Bran woke up feeling refreshed but also a bit unsettled. Which was odd since he’d enjoyed the best sex of his life the night before. To think that Jo’s husband had said she wasn’t a real woman… If the man wasn’t already dead, Bran would take him out and beat him.

And yet Jo’s revelations had made him feel strange. They’d reminded him a bit of his own marriage. It had been far different, of course, but they’d had problems in the bedroom. They’d maintained separate beds because Bran didn’t like to feel someone next to him. It stemmed, he knew, from his childhood when he’d loathed being touched by anyone. His brothers had made a game of it, going out of their way to bump into him or find some reason to touch him. It had just been another way for them to torture him.

When he’d gotten older, maybe twelve, he began to learn to suffer through it. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction anymore of frustrating him. He thought he’d conquered that problem, but when he’d married Louisa, he realized he hadn’t. She hadn’t been too upset about having separate bedrooms, but when it came to sex, she was invariably disappointed when he left her immediately after.

That he’d stayed with Jo last night, even for a short time, had surprised him.

Hudson came to assist him with his preparations for the day, and after Bran was bathed, he started his massage. “You’re quite relaxed this morning, my lord. Your shoulders are particularly loose. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were with a woman last night.”

They’d noticed years ago that having sex seemed to improve Bran’s tension and anxiety. He saw no reason to lie to Hudson. The valet was Bran’s closest confidant, and Bran knew anything he told him would be kept inviolate. “I was. I must say, I do feel remarkable today. I’m not even dreading a cravat.”

“Well, that’s inspiring,” Hudson said. “Since you didn’t leave the house, I assume it was Mrs. Shaw?”

“Why not the new cook?” She was a few years older than Bran with a rather plain face but a charming, effusive demeanor.

Hudson laughed. He moved down Bran’s right arm. “I’ve watched you with the governess. I haven’t seen you look at a woman like that in a long time. Maybe ever.”

Bran tipped his head to peer up at him. “What about my wife?”

“It was different. Don’t ask me how, it just is. Perhaps because Mrs. Shaw is the governess. She’s forbidden, and that makes her more attractive.”

Bran supposed that was possible, but whatever the reason, he couldn’t argue with Hudson’s assessment—this was different. Jo was different.

He recalled her sense of wonder and the absolute joy she’d taken from their coupling. She’d truly thought she was to blame for her disaster of a marriage. And make no mistake, it sounded like an utter disaster. Because of her blackguard husband.

Hudson had moved to his left arm. “You’re tensing up. What’s the matter?”

“Just thinking of something I shouldn’t.” He couldn’t focus on Jo’s husband—it would drive him insane. He had to think it would be even worse for her. She’d lived with him, with his cruelty, for eight years. That left a mark. It had to. He knew from experience. It wasn’t until he’d gotten away to Barbados that he’d realized the damage his family had done. On his own, he’d learned to accept who he was and forge his own path without their expectations or demands.

Jo deserved to feel the same freedom and to find the ability to bury the past.

Hudson finished with his massage. “Are you ready to finish dressing? You did say you weren’t dreading a cravat.”

Bran didn’t have to leave the house for a while yet—later he was meeting with Kendal, who’d pledged to help him find his way in the House of Lords. His secretary would be here shortly, but Bran didn’t bother with formality with Dixon. “I haven’t completely lost my edge,” he said wryly. “I’ll don the rest before I leave for my appointment.”

Hudson inclined his head as Bran stood and left the dressing room. As he walked out of his chamber, he stared at the door to Jo’s room. Was she there? No, she’d likely be upstairs with Evie.

He wanted to speak with her but didn’t want to interrupt their routine. There’d be time later. He went downstairs, and Bucket met him at the stairs. “Good morning, my lord. A letter arrived for you, and I placed it on your desk.”

“Thank you, Bucket. My secretary will be here shortly. Please show him to my office.”

Bucket nodded. “Of course.”

Bran strode to his office and saw the letter on his desk. He recognized the flourish on the K of his name. It was from his mother. He didn’t really want to open it but supposed he must. Whenever one of her letters would reach him in Barbados, he could ignore it and simply say it had been lost. That happened to correspondence all the time. He also used it as an excuse to write to his parents infrequently. He hadn’t bothered writing to his brothers. However, in retrospect, perhaps he should’ve written to Gwen more often.

Sitting behind the desk, he opened the missive and laid it flat on the desktop.

None? Bran supposed he ought to go to something, but reasoned that if Kendal could avoid such nonsense, so could he.

And it wasn’t just that his mother would be there, though that was a large part of it. He really didn’t care to see her. That she was treating him with deference and even a bit of respect was strange. He didn’t know what to do with that.

Was this some sort of backward attempt at an apology? He stared at the words on the page, wondering what he could expect from her. He realized he’d thought she’d treat him the same as she always had, but of course it was different now. He was a grown man, the earl. Could he allow a different relationship with her? Did he even want to?

Tension coiled through his muscles, and he realized he’d need another massage, probably before he went to meet Kendal. He had no idea how to respond to his mother, so he wouldn’t. He wasn’t ready for her to visit again either.

He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. What the devil had happened to his life? He missed the sun, the smell of ginger lilies, the feel of the warm sand on his bare feet.

And yet England wasn’t as terrible as he’d feared. His household was shaping up, Evie had found a dear friend, his mother was no longer treating him as an aberration, and he’d met Jo.

He liked her very much. And as he’d anticipated, he especially liked bedding her. He hoped she felt the same way and anticipated speaking with her. He rose, intending to find her, damn the routine.

Except Dixon arrived at that moment so he sat back down. There’d be time to speak with her later. And time for his anticipation to grow.

* * *

After successfully avoiding Bran for the first half of the day, Jo was glad for the excuse of taking Evie to see Becky in order to avoid him in the afternoon. As it happened, he’d gone out as well, so her plan hadn’t even been necessary.

And now, as she sat with Nora in her sister’s drawing room, she wondered why she’d bothered at all. Last night had been amazing—never mind the damper he’d thrown on her euphoria at the end—and she ought not feel embarrassed around him.

Perhaps embarrassed wasn’t the right word. Her greatest fear was that if they were together, everyone would know what had transpired, as if the evidence of their sin would be written on their foreheads for the world to see.

Sin? Was that how she saw it? She’d listened to Matthias for far too long. He’d told her that sex was a necessary sin—provided they did it to beget a child. And when that didn’t happen, what was the point of it? She’d begun to think that it had all been a ruse to cover his own shame.

After Bran had left her, she’d lain awake for some time thinking of what had transpired. He’d completely rewritten everything she knew about intimacy and sex—about herself. She wasn’t less than a woman, and sexual acts weren’t horrible. They were, with the right person, quite spectacular.

“You keep doing that,” Nora said, eyeing her carefully.

“What?”

“Smiling to yourself. Is there something I should know?”

Written on her forehead, indeed. Jo leaned forward and plucked a biscuit from the tray. “No.” She took a large bite to prevent herself from saying anything further. A part of her wanted to tell Nora what had happened. They’d always shared things. In fact, the only things Jo hadn’t told her had been to do with Matthias and their marriage. And it wasn’t that she’d been keeping secrets. No, she’d been struggling to survive the guilt and shame of it all.

Nora’s eyes narrowed in that older-sister way that seemed to peel away a younger sibling’s artifice. “You used to tell me things. I fear the closeness we once shared is a thing of the past.”

Oh, she was good. Jo swallowed too quickly and coughed.

Nora’s gaze shaded with concern. “Are you all right?”

Jo took a sip of lukewarm tea and nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m better than fine, actually. I don’t know that I’ve been this fine in quite some time.”

Nora’s eyes widened. “Is that so?”

Jo glanced around the room but knew they were alone. “Something happened with Br—Lord Knighton.”

“Were you about to call him by his Christian name?” Nora shook her head. “Never mind. I think I can perhaps guess. I always suspected that the two of you had sneaked off during the Harcourt ball, but every time I tried to broach the subject, you diverted the conversation.”

Jo shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to say anything.” She’d also thought it a one-time occurrence. Could the same be said of last night? He’d given her the impression that he’d like to do it again, and she had no intention of turning him away.

“I hope you won’t think this a terrible question, but is that why you went to become his governess, so the two of you could have an affair?”

She couldn’t be serious. Jo’s jaw dropped, but she quickly snapped it closed. “No.” At least not as far as she knew. Was it possible Bran had manipulated the situation to his advantage, that he’d hired her in order to seduce her?

That was absurd. Evie had practically begged for her to be hired. But if that had only served Bran’s desires, so much the better. Jo felt a bit queasy.

“That was a terrible question to ask,” Nora said.

“Yes, it was,” Jo responded quietly. She folded her hands in her lap. “After the marriage I endured, I think I deserve a smattering of happiness.”

Nora stood up from her chair and joined Jo on the settee, sitting close beside her. She smiled encouragingly. “Of course you do. I wish you’d tell me what happened with Matthias. I sense you were far more miserable than you’ve ever let on, and I feel terrible about it.”

You should, a tiny voice at the back of Jo’s mind said. She hushed that voice. And then she braced herself to finally tell her sister the truth—or at least a portion of it.

“I lay with Bran last night because he’s unbearably attractive, and he makes me feel like a desirable woman. Matthias never made me feel like that. He made it clear he disliked sex because I wasn’t very good at it, that I was utterly lacking.”

With each word she’d uttered, another shade of color had leached from Nora’s face until she was nearly white. It took her a moment to respond, but when she did, there were tears in her eyes. “Jo, I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. I never wanted you to know that I was unhappy. Nor did I want to dwell on it—and I still don’t.”

Nora blinked. “I understand completely. I wish I’d known.”

“What would you have done?” Jo asked. “Nothing. Anyway, it’s in the past now, and as I said, I don’t wish to dwell on it.”

Taking a deep breath, Nora smiled brightly. “Your strength and courage is an inspiration.” She gave Jo a sly look. “Things with Knighton are different from with Matthias, I take it?”

“I had no idea what I was missing.”

Nora giggled. “It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

Jo grinned. “I might use other words beyond lovely. Such as astonishing. Or incredible.”

“And this has been going on awhile?” Nora asked.

“No, just last night, but I expect it will happen again.” She hoped it would happen again.

Nora’s expression dimmed. “I would be remiss if I didn’t caution you. What are your plans? Will he marry you?”

“He did offer—at the Harcourt ball, actually.”

Nora gaped. “You were keeping secrets.”

Jo laughed softly. “No, I simply didn’t see any reason to tell you something that was of no consequence. We barely knew each other then. Anyway, I can’t marry him. He needs a countess who can provide him with an heir.”

“So this truly is just an affair, then? What will happen when he does take a countess? Will you stop being Evie’s governess?”

These questions were why she’d been hesitant to tell Nora. Or anyone for that matter. They were valid and reasonable, and she ought to consider them. She had considered them. It made her feel ill.

“I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m fully committed to Evie—I adore her.”

“Of course. I just don’t want to see you hurt. You’ve been through enough.” Nora winced and shook her head. “Which is precisely why you deserve this. Just…be careful.” She reached out and squeezed Jo’s hand, then her eyes narrowed. “And if Knighton hurts you, he’ll have me to answer to.”

For the rest of the day, Jo couldn’t help but think of what Nora had asked her. Had Bran hired her in the hopes that they would have a liaison? She knew that Evie had wanted her too, but Jo couldn’t shake the idea that she’d somehow been manipulated. Maybe that was because no decision had ever been truly hers.

She should ask him, but her doubt got the better of her and she left dinner early, claiming a headache. He’d seemed disappointed but also kind.

He hadn’t lured her into seduction. But even if he had, did she really mind?