An Unlikely Governess

by Karen Ranney

In exchange for her virginity?

  How foolish a thought if it were true. Devlen owed her nothing. Although the experiment itself had a disappointing outcome, she would not have traded the experience.

  Knowledge was never to be shunned.

  She sat up and wished whoever had closed the drapes had thought to light a candle or a lamp. But just as she was wondering where there might be a box of matches, she heard a sound. A rustle of fabric, a movement of a shoe against the flowered carpet, no more than that, but it had the power to freeze her.

  She gripped the sheet and pulled it up to her chin.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Forgive me,” Devlen said. He struck a match and instantly, an oil lamp flared to life. His shadow grew to encompass the corner where he sat, looming to a point on the ceiling.

  He stood, and his shadow danced down to a normal size even as the man himself grew taller.

  “How long have you been there? Have you been watching me sleep?”

  “Not long. I had plans to take you on a carriage ride at sundown, but time got away from us.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

  “You were tired. Neither of us got much sleep last night.”

  “No.” She was proud of the fact she could sound so calm when speaking of last night. How utterly civilized both of them were being. Usually, such circumstance might lead to high drama, but she couldn’t imagine Devlen Gordon being histrionic about anything, let alone the seduction of a woman of some naïveté.

  “Could we go tomorrow night?”

  “We can do anything you wish.” He’d reached the side of the bed now and leaned over to smooth her hair back from her cheek. She’d not thought to braid it, and it would take some time to rid it of its tangles.

  She wished he’d not seen her in such disarray.

  The oil lamp barely illuminated the room; they were two shadows approaching each other.

  “I really should see about Robert.”

  “He’s fine. He’s pestering the cook for more biscuits and grateful you’re nowhere in sight.”

  “I’ve been an errant governess.”

  “Every boy needs a chance to escape from authority, even as delightful an authority as you.”

  “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You’re very effusive in your compliments, Devlen.”

  “And you don’t know quite how to handle them. Or me.”

  “Is that your intent?”

  “To keep you off-balance? Perhaps. I like you discomfited, Miss Sinclair. You’re charming when you’re confused.”

  “You’re just too charming.”

  “Ah, you’re learning too quickly, I think. I must warn you, however, I’m not nearly as overcome by compliments as you seem to be. I’ve grown accustomed to praise.”

  There was silence while she wondered what next to say. She was often fighting for her verbal survival around him.

  “Which brings up the subject we need to discuss.”

  She had a good idea what subject he wanted to discuss and she preferred to avoid it.

  “I told you it wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience.”

  “Yes, you did. I’m grateful you aren’t a liar, Devlen.”

  His bark of laughter startled her. “Only a despoiler of innocents.”

  “Absolutely not. You did nothing I didn’t want done.”

  “Tell me this, since we’re so intent on the truth, you and I. Would you have done it if you’d known what it was to be She considered the question for a few moments. “Probably not,” she said finally. When he remained silent, she continued, “I’d much rather not do it again, please.”

  “So much for honesty. I’m beginning to believe it isn’t as much of a virtue as I’ve always thought.”

  She slid from the other side of the bed. “You sound annoyed.”

  “Not annoyed, Beatrice.” He came around the end to meet her. “Very well, annoyed. I’d expected you to say differently. I wanted you to have some pleasure in our closeness, perhaps. Enough to want to replicate the experience. Only then could I show you it was a great deal more pleasurable than the first occasion.”

  “For you, perhaps, Devlen. I’ll grant you that.”

  “I’ve never been considered a selfish lover, Beatrice. Pardon me if I’m slightly irritated by that comment.”

  “Shouldn’t we be arguing over something that makes a bit more sense?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you, Devlen.” She touched him on the arm, and the muscle jerked at her touch. “Forgive me.”

  When he still didn’t say anything, she moved closer. “You said yourself virgins are too much trouble.”

  “I’ve come to show you something,” he said. “A little renovation of mine.”

  “I really should see about Robert.”

  Suddenly he reached out his hand and touched her cheek with his fingers, trailing a path across her face to the corner of her lips, then back to her ear.

  She half turned her face away, uncomfortable with his gentleness. That feeling was beginning again, where her breath was tight and her heart beat too loudly. Her mind knew what was to come, but her body had not yet learned that lesson, evidently.

  “He’s fine, Beatrice. When he finishes badgering Cook, he’ll see the new soldiers I bought for him.”

  She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling the fine linen weave of his shirt. A wealthy man’s garment, the stitches so fine as to be invisible, the fabric so closely woven as to feel like silk.

  Leave me alone. I beg you.

  But how strange she didn’t speak the words. One hand splayed on his chest, and she placed the second one there, thumb to thumb. And still she didn’t measure the full breadth of his chest.

  “Beatrice.”

  Just her name, softly said. She let her eyes flutter shut and bowed her head until her forehead rested against his chest, unsurprised to feel his arms extending around her. Her traitorous body was so foolish, she took two tiny steps closer.

  She wanted to be kissed, and when she tilted her head back, he obliged her. The consummate host, giving what a guest desired.

  She opened her mouth below his, inviting the invasion of his tongue, feeling a spear of excitement deep inside when he touched his tongue to hers and deepened the kiss. Her hands spread wide, reached up to grip his shoulders. She stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her nearly unclad body so close a sigh could not have separated them.

  His hands reached down and cupped her buttocks and pulled her closer and higher so his erection rested at the V of her thighs. He lifted her slightly, then let her slide down again, to mimic the act of love in a standing position.

  The excitement she felt deepened as her body heated, and their kiss became more carnal.

  Too quickly done. Within a moment, she was aflame. Her thoughts, wishes, decisions might have been thrown out the window. If he’d suggested they go back to her bed, she would have thrown herself atop the mattress. Thankfully, he did no such thing.

  He slowly pulled back, gave her one last kiss, then bent his head again and pressed his lips against her cheek. His breathing was ragged, the words barely audible.

  “Not yet, Beatrice. I’ve a surprise to show you.”

  She didn’t want a surprise. Or dinner. Or to be proper. She wanted her breath to come back in full measure and her heart to quit its erratic beat. Most of all, she wanted that feeling inside her to ease. Her body waited for something, anticipated something, and yet her mind knew full well exactly what she wanted. His hands on her. His fingers on her pressing against her, bringing her release. But if that happened, there would be pain, and she wasn’t eager for that part of the experience to be repeated.

  “Come with me.” His hand trailed down her arm until their fingers linked. He headed toward the door with her following.

  “I’m not dressed,” she protested.


  “You don’t have to be. In fact,” he added enigmatically, “you shouldn’t be.”

  He opened the door and looked both ways, and she fervently hoped none of the maids or footmen were in the hall.

  He led her out of the room, closed the door behind her, and walked across the hall to his own chamber. She tugged at his hand, but she was no match for Devlen’s insistence.

  Seduction was evidently not on his mind. Inside his suite he turned away from the bed mounted on a dais, and led the way across the room to a door set in the wall. He turned the latch and pushed in the door and let her into another chamber.

  She’d never seen anything like it.

  There was no carpet on the floor, nothing adorning the stone walls. The chamber would have been as cold as a mausoleum had it not been for the floor-to-ceiling fireplace in one wall. A large copper pot sat bubbling over a well-tended fire. The only furnishing in the entire room was a large copper vessel sitting in the middle of the room, a series of pipes leading from it to the fireplace, then down into a drain in the floor.

  “It’s a bath,” Devlen said with obvious pride. “If you want hot water, all you do is turn that spigot,” he said, pointing to a handle mounted at the edge of the tub. “The other leads to the cistern on the roof and provides cold water.”

  “Good heavens.”

  But the wonders weren’t over.

  “When you’re done, merely unplug the tub and the water disappears into a drainage area in the garden.”

  She had never seen anything quite like it, and when she said as much, his smile was that of a young boy.

  He reached into his pocket and handed something to her. She looked down at the key on her palm.

  “To the room,” he said. “I thought you might enjoy the experience. Alone. With no interruptions.”

  She’d revel in it.

  They’d had a tub at the cottage, but the effort of heating all that water was a chore. It was easier to simply bathe in bits from a basin.

  She nodded, grateful for his consideration, and absurdly glad he was wealthy.

  Before she could thank him, he’d slipped from the room.

  She turned the key in the lock, removed her wrapper, and hung it on a hook near the door. Before removing her shift, however, she went to the tub and peered inside. Devlen could have fit inside. In fact, it was commodious enough for two people.

  The stopper was easy to fit into the hole at the bottom. She was leery about the hot water lever but after turning it just halfway, a steady stream of steaming water filled the tub. After adding cold water, she removed her shift and climbed the small wooden step next to the tub. She put one foot and then the other inside, sinking down into the hot water with a blissful sigh. A few minutes later, she leaned back in the water, submerged up to her neck, happier and more relaxed than she could remember being in months.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  Her eyes opened and she jerked to a sitting position, using her arms to hide her breasts.

  “I neglected to mention I have a second key,” he said, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

  “Yes,” she said, “you did.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “I should be. You’re very presumptuous.”

  “But you aren’t. Good. I came to bring you this.” This turned out to be a tray on which a dozen or so ceramic jars were arranged, each bearing a label in a distinctive script.

  “My newest venture,” he said, setting the tray down beside the tub.

  She read a few of the labels: SANDALWOOD, BERGAMOT, LAVENDER. “Soap?”

  He nodded. “Would you like to try one?”

  Before she could say yes, she would, but only in private, or ask him to leave, or a few other rejoinders that would no doubt be more proper and less suggestive, he moved the stool to the back of the tub and sat down, grabbing one of the containers from the tray.

  “Sandalwood,” he said, and reached out with one hand to grip her shoulder. He gently pulled her until she was resting her head against the back of the tub again, staring up at the ceiling.

  A word from her would send him away, she was certain. She didn’t speak.

  Using both hands, he massaged the creamy soap into her shoulders and neck. The scent mixed with the steaming water and strengthened.

  “It’s very exotic,” she said, surprised her voice sounded so level. His hands were very gentle, never dipping below the level of her shoulders, never going above her neck. Every once in a while, however, he would brush his thumbs up her throat to rest behind her ears, a gesture that had the power to incite shivers.

  “I think of Far Eastern bazaars and women in veils.”

  “You use it, don’t you?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “I’ve smelled it on you.”

  He reached for another jar, and she let out a sigh. It was to be seduction, then. He would use his hands and bring her delight. In return, she would endure the discomfort and the pain for a few moments.

  She would concentrate on the delight, and the other would take care of itself.

  He lathered his hands with a scent reminiscent of flowers. He began at her shoulders, but this time trailed his hands down her arms, leaning forward until his cheek rested against hers. His breathing was steady and even, the antithesis of hers.

  He had that power over her. At another time she’d feel irritated. Now, she was too occupied anticipating his touch.

  His fingers entwined with hers, and she dropped her head back and closed her eyes, pretending not to know her breasts rested half-in, half-out of the water, her nipples pointed and hard and wanting to be touched.

  He withdrew his hands to reach for another container. This scent was definitely lavender, and his hands, thick with soap, went immediately to her breasts.

  A soft gasp escaped her at the sensuous slide of the soap, coupled with the hardness of his palms against her sensitive nipples.

  He placed a gentle kiss against her ear. A tender, almost soothing kiss as if to calm her while his palms were making circles around her breasts.

  She shifted restlessly, causing the water to lap near the edge of the tub.

  Still, he cleaned her breasts with minute detail, careful to ensure the nipples were given their share of attention. Another scoop of soap and his fingers devoted another minute, two, to the task.

  Beatrice licked her lips and turned her head. His beard was beginning to show, and she found that impossibly arousing. She licked at his skin and kissed the spot her tongue touched.

  He made a sound low in his throat and gently squeezed both breasts.

  The sensation flew like an arrow through her.

  He removed his hands, but she didn’t complain. She knew he’d pick another container and return soon enough. This scent was something herbal and green, smelling of a garden after the rain. He leaned against her back, his arms almost completely surrounding her, his cheek once more next to hers.

  “Kiss me,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  “Turn your head.”

  She did so cautiously, opening her eyes slowly. His lips were so close. She wanted them on her, wanted to feel them.

  He drew back, and she raised one hand, placed it on his cheek.

  “Now,” she said, demanding. He’d teased her into becoming this creature, and she felt no shame.

  He kissed her, and she clung to his lips, parting them with her tongue, teasing him just as he’d done her.

  In a few moments, he’d want to be inside her, but there was a price he had to pay first. He must pleasure her, softly and with great skill.

  She pulled back and looked at him.

  His hands dipped into the water, found her, and he slid one finger across her swollen folds. It wasn’t nearly enough, but just when she would have begged for more, he stood, dragging her upward so forcefully she had no choice but to cling to him.

  “Damn it to hell, Beatrice.”

  He was angry, his cheeks flushed,
his eyes dancing with something that wasn’t quite rage.

  She didn’t have a towel, but she didn’t need one as long as he was holding her so close. His shirt and trousers were sodden.

  He marched across the bathing chamber with her in his arms, opened the door, and stalked through his bedroom. Suddenly, she was airborne, then landing on his mattress with a bounce.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

  “Damn it,” he said, stripping off his clothes.

  He was naked and atop her, but before she could say a word, he was inside, surging so deeply into her she expected the pain to be unbearable.

  Her eyes widened, but the only sound she made was a gasp of surprise.

  “I told you, damn it. I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “Because this time was supposed to be slow and deliberate. But you’ve made me lose all control.”

  He hadn’t been slow, but this felt very, very deliberate.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you certain?”

  He moved then, and abruptly she wasn’t certain at all. The sensations she was experiencing weren’t at all what she’d felt the night before, and although he was still large, she was accommodating him quite easily.

  She placed her hands flat on the bed and pushed upward a little. The resultant feeling was interesting. More than interesting—she felt positively exultant with it.

  “I think you’re enjoying this.” Devlen smiled.

  “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

  “We should be gentle. Restrained. You’re too close to a virgin.”

  “Unicorn,” she said, smiling.

  “Damn it, Beatrice.”

  Her smile broadened, and she felt, absurdly, like laughing.

  “Does it always feel this way? Once you’re not a unicorn, that is.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “A heaviness,” she said, considering. “No, nicer. Like something soothing and not at the same time. Does that make any sense?”

  “Shall I tell you what it feels like for me?”

  She nodded, curious.

  “It’s a damnable itch, and it makes me want to slide in and out of you until it’s satisfied. I’m so hard it’s painful, and yet every time you move, or sigh, I get harder. I want to bury myself in you so deeply you’ll never be able to forget how I felt.”