Chapter 4 #2
The stone walls towered above them, grand and imposing, but Tessa led the way with the light-footed swiftness of a child who knew every corner and crevice of the estate. She darted ahead, her cloak flaring behind her like a banner, before stopping abruptly at the corner of the building.
She pressed her back against the wall and peeked around it with exaggerated caution.
Madeline slowed her steps, unable to disguise her amusement as she watched the girl perform her stealthy assessment with all the gravity of a seasoned scout.
“No one’s there,” Tessa whispered dramatically, widening her eyes for effect. “It is perfectly safe.”
The girl took a step back to make room for Madeline, gesturing her forward with a solemn little nod.
Madeline shook her head and moved forward. “Very reassuring.”
She stepped past the corner and collided with a solid, unyielding warmth, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.
Large, strong and unmistakably male hands closed around her arms in an instant, steadying her before the momentum could carry her backward.
The Duke.
Her fingers curled reflexively into the fabric of his coat. Heat radiated through it, startling in the cold air. Madeline looked up instinctively and found herself staring into the Duke’s ice-blue eyes.
They were far closer than propriety allowed.
Close enough that she saw faint flecks of silver near the pupils.
Also, she could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest against hers and her heart forgot its rhythm entirely.
The cold around them vanished beneath the sudden rush of heat in her veins.
His grip tightened slightly, not in force but in instinct, as though his body recognized the need to save her from toppling before his mind had fully registered it. His fingers were warm against her sleeves, his thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric where her pulse beat wild and frantic.
Her breath hitched and his eyes flickered downward to her lips before lifting again, sharper now, colder, as if he had caught himself in a trespass. The air between them thinned to a single, trembling thread. Her breath vanished as though the cold had swept it from her lungs.
His expression broke open with shock. Then fury. Then something far darker, far more piercing, as he took in her grass-stained skirts, her tangled hair, the smear of dirt on her cheek, and the flush of laughter still warming her skin.
He looked as though he could not quite decide whether to scold her or insist she provide answers immediately.
Behind her, Tessa let out a tiny, panicked squeak.
“Papa—” Her voice dwindled as she lifted her chin and saw the unmistakable fury gathering in her father’s expression.
Without another word, without even a backward glance, Tessa spun on her heel and bolted down the corridor. Her footsteps pattered loudly across the stone floor until they vanished into silence.
The hall fell still around them, heavy and breathless.
The Duke’s grip remained firm on Madeline’s arms, his fingers warm even through the thick fabric. The scent of winter clung to him, cold and brisk, but beneath it was something warmer, something faintly spiced and undeniably masculine. Madeline’s pulse skittered violently.
His voice, when it came, was dangerously low. “What,” he said, leaning closer, “happened to you?”
Madeline swallowed. “I was taking a walk.”
“A walk,” he repeated, eyes sweeping her voluptuous figure in a slow, controlled descent that made heat coil low in her belly.
“From the looks of you, it seems as though you might have done more than merely stroll through the gardens.” He arched an eyebrow at her, silently prompting Madeline to explain.
She stiffened. “I fell.”
“Yes,” he said. “I gathered.”
“Your daughter helped me up, Your Grace.”
His jaw tensed with an emotion she could not name. Anger? Fear? Something else entirely?
“You are filthy,” he murmured.
“I shall clean up, Your Grace.”
He stepped closer, so close she felt his breath warm the shell of her ear. His fingers slid from her arms but hovered inches from her curvaceous waist, as though tempted.
He lowered his voice and whispered each word crisply. “You should.”
Her heart trembled violently. For a moment, neither of them moved. Snow melted in the folds of her cloak, trickling cold down her back, but his nearness burned through every rational thought she had.
“Your Grace,” she whispered, unsure if she meant to warn him or herself.
His eyes dropped to her mouth and for one electric, treacherous heartbeat, she felt the air shift and the tension snap taut between them.
Then the Duke drew back, slow and controlled, his hands curling at his sides with visible restraint.
His gaze traveled over her once more, lingering with an intensity that made her skin warm. “You are unlike any governess I have ever hired.”
Madeline’s pulse fluttered helplessly. She took a step back, but he caught her wrist gently as if he could not quite let go. His touch was warm, but then he released her abruptly, as though realizing it at the same moment she did.
“That sounds,” she said softly, “like the beginning of a compliment.”
“It is not,” he replied.
His eyes flickered with something akin to amusement, betraying the mirth that he was keeping so carefully concealed. When his mouth twitched at the corners, Madeline dared to imagine he might go ahead and laugh, but instead, he remained silent.
She grew rather uncomfortable during that short interval. So, Madeline stepped back finally and made a show of pulling her cloak around her shoulders. “I will go ahead and find Tessa.”
“Yes,” the Duke said, though his stance remained rooted, as though he were not quite ready to let the moment end. “See that the two of you clean up the mess you’ve made.”
She turned toward the corridor, aware of his eyes following her until she disappeared around the bend, her pulse fluttering wildly.