My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance)

by Counts, Wilma

  She tried to avoid him, but it was not always possible to do so. She was wary of attracting undue attention among this assemblage of social elite. She actually remembered three or four of them as people who had been guests at some of the social affairs she had attended in the past. They were unlikely to take notice of someone else’s governess, though they would have welcomed warmly Lady Elinor Richards, decked out in her daughter-of-an-earl finery.

  It would never do for a person of her present station to disrupt a house party of one of the ton’s most revered hostesses. Everdon obviously sensed her reluctance to make a scene, though he also seemed to take seriously her threat to go to the duke. Now, he appeared to enjoy playing a game to keep her off balance.

  He somehow ensured she was often his partner in cards and other games. If there was dancing, he never failed to ask her to stand up with him, though she had been adroit in avoiding another intimate waltz. It often chanced that partners were able to exchange a few words during the movements of a dance, or he would separate her from others in the social atmosphere of the drawing room. Elinor kept her remarks as brief as civility allowed. His were full of innuendo. One of his ploys was to pretend, for her ears alone, that they were lovers.

  “My darling, I am so sorry I was unable to come to you last night,” he would say, his voice low and obscenely seductive. “The duke insisted on keeping the gentlemen away. Tonight, my sweet.”

  Or, “I know how you must have waited for me last night, all hot and ready. I won’t fail you again, sweet thing.”

  Or, “It will be worth the wait, my love, for I know well how to please a woman’s appetites.”

  Each time Elinor would stiffen and lower her eyes, lest others in the company should see the anger flashing there. But she could not stop the color rising to spot her cheeks. Sensing her reaction, he would laugh diabolically.

  Still, it had not gone any farther—in part because she had taken to retiring early when her attendance was not absolutely required. She was honest enough to admit to herself that avoiding Everdon’s overwhelming presence was only one reason for such withdrawal. The other was to escape the pain of watching Adrian with the lovely Merrilee.

  Although she might leave the company early, Elinor rarely went to sleep early. Always a reader, she now buried herself in that pastime. Books kept her mind from dwelling on how she was to keep up this charade for the next several months. Or wondering how Peter was getting on. Or considering her growing fixation on her employer. Or worrying that Everdon might become even more obnoxious.

  As it was, Lord Everdon and the horrible Baron Pennington seemed to take turns plaguing her dreams. The dream was always the same. She was being pursued through a dark forest, a corridor of trees looming ominously overhead. Her feet were leaden, never able to move as fast as she wanted them to. Ahead there seemed a lighter opening in the trees and a figure could be dimly seen there. Heavy steps thudded closer and closer. Unwelcome hands reached for her, often touching, never quite grasping.

  At that point, she would awaken. Often she was wakened by her own sobs. Fear was a foul taste in the back of her mouth. It would then be a long time before sleep reclaimed her.

  She became increasingly reluctant to go to sleep and deliberately prolonged her evening reading, hoping eventually to be too tired to entertain horrible dreams.

  Christmas had come and gone with its special festivities of a Yule log, caroling, and gifts. It was followed immediately by St. Stephen’s Day, the day to spread goodwill and good things among the tenants, the servants, and the parish poor. The children played hard and often fell into bed without the usual protests. Elinor still spent a good deal of time with her three charges and often found herself entertaining other children as well. Bess and Geoffrey established their proprietary rights to the spots nearest their Miss Palmer when she read to the entire group in the afternoons.

  One day just before the new year, Elinor noted that Bess was unusually fussy and her face seemed flushed. Putting her hand on the child’s forehead, Elinor thought she might be slightly feverish. She consulted the children’s nurse and the two of them agreed to monitor the little girl’s condition throughout the night. They would notify Lord Trenville only if her condition worsened.

  Elinor’s room was directly across the hall from the room Bess and Anne shared with a girl cousin. The nursery maids had a room two doors down. Convinced by now that Everdon was more an annoyance than a real threat to her person, Elinor decided to leave her door and the door to Bess’s room slightly open so she could hear the child if she cried out. She wondered if she would sleep at all this night.

  Adrian had never cultivated Everdon’s friendship, though he had accorded the man proper civility as a close connection of his parents’ friends. As he became aware of Lord Everdon’s attentions toward Miss Palmer, he was increasingly critical of the other man. He decided he did not like the man’s dress, his demeanor, his views, his attitude.

  Hell and damnation! He was doing it again! What difference should it make to him—beyond the possibility of losing a governess—if Everdon showed interest in Miss Palmer?

  Because, he answered himself, you know what the man is, what his reputation is. He can have no honorable intentions toward a woman of her station. He is said to be hanging out for a rich wife. Well, so what? She seemed friendly enough to him. What gave Trenville the right to interfere in Everdon’s business? Or Miss Palmer’s?

  She is in your employ and thus under your protection. You have an obligation to see that she is treated with respect.

  Oh. Is that it? He sneered at himself. You are merely exercising a proper interest in her welfare, eh? No other motive at all?

  He had seen the couple disappear into the curtained alcove the night of his mother’s grand party. Had Elinor not emerged when she did, he would have charged over there to see for himself what was going on. Since then, he thought there was a distant coolness on her part toward Lord Everdon. Adrian also thought she occasionally found Everdon’s presence disconcerting. However, as long as she tolerated it without complaint to him or his father, Adrian felt there was little he could do.

  The billiards room was a favorite retreat for the gentlemen of the house party. One afternoon, most of them had gravitated to this refuge from the female-dominated drawing room. In a comfortable corner of the room, Adrian had been talking for some time with his father, his uncle, and three others. The topic was—as usual—the effect of events in Vienna on British politics and economics.

  Gradually, the ribaldry and knowing laughter of the mostly younger men around the billiards table penetrated his consciousness.

  “Come now, Chase,” Jason Sidwell said with a hoot of laughter. “You must give Everdon credit for consistency. He never quits trying.”

  “True,” Chase replied. “But then his successes are none too challenging.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Everdon had an edge to his voice.

  “Merely that your current targets are not precisely the sort one finds at Almack’s.” Chase laughed disarmingly.

  Everdon shrugged. “Ah, well. One takes whatever opportunity offers.”

  “Even a comely upstairs maid now and then, eh?” Chase leered.

  “Poor Chase is feeling a bit downhearted. That little redhead turned him down.” Sidwell’s tone dripped false sympathy.

  “Who says so?” Chase asked in blustery denial.

  “You did,” Sidwell laughed.

  “Any time you boys need some lessons, just feel free to consult with Uncle Everdon,” that one said with exaggerated condescension. Adrian observed that the “boys” were only a few years younger than Everdon.

  Chase snorted his derision. “Oh, yes. We have noticed what great success you are having with Trenville’s pretty little governess!”

  “My dear Chase.” Everdon’s tone belittled the other man. “You really must learn more about women.”

  “Oh-h-h?”

  Everdon nodded. “Some women, you see, are
simply more coy—and clever—than others.”

  “Clever? In what way are women so clever?”

  “Some women manage to conceal their activities from watchful eyes. Cold in company, passionate in private.” The pat phrase was delivered in airy dismissal.

  “You hope!” Chase responded. “That one seems able to resist your oh-so-considerable charms.”

  “He’s got you there, I think,” Sidwell laughed.

  “The game is not over yet.” Everdon sounded decidedly smug.

  That is what you think, Adrian thought. Just as he was about to put a stop to their unseemly discussion, the duke’s ancient butler announced the ladies were awaiting the gentlemen’s presence for tea in the drawing room.

  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Adrian was preoccupied with thoughts inspired by the billiards room discussion. He was inclined to doubt Everdon’s hints of his success with Elinor—Miss Palmer. Why did he persist in thinking of her as Elinor? The idea that she might welcome the other man’s advances was strangely disquieting.

  It was very late when he started to retire that night. He and his father and his uncle had talked long after the others sought their chambers. Adrian told them of the spy plaguing his diplomatic work and the government’s unproductive efforts to identify the culprit. The older men were as shocked as he had been when he confessed the French agent was almost surely connected with him. Try as they might, they could come up with no means of flushing out the person responsible.

  Adrian had not told them of Olmstead’s stated and his own latent suspicions of Miss Palmer. Had anyone confronted him with this omission, he would have found it difficult to explain. The truth was, he was having difficulty enough just explaining it to himself! Somehow, openly talking of her in such a light would make his doubts more credible. And he desperately wanted her to be what she seemed.

  Having stripped down to his shirt and breeches, he dismissed his valet. Then it occurred to him that he had not looked in on the children as he nearly always did prior to retiring. It was a habit he had formed when they were still in cradles. He liked watching over their innocent sleep. He put on a pair of slippers and picked up a candle to find his way to the nursery wing.

  He found the nursery maid bent over Bess’s sleeping form. She turned as the light from his candle penetrated the room.

  “Oh, ’tis you, my lord,” she whispered.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “We don’t think so, sir. But she did seem slightly feverish earlier.”

  “Why was I not informed?”

  “Miss Palmer and me thought to tell you if she got any worse. We been taking turns looking in on the poor wee dear.”

  “I see.” He touched his daughter’s cheek with the back of his hand. “She is a bit warm, all right. Not truly hot, though. Let me know how she does in the morning.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I will just check on Geoffrey. You go on back to bed, Baxter.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He made his way on down the hall to the room occupied by his son and two other boys. He pulled disheveled covers over two of them and started back to his own chamber.

  He knew Miss Palmer had the room across the hall from Bess’s. As he passed, he heard her cry out.

  “No! Oh, please—no-o-o ...”

  Good God! Was she being assaulted? Had Everdon really overstepped himself? Without stopping to think beyond this initial flash, he rapped on her door.

  “Miss Palmer, are you all right?”

  To his surprise, the door swung open. He stepped into the room and, holding his candle high, looked around. She lay on the bed, tossing and sobbing, “No. No.” There was no one else in the room.

  Instinctively, he elbowed the door closed and approached the bed. Her hair was a mass of tangled curls against the pillow. Her lashes lay dark on slightly flushed cheeks. In her thrashing about, the bedcovers had slipped to her waist. Her night dress was open at the neck to reveal a soft rounding of breast. He drew in a breath at the sheer beauty before him.

  Setting the candle on the night table next to her own unlit candle and her spectacles, he bent over her. It flashed through his mind that his presence might frighten her—but surely not as bad as what was already distressing her. He touched her shoulder.

  “Miss Palmer. Elinor. Wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open, pools of very dark green in the dim light of the single candle. Sheer terror shone in them. She gave a little yelp and sat up, her eyes still not registering true awareness.

  “Help me,” she cried and threw her arms around his neck.

  Awkwardly, he sat on the edge of the bed and held her close. She was warm and pliant in his arms. He caressed her back and buried his face in the fragrant softness of her hair.

  “There, there, my love. It’s all right. You are safe.” He crooned to her as he might have comforted his daughter.

  But this was no child in his arms. And no other woman had ever felt so absolutely right there, either. He pressed his lips against the warm flesh of her temple. “It’s all right. You are safe,” he repeated.

  He knew the instant she wakened. He felt her stiffen and pull back, though he still held her.

  “My lord?” There was a note of wonder in her voice and her eyes still held a trace of the terror of moments before. Her breath was soft against his cheek.

  “It’s all right. You were having a bad dream.” He pulled her closer and just held her gently until he felt her begin to relax. He nudged her chin up and gazed into her eyes. “All right now?” he asked. She nodded, but continued to hold his gaze. Unable to stop himself, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Her lips were soft and warm with sleep. Then he felt her arms tighten around his neck and she was responding to his kiss with a degree of passion and intensity and sweetness he had never experienced before.

  Simultaneously, they drew apart.

  “Elinor?” he whispered. He fought for self-control as every instinct cried at him to take her in his arms and make mad, wonderful love with her.

  He watched as a fascinating array of emotions swept across her features. The fear was replaced by joy, then apprehension, and, finally, embarrassment.

  “I apologize, Miss Palmer. I had no right to do that.”

  “I ... what are you ... how ... ?” She stammered incoherently.

  “You had a bad dream.... I was checking on the children.... Your door was open.” He was surprised at his own stammering.

  “Yes ... chasing me again. Two of them this time. And he was there to grab me....”

  “Who was chasing you? Who grabbed you?”

  “Lord Pen—uh, two men. And there was another ... he held me ... I could not get away . . .” She buried her face in her hands.

  He patted her shoulder, feeling decidedly awkward now.

  “You have this dream often?”

  “I ...” He watched in admiration as she seemed to come fully to herself again. She visibly braced her shoulders, an action that drew his attention to her breasts. Noting the direction of his gaze, she clutched the night dress closer. “I had it in London. It stopped at the Abbey.”

  “And now it has returned?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What triggered it?”

  “I ... do not know, my lord.” She looked away from him.

  She is not telling the truth, he thought. But why? Why would she lie about a dream?

  Both of them were silent for a moment. Then she asked, “Bess? Is she all right? I should have looked in on her. I left our doors ajar. I did not hear her—”

  “She’s fine. Nurse just saw to her.” He stood and lit her bedside candle with the one he had brought. He felt like an awkward schoolboy.

  “Umm. Miss Palmer.” She looked up at him and he was nearly undone once more by those expressive eyes. “Again. I—I apologize. I quite forgot myself. Good night.”

  She nodded her acceptance of his apology.

  He strode to the do
or and opened it, looking back at her. She still sat there, her white childlike night dress clutched around an unchildlike torso. She returned his gaze with a tentative smile.

  “Good night,” she said.

  He stepped through the door and pulled it shut.

  And nearly ran smack into the Dowager Lady Grimsley.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said.

  “Lord Trenville. I came to check on my son.” She seemed somewhat distracted. “His nurse sent word he suffered an upset stomach.” She looked at the door he had just exited and then she looked away.

  “I take it your son is all right?” He was determined to act naturally.

  “Oh, yes. Merely too many sweets, I think.”

  “Shall I escort you back to your chamber then, my lady?” he asked, just as though he were not standing in his shirtsleeves after midnight in front of the governess’s room.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She cast one more significant look at the recently closed door before accompanying him down the hall.

  Elinor sat in the middle of her bed, thoroughly awake now—and thoroughly bemused.

  The dream had been different. This time the two heavy-footed pursuers and the figure at the end of the corridor took shape as her uncle who grabbed her and held her while two sets of snake-like hands groped at her body.

  Just when the fear threatened to choke her completely, she was being rescued. She felt Adrian’s arms around her and she melted into their safety and the comforting sound of his voice. This was a new and wonderful end to the dream. For the first time since hearing of her father’s death, she felt safe. And protected. And cherished.

  But of course that, too, was a dream.

  And the kiss? Was she going to tell herself that was also part of her dream? She touched her lips with her fingertips, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers. No, the kiss had definitely been real, but it would not do to make too much of it. Had he not immediately been contrite, already regretting his action? She was embarrassed by her ardent response. Well, she had conjectured some weeks ago she would react to his kiss like a wanton. And that was precisely what she had done.