“No,” Clare answered. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you checked the carriage house?”

“Yes. He’s not there.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

Fourteen

Fiona Winters was quite positive she was not the sort of woman to attract the notice of a man such as Vashion Elliot, Duke of Rathstone. She was his daughter’s governess. A nobody. An orphan with a few farthings to her name. She liked to think she was a good governess to Annabella, but she was hardly pretty. Or at least not in the fashion of opera singers or ballerinas, as was the Duke’s well-known preference.

“I beg your pardon, your grace?”

He took a step back and tilted his head to one side. His gaze moved across her face. “I think the fresh air of the Italian countryside has added a nice glow to your cheeks.” He raised a hand and captured a stray wisp of her hair dancing on the breeze before her eye. His fingers brushed her face as he tucked it behind her ear. “You look much improved in the past three months.”

She held her breath and managed a strangled, “Thank you.” She was sure a steady diet had more to do with her health than fresh air. Just as she was sure the Duke of Rathstone meant nothing by his comment on her appearance. “If you’ll excuse me, your grace,” she said. “I must get Annabella ready for the Earl and Countess Diberto’s visit.”

Clare reached for a research book on peerage and cracked it open. She was about to introduce two new characters and had to make sure she knew the correct titles of the Italian aristocracy. Just as she’d flipped to a page in the middle of the book, the doorbell rang and “Paperback Writer” played throughout the house. It was Saturday morning and she wasn’t expecting anyone.

Clare rose from her chair and moved to one of the dormer windows that overlooked the driveway in front. Leo’s Lincoln was parked below, but she had a feeling Leo wasn’t the driver. She pushed open the window and a blast of cold December air hit her face and seeped through the tight cotton weave of her black turtleneck.

“Leo?”

“Nope.” Sebastian stepped out from beneath her porch and looked up at her. He wore his black parka and a pair of black-rimmed sunglasses.

She hadn’t seen him since the day before, when she’d run out of her mother’s pantry. She could feel her cheeks heat up despite the cold. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to see him for a while. Maybe a year. “Why are you here?”

“This is where you live.”

Looking down at him made her stomach feel a little light. The kind of light that had nothing to do with any sort of deep emotion and everything to do with desire. The kind of desire any woman would feel for a man whose looks combined with his smile were an overkill. “Why?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you why.”

Let him in her house? Was he crazy? Just yesterday he’d warned her that he was going to give her what he thought she needed. Of course, that had all been predicated on her finding herself half naked with him again. And she wasn’t altogether sure she could swear-

“Come on, Clare. Open the door.”

– it wouldn’t happen again. And while she’d love to blame the whole thing on him, he’d been right. She was old enough to know where an unbuttoned sweater would lead.

“I’m freezing my ass off out here,” he called up to her, interrupting her thoughts, not that they were cohesive anyway.

Clare stuck her head farther out the window and looked at the neighbors on both sides. Thank goodness no one heard him. “Quit yelling.”

“If you’re worried I’m going to try and jump your bones again, don’t,” he yelled louder. “I can’t take another rejection so soon after the last. I had to stay in that damn pantry for a good half hour.”

“Shhh.” She shut the windows with a snap and moved from her office. If she hadn’t been afraid of what he might holler next, she wouldn’t let him in, but she suspected he knew that. She moved down the stairs and through the kitchen to the entry. “What?” she said as she stuck her head out the front door.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Is that how you greet all your guests? No wonder everyone thinks you’re such a nice sweet girl.”

“You’re not a guest.” He laughed, and she sighed with resignation. “Fine.” She swung the door open and he stepped inside. “Five minutes.”

“Why?” He stopped in front of her and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you having one of your prayer circles?”

“No.” She shut the door and leaned her back against it. “I’m working.”

“Can you take an hour’s break?”

She could, but she didn’t want to spend any of her breaks with Sebastian. He smelled like crisp cold air and one of those man soaps like Irish Spring or Calvin Klein. He was acting more chipper than normal and he’d turned down his mojo, but she didn’t trust him. Now it was her turn to ask, “Why?”

“So you can come help me pick out a Christmas present for my father.”

She didn’t trust him not to try something, and she didn’t trust herself not to let him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy a gift in Seattle?”

“Dad’s not coming to Seattle for Christmas, and I finally found a buyer for my mother’s house. I don’t know if it’ll close in time for me to make it back here to spend it with him, so I was hoping to find something before I have to leave. You’ll help me out with this. Right?”

“Not a chance.”

He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her. “I helped you with the outdoor lights, and you said you’d help me out with Leo.”

She didn’t think that was exactly how it had happened. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Tomorrow. A whole twenty-four more hours to forget about the things he’d done with his mouth. Things besides talking. Things he was really good at doing.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” As if he read her mind, he held up his hands and said, “I won’t touch you. Believe me, I don’t want to spend another day with blue balls.”

She couldn’t believe he’d just said that to her. Wait, this was Sebastian. Of course she could believe it. He must have mistaken her astonishment for confusion because he tipped his head back and raised a brow.

“You have heard of blue balls?”

“Yes, Sebastian. I’ve heard of…” She paused and raised a hand in the air. “…of that.” She didn’t want to talk about his testicles. That seemed highly…personal. Something he’d discuss with a girlfriend.

He unzipped the front of his coat. “Don’t tell me you can’t say blue balls.”

“I can, but I prefer not to have those words in my mouth.” Lord, she hadn’t meant to sound like her mother.

Beneath his coat he wore a chambray shirt tucked into his jeans. “This, from the woman who called me a dickhead. You didn’t seem to have a problem with that in your mouth.”

“I was provoked.”

“So was I.”

Maybe, but he’d been the worst offender. Lying about them sleeping together had been worse than her accusing him of taking advantage of her. Way worse.

“Get your coat. Believe me, after yesterday, I learned my lesson. I don’t want to touch you any more than you want to touch me.”

Which was the problem. She wasn’t all that sure she didn’t want him to touch her or her to touch him. She was sure, though, that it was probably a bad idea. She frowned and looked down at herself. At the bottom of her ribbed turtleneck that didn’t quite touch the black leather belt looped in the waistband of her jeans. “I’m not really dressed for shopping.”

“Why not? You look relaxed. Not so uptight. I like you this way.”

She glanced up at him. He didn’t appear to be joking. Her hair was down and she was only wearing mascara. Sometimes her friends teased her because she put on a little makeup every day, even when she didn’t have plans to leave the house. Maddie and Lucy and Adele didn’t care if they scared the UPS man. She did. “One hour?”

“Yep.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” she said through a sigh as she moved to the closet and reached for her coat.

“No, you won’t.” He gave her one of the lopsided smiles that creased the corners of his green eyes. “I’ll behave even if you beg me to throw you down and climb on top of you.” He stepped behind her and helped her into her black peacoat. “Well, maybe not if you beg.”

She turned her head and looked up at him as she pulled her hair from the wool collar. The ends of her hair brushed his hands before he removed them from her shoulders. “I won’t beg.”

He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Not from me. I mean it.”

He looked back up into her eyes. “Clare, women say a lot of things they don’t really mean. Especially you.” He stepped back and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “Gotta purse you need to take?”

She reached for her crocodile hobo bag and hung it on one shoulder. Sebastian followed her outside, and she locked the door behind them.

“I saw a print shop downtown,” he said as he walked to the passenger side of the Town Car and opened the door. “I’d like to start there.”

The print shop was actually more of an art gallery and frame shop, and Clare had bought several pieces from the shop in the past. Today, as she and Sebastian walked through the gallery, she noticed the way he studied the paintings. He’d stop, turn his head to one side, and dip one shoulder lower than the other. She also noticed he stopped most often in front of nudes.

“I don’t think Leo would hang that one in his living room,” she said as he studied a beautiful woman laying on her stomach amidst rumpled white sheets, the sunlight caressing her bare behind.

“Probably not. Did you see anything you like in here?” he asked.