The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford Read Free Book Online Page B

night, indeed!
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE

     
    Carriveau runs her hands over her hips, flattening her skintight skirt over her thighs. Is it too much? No, she shakes her head, dismissing the thought. This is one of her favorite suits. It’s formfitting, but not obscenely short. It more than covers the lacy tops of her stockings, which she wears simply for her own self-esteem rather than for any practical purpose.
    The stockings, like the stilettos and the push-up bra, make her feel elegant and feminine, reminding her that she’s still a sexual being, despite the fact that her only bedmates of late have been battery powered.
    Taking a deep breath, she adjusts the open collar of her blouse and applies a new shade of lipstick, counting down the final seconds until the commencement of the usual morning pandemonium.
    “No exceptions,” she reminds her reflection, then walks briskly from her study, striding boldly into the Lower Sixth dormitory not a minute later.
    “ Réveillez-vous !” She claps her hands several times, making the slap of her palms as loud as possible. “Come on, girls! Wakey-wakey!” She glides down the aisle, leaning over to tug the corner of a duvet off one sleeping girl. “ Lève-toi, Mademoiselle Brody .” She points a finger at another reluctant waker. “ Toi aussi, Petersen .”
    A cacophony of chatter quickly erupts, Carriveau paying no note to the fact that two of the Lower Sixth girls rise from the same bed. When she arrives at Rylie’s cubicle, she finds the newcomer lying prone, her pillow pulled over her face, one of her bare feet poking out from the bottom of the duvet.
    “Up you get, sleepyhead.” Carriveau bends forward and grabs that exposed foot, shaking it gently.
    Rylie groans, but does as she’s told.
    “How was your first night with us?” Carriveau leans on the cubicle wall, her open collar shirt showing even more cleavage than yesterday.
    “Very good, Miss.” Rylie sits up and yawns, ruffling a hand through her blonde mane.
    “You’re feeling better about things this morning, I hope?” Carriveau’s eyes dart over to the bedside table, where the Occitan book is sitting proudly and prominently.
    “A great deal.” Rylie rises to her knees to stretch, enjoying the view in front of her. “ Merci, Mademoiselle .”
    From this higher position, she can see two girls in the cubicle behind Carriveau. They’re whispering to one another, ogling her bum. After first wondering how they could be so openly disrespectful, she realizes Carriveau can see their reflections in the cubicle mirror. If she were so inclined, she could chastise them. She doesn’t.
    “Today, I’ll make you breakfast,” she carries on her conversation with Rylie perfectly naturally, as if unaware of her admirers. “Tomorrow onward, you can fend for yourself in the mornings. How does that sound?”
    Rylie takes a moment to think, composing her words carefully so as not to make a mistake when she tells Carriveau how perfect that sounds. “ Cela me semble parfait .”
    Judging by the curve of Carriveau’s lips, her diction is perfect, too.
    “You’re quite adorable, Harcourt. Do you always make this much effort to impress your teachers?”
    “No,” Rylie answers frankly, shuffling closer. “Do you always offer to make breakfast for the new girl?”
    “Of course.” Carriveau pushes herself away from the cubicle wall. “Now hurry down.” She walks out of the dormitory without glancing back. “I hope you like toast.”
    In the hallway, Carriveau weaves through a gaggle of half-naked, squealing girls with a broad smile pinned on her face. In contrast, Miss Ansell, who’s standing at the top of the staircase, refereeing between two Upper Sixth girls who’re fighting over a towel, looks as though she’s already reaching the end of a rapidly shortening tether—and it’s only seven o’clock.
    She settles the dispute, sends the girls off to the bathroom, and drinks in Carriveau’s appearance: the