Chapter 11

Chapter 11

As he had somewhat feared, the days leading up to the Midsummer Ball passed in a blur, and as he paced the length of his study, his mind was racing. Though he did not regret his decision to allow Emily this taste of normalcy, the ball and their attendance loomed in front of him dangerously.

He paused by the window and allowed his eyes to travel over the gardens that had become overgrown and almost sloppy. Somewhere, perhaps even in their very county, his parents’ killer walked free. The thought made his jaw clench in unconcealable rage.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his brooding and he turned, frowning. “Enter.”

It was Samuel Harper who stepped into the room, his expression as impassive as always.

“My Lord,” the butler said with a slight bow of his head. “Forgive my interruption. I have come to tell you—as you asked me to do—that Miss Winslow and Lady Emily have concluded their last lesson for the morning.”

Edward nodded, the lines between his brows increasing. “Thank you, Harper,” he said after a long, brooding silence. “Please send Miss Winslow to me at once. I need to speak with her privately.”

If Samuel were surprised at this, he did not show it—instead, he merely nodded as though the request was not at all out of the ordinary. Edward took a deep breath and pressed his palms flat against his desk. He knew rather well that what he had planned in the back of his mind was rather unorthodox. Perhaps even foolish. And still, once he had allowed himself to entertain the idea it seemed like a quite logical one.

Perhaps, as he had attempted to convince himself, it was not weakness to admit that an ally could be helpful. And for some reason, he found himself trusting Catherine Winslow—not by any means an easy feat for him.

When a faint knock sounded at the door, he looked up quickly, then moved to sit behind his desk. “Enter.”

His voice boomed through the small study and after mere seconds, Catherine’s pale face glanced in, her eyes wide.

“You… you sent for me, My Lord?”

Though he could hear that she was trying to sound rather brave, it failed dismally. Instead, her voice was small, and it trembled as though she was nervous. Edward bit back a smile at this.

So he made her nervous then?

“Miss Winslow,” he said firmly, his voice surprisingly neutral. “Thank you for attending to my call so quickly. Please—do sit.”

He could not help but notice the slight tremble of her hand and the shallow movement of her chest as she took a seat across from him. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles, then landed her fluttering hands in her lap before facing him.

“What… what is it that you wanted to discuss, My Lord?”

To his own mild surprise, Edward rose from his seat and moved around the desk, leaning against it as he gazed down at her. Suddenly, he was overly aware of her presence: the soft scent of lavender that clung to her hair, the graceful curve of her neck—not to mention, of course, the other soft curves that kept drawing his gaze to them.

“How is Emily faring?” he asked at last, directing his attention back to what was truly important. “With the preparations for the ball, I mean.”

Catherine’s face lit up at the question and a smile broke out over her face. For the first time, he noticed the slight dimples in her cheeks when she smiled—and the way her eyes lit up made her look, if possible, even more virtuous. Of course, the thought of her virtue sent his mind rushing back to the kiss they had shared, and his chest warmed at the thought.

Catherine raised her hands, moving them about her chest wildly as she spoke—her eyes wide and alive with joy. “Oh, she is looking forward to all of it,” she exclaimed eagerly. “The dress, the dancing, the food… and of course, she is most of all looking forward to having you there as her chaperone.”

Her rosy lips parted slightly in excitement, and then she grinned brightly. Edward hesitated—it was, after all, the idea of his being there as chaperone that he had wanted to discuss with her.

“I am glad that she is looking forward to it,” he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. Catherine leaned forward at that, and once again the dimples appeared in her cheeks.

“Why, of course!” she insisted now. “You are her brother, and I do not believe you realize the extent to which she idolizes you… My Lord.”

Her face flushed and she looked down, pressing her hands tightly onto her lap once more. She tugged at her dress when she did this and for a few glorious seconds the material clung tightly to the curve of her breasts.

“I do believe,” he said, his gaze traveling over her form before finding her eyes again, “that she is quite satisfied with you as well?”

“Oh!” Catherine looked rather taken aback at this, though she flashed him a smile. “I should hope so, My Lord. I do like her.”

Edward nodded slowly. “Good,” he let out at last. “I have decided that you will attend the ball with us.”

“What?”

He watched with a subtle smile as absolute shock took hold of her features, her eyes widening, her skin flushing and her mouth falling open. “My Lord,” she let out, though it seemed that the words hurt to say. “I… certainly you cannot… it is not proper!”

Edward flashed her a stiff smile. “Of course not,” he explained in a rather reasonable fashion. “We will explain to them that you are a distant cousin, Lady Catherine Montague.”

“A distant… lady… My Lord, I fear I cannot…”

“And yet you shall.” Though his words were rather firm, Edward at least made an attempt to keep his tone light.

“But…” Catherine, it seemed, was not comforted by his lightened tone. “But… My Lord, forgive me… why?” Her eyes were wide with shock and her face was pale. “I mean… what purpose could it possibly serve?”

Edward’s jaw tightened and he looked down. How on earth did he explain to her why her presence would be somewhat of a comfort to him if he himself did not fully understand the reason for it?

“It serves several purposes,” he said at last, avoiding her searching gaze. “Of course, most importantly, it provides additional protection for Emily. If, as her cousin, you remain by her side, it would be easier for you to be able to keep a closer eye on her. Especially seeing as I will have to navigate some… social obligations.”

He hesitated, and his gaze dropped briefly to Catherine’s lips before he caught himself. “Secondly, it provides me with… an excuse.”

“An excuse?” Catherine echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion. Edward nodded and a wry smile twisted his lips.

“You will understand that I am not… eager… to socialize overmuch with a community that I cannot trust. If I am occupied with ensuring the comfort of my… cousin… I will have a ready-made reason to avoid prolonged interactions with them.”

He could see the understanding dawning in Catherine’s eyes, followed, to his regret, by a flash of sympathy that made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He did not want pity. Not from her or anyone else.

“My Lord,” she said softly, her eyes flitting up to meet his, and she reached out, her hand briefly brushing his arm. The gentle contact sent a sudden jolt through him, and he had to resist the immediate urge to pull her closer. “I understand your caution, but surely isolating yourself will not do any good. Perhaps if you allowed…”

“No.” Edward cut her off, his tone far sharper than he had intended. Still, he could not bring himself to pull away from her touch. If anything, he found himself leaning into it—craving the brush of her skin against his through the material that separated them. “I cannot risk it,” he spoke through tight lips. “Not until I know the truth.”

Catherine’s gaze was an open book; one filled with conflict between her desire to help and hesitance at the impropriety of his plan. “This is madness, My Lord,” she whispered. “I cannot do it. I cannot agree to such deception. It… it goes against all that I believe in.”

Edward felt a flash of frustration course through him. Could she not see that it was necessary? That he… no, Emily. That Emily needed her? He swallowed hard at the first thought that had trifled through his mind and shook his head, deciding, instead, to assert his authority.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you have a choice in the matter, Miss Winslow,” he said coldly. He pushed himself away from the desk, placing his palms on either side of her chair, effectively trapping her with his body, as he had done in her bedchamber nights ago.

Catherine’s breath visibly hitched in her throat, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “I… I am not a slave, My Lord. I am a governess,” she let out, her voice hesitant. “Surely I do have a choice.”

The defiance, he had to admit, stirred something strange within him, though he was not quite certain whether it was desire or admiration.

“Do you?” he murmured, leaning even closer to her, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Need I remind you of our agreement? Of you… promising to follow my rules and keep my secrets? This is merely an extension thereof. Would you not agree?”

He felt her shiver, saw the way her hands came up to brush against the lapels of his coat. Whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer was not quite certain, but he could not deny that the uncertainty thrilled him quite a bit.

“It… is not the same,” Catherine protested weakly. “This is asking me to actively deceive everyone, to make Emily part of it… I cannot…”

Before he could think better of it, Edward raised his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. The softness of her skin, the slight parting of her lips under his touch, the way her eyes widened… it sent a surge of desire through him that he struggled to force down.

“You can,” he said, managing to force some steel into his voice, “and you will. Because deep down, Miss Winslow, you want to protect Emily… and you will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. As will I. And because…”

Once again, his gaze dropped to her parted lips, and he resisted the urge to press his own lips against her. “Because a part of you is curious,” he continued. “You want to see what it would be like, do you not? To step into a world so different from your own… if only for one night.”

He could see the truth in her eyes, and he fought the victorious grin that threatened to appear on his face.

“I…” Catherine began, her voice hoarse. “My Lord, I…”

“You will do what I ask,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. “Thank you, miss Winslow. For your… sacrifice.”

It took all he had to not grab her into his arms and let out the passion that threatened to overtake him. Instead, he managed to move to the other side of the desk in an effort to put some distance between them.

The distance seemed to clear his head and when he looked at her once again, his face was as stoic as he could arrange it.

“I will see to it that you have a dress,” he said simply. “And you can cancel your lesson with Emily for tomorrow. I shall take the time to… teach you.”

He dismissed her with a mere nod, returning his attention to his work. Though it would be a grievous lie to deny that he was fully aware of the second her presence disappeared from the study.