Page 43 of The Governess and the Rogue

Heat rose in Bea’s cheeks. Her hands fell from his chest, leaving his coat creased where she’d clenched it with her fingers. “I was not in danger of swooning,” she informed him.

He smiled. “No? I must have been mistaken.”

She stepped back forcing his hand to fall from her neck. “I daresay you’re used to ladies swooning when you kiss them.”

“If they didn’t,” he said, “I’d think myself a very dull fellow indeed.”

Bea snorted. “Vanity, thy name is Beresford.”

“Just as I warned you. But it wasn’t⁠—”

“What wasn’t it?” she asked, cutting him off.

Jack’s expression grew serious. “I’m not a scoundrel, Bea.”

“No?” She touched the soft cashmere of her shawl. Never in her life had she possessed anything so fine. “Then, that kiss… It wasn’t payment for this?”

A frown darkened his gaze. “Is that what you think of me?”

“What else should I think? In one breath you give me an expensive gift. In another you kiss me. The two events⁠—”

“Are mutually exclusive,” he said. “I beg your pardon for the offense, but…” He smiled again with quicksilver humor. “You must allow that the inducement was extraordinary.”

Bea’s eyes narrowed. She had never considered herself a temptation before. Let alone one that was impossible to resist. “I’m not much of an inducement.”

“You are to me,” Jack said.

She took a step back from him. It was one thing to be kissed by a gentleman. It was quite another to be teased by him. “You don’t mean that.”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it? I’ve been in company with you a great deal since we became engaged⁠—”

“We’re not⁠—”

“We are,” he said. “And I enjoy being with you. Anyone would.”

Bea shook her head. The farther she moved away from him, the more swiftly reality returned to her. She couldn’t be doing this. Kissing him. Wanting him. Daring to dream that they might⁠—

No.

She wouldn’t allow herself to follow that thread. It could lead to only one destination. And it wasn’t the marriage altar. It was directly to her own ruination.

“You don’t know me, Jack,” she said.

“But I do,” he said. “I know that you’re daring. I know that you’re loyal. That you have a keen sense of justice. That you loved your mother. I know that you make wishes on stars.”

A lump formed in Bea’s throat. “I wasn’t aware you were keeping a catalog.”

“And you’re not?”

“It’s not the same,” she said.

Jack was something worth knowing. A gentleman of importance. Of wealth, property, and pedigree. While, she…

“In any event,” she added brusquely, “it hardly matters. We’ve nearly reached Marseilles. In but a few more days, we shall arrive in England and go our separate ways. I shan’t ever see you again. Unless⁠—”

“Unless you’d like to see me again,” Jack suggested.

Bea’s brows lowered. “I was going to say, unless I should happen to be employed by a near neighbor of yours.”