Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Ian strode through the house, his heart pounding hard. Reaching the foyer, he growled at a startled footman, weaving around him, barely breaking his stride as he marched out the front door, approaching the small carriage.

He took a deep, ragged breath. He had seen Mrs. Kittles, Lenore and Selene clambering into the carriage from his study window.

He had no idea where they were going—and besides that, in the last few days there had been a heavy snowstorm, making it impossible to go anywhere. Today it was clear again—but that might change, in the blink of an eye.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, as he reached the carriage door, peering through the window, where they were seated.

Mrs. Kittles looked startled, jumping in her seat. Selene’s eyes widened. His heart contracted instinctively. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful in a red cape, her skin as smooth and pale as milk, chestnut curls framing her face. Hastily, he turned his face away from her, focusing on his daughter.

Lenore was beaming at him. “Papa!” she cried, leaning toward the window, her eyes shining brightly. “We are going to Trenton for the morning! Mrs. Kittles and Miss Bomind have promised to take me to the tearooms for cream cakes!”

Ian turned to Selene, gazing at her coldly. “What is the meaning of this, Miss Bomind? Why did you not seek my permission for this excursion? The storm has barely settled!”

Selene looked stung by his words, flinching as if he had struck her. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but the steward told me that you were not to be disturbed.” She took a deep breath. “It is just a short excursion into the village. Lenore has been restless with being cooped up in the house by the storm, and I saw no harm in it.”

“That is for me to decide, not you, Miss Bomind,” he interjected, with some heat. “The roads are still perilous with ice and snow.”

“Oh, please, Papa!” begged Lenore, her face dropping, and her eyes filling with tears. “Please! It is so boring in the house!”

Ian gazed at his daughter, gripping the carriage door so tightly, his knuckles turned white. There was a deathly silence. Mrs. Kittles looked scared out of her wits. Selene was staring at him, with a pleading expression on her face, but her green eyes flashed with fire, as well.

“It is just for the morning, Your Grace,” she said, in an even voice. “It will be good for my lady.”

He hesitated, gazing at the sky. It was a clear, starling blue, with not a hint of gray clouds forming.

“All right,” he growled. “But make sure that Lenore is back by noon and not a minute later.”

“Oh, thank you, Papa!” Lenore clapped her hands together in glee. “Would you come with us? You could have a cream cake, as well!”

“I think not,” he replied gruffly, his heart flipping. He tried to smile at his daughter, realizing it probably looked more like a grimace. “Enjoy your tea, Lenore. Make sure that you behave yourself.”

He leaned back, rapping on the carriage. The driver nodded at him, cracking the whip. He looked back into the carriage, almost losing his breath, as his eyes connected with Selene’s eyes. A crackle seemed to spark in the air.

The carriage rattled away, and the connection was gone.

He stood there, staring at it, as it meandered through the gates, reaching the road. He still couldn’t breathe properly—it was like his chest was frozen. He cursed beneath his breath.

When will it stop? When will I stop thirsting for her?

He had been avoiding her entirely in the days since that letter had arrived, waiting for her on tenterhooks to approach him, to start weaving her web of deception, begging for money to help her father, or else inform the world about his dalliance with her.

But she had never sought an audience with him—in fact, she seemed to be trying to avoid him as actively as he was trying to avoid her.

He frowned, a stab of unease sweeping over him. Perhaps she had had a change of heart about her dastardly plan—or maybe, she was just biding her time. He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand even being in the same house as her and not touching her.

She has to leave. I promised her I would give her a chance until Christmas, but I simply cannot endure living under the same roof as her any longer.

He steeled himself against the pain that speared his heart at the thought of letting her go. She was a viper in the nest. He couldn’t trust her… but also, he knew he couldn’t resist her, either.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was only a matter of time before he sought her out again, drawn toward her magnetically, like a bee toward the honeypot.

He was having a hard time sleeping as it was, knowing that she was beneath the same roof, fighting the urge to seek her out and lose himself in her intoxicating sweetness once more.

He tried to harden his heart. That sweetness was an act—she wasn’t who she appeared to be. He turned, marching back into the house, bitterness overwhelming him.

It would have been far better to never have had a taste of this nectar at all. For he had felt the ice melting around his heart and now craved that light. Far better to have remained enshrouded in ice forever.

I will tell her that I no longer require her services when she returns. Lenore will be devastated, but she will get over it. I will get her a better governess.

A wave of pure sorrow swept over him. He pushed it away fiercely. He was doing the right thing—the only thing he could do to protect himself.

***

Selene stepped out of the carriage, gazing around the village. It looked so heartbreakingly beautiful that she couldn’t help gasping with wonder, despite her low mood.

There were Christmas decorations everywhere—holly and mistletoe strung around lamp posts and hanging over the doors of the shops, and candles flickered in the windows. Thick snow lay like frosting on the main road and the slanted roofs of the shops, illuminating the village, making it appear as if it was surrounded by an aura.

“Oh, it is so pretty!” cried Lenore, her eyes wide with wonder, before fixating on a shop. “Can we go to the toy shop first? Please?”

“I will take my lady to the toy shop,” declared Mrs. Kittles, taking Lenore’s hand, turning to Selene. “You go to the post office to send your letter to your father. We will meet you in the tearooms in half an hour, if you like.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kittles,” she replied, looking at Lenore. But the little girl was fixated on the shop and wasn’t paying her any attention at all. She turned back to the housekeeper. “I hope she behaves for you.”

Mrs. Kittles smiled. “My lady will do what she will. We shall not be long.”

Selene nodded, turning away, walking down the road toward the post office. The letter to her father felt like it was burning a hole in the pocket of her cape. She should have sent it days ago, but the sudden snowstorm had put paid to that idea. It was only today, when the sky had cleared, that she dared suggest this excursion to the village, under the pretext of getting Lenore out of the house.

She took a deep breath, her heart quivering with emotion. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that her father had never written that dreadful letter to her—or, at least, it had been greatly altered by an unknown hand. But she needed him to assure her of this. Once he did, it would be proof that someone was trying to sabotage her.

She skipped around a patch of ice on the road, thinking about the duke. He had been so cold with her lately, icier and more remote than he had ever been. Her eyes filled with tears. Clearly, he regretted everything—their passionate love making, pouring out his heart to her about the day his wife had died… their entire relationship.

What relationship? We do not have one. He dallied with me, that was all. And like a fool, I fell in love with him.

She clutched the letter in her pocket tighter. She knew that she couldn’t stay at Trenton House. It would be the death of her living with this unrequited love—wanting him so badly, but never being able to have him.

I will hand in my notice after Christmas. Once he gives the orphanage the Christmas gifts he promised.

Suddenly, she became aware that people were staring at her, quite openly, as they passed her on the street. Some were even whispering behind their hands to each other as they rudely stared. Selene stiffened. Did she have a stain on her cape, or a twig stuck in her hair?

“Good morning, Miss Bomind!” called a young woman, who she knew vaguely. “And how is the Iron Duke? Are you enjoying warming his bed?”

Selene froze, gaping at her. The woman’s friend pulled her away, their laughter echoing down the street. Selene’s heart gave an almighty pump. She turned, looking around blindly, before running down a cobblestoned lane, leaning against the wall, panting hard.

They know. The whole village knows about the duke and me. My reputation is ruined. How is this possible?

Her mind was spinning violently, and she felt like she was going to be sick. She leaned over, her hands on her knees, staring at the ground, fixating on the skeleton of a fish that had been thrown from a window.

It must be the same person who altered my father’s letter. They must have spread rumors about the duke and me. There is no other explanation.

She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. Mrs. Kittles was in the toy shop with Lady Lenore. Even now, someone might be spreading this gossip, telling the housekeeper that the new governess was sleeping with the Iron Duke. Lady Lenore might be listening to it, as well.

Suddenly, Selene was knocked sideways, flying to the ground so hard she hit her head. She cried out, holding her head, gazing up in a daze. What had just happened?

A tall man wearing a black cape was looming over her, his long black boots, flecked with snow, mere inches from her face. The hood on his cape was drawn low over his head so that his entire face was in shadow. She couldn’t see it at all.

“What… why did you do that?” she gasped, staggering to get to her feet. She looked at the hand that had been holding her head. It was covered in blood. She cried in distress. “Who are you…?”

The tall man didn’t reply. He grabbed her tightly, picking her up, as if she were a doll, dragging her, kicking and screaming, to a waiting carriage.

“Help!” she cried desperately, as the man forced her into it. “Oh, please help me!”

The last thing she saw was the startled face of a man looking at her from the window of a house, before her head started spinning brutally, and everything faded to black.