The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford Read Free Book Online

there, you won’t be marked down for it.”
    Gabby beams. “ Carte blanche !”
    Carriveau rolls her eyes theatrically, returning her attention briefly to Rylie. “Goodnight, Harcourt.”
    “ Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle .”
    Rylie can’t be certain, but as Carriveau turns away, she seems to let a genuine smile escape. Has their earlier moment of impropriety now been forgiven?
    Carriveau completes her arc around the room, turns out the lights, and steps into the hallway, the rhythmic sound of her footsteps slowly fading. Still, Rylie can’t shake the feeling that she should apologize for her impudent behavior. In particular, for the lewd posturing and the cheeky taunts. Unable to get into bed without clearing the air, she tiptoes out of her cubicle and pads barefoot into the hallway, the dormitory door creaking on its hinges.
    Already halfway to her private quarters, Carriveau comes to an abrupt stop.
    The hallway falls silent.
    Her back to the dormitory, the Housemistress offers no movement but the slight turn of her head, waiting for the student to announce herself.
    “ Mademoiselle Carriveau .” Rylie’s quiet voice reverbs in the sterile corridor.
    “That was quick.” Carriveau pivots, otherwise staying put. “Is there something amiss?”
    Rylie lowers her gaze to the floor, wiggling her toes. The linoleum tiles are cold against her bare feet, but nothing in the world could be as frigid as Carriveau’s icy demeanor in this moment. Not even the Arctic tundra. Was chasing her out into the hallway yet another wrong move? Too much eagerness? Desperation? Too late now.
    “I … I’m afraid I’ve done something to upset you.” Feeling uncharacteristically teary, Rylie dare not look up for fear of being utterly crushed by those hardened emerald eyes.
    Barely a second passes before Carriveau melts. Her expression softens, and she strides back toward the dorm, her hands outstretched.
    “ Non, ma chère. Pas du tout .” She sweeps Rylie’s hair out of her face and thumbs her cheeks. “Not at all. Why ever would you think that?” She keeps Rylie’s head tilted up, cupping her chin, slender fingers pressed to her neck.
    “Earlier, you left the dorm so suddenly.” Rylie sniffles. “I thought I must’ve done something wrong. I was joking when I said I’d report you for—”
    “I know.” Carriveau smiles reassuringly. “You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” She moves her hands up, holding Rylie’s head, fingers weaving through her hair. “Absolutely nothing. I was the one who conducted myself poorly.”
    “No.” Rylie would shake her head, but she’s being held too firmly. “You were only helping me, I—”
    “Hush.” Carriveau presses a soft fingertip to the teen’s bare pink lips, letting it rest there for a moment. “It was improper, and that’s all there is to it.”
    Her finger slips away and she extricates herself from Rylie’s personal space, taking a small step back. “Now you must get to bed. I can’t make exceptions.”
    That word rebounds from brain cell to brain cell in Rylie’s mind. Exceptions? What sort of exceptions? Relaxing the curfew? To her ear, Carriveau’s cryptic assertion sounds more like the reiteration of a mantra than it does a simple warning to a new pupil. As a recovering alcoholic might look at themselves in the mirror each morning and say “I will not drink today,” so Rylie can picture Carriveau repeating quietly to herself, “I can’t make exceptions.”
    Convincing herself of this fact—and that she hadn’t imagined the faint undercurrent of determination in her Housemistress’s voice—Rylie heads for the dormitory, wondering what rules Carriveau might be tempted to break.
    As she reaches the door …
    “Rylie,” Carriveau purrs out her name. “Wait.”
    Obediently, Rylie halts, her hand on the knob. She can hear Carriveau’s stiletto heels clicking on the linoleum behind her, and by the time she spins around, she finds herself practically backed