Free Gift-Wrapped Governess by Sophia James Page B

that the promises were not pretended and that all he felt between them was real and true and right. But Catherine’s poison had seeped in deep and there had been so many years of only regret.
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    Seraphina saw the shock reflected in his eyes, burning amber with a hint of something lost, the wound that marred half his cheek redder today than she had ever seen it.
    He was a gentleman caught in the crossfire of society rules, one half of him wanting her too much and the other half not enough.
    False promises? He made no move to deny them. She might have wept had he moved away altogether, but he did not, his grasp on her cast in steel.
    Was it too soon to tell him that she would take such a lightly given troth and always honour it? If she gave him the words that hammered beneath every touch of skin and breath and heartbeat, what might happen?
    I love you. I have always loved you. I shall love you for ever and ever until I take the last breath of life and then beyond.
    Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks unbidden. She did not brush them away or hide her face against his clothing. No, she looked at him with all that she felt, hoping it would be enough for him to understand, though when he set her apart she knew that he had not and the moment of honesty was lost.
    â€˜You are young, Seraphina, and I should not wish to rush you into something you might later regret.’
    It seemed so very simple to place the onus of his withdrawal onto her because she could make no defence against such an argument. The ghost of Catherine Blackhaven floated around them, too; Seraphina could almost see her in the expensive braided velvets she favoured, her décolletage as low as permitted in her search for favour from all manner of men. Lord, how Trey Stanford must have hated that.
    â€˜I am not like your wife.’ There, the words were out, bent into frankness and candour. Her parents’ marriage, after all, had been one where the truth was sacrificed to as much duplicity as could be managed and Seraphina had no will to follow such a path. If the duke was going to abandon her, then he had to know exactly what it was he forsook.
    Unexpectedly he smiled, the soft humour touching his eyes. ‘Aye, Seraphina, that you are not and I am glad for it.’
    His fingers trailed quietly against her cheek and she could feel the redness bloom down her throat beneath his fingers, but at the door someone hammered, loud against the quiet, unreal in the context of the room, an unwanted intrusion.
    â€˜It looks like we have company,’ the Duke of Blackhaven said as he moved to the chair on the opposite side of his desk before calling an entrance. His man came in quickly, announcing the arrival of guests, and Lord and Lady Westleigh walked forwards.
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    Lady Margaret and Lord Gordon Westleigh were nothing at all like the couple Seraphina might have imagined. Instead of being tall, dark and beautiful like her brother, Margaret Blackhaven was short and rather stout, her mop of red hair pulled back into an ill-fashioned bun. Her husband looked like a copy of his wife, though his pate was balding, the few straggling hairs left carefully combed. Both smiled profuselyand looked more than pleased to be at the end of their long and cold journey.
    â€˜It cannot possibly have been a year already since we were last here, Trey—’ she began, cutting the sentence short as she became aware of Seraphina’s presence in the room. The shout of children also distracted her as the three boys flew in, their arms around their aunt before she had the time to draw breath. The harassed-looking nurse followed them in.
    â€˜Aunty Margaret. Uncle Gordon. We were watching out for you.’ Gareth’s voice was filled with excitement.
    â€˜David said that you would not be here till the morrow.’ Terence added his piece and Margaret Westleigh’s eyes widened, the look she gave her brother one of astonishment and