The Governess Affair (Brothers Sinister #0.5)

“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 bu**ocks 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

HUGO 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—”