Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Edward had to admit that when his sister had pleaded with him to appoint a governess, he had not expected Catherine Winslow. The girl was… different from anyone he’d ever met, and he smiled despite himself when he thought of their first meeting.

It was difficult for him to agree to Emily’s pleas, and he had only given in because she was incessant about it. Still, as pretty as this governess was, he was wary of allowing someone else into his house. Especially someone like her.

These thoughts rumbled wildly in his head as he turned the corner, nearly losing his balance when a dark figure stumbled into him.

Automatically, Edward raised his hands—soft curves molding into his palms as feminine curves pressed against him. The smell of wildflowers tickled his nose, and he lowered his hands slowly, sweeping over what he now realized was Catherine Winslow’s waist, and settling on her hips.

“My Lord,” a soft voice drifted to his ears, and he looked down. Large, almond-shaped eyes looked up at him, and only then did he notice the soft bow of her upper lip.

And then Edward realized that he was still holding her, and he stepped back quickly, clearing his throat.

“Miss Winslow,” he said, his voice gruff. “You should… watch where you are going.”

Catherine’s cheeks flushed and her green eyes flashed with embarrassment. “I apologize, My Lord,” she said, her tone careful. “I was in a hurry to return these books to the library before my next lesson.”

Edward’s gaze now fell to the books strewn about their feet. He knelt down to pick the first one up and raised a brow. “Shakespeare’s sonnets?” he said, glancing at the hint of a slim ankle in front of him before rising once again. “Quite advanced material for a young girl, is it not?”

Catherine blushed, though she lifted her chin. “With all due respect, My Lord,” she said now, “Lady Emily is quite capable. In fact, she has shown remarkable insight into the themes of love and longing in these sonnets.”

“I see,” Edward said coldly, his shoulders stiffening. “And you think it is appropriate to fill my sister’s head with such… romantic… notions?”

Catherine faced him squarely, though he saw the slight tremble of her lower lip. “I think it is necessary to expose Lady Emily to great literature, My Lord,” she said now. “Surely you do not object to your sister receiving a well-rounded education.”

For a moment, Edward was taken aback by her boldness. He was used to people cowering in his presence—but this young governess seemed quite unafraid to speak her mind. It was refreshing, if somewhat unsettling.

“Of course not,” he said, handing her the book. Their fingertips brushed as he did so, and a jolt rushed through him. He pulled his hand away quickly, frowning at his own reaction.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Catherine murmured, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. An awkward silence fell between them and Edward found his gaze suddenly drawn to a stray curl that had escaped her usually neat bun. He flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

“Miss Winslow,” he said abruptly. “I’d like to discuss Emily’s progress. Join me in my study after dinner this evening.”

Catherine nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes, My Lord. I will be there,” she said softly, pushing past him, her soft body brushing against his once more. He reached out impulsively, grabbing her wrist and rubbing a thumb over the soft skin.

“And Miss Winslow,” he murmured now, his voice low. “Try not to run into anyone else on your way to the library.”

Her face turned a deep red and she nodded. “I will do my best, My Lord,” she said softly before rushing away, and Edward watched her retreat, his eyes lingering on her. From the gentle rounding of her curves, to the sway of her hips. He shook his head in an attempt to shake off the unsettling effect she seemed to have on him.

As usual, he took his dinner in his study, and he had barely finished when there was a soft knock at the door.

Edward’s gaze snapped up at the door and he tried to contain his anticipation, choosing to frown rather than smile. “Enter,” he called out, his voice sharper than usual.

He lifted a brow when Catherine stepped into the study. Her face was flushed, though her expression remained composed.

“You wanted to see me, My Lord?”

Edward nodded and gestured to the chair across from him. “Yes,” he said, rising to his feet. “Please, do sit.”

He remained standing as she sat, his gaze following her shapely figure with a morbid curiosity. “How… how is Emily progressing?” he asked at last, his tone brusque. Catherine looked up at him and smiled in a manner he assumed to be quite proudly.

“She is doing quite well, My Lord,” she said now. “She is exceptionally bright and eager to learn. She enjoys history… and literature.”

“I see,” Edward said, nodding. In the flickering candlelight of his study, her features seemed softer… more vulnerable. He quickly averted his gaze.

“And you? How are you settling in?”

She looked up quickly, her eyes meeting his own. “I am settling in quite well, My Lord, thank you,” she said now, her eyes meeting his. The tip of her tongue darted out, wetting her lips ever so slightly and Edward dropped his gaze as he felt his body react to the motion.

He could not help but wonder what it would be like to kiss those soft lips. He shook his head quickly, trying to rid himself of the madness.

“And Emily, how is she doing with her more practical studies?” he asked now. “Household management and so on?”

Catherine hesitated. “We have done some work in that aspect, My Lord, but she is less… enthusiastic… about it, I must admit,” she said, and Edward frowned.

“Those skills are essential for a young lady of her station,” he said firmly. “Perhaps you should read less poems and focus more on what matters.”

Catherine frowned at this. “What matters? Forgive me, My Lord, but I believe a balanced education is what matters. Emily’s love of literature shouldn’t be discouraged! It nurtures her soul…”

“Her soul does not need nurturing, Miss Winslow, it needs tempering,” he said angrily. “The world is not kind to dreamers and romantics.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Just… I’m not saying you should ignore literature, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “Perhaps just… balance it with other subjects.”

Catherine nodded slowly and a small smile touched her lips. “Of course My Lord,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Is that all?”

Edward nodded slowly, his gaze trailing over her—the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the shadows her lashes cast on her cheeks.

“That is all, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “You are dismissed.”

She nodded and Edward sank into his chair as the door closed behind her. Miss Catherine Winslow, he could not help but think, was far more of a distraction than any governess had the business to be.

For hours, he sat there, finding himself quite unable to settle. He poured a glass of brandy, though even the sharp taste burning a path down his throat did little to calm his racing thoughts. As the clock struck midnight, Edward gave up the pretense of work and rose to his feet. With a shake of his head, he left the study—though the idea of heading to an empty bedchamber did not hold any appeal whatsoever.

Instead, he made his way to the library. This was often where he found his mind calming down when it rushed with thoughts. Though that night he found the cause of his racing thoughts was asleep on the chaise lounge.

A deep frown settled between Edward’s brows as he looked at Catherine’s Winslow’s sleeping form—a book of poetry having fallen open on her chest. Once again, his fingers itched to brush the stray lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek.

He knew he ought to wake her, and send her to her room. It wasn’t proper for her to be there—especially at this hour. But he found himself rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of her.

In the soft glow of the dying fire, Catherine looked almost ethereal. Her face was pale, framed by dark hair and her lips were slightly parted. Despite himself, Edward found his gaze drawn to them. He couldn’t help but wonder how they would feel against his own.

He shook his head quickly, trying to dispel the treacherous thoughts. Still, there was no denying her beauty, her charm… he moved closer slowly, almost against his will. As he approached, he caught sight of the book she was reading, and a wry smile settled around his lips.

It was open to one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Edward felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself.

“Miss Winslow,” he called out softly, debating whether he should shake her shoulder or merely call her. “Miss Winslow, do wake up.”

Still, she did not stir, and he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Miss Winslow… Catherine, wake up.”

Catherine stirred and moaned, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment she looked confused—then her eyes met Edward’s, and he saw them widen with recognition.

“My Lord,” she gasped, sitting up abruptly. The book tumbled from her lap and they both reached for it, their hands grasping each other rather than the book. This time, the jolt he felt was so strong that he was unable to remove his hand from hers—holding it in a tight grasp for a few torturous seconds, his gaze drifting toward her.

“I… I must have fallen asleep,” Catherine said, and Edward quickly released her hand, as though it had burnt him. “I’m sorry, My Lord,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “I shouldn’t be here at this hour.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “No, you shouldn’t.”

Yet, he made no move away from her. Instead, he found himself leaning closer, drawn in by the scent of wildflowers that clung to her. Catherine’s gaze dropped to his lips, then moved back to his eyes and his heart raced. He was close enough to her to count the freckles dusting her nose, to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. All he had to do was lean in a little more, and their lips would meet.

He could feel the heat radiating from her body, could almost taste her on his lips…

Suddenly, a log in the fireplace collapsed with a loud crack, startling them both. Edward jerked back as if burned—the spell broken. Catherine’s cheeks were flushed, a deep red, and he glanced at the fire before looking back at her.

“You should go to your room, Miss Winslow,” he said now, his voice cold. “It is late, and it is not proper for you to be here.”

He did not miss Catherine flinching at his tone, but she was quick to school her features into a neutral expression. “Of course, My Lord,” she said stiffly and rose to her feet. “I apologize. It will not happen again.”

“See… see to it that it doesn’t,” he said, his voice rough. Catherine nodded, avoiding his eyes as she rushed away.

Edward waited until the door closed behind her before sitting down on the chaise. Her scent still clung to it, and he huffed out a frustrated breath before picking up the poetry book again. His lips curled in a scowl, and he shook his head as his eyes moved over the words.

The expense of spirit was a waste of shame indeed.