The Governess Was Wild

by Julia Kelly

  She sucked in a breath, but whether it was out of anticipation or anxiety she couldn’t honestly say.

  “I gave you my word as a gentleman that you would travel unharmed,” he said.

  “Your word?” she asked, not quite stifling her snort. “Your memory seems to be failing you, sir. I was the one who explained to you in no uncertain terms that I am a governess.”

  “You wear your profession like a shield.”

  “And isn’t it?” she asked. The job had protected her against abject poverty. It had shielded her against the roaming hands of Lord Rawson’s friends, reminding them—sometimes less than gently—that to defile a woman in the earl’s employ would be an insult to the man himself.

  She was alone in the world save for two friends back in London who’d once taught too. Except their stories were different. Elizabeth had become a physician’s wife and was expecting her first child, and Mary had soared to unimaginable heights when she assumed the role of countess. Jane shared their happiness, but she couldn’t help feeling a little left behind. Her position was all she had, and so day after day she pulled her armor on to keep everyone else out. No one would know her secrets and ambitions because she didn’t share them with a soul.

  Lord Hollings’s expression had softened again, but she didn’t like it. In place of the teasing there was pity, and that poked at her pride. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing for him to feel sorry about. Jane had gone from unwanted child to respected governess. She was trusted by the countess and earl, and perhaps maybe even a little loved by Lady Margaret in the young lady’s self-centered way. She didn’t need this man’s sympathy.

  “You’ll be safe with me, I swear it,” he said, handing her the reins. Their fingers brushed, and again her whole body lit up like a struck match. For the first time since she’d convinced him to take her along, she began to doubt that she’d be able to travel with him.

  “All I want is to find my charge,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Once we do that, I’ll be on my way and you’ll be on yours.”

  Lord Hollings dropped her reins and took a step back. Their connection snapped like a twig underfoot. “Then we’d better get started.”

  He executed a curt bow and strode over to his horse.

  Any decent woman would’ve averted her eyes, but Jane couldn’t help but watch the bunch and pull of his powerful legs as he stepped confidently into a stirrup and swung his leg over the back of his mount. He looked up, catching her watching, and shot her another one of those easy half grins he seemed to favor.

  Jane closed her eyes and tried to pull her frayed nerves together. All she needed to do was get through this journey with her sense intact. For now, it seemed as though that would be a great struggle indeed.

  Chapter Three

  Nicholas usually loved to ride. He’d been on horseback since he was old enough to cling to a pommel without sliding off. There was nothing that compared to the rush of a steeplechase, and he loved the danger of breaking in a new stallion, wild and untested. He was meant to ride, but as the day stretched from morning to late afternoon, he was beginning to question his passion for the sport.

  He and Miss Ephram were no more than two miles out from the inn when the day took a decided turn for the worse, with dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

  “If you want to turn back, now would be as good a time as any,” he called out to Miss Ephram, motioning to the clouds when she sent him a confused look.

  Her deep blue eyes followed his gesture and she shrugged. “If it rains, it rains. I doubt it’ll slow Lady Margaret down.”

  And so they rode on, straight into the brewing storm, with Nicholas wondering just how long the governess—who was clearly less than comfortable on horseback—would last.

  Five hours later, he was forced to revise his thoughts on governesses—particularly the fact that he’d once believed them to be retiring types who did better in the quiet of a schoolroom than outside facing the elements. It’d been raining off and on for miles, but never once did Miss Ephram complain. If anything, her nervousness seemed to fall away as her back grew straighter and the set of her chin even more resolved. Even when they’d stopped to water the horses and she’d winced as he helped her down from the saddle, she didn’t say anything except to ask a maid for directions to the facilities.

  “Are you well, Miss Ephram?” he called out when they were a mile from a village called Ullesthorpe.

  “Never better,” she said, the patter of rain nearly drowning out her words.

  The road was a churn of mud, and their progress had slowed to a mere crawl. He pulled out his watch and flipped open the case, doing his best to shield it from the rain. It was just about six o’clock. At this rate, they’d do better to find shelter than press on, never mind that he himself was chilled through and in desperate need of a pint or, even better, a tumbler of whiskey.

  “We should be at the next village shortly,” he said. “We can find an inn there and hopefully dry out.”

  At the mention of dry clothes, the clouds burst open and the steady but manageable shower became a torrential downpour.

  If he’d expected Miss Ephram to shrink from the biblical rains, he was wrong. Instead, she tilted her head back in the most unladylike manner and laughed into the storm.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel dry again in my life,” she shouted.

  She was captivating. The sight of her neck stretched long with droplets sliding down it and under her coat collar was utterly intoxicating, and Nicholas had to grip the pommel of his saddle to keep from falling off the damn thing.

  He’d always prided himself on being a man of honor, but he had no doubt that this woman would be able to undo all of his good intentions with one little come-hither crook of her finger. There was something about the way she could be serene and then suddenly bursting with vibrancy that honed his attention until all he could think about was her. His awareness of her. His desire for her.

  He was an idiot if he thought he was going to be able to ride all the way to Gretna Green with Miss Ephram by his side.

  Desiring a woman he couldn’t touch wasn’t part of his plan, he reminded himself sternly. All he should be focused on was finding Merlin and riding like hell’s dogs were at his heels to get to Lord Ashby’s estate. He needed to finish the deal he and the marquis had worked out so that he could set his grand scheme into motion. His sisters had languished for too long at home. They needed husbands who could provide for them the way he couldn’t. And for that they each needed a proper season with a wardrobe to match—a proposition that would cost more than even Merlin could bring in, but it’d be a start.

  He must fix his mind on his plan and not the way Miss Ephram’s eyes shone with glee when something took her fancy. If he could do that, he might stand a chance at beginning to correct his father’s mistakes.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice a little gruff as he tried to hold back his warring thoughts. “The sooner we get out of the wet, the better.”

  She sighed, the joy evaporating from her face. “You’re right.”

  “But?” He couldn’t resist the temptation of knowing.

  Her shoulders slumped just a little under her wet coat. “It’s nothing.”

  He’d lived with sisters his entire life and knew that it was never nothing, but he pressed his lips into a determined line nonetheless. He couldn’t get involved with this woman’s thoughts and troubles no matter how much he wanted to reach out to grab her hand and peel her sleeve down her arm to expose what he could only imagine was a slope of creamy skin.

  Nothing good would come of that. Nothing at all.

  Jane bowed her head and urged her horse forward through the rain. She wasn’t sure what had come over her when she’d spread her arms wide and welcomed the drenching storm. All she knew was that something had broken through the hardened veneer of prop
riety she’d worn for years, and she’d needed to simply enjoy the moment. She was on an adventure. For years she’d wondered if something—anything—interesting would ever happen to her, holding the hope for it to her chest so closely that she’d never told anyone. But now that everything was on the line, she was doing something daring and just a little dangerous. She was living.

  She knew how people saw her. Even in her little group of friends, Elizabeth was the dreamy reader, Mary was all bold, cheeky wit, and Jane was the sweet innocent. In some ways it was true. Life hadn’t really happened to her yet. It was as though she’d been rooted in place ever since she’d left school at eighteen. The governess. The teacher. The caregiver. But now, accompanied on this purposeful journey by Lord Hollings, she felt somehow freer.

  But he’d been the one to pull her back too. He’d glowered, more than a little grouch to his tone when he’d told her they should find an inn for the night. He didn’t want her there with him. She was a bother, and she was making a spectacle of herself. Governesses weren’t supposed to cast their heads back and laugh wildly. They were supposed to be disciplined and controlled. All at once, her excitement dimmed and the day of riding felt just a little more grueling.

  She’d followed slightly behind him as they rode in silence to the yard of a remarkably crowded inn called the Shallow Stream. At least the place looked warm and inviting, with a lamp burning brightly in each window.

  Jane pulled the collar of her coat a little higher around her neck and recoiled at the wetness that had seemed so strangely thrilling when the storm broke out on the road. Now she was soaked through and there was nothing she could do about it until she got in front of a fire.

  Lord Hollings dismounted and handed his reins off to a stable boy before reaching to help her from the saddle. She took his hand, no longer uncomfortable at his touch, since he’d helped her at every stop that day.

  His free hand went to her waist to steady her as she slid down as gracefully as a soggy woman could. It was a good thing too, because the moment her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled.

  “Oh!” she cried as she fell into the baron’s broad chest. Somehow one of his strong arms had wrapped itself tightly around her waist, and the other was around her shoulders. It was the perfect imitation of an embrace, made even more intimate by the way her fingers gripped his wet coat.

  “Careful, Miss Ephram,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It wasn’t a warning, but it should have been for the way it sent awareness zinging through her.

  She looked up his body, the scent of wool and earth mixing with a growing warmth that touched her very core. Lord Hollings met her gaze, his eyes fixing her in place.

  He should kiss me.

  It wouldn’t take much—just a lean down and a quick brush of lips over lips. It would be her first kiss, and although she’d never imagined it would happen in the middle of a busy innyard in the rain, now that she was pressed up against Lord Hollings, she found herself far from particular about the location.

  She parted her lips just a fraction. That little change must’ve triggered something in the baron, for his eyes hardened and he stepped back just as quickly as she’d fallen into his arms. Still, he didn’t let her go.

  Jane’s cheeks flamed. “My apologies, sir. I’m not accustomed to so many hours in the saddle.”

  The feeling had come back into her legs, and she shakily straightened.

  “It’s my fault,” he said, seemingly unaware that his hand still rested on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so far on the first day.”

  “I wanted you to. We don’t know how much of a head start Lady Margaret has on us, but it wasn’t raining when she set out.”

  Just the thought made her spirits fall. In this weather, the probability of catching her charge before she reached Scotland with Mr. Lawrence seemed slim, but Jane had to try. If she could find the couple before they were married, she might be able to convince Lady Margaret of her folly. At worst, she’d figure out how to tell Lord Rawson that Mr. Lawrence had twice tried to abscond with his daughter. One generous payment to the opportunistic man—which she had no doubt he would take—and it would all go away. But first she had to locate the errant debutante.

  “We’ll worry about Lady Margaret tomorrow,” said Lord Hollings as he lifted her hand to tuck it into the crook of his arm, never breaking the connection they’d held since she stumbled. “Now let’s see what we can do about rooms and a meal.”

  The very mention of food made Jane’s stomach growl in the most undignified manner, but if he heard it over the pounding rain, the baron didn’t mention anything. Instead, he led her through the yard and into the inn’s entryway.

  “Good evening,” a small, thin man with a shock of white hair greeted them. His eyes were barely visible from behind the massive ledger that lay on the counter where he was stationed.

  “Good evening,” said Lord Hollings. “My wife and I require two rooms for the night.”

  Jane started. Wife?

  Lord Hollings covered her hand with his and squeezed slightly as though to tell her to play along with his charade. She did her very best to paint on a pleasant, unconcerned smile even as her stomach did flips. Not once in her life had she ever expected to hear a man call her his wife. Not when she’d spent most of her childhood knowing she’d become a governess as soon as she left school. It had been decided for her long ago.

  The innkeeper’s expression faltered. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve only got the one room, sir, although it’s a large one. Quite pleasant. Between the storm and the wedding of the vicar’s daughter, it seems the whole world has come to our little village tonight.”

  Lord Hollings’s gaze flicked down to hers, and she saw the question in his eyes. One room meant she would have to sleep in close proximity to a man. For the first time. Hang traveling unchaperoned, sharing a room with him would obliterate her reputation, making Jane utterly unemployable if anyone were to find out.

  “Is there another inn in town?” Lord Hollings asked, as though sensing her hesitation.

  The innkeeper shook his head. “The closest one is the Bull and Branch about five miles south.”

  Back the way they’d come. The thought of heading into the storm again, especially when it was dark out and the roads were even slicker with mud, was unfathomable.

  “You don’t want a room there, if you don’t mind me saying, sir,” the innkeeper continued with a grave shake of his head. “Mr. Layton’s given bedbugs to every traveler who’s passed through his doors. A filthy scoundrel of a man if ever I saw one.”

  Amusement tugged the corner of Lord Hollings’s lip up. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  “A disgrace to the profession, Mr. Layton is,” said the innkeeper, his face growing red. “If you’ll forgive me for being so forward, I wouldn’t feel right letting you rest there. Not when I wouldn’t send my worst enemy to the Bull and Branch. Why, I only told my wife yesterday—”

  “We’ll stay here,” Jane said, cutting the man short before his ranting spiraled out of control.

  When Lord Hollings lifted an eyebrow—in challenge or surprise, she couldn’t tell—she touched him lightly on the arm, the perfect imitation of a wife soothing her husband’s worries. “Taking one room would be fine for one night. Don’t you think, my dear?”

  He glanced down at her hand and back up at her eyes. Then a smile broke out over his face. “It will be roughing it, but I’m sure we’ll make do. Wife.”

  She shivered. There was that word again. That unpredictable, unimaginable word that sliced through her with a sadness she couldn’t entirely explain.

  “Very good.” The innkeeper clasped his hands together before taking up his pen.

  “We should like supper brought up to our room as well,” Lord Hollings said to the innkeeper as he signed the register and took the key to the room.

 
; “Of course, sir,” said the little man as he gestured to a boy to see to their bags. “I’ll send the girl up with a tray as soon as possible.”

  A rational, sane voice in the back of Jane’s mind rang out, warning her that she was making a mistake agreeing to this. She should insist that they press on to another inn before all of her rules fell away, but at least part of her recognized the fact that everything about this trip was a violation of barriers she’d constructed to keep herself employed.

  She closed her eyes for a brief second. She was scared. All of her bluster from that morning was gone. Now, in the lamplit entry of the Shallow Stream, she understood what it meant that she was placing her safety and her future in the hands of a man she hardly knew. Riding with Lord Hollings down an open road was one thing, but crossing the threshold of an inn’s room with him felt like a very different matter. Still, what could she do? Giving up their charade would only make her more vulnerable. At best, the innkeeper might take pity on her and find someplace for her to sleep. At worst, he would cast her from his inn out of concern for the establishment’s respectability.

  “Shall we, Lady Hollings?” asked her false husband, jolting her out of her thoughts.

  Trust me, his eyes seemed to say. I won’t fail you.

  She didn’t really have another option, so she nodded. “Please. I’m exhausted.”

  The pair of them broke apart only to climb the stairs up to their room. With every step, the sense of foreboding fell a little heavier around her shoulders.

  And yet somehow she trusted him. She wasn’t so naive as to think that any man was exactly how he presented himself to the world, but she wanted to believe that Lord Hollings was the man he seemed to be.

  When they reached room eleven, Lord Hollings unlocked the door. “After you,” he said quietly.

  Tentatively, she stepped over the threshold into the cold but spacious room. She tried her best to ignore the bed that stood in the middle of it, and instead walked around to the little table near the empty fireplace. The boy who’d carried their bags up set them down as she shrugged off her heavy, wet coat.