The Governess Affair

night.
    Serena let go of the walking stick; it balanced on end, momentarily, before crashing to the ground.
    And then he did move, slowly, leaning those final inches toward her.
    At first it was just his lips that brushed hers, warm and certain, a fleeting pressure, swiftly removed. Then he rested his hand on her hip, drawing her to him. His mouth brushed hers once more; his lips parted, nipped at hers, and then again. Her whole body warmed.
    She mimicked his motion—parting her lips—only to have him take them between his own, nibbling at her. She could have lost herself in that back-and-forth—the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth on hers. Shockingly, overwhelmingly sweet.
    She’d thought of a kiss as the passive pressing together of lips—not this exchange of caresses. She was coming to life beside him—parts she’d never paid much mind to hummed in desire. The back of her neck tingled as he drew her close. The bottoms of her feet prickled with anticipation, as he kissed her again.
    He licked at her lips, and she opened her mouth in shock. And as she did, he swept his tongue inside.
    That act should have disgusted her. It didn’t. It felt amazing. Wonderful. She opened herself up to him, and then, tentatively, reached out her own tongue. His hands slid up her body, up the curve of her buttocks to clasp her spine. One of them caressed her arm, her elbow. And then his fingers cupped her breast. Lightly, slowly, and then, when she didn’t move away—when she pressed against him—with greater firmness.
    And even though she knew that touch was a dreadful liberty, it felt right to have him touch her there—a heated counterpoint to the play of their lips.
    “Ah, Serena,” he murmured. “This is not a good idea.” But he didn’t stop.
    His hand slid slowly down her torso to the curve of her belly. And there his fingers came to a halt.
    Serena froze. She swiftly covered his hand with hers, and just as abruptly pulled away. Her heart raced.
    “What is it?” he said. His voice was husky, but his eyes narrowed. The streetlamp stood behind him, coloring his dark hair with warm tones.
    And then he frowned and reached out once more—tentatively this time, and feathered his hand across her stomach. One couldn’t see it, not with corsets and petticoats being what they were. But a man who was pressed up against a woman, his hand caressing her, might feel it.
    “Miss Barton,” he said slowly. “You have neglected to tell me something. Two somethings.”
    “No.” She was unable to meet his eyes.
    “That was your first kiss, was it not?”
    She couldn’t bring herself to nod. Instead, she looked away.
    “You said he didn’t force you.”
    Her mouth went dry.
    He shook his head. “Setting that aside—and how I can set that aside, I do not know… In all our discussions, in all the barbs we traded, was it not once relevant for you to mention that you were pregnant?”

Chapter Six
    H UGO WAITED FOR HER to deny the accusation.
    She didn’t. Instead, she leaned over and picked up his walking stick. He wasn’t sure if she was simply holding it between them to signal that their truce was over, or if she intended to hit him with it and walk away.
    She let out a long breath. “And here I thought you knew.”
    “How would I know? Magic?”
    “I told Clermont,” she tossed back. “I assumed that what he knew, you—”
    “Whatever made you imagine that he would be forthright with me? He told me this was an employment dispute. He told me that he’d hired you to take care of his unborn child.”
    She raised her chin. “Well,” she bit off. “The position is unpaid, and he wasn’t referring to his heir. But that much was true.” Her hand had crept back to cover her belly. “Why do you think I’m here now? Why do you think I’ve spent days standing in the park? It certainly wasn’t for my own benefit. I am not going to fail my child.”
    “Yes, and that’s the other thing. What sort of promises did the duke make to get you in bed?”
    She was looking off into the distance. Her nostrils flared, and then she turned to him. “He promised not to wake the household.” There was a hint of a catch in her voice.
    “No.”
    She’d given voice to his blackest suspicions and painted them blacker still. Yet she stood out against that darkness like a blinding beacon. He already flinched from the thought of hurting a woman. But everything in him rebelled at the thought of causing harm to a mother