I squeeze my eyes shut and return my imagined characters to their rightful places. Blond earl. Red-haired governess. Then I dive back in, my pulse racing as I read on. The earl pushes the governess against the wall, and she moans against his lips. I bring my fingers to my own lips as they curl into a wicked smile. Love scenes always make me feel so devious.
The earl lifts the governess in his strong arms, cradling her as he walks toward his bed. Well, I’m not sure Elliot could ever do that with me. Or could he? He walks well with his—
I slam the book shut, a blush boiling my cheeks. What the hell was that? Why the damn bloody roaring saintly hell was I considering whether Elliot—no, I cannot even let myself examine what I was thinking or why. Taking a few deep breaths, I fix the proper visions of the characters in my head and open my book again. It takes a few moments to find the right chapter and page, but when I do, I allow no stray thoughts as I pick back up where I left off.
The earl lays the governess gently on the bed, then leans down to reignite their kiss. She moans, arching against him, and I feel a sizzling warmth at the apex of my thighs. I steady my breathing as I read on, my eyes wide as the earl slides a hand beneath the governess’ skirt, caressing up her leg. Then he lowers himself over her, and their eyes lock. The governess reaches for the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Closer. They kiss again, their bodies moving against one another. She runs her hands through his hair, their brown strands—
I pause and blink a few times. No, not brown. Blond. The earl is blond. I return to the scene, but no matter how much I try, the earl isnotblond, nor is he the earl at all. It’s Elliot. And the woman he’s preparing to make love to isn’t the crimson-haired governess but a girl with black hair—me.
With a frustrated groan, I close my book yet again and toss it to the side. Only now do I realize how warm I’ve become, sweat pooling beneath my armpits and behind my neck. I admit, it’s been months since I’ve had a lover…since Oswald…but reading love scenes rarely gets me this hot and bothered. There’s only one thing to do now. I need outside at once.
Hastily, I dress in my boots and cloak, then race to my door. Flinging it open, I nearly collide with a wall before I realize the wall is actually Elliot, standing before my doorway with his fist raised as if to knock. I startle and launch a step back. I can only hope he doesn’t see how my cheeks blaze as I look at him, guilt tightening my stomach. Can he see the sheen of sweat on my brow? Do my eyes confess the compromising positions I was imagining us in just moments before?
It takes all my will to burn the questions from my mind and act normal. “Elliot,” I say, my words far more breathless than I like, “what are you doing here?”
He lowers his fist and takes a step back. He’s dressed the way he was at dance practice, in his shirtsleeves and trousers, his prosthetic still in place. “I came to check on you. You left the dining hall so suddenly and I haven’t seen you since.”
“Check on me? Why would you need to check on me? There’s just…so much work to do. I couldn’t allow myself to sit idly by and watch you dance.” The last few words feel bitter on my tongue.
He looks me over. “Were you about to go outside?”
“Well, I…” I know what will happen if I say yes. He’ll offer to accompany me and I’ll have to stand close to him. And I cannot stand close to him right now. “I was, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll stay in and go to bed early.”
I expect him to take his leave, but he only furrows his brow. As his gaze locks on mine, I can’t help but recall my scandalous imaginings of those eyes of his, inches from my own, his mouth pressing against my—
I avert my gaze, pursing my lips as a rush of desire heats my core.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, his voice a low growl, his posture visibly stiff. “What happened?”
His response takes me aback, and I realize I must remedy this at once. I need a lie. Fast. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes land on my traitorous book. I let my expression fall when I return my gaze to his. “I’m out of reading material. I left all my books behind at the townhouse and have only had a single title to read since I’ve been here. It’s…very hard for me to wind down without a good book. That’s all it is. Nothing to worry about.”
His shoulders relax. “I didn’t realize you were such an avid reader. I’m sorry. I should have done this before.”
“Done what?”
He turns and waves at me to follow. “Come. It’s time you met my library.”
He says it with a scoff, but to me, his words are an enchantment, one I follow without a second thought. “The library,” I echo, my tone reverent. I remember mention of a library when he first gave a tour of the manor, but I’ve yet to see it for myself.
Elliot laughs. “It’s one of the cruelest jokes of the curse.”
I have no idea what that means, but I follow him nonetheless, down the familiar halls and stairs. Then we reach a wing of the manor I’ve never entered, one I’m pretty sure is near the king’s private quarters. As we make our way down the hall, our pace slow and leisurely, I’m surprised to find it so clean. It seems the residents I’ve assigned cleaning duties to have taken their jobs to heart and are expanding far past the public areas we need for our scheme. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Elliot and his pack were beginning to take pride in this place.
The halls grow narrower, and I’m forced to walk a little closer to Elliot. That and the quiet of our surroundings has my awareness of him growing. We’re alone in a wing I’ve never been to, our shoulders brushing as we walk. I clear my throat. “So, how was your dance lesson?”
He glances at me with a wry grin. “How do you think? It was torture, like everything else in this scheme of yours.”
Despite his words, his tone is light. It’s enough to ease some of the tension roiling in my stomach. “Sounds like it was effective then.”
He shrugs. “I learned the gallopade, the waltz, and the polka. We tried to learn something called the quadrille and then the cotillion, but even with the help of some of my pack attempting to learn the dance with us, it ended in a mess.”
I try to imagine such a sight and almost wish I hadn’t missed it. I can hardly fathom how uncomfortable Gray and Blackbeard would be if they’d been requisitioned for the lesson. Group dances like the quadrille and cotillion are quite complex for novices to perform.
“Three dances should suffice,” I say. “That will give you plenty to have with Imogen, enough to make your intentions clear and for her to be swept away by you.” I force my lips into a curt smile while I say these words, but the twisting in my heart doesn’t seem to match.
Saving me from further conversation on the topic, Elliot stops outside a closed door. “Here we are.”
My pulse quickens with anticipation as he pushes open the door to reveal a dark room, then fumbles with something near the wall. A warm glow emanates from orbs of light hovering over sconces throughout the room, illuminating a modest space filled with several seating areas, the walls covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases interspersed by a few large windows. Each window hosts a padded seat, and everything in me begs to climb upon one with a book at once. I step farther into the room, turning in a circle to take in the vast number of books.
