Page 17 of Too Wanton to Wed
“Ah, yes. The paints and the inappropriate melodies. As to dancing...” His eyes shuttered. The sudden heat in his gaze made her suspect brushes and sheet music were the furthest things from his mind.
Her fingers spasmed around the handle of her fork. Here it was after all, the moment when he dropped his kindly guise and... but no. Mr. Waldegrave didn’t look like he was plotting to ravish her. Rather, he looked as though he were...appreciatingher. Analyzing her. Cataloguing every feature. And if the slight flush at his neck were any indication, he hadn’t meant to be caught at it.
Heat crept up her cheeks. Doubly so, because for the first time, the attention had not been wholly unwanted. If anything, she had felt oddly... excited. It was thrilling to know he found her as physically attractive as she found him. It was also terrifying. And confusing. And embarrassing. She could not keep the heat from her cheeks.
He dropped his gaze. “We do not dance, but I will order classroom supplies in the morning.”
That fleeting moment of unguarded interest gave lie to the idea he was unfamiliar with dancing, but she felt it prudent not to challenge his statement. The last thing she needed was fantasies of her first dance, along with her first kiss.
He slowly stirred a bit of honey into his tea. “While I am sending missives and errand boys, should I have someone fetch your belongings from wherever you call home? I can provide luggage for transport, if you have none.”
That broke Violet out of her trance. Her entire body shivered with gooseflesh. No one must ever know where she hid.
“N-no, you needn’t bother,” she stammered. “I have no belongings worth fetching. Thank you anyway.”
His gaze sharpened, but his visage was impassive.
She dropped her fork and wrung her hands beneath the table. A governess with no home or belongings? If he hadn’t been suspicious of her before, he certainly would be now. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
Just as he had done earlier, he recognized her demurral for the evasion that it was, but foresaw no advantage in challenging the statement.
“As you like,” was all he said before giving her a slight nod. “I shall send for some gowns for you as well. I don’t suppose you are particular in cut or style?”
“Not at all. I’ll wear anything.” Violet’s thoughtless words triggered an irrational desire to swirl about in rich silks and satins, whatever was the first stare of fashion among the beau monde this season. But she would never have anything stylish to wear, nor any reason for finery. She’d already improved her lot from a dirty, tattered gown, to the clean, serviceable dresses the maid had provided. The last thing she or her new employer needed was Violet swanning about in clinging satin and plunging necklines.
Mr. Waldegrave, for his part, also seemed struck with a mental picture of her in something a bit more flattering. His lips parted and his eyes locked with hers. Whatever image he held in his mind heated his ebony gaze before he blinked and looked away, jaws locked.
Perhaps he, like all men, couldn’t help but fantasize about sins of the flesh. However, he was the first able-bodied man of her acquaintance to seem uncomfortable doing so. Violet was alarmed to realize she foundhimdevastatingly attractive.
His black hair was shiny and thick, and curled slightly at the nape. His sooty lashes and dark eyes stood out starkly against the pale beauty of his face, but his most arresting feature was the wide, perfect mouth above his strong chin. He’d dressed for dinner in clothes equally as outdated as his earlier vestments, but nothing could hide the fine quality of both cloth and cut, or the leanly muscled figure beneath the costume. His movements were graceful, his every gesture confident and purposeful.
His mouth looked as though it had been carved specifically for the art of kissing. And his hands—
Mr. Waldegrave leapt to his feet. His empty teacup clattered gracelessly against the china. “Do excuse me. I must return to my office. There’s much to be done.”
“I—I—I...” She gaped up at him, startled. “That is, of course you must. I don’t mean to keep you from your work.”
“And you shan’t.” He strode from the room, pausing at the doorway only long enough to add, “I am accustomed to dining with my daughter. The rest of my time is spent in my office. Don’t expect to see me often.”
Violet nodded. She did not expect to truly becomefriends, and she certainly didn’t expect her strange fantasies to materialize into anything more than passing insanity. She had more than enough on her mind for the moment, not the least of which was the punishment for murder.
Above all, she needed to stay employed long enough to buy her freedom.
Chapter 9
To Violet’s surprise, Mr. Waldegrave himself appeared the following morning to escort her through the catacombs to the outbuilding housing the library, and then on to her new pupil.
She had assumed he’d be far too busy to deal with a task so easily delegated to a staff member, especially given he so rarely emerged from his office. However, she was beginning to suspect he didn’t delegate many tasks that pertained to his child.
The narrow tunnels ensured their bodies remained a hairsbreadth apart. The hem of her gown rustled against the leg of his breeches. Only her swollen ankle kept their footfalls from perfect harmony.
She dropped behind until he strode an arm’s length ahead. Nothing was amiss, she assured herself. Her discomfiture was due to her embarrassment over thoughts of kissing the night before.
Although, now that she hung back, she was quickly becoming more aware of the catacombs around her. Once they reached the library, she would not be eager to trek back through the catacombs to Lillian’s sanctuary. Without Mr. Waldegrave’s body heat at her side, the chill from the stone-and-earth walls seeped through the worn material of her gown. Instead of seeing his fingers curled about the taper, she could only see his silhouette as shadows danced around them. The more she tried not to think about the bones buried in the walls, the more she regretted falling even a hairsbreadth behind.
When she could no longer withstand the tomblike silence, she hurried back to his side and asked, “Would it be better to have lessons in the library?”
“Absolutely not,” he snapped, startling her. His voice softened. “Yes. It would have been. Not anymore.” His pace slowed. “Once, this abbey was God’s house. There were no locks on any doors, so that believers could enter how and when they chose. Four years ago, I brought Lillian to the library so she could select her own volume of bedtime stories. While I was retrieving favorite authors, she escaped through a side door and into the morning sun.” He shuddered at the memory. “I almost lost her that day.”
