return, she knew it well, having fought these night terrors too many times before. Briarwood’s ashes had followed her here, mingling with the guilt she carried, the lies she lived. But what unnerved her most was Winston’s intrusion into that dark world.
He was handsome, yes, in that commanding, insufferable way of his. But attraction to such a man was folly. He was her adversary, her constant critic. And yet she could not deny how her resistance to him weakened, as though each clash between them was fuel for a fire she should not stoke. The kiss of a few hours before felt like it had happened a few minutes ago. It needed to be consigned to ancient history and not repeated.
