by Heather Boyd
He pulled Mrs. Thorpe’s employment file from his desk drawer and studied it for the hundredth time. Gillian Thorpe intrigued him far more than she ever should. She was already a widow when they’d met at his daughter’s home. She’d been rescued from a bad situation and employed as a companion there for a time. Nicolas had employed her the day he’d met her, mostly because he was impressed by her forthright nature and willingness to laugh.
Months of proximity and shared conversations had suggested she was very shy with gentlemen. She did not flirt but she seemed to like him. And she did not encourage anyone to think she might overstep her position. He knew very little about her life before she’d become a companion other than she’d been a wife once.
Mrs. Thorpe had smoothly become part of the household from the beginning, never forgetting that her only concern was Jessica’s happiness. She rarely left the estate and he was glad. The idea he could lose Mrs. Thorpe went against his expectations. He could not do without her for Jessica’s sake.
“Your grace?”
Mrs. Thorpe stood poised in the doorway with a shy smile on her lips.
Nicolas’ heart beat a little faster. “Yes, do come in.”
He quickly tucked her file away in his drawer before she saw her name on the cover and schooled his features to give nothing of his thoughts away. One day Jessica would be gone, and so too would the unflappable Mrs. Thorpe.
“Jessica has had a wonderful day,” Mrs. Thorpe began, moving quickly on to explaining in detail the ins and outs of their activities.
Mrs. Thorpe was always softly spoken, and he loved to hear her laugh. He admired her. He liked her. She had become important to Jessica, to him too. He would like to know her better. He would like to kiss her. She attracted him without even trying.
He shifted in his chair but found it difficult to retain a word she said tonight, because he could not stop wondering if he had made an error. For the past months, he believed these nightly meetings were to make sure of his daughter’s happiness, never realizing he might just be stealing time to be alone with a companion for himself.
Gods, he was an old fool.
And a nervous one. He shifted to sit on the front edge of the desk as she continued on without a clue to what he was really thinking about her. He had to admit the more he watched her talk, the hungrier he became for a taste of her lips.
It was probably a mistake to wish, to hope, that he might not be rebuffed should he try to kiss her. It had been an eternity since his wife’s death and years since he’d indulged in any sort of romantic affair. Fearing he was staring, he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief, and touched something else.
He withdrew his hand. “Devil take it!”
“Your grace?”
“Oh, um. Forgive me. It’s mistletoe. Again.” He stared at the cutting, wondering how and when he’d been gifted with this mischief-maker. “I…”
He looked at Gillian Thorpe. She had been the last person to stand close to him. She was the last woman to be in his arms in fact, aside from Jessica. The woman turned her face away, but he caught a glimpse of her cheeks reddening.
“If there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave,” she whispered.
Gillian Thorpe had planted mistletoe on him and was now too shy to go through with it.
“Actually,” Nicolas said as he held the mistletoe over her head. If she wanted a Christmas kiss, who was he to say no? “There is one thing. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thorpe.”
He leaned forward slowly, giving the woman time to flee should she have changed her mind about kisses. When she simply stared at him, eyes wide, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her very softly, slowly nibbling until she sighed.
Gillian leaned into him, her hand rose to touch his jaw, and then she teased her finger into his hair.
Nicolas went up in flames.
He captured her face, drawing them dangerously close together. Their simple mistletoe kiss became so much more than he was ready for, so very quickly. He had his tongue in her mouth, his palms sliding toward her breasts, before he came to his senses.
He broke the kiss to apologize, panting hard. “Forgive me, Mrs. Thorpe. I have forgotten myself.”
She stood slowly, gripped the back of her chair and, without looking at him, nodded. “Goodnight, your grace.”
“Until tomorrow, Mrs. Thorpe.”
It was not until she was gone that he could breathe properly.
Dear God. His cock was as hard as an iron spike from that one single kiss.
What the devil was he to do now? He did not really regret that kiss. It had been so long. He’d enjoyed it and believed, aside from a little embarrassment afterward, she had too.
He raked his fingers through his hair, uncertain of whether he needed to apologize or not. And now that he’d kissed her sweet lips, how was he supposed to resist wishing to do so again?
Chapter 4
Gillian peered outside, watching Jessica and Mrs. Warner walk the snowy gardens with Lord James. She was vastly annoyed. She had been duped into leaving the room, returning to discover Mrs. Warner had taken Jessica outside without inviting her to go along, too. The duke would not be pleased if she was negligent of her duties. Of course, Mrs. Warner was certainly a suitable chaperone, but Gillian believed her utterly biased toward Lord James’ likely suit.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Thorpe,” the Duke of Stapleton exclaimed.
“Good morning, your grace,” she murmured trying not to blush.
He smiled softly as he drew near. “How fortunate I am to find you in this out of the way spot. Were you waiting for me?”
Gillian blushed deeply. She was outside his study door, so of course it might look that way to him. They had kissed after all. He might imagine she’d want to do so again.
Judging by the way he regarded at her now, he wasn’t concerned she might be dangling after him. Which she wasn’t. She desperately wished he would forget they had kissed. “I assure you it was not intentional. I wanted to see if the weather outside had cleared enough for a short walk. Oh look,” she said quickly, “there is Mr. Whitfield at last, joining your daughters for a stroll about the grounds.”
“I sent him out to put a stop to my daughter’s rather transparent attempt at matchmaking,” Stapleton promised as he brushed against her side. “Forgive me for teasing you today. I know you are the model of propriety.”
“I do try, your grace.”
Tried and failed last night—rather spectacularly, in fact. Gillian had not stopped thinking about her employer ever since their kiss, and in ways she was not supposed to consider him. It was very likely she could have shared his bed, if she’d not been scared witless by the very great risk she’d taken with her reputation.
He glanced behind them. “I shouldn’t have kissed you last night.”
She startled. “But you did. Why?”
He appeared puzzled. “I took advantage of you having put mistletoe in my pocket.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what must have happened. Jessica must have put it in her father’s pocket when she’d said good night to him! “I did not put mistletoe in your pocket.”
Gillian put her hand over her lips. The kiss had been a mistake, and she’d pay for it somehow. “You must think the worst of me, but I know my place.”
“Your place is exactly where you are.” He studied her, and she grew warm under the intensity of his stare. “You did nothing wrong in my eyes.”
“If you say so, but I am afraid others would disagree.”
“Last night was all too brief to warrant any lasting awkwardness between us, but I do apologize if you were left unsatisfied. Your husband would have had much more leisure to do a better job of kissing you.”
It took her a second to understand him, and then she blushed harder. She had let him believe she’d been happily married when they’d first met but the lie had come back to haunt her in the worst way. The truth was much too humiliating to shar
e. “Oh, yes. Yes, he was very good at that.”
He stared, and then his smile grew wider. “I’m better.”
She opened her mouth in shock. “No gentleman should ever say such a thing.”
“Duke I may be, but have I ever claimed to be a saint, Mrs. Thorpe?”
Gillian shook her head. “I never imagined you were.”
“Good.” He swooped down and claimed her lips in a fierce kiss that took her breath away.
Gillian clung to him as her knees grew weak. Despite her previous experience with the duke, she was not prepared for this assault on her senses. His arms came around her, drawing her close. He kissed her soundly, drawing on her lips and shifting constantly against her body. Gillian lifted trembling arms around his shoulders as her legs threatened to buckle. Could any stolen kiss have ever been so thoroughly delivered before?
He drew back a little to speak. “You and I need a little privacy.”
Although she shouldn’t agree, she nodded anyway, feeling excited when he clasped her hand and tugged.
Gillian was led into his study, and the doors were closed and locked. Stapleton turned, captured her face, and proceeded to kiss her witless once more against the hard wood door. She found herself perched over his knees ten minutes later, his fingers in her hair, his lips tugging hers. She pinched herself, concerned she might be dreaming this.
She drew back. “Oh dear.”
“So can I claim the distinction of kissing you better than your husband once did?”
“Oh, yes.” She squirmed. He’d promised he hadn’t wanted to know about her marriage. She’d never known such kisses existed. Wallace had certainly not kissed her like that. “Indeed, you have been quite thorough about it.”
He laughed softly. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to please you.”
He kissed her cheek, and then her throat. Gillian shivered and clutched to him as he slowly lowered her backward onto the chaise they were sitting on.
As he hovered above her, Gillian panicked. She pushed him away and struggled to escape his clutching hands. “What have I done?”
One of the stipulations Lord Stapleton had insisted upon was that Gillian would share her knowledge of the delights of the marriage bed with Jessica, to prepare the girl. He had said he wanted Gillian to take her mother’s place in explaining every facet of married life. Gillian had hedged about her experience quite a bit at that point, feeling acute embarrassment at the time. Gillian had been married, to a man twenty five years her senior, but she hadn’t found her brief experience in the marriage bed at all delightful. Wallace had never kissed her with such passion.
She couldn’t let Stapleton discover she wasn’t as experienced as she’d promised him she was.
Her job depended on her maintaining propriety. She clung to the back of a chair for support. She was Jessica’s companion, not his.
There was silence behind her for a great many minutes before Stapleton sighed heavily. “You’ve done nothing wrong, madam. I am entirely to blame yet again.”
She was unable to look at him. She needed this position, and she could not leave Jessica to face her sister’s machinations alone. “I quite understand. It was the mistletoe.”
“And you.” Stapleton approached and set his hands lightly on her shoulders. Even though she flinched, his hands remained steady on her skin. “Thank you very much for the kiss, Mrs. Thorpe. It was delightful, as is everything you do. Don’t let me keep you any longer if you wish to go.”
Chapter 5
Nicolas was unused to being frustrated by pretty widows. Usually they were desirous of his company and would never dream of turning away from his pursuit.
But this particular one was in his employ, and thus far proved a worthy adversary.
Gillian Thorpe was doing everything in her power to ensure the space between them was maintained. She’d deliberately stepped out of his path numerous times over the past two days and he was beyond amused by her new timidity.
If she did not want more kisses from him, fine. He would never pursue an unwilling woman. But he was concerned that she appeared quite embarrassed by what they had shared thus far.
Even if she’d been married and claimed to be experienced enough to guide Jessica, she was out of her depth when it came to the passion he’d discovered in their kiss.
That did not deter Nicolas from seeking her out at every turn, just for the pleasure of her calming company.
It was quite unlike him. He could not account for his interest or his desire that Gillian Thorpe should become as comfortable around him as she’d been before the first kiss. To that end, he’d scoured the house for the woman and, of course, found her in Jessica’s shadow.
He slipped into the music room and shut the door quietly, knowing that his daughter’s piano practice would cover the sound of his arrival.
His quarry was absorbed in the view out the window, but her fingers hovered over her lips.
He hoped she was thinking of his kisses because he dreamed of hers. Despite the rebuff, he still admired her very much.
And yet he couldn’t afford to lose her from his employ.
Gillian Thorpe was essential—for his daughter’s happiness and his own peace of mind.
Under Gillian Thorpe’s watchful eye, Jessica was growing so confident in her abilities every day that he was relieved beyond measure at finding her. Jessica played beautifully, but her volatile temperament meant she took criticism to heart. When Jessica came out in society, her deportment would be under scrutiny from every quarter. A tantrum in public was quite out of the question.
The music stopped suddenly. “Papa.”
Jessica flew across the room and into his arms.
Nicolas hugged her to him and kissed the top of her head, his heart full of love for the gift of his youngest child. It was moments like these he dreaded Jessica going away. She had grown up completely unaffected by her position in society. She had never held her title of lady over anyone of lower rank. She loved everyone equally depending only on the length of her acquaintance. “Good morning.”
“Did you hear me play?”
“Indeed. It was so good, for a moment I swore it was Mrs. Thorpe at the instrument.”
Gillian Thorpe played very well, but not often. She insisted that Jessica be given every opportunity for practice and adulation, so rarely played herself except if they found a difficult passage in the music that must be practiced.
“Oh, she still won’t.” Jessica tugged him toward the piano. “Convince her for me, Papa. Or better yet, play a duet with Gillian like you did once before.”
He smiled, silently thanking fate for an excuse to linger. To sit at Gillian’s side and rebuild her trust was imperative. “Will you do me the honor, Mrs. Thorpe?”
Her eyes darted toward the doorway, but she did nod. Nicolas waited for her to take a seat at the instrument then perched beside her on the narrow bench.
“What would you like to play, your grace?”
“Any lively tune will do.” He smiled, but was far too aware of her proximity. “Last time I do not think I played very well. I should very much like another chance to impress you.”
He was not only talking about the duet.
He wanted to kiss her again, so very much if she would give him another chance. If not, he wanted their easy companionship back.
But with his daughter present, unintentionally acting as their chaperone, the duet would have to do to begin with.
Gillian commenced to play, her fingers lightly tripping over the keys and producing the most wondrous of sensations in him. He had played the piece before, and found his place and began, playing against her lightness with his own music.
From the outset of their acquaintance, Nicolas had struggled not to read too much into their similarities. They both played the pianoforte exceptionally well, enjoyed the quiet, had similar tastes in books and, by all accounts, Gillian skated. Something he liked to do often when the lake froze over. Unfortunately, the weathe
r had not yet been conducive to an outing until now.
“The head groundsman feels it safe to mount a skating expedition tomorrow,” he murmured.
Jessica applauded then leaned against the instrument. “I cannot wait to show Gillian our special place.”
He peeked at the companion, hoping to see interest. Mrs. Thorpe’s fingers flew over the keys, but her lower lip was gripped between her teeth.
He leaned a little toward her. “Do say you will come skating with us.”
“Yes, do come,” Jessica said, beaming with excitement. “You said you skated every day as a girl. Maybe you have a better chance of keeping up with Papa than I do.”
Gillian blushed. “I have long since lost my skill, but if I must fall down in public for your amusement, I surely will come with you.”
“I would never let you fall,” Nicolas promised, grinning from ear to ear. “Some experiences are not easily forgotten. A little practice and you’ll be fine. Indeed, I am very eager to see if you are as competent a partner on the ice as your reference from Lady Holsworthy suggested.”
She blushed. “I’ll do my best, your grace, but I am not to blame if Lady Holsworthy’s praise far exceeded my actual skills.”
“I’ve never been disappointed in you,” he promised.
They finished the duet in silence, Nicolas aware that he was very eager for tomorrow. He too had spent many days flying around the ice on his own as a child. It was an escape, much like riding very fast, with only his own will powering his direction. He should like to see if he could impress Gillian.
She stood quickly when they reached the end of the piece. “If you would excuse us, your grace. Mrs. Warner and Mrs. Hawthorne are expecting Jessica at any moment in the drawing room.”
“A moment,” Nicolas said to delay her flight. Since Jessica had already turned for the door, he pitched his voice low. “You did not make our standing appointment last night. I was sorry to have missed speaking with you about my daughter.”
She lowered her face. “I apologize, your grace. Jessica and I talked very late.”