The Wanton Governess. Barbara Monajem

her miserable life. Why couldn’t he just let her go? “I shall be safe enough outdoors if I remain out of sight.” That sounded absurd even to herself.

      “Nonsense,” he said. “I cannot possibly let you go. You are in my house and therefore my responsibility.”

      She rounded on him. “I perpetrated a fraud! I pretended to be your wife. You have no obligation to me whatsoever, Sir James. Please, just let me leave.”

      “Can you not understand,” he said, “that I wish to protect you?”

      She knew better than to believe that. Years of bitter experience had taught her what sort of protection men usually meant to offer her, but perhaps he was still one of that rare species, a true gentleman. He’d proven to be one all those years ago, when he’d visited friends near the village where she lived. He’d shown as much interest and admiration as the other men, flirting and courting her, often with that deliciously wicked look in his eye. That was when she’d discovered the existence of the Wanton inside her, who set up an insistent clamour every time Sir James came near: want him want him want him.