The Improper Companion

Chapter 11

"You were wrong about your mother," Fiona said, fervently praying she wasn't messing this up.

"Wrong how?" he arched his brow, arrogant as ever.

"She does not need a companion, your grace."

"You do realise that you're jeopardising your position, don't you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I do," she sighed.

"If she doesn't need you, then what does she need, Miss Butterworth?" he asked, solemn once again.

"You."

"What do you mean? I am her son and I live with her," he scoffed.

"Not all the time. When was the last time you had a proper conversation with her?"

That seemed to make him angry for he stood up, his frown sliding back into place.

"You are in no position to question my relationship with my mother, you hear me?" he all but growled.

"And yet here I am, questioning it," she replied, refusing to let him cow her.

He strode up to her and placed his hands on either sides of her chair, his face only inches away from hers, effectively trapping her.

"I take very good care of my mother. I make sure she never has to ask for anything. And speaking of not always being here in the country—I have work to do outside of this estate. I must attend the parliament and I have friends in London. I hired you precisely for this reason—so you could entertain her during my absence. If you cannot do it then feel free to leave."

"Now look here, Duke," Fiona began, feeling the anger rising in her. "I am perfectly able to do my duty. But that isn't what your mother needs. Surely you don't need to go to London so often? And even when you are here, you barely spare any time for her. You're locked up in your god forsaken study doing God knows what when you can spend some of that time in your mother's company!" she finished with a lift of her chin. That brought her face closer to his but she was past caring.

"I am not discussing this with you," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"Why not?" she shot back.

"Because it is none of your bloody business," he shouted.

Fiona flinched, but she wasn't going to back down now.

"Anything that concerns her grace, concerns me. I'm her paid companion after all. And this is a part of my job," she said and stared into his eyes.

But he was looking down—at her mouth. Fiona felt her traitorous heart give a fierce kick in her chest.

"Say something," she huffed, annoyed of the effect he had on her. His blue eyes that had turned dark shot to hers. And then he pulled her up and kissed her.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew that this wasn't supposed to happen. She knew that she wasn't supposed to allow his hands to roam her back so freely or allow him to plaster her body to his. She certainly knew that she shouldn't have lifted her hands and twined them about his neck.

But she was far beyond caring and she suspected he was too.

He wasn't kissing her softly, the way he had that morning. He was kissing her angrily—as if punishing her for talking too much. But she was angry too. And she parried back, meeting his sensual assault with one of her own.

"What are you doing to me?" he murmured.

"I suspect the same thing that you are doing to me," she replied shakily.

He kissed her again, although he was more gentle this time, slowly coaxing her lips apart.

Fiona let our out a sigh of longing.

This was beyond her wildest dreams. That the Duke was the one kissing her so made it all the more special.

She could feel the heat of him, only her gown and his linen shirt separating their bodies. His hand that had been stroking her back slowly slid forward. He skimmed her waist before resting it on her bosom.

For a second, she stood frozen. The intimacy of the caress stopping all thoughts in her mind.

But only for a second.

Then she pushed him away, positive her cheeks were red as tomatoes.

"You are betrothed, your grace," she said gently.

"You didn't seem to remember that a few second ago," he said, his breathing still laboured.

Fiona stared at him. "I was not the one who initiated this."

"Oh really? If I remember correctly, you came to my chamber in a state of undress. You insisted on staying in spite of my telling you to leave," he said, his anger returning.

"I only wanted to talk!"

"Yes, I suppose we've spoken enough. You may leave now."

Fiona gave him a curt nod and began walking towards the door. Just as her hand landed on the latch, he spoke.

"Fiona, wait."

She paused but she didn't turn around. Her pride was in tatters and she was holding in her tears with a lot of difficulty.

"I sorry," he groaned. "I didn't mean any of that. I take responsibility for whatever happened. I lost control."

Fiona turned around slowly, hoping the dark would hide her expression from him.

"As you so kindly pointed out, I didn't object either. So I think it's better if we stay away from each other."

She held her breath, waiting for him to refuse. Hoping, silly girl that was, that he would tell her that he couldn't stay away from her.

"Yes, you're right."

Fiona nodded stiffly and slipped out before he could say something more. He'd done enough damage for one evening as such.

****************

After Fiona left, Nate poured himself a glass of whiskey. Strange how he'd started drinking more than he usually did ever since she'd come into his life.

Oh but he'd been an utter arse now.

She'd come with pure intentions—risking her reputation for his mother and he'd repaid her like this. By mauling her and kissing her.

His mother. Yes, that was what had made him so angry. Hearing from Fiona what he already knew, hearing her berate him for it reminded him of his weakness. Of how badly he'd bungled his relationship with his mother.

But he was too proud to simply apologise to her for not being there for her.

Then again, he was making it up to her, wasn't he? He was getting married and soon she'd have grandchildren to coddle.

Married.

Sophia.

How could he have forgotten about her? Yes, he wasn't in love with her and he had chosen her for more practical reasons, but he respected her. He'd certainly intended to be a loyal husband.

And how could he go behind her back in such a fashion?

The worst part was, the thought of sharing a bed with Sophia left a bad taste in his mouth.

She wouldn't respond to his kisses the way Fiona had. She wouldn't argue with him so fearlessly for a cause that had nothing to do with her.

Nate scrubbed his hand against his face.

Goodness gracious, what had he gotten himself into?!

There was only one thing to do now—stay away from Fiona as she'd herself suggested.