Page 12 of The Earl's Forbidden Governess
“I would not have pegged you for a fan of Machiavelli, Miss Winslow.”
“Oh!”
Whether it was his presence or his voice that shocked her into a stumble was uncertain—but the next moment she felt a pair of strong arms encircling her, her back pressing into a strong chest. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat when she looked up at his face, so close to hers.
“My Lord,” she breathed, willing her racing heart to slow. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Edward’s mouth as he looked down at her. “Evidently not. Though I must say, your dedication to expanding your knowledge is… admirable.”
Catherine could feel the heat rise to her cheeks at this and she pressed her hands against his chest to gain some distance. The arms around her waist slowly let go and she took a step back, nearly crashing against the shelf.
“I find that one can never stop learning, My Lord,” she said carefully. “And your library is quite remarkable.”
Edward’s gaze swept over the shelf, landed on her, and a smile played around his lips. “It is, isn’t it? My father was particularly proud of it. He used to say that a man’s true wealth could be measured by the books he kept.”
There was a strange wistfulness to his tone and Catherine looked at him curiously. “Your father sounds like a wise man,” she said softly.
For a moment, Edward’s eyes met hers and her heart skipped a beat. There was something in his eyes—a look that she’d never seen before, one that sent a strange warmth to the pit of her belly. And then his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place, and he took a step back.
“He was extraordinary,” he said shortly. “Good evening, Miss Winslow.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Catherine rather breathless, and the overwhelming scent of pine clinging to the library.
For the next few days, Catherine managed to avoid the library entirely, though she was not sure whether this was for fear of seeing Edward, or for fear of not seeing him there. It was a rainy afternoon when her feet led her there again, and she hesitated in the doorway when she saw Edward already there, a book in his hand.
He turned at the sound of her and she had to suppress a gasp; the gray light of the stormy weather outside somehow softened his features, making him look younger, and somehow more vulnerable.
“Miss Winslow,” he said with a teasing grin. “I haven’t seen you in here in quite a while.”
“Oh, I… I suppose I’ve been busy,” she mumbled, her face flushed. Had he really noticed her absence? “I was just… returning some books Emily and I used in our lesson today.”
His gaze moved from her face to the stack of books in her arms and he flashed her a thin smile. “Ah, yes. How is my sister progressing?”
Catherine looked down, the sudden urge to feel his arms around her once more suddenly taking hold of her. “She… she’s doing well,” she murmured, fighting to control her breath. When she managed to do so, she looked up and forced herself to smile. “She has a natural affinity for languages. Her French is improving rapidly, and she has an interest in Italian too.”
Edward’s face lit up with a smile and he nodded. “That’s… good to hear. Our mother also had quite the affinity for language. She used to say that Italian was the language of poetry… and passion.”
It was rare to mention his mother, and the easy way with which he had done it caught Catherine off guard. Suddenly hungry for information, she glanced up at him, then took a quick step back. She hadn’t realized that he had approached her, and he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. It sent a sudden flash of desire through her and she gasped, desperately searching for something to say.
“You must miss her terribly,” she said softly, and at once, his eyes clouded over. Immediately, Catherine regretted her words, wanting nothing more than to see the light return to his expression.
“I do. Naturally,” he said curtly. “If you will excuse me, Miss Winslow.”
With this, he brushed past her, setting her entire body ablaze with the brush of his against her own. Catherine pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes. Never before had a man had this effect on her—not even close. Her face flushed when she remembered the swift desire that had coursed through her when he looked into her eyes.
“Stop, Catherine,” she whispered to herself. “He is an earl. You have no business dreaming dreams.”
She’d have to avoid the library, she decided firmly. The firmness, of course, lasted for a mere day before her feet again led her body to the library—to retrieve some of the classic Greek tales—after a particularly engaging lesson with Emily.
Of course, as she entered the library, a flicker of movement caught her eye, and her heart jumped into her throat. Edward was leaning his forehead against one of the shelves, his shoulders bent and his hair messy.
For a mad second, Catherine wondered what he would do if she dared to sweep the hair from his face and kiss the slight pout of his lips.
“My Lord…” her voice was hesitant, and he turned to face her quickly, his brow furrowed.
“Miss Winslow.”
She blushed at the look in his eyes and turned her gaze to her feet. “I was just… looking for some books,” she said softly, and he nodded. His eyes darted to the shelf he’d been leaning against before he turned to look at her. “I see. Well… I will leave you to your reading.”
