Control yourself.
He put the thought away from him resolutely, but he could not prevent himself from following them out to the lake.
I need to see that she is not wasting time with Heather.
It was useless to lie to himself. As he walked through the garden toward the sounds of laughter, the phrase “like a starving street cat to a bowl of milk” kept running through his mind.
The sight he beheld when he came around the garden wall was almost enough to knock the wind out of him. Heather, it seemed, had convinced Miss O’Neil to begin her education with a lesson on dancing. They were both laughing, with their skirts in their hands as Miss O’Neil taught his daughter some rambunctiously high-energy Irish reel. It was still early in the morning, and the governess’ hair was already tumbling from her pins around her lovely neck.
He watched silently for a while, preferring to observe unnoticed while he could. He kept his gaze on Miss O’Neil’s calves as she hitched her dress up to dance, bouncing energetically. When she turned in a circle, she caught sight of him with a start.
“Oh!” she cried, stumbling as she stopped dancing immediately. She dropped into a clumsy curtsy, nearly stumbling again before straightening up. Her cheeks were red with exertion and her eyes positively glittered. More troublingly, as his eyed flicked downward, he saw that her chest was rising and falling with quick, heavy breaths. Her pale breasts pressed against the bodice of the gown that he had so carefully chosen to be a modest and homely uniform. It seemed that even the plainest gray fabric could not mask the luscious sensuality of the body inside it.
This is how she would look after a round of enthusiastic lovemaking. See that sheen of sweat on her brow? And how pink her lips are when she pants through her mouth. Imagine those lips wrapped arou…
He cleared his throat, catching her blushing and fidgeting nervously. He feared that she had noticed him glancing at her body, for she took a step backwards and looked frightened.
“Good morning, Papa!” Heather cried, running toward him and snapping him out of his sinful thoughts most expediently.
Chapter 6
Amanda was not a worldly woman. She had precious little experience with men. Even her most ardent moments with Conor had been carefully chaste. He had been a perfect gentleman, gallant and kind, and had never once made any move to pressure her into behaving like a wife to him before they were properly married. A hidden aspect of her grief, one that she could never share with anyone, was her dejection at the loss of her wedding night, toward which she had been looking with mounting anticipation.
Even as in the dark as she was about the sexuality of men, it was apparent what Lord Ethelred was thinking as his eyes flickered down her body. She tried to catch her breath, suddenly terribly aware of the way her breasts strained against her dress. To hide her embarrassment, she turned around as Lady Heather ran up to her father. Amanda busied herself by quickly taming her hair, which had come loose during the dancing.
By the time she turned around again, she had calmed her breath and tamed her hair. Her heart still raced with the strange exhilaration of being looked at in such a manner by such a man, but, at least, her pulse would not be hard to hide.
“I see that you’ve decided that dancing is the first order of business. I don’t remember you mentioning it in your lesson plans last night.” His voice was even and restrained and Amanda swallowed thickly.
So much for pleasing him.
“Well, Lady Heather showed an interest in Irish dances and…I’ve read that exercise in the morning is wholesome and helps to stimulate the mind before studies.”
“I’ve not seen a dance like that before.” His eyes bored into hers and Amanda had the overwhelming feeling that he was undressing her in his mind. It was impossible, of course. There was no longer any outward sign of attraction in his expression. His face was as hard and stern as ever.
It is merely wishful thinking. You are imagining things.
“It’s traditional, My Lord.”
He made an odd sort of noise that she couldn’t quite translate, as if it were caught halfway between a derisive scoff and a soft chuckle.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, turning his eyes down to his daughter.
“I slept all night!”
Amanda thought that Lady Heather sounded proud to announce that, and she wondered if it was unusual for her to sleep through the night. No one had made any mention of that to her if it were true. The father and daughter continued to talk as Amanda stood patiently and awkwardly by.
“You must continue your lessons now,” he said at once. “Though I think you can be done with dancing for now. I shall return to the house.”
“Can’t you stay?” Lady Heather asked sweetly.
Amanda’s nerves tightened. How could she focus on education with the Marquess so near at hand? He looked unlikely to agree to his daughter’s whims, but the little girl proved persuasive.
In easier circumstances, Amanda would have found it comical how easily the stoic Marquess was swayed by his daughter’s pleading eyes.
He ended up staying with them all morning, as the sun rose high in the blue sky. Amanda could not conceive of a more painful way to spend a morning. She was all too aware of his constant surveillance, both of her teaching ability and her person. More than once, she was sure she caught him staring at her, but he looked away so quickly she almost doubted herself.
Of course, she could hardly complain about being looked at by the Marquess when she only knew about it because of her continually glancing at him.
It was so strange to see the interactions between him and his daughter. The child so clearly idolized him, constantly seeking his approval and praise. He gave it readily, but always in that cool tone of voice. He was odd. Amanda chanced another glance at him, studying the high brow and aquiline slope of his nose in profile against the greenery behind him. He stood very still, with an icy serenity in his posture. He was like stone. Or a sculpture carved into a glacier. And yet, his daughter seemed to find the hint of warmth in him and drew it out in her own way.
As she watched him interact with Lady Heather, Amanda had the impression that she was witnessing something the other people never did. What must he be like away from the softening influence of the daughter he so clearly adored? Amanda shivered to think of it.
His wife had been Irish. If she had been anything like her daughter was turning out to be, she must have also had a streak of unpredictability and passion in her. Did such a man fall for a woman like that? It was difficult to imagine the Marquess with any woman, let alone one who was high spirited and vivacious. He seemed somehow beyond sex as if he had transcended such base, human matters. In imagining a female counterpart to the Marquess, Amanda could only conjure up an image of a stately, refined Lady who submitted to his carnality as a means to an end. Their marriage bed would be a business-like interaction.
And yet, hadn’t she just been squirming under his stare, feeling perfectly naked before the penetrating heat of his gaze?
Amanda shook her head, drawing her mind back to the matter at hand—her lessons.
The gentleman was a paradox. Much like the house he lived in, he seemed to be of two natures, stuck haphazardly together. He was an enigma, yes, but one which was not hers to solve.
Leave such puzzle-solving to his next wife. Surely there will be one soon, especially since Lady Heather so clearly desires it. Focus, Amanda. Focus.
Finally, he was called away when a visitor arrived who desired to do some business with him. Amanda didn’t begin to understand the sort of business that a Marquess would be obliged to do, and she didn’t care. As long as it got him away from her. When he left, she breathed a sigh of relief. His presence was magnetic; the entire earth seemed to tilt toward him whenever he was near. With him gone, she could focus more on Lady Heather.
She did not see him again that day, save for a brief moment when she caught sight of him as Lady Heather was brought to his drawing room to say
goodnight to him. He was reclining in a large leather chair, with thick, sweet-smelling tobacco smoke curling from his pipe and filling the room with its heaviness. The fire blazed, and she remembered how high the flames had roared the night before when they had first spoken. It seemed that he was not a man of the warm, steady comfort of embers. It was a conflagration or nothing, with him.
Lady Heather jumped into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him goodnight. He was more sedate in his goodnight, but kissed her brow with a gentleness that touched Amanda. When the girl ran back to her, he seemed to notice Amanda there for the first time. He inclined his head silently as she dropped into a small curtsy.
Closing the door as they left him, Amanda was brought to mind of the manor’s history. The master’s rooms were in the oldest part of the building, where its origin as a military fortress was most obvious. Leaving him behind in that dark, stony edifice while she and Lady Heather padded quickly to the more civilized areas of the house seemed poignant, somehow.
She carried that thought to bed with her, turning it over in her mind. As she laid there in the neat little paneled room, she felt that the Marquess might as well have been in a different house altogether. Or a different county. How far away his chambers seemed…how distant he was…
Amanda woke to the sound of screams. Jolted upright, her heart raced as she leaped out of bed and ran to the nursery.
Lady Heather was sitting up in bed, her hands over her ears, her face pressed against her knees as she shrieked. Amanda ran to her, taking the little girl in her arms.
“Shhhh, Shush, little darling, it’s me. You’ve had a nightmare, that’s all.”
The girl was not consoled, and it took several minutes of rocking her gently for her screams to ebb into hearty sobs.
“I want my Papa,” she cried, jerking away from Amanda.
“It’s the middle of the night. He’s surely asleep.”
“I don’t care!” Amanda shouted, tossing her blankets off of her and standing up. Before Amanda could stop her, she was dashing for the door.
“Lady Heather, you mustn’t wake your father,” Amanda called, trailing after the girl.
She might as well have been entreating a wild bird. Lady Heather flew down the corridors, her bare feet thudding against the floors as she ran. The house was cold and ever so dark. Amanda realized in horror that she was being led, at a full sprint, toward the Marquess’ bedroom in the middle of the night, wearing nothing other than her thin nightgown.
“Lady Heather, please! He’ll be cross with me!” Amanda pleaded, trying to catch up to the surprisingly swift child. Perhaps she would take pity on her governess.
No such luck. Lady Heather was soon at a heavy oak door that must have been her father’s, and her hand was on the door handle before Amanda skidded to a stop behind her and caught her by the wrist.
“You must not wake your father at this hour. It is my job to take care of you, and besides, there’s nothing the matter with you. It was a nightmare and nothing more,” Amanda tried to whisper as she panted to catch her breath.
“I don’t care!” Lady Heather said again in a loud voice that made Amanda cringe.
“Shhhh,” she hissed, covering the girl’s mouth gently with her hand.
Lady Heather jiggled the door handle, trying to pry away from Amanda’s grip and open the door.
“You must at least knock,” she begged, “suppose he’s—”
Undressed?
The door suddenly opened from within, nearly causing the two females to topple over each other into the dark bedroom.
“What’s all this?” came the familiar male voice, though this time, it was ragged with sleep.
Chapter 7
As Lady Heather threw herself into her father’s arms, Amanda panicked.
“My Lord, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I tried to stop her, truly I did. I told her she mustn’t wake you. I chase…” she took a deep breath, her heart still pounding from the run across the length of the manor, “I chased her. But Lord, she’s fast.”
In the dim blue moonlight that slanted through the cold bedroom, she thought she saw, just for a moment, a flash of his teeth. Was he smiling?
“There, there, darling,” he whispered, petting Lady Heather’s hair and lifting her into his arms. “Another nightmare was it?”
The child sobbed against his chest. “I want to sleep in here.”
“You told me you wouldn’t be afraid if you had a governess next to your room,” he whispered gently. His voice was transformed, groggy with tiredness, but also unbearably tender.
Lady Heather sobbed incoherently as he began to carry her back in the direction of the nursery. There was naught for Amanda to do but follow.
“I can’t, Heather. You’re not a baby anymore, and big girls must sleep in their own rooms. And you have Miss O’Neil to watch over you. Don’t you like Miss O’Neil?” he was murmuring as they walked back.
Only a parent could interpret the watery gibberish of Lady Heather’s answer.
“Now, don’t be silly. I happen to know that you are a very brave girl…”
Amanda folded her hands in front of her, slowing down so that she would fall behind and put more distance between herself and them. It felt wrong to hear these sorts of conversations between father and daughter. She felt like an interloper as it was.
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” Lady Heather asked, her eyes still full of tears when he laid her down on her bed.
There was a long pause as he seemed to consider it.
“Only tonight. Do you promise?” he responded.
She girl sniffed. “I promise.”
Amanda hovered near the door to her own room, shivering slightly in the cold night air. She felt invisible and perfectly unneeded at the moment, but he had not dismissed her to return to bed either. She waited and watched.
The Marquess pulled the low rocking chair near to Lady Heather’s bed and sat down, taking her hand.
“Close your eyes,” he chided. “Go right back to sleep.”
He was wearing a loose-fitting shirt with the collar open, tucked haphazardly into black breeches that seemed hastily pulled on. His hair was disheveled. Even in the faint light, Amanda could see the transformation. Outside of the confines of his stark attire, he looked almost like a normal man. His aristocratic aloofness was washed out by blue moonlight, and the shape of his neck, unhidden by his normal cravat, was as sensual as any fine-looking gentleman’s neck.
She assumed.
After several long minutes, Lady Heather’s breathing became slow and deep once more, and he carefully slid his hand out from her grip and stood up. He looked about the room and, seeing Amanda still standing silently by, he cocked his head toward the door, beckoning her to follow him.
Amanda’s heart dropped and she followed him with leaden feet.
Will he fire me over this? It’s only my first mistake. Oh, if only I had caught her before she made it to his door…
She followed him across the hall and into an empty room. The moon was on the other side of the house, making this room inky black. She watched the black mass of his figure fumble about in the darkness.
“Where the devil is a…” there was a soft thud as his foot seemed to knock into something. He cursed, “candle when you need one…aha.”
His face was suddenly illuminated by the light of a match, and she watched him touch the flame to the wick of a candle that was little more than a misshapen lump of wax.
He looked at her, then chuckled very quietly. “You needn’t look so terrified, Miss O’Neil. I’m not angry. In fact, I want to apologize. I should have informed you about her nightmares.”
But she wasn’t terrified. If she looked frightened, if her eyes were wide and her breathing shallow, it was only because of the way the candle’s light softened and caressed his face. When he spoke, the muscles in his throat undulated, and instantly, she wished to press her lips to the pulse point at the side of his ne
ck.
Taken aback by the sudden urge, she said nothing.
“She’s had them for years,” he continued. “You must think I’ve spoiled her greatly, allowing her to carry on behaving like a baby, sleeping in her parents’ bed. But you…” he cleared his throat softly. Still, she said nothing. “You must understand, I don’t know what I’m doing. She is my only child, and I am alone.”
Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 5