Then came the striking of one o’clock and almost immediately the clacking across the hallway of Miss Winters’ sensible shoes.
“It is one o’clock, Lady Winifred,” announced the governess, who had evidently been monitoring her charge’s whereabouts and only waiting to swoop in. “Time for us to return to the schoolroom.”
“But we’re playing hide and seek and I haven’t found Papa yet, or Duchess Frances,” Winnie complained.
“I am sure that you can find them later,” Miss Winters insisted calmly but firmly. “Your father prefers that you keep regular schooling hours.”
Frances’ eyes questioned Ambrose on the veracity of this statement and he nodded confirmation. He had indeed instructed Miss Winters on Winnie’s hours of schooling and would not now countermand them.
“But what if they stay hidden all day?” asked Winifred in one final protest, although Frances could now hear her footsteps and voice were beside those of Miss Winters. “What if no one can find them?”
“If the Duke and Duchess of Westall chose to hide all day long, they might, but it seems a little unlikely to me,” replied the governess with a kindly laugh, her voice now receding as she led her charge away. “Do not worry. I am sure that you will see them again at bedtime…”
The library door closed with a click and Frances and Ambrose were left alone behind the curtain once more.
Ambrose laughed first and then Frances joined in. Neither of them made any immediate move from their present position.
“We’re not really going to hide behind the curtain all day are we?” she asked in jest.
“Not unless you particularly wish it,” the duke replied, raising the hand he was holding to his lips as if to kiss it, but then inhaling again. “Mmmm, I do very, very much like this perfume on you, Frances.”
Alone now, without the combined shield and threat of Winnie’s interruption, Frances felt her body tingle and warm to Ambroses’ touch and words. She longed for the touch of his lips on her skin.
“You haven’t yet told me what present you brought for me from London this week,” she reminded him. “Oh!”
Frances’ words caught in her throat as Ambrose finally touched his lips lightly to her wrist and then released her hand.
“I haven’t,” Ambrose confirmed, his voice teasing and his eyes jocular but also thoughtful. “I have not known how to give this gift to you or whether you would welcome it. I suppose I have been waiting for the right moment.”
“Last night,” Frances began to say, but he put a finger to her lips as if to hush her in turn, and then stroked her mouth, making her quiver inside.
“Last night was not quite the right time,” he suggested, “but I wonder if today might be more…”
Instead of finishing his sentence, the Duke of Westall lowered his head to hers and gently captured Frances’ lips with his for a brief moment. The sensation of it jolted through her body, impelling her small cry of surprised pleasure and movement toward him.
“Was that too much?” Ambrose asked. “It seemed to me that you wished to be kissed today and that I was a good position to kiss you. I wonder too, if you should like something more than kisses…? If I have judged wrongly, only tell me, and I shall leave you alone.”
Leave her alone? It was frankly the last thing Frances wanted. With a sound of frustration she reached up and pulled his dark head down to hers again, leaning into the satisfaction of the long, deep kiss Ambrose then bestowed upon her.
“I want you to kiss me, Ambrose,” she confessed. “I dreamed of you last night.”
“You dreamed of me?” he questioned delightedly, pressing kisses now all over her face and pulling her closer to his body. “What did you dream, my beautiful Frances?”
“I dreamt that we lay together in a bed,” she told him softly. “We lay together and it felt right.”
“Unclothed?” Ambrose asked, nuzzling Frances’ ear and then kissing her mouth again as she nodded. “How perfect that would be. Did I..?”
“I think you were going to…I wanted you,” Frances admitted, now conscious of the distinct throbbing between her thighs. “I wanted you and I wasn’t scared.”
“Are you frightened now?” he asked, cupping her face in a hand and kissing her very gently.
Frances shook her head and sighed with the sweetness of their kisses and the power of the desire that was coursing through her blood. Picking up where her courage failed last night, everything now seemed possible.
“No, I want you. I want to be your wife and to have a proper marriage with you, Ambrose. Not like my parents.”
“We are not your parents,” Ambrose assured her. “You are not your mother and I am not your father. I do not care for the past. I only want to be your husband and to show you how good it can feel for a man and woman to touch one another intimately.”
Frances returned his long, slow and explorative kiss, feeling a wide, unknown horizon opening somewhere ahead of her and yet trusting him to be her guide.
