“If I’d had a tray in my hands,” she said in a precise voice that she hoped would put him in his place, “I would have dropped it and disturbed the entire academy. Shame on you, your grace. You shouldn’t be sneaking up here like this.”
The darkness lent his chiseled features a dangerous appeal. “I know,” he whispered with a conspiratorial smile. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
She gave him a politely discouraging frown. “I assume that you were looking for Miss Edlyn. I have in fact just left her. She’s still awake but ready to retire. I’m sorry, your grace, but gentlemen aren’t supposed to be upstairs. You will have to wait until the morning to make a proper call.”
“Oh.” He didn’t appear particularly disappointed or surprised. “Well, in that case, perhaps you can give her a message from me.”
She nodded graciously. “Of course.” But only because it was a duke asking and there was something beguiling about his voice. If any other fellow had come creeping through the house, Harriet would have tackled him for all she was worth. “I’ll go right upstairs and deliver it before she goes to bed.”
He frowned.
“Your grace?” she prompted.
“Yes?” His large body pressed against hers, a pleasant if awkward position that gave little chance to move.
“I can’t very well deliver a message unless I know what it is.”
He gave her an abashed grin. “I don’t know what it is, either. Do you want me to make one up?” That was her cue to escape. She knew it. But did she try?
He studied her face, obviously interpreting her hesitation as a sign of encouragement. In the next moment he was leaning over her. Even then she could have squeezed under his arm and slipped down the stairs. She could have resisted the soft kisses he sprinkled against her neck and denied how nice they felt. Instead, she stood, utterly mesmerized by the sensations that took her by storm.
“This is your message to Miss Edlyn?” she managed to whisper in chagrin, her chin resting upon his clean-shaven cheek.
“Not exactly.” He lifted his head. Suddenly his firm lips rested ever so lightly on hers. His arm locked around her waist. She waited, then expelled a breath.
“Your grace,” she said firmly, “you are not allowed upstairs. Or past my guard. Or-”
His mouth captured hers. His arms held her before she could fall. Thunder. Lightning. A force so remorseless and elemental that it torched not only a woman’s senses but the entire world. Electricity shivered through her veins. He wedged her securely between the railing and his body. Her lips parted, softened, sought, allowing his tongue to slide deeply into her mouth. Nobody has this sort of power. But the power gripped her harder, possessive and assured, guiding her into temptation. For several inarticulate moments, she was too nonplussed by the maddening ache that rose inside her to recognize it for what it was: passion. Subtle. Persuasive. To think she had been born in sin and managed to elude this. No wonder the girls in the academy were forbidden to talk of kissing and what it led to. Harriet had never before received such an insightful lesson in the art.
Griffin gave Harriet the barest chance to breathe, afraid that she would make him stop. His cloak had gotten trapped between them, buffering the intimate heat of their embrace. Her mouth had tempted him all night. He had deceived Charlotte when he’d left her downstairs with his aunt, promising he would seek a servant to make sure that Edlyn had settled into her new room.
Worse, he had deceived himself. He realized it the moment he spotted Harriet on the stairs. If she hadn’t set them both on fire earlier, she did so now with the purity of blue flame.
His mouth sought hers again. He tore off his gloves, catching one of her hands in his. Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted the bare fingers of his other hand to her cheek, to the curve of her throat. Her skin felt warm, enticing. He could spend hours drawing constellations from the tiny freckles that dipped from her neck across her shoulders. Untouched. Unexplored. From the depths of the house, voices rose, intruded, impinged on his awareness. He groaned softly in protest. Not yet. Go away. He hadn’t realized that a woman’s kisses could bring him to his knees. A dark haze blanketed his brain. “Your grace.”
Her voice. Her mouth. Her-
“Duke,” she whispered urgently, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. “Get hold of yourself right now.”
He drew away, shaking his head. His blood was on fire. “Please tell Edlyn that I was here. There’s no point in making her come down if she’s ready for bed.”
She hesitated, then reached down behind her with a reproving sigh.
“The academy will do its best, your grace,” she said, handing him back his gloves. “You’d be surprised what a difference the proper influence can make. Now do us both a kindness and leave before one of the girls realizes you are here. There seems to be something about you that disrupts our sheltered world.”
Chapter Nine
Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge.
MARY SHELLEY
Frankenstein
Harriet slept late and went by rote through her morning ablutions. It was to her advantage that today was Sunday and that the previous night’s ball had, as she’d predicted, kept most of the students up into the wee hours, whispering of amours imagined and observed. At least they would sit in chapel too weary to get in trouble chattering.
Monday morning, however, was another thing.
She walked slowly down the stairs, straight past the spot where the duke had kissed her. The memory still lingered in her mind as she entered the classroom a few moments later. She hoped the young devil’s conscience had prevented him from enjoying his day of rest. To think he’d bluffed his way past her guard. It wouldn’t happen again, even though she accepted half the blame for playing into his hands. Yet it wasn’t altogether the worst thing that could happen to a woman, being kissed for her first time by a duke.
She dropped her book down on the desk.
Today’s lesson covered the proper attire for garden parties. Linen was the preferred fabric, and a bonnet was de rigueur. What would the well-prepared lady do in the event of rain? Was it true that a gentleman could wear any shade of gray, while his female counterpart would be accused of bad taste? And why could a duke get away-
She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. He had a lovely mouth and strong, gentle hands.
She heard her name. The girls were whispering about… her.
“Do you think poor Miss Harry will be dismissed because of what happened at the ball?”
“That wouldn’t be fair. I heard old Lady Powlis ordering her to dance with the duke.”
“Is he here?”
“In the academy?”
Several heads turned.
Miss Edlyn strolled into the room, her black hair streaming to her waist. “He isn’t. The old one is, though.”
Harriet glowered at the girls. “I hope you’re all proud of yourselves. It’s one thing to talk about me, but you are never to disparage another student, not in her presence or behind her back.”
“It’s all right,” Edlyn murmured, slipping into the empty chair that had been saved for her. “Everyone talks about us.”
“It isn’t all right,” Harriet said in a curt voice.
She opened her guidebook, wondering whether the chapter on funerals would be more appropriate than the more cheerful subject of garden parties.
Dismissed? Was it possible? Not for obeying a frantic lady who was also a family member. However, if Charlotte or anyone else in the house had glimpsed the duke kissing Harriet on the stairs, a dismissal would not only be possible but completely deserved.