Free Dark Surrender by Erica Ridley

and music. It is one thing to enjoy what others have created, and another to create something oneself. To indulge imagination as much as education.”
    “Ah, yes. The paints and the inappropriate melodies. As to dancing . . . ” His eyes shuttered. The sudden heat in his gaze made her suspect brushes and sheet music were the furthest things from his mind.
    Her fingers spasmed around the handle of her fork. Here it was after all, the moment when he dropped his kindly guise and . . . but no. Mr. Waldegrave didn’t look like he was plotting to ravish her. Rather, he looked as though he were . . . appreciating her. Analyzing her. Cataloguing every feature. And if the slight flush at his neck were any indication, he hadn’t meant to be caught at it.
    Heat crept up her cheeks. Doubly so, because for the first time, the attention had not been wholly unwanted. If anything, she had felt oddly . . . excited. It was thrilling to know he found her as physically attractive as she found him. It was also terrifying. And confusing. And embarrassing. She could not keep the heat from her cheeks.
    He dropped his gaze. “We do not dance, but I will order classroom supplies in the morning.”
    That fleeting moment of unguarded interest gave lie to the idea he was unfamiliar with dancing, but she felt it prudent not to challenge his statement. The last thing she needed was fantasies of her first dance, along with her first kiss.
    He slowly stirred a bit of honey into his tea. “While I am sending missives and errand boys, should I have someone fetch your belongings from wherever you call home? I can provide luggage for transport, if you have none.”
    That broke Violet out of her trance. Her entire body shivered with gooseflesh. No one must ever know where she hid.
    “N-no, you needn’t bother,” she stammered. “I have no belongings worth fetching. Thank you anyway.”
    His gaze sharpened, but his visage was impassive.
    She dropped her fork and wrung her hands beneath the table. A governess with no home or belongings? If he hadn’t been suspicious of her before, he certainly would be now. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
    Just as he had done earlier, he recognized her demurral for the evasion that it was, but foresaw no advantage in challenging the statement.
    “As you like,” was all he said before giving her a slight nod. “I shall send for some gowns for you as well. I don’t suppose you are particular in cut or style?”
    “Not at all. I’ll wear anything.” Violet’s thoughtless words triggered an irrational desire to swirl about in rich silks and satins, whatever was the first stare of fashion among the beau monde this season. But she would never have anything stylish to wear, nor any reason for finery. She’d already improved her lot from ragged hand-me-downs, to clean, serviceable dresses. The last thing either of them needed was her swanning about in clinging satin and plunging necklines.
    Mr. Waldegrave, for his part, also seemed struck with a mental picture of her in something other than a tattered day dress. His lips parted and his eyes locked with hers. Whatever image he held in his mind heated his ebony gaze before he blinked and looked away, jaws locked.
    Perhaps he, like all men, couldn’t help but fantasize about sins of the flesh. However, he was the first able-bodied man of her acquaintance to seem uncomfortable doing so. Violet wasn’t certain if it were more calming or more alarming to know that any physicality between them would have to come at her provocation. Particularly since she did find him devastatingly attractive.
    His black hair was shiny and thick, and curled slightly at the nape. His sooty lashes and dark eyes stood out starkly against the pale beauty of his face, but his most arresting feature was the wide, perfect mouth above his strong chin. He’d dressed for dinner in clothes equally as outdated as his earlier vestments, but nothing could hide the fine quality of both cloth and cut,