A Dare to Defy Novel

by Syrie James

  Longford brought down half a dozen more of his paintings from the attic, and asked for Alexandra’s advice as to where to hang them. They spent a rainy afternoon and evening enjoyably taking down family artworks he’d never liked and replacing them with works of his own. He invited Alexandra and the girls to dine with him on two more occasions, evenings which rang with laughter and the pleasure of amiable conversation.

  Every night, as Alexandra climbed into bed, she went over the events of the day in her mind, reliving each happy moment, yet painfully aware of how precious and fleeting they were. The idea of parting from them always brought the threat of tears to her eyes.

  Although she wanted to go home, Alexandra was torn by an equal desire to extend her stay at Polperran House, conflicting feelings that confused her. She still missed her own sisters with a fierce, ever-expanding ache, but she’d grown so close to Julia and Lillie, she’d come to think of them as family as well. She’d come to regard Longford as the most remarkable man she’d ever known. She enjoyed every moment spent in his company. When she wasn’t with him, she was thinking about him, and looking forward to the time when she’d see him again.

  Never far from her thoughts were the memories of the two times they’d kissed. During those interludes, she’d felt both an intimate connection and a kind of physical pleasure that she’d never imagined could exist. She longed to feel that way again, with him. When she slept, her dreams were often carnal in nature. Longford came to her bed and took her in his arms, kissing her urgently, making her body feel as if it were on fire. She always woke up with a frantically beating heart, yearning for more.

  She knew it was impossible. Yet that didn’t prevent her from wanting it. At the same time, she was plagued by an ever-present sense of guilt. She was dreaming about making love to a man who didn’t know who she really was. She’d given him a false name, and allowed him to hire her as his sisters’ governess, a job for which she’d had not an iota of experience. She felt awful about the deception she’d been perpetrating, longed to tell him the truth about herself.

  But after all this time, after so many weeks of lying, how could she?

  Thomas rolled over to find the lithe, naked form of a woman warming his bed. His heart leapt with pleasure and excitement. Moonlight filtered down through the window, shining on Miss Watson’s beautiful, sleeping face, and illuminating her curves. His hand reached up to cover one perfect breast, and he instantly became aroused. Then he was on top of her, his mouth on hers. Beneath him, he felt her body respond as she—

  With a start, Thomas awoke, breathing hard, his heart hammering. He blinked at the darkness, cursing himself and his errant brain. Every night, it was the same dream, over and over. Only the details changed. Sometimes he encountered her in the library, as he had that night so many weeks ago. Sometimes it was the hallway, where she fell into his arms, wearing nothing but a thin nightdress that he tore off until she stood naked before him. Once, it had happened in the dining room, where he’d made love to her on the table, heedlessly knocking crystal and china to the floor.

  Sometimes, as tonight, the lovemaking was interrupted at the very start. Other times, it had veered close to its inevitable conclusion. He had dreamt that he was thrusting inside her as she moaned beneath him, every movement bringing them both closer to the release they sought, and he always awakened hard and aching, feeling as if he might explode with need.

  Closing his eyes, Thomas fought to regain control over his body. These dreams . . . this incessant wanting . . . it was driving him to distraction.

  And it would not do.

  “How thrilling!” Julia cried.

  “Please say that we can go, Thomas!” exclaimed Lillie.

  Alexandra glanced at Longford, who was rather comically crammed into one of the small benches in the schoolroom, his long legs stretched out before him. He’d interrupted their studies to deliver a letter that had just arrived from Trevelyan Manor.

  It was an invitation solely for the girls, to join Lord and Lady Trevelyan and their daughters on an impromptu holiday to Penzance, at the most southwesterly end of Cornwall, where they intended to stay for a week to take in the sights. Their sons Charles and James would not be among the company. Miss Watson need not go, as their own governess, Miss Berry, would watch over all four girls.

  Alexandra wondered if she were deliberately being excluded because of her verbal tirade at the garden party. Even if that were so, she didn’t mind. This was a wonderful opportunity for the girls, and she welcomed the respite it would give her. Although she enjoyed her job, she’d only had a single day off since coming to Cornwall, and she’d spent the better part of it preparing lesson plans.

  “Well,” Longford said, his eyes twinkling, “I do not know. Penzance is an infamous pirate town. I am not certain it is entirely safe for you to visit there.”

  “Thomas!” Lillie punched him in the shoulder. “Do not be silly.”

  Julia swatted him with her notebook. “There are no pirates anymore.”

  “Truce! Truce!” Longford raised his hands in concession. “I give in. You may go. On one condition.”

  “What condition?” Julia asked.

  “That you return safe and sound in a week, as this letter promises.”

  “Hurray!” Lillie threw herself onto Longford’s lap and hugged him. He hugged her back.

  “Thank you!” Julia planted a kiss on his cheek. To Alexandra, she added with enthusiasm, “We have to pack. Will you help us, Miss Watson?”

  The next two days were devoted to preparation. The girls were too excited about their upcoming holiday to attend to their studies, so Alexandra read up and spoke to them about Penzance instead, to give them a history of the area they’d be visiting. They decided to bring their sketchbooks and pencils, promising to capture what they could of the scenic vistas on paper.

  Lord and Lady Trevelyan and their daughters pulled up early on the morning of departure to pick up Lillie and Julia on the way to the train station. The girls hugged their brother and Alexandra, waved to the assembled servants, and then jumped into the waiting conveyance.

  “Good-bye!” Lillie cried, waving again through the window of the departing carriage.

  As she watched the vehicles vanish around a bend in the drive, Alexandra felt as if she were saying good-bye to her own sisters. Even knowing it was only for a week, her heart was heavy.

  Alexandra returned upstairs. With the girls gone, she’d have a lot of time on her hands. She hadn’t made any plans for the day, and wondered what she ought to do. She began by organizing her teaching materials, a task which was accomplished by the time luncheon was served. It felt strange to eat in the nursery all by herself. When she’d finished her meal, it was such a beautiful day, she decided to take a walk to her favorite spot and read.

  In the library, she found a particular book that had been on her mind. After donning her hat, she folded up one of the old quilts from her bed, tucked it under her arm, and left the house. Winding her way through the overgrown garden, she soon found herself at the blue door.

  The path wound through the familiar thicket of overhanging tropical trees and ferns, finally ending at the quiet pond, where the only sounds were the rustle of the breeze in the branches and the lazy buzz of insects.

  Spreading out her quilt beneath a tree, Alexandra sank down happily, opened her book, and soon lost herself in its pages.

  Thomas’s pace was persistent as he strode across the lawn.

  He had spent the morning wading through the outstanding bills and other correspondence on his desk, struggling to pay attention to the letters of inquiry he had received in response to his advertisements in the London papers. They were all from seemingly qualified young ladies. He had less than two months to find Miss Watson’s replacement, yet his eyes had glazed over as he perused the letters. He did not have an ounce of interest in any of them.

  His mind had kept wandering to thoughts of the governess now in his employ.

  Know
ing that Miss Watson was somewhere on the premises, not involved in caring for his sisters, but actually free and available, was driving him mad. With her work ethic, she was probably in the nursery or schoolroom at that very moment, writing up a geography exam or preparing a mathematics lesson. His feet itched to take himself there, to that private sanctuary now free of pupils, where he would find her alone. Just the two of them. He would shut the door, walk up to her, and . . . and . . . he refused to allow his thoughts to go any further.

  He’d known he had to get out of the house, as far away from her, and the temptation of her, as he could. It was too nice a day, in any case, to spend cooped up inside.

  And so here he was, heading out to the gardens, his portable easel and a blank canvas under one arm, and a leather satchel in the other, containing drawing and painting supplies and a bottle of Mrs. Nettle’s lemonade.

  He followed a path that wound through the garden, the sun warming his shoulders where it filtered down through the trees. As he stepped over roots and pushed aside branches threatening to overtake the walkway, he couldn’t help but frown, wishing for the thousandth time that he could afford to maintain his grounds as they deserved. But that was not going to happen in his lifetime. He pushed the worry from his mind. He needed a reprieve—an afternoon in a peaceful spot where he could relax and paint.

  It was so warm, Alexandra had taken off her shoes and stockings and removed her hat. The tree above her was heavy with green leaves, the shaded area below dappled by the sun. She leaned back against the trunk, reading, lulled by the sounds of this tropical hideaway and the sweet scent of the multicolored lilies that crowded the water’s edge.

  The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. How strange. She’d come here at least half a dozen times, and she’d always had the place to herself. Looking up from her book, she saw Lord Longford emerge from the tree-lined path.

  Alexandra’s heart skipped a beat as she inhaled in surprise.

  He caught sight of her and stopped. “Miss Watson.”

  His expression and tone confirmed that he was equally surprised to see her. He was more casually dressed than he’d been that morning, wearing the same dark trousers and white shirt, but minus the frock coat, waistcoat, hat, and tie. Under one arm, he carried a small blank canvas and what looked like a portable folding easel. Over his shoulder was a leather satchel.

  She rose, her bare feet digging into the mossy ground. “My lord.” They stared at each other awkwardly.

  “Forgive me. I had no idea you were here.”

  She raised the book in her hand. “I came to read.”

  He gestured with the items he carried. “I came to paint.”

  “I can see that.” It was thrilling to know that his passion for art had returned.

  “Well. I will leave you to your solitude.” He turned to go.

  “No, wait,” she called out abruptly, making him pause. “This is your secret garden, my lord.”

  “My secret garden?”

  “That’s what I call it. Anyway, it’s yours. If you wish to paint here, it’s your right. I’ll go.”

  “I won’t hear of it. You were here first. I shall find another spot.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Gesturing toward the mossy bank around her, she added: “There’s no reason why we can’t both be here.” No reason, except that it wasn’t entirely proper for them to be alone in such a secluded spot. She shoved the thought to the furthest corner of her mind. They’d been here together before, hadn’t they? “You can paint while I read. There’s plenty of space.”

  He hesitated. “Are you certain you do not mind? I would not wish to intrude.”

  “I’d welcome the company, actually. I’ve become so used to being with the girls every minute, it feels strange to be on my own.”

  “Well, then.” He strode toward her with a smile. “It would be my pleasure to join you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Thomas had caught sight of her, sitting a few yards from the water’s edge beneath that tree, barefoot and bareheaded like some water sprite, his heart had almost stopped.

  He had known that spending another minute in this remote spot with her was a dangerous idea. But she had asked him to stay. Now, wild horses could not drag him away.

  Thomas set up his easel and canvas not far from where she sat, then took out a pencil. “What are you reading?”

  She held up her book. It was Great Expectations.

  Thomas grinned. “A day for old favorites?”

  She nodded.

  “For me as well. I have painted this pond many times.” He could feel her eyes on him, watching him draw as she settled back against the tree trunk.

  “Do you always begin in pencil?”

  “I do. I find it invaluable to sketch out the basics before I begin filling in with paint, which easily covers over it.”

  “Interesting.”

  He struggled to concentrate as he sketched out an overview of the scene before them.

  “I love this spot,” she commented, her tone languid. “I often come here in the afternoons to read.”

  “Do you? I had no idea. This was my favorite place to read in spring and autumn, and to swim in summer.”

  “You swim in the pond?” The notion appeared to delight her.

  “It is quite refreshing this time of year. If you do not mind the lily pads.”

  She laughed. “My parents used to rent a cottage on a lake every summer when I was a girl. It was deep in the woods. My sisters and I loved it there. To swim beneath a cobalt sky, surrounded by fresh green pines, is my idea of heaven.”

  He glanced at her. A dreamy expression crossed her face. Her cheeks glowed, dark eyelashes fringed her blue eyes, and several tendrils of sienna hair had come loose from their pins. It was all Thomas could do to restrain himself from crossing to her, dropping to his knees, and taking her in his arms.

  Instead, he forced his attention back to his drawing. “You are very close to your sisters, are you not?”

  “We have our squabbles, as all siblings do, I imagine. But we are so close in age, we depend upon each other. Even when we fight, we always make up quickly.”

  “It must be difficult, being so far away from them.”

  “It is.”

  She said nothing more, and he didn’t want to press the point. “You are lucky to have such a history with your siblings. I was an only child for so long. All the years I was growing up, really. My only friend was Saunders, but he lives five miles away. Most of the time, I had to make my own, solitary amusements.”

  “That sounds lonely.”

  “It was, rather.”

  “I was never lonely when I was young. But I had such grand plans for my myself,” she added with a sigh.

  “What plans?”

  “I could never settle on one thing in particular. When I was very little, I wanted to be an actress on the stage. Later, I thought I might become a doctor.”

  “A doctor?”

  “We have a few women doctors in the U.S. now, just as you do in England. As I grew older, though, I became more fascinated by what my father did.” She broke off, and seemed to choose her words carefully as she proceeded. “He was involved in banking, but he would never explain any of it to me. He said I was a girl, and didn’t need to ‘bother my pretty head about such things.’ I promised myself that I would go to college and learn all there was to know. But in some ways, it only made things harder. Every subject I studied was of interest to me. All I know for certain now is that I want to do something important with my life.”

  He gave her a smile. “I think you have found your profession, Miss Watson. And you acquit it most admirably.”

  She blushed, but did not reply.

  “You seem embarrassed. Why? I merely complimented your work, as you have so often complimented mine. That is one of the things I value most about our friendship, Miss Watson. That we have always told each other the truth.” His thoughts veered to Elise, who had d
uped and betrayed him. Something he knew the decent, principled woman sitting beside him would never do. “There are no secrets between us, no surprises. When you tell me something, I know I can trust you.”

  Miss Watson’s cheeks flushed even redder now. She lowered her eyes, and seemed to be searching for a reply. “I’m glad you feel me worthy of your confidence,” she murmured at length. For some reason, she seemed incapable of going any further.

  “I am honored that you chose to share yours.”

  Quiet stretched out between them. Finally, she said: “What about you? Your ambitions? Did you have other dreams, in addition to painting?”

  He continued sketching, reluctant to reply. “I did have another dream, as a boy. It was foolish, though.”

  “What dream?”

  “To have my artwork recognized by the Academy of British Artists. To have a painting of mine hang in one of their exhibitions. And to be invited to become a member.”

  “Why is that foolish?”

  “Because,” he explained patiently, “members of the aristocracy cannot become members of the academy.”

  “Because art is a trade?”

  He nodded.

  “You could break tradition. You could be the first peer to join the academy. You could change things.”

  “I am afraid it does not work that way.”

  “But it should! Even if it’s true that a nobleman can’t be a member of that academy, surely anyone can submit a painting for consideration to hang in one of their exhibitions. If you—”

  “No,” he interjected.

  “Why not?”

  “It simply is not done, Miss Watson.”

  “All your rules, don’t they seem a bit ridiculous to you? In the U.S., it doesn’t matter who you are. If you have talent and work hard, you can usually get ahead and be recognized and appreciated for your achievements. Whereas here, you’re not allowed to even try.”

  “Your country is still new. It is an experiment, with no proof of how it will turn out. This is England. We have done things the same way for centuries, and we like it that way.”