to find Mr. Bigsby to let me in.”
Had the rebellious child already managed a coup? “Iris?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“There are two doors.” And neither had locks. Lucian scowled.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I am the biggest ninny. But the other door is barricaded.”
“What?”
“I was assessing the schoolroom to see what needed to be done, and I’m sorry, I’ll just go fetch Mr. Bigsby.” She took a step down, but stopped.
Lucian blocked her passage. The air seemed to crackle with energy, perhaps left over from last night’s storm.
“I’ll look at it.”
She just blinked. “Oh no, I’m sure that if you just alert Mr. Bigsby, he’ll be right up.”
“Bigsby is down on the beach.” She didn’t know the household routines yet. Lucian put his foot on the first step.
She scurried up the stairs, like a scared rabbit. Her braid swung as she hurried down the hall to the schoolroom door. He tried the passage door but it didn’t budge.
Sighing, he followed her into the schoolroom. The room hadn’t changed since he’d had his early lessons in here, except it seemed more careworn perhaps, and he’d never wanted to kiss his tutor.
She stood to the side of the stuck door, pressing her lips together. The light of the schoolroom illuminated how very sheer her garment was in places. The outline of her figure, her slender waist, the flare of hips had his heart racing.
The knob spun in his hand.
His robe felt hot, the wool bathing suit that offered little protection from the sting of the ocean water made him sweat. Kiss her, hell, he had to acknowledge he wanted to go much further than that. He took a step back.
He kicked the door next to the handle. With a splintering crack, the frame gave. The door banged against the wall inside her room.
He held his palm out to stop it from closing all the way on the rebound. His foot stung from the impact.
Miss Campbell’s mossy green eyes opened wide.
He pushed the door open and lifted his palm up. Her iron bedstead was just a few feet away, the covers still rumpled.
“Well that is one way to bell the cat.” A hint of a smile hovered around her lips.
“I’ll have a craftsman come and fix it.” He stared at her.
Her smile faded into a worried look. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and ducked into the room.
He followed her into the doorway before he thought. He gripped the frame as if that would stop him from pursuing her. Outrageous thoughts raced. In spite of her seeming innocence, she wasn’t pure. She was a seductress of men and boys. She was exhibiting the early signs of pregnancy. She was in his house, in a nightgown, and no one was around.
Iris cried, “Papa.”
His heart stopped cold. Behind him little feet pattered against the floor.
Velvet swung her cape around her shoulders, covering the copper braid he wanted to unplait. As her arms rose, his gaze dropped to her chest. He quickly lowered his eyes before she noticed his interest in her small breasts. A line of darned stitches ran down from the opening placard of her nightgown. Falling from her cape, dry mud pinged on the bare wood.
“Cold?” he inquired as he absently put an arm around Iris’s shoulders. How could Velvet be cold when he was on fire?
Velvet—where did a woman get a name like that?—stared at him. “A little. I don’t own a dressing gown.”
She didn’t own a dressing gown, and her nightgown should have been consigned to the rag bin a long time ago. On some level he’d recognized that the sheerness of her gown was due to the threadbare state of the material.
“What was that noise?” asked Iris.
“Miss Campbell’s door was stuck.” He had to get ahold of his desires. “You can go back to bed.”
The screech of the chair she pulled out from where it was wedged under the passage door made him cringe. She kept the chair between them as if she planned to use it like a lion tamer would. Her gaze darted around the room, and she winced.
Following the
Had the rebellious child already managed a coup? “Iris?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“There are two doors.” And neither had locks. Lucian scowled.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I am the biggest ninny. But the other door is barricaded.”
“What?”
“I was assessing the schoolroom to see what needed to be done, and I’m sorry, I’ll just go fetch Mr. Bigsby.” She took a step down, but stopped.
Lucian blocked her passage. The air seemed to crackle with energy, perhaps left over from last night’s storm.
“I’ll look at it.”
She just blinked. “Oh no, I’m sure that if you just alert Mr. Bigsby, he’ll be right up.”
“Bigsby is down on the beach.” She didn’t know the household routines yet. Lucian put his foot on the first step.
She scurried up the stairs, like a scared rabbit. Her braid swung as she hurried down the hall to the schoolroom door. He tried the passage door but it didn’t budge.
Sighing, he followed her into the schoolroom. The room hadn’t changed since he’d had his early lessons in here, except it seemed more careworn perhaps, and he’d never wanted to kiss his tutor.
She stood to the side of the stuck door, pressing her lips together. The light of the schoolroom illuminated how very sheer her garment was in places. The outline of her figure, her slender waist, the flare of hips had his heart racing.
The knob spun in his hand.
His robe felt hot, the wool bathing suit that offered little protection from the sting of the ocean water made him sweat. Kiss her, hell, he had to acknowledge he wanted to go much further than that. He took a step back.
He kicked the door next to the handle. With a splintering crack, the frame gave. The door banged against the wall inside her room.
He held his palm out to stop it from closing all the way on the rebound. His foot stung from the impact.
Miss Campbell’s mossy green eyes opened wide.
He pushed the door open and lifted his palm up. Her iron bedstead was just a few feet away, the covers still rumpled.
“Well that is one way to bell the cat.” A hint of a smile hovered around her lips.
“I’ll have a craftsman come and fix it.” He stared at her.
Her smile faded into a worried look. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and ducked into the room.
He followed her into the doorway before he thought. He gripped the frame as if that would stop him from pursuing her. Outrageous thoughts raced. In spite of her seeming innocence, she wasn’t pure. She was a seductress of men and boys. She was exhibiting the early signs of pregnancy. She was in his house, in a nightgown, and no one was around.
Iris cried, “Papa.”
His heart stopped cold. Behind him little feet pattered against the floor.
Velvet swung her cape around her shoulders, covering the copper braid he wanted to unplait. As her arms rose, his gaze dropped to her chest. He quickly lowered his eyes before she noticed his interest in her small breasts. A line of darned stitches ran down from the opening placard of her nightgown. Falling from her cape, dry mud pinged on the bare wood.
“Cold?” he inquired as he absently put an arm around Iris’s shoulders. How could Velvet be cold when he was on fire?
Velvet—where did a woman get a name like that?—stared at him. “A little. I don’t own a dressing gown.”
She didn’t own a dressing gown, and her nightgown should have been consigned to the rag bin a long time ago. On some level he’d recognized that the sheerness of her gown was due to the threadbare state of the material.
“What was that noise?” asked Iris.
“Miss Campbell’s door was stuck.” He had to get ahold of his desires. “You can go back to bed.”
The screech of the chair she pulled out from where it was wedged under the passage door made him cringe. She kept the chair between them as if she planned to use it like a lion tamer would. Her gaze darted around the room, and she winced.
Following the
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