By all the saints, he wanted to pull her into his arms and keep her there.
He drew her to her feet instead, the scent of her Winter’s soap tantalizing him. The hem of her dressing gown brushed his trousers.
“What bloody language is that book?” he asked to distract himself from her intoxicating proximity.
“Latin,” she said, a soft smile curving her lips. “I taught it to myself, for my governesses never taught me because… Oh, it scarcely matters now.”
“Governesses?” He searched her countenance, wondering, not for the first time, about her background.
Surely most women in her circumstance had landed there out of necessity, and likely were not the sorts of ladies who would have once had governesses of their own. And he did not think he was mistaken in that she had been about to say something she had thought better of.
Miss Persephone Wren had secrets. He was willing to wager everything he owned on it. And he wanted to know them all.
“Yes,” she said simply, instead of offering the detailed explanation he would have preferred. “Governesses.”
“I thought governesses were for fancy ladies. Daughters of earls and rich coves and such.” Their hands were still linked. He was reluctant to release her, though he knew she must be tired.
“Ordinarily.” Her pink tongue stole from beneath the seam of her lips, sweeping over her Cupid’s bow.
She had done nothing to sate his curiosity. It would seem she wanted to keep her secrets. And his lust would not be sated either. It was time to go. He had done his duty and awakened her that she might garner a bit more sleep before her day began.
Rafe forced himself to drop her hand, but the loss of her touch was a physical ache.
He tamped down the longing and offered her a bow. “Good morrow, Miss Wren.”
Frustrated with himself, he reached for his taper.
“What were you doing in the library at this hour of the morning?” she asked him primly.
Providing him a reason to linger for another moment.
He gave her his best smile, the one that never failed to charm the ladies. “I spied a glow beneath the door when I was on my way to the mews.”
Her gaze searched his. “Where are you going?”
“Across the sea,” he quipped lightly. “Would you like to accompany me?”
“Yes,” she surprised him by saying. “I very much would. I think it unlikely any of my woes would follow me that far.”
“And what woes does a beautiful governess have?” He thought of what Gregson had done to her and could have kicked himself. “Aside from the one I whipped bloody on your behalf, that is.”
Her countenance turned sad. “More than I wish to have. That is certain.”
He did not begin to understand the protective surge he had for her. He wanted to carry her away and make sure she never knew a moment of harm again. And yet, how foolish that was. He scarcely even knew her.
Still, why did he feel as if he did, as if he always had, in the deepest sense?
“Any others in need of a whipping?” he asked, striving to keep his voice light, though he sensed a heaviness within her. A sadness. “I am more than happy to oblige.”
“You never did say how you managed to be in a position to administer Lord Gregson’s…reckoning,” she said carefully.
What a polite phrasing she had. Still the dignified governess, though it was the early hours of the morning, her feet were bare, she was clad in nothing more substantial than a layer or two of fabric, and they were alone. Her hair was unbound, by God.
He had been too entranced by the rest of her to notice until now. How? He could not fathom it as he watched the candlelight glistening in her long locks.
He needed to end this dangerous turn of thought.
“My thrashing of him, you mean.”