Page 37 of The Hidden Heart

Vesey shrugged. “I don’t know. Some servant, maybe, who took a liking to that governess. She was something of a looker tonight, wasn’t she?”

Richard swung back to Vesey, his face black with rage. “I don’t even want to hear mention of her on your tongue again. Do you understand me?”

Vesey’s eyebrows went up. “I say, Cleybourne, don’t tell me you’ve developed a tendresse for the wench yourself.”

“Damn you!” Richard curled his hand into the front of Vesey’s nightshirt and hauled him up again, twisting his hand so that the collar of the shirt bit into Vesey’s throat. “You are skating on the edge, Vesey, I warn you. Not everyone is the sort of selfish, disgusting lecher that you are. Miss Maitland is under my protection, just as Gabriela is. And I am telling you, if you do anything to either one of them—anything—I will not rest until I have hunted you down and broken each and every one of your bones separately. Am I clear?”

“Eminently,” Vesey squeaked out.

“All right, then.” Richard opened his hand, and Vesey plopped back onto the couch.

Richard turned and strode out of the room without a backward glance, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Well,” Vesey said, rubbing his throat gently, “I seem to have struck a nerve there, haven’t I?”

“Of course you did, you imbecile,” Leona said from the bed. “Intimating that a man like Cleybourne would be interested in that dowdy governess. What an idiotic notion.”

Lord Vesey cast his wife a sardonic glance. “Yes, of course, my dear. How foolish of me.”

* * *

Immediately after breakfast the next morning, a pair of maids arrived at the nursery and began carrying down Jessica’s and Gabriela’s things to the floor below, where all the main bedrooms were located. Baxter had given Gabriela a lovely, cheerful room that looked out over the driveway to the castle. It had three tall windows that let in plenty of light, and its furniture was daintier than most pieces in the castle, done in white and gold. There was a secretary on which Gabriela could do her schoolwork, and a small sofa against the opposite wall, not to mention a wardrobe, chest and vanity that were more than enough for her needs.

Jessica’s room, across the hall, was smaller and contained less furniture, but it was quite cozy and welcoming, with a comfortable chair beside the window that looked like a perfect spot to curl up and read a book. There was a vanity table with a nice, large mirror above it and, best of all, a lovely fireplace with a fire burning merrily in it.

“It’s beautiful,” she told Baxter honestly. “It is very kind of the duke to put me in here.”

“His Grace is the kindest of gentlemen, you’ll find,” Baxter said with a smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. He asked me if I would tell you that he wishes to see you in his study this morning.”

“Oh.” Jessica’s pulse picked up its pace. “Of course.”

After the butler left, Jessica rushed to her new mirror. She straightened her hair and pinned a few recalcitrant curls that had already managed to escape. She smoothed her dress down. There was nothing she could do about it, she thought, and sighed. As long as she was a governess, she could hardly go about in finery. What she had worn last night had really been too attractive and expensive to wear even for a formal dinner. Only the fact that Lady Westhampton had urged it on her had made it acceptable.

Sternly she shook off her thoughts. She should not be worrying about how she looked, she reminded herself. She was a governess here, that was all. The fact that Cleybourne had kissed her last night meant nothing. She could not allow it to mean anything. What had happened last night had been wildly abnormal behavior. She never should have let a man kiss her like that, especially her employer! Granted, it had been more pleasurable than anything she had ever experienced, or that she had ever imagined experiencing. She had been taken completely, overwhelmingly, by surprise.

But it would not, could not, continue.

Yet she could not quell the leap of hope and excitement within her chest as she went down the stairs to Cleybourne’s study. The door was closed when she approached it, so she rapped lightly and waited for Cleybourne’s invitation to enter.

She found him standing behind his desk, as if he had just risen from his chair, and his fingertips touched the desk, as if bracing him. His face was drawn in stern lines, and the anticipation inside her fluttered to its death.

Jessica came to a stop in front of his desk, facing him with all the calm she could muster.

“Miss Maitland, I, ah, I have asked you here this morning because I feel that I—” He half turned from her, fixing his gaze on a spot across the room. “I must apologize to you for my behavior last night. It was inexcusable.” He swung away, as if he could no longer bear to stand still, and began to pace back and forth across the room, talking as he went. “What I did was terribly wrong. You are my employee. Living in this house under my protection. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I—I, took advantage of our situation.”

Jessica went cold, the chill spreading from the center of her being outward. She could not even have said what she had been secretly hoping would happen. She was not naive enough to have thought he would declare his undying passion for her. Still, to see him so stern and controlled, so cool toward her, pierced her to the quick. Of course a gentleman would apologize for having grabbed her and kissed her like that, but this…she knew that this was something far more than an apology. Cleybourne did not just regret having acted in an ungentlemanly manner. She could see in his drawn face, in his inability to even look her straight in the eye, that he regretted, too, the emotions, the desire, that had caused him to behave so. He hated the fact that he had wanted her, despised his passion for her.

“I promise you that it will not happen again,” he went on.

Jessica linked her hands together. They were as cold as ice. She could think of nothing to say. She lowered her eyes, unable any longer to look at him, to have to witness him steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. What they had done last night obviously disgusted him. Perhaps she disgusted him, too, for the wanton way she had responded to his kisses and caresses. She remembered thinking only minutes ago that she had acted in a way no lady should. She wondered if now he no longer thought she was a lady, if he found her promiscuous and bold.

She thought, too, of the way he had called her his “employee.” That rankled, as well. He did not think of her as an equal, but as someone who worked for him. Of course, she was not his equal in rank, and she could see now that it had been wrong of her to let Lady Westhampton’s easy friendlines deceive her into feeling that she was on the same level as they were.

She was not, and she never could be. And, of course, it had been entirely foolish of her to let herself dream that last night had meant something. Cleybourne was a man still in love with his dead wife, and even if he were not, there could never be the hope of anything between them, at least anything honorable. Though her own family was good enough, she was only a governess, scarcely someone a duke would marry. And, even worse, her good name was stained irrevocably by her father’s scandal. So the passion of last night, if allowed to continue, could lead to nothing but being his mistress, and she could not live as that. Nor was Cleybourne the sort of man who would turn an unsullied female into his mistress: he was too much of a gentleman.

It had been unbelievably foolish of her, she told herself, to have given way to her desire last night, and she should be grateful that the duke was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of her moral laxity.

A heavy silence settled on the room, and Jessica realized that he must expect her to say something, to leave the room. Their business was over. “Yes, of course,” she said in a colorless voice. “Thank you, Your Grace.”