The Forbidden Passion of a Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Lucy Langton

  Emilia’s words were soft and caring, and by the tone of the earl’s response, she sensed that he was grateful for that. He turned to look down at her, his eyes shining.

  “You need not protect me. I have been through many trials in my life and so there is no use in being gentle with your sentiments. I’d rather know the truth.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so,” Emilia said, getting up from where she lay and seating herself. “it’s the middle of the night, M’Lord. You are no doubt tired and restless. I think it best that we broach this subject at another time. But I promise you that anything I briefly gleaned from that journal does not change my opinion of you in the slightest. On the contrary, I believe that it has bolstered my opinion to a great degree.”

  Emilia had pulled herself up into a seated position that mirrored the earl’s, but in so doing, the fabric from her skirt gracefully pulled up onto her thigh, exposing a flash of skin that was dangerously close to the earl’s hand. Sensing the cool air on that delicate skin, Emilia hastily reached to pull the fabric down, but not before the earl took note of it. The way he gazed at her thigh was not without feeling; quite the opposite. It was as though his eyes were melting into her skin, and even after the fabric had been pulled down, his eyes remained there for several moments, recollecting what he had just seen as though it were still before his eyes.

  Finally, he pulled his gaze away and returned it to the door, which remained open, exposing their late-night communion to anyone who might happen to pass by. Noting the danger of the situation, the earl got up from where he sat and returned to the door. Emilia thought at first that he was leaving, but she was quite shocked when he quickly closed the door and remained in the room, turning back towards her.

  Although Emilia’s heart was racing before, at that point it was pounding, coursing blood through her veins at a rate she had not experienced before.

  “M’Lord,” Emilia whispered, not knowing what was coming next, but experiencing a thousand different cravings and visions that she had not imagined possible in her pristine mind.

  “Have you experienced a great deal of hardship, Miss Stewart?” the earl asked, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms in front of his broad chest.

  “I have had my fair share, yes.” With her reply, Emilia felt her sleeping costume fall from her shoulder, yet again exposing her skin. In response to this, the earl gently reached over to the chair where Emilia’s shawl was draped, picked it up and flung it around Emilia’s shoulders, seemingly both annoyed and caring at the same time. Instead of returning to his position at the door, he grabbed the very same chair and placed it in the centre of the room, seating himself so that he was facing her. She could not help but feel as though she were part of an inquisition.

  “And how have you responded to those challenges, and still kept yourself the shining creature that you are?” he asked heavily.

  His words reverberated in her head. Had he really called her a shining creature? She had been quite convinced that the Earl of Cunningham had nothing but animosity towards her, and especially distrust. Had she been wrong all along?

  “I try to do my best to bring light and joy to those around me. I see no reason to do otherwise. The world can be a rather cold and dark place, if you let it.”

  The earl rested his elbows on his knees, looking as weary as a man who had just returned from battle. But hearing Emilia’s words, his eyes shone. He would not stop gazing at her, eye contact that went so deep Emilia feared that he could see right through her. His breathing was heavy, and his chest heaved powerfully.

  “I’m unsure that you have experienced true darkness, Miss Stewart,” the earl finally said. There was an air of foreboding to his words, and Emilia felt goosepimples upon her flesh.

  “Perhaps not the kind of darkness that you have experienced, no,” Emilia replied softly.

  She could see in his eyes that her response sparked a new understanding between the two of them. The earl must know what she had read in that journal, and it did not seem to fill him with anger but rather a sense of resolve.

  The earl looked down at the floor, his hair falling about the sides of his face. He clasped his hands together and seemed to be deep in thought. For several moments he remained there. Emilia wondered what the devil was happening in her room that night. He had no intentions of leaving, had barred her way of escape – although she had no wish to escape. Not only did his presence excite her, it also comforted her. She felt safe locked within her room as the earl silently sat, contemplating his inner darkness without guise.

  He rubbed his eyes with his hand, further communicating his fatigue, and Emilia felt as though she must do something. The earl needed someone to take care of him, that much was clear. His heaviness could swallow up the whole earth, if no one took pains to shine some light.

  “Perhaps you need water,” Emilia said, springing from the bed and crossing to the nightstand where a small pitcher sat.

  Quickly and instinctively, the earl grabbed Emilia by the wrist, preventing her from walking further. Again, his grip was strong and ferocious, and Emilia dare not walk another step. He looked up at her, his gaze stern and commanding.

  “No water then,” Emilia whispered, unable to move.

  “Your pulse is racing,” the earl said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I can feel it in your wrist,” he replied, lifting it up and examining it. He rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist, and the warmth of his it sent waves of heat up her spine. Again, his touch was insistent, focused, strong.

  The pleasure of that simple touch overtook her, and before she could even think, Emilia closed her eyes and whispered a word she could never guess would come from her lips.

  “Joshua,” she said softly, feeling as though she might collapse from the delicious sensation of his finger upon her wrist. Hearing his name spoken, the earl clasped her wrist yet again, his large hand effortlessly enveloping it all around. Feeling as though she might faint, within the span of a moment the earl stood to full height and looked down at her, grasping her shoulders as though sensing she was off balance.

  Emilia looked up at him and feared she might need to look away. The hunger in his gaze bore right through her. She felt utterly exposed. The shawl fell from her shoulders onto the floor, and the earl didn’t bother to lean over and pick it up. Instead, he brought his hand to her naked shoulder and gently brushed his fingers on her skin. There was a pained expression on his face, as though sensing that what he was doing was wrong or was something he had wished to do for some time but had stopped himself. Emilia let out a gentle moan, unable to prevent herself from vocally responding to his touch.

  “Emilia,” the earl whispered, examining her shoulder and neck with expert care. He moved his hand across her collarbone then up to her neck, grasping the side of it. Fearing that she might fall at any moment, Emilia held onto the earl’s free arm, delighting in the hard strength of it. That arm, in response, reached out and held onto Emilia’s slim waist, just above the hip.

  They were so close, unbearably close, that Emilia could feel the earl’s warm breath upon her skin. Time appeared to stand still as he continued to explore her neck and throat with his fingers. The hold he had upon her waist grew tighter, as though his hunger might cause him to clench down on her, like a snake latching onto its prey.

  “We must sleep, M’Lord. The hour is so late,” Emilia finally said, not wanting the earl to unhand her but knowing that if they stood in that position for much longer, they would do something that both might regret.

  The spell broken, the earl gently removed his hand from Emilia’s waist and returned it to his side. He stood up straight and took a deep inhalation of breath. Lastly, he removed his hand from her neck, seemingly reluctant to do so.

  Emilia could still feel his warmth upon her skin, even after he pulled away. She hungered for his hands to return to where they were before, but she knew that fulfilling such desires went against everything tha
t proper society stood for.

  “I shall go,” the earl said, his voice yet again stern and commanding. “It is a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Today,” Emilia corrected him.

  “Indeed, today,” the earl said, looking out the window.

  Emilia marvelled at the physical beauty of the Earl of Cunningham, only enhanced by the darkness and shadows that surrounded them. His internal intensity was only matched by his physical intensity. Standing before her as he was, he seemed larger, more commanding, more powerful than he had before, even as weighed down with cares and troubles as he was. There was something tortured about Lord Forest as he stood there in the moonlight.

  “There is more to discuss,” the earl said, abruptly turning and walking towards the door, the familiar sound of his boots helping to shake Emilia from her reverie. “Sleep,” he then said, opening the door and gazing at her one more time. “And . . . that’s all.”

  And just like that he was gone, leaving Emilia in a dream-like state she could barely comprehend. Her heart still beat quickly in her chest and her balance was unstable. She reached down to procure her shawl and sat back down upon the bed, wrapping the shawl around her and trying to comprehend all of the events that had just taken place within her tiny room. The lower portion of her body was moist and warm, a sensation Emilia had only experienced on one or two occasions. But thinking about it then, she had to admit to herself that it had only indeed happened when in the earl’s presence. Warm dampness where the tops of her thighs met. It was curious to her, and previously a source of shame. But on that night, she felt calmed by it, at ease. The Earl of Cunningham had an effect on her body that she did not yet know was possible. The word for it was pleasure, she finally realised.

  Lying back in her bed, Emilia had to prevent herself from going through in her mind everything that might have happened had the earl remained in the room. Had they given in to their desires, where would it have taken them, and once they went there, was there any turning back?

  Sleep did not come easily to Emilia, and once the first light of day shone through the window, she gazed up at it from where she lay. It was a reminder that the darkness of night shrouded things that were not proper, things that could not be.

  She would need to forget the events that took place that night. The hunger and desire that were so palpable between her and earl would need to be banished from her mind in the name of duty, work, and propriety. Should Emilia walk down that dark path on which the earl beckoned her, then it would mean the end of her life as she knew it. There could be no love, no marriage, or traditional union between them. Considering their stations in life, it was utterly impossible. And what if there was only lust and passion, carnality and sins of the flesh? Then Emilia’s good name should be ruined forever, and her prospects of finding another place of employment bleak.

  No, Emilia would need to keep her head on straight, focus on her duties, and forget the warmth of Lord Forest’s touch. It was the only way.

  It was not long before the sounds of Winnifred in the kitchen could be heard, no doubt heating the kettle and preparing the warm breakfast for the earl and Deirdre. Hugh could be heard walking to and fro, telling Winnifred of the day’s menu and sharing bits of information about the earl’s requests for the day – nay, his demands.

  All of a sudden Emilia was famished. Was it the smell of poached eggs rising up in the house, the aroma of fresh bacon and baking scones? The hunger went so deep that Emilia was made curious by it. Surely, it came not only from her stomach, but somewhere more internal. It was a hunger for something that she could not have, and she could scarce place her finger upon it.

  Dressing and performing her toilette quickly, Emilia opened the door and walked down the hall, ready to face whatever demands the day placed upon her. Before she reached the end of the hall, there was the familiar sound of the earl’s boots from down the stairs. Although the sound was ordinary enough, on that morning, the memory of the sound of his boots in her room made her feel faint yet again.

  Chapter 9

  For the entirety of the morning, Emilia had what she would describe as butterflies in her stomach. Thoughts of the earl teemed in her mind, and the memory of the previous night filled her with excitement and confusion.

  As she sipped her tea in the kitchen, having already finished her breakfast, she gazed out the window and watched as the storm clouds gathered yet again. It would be another gloomy day at Glastonbrook, but it did not bother Emilia in the least. She was becoming accustomed to the weather, and she was beginning to understand that the clouds that hung over the estate were both real and figurative. She knew there was dark business in Glastonbrook’s past, and she couldn’t help but desire to know more.

  “More tea, Miss Stewart?” Winnifred asked, and Emilia nodded her head. It was silly that Winnifred called her by her surname. They had become rather close since Emilia’s arrival, but she assumed that the greeting was more for Hugh’s sake than anyone else’s. He was a very formal person and walked about as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, in much the same way that the earl did. But Emilia decided to not remark upon the formality but instead to accept it. It was not her place to give protest.

  More hot tea was poured into her cup and Emilia considered her lesson plan for the day, and also what amusements she and Deirdre might enjoy indoors, seeing as there would be no chance of venturing away from Glastonbrook on that rainy day.

  “The master desires to see you,” Hugh said, rushing into the kitchen and carrying a stack of ledgers. No doubt he was focusing on the accounting that morning, and it was putting him in a far more harried state than usual.

  “Very well,” Emilia replied, putting down her cup of tea and standing. She adjusted her skirts, making sure that everything was in place, just as the earl desired it to be. Whatever could he want first thing in the morning? It was not common for him to request her presence at that early hour. Emilia could only imagine that it was in regard to the events of the evening before, and yet again she felt her stomach flip.

  Emilia need not ask where she might find the earl for she knew he was in his study. Making haste to get there lest she kept the master waiting, she walked with grace.

  She paused before opening the door and took a deep inhalation. Emilia was about to encounter the man who almost forced himself upon her the evening before, and in the privacy of her own room. Did she regret that he had done so? No, far from it. She longed for his insistent touch again.

  “Good morning, M’Lord,” Emilia said, quietly entering the room and finding the earl seated at his desk, brows knit, deep in contemplation.

  *

  “Close the door behind you,” the earl replied, not looking up and sounding as stern as ever.

  As she stands before me, all I can think to do is look away. She shines in the morning, like nothing that I have ever beheld before. I wish to touch her again, but to do so would be to overstep my bounds, and perhaps to frighten her to no end.

  “Very well,” Emilia replied, doing as she was told.

  “Come and sit down.”

  “Yes, M’Lord.”

  He was aware he was avoiding eye contact. Not only did he purposefully not look up, he also took out a small piece of paper upon which he had scribbled some notes. He lifted the page and began to read from it.

  “There are a few items that I need to share with you. I wrote them down last night.”

  Last night whilst I was tortured by the memory of you. Your presence still so vibrant even after you had departed. Why do you have this effect on me, Miss Stewart?

  “Before going to bed?”

  “Indeed,” the earl replied, and then paused for a few moments, recollecting the events of the previous night, as he had been doing all morning. “You shall be granted full use of the library and the house.”

  “Is that so?” Emilia asked, sounding confused. But who could truly blame her after what had transpired in the library?

  “Yes, I think th
at since this is your home, you should have all the freedom that Hugh or Winnifred might enjoy. Within reason, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But with that freedom comes limitations.”

  “Naturally.”

  “You are not to speak to my sister about the journal that you discovered last night,” the earl said, finally looking up and meeting Emilia’s eyes. He was stunned by the direct eye contact before Emilia quickly looked away.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied.

  “She’s a sensitive young girl and I think that it would be too much for her.”

  “I did not realise that she had no knowledge of your affairs,” Emilia said softly.

  “There are certain things that . . . must remain unknown. I seek to protect my sister at all costs. Do you understand?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded grave and serious.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “The next item pertains to gossip.”