by Julia Kelly
“Lady Eleanora needs me,” she said with a conviction that surprised even her. “I won’t leave her now. I’ll be fine. Lord Asten has a vote today.”
Jane leaned over and plucked up a newspaper Edward had left behind when he’d vacated the room for the ladies after breakfast. “That’s true. It’s right here in the headline.”
“I’ll do this last thing, and then I’ll get to work finding another position. I’ll make a clean break of it,” she said, promising herself as much as her friends.
Elizabeth raised one skeptical brow, but rang the bell nonetheless to ask for Mary’s cloak.
Thirty minutes later, the Asten carriage with the family’s coat of arms rumbled to a stop in front of the house. When the driver opened the door, she tentatively poked her head out, wishing she were a thousand miles away.
The door to the house opened and Warthing filled the frame. The butler waited patiently as she drew a breath and gathered all of her strength to her. She’d need it to step over this threshold again.
“Miss Woodward,” said Warthing with a respectful bow. “Lady Eleanora instructed me to show you to the greenhouse.”
He was all politeness, even though the man could probably guess the reason for her flight from the house. Still she kept her head raised high. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done. Not when her night with Eric had been everything to her.
“I can show myself back, Mr. Warthing,” she said.
He nodded, and stepped aside as she focused on putting one foot before the other.
The greenhouse was only a short walk on the ground floor. The sight of the foliage-filled, glass-paneled walls that abutted the house made her think of the day she’d walked at a generous distance behind Eleanora and Lord Blakeney during his first visit. She’d enjoyed the heat and warmth of the space, even if being back in a garden tempted her to indulge in the seductive memories of the earl’s mouth at the apex of her legs, licking her and driving her to pleasure.
She pushed open the door to the greenhouse, the scent of gardenias washing over her. “Lady Eleanora!” she called out among the trees.
When she didn’t hear a reply, Mary walked a little farther down the path. There was a potting bench at the very far end of the greenhouse, but the area closest to the house was planted like a lush jungle. It was easy to forget that one was in London amid the magnolia and lemon trees and the lush orchids that hung from mossy branches.
“Lady Eleanora, I’ve come!” she called again as she closed in on a little clearing. Her eyes swept over the space, and she stopped in her tracks. Laying on a stone bench that stood in the middle of the clearing was a silver half mask. Her mask.
She picked it up, her fingers toying with the silk ribbons that dangled from it.
“Mary.”
She spun on her heel, the mask falling from her hand and onto the paving stones. Standing between a pair of orange trees just about to blossom was Eric. He looked horrible and wonderful. He’d left his coat off, his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal powerful forearms dusted with dark hair. He wore no necktie and his hair was mussed, as though he’d spent all morning running his hand through it in frustration. A weak little part of her hoped he had. That he’d paced his study, wondering what to do once he realized she was gone. That he’d thought of her and only her.
No. She wasn’t going to do this to herself. Not when her heart was at stake. She wanted all of him, and she couldn’t have him. This needed to end no matter how her heart squeezed at the mere sight of him.
“Mary,” he said again.
“Where is Lady Eleanora?” she asked.
He shook his head. “She’s not here. I asked her to call on one of her friends.”
Understanding dawned on her. “And your vote in Parliament?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s soon to get under way, but I won’t be there.”
“That was an excellent detail,” she said. “Something that made her letter seem even more plausible.”
“Please don’t blame Eleanora,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m not blaming anyone, but I want to know why I’m here. I can’t be your daughter’s governess any longer.”
“I know.” He cast his eyes down, and for a moment she thought he was about to give up without a fight. But then he raised his gaze, and from his lips came the most shocking words she’d ever heard: “Will you consider being my bride?”
She stumbled back, her boots scraping on the path. “You want to marry me?”
Eric shot her a crooked little smile. “Is it really so hard to believe?”
“I’m a governess,” she said.
“You say that as though it’s a shield. As though if you say it often enough I won’t be able to see you. The real you.”
“I can’t marry an earl.”
He spread his hands and shrugged. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because . . .” But she couldn’t come up with a good reason. Not really. His daughter had written the note that drew her here, meaning that Lady Eleanora approved of what her father was asking. Eric seemed in complete control of his facilities. The only thing holding her back was her own belief that the chasm separating them was too wide to jump. Because it was. Wasn’t it?
He took a step forward but stilled when she edged back. “If you’ll have me as your husband, Mary, I would never leave you. You wouldn’t just have me. You’d have a home. A family.”
His words pierced her with the brutal precision of a well-aimed arrow. There he stood, offering her everything she wanted. Everything she’d craved. She could stop running from position to position, leaving before people could turn her out. For too long what her mother had done had hung like a specter over her life. Wasn’t it time to let her past go?
And then there was the little matter of love. She loved this man for everything he was: moral, steadfast, a good father, a secret rogue.
“Mary,” he said, “say you’ll marry me.”
There were so many reasons that he could be asking her to marry him. It was the honorable thing to do. He needed an heir. He’d realized that she was good with his daughter. He’d enjoyed the intensity of the passion between them.
Still she couldn’t quite believe it. “If you’re doing the gentlemanly thing—”
“Oh, the hell with it,” he said with an exasperated laugh. “Can’t you see? I love you. Is that really so hard to believe? I love you with every ounce of my being.”
His words squeezed her tight, making her unable to breathe. Unable to think. It simply wasn’t possible. This was the single most shocking moment of her life.
He took a cautious step forward, but she held her hand up. “If you come any closer, I won’t be able to think, so you stay on that side of the clearing and explain yourself.”
One edge of his mouth tipped up. “What is there to explain? I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
“You can’t love me,” she said quietly.
This time he didn’t stop moving. He rounded the bench in two steps. He reached for her, a little breath of relief leaving his lips when he skimmed his fingers along the length of her arm and picked up her fingers in his to bring her hand to his lips. Instead of brushing a kiss to the back, however, he flipped her palm over and kissed its sensitive center.
“I don’t care that you’re a governess, Mary. I couldn’t care less if you’d spent your life scrubbing out the grates in my house. All I know is that for the first time in my life I feel as though I’ve met a woman who’s worth waking up for every day.”
“Eric,” she whispered. He was melting her resolve, dismantling her barriers until there was nothing but a clear path ahead of them both.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, but passion and desire would’ve been simple. I could have resisted that. I was helpless against you. All of you, f
rom the curl of your lips to the smart, sharp words that come out of them. There’s no one else for me. I burn for you.”
Her fingers curled around his and held on to him, but still she couldn’t quite believe it. They’d spent one night together. One. Well, unless she counted the one in the garden, which—
The garden. The mysterious woman. His search. She pulled back, slipping her fingers from his.
“It isn’t me you want,” she said.
“You’re really going to argue with me on this point?” he asked, that damn twinkle still in his eyes.
“Your daughter told me how enamored you were of a certain woman at the masque you attended,” she said, lying through her teeth. She and Lady Eleanora hadn’t spoken of any such thing, but she was grasping for some excuse to put him off. She didn’t want to compete with the memory of a fictitious woman, and she wasn’t strong enough to tell him what she’d done that night.
“Did she?” he asked. “Did she also tell you that that I was stupid enough to think that woman could be a way to occupy my mind for a little spell? It always came back to you. Even when I was kissing her. Even when I was touching her.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled a scrap of cloth from his jacket pocket. It unfurled, and suddenly she was staring at her own handkerchief. Then he pulled another from that same pocket. Two. Two of her distinctive handkerchiefs.
“Eleanora supplied me with this just this morning. She said she got it from you.” He handed her the first one. “And you dropped this when you fled the marquis’s garden.”
Her hand trembled as she took the second cloth from him. “How can you want me? I’m a liar.”
“You’re human.”
“I’m the sort of woman who lets a man lift her skirts in a garden,” she said, although deep down in the most secret part of her she was proud of what she’d done. She’d taken her moment of adventure and seized it. She’d created a memory for herself rather than contenting herself on the fringes of other people’s. She’d lived as she wanted to live for the first time since her whole world had changed fourteen years ago.
“Don’t disparage my bride-to-be,” he said. “Besides, I like that I know she’ll be more than a little adventurous. An old man like me could use a little excitement from time to time.”
She couldn’t help her smile. “Not so very old.”
“You’ll have to remind my daughter of that. Now, Mary, can I ask you one more thing?”
She looked up at him, her head tilting back to drink in the rich green of his eyes. “Yes.”
“Can I kiss you again?”
The “Y” of the “Yes” was barely off her tongue when his mouth was on hers. His hand cupped her cheeks and his long fingers tangled in her hair. Unable to resist him any longer, she grasped at the front of his shirt and pressed herself closer to him. He slid his lips over hers, angling them so he could kiss her deeper. With every stroke and touch, her objections were falling away.
Maybe it didn’t matter that she was just a governess.
Maybe he could really love her.
Maybe she deserved the love of a man who would fight for her.
Maybe it was time to show him that even if logic told her to run, every instinct told her to fight for him too.
When at last the final wall crumbled, all that remained was the hard, unblemished kernel of truth at the center of it all. She loved him, and losing him would break her. She’d known it when she ran, but she’d wanted to try to save them both from the difficult road that would no doubt lie ahead for them. People would be unkind. Society would struggle to accept an upstart governess with designs on a prized bachelor. Rumors would swirl.
All of that could go hang.
Eric had come after her, showing her that what she really needed was his love. Together—along with her friends and his daughter—they could carve out a life.
Except there was still more she needed to know.
She broke away panting. “I have a question.”
He laughed as his hands stroked up her back to play along the row of tiny buttons that marched down her dress. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. Ask me anything.”
“Are you marrying me just because you took my virginity?”
“No,” he said, and kissed her temple. “And if that was your first time, we both have a lot to look forward to.”
“And what about children? I’m thirty-two years old.”
“Women of thirty-two have been having children for millennia. We’ll figure it out. I want more than anything to be father to children of our own, but if that’s not possible, I’m proud of Eleanora. And remember, I have a cousin who is chomping at the bit to see if he’ll be the fifth Earl of Asten after I die, so the family name is more than safe.”
She started nodding slowly, but there was one lingering question. “And Lady Eleanora truly doesn’t mind the thought of her governess marrying her father?”
He hugged her to him so her hands rested on his chest and she could feel the reverberations of his answer. “I think she was appalled at how long it took me to figure out that I loved you. And I’m sure she would welcome you dropping the ‘lady’ from her name.”
She laughed. “It’s a hard habit to break.”
He kissed her lightly. “So are you. So, will you answer my question?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Will you marry me?”
She slid her hands up over his chest, relishing the feeling of hard muscle through his fine lawn shirt. He was hers if she wanted him. All of him. It was the most generous gift anyone had ever given her, and she would spend every day trying to be worthy of it.
“I think I will. I do love you, after all.”
He whooped with delight, swept her into his arms, and spun her around. She tucked her head against his chest and just held on. He’d been her employer, and now he was her lover, her fiancé, her future, and she couldn’t be more excited to see what their years together would bring.
Acknowledgments
This book happened because of Laura von Holt, Alexis Anne, Mary Chris Escobar, and Alyssa Cole, who are my author support network, and Jackie, Sonia, Ben, Christy, Katherine, and Sean, who didn’t question it when I disappeared for four months to write.
Thank you to my fantastic editor, Marla Daniels, who made this book what it is; the wonderful team at Pocket Star; and my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who’s told me from day one that good things are coming.
Living in a small New York City apartment teaches you to improvise when it comes to office space. I wrote a lot of this book tucked in the back corner of my favorite bar on quiet Saturday afternoons. Jason, Niall, George, Karissa, and Andrew, this is partially your fault. Enjoy.
And finally, this is for my family, whom I love to the end and back.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Jane’s story, the final installment in Julia Kelly’s Governess series
The Governess Was Wild
Coming Fall 2016 from Pocket Star Books!
March 3, 1860
Somewhere on the road
between London and Yorkshire
Jane Ephram woke in the unremarkable room of an inn situated in a village of no consequence with the distinct impression she was alone.
It took a half second for her usually sharp mind to begin whirring, but the moment the creaky cogs clicked together she bolted up in her cot. She was alone. The massive bed that dominated the center of the room was empty, and Lady Margaret Simon, only daughter of the Earl of Rawson, was nowhere to be seen.
Jane jumped up, rushed to the bed, and threw back the covers, hoping in vain she’d discover Lady Margaret nestled somewhere underneath the mound of linen.
Nothing.
There was no sign of her charge.
“No no no,” she muttered as dread began to gnaw at her stom
ach.
Crossing the room, Jane threw open the doors of the tall armoire where Lady Margaret’s maid had stowed the hand luggage meant to save them the trouble of pulling their trunks down from the top of Lord Rawson’s carriage every night. Jane’s modest, slightly tattered bag had fallen over, no longer supported by the most substantial weight of Lady Margaret’s smooth leather valise.
“Oh, you foolish girl!”
Jane didn’t curse—what governess would risk such vulgarity?—but in the bright light of the late winter morning she was closer than she’d ever been in her life. This was her nightmare realized—the one that had made for restless sleep the last three nights on this slow progress to their exile at Lord Rawson’s West Riding estate.
Jane breathed deeply and tried to calm her already-frayed nerves. Yes, the bed was empty and yes, Lady Margaret’s bag was gone, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d run off. Even the young lady who’d sulked during the entire journey from Rawson House on Berkeley Square to this little village couldn’t be so irresponsible. So selfish.
“She’s headstrong enough to ruin her reputation just to spite her father though,” Jane muttered.
She yanked at the ties of her night rail and ripped the plain garment with a patch on the right elbow over her head with lightning speed. She’d been dressing herself since she was seven, and that morning she couldn’t have been more grateful that she was used to lacing her own corset, strapping on the modest crinoline that went with her traveling dress, and working the long buttonhook down her back. She shoved her feet into her serviceable flat boots, snatched up her reticule, and sprinted from the room.
She clattered down the hall and up a small set of stairs to a floor of a set of considerably less well-appointed rooms where Lady Margaret’s maid, a Highlands girl named Elspeth, slept. She rapped hard on the door, not stopping until the stiff bolt groaned in the lock.