Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Of course, Edward spent the evening quite excited about the prospect of changing roles and teaching the all-knowing governess a thing or two. He found her in the schoolroom early the next morning—anxiety radiating from her.

“Well, My Lord,” she spoke as he entered, her lips trembling and her eyes wide. “I… I suppose I am ready.”

“Good,” Edward smiled, though it bothered him quite a bit that she seemed so nervous. “Though I suggest we move—and take this lesson to the library. You do enjoy it there, after all, do you not?”

He did not miss the quick flush of her cheeks, but he ignored it, instead, leading her to the library, where he paced in front of her as she sat perched on the chaise, her hands neatly folded on her lap.

“Remember,” Edward said, his voice low and intense, his eyes finding hers. “The key to convincing the ton lies in the details. You must know not only how to act, but why certain behaviors are expected.”

Catherine nodded, her eyes fixed on him with rapt attention. Her face was oddly pale, and Edward found himself momentarily distracted by the way the afternoon sunlight caught in her hair, turning the rich brown to a burnished gold.

He cleared his throat before he continued. “For… for instance, the way you hold your fan. It can convey a multitude of messages. A fan held over the left ear means ‘I wish to be rid of you’... over the right ear…”

He leaned a bit forward, his eyes searching hers. “Over the right ear,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Means… I burn for you.”

Catherine’s face flushed at that, and she raised her eyes to meet his own. Edward felt an answering heat rise in his own face as their eyes met. His gaze lingered on the delicate flush of her skin, and he moved a hand to wipe a stray curl from her face.

Catherine shifted under his scrutiny, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve. “My Lord,” she said hesitantly, “I… I do appreciate your efforts. But I must admit, I am still not quite certain I can pull this off. What if I make a glaring mistake? Or what if someone realizes you do not have a cousin Catherine? Or if my former charges, Charlotte and Sophia, say something?”

Edward moved closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in her voice. Without thinking his actions through, he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that their eyes met. “You underestimate yourself, Miss Winslow,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You possess a natural grace and intelligence that… many in the ton lack. Trust in that. And… in me.”

For a moment they remained frozen, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Edward’s gaze was transfixed by Catherine’s every small detail; the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips and the slight parting of her lips as she drew in a shaky breath.

Abruptly, he stepped back, dropping his hand to his side. “Now then,” he said, his voice rougher than he had intended, “let us review the intricacies of dinner conversation.”

Soon, as the lesson progressed, Edward couldn’t stop his gaze from being drawn to Catherine. The furrow of concentration between her brows as she listened, the graceful arch of her neck as she practiced proper posture, the nimble movements of her fingers as she demonstrated the correct way to handle cutlery each detail about her captivated him in a way he had not experienced in years.

“My Lord,” Catherine’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

Edward blinked a few times, realizing only now that he had been staring. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said quickly. “I was just… thinking. Assessing your progress. You are doing remarkably well.”

A pleased smile curved Catherine’s lips at this and Edward felt a strong jolt of affection course through him. He was quick to tamp it down, however. This was not at all the time for such foolish sentiments.

“There is one more thing we ought to address,” he said, moving toward a large wardrobe in the corner of the library. “Your attire for the ball.”

Catherine’s eyes widened as Edward withdrew a gown of shimmering blue silk. “My Lord,” she let out, her voice a hoarse, broken sound. “It is beautiful… but… I could not possibly.”

“You can, and you will,” Edward interrupted firmly. “Lady Catherine Montague would never appear at a ball in anything less than the finest. I have had this altered, and I believe it will fit you.”

He held the gown out to Catherine, who took it with trembling hands. As she did so, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of awareness through Edward’s entire body. He could almost feel Catherine’s sharp intake of breath and he wondered whether she had felt the unspoken tension that passed between them as well.

“Try it on,” he encouraged, his voice low, with a sudden gravelly quality to it. “I… would like to see if it fits.”

Catherine seemed to hesitate, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a way that had his pulse racing. “Now, My Lord?” she asked hesitantly, her voice wrought with uncertainty.

Edward nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He gestured toward a screen in the corner of the library—typically used for mere decorative purposes, though now it seemed as though it could be functional as well.

“You could, of course, go to your bedchamber instead,” he started, but Catherine shook her head quickly, her face flushing—he supposed at the thought of being caught in the dress by anyone else. He too, was not fond of the idea of Emily seeing her in that dress before he could explain the matter to his sister.

“This will do, My Lord,” she murmured, and Edward gestured to the screen with a knowing grin.

Catherine nodded shyly before disappearing behind the screen while Edward paced the length of the library. His mind was a whirl of chaotic thoughts that he did not want to give too much time or attention.

What was he doing?

The entire charade, the lessons… they were necessary, he convinced the taunting voice in the back of his mind. For Emily’s safety, for his own peace of mind. Still, the way his body reacted to Catherine’s presence, the way his heart seemed to lighten when she smiled…

It was dangerous territory.

“My Lord,” Catherine’s voice, tinged with concern, pulled him from his thoughts. “I… I apologize, but I cannot seem to manage the fastenings on my own. Would it be possible to… send for Lady Emily to help me? If at all possible?”

“No,” Edward said at once, his mouth suddenly dry. “No, let us not bother her. I… I will help you.”

She remained silent in the face of this suggestion, and Edward moved behind the screen, swallowing hard. The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart.

Catherine stood with her back to him, the gown half fastened, leaving a tantalizing expanse of creamy white skin exposed. Her hair, usually confined in its neat bun, tumbled in loose waves down her back.

He could hear the sharp intake of her breath as he moved closer to her, his fingers brushing over the silky skin of her back as he took his time to fasten the tiny buttons that ran down her spine. He could hear her breath quicken whenever they touched, see the slight tremor that ran through her body.

“There,” he murmured upon finishing the last button. “It is done.”

Catherine turned slowly, and Edward felt the air leave his lungs. The gown fit her perfectly—accentuating her curves in a way that made his mouth go dry.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice raspy. “I… have something to add.”

He left her there, his heart racing as he made his way to his study, opened the bottom drawer and took the small box out of it.

He had bought the necklace years ago, intending to give it to Isabella—though the opportunity had never arisen. With the precious stones in his hands, he returned to the library.

Raised voices greeted him as he moved closer to the chamber.

“...dare you?” Samuel Harper’s voice drifted toward him. “It is a scandal! An outrage. That gown belonged to the late Lady Wessex! How dare you presume to wear it?”

As Edward rounded the corner, he could see Catherine’s trembling form in the wake of Samuel’s anger. The man was practically trembling with rage.

Catherine was deathly pale, her hands clutching at the skirts of her gown as she tried to explain. “Mr. Harper, I…”

“This is highly improper,” Samuel continued angrily. “A governess, dressing so far above her station. In the dress of the late lady of this house! The audacity! I shall ensure that you are sent away at once. A thief like you cannot be trusted…”

“That is quite enough, Samuel,” Edward interrupted, his voice cold with authority. Samuel swung round and his arm shook as he pointed at Catherine.

“My Lord,” he let out, his voice high with anger. “This… this girl has the audacity… the gall to wear… this dress…”

Edward moved to stand beside Catherine’s trembling figure, and he placed a comforting hand at the small of her back, even under Samuel’s watchful eye.

“Miss Winslow is wearing this gown at my behest,” he explained. “And while I do appreciate your loyalty, you would do well to remember your place.”

Samuel Harper paled visibly at this, his jaw clenching.

“Right… My Lord,” he let out at last, his voice sullen. “I apologize.”

With a last furious sneer in Catherine’s direction, Samuel turned on his heel—leaving the library and its two occupants, the door closing firmly behind him.

When Samuel finally looked down at Catherine, her eyes were wide with distress. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally speaking.

“My Lord,” she let out at last. “I… I had no idea. This dress… it belonged to your mother? I could never wear it, it is not my place, I…”

“Miss Winslow,” Edward interrupted her, a wry smile appearing on his face. “Stop.”

He looked down at her with a tenderness that he could not hide, and reached out—his hand hovering just above her cheek before he thought better of it and let it fall to his side.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he continued softly. “I wanted you to wear it.”

Catherine’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I do not understand, My Lord,” she said at last. “I… Surely it must hold such sentimental value for you. Why… why on earth would you… let a governess wear it?”

Edward sighed, searching for the right words. “It… does have quite a lot of sentimental value, yes,” he said at last. “But seeing it locked away, never to be worn again… it felt… unjust to my mother’s memory. She loved beautiful things—and she loved seeing them appreciated. I do believe she would have been quite… proud… to see you wear it.”

A soft smile curved Catherine’s lips at this and Edward felt his heart constrict at the sight of it. She was so close to him—it would be so easy to lower his head and let his lips brush against hers.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, not quite shattering the spell, though she did manage to bring him back to reality a fair bit. “I am honored to wear it.”

Edward’s heart raced wildly in his chest as he looked down at her. She looked every bit the lady in this dress, and she was beautiful. He ached to reach out and touch her, to draw her into his arms and…

No.

He could not allow himself to indulge in such thoughts, he decided firmly. Catherine Winslow was his sister’s governess. This facade of Lady Catherine Montague was just that—a facade for a night. Nothing more.

He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“I will leave you… to change back,” he said, his voice gruff. “It fits you perfectly.”

Catherine nodded, though there was a flicker of something his mind whispered could be disappointment in her eyes.

“Of course, My Lord,” she whispered. “Thank you again… for your assistance.”

As Catherine disappeared behind the screen once more, Edward moved to the window. He stared out at the grounds beneath him, but this time it was as though he could not truly see it. His mind was filled with images of Catherine in the blue gown, disrobing behind the screen so close to him…

And with these images came the unbridled desire to touch her, even if it could only be once more.