Chapter 7 #2
He couldn’t go wandering about in the hallway outside Miss Templeton’s bedchamber.
It wasn’t proper. That is, he didn’t have any wicked intent towards his governess, of course.
It was all perfectly innocent—of course, it was—but what if she heard him out there, and came into the corridor clad only in her night rail?
Miss Templeton in a night rail…no, nothing good would come of that.
He curled his hand around the kitten’s body, intending to detach her from his person and leave her at the bottom of the stairs, where she’d surely be safe until someone found her in the morning, but the kitten had no desire to leave the warm place she’d found.
She clung to the collar of his shirt with her tiny claws and let out a mewl so pathetic it pierced even his stony heart.
Now what? He wasn’t taking her to his own bedchamber. It was out of the question. “Be reasonable, er…” Was her name Hebe? Or Hermana? It was some Greek goddess’s name, but damned if he could remember what. “You don’t want to come up with me. We’re sworn enemies, remember?”
But the kitten didn’t remember, because she only snuggled closer, one paw resting against the curve of his neck. “For God’s sake. Very well, then, but only for one night—”
“Hestia?” There was a soft shuffle of footsteps on the stairs above, then, “Dash it, you naughty girl, where have you gotten to?”
He looked up, and there, at the top of the second-floor landing was Miss Templeton, dressed in a white night rail, her long, thick hair hanging loose around her shoulders.
He gazed up at her, his mouth going dry.
She wasn’t wearing just her night rail—a circumstance that was both extremely lucky and extremely disappointing at once—but had a pair of half-boots on her feet and a cloak over her shoulders.
Yet the sight of Miss Templeton in her night rail, with her hair floating in a golden-brown cloud around her wasn’t a sight he’d soon forget, boots and cloak be damned.
The truth hit him all at once then, like a sudden blow to the stomach, snatching the breath from his lungs. His instant and inexplicable dislike of her. His ill-temper toward her, his teasing and goading and generally dreadful behavior...
He wanted her. He wanted Helena Templeton.
He wanted her from the first moment he’d caught sight of her in that tree, in her worn boots and that catastrophe of a yellow cloak. Why had he handled it so badly? He was a man, for God’s sake, not a boy. In some circles he was even considered charming, but he hadn’t been charming to her.
No, to her, he’d behaved like an utter arse. Why, it was as bad as if he’d been tugging on her curls and splashing mud on her pinafores like an infatuated prepubescent boy who’d fallen victim to a pretty face.
Why hadn’t he known it at once as desire? It wasn’t as if she were the first woman he’d ever wanted. The answer slammed into him like another blow to the stomach.
Because he hadn’t desired anyone since Sophie.
No, it was more than that. He hadn’t believed he ever could desire another woman after Sophie, and now here was Miss Templeton—his sons’ governess, of all absurd things—her wild curls and those fascinating blue gray eyes holding him captive—
“Lord Hawke? Oh, dear, I…er, I beg your pardon.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, a flush rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t expect anyone else would be awake. Hestia escaped from my rooms, you see, and I—”
Hestia, of course! The little creature’s name was Hestia. “Yes, I have her. I found her outside the kitchen door, crying.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord! I was dreadfully worried about her. She doesn’t usually leave my bedchamber.”
“Well, I don’t think she’ll venture to do so again. She was rather terrified when I found her, and now she, ah…she won’t let go of my shirt.”
“Here, let me help. She’ll come to me I think.” She hurried down the stairs, stopping three steps from the bottom so they were eye to eye. “Come here, Hestia. It’s alright.”
He stilled as she reached for the kitten, her crooning voice winding around his chest before dipping low and settling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed. “She’s still clinging to my shirt. You, ah…you may have to help get her off.”
“Yes, of course.” Her blue-gray eyes met his for an instant, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She slid her fingers under Hestia’s tiny belly, her fingers brushing against his neck, and he smothered a groan.
She was his sons’ governess, for God’s sake.
His sons’ governess. He repeated the warning in his head as she gently disentangled the kitten from his shirt, and dear God, it felt like she was touching him everywhere, her fingertips stroking the sensitive place behind his ear, her fingernails scratching lightly against his neck as she urged the kitten away from him.
By the time she gathered Hestia against her chest, his own fingers were twitching to wrap around her waist, and beads of sweat were sliding down the back of his neck. “There, Hestia,” he said. “You’re all right now.”
“It was kind of you to bring her inside, Lord Hawke.” She glanced shyly up at him from under her lashes. “I, ah…I know she’s not your favorite animal.”
He shrugged, but his head was still swimming from her touch. “Come now, Miss Templeton. I never said she was all that terrible.”
She blinked up at him, then the corner of those delectable lips quirked into a grin. “You called her a demonic hellcat.”
He’d called her worse, too, but fortunately not in Miss Templeton’s hearing. “Yes, well, she’s rather grown on me since then.”
She studied him for a moment, her fingers slowly stroking over Hestia’s sleek gray back. “They do tend to do that, don’t they, Lord Hawke?”
Something in her gaze made heat rise in his cheeks. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you, Miss Templeton. I still don’t like cats.”
“Don’t you? Well, that’s an improvement over detesting them, at least.” Her grin widened. “I daresay by this time next week you’ll be as devoted of a slave to them as the rest of us at Hawke’s Run.”
He snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.” Though it wasn’t quite as ludicrous a notion as it had been three days ago.
“Hmmm.” With that enigmatic reply, she gathered Hestia tighter against her chest, and turned to make her way up the stairs. He was struggling against the urge not to watch her go and failing miserably when she reached the landing, paused and turned to face him. “A question, if I might, Lord Hawke?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“What were you doing outdoors?”
“I, er…” Damn it, his mind was utterly blank. “What do you mean, Miss Templeton? I wasn’t outdoors.”
“But you said you found Hestia outside the kitchen door, my lord.” She arched an eyebrow. “And you have your boots on.”
Damn the woman. Did nothing escape her notice? Just as he was certain he was going to have to confess his furtive stable excursions, however, inspiration struck. “I might ask you the same question, Miss Templeton. Why are you wearing your cloak and boots?”
“I…I thought Hestia might have gone outside.”
“Indeed? It seems strange you would think so, given how far your bedchamber is from an outside door.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, but just when he thought she’d march off back to her bedchamber, those full, plump lips he’d no doubt dream about tonight quirked with another grin. “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t be the only strange occurrence this evening, would it, Lord Hawke?”
“No, indeed. Not the only strange occurrence.” Not by any measure.
She hesitated, then asked, “You, ah, you didn’t happen to see a black kitten down there anywhere, did you, my lord?”
“A black kitten? What, you mean to say there’s a black one, too?” How many kittens was she hiding in his castle?
“Er, never mind, my lord. Goodnight!” With that, she turned and fled up the last few steps, Hestia peering down at him over her shoulder.
“Goodnight, Miss Templeton,” he murmured as she disappeared around the corner. “Sweet dreams.”