Season Of Secrets: Not Just a Seduction

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‘You were about to say something earlier as I began to leave the room…?’

Adam scowled as he tried to remember what she was referring to, his mind and body both still dominated by only one thought: his desire for her.

Ah, yes…‘I believe I was about to suggest that a riding habit might also be a useful addition to your wardrobe.’

Her eyes widened dubiously. ‘A riding habit, my lord?’

His jaw tightened. ‘Yes. Perhaps in turquoise or blue?’ he found himself adding—before instantly castigating himself for caring what the colour of her riding habit should be.

‘Very well, my lord.’ She looked at him for several seconds longer, before giving a brief curtsy. ‘If you will excuse me, I must return to the schoolroom.’

‘And the seamstress.’

‘Indeed.’ She did not look at him again before leaving.

Adam frowned darkly once Elena had departed his study, knowing that he had made life decidedly uncomfortable for himself just now.

The throbbing ache in his groin spoke of his obvious physical discomfort, but it was the inner dissatisfaction, with his own completely uncharacteristic behaviour of making love to a female servant in his own household, and Elena’s reaction to it once she had found the time and privacy in which to reflect, which caused Adam to continue to soundly castigate himself.

Elena might choose to believe that he did not take enough of an interest in his daughter or her life, but Adam knew enough to know that Amanda had been happier in recent weeks, more contented, since the advent of her new governess into her life.

His unacceptable behaviour just now might have put that in jeopardy if, on reflection, Elena should decide that she could not continue working for a man who attempted to take liberties with her.

There was another aspect to consider, Adam realised with a heavy heart, and that was his loss of control in kissing her at all. A loss of control he certainly did not welcome. Most especially with a woman he was fast beginning to suspect was much more than she seemed.

Chapter Six (#ulink_0ba4d064-a6e9-5fcf-a3ed-614f1fa7dace)

‘I thought your lessons would be over for the morning?’

‘We are just finishing now.’ Elena deliberately kept her gaze away from Adam and on the textbook she had been using to teach Amanda some basic arithmetic, but that did not stop the colour from warming her cheeks as she recalled—how would she ever be able to forget!—being kissed by him so passionately.

In fact, Elena had lain awake in her bed these past two nights unable to think of anything else.

Neville’s brutality two months ago had been…shocking. Horrendous. Something Elena knew she would also never ever forget and not in a good way like Adam’s kiss. She had been sure the experience would prevent her from ever allowing another man to so much as hold her, let alone kiss her, in future. And yet, not only had she allowed her handsome, charismatic employer to do so, but she knew she had kissed him back.

Because she felt safe with him? Could that be it? Yet how was it possible for her to feel safe with a man whom she also found so physically arousing? The feelings he’d created inside her still made her blush just to think of them.

‘Papa?’ Amanda looked at her father uncertainly as he stood in the doorway.

Elena’s breath caught in her throat as she at last looked up and took in Adam’s wide-shouldered appearance. He was pristinely attired in a deep-grey superfine, black waistcoat and pale-grey pantaloons tucked into black Hessians, with his dark hair brushed neatly back from his harshly handsome face. A face that looked every bit as remote as on the first occasion Elena had met him, grey eyes chillingly cold as he met her gaze unblinkingly. As warning, perhaps, that he deeply regretted the last time the two of them had been together? As if Elena had not already guessed that from the distance he had kept from her ever since then.

‘What do you have in the basket, Papa?’

Elena, having also noted the wicker basket beside him in the doorway, had been wondering the same. Especially as it gave every appearance of being a picnic basket.

‘Our picnic luncheon,’ Adam confirmed that suspicion.

‘A picnic, Papa…?’ Amanda looked even more bewildered.

He nodded. ‘It is the perfect day for it, if you two ladies would care to join me?’

Two ladies? Adam seriously expected Elena to join father and daughter for their picnic?

‘Really, Papa?’ For once Amanda completely forgot her usual reserve when in her father’s company, as she instead jumped up and down excitedly. ‘Oh, may we, Mrs Leighton? May we?’ She looked up at Elena appealingly with those beguiling sapphire-blue eyes.

Much as Elena loved the thought of sitting on a blanket beneath one of the splendid oak trees in the garden, or possibly beside the huge lake beyond the gardens at the back of the house, and enjoying a leisurely alfresco luncheon, she was unsure of the wisdom of spending even that amount of time in close proximity with Adam, following the inappropriate behaviour between them, and her confusion, and his frosty demeanour towards her, ever since.

‘Mrs Leighton?’ Adam prompted when she didn’t answer.

Elena deliberately kept her attention centred on Amanda. ‘I am sure you do not need my permission to join your father for luncheon, Amanda,’ she said with a smile. ‘I, however, have some things in the schoolroom in need of my attention—’

‘Such as…?’ Adam challenged her coolly; he had initially been unsure of the wisdom of inviting Elena to join them in the first place, but now found, contrarily, that he was more than a little irritated at her reluctance to accept that invitation now he had made it, dash it all!

A frown appeared between those blue-green eyes. ‘I have tomorrow’s lessons to prepare—’

‘And, as such, they can as easily be prepared this evening,’ he dismissed briskly. ‘It is too fine a day to spend all of it shut indoors.’

‘I would not wish to intrude.’ Her smile was overbright, her gaze not quite meeting his.

Adam’s mouth tightened. It was as he had thought might be the case; after his appalling behaviour, she could barely stand to look at him, let alone spend any more time in his company than she had to. Perhaps if he tried to ease her nerves? ‘It would be the ideal occasion on which to show off what I am presuming is one of your new gowns,’ he cajoled, while allowing himself to inwardly admire the way in which her deep rose-coloured gown perfectly complemented her ivory complexion and the darkness of her hair.

She wore those dark tresses in a less-severe style today, too, several loose curls at her temples and nape giving her a much more youthful appearance, bringing about a sudden recollection of how she had not been altogether honest with him in regard to her true age when she had first applied for the job.