AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His mouth touches mine, and the shiver rolls through me. My eyes close, and I don't even hesitate, kissing him back. I lean up into him, his grip tightening on me, fingers demanding I give him everything.
Even in this, he is relentless.
I pull away with a shudder, jerking my chin out of his grasp. My whole body feels the echoes of that one kiss, his lips claiming me for his very own. My fingers dig into the cushion of the chaise, curling around the edge of it as I try to breathe.
His eyes glitter, and there's no regret in his expression. Then they harden, and that shield comes down, his defenses armed once more. The duke is back. The man who kissed me is gone, in a single split second. It's like he doesn't even remember our time at the lake, doesn't remember how much of myself I've given to him. He's just frozen solid, from the inside-out.
"You will tell no one," he says, "and stop making such stupid comments to me. You forget yourself and your place." He steps away from me as I sit there, struck and shocked.
He's walking toward the door, and I twist on the chaise to watch him go.
"Cover up the furniture before you leave," he says, as the adrenaline starts to surge through my body.
The door shuts behind him, and I'm left there, shaking.
34
Eva
I had to wake up way too early this morning, after barely sleeping last night. There was something about the way the sheets slipped over my bare legs that kept me up, my lips burning far into the morning hours from the duke’s kiss.
There won’t be a family breakfast today,my phone reads as I get out of bed, checking it. Breakfast in the bedroom then. That’s fine. The linen of my dress rubs rough against my body as I pull it on, and my brush rakes through my hair, tidying it into a ponytail. Maddie’s already awake when I walk into her bedroom, and the maid knocks at the door almost as soon as we’re settled.
And I can’t stop thinking of him. That kiss.
It shouldn’t have thrown me like that. But it did, and I’m ashamed to admit it. I don’t want him to have that kind of power over my body, to make me feel things like that. He’s such a… horrible human, demanding respect from everyone when he hasn’t earned it.
I take a deep breath. I’m not being fair to him. He does his best and… I know he cares, about everyone.
And especially me. That thought is frightening.
It makes my stomach burn, and I’m unfocused as Madeline eats her breakfast at the small play table in her bedroom. She’s got her nose in a book thankfully, and this morning I’m not going to correct her. It’s just me and her anyway.
I watch her carefully after yanking myself out of my thoughts of her father (so wrong), and try to puzzle out what parts of her she got from the duchess and which ones are from the duke. Her eyes are all the duke, dark blue, and intense like his. Whatever her singular focus is, they burn into it, like her book right now. She’s barely touching her apple slices, and I smile.
“My lady, you need to eat your apples,” I remind her. She lifts her gaze from the page she’s on, a tiny pouting frown on her lips. Thankfully they don’t remind me of the duke at all. I don’t need to be thinking about him right now. His daughter what matters, her care, and her happiness. She barely has a father that focuses on her, and now I find out her mother’s completely out of the picture too?
She’s basically an orphan.
You and me, both, kid.
“I don’t like them. They’re too tart,” she says, wrinkling up her face. I don’t think I ever spoke with such clarity at her age, but then I wasn’t raised in a veritable palace surrounded by servants, tutors, and a world-class education that involved piano lessons daily and violin in the afternoon.
She is barely out of toddler-hood, but she is already more accomplished than most adults I know.
“I get it, but at least eat one for me. Here.” I sprinkle some brown sugar on the apples, and her eyes light up.
“Thank you,” she says politely, taking one and chewing on it thoughtfully. After a swallow, she smiles. “Much better, Nanny.”
I try not to cringe at the title. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. The family I worked for in Paris weren’t nearly so formal. But here, everything, including titles, matter. It’s why I can think of her Madeline in my head, but never out loud. Never, ever out loud. Rules are rules and all that. And no matter how much this family is sucking me in with their mystery and intrigue, I can’t forget why I’m here.
To hide.
To recover.
To rescue myself.
“What’s your book about?” I ask her.
