by Sophia James
‘Gabriel.’ There was a glitter in his eyes, a look of barely contained hunger that made her nervous. Like being too close to a tiger. His thumbs were stroking her shoulders. Did he know he was doing it? ‘Gabriel…’
‘Regan.’ He was quite definitely not going to kiss her. Even though he wanted, urgently, inexplicably, to kiss her. Kissing Regan Stuart was categorically not part of his grand design. He would content himself with the merest brush of the lips. His were cool, hers soft. Her mouth seemed to fit his perfectly. She did not resist. He wrapped his arms around her and settled his mouth on hers.
For a few heady moments Regan succumbed. Never, ever, had any man taken such a liberty. Never had a man held her so close that she could feel his body pressing into hers. A hard, muscled body it was, so different from her own slender frame. So solid. She would feel safe, had she not felt so utterly unsafe. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of his lips on hers, his hands on her back. It was delightful. Exciting. And utterly wrong.
She wrenched herself free. ‘Gabriel! What do you think you are doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, staring at her in consternation. ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’
Regan touched her fingers to her lips. Her first real kiss. She should be shocked beyond measure, and she was, but she felt, too, a guilty sort of elation. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, too stunned to offer anything other than brutal honesty.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Gabriel said stiffly. ‘Rest assured, it will not happen again.’
‘No? I mean, no, of course not.’
He could not understand what had come over him. Especially not now, with the imminent arrival of his three guests. Though when he tried, it was surprisingly difficult to conjure up the image of any one of them, imminent or not. ‘A mistake,’ Gabriel said, more to himself than Regan, ‘an inappropriate echo of our previous fondness, nothing more.’
‘Yes.’ It was plausible. As an explanation, she was willing to try to force it to fit, because what had happened, delightful as it had felt, was undoubtedly wrong. For a myriad of reasons.
‘Yes,’ Gabriel said firmly, getting to his feet. ‘I best get back to the Hall.’
‘What about the prize?’
He looked at her blankly. ‘What prize?’
‘You promised the children a prize for reaching the centre of the maze, Gabriel—surely you have not forgotten?’
He had, but he was not about to admit it. ‘I promised a prize and a prize they shall have.’ But what? What did young children like? ‘Pony rides,’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘They will like that. You always did, I recall.’
‘Yes,’ Regan said doubtfully, ‘but do you actually have any ponies suitable for them?’
‘Absolutely,’ Gabriel said with conviction, for it must surely be an easy enough thing to track down three docile ponies on an estate the size of Blairmore. Or so he fervently hoped his groom would inform him. He helped Regan to her feet, but did not let go of her hand. ‘They shall have pony rides. I don’t go back on my promises, Regan.’
‘No,’ she said, telling herself that she had reason to be very glad of that as she watched him stride purposefully off.
Chapter Three
Later that day, when the children had returned, tired but exhilarated, from their pony ride, they all watched from the vantage point of the turret as the new guests arrived in their carriages. Lady Olivia was blonde, Lady Sarah and Lady Lucinda brunettes, Regan noted. So much for Gabriel’s claim that he preferred Titian hair! So much also for his claim that they were simply presentable. Each of the well-born, impeccably turned out young ladies was quite beautiful. Each emerged from her carriage with a maid carrying her jewellery box and dressing case. Each lady had at least one trunk and one portmanteau. Each wore a highly fashionable swansdown muff and an elaborate carriage dress with matching pelisse. Their boots were of kid, as were their gloves. They had rosebud mouths and peach-perfect complexions. They were dainty, delicate and lovely.
‘They look like princesses,’ Portia whispered, her eyes wide as she gazed down at the last arrival, whose travelling dress was of cherry velvet trimmed with sable.
‘They do indeed,’ Regan agreed, fighting back an unaccustomed gust of envy. ‘Three princesses. It’s a shame for them there is only one prince.’
It was not like her to rail against circumstances, but as the day progressed, a raft of unfamiliar emotions combined to put Regan in a most unusually intemperate mood. Try as she might, she could not help resenting having to play the role of governess, which would effectively prevent her mixing with the other guests. Did Gabriel not realise how much she’d been looking forward to some adult company? Clearly not, any more than he realised the turmoil his kiss had caused. An inappropriate echo of our previous fondness, he’d called it, but the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. Whatever fondness Gabriel had had for her when they were younger had been youthful affection, nothing more. Whatever it was that had led to their kiss was something completely new and completely adult, and he had been completely unwilling to acknowledge it.
‘And rightly so,’ Regan muttered to herself as she donned her evening gown, for she had been bid to present the children in the blue salon prior to dinner. ‘He has no business kissing me when he is upon the brink of becoming betrothed to another woman. Any more than I can have any business kissing him, though why that fact slipped both our minds,’ she said despairingly, fixing a tortoiseshell comb into her hair, ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ Further, she found the fact she seemed unable to stop herself from reliving the whole event with the most shocking relish quite mortifying. But still, the telltale blush stole over her throat as she recalled the tingling, bubbling fizz of excitement as his lips fastened on to hers.
Her first kiss, and it had been from Gabriel, of all people. Who was, she was certain, quite used to kissing and therefore most unlikely to be sharing her confused and contrary emotions. Regan picked up her evening gloves. Silk, not kid, and her only pair. Not that it mattered, for as a governess she would be expected to dine alone in her room. So much for her fond imaginings of parties and gaiety and dancing. With a sigh, she dropped her reflection a little curtsy. ‘Neither pretty enough nor quite wretched enough to be Monsieur Perrault’s Cinderella, but I know how she felt,’ she said, summoning a smile and calling to Portia to help button her gloves.
In the blue drawing room, the Duchess was discoursing on the Hall’s history, while Gabriel tried to recall the excellent qualities that set these particular ladies above the others he had discounted from his matrimonial stakes.
He was not having much success. Despite being faced with three undoubted diamonds of the first water, each, without doubt, nourishing in her corseted bosom the hope of becoming the sixth Duchess of Blairmore, he was feeling rather less than inspired and rather more than usually distracted. His mind kept straying back to the memory of Regan. Of the feel of her lips on his. Her body pressed against his. That surge of desire that shot through him when she twined her arms around him. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he forced himself to obliterate the image, to turn his attention to his carefully selected guests, but he felt like a man with no appetite faced with a groaning banquet. His enthusiasm for the task ahead was almost non-existent, despite the fact that the ladies ensconced in his drawing room were without doubt the pick of the crop.
He supposed he should be grateful that his mother had persuaded their mothers to release them unchaperoned. He could not understand her enthusiasm for matrimony, given how very little pleasure she herself had derived from family life. Had she been unhappy or was she simply incapable of feeling, emotionally desiccated? Strange that he had never before thought to ask himself such a simple question. Was it also strange that he had not asked the same question of himself?
Regan seemed to think so. Regan’s presence here was raising all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Raising all sorts of distracting feelings, too. No one could ever accuse Regan of
being emotionally desiccated—she was the exact opposite, whatever that was. How he envied that easy, warm relationship she had with her brothers and sister. Was he capable of forging something similar with his own children? For that, he realised with a start, mattered even more to him than that the children’s mother should do the same. Was it that which would make him happy? Were his priorities then all askew?
Dammit, he was tying himself in knots. Regan was tying him in knots! He must remember how straightforward it had all seemed before she came here. Five years of struggle it had been, to repair the damage of his father’s ruinous legacy, and now things at Blairmore were finally on an even keel. He had worked too hard to let anyone divert him from completing this final duty, to ensure that his own legacy was sound. That is what would make him happy. He must remember that! He must put Regan Stuart and her uncomfortable questions and her disturbingly beguiling presence from his mind.
The door opened and Regan came into the room, her three siblings clutching at her skirts, and Gabriel was immediately entranced. Her gown, to his experienced eye, was not of this Season’s design, nor even of last, but the emerald-silk overdress with the simple cream petticoat complemented her elegant form and emphasised the fiery lights in her hair.
‘Your Grace.’ Regan sank into a deep curtsy. Gabriel looked very ducal in his formal evening clothes. Black coat. Black waistcoat. Black silk breeches. Black shoes. His starched cravat emphasised the clean line of his jaw, the little cleft of his chin. A diamond pin winked in the neckcloth’s snowy falls. The merest touch of his hand on her glove. His eyes were more grey than blue tonight. She held herself rigidly, reluctant to meet his gaze for fear of giving away her emotions. ‘I brought the children, as you requested.’
Her voice sounded odd. Aware that the Ladies Sarah, Olivia and Lucinda were looking at him expectantly, Gabriel ushered his supposed kin across the room. ‘I would like to introduce you to some young relatives of mine who will be sharing Christmas with us here at the Hall. Distant relatives,’ he added quickly, for he could almost see each lady mentally reviewing his family tree. ‘Very distant, in fact. Portia, Orlando and Ajax. Though the boys are known as Land and Jack,’ he added swiftly.
‘Such original names,’ said Lady Sarah.
‘From Shakespeare, if I’m not mistaken,’ Lady Olivia said.
‘Indeed,’ Lady Lucinda whispered.
‘And this is Miss Stuart, their governess. The children are, sadly, orphans.’
‘How unfortunate,’ Lady Sarah said.
‘Poor little mites,’ said Lady Lucinda.
‘Tragic,’ said Lady Olivia, determined not to be outdone.
Gabriel patted Jack’s head enthusiastically in what he hoped was a paternal manner. Jack made a harrumphing noise and tried to wriggle free. Gabriel pulled him firmly back to his side. ‘It is my earnest hope that you make them feel welcome,’ he said with one of his most charming smiles, as his grip tightened on Jack’s shoulder. ‘At this special time of year, it is so important that we try to make them feel part of our temporary little family, do you not think?’
‘I sincerely hope we are to be spared the warm glow of familial joy at mealtimes,’ the Duchess said acerbically, rather spoiling the effect of her son’s heart-warming plea. ‘Children have no place at the dinner table.’
‘I could not agree more, your Grace,’ Lady Sarah said fervently. ‘My sisters and I were not permitted to sup with my parents until we were sixteen. Mama, you must know, believes that children should be seen and not heard.’
‘And you, Lady Sarah,’ Gabriel asked, ‘what do you believe?’
Realising that she had made some sort of faux pas, though having no clue as to what it was, Lady Sarah looked down at her lap. ‘I do not—that is Mama said—I am sure that whatever you say is best, your Grace.’
‘Well I, for one, think it is a jolly idea to have children around,’ Lady Olivia said astutely, smiling warmly at the children. ‘I believe there is snow forecast. Such very Christ-massy weather.’
‘We are going to skate on the pond,’ Jack informed her shyly.
‘Excellent, I shall look forward to that,’ Lady Olivia said, earning a look of approval from Gabriel.
Not to be outdone, Lady Lucinda joined in. ‘I believe there is a skittle alley in the Hall. Perhaps if his Grace would condescend to teach us the rules?’
‘We don’t need the Duke for that,’ Land scoffed, ‘it’s easy. Even girls can play. Regan said that when she was my age—’ He broke off in confusion as Portia pinched him.
‘Regan? Who is Regan?’ Lady Lucinda looked confused.
The Duchess’s imperious tone cut into the uncomfortable silence. ‘Another character from the Bard’s canon. If my memory is correct—and it always is—one well capable of assuming the mantle of deference in order to serve her own ends. Miss Stuart, you may take them away now, if you please.’
Her gimlet glare held in it a hint of malice that left Regan in no doubt as to her meaning. She dropped a very, very shallow curtsy. ‘Indeed, your Grace, I think the children have had a surfeit of excitement for one day. We don’t want to spoil them with too much attention, do we?’ Turning her back quite deliberately on her hostess, she waited by the door as the children made their relieved bows and ushered her brood out without a backward glance.
When she emerged from settling the children, she found Gabriel waiting for her in the sitting room that connected with their bedchamber. Pacing the small space between the fireplace and the bow window, his face was like thunder. ‘I’m sorry, that was unwarrantably rude of my mother.’
‘She always did enjoy putting me in my place.’
‘You are not a servant.’
‘No, I’m a governess, which is worse, for it puts me neither above nor below stairs,’ Regan said waspishly.
‘For convenience’s sake only. I think of you no differently from my other guests.’
Regan raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘Save for one crucial point. I am not in the running to become the next Duchess. Don’t dissemble, Gabriel.’
He tugged at his neckcloth. ‘I will not lie to you. I did not consider the implications when I asked you to pretend to be their governess, but you must believe me, it was never my intention to have you act the servant. I’ve made that quite clear to my mother—unequivocally clear, in fact,’ he said firmly. He held out his hand to her. ‘I’ve been thoughtless and I’m sorry for it. Will you forgive me?’
His frank admission, more than his apology, quite took the wind out of her sails. ‘I suppose so.’
Gabriel grinned. ‘I may have dared you into climbing trees that were too high, or riding a horse that was not yet properly schooled, but it was because I couldn’t resist challenging you, Regan, not because I wished to demean you.’
‘Why did you kiss me, Gabriel? Was that a challenge, too? Because I don’t believe it was for the reason you said.’
‘An inappropriate echo of our former fondness.’ Gabriel shook his head. ‘Embarrassing, pompous and complete balderdash. It had nothing to do with those long-off childhood days. I don’t know why I kissed you, frankly. You’ve grown into an extremely attractive woman, Regan Stuart. Perhaps it’s that simple,’ he said with relief, for perhaps it was.
‘I’m not. Compared to your ladies, I’m a complete frump.’
‘You are quite wrong. Now, do not force me to pay you any more compliments, nor to delay dinner any further—and before you say anything, I have already informed my mother that a place is to be set for you. You may be perforce a governess, but you may still dine with us if I so choose.’
‘If you are certain?’
‘I am certain that I don’t want to earn Lady Sarah’s disapprobation for being tardy. I suspect it would be enough to spoil any man’s appetite.’
Regan was forced to laugh. ‘Gabriel! You are talking about the woman who may become your wife.’
‘Now that thought truly has ruined my appetite,’ Gabriel muttered darkly.
Dinner was such a stilted affair that Regan began to wonder whether she would have been better served to have eaten alone in her quarters. Though Lady Olivia made a small effort to include her in the conversation, and Lady Lucinda, perhaps sensing Gabriel’s approval, followed suit in a somewhat desultory manner, both ladies were obviously taken aback at their host’s insistence that a mere governess join them at dinner, though they were far too well bred to show it. Lady Sarah, however, had no such qualms and followed the Duchess’s glacial example of holding herself aloof to the extent that Regan began to feel that her very presence was contagious. Grateful as she was to Gabriel for ending her self-imposed exile, by the end of the meal Regan was even more grateful to be able to make her excuses and, citing the need to be up early for the children, retire without taking tea.
The next morning, with Portia, Land and Jack having been entrusted to their new best friend, Gabriel’s head groom, Regan took the opportunity to pick a spray of winter foliage and set off on her own private pilgrimage. Wandering past the brew house, the old bakery, the stillrooms and cold stores that had been built for the original manor, she took the short path that led to the steward’s house. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Clutching her cloak around her, for the first flakes of snow were beginning to fall, she leaned against a mossy wall and lost herself in the past.
‘I thought I’d find you here.’
‘Gabriel! You startled me, I was miles away.’
‘Years, you mean. Has it changed much?’
‘Very little.’