A Family for the Widowed Governess

by Ann Lethbridge

  But he was a man who liked to control all around him. He would make rules. Demand obedience. Her heart fluttered madly as if wanting to flee. Recollections from the past reared their ugly heads. The pain and humiliation inflicted by the man who was supposed to honour and protect her loomed large. Her boldness of mere seconds ago shattered into fragments.

  No. Not once had Jack treated her with anything less than respect. Indeed, he had not taken his own pleasure while giving her the wonderful gift of learning that she was as passionate as any other woman. He deserved she give him something in return, if indeed that was something he wanted? His kisses made her think he did, but... ‘When you did not come to me last night, I wasn’t sure—’

  ‘I did. I stood outside your door for a good five minutes.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘But hearing no sound, I decided it was too late.’

  ‘If I had known, I would have stomped around the room and made all kinds of noise.

  They both laughed at her silliness.

  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Then let us not have any misunderstandings tonight.’

  She swallowed.

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Unless you have changed your mind.’

  ‘No,’ she said. She snatched at a fragment of boldness and clung to it like a lifeline, forcing herself to smile up at the gorgeously handsome man peering down at her with a puzzled frown. ‘I have not changed my mind.’

  He looked unconvinced as if he sensed her trepidation. ‘Then you come to me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come to my chamber tonight, if you are still of the same mind. Come at midnight. I will be waiting, but I shall leave the decision to you.’

  She stared at him blankly. This man who liked to control things was leaving matters in her hands? She took a deep breath. ‘Very well.’ If she could pluck up the courage.

  The clock struck the quarter-hour.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, your bailiff will be here at any moment.’ She pushed at him and he sat back and helped her to sit up. She patted at her hair, pleased to discover it tidy, though no doubt her face was as pink as a peony.

  She picked up the list they had been working on and handed it to him. ‘I would choose number three if I were you.’

  ‘I will write to her at once.’

  Heart pounding, she fled from the study.

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon, Marguerite could not focus. The precision on which she prided herself simply was not there. The roots looked stiff and awkward. The petals would not curve. The stamens were far too large. She tore up the second sheet of paper.

  All she could see in her mind’s eye was Jack’s face. The gentle smile. The gleam in his eye. The way the lock of hair drooped over one eyebrow when he leaned over her.

  Her breast tingled in a most shocking way every time she recalled the feel of his hand resting there. And he had left it to her to decide whether or not to go to him tonight. She would go. Soon a new governess would be hired and she would go home. There would be no more dalliance. No more Jack.

  A sense of loss rose like a tight little lump in her throat. Then she must make the best of the time she had.

  A knock came at the door.

  She almost jumped out of her skin.

  ‘Come?’

  ‘A note for you, my lady,’ Alfred said.

  Marguerite’s stomach fell away in a rush at the sight of the handwriting on the note. She took it with a smile and closed the door, staring down at the note. It had been hand-delivered.

  She broke the seal. Read the bold, flowing words.

  Your month is almost up. You cannot hide from me. I saw your advertisement in the post office. Mr Barker was most helpful in letting me know that another gentleman had already enquired about your services as a drawing teacher.

  Damn. She should have taken the notice down. Blast Barker and his gossipy ways. Not that she hadn’t intended to keep her appointment. She had. She simply did not like the idea of that horrid man following her to Bedwell.

  The letter continued with a great many underlinings for emphasis.

  I will take a payment of five pounds as a show of good faith. Meet me tomorrow night at Bedwell’s gate.

  Her heart thudded wildly. Five pounds? She rushed to her desk and unlocked the desk where she kept her wages. Five pounds would eat a hole in the sum she had been saving. But, yes, she could manage it and still have enough for the final payment after she received her wages from Jack at the end of the week. It would also be an opportunity to inform her blackmailer of her determination that the next payment would be the last. If she did not get the picture back, she would redraw it and publish it herself for the money she would earn from it and be damned to him.

  She felt ill. The idea of ruining her family name in such a way was not to be borne. They would likely hate her for ever. And rightly so. But hopefully such an unscrupulous man would not guess that she would never follow through on such a threat. Because if he did, then she might find herself paying him for the rest of her life. Or having to confess the whole affair to Red. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  Feeling ill, she tucked the note in the drawer. Her hands shook as she locked it. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she should talk to Jack about this. He was a magistrate. He might be able to help.

  He’d be shocked. Probably disgusted that he had allowed a woman like her to associate with his children.

  The thought of him looking at her with revulsion caused her heart to ache.

  No. She could handle this by herself.

  Marguerite’s gaze flew to the clock. It was almost five. The thought of facing Jack over dinner, of making conversation while they both knew what they had planned for later, made her heart seem to rise in her throat. Excitement. Hope. Fear.

  She could not face him and speak with any kind of normalcy. She would send word down to Laughton that she would take a tray in her room this evening. And after that she would make her final decision about whether or not she would go to Jack.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She would come, Jack thought, swirling the brandy in his glass. She might have forgone dinner with him, but she had courage, his Marguerite, and if she said she would come to him, then she would.

  Midnight came and went.

  Perhaps he had made a mistake in leaving matters in her hands. She had been so bold this afternoon, so sure of herself, of her desire for him, it had pleased him to think she would take the initiative. He tossed back the wine. If she did not arrive in the next five minutes...

  The door creaked open.

  He rose to his feet and smiled at the vision in bare feet with her tumble of wild curls flowing around her shoulders and her dressing gown primly belted. He opened his arms. She walked into them and he held her close.

  She buried her face in his dressing gown and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against her chest. ‘I was sure someone would see me.’

  He chuckled, delighted by her arrival and by her obvious embarrassment. He tipped up her chin so he could look into her eyes and pressed a swift kiss to her lips.

  ‘Everyone is abed by this time, sweet.’

  ‘Do not be too sure. There is always someone stirring because they need the chamber pot or a warm glass of milk.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘Not tonight apparently.’

  She smiled. ‘No. Not tonight.’

  ‘I missed you at dinner.’

  ‘I could not have eaten a bite knowing...’ She swept out an arm, encompassing his chamber.

  ‘Would you like brandy?’

  She nodded.

  He poured her a glass of brandy and topped up his own. When she would have sat down on the sofa, he swung her about and pulled her on to his lap in the large armchair.

  She giggled.

  ‘I have been looking forwar
d to kissing you again all afternoon and evening,’ he said brushing her hair back from her face, ‘so do not think you are going to keep me at a distance.’

  ‘I have no wish to keep you at a distance,’ she said, sounding breathless.

  ‘Good.’

  She bent her head and kissed his lips, her tongue lightly flicking against his and driving him wild with desire. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his nape, ran through his hair and finally cupped his cheeks with a tenderness that was endearing and lovely.

  To his regret, she broke the kiss and gazed into his eyes. ‘You have turned me into some sort of wanton, Jack Vincent.’

  He thought of how severe she had seemed outwardly, yet how passionate she had been about his girls at their first meeting, ordering him about and taking him to task.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I think the wanton has always been there. I just helped release it from its cage.’

  She stilled, staring down at him, her lips parted, her eyes catching the firelight.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, lightly, puzzled by her reaction. ‘I am teasing. I intended no insult.’

  She blinked slowly, as if coming back to herself. ‘None taken. Indeed, I believe you are right.’

  Since the idea seemed to please her, he let the matter go and drew her head down to once more plunder her lovely mouth while he buried his hands in the mass of hair that fell around them. He loved her hair.

  He loved her lips, her touch, her fiery blushes. He also loved her razor-sharp mind. Perhaps he was wrong about her not being the right sort of wife for him. The thought of making Marguerite his and having access to these kisses and not having to go sneaking around in the middle of the night was both startling and exceedingly tempting.

  As long as he set out the rules and the reasons for them right from the beginning, it might work. Might it not?

  Although, she had said she didn’t want children and he needed an heir. On the other hand, what woman really did not want children of her own? It would be something they would have to talk about.

  Right now, what he wanted was her in his bed. He rose to his feet. She gave a small shriek and broke their kiss. ‘You might give a person a bit of warning.’

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Do not tell me you thought I was going to make love to you on a chair when there is a lovely soft mattress nearby? If you do, I shall not believe you, my lady.’ He carried her into his chamber, where he earlier had made things ready.

  His lady. He would really like her to be his lady. But those sorts of discussions would come later. He laid her on his bed and gazed down at her while he let his dressing gown fall to the floor.

  He was as aroused as he had ever been in his life. He’d been aroused almost constantly since her arrival under his roof, though until tonight he’d mostly had it under control. Now he wanted her to see just how much he desired her.

  She gasped and ran her gaze down his length, lingering on his erection before returning her gaze to his face. She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘I have a feeling you are proud of that.’

  He chuckled at her display of courage, because he could also hear the trepidation in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. ‘I have been told it is impressive.’ He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she would say next.

  Her smile was as much shy as it was bold. ‘I will take your word for it.’

  So, endearing. Nothing like the courtesans he’d become used to, more like a new bride still feeling her way around the marriage bed, which was a little odd since she’d been married for years. He brushed the thought aside and joined her on the bed, laying alongside her. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘My turn?’ She looked puzzled.

  He loosened the knot of her gown and then moved his hand away, intrigued as to what she might do next.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. She hesitated, then, drawing in a breath, untied the belt and let the dark blue wool fall open, revealing—

  He sat up to get a better look. It was the most erotic, daring nightgown he had ever seen. The fabric was a pale blue wisp of stuff that fell just above her knees with lace in strategic places. He touched one of the lacy bits on her chest and it parted to reveal her nipple already hard and begging for his lips and his tongue.

  His body tightened.

  She giggled and made a movement with her hand as if she would cover herself, but then stilled, gazing up at him with a naughty smile. ‘I am told men like this sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, I like it,’ he said, exploring another of the lacy openings. Another beaded nipple came into view and then, at the apex of her thighs, he glimpsed the tight red curls that had filled every salacious dream he’d had of her.

  ‘I like it a great deal.’ He inserted first one finger, then another into that lacy opening and stroked her hot wet slit until her hips arched upwards, then he bent and took one hard little nipple in his mouth and toyed with it with his tongue.

  She gasped and moaned and writhed with pleasure at his touch, but when he came over her, she stilled. Only for a second. A mere fraction of a moment, but he felt as though he had been struck by a blow to the heart.

  Instinctively, she had expected pain.

  He rolled on his back.

  She came up on her elbow, looking anxious. ‘I am sorry, I—’

  He lifted her so she was straddling his hips and smiled up at her. ‘Show me what you like, my sweet.’

  ‘Oh, but I—’ An expression of understanding dawned on her face. She leaned forward, compressing his cock and causing him exquisite pain. She pressed her lips to his in a brief swift silken touch, then she sat back on her heels to regard his swollen shaft.

  The smile she gave that stupid piece of his anatomy almost made him lose control. He never lost control. Not ever.

  ‘Please,’ he said, shocked by the rasp in his voice.

  With the smile of a satisfied cat, she rose up on her knees and took him inside in a long slow slide of discovery.

  He gripped the sheets in his hands. He could do this. He could let her set the pace. He hoped.

  * * *

  Marguerite knew exactly how this worked. For once in her life she was glad of her trips to the barn where the milkmaid and the dairyman indulged their passion.

  The bird’s-eye view she’d had of them had been an education. The first time, she’d gone there with the idea of sketching the view from the loft window, but the sounds below had drawn her attention. The couple had regular trysts when they thought they were alone.

  Thinking about what they did had always made her warm all over. Neville had questioned her unmercifully about the accuracy of those sketches. Asking her how she had learned of such things if she had not participated herself. He’d made it seem sordid and lewd. The reactions of his friends had reinforced his mockery. She’d been highly relieved when he’d finally stopped showing them around.

  Was it because he had lost it? Was that why it had fallen into the hands of her blackmailer?

  Jack, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly delighted with this way of making love. Or was he?

  He seemed a little tense, the sheets fisted in his hands as if his life depended on it.

  She hesitated. He opened his eyes. ‘Please. Do not stop.’

  Amazingly, he had relinquished control. A thrill of desire zipped along her veins. The sensual expression on his face encouraged her to continue her exploration of the amazingly lovely feel of him deep inside her.

  She rocked back and forth and the place where their bodies joined tightened with delicious pleasure.

  The faster she moved, the more pleasurable it felt. He lifted his hips in counterpoint to her movements and slid deeper. It felt so good. She ran her hands over his chest and across the breadth of his shoulders.

  He groaned.

  Her heart seemed to grow inside her chest as if that sound
of pleasure was the source of great joy. She leaned forward to kiss his lips and the change of position caused extraordinary sensations. ‘Oh, my word,’ she gasped, coming upright.

  He opened one eye and gave her a naughty smile. ‘Oh, yes, sweetheart. Experiment. Try riding me like a horse. See how that feels.’

  At her blank glance, his smiled broadened. ‘Like posting for a trot.’

  She lifted up and sat back down, his member sliding within her. The growing tension inside her made it difficult to breathe or to think.

  And when he put his hands on her breasts and fondled them gently, the amazing thing that had happened before crashed over her.

  ‘Marguerite,’ he said in a harsh exclamation. ‘I’m—’ She reached the crest and slid over the top.

  Hot bliss rushed outwards.

  He lifted her and she collapsed on his chest, aware of him moving beneath her for a moment or two. A guttural groan rose up from his chest and his body went lax.

  They lay panting, their breaths mingling, her heart racing so hard she was sure he must hear it. He reached over and pulled the sheet across her, settling her more comfortably in the crook of his arm with her cheek against his shoulder.

  ‘That was...’ she said vaguely.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘It really was.’

  She drifted into sleep.

  * * *

  Marguerite wasn’t sure how long she slept, but it was still dark when she opened her eyes and clearly Jack was awake. He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, then let it spring free in a little curl. He did it again.

  She tilted her head and kissed his chin, the stubble of his chin rough against her lips.

  ‘Awake already?’ he whispered. There was a smile in his voice. It made her feel warm and comfortable.

  ‘More or less.’

  He shifted and gave her a long lingering kiss.

  She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. ‘Thank you.’

  He chuckled. ‘No, no, my lady. Thank you.’