The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mary would like to invite a friend from school for a visit.’

  He seemed surprised by the request. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Can’t imagine any responsible parent entrusting their child to my care for even a short period of time, but—’

  ‘She would presumably bring a chaperon.’

  ‘Really? How awful. But, no, it’s all right. The girl needs friends.’

  ‘She’ll also need a new wardrobe. Most of her dresses are nearly an inch too short and not terribly fashionable, either. She also needs gloves and hats and…uh, other small, personal items. If you don’t mind, I could take her shopping today.’

  ‘By all means. I’d noticed she was looking a bit outmoded, but I suppose I forgot to do anything about it.’ His gaze drifted over her body as he spoke, and she wanted to cringe. He was obviously taking in the dowdiness of her own gown and wondering, no doubt, if she could be trusted on such an errand.

  ‘I’m afraid my own clothes aren’t very stylish. One would assume I didn’t pay much attention to such things.’

  He shook his head slightly. His voice was thick. ‘That’s not what I was thinking. Would you…would you like more clothes? It never occurred to me to ask.’

  She blushed. ‘It should not have. I have enough. I…I have more at the boarding house where I was. I should really collect them soon—’

  ‘Get them while you’re out today. Take the carriage.’

  ‘William!’

  His brother again, this time sounding completely exasperated. His obvious disgruntlement saved her, at any rate. Will walked forwards to glare over the banister, and in that moment she walked quickly past him and carried on down the rest of the stairs with little more than a ‘goodbye’.

  Only once she’d reached sight of the hall, she wished she’d made a different decision. Will’s brother was, indeed, waiting there. And, to make matters worse, he was staring at her. For just a few seconds, she stared back; it was hard not to. He was nearly as tall as Will and every bit as handsome, although in a different way. Darker. Scarier.

  She lowered her gaze and finished walking down the stairs. Servants did not gawp, she reminded herself. Nor did they speak to their superiors, so she would just pretend to be invisible. She headed towards the servants’ passage, thinking how difficult it was pretending she was invisible when he was still staring at her; she could sense it, even though she didn’t remove her gaze from the oak floor. He must have been thinking some very amusing thoughts, because she also sensed he was trying hard not to laugh.

  They slowed their horses from a canter to a trot and then eased into a walk. The horses puffed with the exertion and, although the day was early and still cool, a light lather appeared on their necks where the reins had rubbed.

  Will loosened his horse’s reins, and he gratefully stretched his neck almost to the ground.

  ‘Shall we have lunch?’ James asked.

  Will glanced at his brother. James was his half-brother, actually, and the person who understood him best. Apart from sharing great height and green eyes, they appeared almost unrelated. James wasn’t perhaps quite as broad as Will, and his hair was so dark it was almost black.

  At the moment, Will’s expression was also fairly dark. He rode in the park with James at least once a week, but he wasn’t enjoying it much today. Damn Isabelle for taking him by surprise that morning. He’d responded gruffly, but who could blame him when she’d appeared so unexpectedly and his bedroom door was close enough for him to see it beckoning from the end of the corridor, pleading with him to carry her inside and toss her on the bed? It was either be gruff and unpleasant or give in to the lecherous voices that increasingly instructed his behaviour where she was concerned. He chose the former option.

  ‘Very well.’

  And damn her again for driving him from his own home. It was as if she were in charge, not him. That morning, he’d felt almost…nervous speaking to her, like some green schoolboy. His plan—if he could even call it that—had collapsed. It had seemed so simple when he’d devised it, but he’d quickly comprehended that he hadn’t thought beyond getting her inside his house. And now that she was there, he couldn’t seduce her. For one, she was, in effect, under his protection. For another, he’d always favoured brief affairs, but if he started one with her, what would happen when it ultimately came to an end? She’d still be Mary’s governess. She’d still be in his house.

  And he was just a little worried that he wouldn’t want to end things. What was happening to him? Maybe Vanessa Lytton had been right, and having Mary about was having a softening effect on him.

  On his mind, anyway. But definitely not his heart.

  ‘You were late this morning,’ James remarked. Will detected a smirk in his voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not usually late.’

  ‘Today I was.’

  Silence, while James prepared a new plan of attack. Finally he couldn’t contain himself. ‘So, Will…I’m curious about your improved domestic situation.’

  Will glanced at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Henrietta was by earlier in the week,’ James carried on. ‘She mentioned you’d asked her to help you select a governess for Mary.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And am I to assume that the red-headed beauty is your new governess?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered tightly. ‘What else would she be?’

  ‘She doesn’t look like the governess Eleanor just hired for Diana.’

  ‘It’s not my fault your governess is homely,’ Will retorted. He didn’t want to talk about Isabelle.

  ‘I can’t imagine Henrietta would pick a governess who looked like that.’

  No, and he knew she’d have something to say about his choice if she ever saw Isabelle. He’d bar her from his house if need be. ‘I managed without her help. Miss Thomas came along and I thought she was too good to dither about.’

  ‘Came along? Where exactly did she come from?’

  Unwise to admit outright that he’d met her in the slums. ‘Well, sort of nowhere. I found her in a difficult situation—no family, no funds, no home.’

  ‘Always a sound basis for inviting someone into your house.’

  ‘You must admit she’s pretty.’

  James just shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you’ve hired your mistress.’

  Will frowned. ‘She’s not, you ass.’

  Pause. ‘Then why isn’t she? I presume that’s why you took her on.’

  Why indeed. That had been the plan, hadn’t it? ‘Shut up, James. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  James was chuckling to himself. ‘Is she not co-operating with you?’

  ‘No, I just don’t want you bandying about the reputation of m’ward’s governess.’

  James snorted. ‘Her reputation? Since when do you care?’

  He didn’t care about her reputation; she was a no one without a reputation worth speaking of. But no one or not, he did think he cared about her. Just a bit. As one did of helpless girls who were under one’s protection. As he did of the tenants on his estate, and anyone else he was responsible for. Even the bloody cats who turned up. She was just another stray, as was Mary. Nothing more than that.

  And yet hearing James speak so slightingly of her infuriated him. ‘Well, I’ve never been in this situation before, have I?’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d been in this situation many times.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I told you I don’t have designs on her. I wouldn’t want any member of my household being spoken of like that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The patronising ass. ‘Very well. Maybe her more than the others, because she’s in charge of m’ward. I wouldn’t know what to do without her. Highly dependable.’

  They rode on a bit without speaking. Will enjoyed the silence, knowing it wouldn’t last.

  ‘But she won’t be in charge of your ward much longer,’ James
pointed out after another minute.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re sending the girl back to school. You told me so before she even turned up. What will you do with Miss Thomas then?’

  He’d barely thought about sending Mary away since Isabelle had arrived. The disruption to his household that he’d anticipated had never happened. Mary was quite amiable, really, once you got to know her. He’d thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon yesterday. Furthermore, sending her away would mean sending Isabelle away, too, and he wasn’t ready to entertain those thoughts.

  ‘Mary might not be returning to school.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It’s working out quite well.’

  ‘I’m certain it is.’

  ‘Don’t be so damned cynical,’ Will said irritably.

  ‘Since when are you not cynical?’

  Will didn’t answer. ‘It must be lunchtime.’

  James was looking at him strangely, but he suppressed whatever question it was he wanted to ask. ‘Very well.’

  Will returned home at eleven that night. After lunch and a few too many drinks with his brother, they’d gone on to James’s house. Will hadn’t minded. He liked his sister-in-law, Eleanor, very much, and he adored his niece, Diana. They’d just one child, a two-year-old girl so small it seemed impossible that she should be related to his oafish brother. In a strange sort of way, Will actually liked visiting James more now that he’d married; marriage had lightened the dark moods he was prone to and had healed old wounds that Will once thought he’d never recover from.

  To see him happy made Will happy, or at least it normally did. His brother’s house, noisy and somewhat disorganised, offered a pleasing contrast to his own solitary existence. But today, seeing James and Eleanor together had made him feel an unusual emptiness. It hadn’t helped that his old friend, Harry, and his new wife had joined them. They’d all traded anecdotes about married life and children, except for Will, of course, who’d just listened absentmindedly. As he pushed his food around his plate, he realised that he’d finally reached that unenviable stage where all his friends had wives and children, and he did not. He used to feel rather lucky to have escaped such commitments, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  James dropped the subject of Isabelle until the ladies had withdrawn after supper and Harry had stepped outside to promise his cantankerous driver that they’d leave in twenty minutes. James had accused him, like Henrietta had a few weeks ago, of soft-heartedness. Rubbish, Will thought, not even worth defending against—although a niggling doubt had entered his mind. When Harry returned, he had invited Will to visit him in the country that weekend, and he accepted immediately. Perhaps some time away from Isabelle was in order.

  He slipped his key into the front door and opened it quietly. He generally didn’t request any servants to stay up if he knew he’d return home late, and as was habit Bartholomew had left just a small lamp burning on the hall table. Will retrieved it carefully, so as not to extinguish the flame. He crossed the hall and began climbing the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, though, he noticed that the library door—just past the drawing room—was slightly ajar. That was odd. The doors were usually kept closed, even during the day, and at night Bartholomew locked them, too, as an insurance against theft. Perhaps it was an oversight.

  He walked to the door and pushed it open further, although just enough for his body to fit through. The well-oiled hinges didn’t creak, and the carpet absorbed any sound his footsteps might have made. At first, he saw no one; the library was the third-largest room in the house, after the ballroom and the drawing room, and any intruder could easily have hidden in the shadows. But then he noticed the dim light of a candle at the back of the room, and a slim female form silhouetted by the moonlight that shone through a window. She was standing rather precariously on top of the library steps and appeared to be balancing a candlestick in one hand and several books in the other.

  ‘Isabelle?’

  She turned suddenly at the sound of his voice, losing her balance slightly—just enough for the books to wobble and fall. She tried to catch them, but just lost her candlestick in the process. The candle extinguished before it hit the floor. He thought he heard her curse.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He entered the room more fully and started moving towards her.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered quickly. Without her light, he could see her less clearly, but he suspected she was frozen in place like a scared mouse.

  ‘You couldn’t sleep?’

  ‘No, I…’He could hear the library steps creak as she began her descent, feeling her way clumsily in the dark. ‘I thought you might have some books I could use with Mary. Bartholomew very kindly left the door open for me, but I should have locked it hours ago.’

  ‘Wait till I reach you.’ The darkness forced him to walk slowly.

  ‘What? Oh, I’m down already. I shouldn’t…oh…’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He was at her side now, and she was straightening, indicating that she’d been bent over.

  ‘I’ve spilled wax on your carpet.’

  He didn’t care. In the warm glow of his lamp she looked…amazing. So sweet and pure that he held his breath, so tempting that it hurt. She wore the same simple dress she’d been wearing earlier, but she’d loosened her hair. Soft, wispy tendrils framed her face, tumbled to her shoulders. Everything about her was so pretty and fresh, more beautiful every time he saw her.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She shook her head guiltily. Her voice was small, uncertain. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be in here. Please don’t blame Bartholomew.’

  He swallowed hard. ‘I don’t mind that you’re in here.’

  ‘No? But I should have asked your permission.’

  ‘Sweetheart, you can do just about anything you please and you won’t bother me.’

  ‘What?’

  She blinked, as if she didn’t quite understand what he’d said. He was baffled by his stupidity himself. Sweetheart? He hadn’t meant to say that, even though he’d meant it. He shouldn’t even call her Isabelle.

  There was nothing to do but pretend it hadn’t happened. ‘Here, take my hand.’

  The term of endearment had put her on guard. She didn’t accept his offer. ‘I can see well enough. If I just find my candle, you can relight it with yours.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. A maid will retrieve your candle in the morning.’ He took her reluctant hand in his and led her slowly through the dark library, around shadowy masses that he knew to be tables and chairs, and then out of the door.

  The landing’s white painted walls made it slightly brighter than the library. Bright enough to see clearly if one’s eyes had adjusted. He discarded his lamp on a marble-topped table. She could have navigated her way back to her bedroom from there without any help from him, but Will didn’t let go. She might have run off if he’d released her, but mostly he just didn’t want to.

  He reached around her to pull the library door shut, and her proximity struck him like a wave. How easy it would be to keep his arm around her and pull her even closer, to lean in, to tilt her head back and taste her velvety lips. And she was looking up at him like she was waiting for something to happen. Her blue eyes—bottomless, nervous—were curious, too.

  He couldn’t have avoided it if he’d wanted to, and since he’d been thinking about kissing her for weeks he was utterly defenceless. His hand moved up her arm, tracing a gentle line across her shoulder, her neck. He cupped the back of her head, drawing her lips to his. And then he was kissing her—not casually, but as if his life depended on it.

  Too intense, too fast, he realised. He forced himself to slow down, to nibble gently on her closed, inexperienced lips. Then tentatively, perhaps even against her will, she parted them, allowing him inside.

  It felt wonderful. Warm and soft, like a sigh of relief. Only he didn’t sigh, he groaned. Weeks of tightly controlled anticipation suddenly released like floodgates. He f
ound her tongue and teased gently until she was kissing him back. Touching his tongue with hers, duelling curiously.

  Her hands had somehow come to rest on his shoulders, and she gripped him tightly. He took a step forwards, pressing her against the wall. Her tall, lithe body fit his snugly. Right and perfect like a missing piece found.

  Eyes closed, she tilted her head back, and he allowed his lips to leave hers to trail down the column of her throat: smooth soft skin, light pulse beating quickly, and the welcome vibration of a soft, satisfied moan. Moving slowly had never been more difficult. He felt, again, like an untried schoolboy, wanting to tear her clothes off and make love to her right there, never mind a bed.

  No, no, a bed would be nice. Necessary, too, since he wasn’t sixteen and he’d bloody well remember it or he’d embarrass both himself and her. He began guiding her towards the stairs. She didn’t protest, but she was probably only half-aware of what he was doing. He hardly knew himself. He’d told himself she was off limits; it was too soon, and she wasn’t ready. But even though he knew he should stop, he didn’t want to. He wanted to carry her to his bedroom without taking his lips from hers. He wanted to make love to her, in his bed as was proper, for the rest of tonight and tomorrow, too.

  Oh, God, tomorrow. What would happen tomorrow?

  He didn’t want to think about it. Only that moment mattered. But then, that moment, suddenly—

  Heavy, sensible footsteps walking down the oak floorboards. Footsteps he knew very well, forcing him to stop. He pulled away, cursing his butler quietly. He was the last person he’d want to see at a time like this.

  Isabelle obviously also recognised the footsteps. Her eyes focused, and her dilated pupils narrowed sharply. She pushed against his chest and he released her slowly, his responses still dulled by passion. She darted up the stairs, heading to her bedroom, and he just watched her go. He leaned against the wall, letting his head fall back to rest on it; he hoped some of its coolness would permeate his brain.

  Damn.

  Bartholomew appeared with a lamp about five seconds later. He’d obviously heard something because, very discreetly, he glanced at the staircase. Will straightened, knowing his hair would be dishevelled, his colour heightened. His butler would draw conclusions.