Gift-Wrapped Governess

by Sophia James

  ‘I’m not your wife!’

  ‘But you will be. You want to be. You will enjoy taking me in hand…’

  He made a motion towards the front of his breeches. In spite of gasping with outrage, she could not help following the motion of his hand with her eyes. Nor noticing that he was, once again, um…fully grown.

  ‘See how much influence you’ve had over me already. Mending my manners, planning on marrying and settling down, getting me all hot and bothered just from talking about kissing you…’

  ‘You did not plan to marry and settle down,’ she said, sidestepping his remark about getting hot and bothered, since she was so very hot and bothered herself. ‘You never plan anything! A thought just pops into your head, and you go along with it. B-but I concede,’ she said, darting round the desk suddenly, as she realised he had been inching his way closer whilst she had been temporarily fascinated by the impressive ridge that was pushing out the front of his breeches, ‘that you are attempting to make amends for crossing the line last night. But please don’t insult my intelligence by making it sound as though you were out looking for a wife and that you deliberately chose me when I know it was no such thing.’

  ‘You are right. I never do plan anything. But now I have thought of it, I cannot think of anything I’d rather do than marry you. And I’m quite sure you would like being married to me.’

  She had to make yet another strategic withdrawal when he attempted to inch closer. ‘That is beside the point.’

  ‘So you admit it—you do want me?’ He took two large paces towards her. With a little yelp, she darted away, maintaining her distance. Her physical distance. But, oh, how hard it was getting not to let him seduce her with his words.

  ‘Perhaps it is time I was completely honest with you,’ she said, summoning all her courage. ‘But don’t blame me if you don’t like what you are going to hear. I cannot, dare not, believe you are in earnest. P-perhaps you truly do believe, at this minute, you want to marry me. You have just admitted you have got carried along on one of those surges of enthusiasm you are always getting. But after a very brief time, it will wear off, and then where will that leave me? I…’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I want you, yes. I have always wanted you. Right from the first moment I saw you, when I was scarce old enough to recognise what that kind of wanting was.’

  For a moment, they both stood stock-still, gazing at each other hungrily. She didn’t think either one of them was breathing.

  ‘What woman with eyes in her head would not want you? You are…’ she waved her hand up and down, outlining his figure across the desk ‘…just gorgeous.’

  He stood up straighter, grinning smugly.

  ‘Except,’ she said acidly, ‘for your inability to give a rap about anything but your own pleasure.’

  That wiped the self-satisfied smile from his face.

  ‘What do you think it will be like for me, being hopelessly in love with a husband who is constitutionally unable to remain faithful? I will be miserable. No, worse than that, broken! Can’t you see, it will be much better for me to remain single?’

  ‘No. I cannot see that. You are condemning me without giving me a fair hearing. Give me a chance, sweetheart—’

  ‘Don’t you sweetheart me! You have already caused me to lose my job and my reputation. And what do you think it felt like, having to leave with the few belongings I could carry? And not even what I would have chosen to pack! How far did you think I would get with what few shillings I have in my purse?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how far you can get with hardly any coin at all, actually. I had a bet once, with a few fellows, to see who could travel the farthest on only two guineas and Wilbraham…’

  It was the last straw. Could he take nothing seriously? She had opened her heart to him, and all he could do by way of response was to relate some tale about some bet he had made.

  With a howl of rage, she reached for the nearest solid object that came to hand and shied it at him across the desk.

  He ducked. It was only when the missile smashed against one of the shelves, spraying black liquid all over the books she’d just spent ages tidying, that she realised it had been the Reverend Colleyhurst’s inkwell.

  She clapped her hands to her cheeks in horror.

  ‘Oh, look what you’ve made me do, you provoking man! I’ve probably ruined all those valuable books. And your coat,’ she wailed. ‘Your beautiful coat!’

  A good deal of ink had spattered Lord Chepstow’s shoulder and the side of his face, and was dripping in great fat globs down his shirt front.

  She knew, from the times she’d stayed in his home as a girl, how often Lord Chepstow visited his tailor and how large were the bills the man sent to him. The cost of replacing what she had just ruined would wipe out any earnings she might have made, had she remained a governess, for years and years.

  She stared at him in horror. Not only at her inability to pay for the damage she’d done, but at her loss of control. She never lost control. At least, she never had, until the advent of Lord Chepstow into her life this last time.

  It felt as though an abyss was yawning at her feet. She had comprehensively insulted Lord Chepstow. Turned down his marriage proposal in the most unflattering terms. And, as if that was not enough, had ruined a whole set of his expensive clothing.

  In short, she must have persuaded him that marrying her would be a fatal mistake. He would leave now. And she would never see him again.

  She was the biggest idiot alive. Against all the odds, he’d pursued her with the notion of making amends by offering to marry her. And what had she done?

  Oh, what had she done?

  Lord Chepstow was looking down the front of his coat, an expression of complete shock on his face. And then he raised his eyes to hers.

  She buried her face in her hands. She could not bear to see those laughing eyes of his turn upon her in coldness. But what else could she expect? She had said such unforgivable things, even before she’d thrown the inkwell at his head.

  But being Lord Chepstow, he did the very last thing anyone could have expected.

  He burst out laughing.

  She gave a little sob of relief and dared to look at him then. Wasn’t that just like him—to see the funny side of a situation that most men would have found infuriating?

  Her heart turned over in her chest. He might be the most impulsive, self-indulgent creature in existence, but there was not a mean bone in his body.

  ‘Do you know, before I came here I vowed I would take whatever you chose to throw at me. But I never d-dreamed…’ he chortled ‘…that it would be an inkwell.’

  ‘You aren’t cross?’

  ‘How can I be cross?’ He rounded the desk, seized her hands and tugged her towards him. ‘You just admitted you want to marry me.’

  ‘Did you not hear a word I said?’

  ‘I heard you say you were hopelessly in love with me,’ he said, pulling her so close that when a drop of ink fell from his fringe it dripped on to her spectacles.

  ‘But I’m so afraid you will get bored with me. You will take up with your opera dancers again and it will break my heart…’

  He removed her spectacles with a rueful smile.

  ‘How could I possibly ever grow bored with you?’

  ‘B-because I am so dull and…’

  ‘Dull? You? Not a bit of it.’ He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. ‘Every time I stepped into your schoolroom something new and unexpected about you took me completely by surprise. I have only just started to discover the woman you are, underneath all that governessy starch you hide behind. It will take at least the rest of my life to understand you completely.’

  ‘There is nothing to understand. I love routine and order. And you,’ she said despairingly, ‘you crave adventure.’

  ‘No,’ he said thoughtfully as he wiped the lens clean. ‘I don’t crave it. This is how it is, sweetheart,’ he said, sliding the spectacles back onto her nose
and putting his arms round her. ‘When my parents died so unexpectedly, the shock of it made me see what a precarious business life is. And then, you know, I was left in sole charge of an immense fortune. I could not see any point in being frugal with it, or living carefully, not when death could snatch it all away from me without a moment’s notice. I just wanted to live life to the full, squeeze every last drop of sensation from each and every hour, so that, if it did all come to an abrupt end, I would never regret not having got the most out of it. But I have never taken my pleasure at the expense of another’s happiness. What makes you think I would be unkind enough to take up with another woman, if I was lucky enough to have you to wife?’

  ‘I am sure you would never mean to be unkind, but…’

  She gazed up into his eyes and saw nothing but complete sincerity. She felt a little bubble of hope rising. After all, he was claiming those jumbled words he’d uttered about marriage last night had really been his idea of a proposal—a genuine proposal—when she had been assuming all day that he would have laughed the whole thing off in the same way he’d laughed off the hurting of the inkwell. And he hadn’t noticed Lady Springfield, so he hadn’t talked about marriage because he’d felt coerced. Could he be in earnest?

  Dare she believe in him?

  But still… ‘The thought of living as you do scares me,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want adventure or experience. I just want to feel…’

  ‘Secure,’ he said, nodding. ‘When you lost your parents, it had the opposite effect upon you, didn’t it, to what it had on me? Because along with your parents, you lost your security. And you have been desperately searching for it ever since. You try to make yourself feel safe by constantly warning yourself not to rely on anyone else. You don’t ever let anyone get close enough to hurt you.’

  ‘Th-that is…exactly what I do,’ she said in astonishment. ‘But how could you know that? How do you understand it, when I have never told anyone…?’

  ‘Because I’m not an idiot. I might behave in what you think is an idiotish manner at times, but I have a brain in my head. And when I choose to use it, I make some damned good choices. An idiot would have run through his fortune entirely, having it handed over to him the way I did, at such a young age and with no serious checks in place. But I didn’t. Oh, yes, I know you think I am an extravagant creature, but I have never…well, actually, I did outrun the constable just once or twice, at the very first,’ he admitted with a frown.

  ‘But then I remembered I was responsible for Pippa. I made very sure that her portion would always be safe. You might not think I was the ideal brother to her, but I never played fast and loose with her fortune. On the contrary, I invested it so wisely that by the time it came to her Season, she had a very healthy dowry to bring to her marriage. I’ve more than tripled my own fortune, too. Hah! Stunned you to silence at last!’

  ‘Yes, I…don’t know what to say…’

  She gazed up at him dizzily. Her whole perception of him was turning upside down.

  ‘Just say you’ll marry me. You will never have to worry about a thing, ever again. I will keep you safe. Your security will be in bearing my name.’

  ‘S-safe,’ she repeated in a daze.

  ‘And free to discover yourself in a way you never have been before,’ he said in a silky smooth voice. ‘Come on, Honeysuckle, yield to temptation. I know you want to.’

  She did want to…and not just because he was holding her in his arms. She had been alone for so long and he was saying she could finally belong to someone, in a way that far exceeded anything she had dared to let herself hope for.

  Now that she knew him better, she was beginning to believe she really might be able to trust in him.

  ‘You make it sound so simple, but—’

  ‘I don’t want to listen to any more arguments,’ he said, realising he’d got as far as he could by that method. It was time to apply the sort of persuasion he knew she would not be able to resist.

  Clasping her tightly, he kissed her for all he was worth.

  He met with no resistance.

  In fact, the moment his mouth met hers, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him back. And just like the night before, it felt as though they were both going up in flames.

  He had never felt so immediately, painfully aroused in his life. He had to get her horizontal. Somewhere in the room there had to be a sofa, or, if not, it would have to be the hearthrug. How could she think he would ever grow bored with this? This instant, total conflagration that consumed everything in its path as it surged through them both?

  He broke free from her greedy mouth just long enough to draw a quick breath and scan the room.

  ‘No,’ she moaned and speared her fingers into his hair, dragging his face back down to hers.

  But he’d located what he needed. There was a sofa, albeit one with a tea tray inexplicably nestling amongst its cushions.

  He backed her ruthlessly in its direction, while she went frantic, tunnelling her fingers under his waistcoat and yanking his shirt from his breeches, as though she would die if she didn’t get her hands on bare flesh.

  He sympathised. Totally. With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, just long enough to get her legs up off the floor, then they landed on the sofa in a tangle of limbs to the sound of shattering crockery as he elbowed the tea tray aside.

  Then he set about the buttons down the front of her gown. He had to free what felt like hundreds of little jet padlocks from their chains before he could push the material aside and get his hands on what he longed to feel: the soft mounds of her breasts, crowned with satisfyingly stiff nipples. Just the right size to fit into his palms. Though what he wanted, what he really wanted, was to taste them.

  She whimpered when he started trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck. When he pressed his lips just so, beneath her ear, her whole body arched up into him. He teased her there a little longer, then continued to his chosen destination, pushing her chemise aside…

  She gasped, and shoved hard at his shoulders.

  Damn, he hadn’t thought she would resist him, not at this point…

  But then he heard it, too—the sound of footsteps in the hall, coming steadily closer.

  ‘It’s the vicar!’ Honeysuckle shrieked, rolling out from underneath him, scrambling to her feet and making for the far side of the room.

  How on earth could she have heard the front door open and close, when all he’d been aware of was the thunder of his own heart beating?

  He sat up and pushed his ink-sticky fringe out of his eyes.

  He’d done some pretty outrageous things in his time, but he’d never been so swept away by passion that he’d almost ravished a virgin on a vicar’s sofa.

  The virgin in question was shakily fastening her buttons up in all the wrong loops, whilst staring at the study door with an expression of complete panic.

  And the wave of tenderness that swept through him explained it all: the fiery passion, the feeling of everything falling into place after he’d made that muddled proposal to her, the horror he’d experienced when he thought she might be in danger and, worse, the dread that he might never find her. That he might have to face the rest of his life alone.

  Without her.

  ‘Honeysuckle,’ he said, ‘I have fallen completely, head over heels in love with you.’

  Chapter Eight

  Her fingers stalled.

  She was only dimly aware of the vicar coming to a shocked standstill on the threshold. What filled her vision was Lord Chepstow, sprawled on the sofa, looking at her with a slightly stunned expression.

  ‘What the…what has…what is…?’

  Lord Chepstow blinked, as though the Reverend’s spluttered outrage had awoken him from a spell. He got to his feet.

  ‘I hope you will offer us your congratulations, Reverend,’ he said with not the slightest trace of embarrassment, though he was tucking his shirt into his breeches. She didn’t know whether to resent his sheer nerve,
or admire his insouciance.

  ‘Miss Miller has just agreed to marry me,’ he said, doing up the waistcoat her own fingers must have unbuttoned while her mind had abdicated responsibility for their actions.

  Reverend Colleyhurst, who had been gazing round at the wreckage of his study, lingering over the smashed crockery on the carpet and the inkstains splattered all over his bookshelves, bleated faintly, ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘As you can see,’ said Lord Chepstow, making for Honeysuckle’s side, ‘she put up some very strenuous resistance to my proposal to begin with. But as you may also perceive,’ he said, drawing attention to the inkstains down his own clothing, then hers, which she realised in sudden horror must be a mirror image, considering the way she had plastered herself to him like a sheet of blotting paper, ‘eventually I persuaded her to see reason. I shall, of course, reimburse you for all the breakages that occurred during what must be one of the longest and hardest-contested duels of will any man has ever had to fight in the name of love.’

  With a smile that verged on the borders of smug, he set about refastening the buttons of her gown in the correct loops, causing her cheeks to flush hotly. Her only consolation was that the vicar looked as flustered as she felt.

  ‘Might I suggest,’ put in the vicar, hesitantly, ‘that the procuring of a special licence would be in order?’

  ‘Well, I had planned on giving her a lavish society wedding. But it might be better not to make her wait too long. Miss Miller is a woman of such strong passions, I fear she can hardly keep her hands off me, one way or another.’

  ‘Ooh, you—’

  He cut off any protestation she might have voiced by swooping down and kissing her. Only once she was clinging to his waistcoat lapels, rather than trying to fight him off, did he break the kiss.

  ‘But then I cannot keep my hands off her either.’

  That admission effectively dealt with any lingering shreds of resentment that kiss had not already dispatched.

  And then, just as she felt as though her knees might not hold her up a moment longer, he swept her into his arms.