The Governess Affair (8 page)

S
ERENA DIDN’T KNOW
what to think as she trotted down the street beside the Wolf of Clermont, swinging his heavy walking stick. His strides were not long, but they were quick and steady, and her heart beat quickly as she kept pace with him. Her mind was whirling nearly as fast.

When they slowed to pick their way across a street, Serena tried again. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, not looking at her. “You understand perfectly well what is happening. We’re attracted to one other, and it’s inconvenient.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Don’t act so surprised. If I were a greengrocer, and you the charming shopkeeper’s daughter across the street, we’d be calling the banns this Sunday. Likely we’d anticipate our marriage vows while our parents looked the other way.”

“I wasn’t acting surprised. But you’re trying to unsettle me again, and I—”

“I am not. I am as far out to sea as you are.” He spoke in a rumble so deep she almost didn’t notice the complaint in his voice.

Serena halted on the street corner; he turned to look at her. “If I were a footman,” he said, “and you a maid, we’d know every nook, every closet where we might hide away together.”

Safe,
her dastardly senses whispered.
He’s safe
. There was something comforting about his forthright recital—comfort with an edge that only sharpened when he took a step closer to her.

“If I were a cobbler,” he said, “I’d offer you a discount on shoes.”

“Now you’ve completely lost your mind.”

“No. It would give me an excuse to measure your feet with my bare hands.” His lip twitched up. “And don’t think I’d stop at your toes.”

She had both her hands on top of his walking stick. She felt herself lean toward him, ever so slightly.

“But you’re not,” she said. “You’re the Wolf of Clermont, and I’m the woman you cannot drive away.”

“Can’t is such an unforgiving word,” he said. “I prefer
do not wish to.
”

This was a man who had walked away from his family at fourteen. He had a reputation for getting what he wanted.

But there was so much more to him than the boorish drone she’d once envisioned. He had talked about crushing her hopes and dreams, but when he stood next to her, he drove away the despair she’d carried for so long.

She wanted to steal him away—not to deprive Clermont of his use, but to have him for herself.

“Don’t tell me I can’t,” he was saying. “It implies an incapacity.”

“Can’t,” Serena repeated with a smile. “Can’t can’t can’t.”

“Ah, now you’re just taunting me.” He reached out and touched the side of the walking stick. “It’s a good thing
this
is between us, because otherwise I might forget that I’m not a footman. Or a cobbler.” He took another step in, and he was so close now that he warmed the night air around her. It scalded her lungs.

She’d thought him safe. She was wrong; there was nothing safe about him. But he stood along the path to safety. If she could steal his loyalty for her own…

For a brief moment, a dark shadow passed over her at all that would entail.

She squelched it. Never mind how she was to accomplish it. There was no point looking down when climbing. She’d repeated the word
can’t,
but after months of
can’t,
she was just going to have to prove that she
could.

She uncurled one of her hands from the walking stick and laid it against his cheek. His jaw was rough and stubbled under her touch.

His breath sucked in. “Not a good idea, Serena. I’m no simple grocer. I don’t intend to marry, and even if I did, it is my
job
to thwart you.”

But he didn’t move back. He didn’t move forward, either. He simply waited, his eyes dark in the night.

Serena let go of the walking stick; it balanced on end, momentarily, before crashing to the ground.

And then he did move, slowly, leaning those final inches toward her.

At first it was just his lips that brushed hers, warm and certain, a fleeting pressure, swiftly removed. Then he rested his hand on her hip, drawing her to him. His mouth brushed hers once more; his lips parted, nipped at hers, and then again. Her whole body warmed.

She mimicked his motion—parting her lips—only to have him take them between his own, nibbling at her. She could have lost herself in that back-and-forth—the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth on hers. Shockingly, overwhelmingly sweet.

She’d thought of a kiss as the passive pressing together of lips—not this exchange of caresses. She was coming to life beside him—parts she’d never paid much mind to hummed in desire. The back of her neck tingled as he drew her close. The bottoms of her feet prickled with anticipation, as he kissed her again.

He licked at her lips, and she opened her mouth in shock. And as she did, he swept his tongue inside.

That act should have disgusted her. It didn’t. It felt amazing. Wonderful. She opened herself up to him, and then, tentatively, reached out her own tongue. His hands slid up her body, up the curve of her buttocks to clasp her spine. One of them caressed her arm, her elbow. And then his fingers cupped her breast. Lightly, slowly, and then, when she didn’t move away—when she pressed against him—with greater firmness.

And even though she knew that touch was a dreadful liberty, it felt
right
to have him touch her there—a heated counterpoint to the play of their lips.

“Ah, Serena,” he murmured. “This is
not
a good idea.” But he didn’t stop.

His hand slid slowly down her torso to the curve of her belly. And there his fingers came to a halt.

Serena froze. She swiftly covered his hand with hers, and just as abruptly pulled away. Her heart raced.

“What is it?” he said. His voice was husky, but his eyes narrowed. The streetlamp stood behind him, coloring his dark hair with warm tones.

And then he frowned and reached out once more—tentatively this time, and feathered his hand across her stomach. One couldn’t see it, not with corsets and petticoats being what they were. But a man who was pressed up against a woman, his hand caressing her, might feel it.

“Miss Barton,” he said slowly. “You have neglected to tell me something. Two somethings.”

“No.” She was unable to meet his eyes.

“That was your first kiss, was it not?”

She couldn’t bring herself to nod. Instead, she looked away.

“You said he didn’t force you.”

Her mouth went dry.

He shook his head. “Setting that aside—and how I can set that aside, I do not know… In all our discussions, in all the barbs we traded, was it not
once
relevant for you to mention that you were pregnant?”

Chapter Six

H
UGO WAITED FOR HER
to deny the accusation.

She didn’t. Instead, she leaned over and picked up his walking stick. He wasn’t sure if she was simply holding it between them to signal that their truce was over, or if she intended to hit him with it and walk away.

She let out a long breath. “And here I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? Magic?”

“I told Clermont,” she tossed back. “I assumed that what he knew, you—”

“Whatever made you imagine that he would be forthright with me? He told me this was an employment dispute. He told me that he’d hired you to take care of his unborn child.”

She raised her chin. “Well,” she bit off. “The position is unpaid, and he wasn’t referring to his heir. But that much was true.” Her hand had crept back to cover her belly. “Why do you think I’m here now? Why do you think I’ve spent days standing in the park? It certainly wasn’t for my own benefit. I am not going to fail my child.”

“Yes, and that’s the other thing. What sort of promises did the duke make to get you in bed?”

She was looking off into the distance. Her nostrils flared, and then she turned to him. “He promised not to wake the household.” There was a hint of a catch in her voice.

“No.”

She’d given voice to his blackest suspicions and painted them blacker still. Yet she stood out against that darkness like a blinding beacon. He already flinched from the thought of hurting a woman. But everything in him rebelled at the thought of causing harm to a mother
.
And by the ferocity of her words—the tell-tale touch of her fingers to her abdomen—she was that.

“He had made a few comments during the day,” she continued starkly. “I tried to ignore him, although it’s hard to ignore a duke who is a guest of the household. He made me uneasy, though. And then he came to my room at night.” The bareness of her recital was almost worse than the words she was saying. “I told him no; he insisted. I threatened to scream, and he said that if I did, the whole household would wake and they would blame me anyway. I had just started the position. If I lost it under such circumstances, I might not have found another.”

He swallowed back anger. “Why did you tell me you weren’t forced?”

She shook her head in confusion. “I wasn’t forced. I didn’t fight him.”

Hugh looked over at her. She seemed to be in earnest about the last. He wasn’t so certain. What the duke had done was not punishable by law, even if she had dared to bring felony charges to the House of Lords. If she couldn’t prove that she’d fought back, they would never convict him.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t forced. Somehow, what had happened seemed even worse than physical violence—as if Clermont had taken not only his pleasure and her future, but had robbed her of the right to believe herself blameless.

“I didn’t scream,” she repeated. “You tell me that you admire me as a worthy opponent. But you don’t understand. The only reason I refuse to back down now is because I refuse to let my child drown in silence.”

“You should have told me.”

“What would it have changed?”

Everything.
There was a counterpoint to his father’s vicious words. It was neither loud nor insistent, but sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could remember his mother singing.

“At least I wouldn’t have made you stand all day, four days running,” he shot back. “I’d have understood that when you asked for
recognition,
you were not speaking solely about revenge. Tell me, Miss Barton, and tell me plainly. What is it you want?”

“I want funds enough for the future.”

“You’re looking for perpetual support?”

“No. That farm I told you about—I want to grow lavender, make soaps, and take them to market.”

He inclined his head.

“I want my child to be able to overcome the circumstances of his birth. If he is to be a duke’s son, he should have some advantages. I want him to go to Eton. Or, if she’s a girl, to have a Season. Clermont is the father. He owes his child some sort of future, and I will not go away until it’s secured.”

Hugo exhaled and tried to imagine the duke taking responsibility. He tried to imagine the
duchess
understanding. No use; it would never happen.

He tried to imagine himself driving Serena away—but that was an even more futile prospect. He was trapped between an improbability and an unlikelihood.

He frowned. “I’ll need to look into a few things,” he said. “But we’ll talk tomorrow—let us say at eleven in the morning. And this time I mean it. No threats—not from either of us. This is a problem.”

He reached out and set his hand over hers on the walking stick. She raised her eyes to his, wide and luminous.

“I solve problems,” he said.

F
REDDY HAD BEEN IN BED
when Serena arrived last evening; she was still sleeping when Serena awoke, early in the morning.

Serena was just slipping into her shoes in the entry when a querulous note sounded behind her.

“Serena? Are you sneaking out already? Where were you so late last night?”

Serena’s heart skipped a beat. “Out,” she said.

“Out doing what?”

“Out being…out.”

There sounded the thump of feet hitting the floor, and then Freddy turned the corner. Her countenance was screwed into worried little lines.

“You arrived in someone’s company,” she said. “I watched you.”

And she’d thought Freddy asleep. Her sister had likely been too upset to speak. There was no use denying the accusation, though, so Serena simply picked up her cloak.

“A man. Haven’t men caused you enough trouble?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Don’t you know how men are? It is
always
like that with them. Is that how you got in trouble? Walking out with a man after dark?” Freddy grimaced. “You’ve never learned your lesson.”

“What lesson should I have learned?”

Freddy straightened and set her hands on her hips. “I scarcely said a word when you flaunted your problems before all of Mayfair. And now I’m being forced to vacate the home I hold dear. I am made homeless, and
you
are out at all hours of the night cavorting with men.”

“I wasn’t cavorting. It was the Wolf of Clermont, if you must know. I
have
to speak with him. And even if it wasn’t, what do you expect me to do? Hide for the rest of my life, because something bad happened to me?”