Page 11 of The Earl's Forbidden Governess
“Her soul does not need nurturing, Miss Winslow, it needs tempering,” he said angrily. “The world is not kind to dreamers and romantics.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Just… I’m not saying you should ignore literature, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “Perhaps just… balance it with other subjects.”
Catherine nodded slowly and a small smile touched her lips. “Of course My Lord,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Is that all?”
Edward nodded slowly, his gaze trailing over her—the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the shadows her lashes cast on her cheeks.
“That is all, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “You are dismissed.”
She nodded and Edward sank into his chair as the door closed behind her. Miss Catherine Winslow, he could not help but think, was far more of a distraction than any governess had the business to be.
For hours, he sat there, finding himself quite unable to settle. He poured a glass of brandy, though even the sharp taste burning a path down his throat did little to calm his racing thoughts. As the clock struck midnight, Edward gave up the pretense of work and rose to his feet. With a shake of his head, he left the study—though the idea of heading to an empty bedchamber did not hold any appeal whatsoever.
Instead, he made his way to the library. This was often where he found his mind calming down when it rushed with thoughts. Though that night he found the cause of his racing thoughts was asleep on the chaise lounge.
A deep frown settled between Edward’s brows as he looked at Catherine’s Winslow’s sleeping form—a book of poetry having fallen open on her chest. Once again, his fingers itched to brush the stray lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek.
He knew he ought to wake her, and send her to her room. It wasn’t proper for her to be there—especially at this hour. But he found himself rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of her.
In the soft glow of the dying fire, Catherine looked almost ethereal. Her face was pale, framed by dark hair and her lipswere slightly parted. Despite himself, Edward found his gaze drawn to them. He couldn’t help but wonder how they would feel against his own.
He shook his head quickly, trying to dispel the treacherous thoughts. Still, there was no denying her beauty, her charm… he moved closer slowly, almost against his will. As he approached, he caught sight of the book she was reading, and a wry smile settled around his lips.
It was open to one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Edward felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself.
“Miss Winslow,” he called out softly, debating whether he should shake her shoulder or merely call her. “Miss Winslow, do wake up.”
Still, she did not stir, and he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Miss Winslow… Catherine, wake up.”
Catherine stirred and moaned, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment she looked confused—then her eyes met Edward’s, and he saw them widen with recognition.
“My Lord,” she gasped, sitting up abruptly. The book tumbled from her lap and they both reached for it, their hands grasping each other rather than the book. This time, the jolt he felt was so strong that he was unable to remove his hand fromhers—holding it in a tight grasp for a few torturous seconds, his gaze drifting toward her.
“I… I must have fallen asleep,” Catherine said, and Edward quickly released her hand, as though it had burnt him. “I’m sorry, My Lord,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “I shouldn’t be here at this hour.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Yet, he made no move away from her. Instead, he found himself leaning closer, drawn in by the scent of wildflowers that clung to her. Catherine’s gaze dropped to his lips, then moved back to his eyes and his heart raced. He was close enough to her to count the freckles dusting her nose, to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. All he had to do was lean in a little more, and their lips would meet.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, could almost taste her on his lips…
Suddenly, a log in the fireplace collapsed with a loud crack, startling them both. Edward jerked back as if burned—the spell broken. Catherine’s cheeks were flushed, a deep red, and he glanced at the fire before looking back at her.
“You should go to your room, Miss Winslow,” he said now, his voice cold. “It is late, and it is not proper for you to be here.”
He did not miss Catherine flinching at his tone, but she was quick to school her features into a neutral expression. “Of course, My Lord,” she said stiffly and rose to her feet. “I apologize. It will not happen again.”
“See… see to it that it doesn’t,” he said, his voice rough. Catherine nodded, avoiding his eyes as she rushed away.
Edward waited until the door closed behind her before sitting down on the chaise. Her scent still clung to it, and he huffed out a frustrated breath before picking up the poetry book again. His lips curled in a scowl, and he shook his head as his eyes moved over the words.
The expense of spirit was a waste of shame indeed.
Chapter 6
Despite the lack of propriety she’d experienced there, the library quickly became one of Catherine’s favorite places at Wessex Manor. Perhaps it was because of her encounter with Edward, but she found herself drawn to the room, though she could not say why exactly that was.
It was this strange feeling that sent her to the library one evening after a lesson. She was just reaching for a volume on the top shelf when a deep voice startled her from behind.
