up, he brushed a wisp of hair from the corner of her mouth. Like silk, the soft strands slid smoothly between his fingers. “You are the only complication, Miss Hallaway.”
But his son needed her.
“I’ll not risk my position here, my lord.”
“Then let us think of this as a position with . . . certain benefits.”
Because she still hadn’t demanded he stop, he pulled the scarf from her bosom as he had in the stable. Again, no objection passed her lips. She wanted this. She’d not convince him otherwise if she didn’t stop him. What a fool he was for continuing this game.
“I am at a disadvantage.”
“Not in the least, Miss Hallaway. I am nothing if not discreet. There is no one else in the house to catch us out or gainsay our actions.”
“How many women in your employ have you whispered those words to?”
“None.” And he knew he was a bastard for the advances he’d already made. But damn it, he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ve tried avoiding you.” And had managed to do just that since her first morning here. “Tried focusing on other things. But then I see you again and I want you more.”
Slowly, he pulled the other side of the scarf from her bodice. The sheer white material was of fine silk.
Her breast rose rapidly beneath the light grazing of his knuckles along the edge of her dress. To hell with staying away from her.
Push him away. Push him away. That sound suggestion kept running through her mind. She really ought to say no and be done with it. Be done with him. She’d come here for one reason— to lecture him on his son.
Oh, God, why had she stayed after he’d admitted wanting her so badly? Instead of leaving, as she should, she stood before him, indulging his sense of want and her sense of curiosity.
This seduction was not a respectable path in which to become an in de pen dent woman. Not the way to prove her worth in the working world. This was not the way to start her future.
But with Lord Brendall, it was as though no other man existed. Maybe, deep down in the recess of her mind, she didn’t wish to be in de pen dent? Or didn’t want to play the meek role of governess? If her sisters knew what thoughts she harbored, they’d lock her away until they could safely marry her off
to a respectable man.
For shame, the only thing she liked the idea of right now was threading her fingers through all his thick dark hair of his and pulling him down to her mouth. Or asking him to slip his hand beneath the material of her bodice and massage her flesh instead of teasing his fingers and knuckles so lightly over what he’d exposed.
She barely knew this man. Could it be that his rough exterior intrigued her? Perhaps his barking, demanding, gruff ways would continue to vex her but his strong, masculine manner would tempt her by night? Maybe she wasn’t meant for a life alone, but for wedded bliss. Though it was doubtful Lord Brendall held any thoughts of wedding her. Bedding her on the other hand . . .
And despite her earlier words, she didn’t dislike him.
What a ninny she was.
Abby pressed her hand atop his, stalling his progress.
So warm and tempting. As much as she would prefer tangling her fingers with his, she had to stop whatever it was he had planned.
Focused on his hand flattened against the top swell of her bosom, she swallowed the lump of regret in her throat and lowered her eyes to steady her gaze on the wrinkled folds of his shirt where they were rolled up his forearms.
He had very nice, strong arms. What would it feel like if he wrapped them tight around her? The outline of muscle was well defined like those on a race horse. She could reach out and trace the sinew . . .
She closed her eyes and let out an unsteady breath. She could not throw caution to the wind. Would not jeopardize her position here. And certainly would not lower herself to playing the role of mistress of the night.
She was worth so much more than that. Her unruly desires would have to be
But his son needed her.
“I’ll not risk my position here, my lord.”
“Then let us think of this as a position with . . . certain benefits.”
Because she still hadn’t demanded he stop, he pulled the scarf from her bosom as he had in the stable. Again, no objection passed her lips. She wanted this. She’d not convince him otherwise if she didn’t stop him. What a fool he was for continuing this game.
“I am at a disadvantage.”
“Not in the least, Miss Hallaway. I am nothing if not discreet. There is no one else in the house to catch us out or gainsay our actions.”
“How many women in your employ have you whispered those words to?”
“None.” And he knew he was a bastard for the advances he’d already made. But damn it, he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ve tried avoiding you.” And had managed to do just that since her first morning here. “Tried focusing on other things. But then I see you again and I want you more.”
Slowly, he pulled the other side of the scarf from her bodice. The sheer white material was of fine silk.
Her breast rose rapidly beneath the light grazing of his knuckles along the edge of her dress. To hell with staying away from her.
Push him away. Push him away. That sound suggestion kept running through her mind. She really ought to say no and be done with it. Be done with him. She’d come here for one reason— to lecture him on his son.
Oh, God, why had she stayed after he’d admitted wanting her so badly? Instead of leaving, as she should, she stood before him, indulging his sense of want and her sense of curiosity.
This seduction was not a respectable path in which to become an in de pen dent woman. Not the way to prove her worth in the working world. This was not the way to start her future.
But with Lord Brendall, it was as though no other man existed. Maybe, deep down in the recess of her mind, she didn’t wish to be in de pen dent? Or didn’t want to play the meek role of governess? If her sisters knew what thoughts she harbored, they’d lock her away until they could safely marry her off
to a respectable man.
For shame, the only thing she liked the idea of right now was threading her fingers through all his thick dark hair of his and pulling him down to her mouth. Or asking him to slip his hand beneath the material of her bodice and massage her flesh instead of teasing his fingers and knuckles so lightly over what he’d exposed.
She barely knew this man. Could it be that his rough exterior intrigued her? Perhaps his barking, demanding, gruff ways would continue to vex her but his strong, masculine manner would tempt her by night? Maybe she wasn’t meant for a life alone, but for wedded bliss. Though it was doubtful Lord Brendall held any thoughts of wedding her. Bedding her on the other hand . . .
And despite her earlier words, she didn’t dislike him.
What a ninny she was.
Abby pressed her hand atop his, stalling his progress.
So warm and tempting. As much as she would prefer tangling her fingers with his, she had to stop whatever it was he had planned.
Focused on his hand flattened against the top swell of her bosom, she swallowed the lump of regret in her throat and lowered her eyes to steady her gaze on the wrinkled folds of his shirt where they were rolled up his forearms.
He had very nice, strong arms. What would it feel like if he wrapped them tight around her? The outline of muscle was well defined like those on a race horse. She could reach out and trace the sinew . . .
She closed her eyes and let out an unsteady breath. She could not throw caution to the wind. Would not jeopardize her position here. And certainly would not lower herself to playing the role of mistress of the night.
She was worth so much more than that. Her unruly desires would have to be
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