Chapter One: The Governess and the Manor Lord

The carriage wheels cracked against the gravel, breaking the silence of the night. A storm gathered over the distant hills, dark clouds smothering the moon until the estate loomed in shadow. Ashbourne Manor stood like a beast crouched upon the land, its windows aglow with faint candlelight.

Inside the carriage, her hands trembled against her lap. She told herself it was the chill of autumn, but it was not the cold that made her blood rush. She was no stranger to employment, yet this position felt different. A governess was meant to teach and nurture, but every whispered rumor she had heard of Lord Ashbourne pressed into her mind like a brand. A man of power. A man of sin. A man said to ruin women.

The butler opened the carriage door. She stepped out, her cloak brushing against the wet stones. The manor doors creaked open, swallowing her into candlelit halls that smelled faintly of smoke and polished wood. The portraits stared at her, eyes following, faces of Ashbourne ancestors whose lips seemed to curl with secrets.

The butler’s voice was hushed. “The master awaits you in the dining hall.”

She walked, each step echoing on marble floors. The doors parted, and there he was. Lord Ashbourne sat at the head of a long table, black-clad, a glass of red wine swirling in his hand. His eyes were sharp, gray like steel, piercing her from across the room. He did not rise, but his gaze made her knees weak.

“So,” his voice rumbled, low and deliberate, “this is the governess they have sent me.”

She curtsied, trying to summon composure. “Yes, my lord. I am here to care for your niece and her education.”

His lips curved, but it was not a smile. “And tell me, governess, do you frighten easily?”

The question was strange. Her throat tightened. “No, my lord.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his wine. “Because this house is full of shadows. And shadows demand obedience.”

Dinner was brief. He watched her more than he ate, eyes dragging across the delicate line of her throat, the modest swell of her chest beneath her dress. His stare made her skin burn, yet she could not look away. By the time the meal ended, she could hardly breathe.

She excused herself, trying to find her way back to her chamber. The hallways wound endlessly, lined with velvet drapes and locked doors. At last, she stumbled upon a vast library, heavy with the scent of leather and smoke. She pushed the door open, intending to pass through, but once inside, the warmth of the fire and the endless shelves lured her deeper.

She touched the spines of books, tracing dust and gold lettering, when she heard the door click shut. She turned. Lord Ashbourne stood there, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face.

“You are lost,” he said, not asking but declaring.

“I… I was searching for my chamber, my lord.”

He walked toward her, slow, predatory. “Your chamber can wait. You have stepped into my sanctuary.”

She backed against a shelf, the wood pressing into her spine. His scent reached her, musky, masculine, laced with the wine he had drunk.

“You should not be here,” she whispered, though her body betrayed her, heat pooling low in her belly.

“And yet here you are,” he murmured, his hand lifting to touch the neckline of her dress. His thumb brushed her collarbone, rough and claiming. “Do you know what happens to women who wander into the lion’s den?”

Her breath caught. “What happens, my lord?”

His lips curved. “They are devoured.”

His mouth crushed hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was not a kiss of courtesy or tenderness but a possession, his tongue forcing hers apart, his hand gripping the back of her neck. She gasped, and his other hand slid down, pressing against her bodice, fingers digging into her breast through the fabric.

She tried to protest, a soft sound muffled against his mouth, but he swallowed it, pressing harder, his body caging hers against the shelf. The rough wood bit into her back while his thigh shoved between hers, forcing her skirts apart. The friction made her moan before she could stop herself.

“That sound,” he growled against her lips, “is mine.”

His hand yanked at her laces until the bodice loosened, fabric falling to expose pale skin and the swell of her breasts. His mouth descended, hot and relentless, lips and teeth closing around her nipple until she arched with a cry. His tongue licked over the peak, then sucked harder, leaving her trembling.

“My lord… please…” she gasped, though she could not tell if she begged him to stop or to take more.

“Please?” he echoed darkly. His hand slid beneath her skirts, fingers gliding up her thigh until they found the damp heat between her legs. “Your body speaks louder than your words.”

She shuddered as he stroked her through the thin linen, circling, pressing, making her writhe against the shelf. He bit her breast again, harder this time, until pain mingled with pleasure, making her cry out.

“You are already wet for me,” he said, voice sharp with hunger. “Do not lie to yourself, governess. You came here for education, and I will teach you obedience.”

He tore the linen aside, his fingers slipping inside her slick folds. The sudden invasion made her knees buckle, but he caught her by the waist, forcing her to stand while he worked her mercilessly. His thumb pressed against the swollen bud of her desire, rubbing circles until she moaned openly, her head thrown back against the shelf.

“Look at you,” he growled. “So pure, so proper, yet you are trembling for my hand. Imagine what you will do for my cock.”

Her cheeks burned, shame and heat colliding, but her body betrayed her, rocking against his hand, chasing the rhythm. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each stroke bringing her closer to breaking.

He withdrew suddenly, leaving her empty and whimpering. Before she could speak, he turned her roughly, pressing her chest against the shelf, his hand gripping the back of her neck to keep her still.

“This is how you will learn,” he said. She heard the sound of fabric and belt, the heavy throb of her own heartbeat drowning the storm outside.

Then he thrust into her, filling her with a force that made her cry out against the wood. Her fingers clawed at the spines of books, nails dragging over leather, as his hips slammed into hers again and again. The shelves rattled with the violence of his rhythm.

She had never known such intensity, such raw claiming. Pain mingled with a pleasure so fierce it stole her voice. Each thrust drove her higher, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “You are mine now. Every part of you. Say it.”

“I… I am yours,” she gasped, her body breaking against his relentless pace.

“That is right,” he growled, pounding deeper, harder, until her cries filled the library. “My governess. My whore. My possession.”

Her climax tore through her, sudden and shattering, her body convulsing around him. He snarled, gripping her hips as he drove into her one final time, spilling deep inside her.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire. He pulled back slowly, his seed dripping from her thighs, her body trembling against the shelf.

He pressed his lips against her ear, low and cruel. “From this night forward, you do not belong to yourself. You belong to Ashbourne Manor. And to me.”

The storm outside broke, thunder shaking the windows, but inside the library the true storm had already claimed her.