The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  She did so, grateful to avoid his unnerving green eyes. She hadn’t managed to refasten her gown, had just tugged it up into a more respectable position. He made quick work with the rest of her buttons so the gown slid easily to her waist. With just a tug it fell the rest of the way to the floor to pool at her feet. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot, pink blush that stained the back of her neck, just above the careless bow at the top of her shift. He gave that a tug as well, to loosen it. She drew her breath sharply.

  He nearly stopped breathing at the sight of the smooth skin of her back, revealed by her parted shift. Gently, he lowered it, revealing graceful shoulder blades, a few scattered freckles that begged to be kissed. He pushed the shift down over her arms until it stopped at her hips.

  She turned around slowly, covering her breasts with her hands, suddenly self-conscious.

  His mouth was so dry he didn’t know how he managed to speak. ‘Don’t. You look beautiful.’

  With the greatest will-power, she lowered her hands. Then she stepped from her slippers, pushing them to the side with her foot. He couldn’t help staring. She was even lovelier than he could have imagined. Breasts full for someone with such a slim frame, her nipples small and pink. He might be the experienced one, but God, in that moment she’d conquered him completely. He reached out to touch her, but she shyly caught his hand and returned it to his side. Then, with her own small hands, she pushed his jacket from his shoulders. It joined her gown on the floor.

  She frowned slightly, as if debating what to do next. He didn’t know how long he could go on allowing her to undress him, but for the moment it was the most exquisite torment. Her slender fingers found the buttons of his waistcoat and carefully, rather timidly, began to unbutton them. It was taking too long.

  He grabbed her hand, stopping her. She glanced up at him quickly, and he caught her lips in his while he finished the job himself. Without taking his mouth from hers, he shrugged off his waistcoat and then, with one decisive yank, he pulled her shift the rest of the way from her hips.

  She gasped, but before she had time to step away he pulled her closer, settling her pale, lithe limbs against his broad body. Hands running down her naked back, squeezing her perfect bottom, pressing her against his hardness once more. She tugged at his linen shirt, and he broke their kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. Her hands spread over his back, down to his waist, one bold finger finding its way to the top of his breeches and then down…

  He grabbed her hand and relocated it to his shoulder. The bed was thankfully near. He eased on to it, taking her with him, covering her with his body. He found her breasts once more, rolling one nipple around his tongue while his fingers teased the other. She held his head, hands tangling in thick, golden hair, lost in the moment. With his mouth still on her breast, one hand moved down her stomach, finding the soft junction of her thighs. Teasing her until she bucked beneath him. Her long legs, still clothed in white silk stockings, wrapped around his hips, pulling him close, pleading for something she probably didn’t fully understand.

  She called out his name, and it was more than he could take. He sat up, unfastening his breeches, stripping them off. She sat up, too, pulling the quilt with her, covering her breasts. But before she had too long to feel exposed, he’d found her lips again. His hand slipped below her stocking, tugging down. First one off, and then the other. He pressed her to the bed, settled in between her legs. Kissed a trail down her stomach.

  He found her again, his hand teasing, tormenting. Making her back arch and her fingers dig into the bedclothes. Then, with one swift movement, he’d entered her. His whole body throbbed with the need to find his release, but he held very still, holding his breath. He’d felt her stiffen and wished it didn’t have to hurt.

  ‘Darling?’ He kissed her nose, her cheek.

  ‘Is that it?’

  He shook his head and moved slightly.

  ‘Oh.’ It was a nice ‘oh’—surprised and rather pleased.

  ‘It won’t hurt again.’

  ‘It doesn’t any more,’ she said. She moved against him, experimenting.

  He closed his eyes with a groan, willing away the wave of sensation that threatened to overpower him. Then he slowly began to move. Rhythmic thrusts, building steadily. So good he wanted it to last for ever, so good it couldn’t possibly. Her legs wrapped around him. Her hands gripped him tightly. Head back, mouth open, calling out as pleasure racked her body. With a cry of his own, Will followed her over the brink.

  For many minutes they lay there, allowing their breathing to return to normal, allowing the sweat to dry. The evening was early, but soon both had fallen into the deepest sleep.

  Waking up next to a man was a completely novel experience, so Isabelle lay very still for several minutes, just thinking and watching the early morning sky gradually brighten. It was a pleasant room, now that she had a moment to take it in. She’d been too nervous the night before. Quite big, and well furnished with a mahogany dressing table and a chest of drawers. The walls were painted a pale green; floral-patterned curtains matched a comfortable-looking wingback armchair. She could be happy here, she thought, as long as he was with her.

  She felt happy at that very moment. Mostly, anyway. She’d known she’d enjoy making love to Will, but she’d no idea how nice it would be. Nice wasn’t the word at all. Earth-shattering was more like it. So nice she felt like a different person, and she supposed she was. She didn’t regret making love to him; it had been inevitable, so there wasn’t much point in worrying about what she should have done differently.

  But her happiness was tinged with sorrow. Just a little bit. This situation wasn’t perfect. Her life had just changed permanently, and although she felt good enough now, she might feel differently with the passing of time. What if she became with child? It could happen; he’d mentioned the possibility himself. How would she feel if—more likely when—he married someone else? He might not want to, but his need to produce an heir, and a legitimate one, wouldn’t vanish. If that happened she’d regret not accepting his proposal, even if she knew deep down that refusing him was the right thing to do.

  She certainly wouldn’t be happy if he left her.

  But then again, perhaps he wouldn’t leave her to marry someone else. Duty hadn’t yet compelled him to find a wife, and some men kept their mistresses for decades, even after they’d married. That’s what his father had done. And maybe she’d never swell with child. Such was the fate of some women.

  She didn’t want to examine why the thought made her so sad.

  ‘Isabelle?’

  She rolled her head on her pillow to look at him, unwilling to let dark thoughts cloud her morning. The sun was beginning to part her bedroom curtains, slicing through the room with determined cheeriness. Will had propped himself up on an elbow, and was smiling down at her face. She glanced at his bare chest, no less thrilled by his handsomeness than she had been the very first time she saw him. Muscles. Good heavens. It really was remarkable that someone who led a life of leisure could have a chest like that.

  She loved him so much that it scared her.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said.

  He kissed her on the nose and, before she had time to prepare for it, he’d rolled over, taking her with him so she lay on top of him.

  ‘Good morning to you,’ he said, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her neck.

  She looked down at him, worry now adding to her sense of ambivalence. Was it just the strangeness of waking up naked with a similarly naked man that troubled her? No—the problem was she still didn’t know what was going to happen. Would he leave for Norfolk today? She didn’t want him to, but he couldn’t stay for ever. What about, for instance—

  ‘But what about your driver? He hasn’t been outside all night, has he?’

  ‘After you went upstairs I told him to pass the night at an inn. There’s one just a few miles away. He’ll come back today and I can give him instructions.’
>
  He still hadn’t answered the question of how long he planned to stay with her.

  ‘You will be going to Wentwich Castle today?’ she asked.

  He shook his head and began nibbling on the soft flesh of her neck. She closed her eyes briefly as warm sensations danced across her shoulders.

  ‘But you said that was what you intended to do.’

  ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

  ‘No, I—’

  He interrupted her by rolling over again, this time so that he ended up on top. ‘I was hoping to stay here with you for a while, actually.’

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Were you ever intending to go?’

  He looked charmingly sheepish. ‘Would you be terribly angry if I told you I was not?’

  ‘Then why did you say so?’

  ‘I rather hoped you’d invite me to stay here with you a while. I needed an excuse to bring along several changes of clothes.’

  She wasn’t angry at all. Thrilled, in fact. His open-ended ‘a while’ wasn’t as precise as she might like, but it meant that for a short time she could pretend he’d be there indefinitely.

  Like playing house when she was a child, but better. Because now she had someone to play with.

  ‘Darling, you look as if you’re thinking too much again.’

  She realised she’d become lost in thought, and she forced her expression into a cheeky grin. Not difficult because her worries had temporarily vanished. ‘It’s better than talking too much, surely.’

  ‘I’d rather you were doing neither.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I shall have to do something about it.’

  So she let him.

  Will put his hands in his pockets. The day was hot and humid, and he wished he could remove his dark woollen jacket. They’d taken to wandering along the towpath that meandered behind the cottage every morning or afternoon, depending on how long they stayed abed. It had rained heavily during the night, causing the river to flood slightly. The fishermen had come out in number, taking advantage of the swarming midges who made the fish rise to the surface.

  He glanced at Isabelle’s profile, so beautiful in its odd way. The sun had brought out more freckles and lightened her hair. He’d spent four days there with her, four of the happiest days of his memory. But he would have to leave soon—he couldn’t simply ignore his responsibilities by pretending the real world didn’t exist.

  She noticed he was watching her and smiled shyly.

  ‘I’ll have to return tomorrow,’ he said, wishing it weren’t the case. ‘I’ve a few things to attend to in London, but I shouldn’t be away long.’

  He couldn’t read her expression. He wanted her to try to persuade him not to go, but she just looked out over the swollen river. ‘You’ll send Mary my regards?’

  ‘Yes, of course, if she hasn’t burned my brother’s house to the ground. She’ll miss you.’

  ‘I…I hope you will explain.’

  ‘Yes, of course—as much as I can, anyway. When I return, I can bring her along for a visit, if you’d like.’

  ‘You would not be able to spend the night.’

  ‘A good point. Probably why I haven’t proposed it earlier.’

  ‘And then I should miss you.’

  He squeezed her hand. They walked along for several minutes, dodging mud puddles and nodding silent greetings at the hunched forms of patient fisherman. ‘You could come back to London,’ Will said eventually. He’d been waiting for her to suggest it. ‘Perhaps you’ll get bored of the country.’

  ‘I won’t, and where would I stay in London? I can’t stay with you, and I don’t think your brother would be delighted to have me again.’

  ‘I could find you a house.’

  ‘I cannot afford two homes, Will.’

  He didn’t offer to pay for her, even though he’d be happy to do so. She’d never accept his money, and she didn’t know that he was already heavily subsidising her rent. It was true what he’d said about his friend offering the cottage at a reasonable price, but even so she could never afford it on her own. Not for more than a few years, anyway—not without any other income. But he’d no qualms about being underhanded if it kept her comfortable and safe.

  ‘I should assure you that James and Eleanor liked you tremendously, but I suppose having one’s brother’s…uh—’

  ‘Mistress will do.’

  He knew she didn’t like the word, even though she herself had chosen the position. ‘Yes, well, having you to stay wouldn’t exactly be the done thing, but other than that they’d be delighted to have you. They wouldn’t have invited you to dinner if they disapproved of you.’ Will knew that to be true. He’d told them both how he felt about Isabelle, and knowing the depth of his affection for her, they would never make her feel unwelcome. Actually, they were the only ones who knew he loved her, since Will hadn’t yet told her. He didn’t know if he was ready to, not while she kept turning him down.

  He changed the subject. ‘If the country does begin to bore you, I can think up any number of rural activities to entertain us.’

  ‘Rolling in haystacks, perhaps?’ she asked, grinning cheekily.

  ‘You obviously know how my mind works, but no. Delightful as that sounds, I think we’re—correction, I’m—far too old.’ He regarded a pair of boys sitting on the riverbank, each holding a fishing pole over the turgid water. It reminded him of himself and James when they’d been that age, before everything had gone wrong.

  ‘What about fishing?’ he asked. ‘I used to do quite a lot of it.’

  ‘Never done it at all. We might try. I think there are poles at the cottage.’

  Will wondered if they’d ever have children. He supposed they would, as long as they kept making love—and he certainly had no intention to stop. He wanted children with her. Eight sounded like a good number. Enough so that they could protect each other if for any reason he wasn’t around to do so.

  First, he’d have to convince her that he’d still want to marry her even if her father had had horns and a tail, let alone an unpleasant secret.

  ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ he asked rather suddenly.

  She turned her head to look at him, smiling. ‘I like secrets.’

  He didn’t think she’d like this one. It was worse than hers—bad enough that he’d never told anyone. Sharing it with her had been a sudden impulse, but he hoped it might help. It was now too late to stop.

  ‘You know I had another brother.’

  She nodded slowly, but her smile faltered. She looked away guiltily. ‘Eleanor told me about him. I hope you don’t mind. He sounds awful.’

  Will usually tried not to think about him. ‘He was, I’m afraid. He was so much older than James and me that he never even seemed like a brother. Did Eleanor tell you how he died?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Richard was shot. In his London house—where I now live—by an intruder. That’s what everyone believes, anyway.’

  She looked paler, but perhaps it was just the light. ‘I don’t understand. Was the man not apprehended?’

  ‘No, because there was no intruder.’

  She stopped walking, her eyes searching his face for clues. ‘Who killed him, then?’

  Several years had passed, and he could hardly remember the sequence of events. He didn’t know where to begin.

  ‘It happened four years ago. I’d just had a row with Richard. We weren’t actually on speaking terms, and hadn’t been for more than a dozen years, since, well—’

  ‘Eleanor explained. You don’t need to.’

  He put his hands in his pockets. ‘He’d always possessed a violent streak, but he’d grown worse over the years. Drinking more, too.’

  ‘What could you row about if you hadn’t spoken in so long?’

  ‘A relationship he was having with a girl. She was the daughter of his butler—’

  ‘Bartholomew?’

  He started walking again as it all came back. ‘No, we’d a different one back then, a widowe
r with three grown children. Rawlings. This daughter had just moved to London to work as a lady’s maid, or some such thing. I wouldn’t normally care who Richard carried on with, but her father had worked for my family for years—I’d known him my entire life. He came to me in distress, telling me he thought Richard had designs on the girl, and if he’d seduced her she’d have been…well, you can imagine she’d have a difficult time keeping her position or finding a respectable husband.’

  ‘Yes, of course. What…what did you do?’

  ‘I approached Richard about it, and he confirmed his actions, but didn’t seem inclined to stop. I told Rawlings that his concern was justified and said I’d keep an eye on my brother. A day or two later, I saw Richard in St James’s with the girl. They didn’t see me, and I followed them home.’

  ‘You saved her?’ Isabelle asked hopefully, her face worried.

  ‘I wish I had. Richard was…more than unkind. He took pleasure in hurting others, and the girl was young and naïve—I think she thought he might care for her, that he might give her supper and praise her eyebrows. It wasn’t like that—by the time I arrived just a few minutes behind them…well—’

  ‘I understand,’ she assured him quickly.

  ‘The front door had been locked behind him, and I was delayed, trying to get in through a back window—’

  ‘Richard would take her to his house when her father was the butler?’

  ‘It was late. Rawlings would have retired. He must have heard something, though, because he came running up the stairs right behind me, carrying the shotgun that was kept in his room in case of intruders. As we reached the bedroom, we heard the sound of a struggle, and then a thud, like someone falling to the floor.’

  ‘He hurt her.’

  ‘He tried to. But the noise we’d heard…it wasn’t her falling, Isabelle. It was him. She’d hit him on the head with a mantel clock. Bronze. Very heavy.’

  Isabelle stared for a minute. ‘You mean she killed him?’

  ‘Very possibly. It would be just if she had, but I can’t be sure. He didn’t move—I shan’t labour the details, but he appeared to be dead. Then Rawlings shot him anyway.’