Page 78 of The Governess and the Rogue

He didn’t reply, only smiled at her.

Her pulse fluttered. Everything within her told her that he was happy being with her. But she dared not believe it. She was already in far too deep. Meeting his family. Learning his secrets. Charging new dresses to his account. Where on earth would it end?

But it would end, she knew.

Bea refused to lose sight of the fact.

“Isn’t it dangerous for me to go into the village?” she asked.

“Dangerous how?”

“The more people who meet me, the greater the chance of gossip. And the greater the gossip, the more risk to my reputation as a governess.”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not intending to be a governess here in Maidenbridge, are you?”

“Of course not. But⁠—”

“Then it won’t matter. Not when you’re employed in Yorkshire or Northumberland or…or Inverness.”

“Inverness!” A horrified laugh bubbled in her throat. “You’re not intending to seek a position for me in the Scottish Highlands?”

He chuckled. “It’s the farthest from Somerset I could think of.”

“Is that the goal, then?” she asked. “To get me as far away from you as you can?”

Jack’s eyes held hers. There was a look in them that was hard to read. “On the contrary,” he said. “I mean to keep you close.”

Bea’s heart thumped hard. For now, he should have said. It was what he meant, surely. What he was implying.

Yet it wasn’t what he’d said to her.

She moistened her lips as they rode on through the trees and along the edge of an open field. She debated asking Jack about their fake engagement and how it must necessarily end. But the words wouldn’t come. The day was too beautiful. And she was too happy—yes, happy—here in her borrowed habit atop her borrowed horse, riding with Jack beneath the shimmering sun. It felt like where she belonged.

It was a dangerous feeling to indulge. Normally, she wouldn’t allow herself to. But what was one morning of make-believe in the grand scheme of things?

“When you’re more confident,” Jack said. “We can canter through this stretch. We might even race if you’re up for the challenge.”

“And let you beat me?” Bea laughed. “No thank you.”

“How do you know I would?”

“Because you obviously arm yourself to win. You have a bigger horse. A younger horse. You’re also a better rider than I am. It would be no contest at all.”

“Funny,” Jack remarked. “I’d have said we’re rather well matched.”

Bea flashed him a speaking look.

Jack grinned, changing the subject before Bea could make a tart reply. He told her about the history of Marston Priory. He spoke about how it had been built in the late fifteenth century, and about the Hamstone used to construct it. He described the ancient gateway to the property, the vast simplicity of the great hall, and the recently refurbished tenant cottages and farms.

A beguiling picture of the place began to form in Bea’s mind. But when, many miles later, the Priory at last came into view, Bea realized that her imagination had failed to do it justice.

It stood upon a rise, surrounded by a low wall, all honey-colored stone and stately elegance. A huge house, but not a cold one. The roof was partially thatched, the gardens flourishing, and the rolling lawns emerald green amid the trees.

Bea stopped her horse to stare at it, her breast swelling with longing. What would it be like to be mistress of such a house? To live here with Jack? To be the recipient of his affection? His love?

Jack was silent on his horse beside her. When at last she turned to him, she found that he was staring, not at the house, but at her. “Would you like to go inside?”

Bea smiled. “Can we?”