The Ungrateful Governness

by Mary Balogh

  Jessica was feeling flushed and inwardly excited by the time the ball was two hours old. Amazingly, she had been partnered for every set, though she had been fully prepared to stand on the sidelines with the dowager duchess for most of the evening as a mere spectator of the dancing. She had not expected to draw the notice of any gentleman, unknown as she was.

  It was not just gentlemen to whom she had been presented. The dowager had taken her to meet her daughter-in-law, the duchess, and her granddaughter, Lady Bradley. Both were very different from Lord Rutherford, she noticed. The duchess had graying fair hair and was comfortably plump. Her daughter was a younger version of herself though not yet as ample in figure. Jessica felt deeply mortified at being thus presented to them. In other, slightly altered circumstances, she would be completely beyond their lowest notice, their son's and brother's chere amie, no less. As it was, Lady Bradley invited her to attend her soiree three evenings hence.

  Jessica also met Lord Rutherford's other sister, unmarried though she was older than he. Lady Hope looked somewhat like her brother, tall, slim almost to the point of thinness, dark, rather handsome. But she lacked the haughtiness of either her brother or her grandmother. She had a habit, Jessica noticed, of smiling quickly and nervously, her hands fluttering aimlessly.

  Lady Hope came to speak to her grandmother and to meet Jessica between the first and second sets and made herself agreeable. Sir Godfrey Hall was forced to interrupt her conversation with Jessica in order to lead the latter onto the floor for the quadrille. Lady Hope smiled at him and curtsied. He smiled warmly back and signed her card for the supper waltz before leading Jessica away.

  Had she enjoyed the ball so far? Jessica asked herself when the dowager put that very question to her. The supper dance was next. It was a waltz, and the duchess had assured her that she might dance it though she had not been approved by the hostesses of Almack's. That was a ridiculous custom anyway, the old lady said, and one that certainly need not apply outside the months of the Season and to a lady well past her twentieth birthday.

  Had she enjoyed the ball? Yes, of course she had. There was a thoroughly heady feeling of triumph in being at a ton event and accepted just as if she were one of their number by everyone present. She had not seen anyone frown her way or whisper behind a hand or a fan. There was satisfaction in knowing that she looked well enough that a whole succession of gentlemen had sought an introduction to her so that they might dance with her. And there was a delightful sense of freedom in being able to dance, to look her partners in the eye, to converse with them, smile at them, laugh with them. Only two weeks before she had been a governess, hemmed in by rules, expected to be seen and not heard outside the confines of the schoolroom.

  And yet how could she enjoy herself fully? The dowager had assured her that Lord Rutherford did not frequent the same events as she. Was it merely an unfortunate coincidence that he was in attendance at her very first social appearance? Or had the duchess lied to her? Jessica suspected the latter. She did not want to be in his presence. She had been horribly embarrassed ever since she had first glimpsed him strolling toward his grandmother before the dancing started.

  She had been unable to relax since, unable to ignore his tall, elegant presence in the ballroom. How could he be dressed all in gold and snowy white without looking to even the slightest degree effeminate? He had not once left the ballroom even though many other gentlemen noticeably came and went. She had not seen Sir Godfrey since the second set. And the Duke of Middleburgh and Lord Bradley were in the card room, their wives had explained.

  Lord Rutherford had remained, standing beside his mother much of the time. He had danced with each of his sisters but with no one else, though even Jessica had noticed that a great deal of feminine attention was focused his way. In the few glances she had dared send his way, she had found that he was not looking at her. Why did she feel so very observed then, so very exposed?

  What must he think of her? He must consider her a dreadful opportunist, staying at Berkeley Square as his grandmother's guest when he had sent her there for assistance in finding a situation as a governess. No, she did not need to ask what he thought. Looks had already spoken loudly enough. He had not said a word during that first set. Indeed, it would have been difficult to hold any sustained conversation as it was a country dance and they were frequently separated by the figures of the set. But he had looked dictionaries of meaning.

  He had not taken his eyes from her throughout the set, she would swear, and she had found somewhat to her dismay that she could not withdraw her gaze from his. And she had read accusation, contempt, fury in his eyes. She had clamped her teeth tightly together and lifted her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance. She might be embarrassed, dreadfully so, but she was not going to creep around Lord Rutherford, eyes constantly lowered to the floor, as she had done for two years with the Barries. Those days were over even if she found in the future that she had to go back to being someone's governess.

  The dowager duchess was looking at her inquiringly. "Yes, your grace," she said. "I am enjoying myself immensely. How could I not when so many people are quite flattering in their attentions?"

  "Here comes Charles to claim your hand for the waltz," the duchess said. "Do have a good time, dear. I have heard that the boy performs the steps with remarkable flair. In my day, of course, we would have thought it a shockingly forward dance. But there is a certain elegance to it, I must confess."

  "Miss Moore?" the earl said, stretching out an imperious hand for Jessica's. "My dance, I believe, ma'am."

  If he had two ice chips for eyes, Jessica thought, as she laid a hand in his, there would not be enough heat in him to melt them.

  "Yes, my lord," she agreed, trying to ignore the voice of the dowager behind her assuring Lord Rutherford that she did the waltz most charmingly.

  When he stopped among the other dancers, placed one hand at her waist, and clasped one of hers in the other, and when she lifted her free hand to his very solid shoulder, Jessica had to fight the urge to lower her eyes and hope to escape his notice by meek silence. She raised her eyes and looked into his. They still looked remarkably like ice chips, blue ice chips.

  "I totally misjudged you, you know, Jess," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes.

  "Did you?" she asked.

  "I took you for a meek servant who was quite bewildered and frightened by the prospect of being turned off without a character," he said. "I thought you quite unable to cope with the wide world beyond your schoolroom."

  "Did you?" she said. "And was that why you made the offer you did, my lord? Did you hope that I would have been irrevocably compromised and committed to being nothing more than your mistress for the rest of my life before I realized that there were other possibilities for the future?"

  His hand tightened at her waist as the orchestra began playing and he led her into the steps of the waltz. He stared at her tight-lipped for the time it took her to count silently in threes and feel the rhythm of the dance. But such concentration was unnecessary, she discovered almost immediately. He was quite as expert as his grandmother had suggested. She could not choose but follow his lead.

  "In a word, yes," he said. "And if that was sarcasm in your tone, Jess, I resent it. It is no insult, you know, for such as you to be offered the position of mistress to the Earl of Rutherford. There are many females above the rank of servant who would jump at the chance."

  "In that case," Jessica said, "I am glad I resisted, my lord. I think it most unfair to jump a queue, don't you?"

  His eyes narrowed. "You are impertinent," he said. "And you have no business in this ballroom. And even less speaking with my mother and my sisters. In fact, I find myself not at all in the mood for dancing. I have a great deal to say to you, Jess, and a ballroom is not quite the place to say it. Come with me. We will find somewhere more private."

  He bowed elegantly to her and held out his arm. He even smiled. Jessica did not want to go with him. She did not wish to spe
ak with him. But what could she do? she thought in the split second before she reached up a hand and laid it on his sleeve. He was the Earl of Rutherford, watched at that very moment, no doubt, by almost every lady in the room. And she was a newcomer, whom these people had accepted with remarkable kindness. To refuse to go with him would be to draw attention to herself. To begin some scandal, no doubt. She would be announcing to half the ton that she, a mere nobody, had had the effrontery to quarrel with no less a person than Lord Rutherford.

  He led her out of the ballroom, along a hallway past several opened doors, all of which revealed rooms that were occupied. Finally he opened a closed door, glanced inside, and led her in. It was in darkness, the only light coming through the unshuttered window. It was some sort of small office, its only furniture a desk and chair and an old chaise longue.

  "This," Lord Rutherford announced, closing the door firmly behind them, "will do very nicely. Now, Jess Moore, we will have a full explanation of this masquerade you and her grace have chosen to play."

  6

  "I should not be here with you unchaperoned," Jessica said, knowing even as the words came out of her mouth what a stupid thing it was to say. "Her grace would not like it."

  Lord Rutherford laughed, as she had feared he would. "This is the first I have heard of servants needing chaperonage," he said. "And in light of what happened-or almost happened-between you and me little more than a week ago, I think your protests rather silly. Do you not agree?"

  Jessica could think of nothing to say. She crossed the small room and stood staring out into the darkness.

  "What story did you tell her grace?" Rutherford asked. "You were utterly destitute a week ago. You were sent to her to beg help in finding employment. And this is the employment you have found? Masquerading as a lady and making all the people here tonight your dupes? I find your appearance and your presence here distasteful, to put the matter lightly. I await your explanation."

  "Her grace has been kind enough to take me in for the winter," Jessica said. "I told no lies and used no tricks. Indeed, I begged her to find me employment. If you object to what she has done, my lord, I believe it is to her you should speak and not to me. I do not feel that I owe you an explanation."

  "Who are you?" The words exploded into a stunned silence. "Who is Miss Jessica Moore? I assume that if you had employment as a governess, you are not precisely a nobody. You obviously have some breeding, some education. Your father has some claim to the name of gentleman, I assume. Which fact makes you in the most general application of the term a lady. But there is a difference between being a lady and being of the sort of rank that would gain you admittance to a gathering such as this. You have no business here."

  "Her grace apparently disagrees," Jessica said.

  "Who is your father?" Rutherford asked. She could see, turning from the window, that his hands were held in fists at his sides.

  "My father was a clergyman," she said. "A village clergyman. An impoverished village clergyman. He never had the means to send me to school. When he died, I had no choice but to seek employment." Her voice hardly wavered over the lie.

  He nodded. "It is as I thought," he said. "My grandmother is growing older and more eccentric every day. Obviously she was taken by your youth and beauty and decided to amuse herself by trying to pass you off as a lady of the highest class. It will not do, Jess. You will be found out. Any gentleman you hope to ensnare as a husband will inquire into your background. He will want more than this mysterious reference to a grandmother who was one of her grace's dearest friends."

  "Then you will be able to enjoy my public exposure to ridicule," Jessica said.

  He made an impatient gesture with head and hand. "Enough of this impertinence," he said. "I have my grandmother's reputation to consider as well. I cannot tolerate any continuation of this charade. It must end. If you have no alternative, then I will renew my former offer. You may still become my mistress and retain this taste for pretty clothes that you have clearly acquired. That is more the life to which you belong, Jess."

  "In your bed," she said.

  "When I choose to put you there, yes," he agreed.

  "And don't pretend that you would find those occasions distasteful, Jess. We both know different, don't we? But you will not spend the whole of your life in my bed. I will provide you with a home to enjoy. You wil have a carriage in which to travel around almost at will. I will take you to entertainments where it is acceptable for you to appear. Come, I think the time has arrived when you really have little other choice."

  "On the contrary," Jessica said. "I find your offer insulting, my lord, when I have already rejected it once and when I am a guest at your grandmother's home and in this house tonight. Very insulting. I believe I shall return to her grace in the ballroom. She will be worried about me."

  She lifted her chin, looked him in the eye in the semi-darkness, and tried to walk around him to the door. It was a foolish move to make, of course, as she discovered immediately. His hand clamped around her upper arm so that she bit her lower lip with the pain of it.

  "Oh no, you don't," he said between his teeth. "I think I will have you learn, Jess Moore, that I am not to be trifled with. Haughty manner and saucy speeches are not suited to a common servant. And that, my dear, is precisely what you are, despite the patronage of a rather foolish old lady. Indeed, there would be many who would call you slut or worse if they knew just one half of what happened between you and me both in and out of a certain bed in a country inn a week ago. Did you not know that unmarried ladies of the ton do not lie with men or offer their bodies for free exploration?"

  If he hoped to make her blush and cringe, he was not going to succeed, Jessica decided. She glared back into his eyes, only inches from her own. "Do you threaten me, my lord?" she asked. "Am I to expect the story of our night together to become common drawing room gossip if I refuse to repeat that night with you-with a different ending, of course?"

  "My patience is wearing very thin," he said. "I do not need to threaten, Jess. I have never had to resort to using any sort of force to attract women to my bed and would certainly not begin on someone of such impertinent character. But I give you fair warning that I will not allow you to hurt anyone in this masquerade of yours. Do not try to win a rich or distinguished husband for yourself, Jess, or any influential female friend. Be sure that if you do, I shall find out all the details of your background for myself and pass them along to your chosen victims. That is no threat. That is statement of fact. I trust I make myself understood?"

  "Oh, eminently so, my lord," Jessica said. "Tell me, pray, am I permitted to seek out a wealthy or influential protector? May I become another man's mistress without your carrying out the dreadful threat to expose my past? Or do you feel that by having lain in your bed and allowed your hands to touch me I have taken your stamp of possession on me? Pray tell me. I do not like nasty surprises. I should hate to have a future protector suddenly discover that my papa was an impoverished country clergyman."

  "By God, Jess, you are impertinent," Rutherford said, his iron grip of her arm transferring to his other hand, while she found her free arm subjected to the same treatment. "Have you only just realized how very lovely you are? And how very desirable? Is that it? You have discovered that you need not teach for a pittance when you can make your fortune with your person?"

  Jessica smiled broadly into his face. "Yes, that is exactly it," she said. "I may find someone more generous than you, my lord. And then, of course, I may not. Would you care to tell me the exact terms of your offer so that I may make comparisons when the other offers begin to come in? You understand, of course, that your chances will be very small if one of those rich, titled gentlemen should happen to wish to wed me even after you have made your shocking disclosure?"

  "You are an unprincipled female of the lowest order, are you not?" he said, his grip tightening so that she winced noticeably. "I wish I had known back at that inn what I know now. I swear I would have carried
that act to its completion. Do you believe my grandmother would have allowed you over her doorstep then?"

  Jessica was unwise enough to tip back her head and laugh into his face.

  She was not laughing a moment later. She was gasping against the onslaught of his mouth, wondering before she grasped the lapels of his brocaded coat and clung if her knees really were going to buckle under her and set her swooning at his feet.

  It was a kiss without tenderness. It was meant to be insulting, punishing. One hand splayed behind her head and held it steady against the pressure of his mouth over hers. His tongue plundered her mouth without any pretense of gentle caress. His other hand moved downward over her spine, bringing each part of her body hard against his. Her clinging hands were soon imprisoned between them.

  Memory came flooding back: memory of the smell of him, of the taste of him; memory of the ache that his mouth and tongue sent spiraling downward into her throat, through her breasts, and into her womb; memory of a warm bed and the feel of his long, muscled body against hers, of his hands moving, touching, caressing, arousing; memory of those hands against her naked flesh. Her hands loosened their grip on his lapels and slid upward around his neck.

  His arms had moved to encircle her body and he held her close, though no longer bruisingly so. He still kissed her as deeply, but his tongue was circling hers, caressing it. Jessica lost touch with time and place.

  "Jess," he murmured finally against her ear, "I could teach you to be very good at this, you know. You could be the best, most sought-after courtesan in England after you and I tire of each other. A long time in the future, if ever! You really are suited to nothing else now. You must see that. You have outgrown your days of innocence as a governess. And you can never be a real lady, my dear, however hard you dream. Cinderellas exist only in the pages of storybooks."