Apparently, she had a wanton side.
And not just a side.
A front, back, and everything in between.
This had been a warning. Playing with dukes, a girl was apt to get burned.
No more wild imaginings like the ones she’d experienced in the duke’s arms. That she could be someone else. That they could be equals.
None of it was true.
All of it was impossible.
She must bottle up these desires.
Label themimpossible.Place them on the shelf in her heart next to a host of other impossible things.
Kisses. Love. Children of her own.
All impossibilities.
Her fate had been sealed the moment she’d been left at the door of the orphanage.
And the duke’s fate had been sealed from birth as well.
Handsome, wealthy, born to privilege, he must marry well and produce a legitimate heir with the proper bloodlines.
It may be more difficult to avoid the duke than she’d planned, but she must focus on the tasks at hand—educating the children and discovering the truth about her past.
And when she did encounter him, she now understood that she could help him as well.
He didn’t believe that he could be a good father, but she sensed that wasn’t true.
He already loved his children, he just needed to open his heart enough to be vulnerable with them.
She was certain Michel and Adele could learn to care for him. Her job here was to help them become the joyful, loving family they were meant to be. Create new bonds that would last a lifetime. And then she would leave.
She was a fortress, alone and self-sufficient.
One day she would walk out the duke’s iron gate.
And never return.
Stupid, lusting oaf. Edgar banged his forehead against his desk at the foundry.
She was his servant. Under his protection.
He’d failed her and he’d failed himself.
“That was a very pretty sort of girl. The governess, was she?” asked Grafton, entering Edgar’s office.
Edgar straightened. “Yes.” He picked up a pencil and pretended to be busily drawing.
The pencil snapped in half. “Damn.”
“Your mind’s not here,” Grafton said. “Maybe it left with the governess?”
“Ungh,” Edgar grunted noncommittally.