The Governess Was Wanton by Julia Kelly

Author:Julia Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

Asten watched the woman run away from him in a flurry of star-strewn silk. He sat down heavily on the bench that was still warm from her body.

What had he been thinking? He’d tempted a woman out into a shadowed garden only to lift her skirts and lick her until she fell apart in his arms. He didn’t do those sorts of things. He was a solid, steady man, not some rake who bed-hopped around town with willing widows and married ladies whose husbands had long neglected them.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he’d done. For the first time in years, he felt truly alive. His mystery woman was like a dream—a temptress sent to pull out a side of him he hadn’t indulged in a very long time. She was pure passion and pleasure. The way she’d cried out when she climaxed—he was still hard thinking about it. He wanted that in his life. It was as though she’d pulled the black cloth from over his eyes and shown him the truth.

He’d accidentally fallen into a sort of monklike life nearly devoid of passion. All of his efforts focused on the things that gave him honor: his daughter, his work, his estate. But then—with all the subtlety of a hammer swinging through a pane of glass—Miss Falsum had gone and smashed that all to bits.

Of course, now he had to go back home and see the woman who’d prompted this streak of wildness in him. His mystery woman might be fantasy, but Miss Woodward was as real as could be. He’d hoped to distract himself from the beguiling governess with a kiss, but even in the midst of passion she’d never been far from his mind. He’d tried to lose himself in this mysterious woman for a moment, but there Miss Woodward was in little gestures and quirks of tone. The two women were inextricably linked in his mind, and it was bound to drive him mad.

Asten’s head fell into his hands, and he gave in fully to his frustration. But then something caught his eye—a scrap of white lying innocently on the gravel of the path. He picked it up. A lady’s handkerchief. He ran his fingers over the lawn and the embroidered edge. Around the outside of the scrap of cloth ran an elaborate vine stitched in green. The design came together in one corner, ending with a large pink flower—Hedera helix and Pelargonium quercifolium. Ivy and geranium. It was unusual and distinctive and he had no doubt in his mind that it was hers.

A smile slid over his lips as he climbed the stairs to return to the ballroom. She hadn’t given him her name, but she’d left something of herself behind. He toyed with the handkerchief when he made his way through the crowd, hardly seeing the crush of people around him. It wasn’t until he came upon his daughter that he realized his dreamlike state.

“There you are, Papa,” said Eleanora.

Realizing he

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