by Diana Quincy
Her face burned. How could she have forgotten that her hair was loose and, even worse, that she was in her night rail? A very revealing night rail. Yet she felt frozen in place, as if some vengeful Greek god had turned her to stone.
He was close, so close she could feel his soft warm breath on her face. He feathered a hand down the side of her cheek, sending a delicious tremor through her, before cupping both of her cheeks in his large hands, so carefully as if he were handling the finest porcelain, and lowered his face, touching his lips to hers.
Goodness. Heat engulfed her. He kissed her as if she were a rare delicacy to be savored and cherished. His lips were warm and firm, yet yielding against hers, probing, asking, taking and giving supreme pleasure. She fairly melted into him, like a shameless strumpet eager to be completely ravished. He broke the kiss and stared at her, wonder etched in his aristocratic face.
His gaze dropped down to her night rail. “You are so delicate.” He reached out and brushed her breast with his large masculine hand. A current of pleasure streaked through her. “So finely made.”
“Izzy?” The sleepy voice broke the spell. Isabel jumped back while Sunderford immediately dropped his hand.
Prudie sat up, rubbing her fists against her eyes. “Cousin Adam? Is that you?” she asked groggily. “What are you doing here?”
He paused for a moment, his face blank, as if he’d forgotten his reason for venturing into the nursery, then said abruptly, “I came to retrieve my hound.”
“Pan? But why? He likes to sleep with us.”
“Yes, but he is my dog.”
Isabel studied the duke, her heart still pounding from his touch, from almost being discovered by the child. Had he truly come for the animal?
Prudie dipped her chin, sadness filling her eyes. “But we like having him sleep with us.” On the bed beside her, Patience stirred, but then flopped over, still sound asleep.
The duke held up a staying hand, as if that would stop Prudie from crying. “Not the waterworks, not again. Very well,” he said briskly, “you may keep Pan here with you.”
Prudie immediately brightened and smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Cousin Adam.”
“Good evening then.” He paused and met Isabel’s gaze with his own intense look. “Miss Finch?”
Was he expecting her to leave the nursery with him? She wasn’t quite certain what he was asking. Her body was still alive and humming from his touch, and at the moment it was difficult to form a cohesive thought in her head. “I sleep here.” She gestured to the empty bed. “With the children.”
He seemed surprised, but all he said was, “Your devotion is compelling,” before exiting the chamber, which suddenly seemed much more spacious without him.
But also distinctly colder.
Chapter 11
“He kissed you?” Abigail squeaked. “How delectable.”
“Shhh.” Isabel surveyed the street to make certain no one had heard her friend. “Are you intent on informing the entire neighborhood?”
“Beg pardon.” Abigail had the grace to look chagrined…for a moment. She lowered her voice as they walked along the street, her arm tucked into Isabel’s as they strolled. “How did that happen? What was it like? How long did it last?”
“Perhaps you should begin with one question. I haven’t got all afternoon. I must return to the girls soon.” Isabel had slipped out while the twins were having their music lesson. “But it was, as you suggested, delectable.”
Abigail’s eyes rounded. “How wonderful!”
“How awful, you mean to say,” Isabel exclaimed. “He is not only my employer but he also beds numerous women, probably daily. He’s a reprobate and a degenerate. Heaven only knows what sorts of diseases he might harbor. I could go on and on.”
Her extreme physical attraction and reaction to Sunderford appalled Isabel. But she was not a woman who hid from reality, not any longer. She’d resigned herself to the truth that Sunderford’s kiss was unlike anything she’d experienced before, which made her feel terribly guilty because, while she had loved Ben and kissing him had been tremendously enjoyable, that intimacy had never come anywhere near the heat and intensity of Sunderford’s attentions.
Drat it all. Of all the men in London, Sinful Sunny had to be the one who made her insides feel like a cauldron of boiling water.
“Did you bed him?” Abigail wanted to know.
“Of course not. I’m no light skirt.” But she wasn’t entirely certain what would have happened had their interlude not been cut short.
“He just kissed you and that was that?”
“Prudence interrupted us.” She recounted the events in the nursery on the previous evening. “Thank goodness she woke when she did.”
“I think it’s a shame you were interrupted by the child,” Abigail said. “It’s unfortunate you cannot send the girls away to boarding school as we have with the boys.” All four of Abbie’s children—all boys—were at Eton.
“That makes no sense at all. If the duke could send the girls away then he would have no need of a governess, would he?” They turned and began walking back in the direction of Sunderford House.
“True.” Abigail’s eyes sparkled. “Anyhow, tell me about the kiss, and don’t spare any details.”
Isabel’s body flushed just thinking about it. “I’m loath to admit it, but it was lovely. Sunderford clearly knows what he is about in that area.”
“Aren’t you dying to know what it would be like to actually lie with him?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you see him this morning?”
Isabel shook her head. “He is in the habit of staying abed until late afternoon. And in any case, the children and I keep out of his way most of the time. We can go days without seeing him.”
They stopped a few streets away from Sunderford House to say their goodbyes. It wouldn’t do for Sunderford or a member of his household to see the two of them together. It would be highly unusual for a governess to enjoy a familiar relationship with a daughter of the peerage, and Isabel preferred not to share the details of her past. As she continued on her way home alone, a shadow stepped into her path.
Dr. Jarvis touched his hat and inclined his head. “Good day, Miss Finch.”
“Why, Dr. Jarvis.” She greeted him with a friendly smile. “This is a lovely surprise.”
He brightened. “I’m pleased you think so. And your presence certainly adds cheer to a dreary day. Are you out for a walk?”
“Yes, I was just returning to Sunderford House.”
Dr. Jarvis fell in step beside her. “May I accompany you?”
“Of course.” She liked the doctor and could feel the sincerity of his regard, but she was not interested in being courted, which she suspected was the doctor’s intention.
“How are the children?” he inquired. “Adjusting well, I hope?”
“Very well, actually.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, a little, to be frank. I did not think the home of the Duke of Sunderford would be accommodating to children.”
“But it has been?”
“Certainly more so than I expected.”
“Miss Finch.” As they approached Sunderford House, Dr. Jarvis struck a more urgent tone. “I was wondering if you’d care to go out walking, perhaps on Sunday next.”
“You do me a great honor.” She was determined to let him down gently for he was a kind and likable man who would no doubt one day make a fine husband for some fortunate woman, but she was not that woman. “The truth of the matter—” she began before being interrupted.
“Tom?” Sunderford emerged from the house dressed for riding in a bottle green tailcoat and snug buff breeches. Isabel was shocked to see him up and dressed so early. It was barely noon. And yet he gave every appearance of being alert and well groo
med, emanating ducal command as he came down the steps in his shiny Hessians.
“What brings you here?” he asked Jarvis. “Are the children ill?”
“Not that I am aware of,” Jarvis said cheerily, shaking off his earlier show of nerves.
“Your timing is perfect.” The duke avoided looking directly at Isabel. “I need to have a word with Miss Finch.” He waited expectantly until the doctor took the hint.
“Yes, well, good day then.” Jarvis shot a quick look at Isabel. “Miss Finch.”
“Dr. Jarvis.” In the moment, she felt grateful to have the doctor to focus on rather than being forced to meet the duke’s gaze. “Thank you for escorting me home.”
“My pleasure.” With a final farewell to the duke, Dr. Jarvis was on his way, leaving Isabel alone with Sunderford for the first time since he’d kissed her lips and caressed her breast in the nursery.
* * *
—
“Miss Finch.” Sunny rubbed the back of his neck where his bloody cravat got in the way. “How are you this morning?”
It was an asinine question, and they both knew it. But he was still reeling from what had occurred in the nursery the previous evening. Not only had he ogled his wards’ half-naked governess, but he’d kissed and mauled her as well. What the devil had possessed him?
“I am well. And you?”
“Well as well,” he said stupidly as he unobtrusively studied her, trying to understand his sudden fascination with the woman, which had kept him up most of the night. He’d even thought of her in that diaphanous night rail when he’d taken a hand to himself to relieve the baser urges she’d stirred in him.
Now she stood quietly, regarding him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. With her lackluster wheat-colored hair and ordinary features she was more plain than pretty. At least half the women in the metropolis were better looking than Finch and most definitely had a better countenance. Yet he’d not only wanted to kiss the shrew, but the experience had completely bowled him over. He was at a total loss to comprehend her effect on him.
He cleared his throat, determined to be unlike his father in every way. “I wish to apologize.”
“Oh?”
He forged ahead. “I overstepped last evening in the worst way, and for that I do beg your pardon.” It was extraordinary for a duke to condescend to apologize to a person in his employ, someone who was a nobody in the eyes of his rarified world.
Her eyes, large and luminous, regarded him with intelligence and something else he couldn’t quite identify. So much for the eyes being windows to the soul, because he couldn’t read a thing in them. She may as well have closed the shutters.
“We can put it behind us,” she said.
“Indeed, I assure you that I do not make a habit of cavorting with the servants.” Unlike his father. Although the old duke had insisted upon impeccable public behavior, that standard had never extended to the bastard’s private life. “In fact, I have never before done so…crossed the line with a servant, I mean to say.”
“I see.”
“I realize what occurred last evening must have been a shock for someone like you.”
A crease appeared between her well-defined eyebrows. “Someone like me?”
“An unmarried woman of limited means and”—he waved in her general direction with his hand—“limited…erm…assets, if you take my meaning.”
Her eyes narrowed, and it felt like she’d just thrown open the window shutters because her irritation was apparent. “Limited assets.”
“I just mean to say, I understand that a woman such as yourself, given your age and general situation, has likely not had to suffer the attentions of men.” Surely she recognized that she was not someone most men would consider to be a conventionally attractive woman. “And I wish to reassure you that that will continue to be the case as long as you reside under my roof and are in my employ.”
“I see. How kind of you.”
Her words, while appropriate, were spoken in the same tone one might use while swearing. He frowned. He’d apologized and reassured her that she’d be well protected from indecent attentions under his roof, yet she seemed displeased. Her usual sour disposition took hold. Excellent. That should dash any absurd attraction he felt to her.
“Yes, well,” he continued, “I’m pleased we’ve settled the matter and can put this unpleasant business behind us.”
She pursed those small, sharp lips and desire jolted through him. What would it be like to have those lips…He stopped himself with a stifled curse. What in bloody hell was the matter with him? He’d just reassured the woman he was going to leave her alone, and here he was panting after her again.
“If that’s all, Your Grace.” The words were sharp and coated with restrained temper. The shrew had returned in full force. “The girls will be done with their music lessons soon, and I should attend to them.”
“Yes, of course.”
She sidled past him and a whiff of her scent, apples and cloves intermingled with warm skin, drifted over him. He breathed her in, savoring the distinct notes, even though he had no business doing so. He watched her go up the stairs wearing one of those god-awful forlorn dresses that he despised. Only now he could well appreciate what she hid amidst all those folds of fabric—the delicate figure, exquisite legs, and smooth warm skin hidden beneath the carapace she presented to the world.
He couldn’t help but wonder who she was really: was she the warm, loving free spirit he’d glimpsed in the nursery when she’d thought no one was watching? Or was she this tightly laced prude with no sense of humor whatsoever?
“Oh, Miss Finch,” he called after her.
She paused at the top of the stairs, before his massive front door, and turned back to him. “Yes?”
“What was Tom doing here?”
“Dr. Jarvis? He wants to take me out walking. We’re going on Sunday.”
Something kicked inside his belly. “Tom’s taking you out walking?”
“Yes.” Her smile was remote. “On occasion, I do find myself suffering the attentions of men.”
She turned to go inside while he stood for a moment staring after her. Tom and Finch? He was in a position to know that Tom did reasonably well with women. So why would a handsome young doctor with a promising future—particularly promising given that he enjoyed the patronage of the Duke of Sunderford—have an interest in Finch, a long-in-the-tooth, unpretty, humorless termagant?
Whatever the reason, Sunny would put a stop to it.
* * *
—
After taking leave of Finch, Sunny had a vigorous ride through the park. He went well ahead of the fashionable hour, before the crowds descended, in order to properly exert himself. He was determined to regain his Corinthian figure now that he was supremely conscious of its loss. His vanity would allow for nothing less.
Directly afterward, exhausted and heavy with perspiration, he turned his mount in the direction of Newgate Street near where Tom Jarvis held his surgery. It was in close proximity to the physicians’ college that Tom had attended at Sunny’s expense, and even now Tom continued to be heavily involved with the college, exchanging research, notes, and observations with his fellow physicians there.
“Your Grace, this is a surprise,” Tom said as he led Sunny back into his surgery. Sunny noted the finely carved doorframes as he passed them. Someone who knew his craft had obviously constructed them.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Sunny said the moment the door closed behind them.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“What precisely is your interest in Finch?”
Tom’s brows lifted. “You want to know about me and Miss Finch?”
“Precisely. Is there something to know?”
“Only that I find Miss Finch to be very agreeable and—”
; “Agreeable, my arse.” Sunny snorted. “A pig at the slaughterhouse is more congenial than that virago.”
“I have not found that to be the case at all. She’s obviously gently bred, and our conversations are most diverting.”
“You want to bed her.”
“Certainly not!” Tom appeared offended. “My regard for Miss Finch is sincere, and my intentions purely honorable.”
Sunny’s jaw dropped. “Dear God.”
“What?”
“You do want to swive the harridan, but you’re actually willing to wed her in order to bed her.”
Tom’s jaw set. “Is there a point to this conversation, Your Grace?”
“Careful, Tom.” Sunny’s voice hardened. “Do not forget who paid for all of this.”
A muscle ticked in Tom’s jaw. “I would be happy to repay your generosity, as you well know. You have declined all of my attempts to do so.”
“There’s no need for repayment. Just stay away from the governess.”
“And why, may I ask, should I do that?”
“Because I have asked it of you.”
“You think you have leave to direct my personal life?”
“Just in this matter.” When Tom remained stubbornly silent with his mouth set in a defiant line, Sunny added, “You’ve done very well for yourself.”
“What of it?” Disbelief stamped Tom’s face. “Lord help us all…You want her for yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What Adam wants, Adam gets. We all know that, don’t we?” His use of Sunny’s given name recalled the times when, as boys, they’d been on as equal footing as was possible for a by-blow from the village and the son of a duke.
Back then, on the rare occasion when Sunny had been able to slip away from his regimented schedule, Tom had bested him in most boyish pursuits—running, jumping, fishing, bowling—the physical activities ordinary boys were able to pursue while Sunny had been mired in learning how to be a great duke. Naturally, Sunny excelled at riding and fencing, but those gentlemanly pursuits hadn’t mattered to the village boys. Sunny had never fully understood the friendly but intense rivalry Tom had with him until the summer Sunny turned eighteen and learned the truth.