Which reminded her. ‘Speaking of horses, I think it is time for Lady Elizabeth to begin riding lessons.’
Across the table, Lord Compton’s expression froze. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because she is interested. She has mentioned it more than once that you have promised her a pony.’
He grimaced. ‘I thought to wait another year or two.’
‘The earlier one learns to ride, the better it is.’
‘At what age did you learn?’
The curiosity in his voice gave her pause. He quite often asked these sorts of questions, as if he really wanted to know more about her, when she preferred to keep him at a distance. Tried and failed miserably if the way she felt every time she saw him was any indication. ‘My father took me up on his horse when I was three. I rode alone when I was five.’
He huffed out a breath. ‘Much younger than Elizabeth is now.’
‘Yes. And she is wild to try it. It would be better for her to have lessons than try unsupervised.’
‘Are you telling me...?’
‘If you will recall our first meeting? It was the boys in the stable who had told her where to go to find the frog she was after.’
His complexion paled. ‘Then I had better see to it.’
Poor man. But he was coming along nicely, if slowly. Beginning to understand that his children needed to explore their world, as long as they were supervised. There were other matters he needed to address with regard to his daughters, but she would save those for another time. ‘I will let you tell her the good news. She will be so pleased.’
‘First I had better get the pony.’
Since she had finished her orange, she rose to her feet. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’
‘Goodnight, Lady Marguerite.’
There was an odd note of sadness in his voice as he spoke. She shook her head at her foolish thought. She must be imagining it.
* * *
Jack always enjoyed his dinners with Lady Marguerite. Before she came, he mostly ate from a tray in his study and often couldn’t recall what he had ingested. There was nothing extraordinary about the meals or their conversation. Indeed, it seemed ordinary in the extreme. They were polite to each other. They spoke of nothing of great import apart from his children and the issues reported in the London and local newspapers. Oddly, Lady Marguerite rarely spoke of anything personal. He knew as much about her now as he had the day she first arrived here. And yet he felt as if he knew her very well indeed.
She was a lovely, kind-hearted woman, who, while she was always calm and collected, had the shadows of sadness in her eyes.
Something inside him ached to lift her spirits He longed to make her laugh out loud with happiness. A foolish thing indeed.
He waved off the decanter of port offered by Laughton. He did not want to sit alone at the table or in his study. ‘I plan to retire.’ There would be brandy in his chamber and a cosy fire.
He rose and went upstairs, where his valet readied him for bed and left him to it.
He couldn’t help thinking about Lady Marguerite as he sipped his brandy in the armchair beside the fire. She had very decided ideas about how he should raise his daughters and wasn’t afraid to voice them.
He liked her spirit, the fact that she would care enough about his girls to try to impose her will upon him. He recalled his own boyhood. He had been free to wander the estate either with friends or by himself when he wasn’t at his lessons or being taught the duties of an earl by his father.
Part of learning those duties had been riding out with his papa and listening to him talk to his tenants. Or joining him on a hunt. Or assisting him with the ledgers. Each year his father had let him take on more and more of the responsibility for some aspect of the estate.
He’d learned by doing. And it had not been all work. They had hacked out together and, yes, he recalled several occasions where he and his papa had flown a kite.
A very fine kite, if he recalled correctly. He had not seen it for years. His mother must have put it in the attic. He would send someone to look for it in the morning.
He swirled the brandy in his glass. Better yet, he would look for it himself.
He rose and tightened the belt of his dressing gown. The stairs to the attic storage were in the other wing of the house, the old wing. The attic in this wing housed the servants and though the two wings were joined he certainly wasn’t going to go prowling around where the servants slept. That domain belonged to the butler and the housekeeper.
But there was no reason he could not see if he was right about that kite. That would put a smile on Lady Marguerite’s face.
His slippers made no sound on the carpet as he went up to the third floor and past the nursery door. He paused for a moment, listening. All was quiet. The next door along led to the governess’s suite now occupied by Lady Marguerite. As he passed her door, he heard the sound of humming. Lady Marguerite was still up.
On a whim, he knocked on her door.
The humming stopped. ‘Yes?’ she said.
Feeling a bit like a naughty schoolboy, he leaned close to the door. ‘It is me. Jack.’
The lock tumbled with a noisy click and the door inched open. She peered out.
He held his candle aloft.
‘Lord Compton?’ she said.
‘I have recalled where we might find a kite. I thought you might go with me, to ensure it is suitable.’
‘Can it not wait until morning?’
It could, he supposed, but now he had thought of the idea he wanted to follow it to its conclusion. And besides... ‘I have a meeting with a tenant early in the morning. I doubt I will have time.’
‘One moment. Let me put on a gown.’ The door closed. When it opened again he was afforded a view of a plain woollen dressing gown tightly belted and a woman with her hair in a thick plait down her back. Much as he wanted to stare at the delightful view, he turned and marched to the end of the hallway.
The stairs rising to the attic from the third floor narrowed so much Jack’s shoulders would barely fit between the walls. ‘Allow me to go first,’ he said, looking upwards, ‘and light the way. If all is safe, I will come back for you.’
He did not give her a chance to object, but made his way up and pushed open the door. He hadn’t been up here in years. The light of the candles showed what an excellent housewife his mother had been. The dust on the floor was thick, but the area beneath the eaves was impeccably tidy. There were tables stacked in one place, chairs in another. Old trunks took up a corner.
He turned to go back for Marguerite and found her right on his heels. Damned independent woman. But there was so much curiosity on her face, he could only smile and stand back to allow her to enter.
‘Over here,’ he said, lighting the way with his candle until they reached the far end where he could see his old rocking horse. He would bet his best hunter the rest of his nursery toys would be with it. Dash it. He had forgotten all about that horse. Netty might like it. He pulled it out. ‘I will have it brought down to the nursery tomorrow.’
He poked around. Tin soldiers lined up in little boxes probably wouldn’t interest his girls, but, inside one of the trunks, there were hoops and tops. ‘Would they like these, do you think?’ he asked.
‘I am sure they would,’ she said. ‘New toys are always welcome.’
‘Nanny wouldn’t have known about these,’ he said, looking about him. ‘All the toys in the nursery are new or were my wife’s. These were mine. Put away by my mother.’
She knelt, looking through a box. She pulled forth a small sword in a scabbard. ‘I think we will leave this one up here.’ She dipped in again and found a box containing wooden farm animals and little fences. ‘These, though, are perfect.’
Memories flooded through him of playing with the animals, pretending to be a farmer. He had been an o
nly child and these toys had been his friends. He would like his children to enjoy them, too.
And there in the corner was what he was looking for, a large diamond-shaped kite with red sails and yellow tail.
He picked it up, turning it around. It looked as good as new. He gave it a shake. Dust flew. He coughed. As did Marguerite, who sat back on her heels and watched him dust off the kite.
‘It is a fine one,’ she said, her voice full of admiration.
‘It is,’ Jack said. He loved seeing a smile on her face in the flickering candlelight. She looked beautiful when she smiled. He fought the urge to kiss her. ‘We will take it down to the nursery ready for tomorrow. I will ask Mrs York to have the other toys and the rocking horse brought down in the morning.’
‘She should bring down these, too.’ She sorted out several items and placed them next to the horse. She dusted off her hands and started to rise.
He reached out and took her hand.
She gazed up at him as he brought her to her feet. They stood close, gazing at each other. His heart beat a little faster and sounded loud in his ears. Her hand fluttered in his. He was still holding it. He did not want to release it. But he must.
‘Thank you for indulging me,’ he said softly. ‘We both know I could have sent a servant up here to find these toys, but somehow I wanted to be the one...’
‘You love your daughters,’ she said softly with a smile.
She understood.
Slowly, carefully, he bent his head to kiss those sweetly smiling lips. At the first touch of velvet softness against his mouth desire rocketed through him. He rocked back on his heels, putting a fraction of distance between them. ‘Marguerite,’ he said.
‘Jack,’ she murmured and put her arms around his neck. ‘I swore I would not let this happen again, but I find you perfectly irresistible.’
He brushed his mouth across hers as if he could taste the words that gave him so much pleasure all his blood had headed south and his brain was scarcely functioning. ‘Irresistible.’
‘Perfectly,’ she breathed against his mouth.
He pulled her close and kissed her properly and thoroughly until his head was spinning and they were both breathless.
Kissing her was wonderful. Better than anything he’d experienced for a very long time. How could he have forgotten how good a woman felt in his arms? Not just any woman. This one. This lovely, pliant, gorgeous woman who kissed him back so seriously, so intensely as if her life depended on it.
He eased her closer, longing to feel her body flush with his and ease the ache in his groin. The part of him he’d ignored for so long clamoured for her attention. He rocked his hips against hers, while he stroked circles on her back and deepened the kiss. He plundered the warm wet depths of her mouth with his tongue and she did the same to him, tasting him, stroking his tongue with hers. His body shook with desire.
Without thought, he found the ribbon fastening the end of her plait and pulled it undone. He teased the twisted ropes of hair apart. He pulled back to look at the result of his effort. Wild waves of fiery locks fell about her shoulders. ‘You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen.’ He let it slide through his fingers, stroking it back from her face. A shadow passed across her face.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
She smiled, softly, regretfully. ‘Do you not find it too red? Too wanton.’
‘Good lord, no. I find it magnificent.’ He took her lips before the argument he saw forming on her face could turn itself into words. Whoever had told her that her hair was not her crowning glory was a fool.
She stiffened slightly, then surrendered to his kiss. He’d noticed that before. That slight withdrawal at his touch, before she accepted it. She reminded him of a newly broken colt, not quite trusting, but willing to try. And so he took the kiss slowly and only when she was kissing him back did he pull her close with one hand on her plump derrière and allow his other hand to shape the curve of her waist, to gently explore the ribcage above and finally brush the lovely swell of her breast with the heel of his hand.
She stilled.
He let his hand move on, cruising her spine before returning to her hip and following the same path. The third time he stroked her breast he left his hand there and lifted his head. His cock hardened like granite, aching with need. If he didn’t stop now... He gazed into her face. ‘Marguerite,’ he breathed, his voice husky. ‘We—I—You—’
She touched a finger to his lips. ‘I love the way you kiss me.’
The words were like a stroke to his shaft. The desperation in her voice shocked him out of his sensual trance.
What was he doing? His hands shook with the effort of not laying her down on the floor and burying himself inside her. She was a lady. A noblewoman. Not a courtesan.
He tried to step back.
She clung to him. ‘Don’t.’
Did she not understand what was happening here? The danger? He reached up and took one of her small hands in his and opened her fingers, pressing her palm against his hard member. ‘This is what your kisses do to me,’ he murmured against her mouth.
Her eyelids lowered a fraction, her expression softened. ‘Then we both know what we really want.’
Of course she understood. For some reason, he always thought her innocent. She was a widow. ‘Are you sure?’
A secretive smile crossed her lips. ‘Very sure, my dearest Jack.’
His ballocks tightened at the sound of his name on her lips. His blood ran hot and wild through his veins. A willing widow. What more could a man want after years of celibacy.
A bed, perhaps? He certainly wasn’t going to take her on the floor. Yet if they went downstairs, they were bound to run into some servant or other. Damn. He should have planned this better.
But he hadn’t planned this at all. He’d simply wanted to please her by finding the kite. Oh, and he hadn’t secretly hoped that he might also sneak a kiss? He did not lie to himself any more than he lied to others. He had hoped, but he had not expected to have his wish granted. Not after last time.
But the floor was not the only option. He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Come.’ He led her to the corner where a couple of sofas were stored one on top of the other. He lifted one clear and pulled off the holland cover, which kept the fabric free of dust. He set the candle on the floor beside it. ‘Your chaise, madam,’ he said, giving a flourishing bow.
She giggled.
He blinked. Never once had he heard her giggle. He laughed, swept her up in his arms and laid her prone on the cushions. He stripped off his coat and waistcoat and stretched out beside her. He cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Mmm...’ she said. ‘Either I was kissing you, or you were kissing me.’
‘Why, my dear,’ he said, smiling down into those pretty green eyes, ‘I think—no, I distinctly remember—the kissing was mutual.’
She sighed as their lips melded together.
Chapter Ten
The reverence with which Jack touched her was almost too gentle. Yet that gentleness was what had given her the courage to return his kisses with fervour. The feel of his big warm hands wandering her hip and her thigh as he lay alongside her was lovely. Her skin seemed to tingle along the trail left by his hand as he petted and stroked her from hip to knee while his lips and tongue wooed her mouth with such care she could scarcely breathe for the pleasure it sent streaking down to her core.
Her insides tightened. She had the strangest feeling that her body might snap in two, the tension was so great. Too much to bear, yet somehow not enough. Was this supposed to happen while kissing? Neville had not been much of a one for kissing. Preferring to get on with the task, as he had said when he came to her bed. To her, it had been a necessary evil. Also to him, she had thought, because it had happened so rarely and usually only when he was in his cups after a night of ca
rousing with his friends.
With Jack it was different. Magical. Enchanting.
How could she not have known this was possible? Well, she had thought it might be. For others.
She had believed her husband when he said she wasn’t attractive. That her red hair was enough to kill a man’s passion and that he was doing his best. She had felt ugly and ridiculous when he had winced at the sight of her naked. After that, she had always worn her nightgown to bed. And he had only come to her in the pitch dark, so he would not have to see her, she had presumed. His pinches and slaps had been equally humiliating.
‘Marguerite,’ Jack said.
He was staring down at her. The candlelight flickering across his face made his features stand out, though the expression in his eyes was hidden by darkness. Had she made him angry? She shivered. Always she had made Neville angry.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, running his fingertip along her jaw. ‘If you do not want this, you must tell me, sweetheart.’
Sweetheart. How lovely that sounded. How large it made her heart grow in her chest. Those few kind words were like balm to her soul.
‘Everything is perfect,’ she said, smoothing his hair back from his face. ‘Perfectly wonderfully lovely.’
The frown did not leave his forehead. She smoothed it with her thumbs. ‘You have made me happy,’ she said. ‘For the first time in a long time. It surprised me, that is all.’
He smiled at her explanation. ‘I am glad to hear that. Very glad.’
He bent his head and kissed her. The stroking began anew. And her skirts inched higher and higher with each pass of his hand, until she was trembling with anticipation of what was to come. And for once, she was certain it would not hurt.
Jack would never cause her physical pain. The realisation was freeing. She parted her thighs and Jack pressed his knee between them. She parted them more and soon he had wedged himself in the cradle of her hips. He kissed her lips, then slid down her body. Startled, she watched him back up, until he was kneeling between her ankles. He pushed her skirts upwards. In preparation for his entry, she assumed. But when he reached for the candlestick she gasped.
A Family for the Widowed Governess Page 12