Page 42 of The Governess and the Rogue

“Are they likely to come true, these wishes you make?” he asked.

Her lashes lowered. “One of them already has,” she confessed.

And he kissed her.

Chapter Fourteen

Bea inhaled an astonished breath. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Jack’s intention had been clear from the moment he’d bent his head to hers. But it hadn’t seemed real, for all that. Here beneath the stars, with the sea lapping below, and the deck rolling gently beneath her feet. Indeed, it all felt rather too much like a dream.

Until Jack’s lips captured hers.

That was when she started. For there was nothing dreamlike about his kiss. It was warm and firm, and unmistakably real.

Bea stood there, for an instant—the barest instant—feeling time stand still between them. She was stricken by a sensation of utter disbelief. Too stunned to protest, too flustered to move.

And then her mouth trembled beneath his, her lips parting on a breathless word. To her consternation, that word wasn’t stop.

“Jack,” she whispered.

He curved his hand around her neck in answer, kissing her again.

This time, Bea kissed him back.

Jack made a low sound in his throat as his mouth shaped to hers, returning her kiss. Deepening it.

Another tremor went through Bea’s frame. It had nothing to do with the weather.

Gracious.

He was good at this. Doubtless he’d done it before. The thought entered her head only to leave it a split second later, lost amid the rush of sensation inspired by his warmth, his touch, his breath.

Her knees quaked. She brought her hands to his chest to steady herself. She couldn’t recall if they’d ever been this close before. She was certain she’d have remembered it if they had. He was so devastatingly tall and solid. So relentlessly male. His very nearness was intoxicating to her; the heat of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the fragrance of his cologne.

Good heavens.

Had she wished for this?

She didn’t know for certain. All she knew was that being in his company for the past three days, pretending to be his devoted fiancée, had taken an unaccountable toll. The pantomime had eaten away at her restraint. Had played havoc with her heart. Her soul.

How could she look at him hour upon hour, talk with him, dine with him, be the recipient of his many gentlemanly considerations, and not be moved by it all? She was not, after all, made of stone.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his wool coat. She realized, with vague alarm, that she was clinging to him. All but embracing him.

He didn’t embrace her in return, but his fingers were a hot brand at her neck, making her heartbeat gallop as wildly as a horse bolting from the too-restrictive confines of its stable.

“A bit awkward,” Jack murmured against her mouth.

Bea stiffened. “Me?”

He stroked her nape. “Not you. This.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Me.”

Bea drew back from him a fraction, incredulous. “You call this awkward?”

“I do,” he said. “I’m not accustomed to—” He stopped, uttering another wry huff. “I haven’t been with anyone like this since I fell at Mohammerah.”

Bea began to understand. She searched his face. “You mean… you haven’t kissed anyone since your injury?”

Jack’s expression betrayed a flicker of bitterness. “It occurs to me that it might be easier sitting down. For one thing, I could dispense with this.” He shot a dark glance at his cane. “For another…” His eyes returned to hers. The bitterness was gone. In its place was a gleam of gentle amusement. “You might be in less danger of falling into a swoon.”