by Sophia James
He smiled the smile of a victor. Then fulfilled every dream she’d ever had since the first hour she’d met him by swooping down and placing his lips over hers.
She groaned with pleasure. It was as though she had broken into the cake shop while nobody was looking and had grabbed an armful of all the most expensive of those mouth-watering treats. And he did taste good. Sweet. She supposed it was the wine he had been drinking. But even better, she could feel the heat of his body through the soft folds of her nightgown. The press of his hands sliding up her ribcage.
‘Good lord,’ he said, breaking the kiss and looking down at her as though he’d never seen her before. ‘I always thought whoever named you had got it completely wrong. But your lips are the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.’
Years of repressed longings swept away her natural caution.
She pulled his face back down to hers and pressed her lips feverishly against his.
She half expected him to reject her inexpert attempt to kiss him back. But far from seeming repulsed by her eagerness, he emitted a groan of his own and clasped her tighter. To her utter delight, he took charge of the kiss, parting her lips and thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. It sent hot shivers coursing all the way through her body. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with her mouth, apart from yielding to his exploration of it, but at least she no longer had to resist the temptation to push that silky fringe from his forehead as he bent over her. His hands were roaming all over her body, so he could not possibly object to her running her fingers through the delightfully soft texture of his hair.
Lord Chepstow could not recall ever experiencing anything quite as inflammatory as her mixture of innocence and eagerness. For once, he did not make the calculated moves of an expert seducer of women, just gave in to the demands of his body, letting his hands roam where they would, until the urge to grab her bottom and hold her hard so that he could grind himself against her soft yielding flesh grew too strong to resist. But doing that only made him want to yank up her nightgown and touch bare skin. Rip open those buttons and taste the breasts he could feel pressing into his chest.
‘My God,’ he grated, tearing his mouth free and resting his forehead against hers. ‘We have to stop before I…’
She wasn’t the kind of woman you could just fling down on a hearthrug and use to slake the lust roaring through him. He should not have started this. But he’d thought any kiss they might share would have been sweet, not hot as Hades and twice as sinful.
‘If I’d known you could kiss like that, I…’
‘What? What would you have done?’
Her lovely dream shattered and came crashing down around their ears. He was too fond of his liberty to be tied into any relationship he could not step away from the moment he grew bored. Nor was he so lost to all sense of decency that he would take a friend of his sister’s as his mistress. She stepped back, pushing his arms away from her.
And just as she did so, a small sound from the doorway to the schoolroom caught her attention.
She could just make out the silhouette of a female, though the candle she held aloft threw her face into deep shadow.
Lord Chepstow had noticed nothing. He was intent upon her, following her as she backed towards her room, replacing his hands on her waist every time she batted them away.
‘No, no, don’t pretend to be cross with me,’ he said. ‘There is no point. Not now I have discovered the truth. You don’t really dislike me at all, do you? All those frowns, all that scolding—it was all a bluff to disguise the fact that, deep down, you want me so much you don’t know what to do with yourself.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ And smile like that. His cocky grin made her fingers itch to slap the expression from his face.
‘Because you just kissed me with your whole body, not just your mouth. I don’t think anyone has ever kissed me with such passion.’
The light flickered and faded, indicating that the female, whoever she was, had gone. But it did not alter the fact that she must have seen them in each other’s arms. As if Lord Chepstow discovering the intensity of her feelings for him was not mortifying enough.
‘You won’t ever be able to fool me by putting on that prim, governessy voice again. It is just a front. Underneath, you are a passionate creature.’
‘No,’ she murmured, anxiously scanning the gaping doorway.
‘Yes, you are. You have just never had anyone to share your passion with before. But it’s all there. You are just dying to shower someone with all the love that is bottled up inside you…’
Was he suggesting she let him be the person to shower with her love? Was this all a prelude to suggesting she let him teach her all about passion? She was not so innocent that she did not know exactly what it was that had been pressing into her belly a moment ago.
‘I’ll show you passion,’ she said grimly and did exactly what he’d suggested earlier. She whacked him hard on the backs of his hands with her hairbrush. And then, when he’d let her go with a surprised yelp, she darted backwards into her bedroom and shut the door firmly in his face—before she yielded to the almost overwhelming temptation to seize him by the lapels and drag him inside with her.
From the other side of the door, she could hear his low, throaty chuckle.
She sprang away from the door as though it had turned red hot. She felt betrayed. She’d got carried away and let him kiss her—no, had kissed him. With her whole body. And heart.
And now he was standing there, laughing at her. She wrapped her arms round her waist, tears stinging her eyes.
‘Honeysuckle?’
He heaved a sigh. The door shivered, as though he was leaning against it.
‘Oh, hell. I was completely out of line, wasn’t I?’
He should not have teased her into that kiss. He shouldn’t even have come up here, when he knew full well they would be alone. A man should never be alone with a lady of good birth. It just wasn’t done. Normally, he would not have walked into a situation a woman could use to her advantage to trap him into marriage, but…
He sucked in a short, sharp breath as it struck him that if this had been London, and he had just kissed a débutante like that, society would consider he’d compromised her. Her reputation would have been ruined.
‘I suppose at this point, as a gentleman, I ought to make amends by proposing marriage, but…’
Marriage. A state he’d been so determined to avoid he’d got as far away from Havelock, and the predatory females who stalked the fields he was intent on entering, as possible.
He would have to get married one day, of course, to make sure there were sons to continue the line.
And he’d already come to the conclusion that Honeysuckle would make a wonderful mother.
Good grief, now he thought of it, she was also an orphan, which Havelock had declared would be a bonus, given the complicated state of his existing family affairs.
He’d further stated that he wouldn’t care if his bride didn’t have any money, since he was very comfortably circumstanced anyway.
And Honeysuckle was so poor she had to work for a living.
It was astonishing. The men in his club that night might as well have sat down and just written the name ‘Honeysuckle Miller’ when they’d collectively drawn up a list of all the attributes that would make a perfect wife. The perfect mother to the children it was their duty to sire.
He laid one palm flat against the door that separated them. Honeysuckle would give him sons to make him proud. They would be plucky, and clever and resourceful.
And, by God, but he would enjoy the getting of them.
Contrary to what Lady Springfield had said, he couldn’t even see himself ever getting bored with Honeysuckle. Not the way he grew bored with his mistresses, anyway. A man looked for entirely different qualities in a wife than a mistress. A mistress was for…the moment. A wife was a woman with whom to build a future.
In the past, when he’d tried to imagine being t
ied to one woman for the rest of his life, he’d had to run a finger round his neckcloth, as though he could feel it tightening like a noose. But he did not feel trapped, or tricked or imprisoned at all. On the contrary, he felt curiously liberated.
Right up til the minute he’d left London, he’d been declaring he was happy living the way he did. But that was not the whole truth. Of late, he no longer felt quite comfortable visiting any of his properties outside London, knowing they were all desperately in need of a woman’s touch and that pretty soon he would have to give serious consideration to finding that woman.
Well, now he’d found her—when he had not even been looking. There was not a woman anywhere who would be better at transforming his estates into homes where he could raise his children than Honeysuckle Miller.
Honeysuckle took another step away from the closed door that parted them as the silence from the other side went on and on. This was worse than his laughter. To her, that kiss had been like a taste of paradise. But he was regretting it already. Counting the cost of it. There could be no other explanation for all that silence. He’d reminded himself that as a gentleman he ought to propose after kissing her like that—but he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. Men like him didn’t marry penniless governesses. He might want her, in a certain way, but there was nothing he could do about that either. He couldn’t take a friend of his sister’s as his mistress.
‘Do you know,’ he suddenly said, brightly, ‘it has just occurred to me that Havelock had the right idea? Or at least, he was thinking along the right lines. No man wants to be leg-shackled to a harpy, just because she comes from a good family, and has a lot of money. It is like…a bit like…the fact that I brought Brown Bess down here as well as Diamond. Diamond is a fine-looking creature and I enjoy showing off his paces, but when it comes to the hunt, I cannot do better than Brown Bess. She has the temperament to keep going all day. Will never let me down.’
She shook her head, slowly. Just how much had he had to drink tonight? Until now, he’d seemed fairly lucid, but this rambling way he was talking about his horses, and some friend of his who sounded as though he really was contemplating marriage, made her think again.
‘Honeysuckle? What do you say?’
There was only one thing she could say.
‘Go away!’
He chuckled. He’d taken her by surprise. Well, he’d taken himself by surprise. But when she thought it over, she’d come to the same conclusion as he had.
She slumped against the door as she heard him turn and stroll away. She was sure he had not meant to hurt her by taunting her with the impossibility of them ever marrying. He was just doing what he always did. Saying the first thing that came into his head without thinking about what he really meant.
She was stupid to feel so hurt because he’d spouted a lot of nonsense whilst in his cups. He probably would not even recall much of what he’d said, once he’d sobered up.
With any luck, he wouldn’t even recall he’d come up here.
Oh, Lord, she hoped he wouldn’t. It was bad enough that he’d brought up the topic of marriage at all, when she knew full well that men like Lord Chepstow did not marry penniless governesses. When he eventually settled down, it would be with some wealthy, titled, fashionable lady. No Brown Bess for him. He would demand a Diamond. A showy, expensive creature, who would be quite willing to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions. For there would be many.
Lord Chepstow craved variety. Constant stimulation. He would never be content to restrict himself to just one woman.
Whereas there would never be, had never been, any other man for her.
Chapter Five
‘Well, have you nothing to say in your defence?’
Honeysuckle looked at Lady Budworth with a sinking heart.
She could not gainsay Lady Springfield, not while she was standing right there. Besides, she had been kissing Lord Chepstow and she had only been wearing her nightgown.
Useless to protest it had gone no further than kisses, or that she had not permitted him to set foot inside her bedroom. For if she were to deny that part of Lady Springfield’s tale, it would be to call her a liar to her face. Lady Budworth would have to decide which of them was telling the truth.
And how likely was it that she would take the word of a lowly governess over that of an earl’s daughter?
‘Your silence is an admission of guilt,’ said Lady Budworth. ‘You will leave my employ at once.’
Honeysuckle felt the blood drain from her face.
‘You will not return to your room,’ Lady Budworth continued. ‘I cannot have you walking through the schoolroom. My guests will not want their children exposed to the corrupting influence of a person such as yourself.’
‘B-but am I not to be permitted to bid Annabel and Mary farewell?’ She had grown very fond of them and, she thought, they of her.
Lady Budworth made a slashing motion with her hand. ‘Absolutely not. The fact that you have abused your position of trust in my home by acting like a…like a…’
‘Harlot?’ Lady Springfield helpfully supplied with a malicious smile.
It was all Honeysuckle could do to keep her hands meekly folded at her waist, rather than curling them into angry little fists. How could Lady Springfield be getting so much pleasure from causing her to lose her job? What kind of person was she?
Leaving that aside, there were more practical matters to consider.
‘Surely you cannot mean to turn me out without letting me pack my things?’
‘I will have them sent on.’
‘But I don’t know where I shall be going. I have nowhere…’
Her middle section clenched into a block of ice as the full horror of her predicament sank in. She had no family. No close friends apart from Pippa. But how could she possibly go to his sister, telling a tale that would make him sound like a…like a rake! Well, he was a rake, but he drew the line at seducing innocent girls of good birth. Besides, if she ran to Pippa, her husband was bound to want to call Lord Chepstow to account. He might even insist that he marry her. And if Lord Chepstow had really wanted to do so, he would have asked her last night, not muttered something about his horses and sauntered away.
It would be completely unfair to make Lord Chepstow pay such a terrible price. She had been the one to give in to temptation. For once in her life, she’d snatched at the chance to taste an experience she had known full well to be wrong. If she really had dashed into that baker’s shop when she’d been a schoolgirl and stolen one of those slices of gingerbread, they would have hauled her off to the constable for theft. Last night she had stolen a moment of illicit bliss in Lord Chepstow’s arms. She could have stopped him, had she wanted to.
But she hadn’t wanted to.
‘Would you…would you at least let me have a character?’
Lady Budworth flung up her hands in exasperation.
‘I cannot be fidgeted with details at this hour in the morning. I have not even had my chocolate. Oh…go downstairs to the housekeeper’s room. It is her job to deal with this sort of thing. All I want is to never have to see your face again. It is most inconvenient of you to let me down like this, with a house full of guests,’ she finished pettishly. ‘Now who is going to mind the children?’
She should have thought of that before she’d summoned her to answer Lady Springfield’s charges.
Or, better yet, told the spoiled, spiteful madam that she would look into the complaint discreetly, then interviewed her in private, to ascertain the full truth of the matter.
But no. Lady Springfield had pretended outrage on behalf of one of her younger sisters, and because she was a guest, a titled, wealthy guest, Lady Budworth had yielded to her demands.
Honeysuckle dipped a curtsy and headed for the door, her back ramrod straight. She would not give in to tears, or beg for mercy, or show any weakness whatever! Besides, she didn’t feel like crying. She was too angry for tears. Once in her life, just once, she had misbehaved and not even all
that badly. But then when had the world ever been a place where justice reigned? Poor people could face imprisonment for stealing a loaf of bread to keep from starving. But if you had wealth, and position, you could behave as badly as you liked and get away with it.
‘Is something the matter?’
Honeysuckle came to herself to see Mrs Gulpher looking at her with concern. Somehow she’d reached the housekeeper’s room without knowing quite how she’d got there.
‘I have been dismissed,’ she said, reaching out to steady herself against the door frame. All of a sudden, her legs had gone quite weak. How was she going to survive?
‘No! What on earth for?’
Mrs Gulpher took her by the arm and ushered her into the upper servants’ sitting room.
The next hour passed in a daze. She told her tale to Mrs Gulpher, and the butler, Rothman, and though they were sympathetic, there was not very much either of them could actually do beyond offering her tea and advice.
The next thing she knew, she was walking down the driveway, with one small bag in her hand, which Mrs Gulpher had one of the maids pack for her, and the driving rain was stinging her face like a million needles.
Rothman had suggested she go to the vicarage and ask for refuge for a few days while he attempted to extract the wages owing from Lord Budworth, though she could not see him paying up. Why should he? He might consider her alleged conduct left him with no obligation towards her. And men of his class saw nothing wrong in withholding money owed to tradespeople like tailors, or butchers or…governesses. You only had to look at the papers and read the lists of all the people who went bankrupt every week.
He wouldn’t care that without that money it was going to be hard for her to survive until she could find a new post. Which would take a very long time indeed if he did not provide her with a satisfactory character, either.
Her future looked bleak indeed. As bleak and harsh as this December weather. Not only did she have no home, and no job, but precious few prospects, either.