by Diana Quincy
“That depends,” the former spy answered. “What is it that you want to know about this person?”
“Whom are you investigating?” Cosmo asked.
“My governess.” He couldn’t get Drummond’s strange reaction to his mention of Finch out of his mind. “I have reason to believe she is lying about her background.”
Vale made an interested hmmm at the back of his throat. “You think she’s up to something?”
“Such as abducting the children?” Cosmo interjected. “For a hefty ransom given that you are a wealthy man?”
“No, no, nothing of the sort.” Sunny dismissed the ridiculous notion. “I don’t believe she’s a danger to them. It’s just that she has a letter of reference from Harvey Drummond, one of the Earl of Winchester’s sons, but when I asked the man about her this evening he seemed to have no idea who Miss Finch is.”
“If you’re not worried about her harming the children,” Cosmo said, “what does it matter who she is or where she came from?”
Because he was damned curious about her. “While I don’t believe Miss Finch is a danger to the children, they are my responsibility and I must make certain they are completely safe in her care.”
Cosmo chuckled.
Sunny regarded his friend over the bridge of his nose. “I fail to see what has you so amused.”
“You’re behaving in a surprisingly responsible manner. I hardly recognize you.”
Vale bottomed out his champagne glass. “Engage a Bow Street Runner to track her past. I could also make inquiries.”
Sunny knew Vale maintained a number of valuable sources even though he was no longer employed by the Home Office.
Cosmo’s gaze went past them both. “I say, who is that woman with Dr. Jarvis?”
“He certainly looks enamored,” Vale noted.
Sunny scanned the dance floor until he spotted Tom and his dance partner. It took a moment for him to recognize the woman moving in tandem with Tom. When he finally did, his breath caught.
Finch looked completely different in her finery: she was entrancing in her silk ball gown, the candlelight catching the golden streaks in her straw-colored tresses as she glided across the dance floor. He watched as she moved toward her partner and then back again to join the line of women, her lithe form stepping lightly and effortlessly. Her eyes sparkled, her flawless skin glowed, and the flush of color in her cheeks was deuced attractive. Unlike her usual stolid, contained demeanor, there was a lightness to this version of Miss Finch, a gaiety to her every movement. “That’s my governess.”
“That’s your governess?” Vale repeated.
“She certainly doesn’t look like any governess I’ve ever seen.” Cosmo pursed his lips. “If I’d had a governess like that, I’d have never left the nursery.”
Vale surveyed the room. “She’s attracting attention, your governess.”
Sunny followed Vale’s gaze and noted that more than one gentleman tracked Finch’s movements with undisguised interest. A sense of possessiveness gripped him. He didn’t care for all of these prying eyes staring at his governess. And Tom’s leering was worst of all.
He watched as the dance came to an end and Tom offered Finch his arm. She took it with a sense of friendly familiarity that Sunny did not appreciate.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He charged over to put a stop to whatever it was that was going on between his governess and his doctor.
* * *
—
The Duke of Sunderford appeared out of nowhere just as the orchestra began playing a waltz.
Isabel had glimpsed him earlier in the receiving line, dressed to perfection in a navy tailcoat and paisley silver-and-navy waistcoat, topped with a pearl gray cravat. His dark hair was slicked back, highlighting aristocratic features and vivid eyes.
“I’ll have this dance, if you don’t mind,” the duke said imperiously to Dr. Jarvis. His tone was low, the words dark and almost dangerous, as if he dared Dr. Jarvis to object.
“I mind,” she said indignantly to the infuriating man, ignoring that part of her, in the deepest, darkest part of her soul, that was secretly flattered by the duke’s attentiveness. Reckless arrogance had led to her downfall and, until now, she thought she’d curbed that self-destructive tendency.
Dr. Jarvis stiffened but did not appear the least bit cowed, which Isabel could not help but admire. Few men of Jarvis’s position would stand up to a powerful—and apparently vengeful—duke. “It is up to the lady, Your Grace. This is not my dance.”
“How surprising,” the duke said darkly. “I thought you had a mind to take more than two turns with Finch.”
“It would be my pleasure,” the doctor said gallantly in response to Sunderford’s unsubtle implication that he intended to court Isabel. “However, Miss Finch has let me down easy.”
“She has?” The scapegrace’s stormy expression cleared. “I’m pleased to see my governess shows good judgment.”
“Which is more than we can say for you,” she retorted.
The duke’s amber brows lifted. “I see you’re in your usual agreeable mood.” He gestured toward the crush of couples dancing around them and proffered his hand. “Shall we?”
Dr. Jarvis bowed. “As you can clearly look after yourself, Miss Finch, I will leave you to manage His Grace.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Jarvis. You are most kind.”
Once Jarvis had left them, the duke cleared his throat. “Are you going to continue to cause a spectacle by standing in the middle of the dance floor? People are beginning to stare.”
She allowed him to take her into his arms. The last thing Isabel wanted was to draw attention. Strong arms closed around her, and his masculine scent filled her nostrils, causing warmth to flood her belly. She concentrated on the dance steps and tried to ignore the riot of sensation his proximity incited within her.
“I thought he would never leave,” the duke remarked.
“Dr. Jarvis is a fine gentleman. And speaking of that, please refrain from interfering in matters that are none of your concern.”
“Are you ordering me about, Finch? I must say I am unused to having those in my employ giving me direction. Also, I’ve no idea of what you speak.”
“You warned Dr. Jarvis off.”
“What of it?”
“You have no right to interfere in my personal affairs.”
“I see.” Interest lit his vivid eyes. “So your acquaintance with the good doctor is personal.”
“He is a friend.”
“He’d like to be more than that.”
“And what is it to you? Dr. Jarvis would be an excellent match for a governess. Especially one as plain as I, don’t you agree?” she added in a biting tone.
“Tom clearly doesn’t find you to be plain in the least.” He gave her a considering look. “Dare I say you’re looking exceptionally well this evening?”
Her entire body warmed under his appreciative gaze. “Especially for a woman of my advanced age.”
“And you dance beautifully. Almost as if you were born to this life.”
She forced herself not to meet his eyes. She could get lost in those beautiful silvery depths and end up another of his doxies. Why did this devil have to look like Adonis? “I have never denied being born a lady.”
“And quite a magnificent one at that. You’re drawing the eye of every man here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But she knew there was at least some truth to his words.
“False modesty does not become you, Finch.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to suspect you well know the effect you have on men. Is that why you truss yourself up like someone’s puritanical grandmother?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But of course she did. Isabel had never been the most beautiful woman in a roo
m. But when she’d made an effort with her appearance—devoid of her humorless governess façade—when she’d laughed and danced and flirted with abandon, the carefree, devil-may-care Coco had attracted male attention. Ben used to say that she easily outshone everyone in the room, even the greatest beauties. She had a way of glowing from within, Ben had often said, that drew people to her.
She’d thought that light that Ben had often spoken of, that special luminescence, had been permanently extinguished during the darkest time of her life—when she’d lost him and everything else that held any meaning for her. But this evening, seeing the way the duke looked at her, she realized that her shine, as Ben had called it, had returned.
“Not only are you a woman who draws attention, but I suspect you enjoy the effect you have on men.” His voice was a low warm purr. “The question is, why have you been hiding yourself? It’s almost as if you’ve been hiding in plain sight.”
“I have been here all along,” she said lightly. “You never really bothered to look.”
“I see you now.”
A powerful attraction coursed between them. In that very moment, she did not regret being seen—truly seen—by this man. This new awareness arced between them as they glided across the parquet floor. He led with skill and confidence, and she felt his strength in his embrace.
He stared at her, his gaze burning into her skin, making her feel warm all over. “I am looking now,” he repeated, lowering his mouth to her ear. “And I am entranced.”
Desire shivered through her when his warm breath caressed her sensitive earlobe. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, her heart pounding hard. “Are you?”
“I want to do much more than just look, but telling you exactly what I’m thinking would shock those puritanical tendencies of yours.”
“I doubt that anything you say could shock me.” It was a dare, a challenge that she should not have issued but, caught up in the moment, she couldn’t resist.
His brows went up. “Very well then. I want to touch you.” His silky voice enveloped her, stoking the heat in her belly. “I want you so badly, I could take you right here on this dance floor.”
The naked want in his voice held her captive. Everything else fell away. She could no longer hear the orchestra playing, or see the dozens of other couples swirling around them. If she could not admit it to him, she would at least admit it to herself—her body pulsed for him.
I want you, too.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me exactly how you want me.”
Her eyes flew open. He stared at her with glaring intensity that singed her to the bone. Had she spoken the words aloud? His smile was confident, predatory—and it made her want him all the more. Even though she knew it would be a terrible mistake.
“Then I’ll continue, shall I?” He held her perfectly correctly, at a respectable distance as he led her through the steps. “I want you naked and writhing on the dining room table where I can feast on you to my heart’s content. I want you bent over the desk in my study with your pretty little bottom bare for me as I touch you and make you cry out.”
His face was expressionless as he gazed blankly around them. No one watching them would have any inkling that the duke and his governess were speaking of illicit things. “Have I shocked you yet?” he asked.
She could not find the words. She shook her head and held his gaze.
His eyes flared. It was she who had shocked him. She could hardly believe she’d spoken the truth, instead of hiding, always hiding. Just this once, after years of denying her true self, she felt inclined to take what she wanted, what she needed. To be physically close to someone—if only for a fleeting moment.
And she had never been as powerfully attracted to anyone as she was to the Duke of Sunderford, even though she knew the intimacy would mean nothing to him. That he would likely forget it the moment he spent himself and buttoned his breeches. But she didn’t care. She looked him straight in the eye. “What if I told you I want those things as well?”
“Is this a game? Are you attempting to shock me now?” They took a spin. “Do not play with fire, Finch, especially not with a man like me.”
“Maybe it is you, Your Grace, who is playing with fire.”
He halted abruptly, and it took her a moment to realize the music had stopped. “Meet me in the dining room in ten minutes’ time.” He escorted her to the edge of the dance floor and released her. “No, make that the study. In five minutes.”
And then he left her.
Chapter 14
It was all Sunny could do not to drag Finch directly to the study.
His blood raced powerfully through his veins; he was like a stallion in heat. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this randy before. Yet he forced himself to remain where he was, chatting inanely with some dowager about his extensive art collection, all the while tracking Finch from the corner of his eye as she quitted the ballroom.
The minutes languidly ticked by while he eagerly awaited the moment he would ravish the nanny within an inch of her life. She’d likely never experienced true passion before. It would be his pleasure to introduce sensuality into her straightlaced existence.
When—at long last—it was finally time, he took his leisure strolling from the ballroom, cognizant of the curious eyes that always followed him, especially here in his own home where he was their host. Once he was well away from prying eyes, he strode purposefully toward the study, his heart pumping, his prick swollen and hard.
He threw open the door and found an empty room, devoid even of a fire since Dowding had not expected anyone to use this particular chamber this evening.
“Finch?” He entered the dark room, trying to make sense of the shadows, hoping one would take the shape of the beguiling female he’d come for. She wasn’t there. His heart dropped. Had she changed her mind?
He reversed out of the room and slammed the door hard behind him, heading for the dining room. Perhaps she thought he’d said the dining room. He went over the last words he’d said to her. Maybe he was confused and she awaited him there.
He threw the door open, and his heart sank when he realized there was no mistake. Finch wasn’t there. He cursed, frustration swooshing through him. His body was a cauldron of need. He forced a breath and attempted to reassert some control over his agitated physical state. There were any number of beguiling females in his home at this very moment willing to accommodate a quick tumble. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want a quick tumble; he wanted Finch. Damn it all to hell.
He stormed out of the dining room and headed for the nursery. He knew he would find her there. Hiding from him—and herself—using the children as shields. He took the steps to the nursery two at a time, treading lightly so as not to wake the children—and also so she wouldn’t flee when she heard him coming.
He pushed open the door to the nursery. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the children sound asleep. They’d kicked off the covers and snored softly. But Finch wasn’t there. He closed the door softly behind him, his body near to bursting with physical frustration and unmet need. Where was she? Then he spotted it. The dim light coming from under the closed schoolroom door. And he knew he had her.
He pushed the door open to find her seated at the table with an open book before her and a burning lamp next to it. She wore her spectacles, her hair tightly pulled back, and one of her dark, rough nunnery gowns. She was hiding again, but it was too late for that. He’d seen her now and would never unsee her.
Finch looked up when he entered, the light reflecting against the lenses of her glasses. As he stepped toward her, he realized she was trembling.
“You have no reason to fear me,” he reassured her. “I would never do anything you don’t want me to.”
“But don’t you see”—her eyes glistened as she looked up at him—“that is exactly what I fear.”
Relief whooshed through him. She wanted him still. And he’d never desired a woman the way he craved her now. He went to stand behind her and tentatively reached to stroke her hair. When she showed no signs of rejecting his touch, he worked to loosen her hair, to free it from the confines of the tight bun she’d imprisoned it in.
She shivered at the feel of his fingers running through her hair, her physical reactions telling him everything that she refused to say with words. He took his time, loosening the full waves, running his hands through them, lightly massaging her scalp. She sighed and leaned her head back in his hands, like a cat nuzzling its master’s hands, waiting to be petted and coddled.
He toyed with her earlobe and caressed the curves of her neck, feathering his fingers along the curve of her jaw. His fingers moved to the high neckline of her drab gown and worked at the buttons, undoing them one at a time. She wore a shift underneath but no stays. He supposed she hadn’t had time for that.
He let one hand drop deep down inside her gown until he felt one small, perfect breast, its beautiful tip hard and eager. He toyed with her nipple, running a finger over it, pulling gently, squeezing before he slipped his other hand down the front of her dress and did the same with her other lovely bosom.
With a moan, she dropped her head back against his body, her head and glorious tousled curls pressing against his throbbing cock while his large hands fondled her delicate breasts. He almost spent right then, but it was too soon. He was going to make it good for her—for both of them.
He continued to toy with her swollen peaks, reveling in their warm softness as he bent to curl his tongue into her ear. A primal sound of surprise tore from her throat, and she writhed as he caressed her ear with his tongue. He was determined to work her into a frenzy that only he could soothe.
“Your Grace,” she said breathlessly.
“Adam.” He paused long enough only to utter the word before he continued his sensual assault on her ear. “My name is Adam. Say it.”
