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“I don’t care if you’re gently bred, roughly bred, or a loaf of brown bread with butter. You’re educated, you understand propriety, and you’re . . . breathing.”
And then she did what Chase yearned to do, often. She flung open the door, fled the house, and didn’t once look back.
“That was odd.” “What was odd?” “You sighed.” “That’s not odd at all. Not lately.” “Well, it was the tone of the sigh. Not weary or annoyed. It was . . . wistful.”
“I have never been wistful a day in my life. I am entirely devoid of wist.”
“Given the alacrity with which you fled my offer of employment this morning, it’s obvious something dire occurred to make you change your mind. If I were any sort of decent fellow, I would ask about that dire situation and sort it out. Seeing as I am a selfish blackguard, however, I intend to take full advantage of your lowered circumstances.”
“Mind, I am only doing this because it’s five o’clock, and I value being on time for dinner more than I value my pride.”
“Alex.” He opened his reddened eyes, struggling to focus on her face. “Sorry, love. Can’t lick your cunny tonight. I’m sick.”
Alex turned in place, trying her best to look aimless about it. Although she wasn’t certain it looked better to be aimlessly turning in circles than to be staring at a blank wall.
“You are not just the governess,” Chase corrected. “You are not ‘just’ anything.”
How dare he speak to you in such a manner. As if you were my—” “Mistress?” she supplied. That was the kindest way of putting it, he supposed. “Naturally he assumed I was your mistress.” She approached the other side of his desk and placed her hands flat on the top. “Do you know why? Because I am your mistress.
“You don’t overlook my flaws. You like them. They make you feel superior, attached as you are to all those smug principles.”
