Page 86 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
He moved her away from the bookshelf, where he knew he would find it. A throwback from his father, who had been fond of drama, and of trying to get away with torrid affairs. A back passage into his bedchamber from his study was a most convenient tool. ‘I have never used it for this purpose. I feel it is important you know that.’
She nodded, feeling suddenly adrift. Because of course he’d had lovers. He had a wife. But surely there had been others.
He gripped her chin, making her look at him. ‘There was never another woman for me in this house. Only my wife. And we did not engage in clandestine sessions in my study.’
‘I see.’ She nodded.
‘I wish that youwouldsee. You would understand that this is extremely irregular behaviour for me.’
‘And for me as well.’
He kissed her again, all that consuming her, and then released her, taking her hand to lead her down the concealed door that led to the hidden stairs.
She did not know how long they walked, for it was very dark. And she lost all sense of time. Her heart was pounding so hard it was making her dizzy, and the anticipation in her body was building. And building.
They stopped at a door, and he pushed it open, allowing them entrance into the opulent bedchamber.
There was already a fire lit in preparation for his arrival, casting an orange glow on the room. Aided by the illuminated candelabras that were placed about the room.
The bed was large and stately, with navy-blue curtains hanging around the fourposter frame.
There was a writing desk in here as well, and the quill and paper set just so.
It was neat and orderly, and absolutely everything she would have imagined his chamber might be.
But it was the bed that dominated her thoughts.
For the bed was why they were here.
He kissed her again, and then picked her up off the ground, his mouth fastened to hers as he laid her down at the centre of the massive mattress.
She sighed, arching up against him, and she was blessedly relieved to find that this, even this, did not bring about any bad feelings.
His body over hers felt right.
Because his strength was not a weapon.
His muscles were not being used for force.
And the hard rod that she felt in his breeches would not be used as a battering ram.
And she would not be used as an object. He had proven that already.
Sufficiently. Gloriously.
The kissing was feverish again, their breath mingling together, creating something near enough to a symphony.
‘Please tell me,’ he rasped, kissing down her throat, ‘that you are not a maid.’
Something inside of her burst like a firecracker.
Because somehow she had thought, she hadalwaysthought, that if this question was asked of her, the answer she would have to give would be an indictment of her character.
But she could hear it in his voice, in the way that he had said that. He wanted the answer to beno.
Here, her lack of virginity was not a black mark on her character. It was permission.
‘No,’ she whispered.
