by Laura Martin
With a quick glance over his shoulder just in time to see Miss Salinger slipping behind the curve of the steps that linked the terrace with the formal gardens, he crouched down behind the wild tangle of the rose bed.
A minute passed and then another.
‘Found you,’ Theodosia shouted, tugging him by the arm. ‘That really was much too easy. Miss Salinger is always easy to find as well.’
‘I was going easy on you,’ Matthew said, allowing himself to be pulled back to the bottom of the steps by his younger niece.
‘We’ve been running round these gardens our whole lives,’ Theodosia said. ‘We could find you in less than five minutes no matter where you hid.’
‘Lord Westcroft grew up here, too,’ Miss Salinger, who had also been discovered, reminded the young girl gently.
‘But he’s old. And he hasn’t lived here for a very long time.’ She considered for a moment. ‘And he’s old.’
‘So old you had to mention it twice,’ Matthew murmured.
He caught Miss Salinger repressing a smile and felt wonderfully carefree. For this moment at least he was determined to forget his responsibilities, his expectations of himself. It had been an impulse that had driven him to slip off his horse and come and join his nieces, the desire to forget his maudlin thoughts about Elizabeth, but one he wasn’t regretting. There had been a moment of clarity, a moment of realisation, that he had suffered a lonely childhood after his mother had died and he was reproducing exactly the same environment for his nieces. It wasn’t what he wanted for the two little girls in his care.
‘Let’s make a wager,’ Priscilla said and Matthew turned to her in surprise. The elder of his two nieces was so often quiet it sometimes meant he forgot she was there. Especially when faced with the boisterousness of her little sister.
‘A wager?’
‘Yes, Father used to make them all the time,’ Priscilla said. The memory hit Matthew in the chest, almost making him stagger backwards. Henry grinning while wagering he could beat Matthew at some dangerous feat. ‘You take Miss Salinger to hide somewhere in the garden, somewhere you don’t think we can find you. We shall count to one hundred. You can then time five minutes on that little pocket watch you have in your jacket. If we find you before the time is up, then we win. If we don’t, then you win.’
‘And the stakes?’
‘A horse. No, a new dress. No...’ Theodosia started to gush.
Priscilla interrupted her sister, ‘A trip to the seaside. A whole day.’
‘And if we win?’
Priscilla considered, tilting her head to one side in a gesture that reminded him of his brother. ‘I will agree to the dancing lessons Miss Salinger keeps mentioning.’
‘Dancing lessons?’
‘You said you wanted them to be proper young ladies,’ she murmured.
‘I thought you were too preoccupied with teaching them to rebel. Shoot their guardian with a bow and arrow and the like.’
She looked at him, her expression haughty, ‘We can do both.’ Inclining her head towards Priscilla, she dropped her voice a little. ‘Priscilla has been resisting the idea of learning to dance.’
‘I have no intention of marrying. Ever. So I have no need to learn to dance.’
‘But dancing is about so much more than courtship,’ Miss Salinger said. Matthew noticed the dreamy quality to her words, the faraway look in her eyes. He could imagine her in the local assembly hall, dancing and laughing and without a care in the world, not knowing her whole life was about to change.
‘Why don’t you ever want to marry?’ Matthew turned to his niece as he spoke. She had a strong character, strong views, that much he’d learned since returning to Manresa House a few months ago, but declaring at the age of nine she was never going to marry was quite a statement to make.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Priscilla said firmly. ‘Are we going to play or not?’ She held out her hand and Matthew didn’t hesitate to take it, shaking it firmly. In ten weeks Priscilla had only said a very few words to him directly—he wasn’t about to break this fragile moment of communication.
‘Go,’ Theodosia said, pushing him and Miss Salinger gently but insistently. They watched as the girls turned around and faced the house, then began to count to one hundred.
Matthew caught Miss Salinger’s eye, pleased to see she was thrown by this turn of events. He knew she saw him as stuffy, especially when it came to the girls, and he was glad to defy her expectations of him. Silently he put a finger to his lips, reached out and took her hand and pulled her along beside him.
He would enjoy this moment of being carefree.
‘This way,’ he said quietly when they were out of earshot.
They skirted around the formal flowerbeds, past the statues and urns and took a sharp left turn just before the walled garden. He led her round the perimeter wall to one corner where the stones jutted out further in one direction, to give a space to store equipment without it being seen when taking a stroll around the grounds. There they ducked behind the wall, completely hidden from the path in both directions. He took out his pocket watch, noting the time.
Matthew peered out, checking the girls hadn’t been following, before turning back to Miss Salinger. He swallowed, blinking hard. She looked beautiful standing in front of him with rosy cheeks and her hair falling loose from its fastenings, whipped by the wind. She was wearing her thick, dark cloak, fastened at the neck, but even the tiny triangle of skin that poked out underneath it seemed to tease and taunt him.
Control, he told himself silently. For years he’d prided himself on being a master of self-control. After the Elizabeth fiasco he had vowed he would never dance to another man’s tune again. He would stand up for what he knew was right, but more than that he would examine his own motives for doing things carefully before agreeing to anything.
Right now all that resolve seemed to have deserted him. He knew a dalliance with Miss Salinger would be disastrous. He needed her, needed her to look after the children, and any intimacy between them could only jeopardise that much more important relationship.
He knew all that, but still he couldn’t stop imagining the way she would taste if he kissed her, the softness of her skin under his fingertips, how she would arch her neck and moan as he ran his lips over her body.
‘Lord Westcroft,’ Miss Salinger whispered. ‘Are you unwell?’
He shook himself, regaining control. ‘Quite well, Miss Salinger.’
Looking down, he realised he was still holding her hand, the soft skin warm against his despite the cool temperature and ever-present wind. He should let go, release her, allow her to step away, but he held on for a moment longer, gently pulling her towards him.
‘Step in closer,’ he murmured, ‘so you’re properly hidden from the path.’
After a moment’s hesitation Miss Salinger did, moving closer until their bodies were almost touching, the gap between them tantalising and teasing.
As she moved closer he caught a hint of her scent, a mix of lavender and honey, and he had a wonderfully vivid image of Miss Salinger in the bath smoothing honey into her skin.
Matthew was aware of every inch of her, aware of how her breathing had become more rapid, aware of the minuscule movement of her lips as she caught them between her teeth. He wanted to catch hold of her, to tilt her chin to meet his, to kiss her until they both forgot all the reasons it would be a bad idea.
‘The Yorkshire air suits you, Miss Salinger,’ he murmured quietly.
She looked at him with a puzzled expression.
‘The colour in your cheeks, the wind in your hair. It suits you.’ He reached out, managing to stop his hand before his fingers touched her cheek, but he knew she had seen the gesture. He expected her to pull away, to step back and put some distance between them, but she didn’t. Instead her lips parted almost imperceptibly and her eyes fli
cked up to meet his.
Unable to stop himself, he completed the movement, trailing his fingertips from her temple down to the contour of her jaw.
‘You plague me, Miss Salinger,’ he murmured. ‘You occupy my every thought, distract my every action.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You don’t believe I think about your smile when I wake up in the morning, or imagine your—’
‘Stop,’ she whispered, interrupting him, her voice ragged. ‘We both know this is unwise.’
‘Ten years. Ten years I’ve done what is right and good and wise. Perhaps for once I want to do something reckless.’ He felt all the pent-up emotion about to burst from him. He wanted her, wanted to kiss her, to bury himself inside her, not coming up for air until they were both gasping.
‘Something reckless,’ she murmured and he could tell she was considering it.
He looped an arm gently around her waist, nudging her towards him. It was a suggestion more than a pull, giving her ample opportunity to move away. He might want her fiercely, but he’d never taken advantage of a woman. No, he wanted her to come to him willingly.
‘Lord Westcroft,’ she said, her eyes meeting his. It was neither statement nor question, pitched somewhere in between.
Gently he placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up. Her lips were full and inviting, and he knew with a burning certainty that he was going to kiss her and it would be sublime.
‘Found you,’ Theodosia’s voice called triumphantly.
Miss Salinger took a hurried step back, her foot catching in her skirt in her haste. She began to topple, her arms shooting out from her sides to try to regain her balance. Matthew leapt forward, sweeping her into his arms, her body fitting perfectly against his chest.
‘Well done, girls,’ Matthew said smoothly, setting Miss Salinger on her feet and striding out from behind the wall as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Chapter Nine
Selina tucked her feet underneath her and looked out of the window. It was her favourite spot in the nursery, the generous window seat having a view over the formal gardens and to the farmland beyond. Today the view was not great. Thick clouds hung low and heavy in the sky and a thin sheen of drizzle covered everything. Hardly the best day to go to the seaside. Perhaps Lord Westcroft would postpone, perhaps he would tell the girls they would wait for a sunnier day, or at least a day that was dry.
‘Are you ready?’ Lord Westcroft called as he stepped into the nursery. Priscilla and Theodosia were playing quietly in the corner with a large doll’s house, but as their uncle came in Theodosia jumped up in excitement.
‘Have you seen the weather, Lord Westcroft?’
‘A beautiful Yorkshire day.’
‘It’s raining.’
‘I’ve definitely heard you say before a little rain never hurt anyone.’
It was one of her favourite phrases. She cursed his good memory. Today she would have taken any excuse not to spend a whole day with this unpredictable man in front of her.
‘A little rain never did hurt anyone,’ she conceded. ‘But it makes for a miserable trip to the seaside.’
‘You can’t cancel, you just can’t,’ Theodosia said with vehemence.
‘They won’t cancel, Thea,’ Priscilla said quietly. ‘They promised.’
‘We did promise,’ Lord Westcroft said quietly, leaning in just a little too close.
Selina hesitated, then forced a smile. They had promised. And the girls had been looking forward to the outing all week. It shouldn’t matter that the last time she’d spent any time in close proximity to her employer she’d begged him to kiss her with her body language. In the intervening week she had reminded herself why it would be inadvisable to have anything but a respectable relationship with Lord Westcroft. She was strong. She was determined. Two hours in a carriage would not change that.
‘We shall need your thickest coats,’ she said, standing up and starting to bustle about. ‘When do you wish to leave, Lord Westcroft?’
‘As soon as possible.’
‘I’m going to paddle in the sea and eat ices and let my hair fly loose in the wind,’ Theodosia started to chatter excitedly away to her sister.
* * *
Twenty minutes later they were standing outside the front of the house as the carriage pulled around. Lord Westcroft helped the girls up first, then offered his hand to Selina. She took it, avoiding eye contact, stepping up into the comfortable carriage and taking her seat opposite the girls.
Feeling every touch, every accidental contact between their bodies far too much, Selina decided she would use the journey productively. She would start negotiating for the things she thought the girls would benefit from.
‘Lord Westcroft,’ she said.
‘Miss Salinger...’ he turned to her with a smile ‘...may I say you’re looking very well. Isn’t she, girls?’
Priscilla and Theodosia looked her over dubiously. Selina knew she looked as she always did outside in Yorkshire, windswept and a little dishevelled.
‘Lord Westcroft,’ she said again. ‘I wanted to discuss the girls’ lessons. They are doing very well in mathematics, music and history, the subjects you are keen on.’
‘Important subjects.’
‘Indeed. And we have dabbled in a little literature and art. Priscilla is very talented with her watercolours.’
Priscilla flashed her a rebellious look. Selina had endured a long tirade from the girl as to why painting was a waste of time and how if she had been born a boy she wouldn’t be limited to such useless pursuits.
‘I wonder, though, if we should be thinking about the girls’ futures and expanding their education a little.’
‘Expanding?’
Priscilla shook her head quietly and Selina caught her eye. It was heartbreaking, the worldliness of this young girl. She trusted so little at the tender age of nine.
‘Young ladies should know how to ride,’ Selina said, holding up a finger as if ticking that item off. ‘They should know how to dance. They should perhaps speak a little French. They should be aware of how a household is run.’
Lord Westcroft sat back in his seat and regarded her thoughtfully.
‘Tell me, Miss Salinger, what lessons did you have when you were a child?’
‘I hardly think...’
‘You were well educated. I merely wish to know what your father deemed suitable.’
‘I had lessons in mathematics, history, French, literature and geography. My father was interested in classics so he taught me much of what he knew. He also taught me to read in Latin and Greek. I had a dance teacher when I was a little older to teach me to dance and an art teacher to instruct me on how to draw and paint. I learned to play the piano and sing and when I was a little older than Priscilla I had a dedicated music teacher who taught me how to play the harp.’
‘The harp,’ Lord Westcroft murmured.
‘I was also instructed in sword fighting and archery, and my mother did her very best to teach me how to cook, but I’m afraid it isn’t a strength of mine.’
She looked around the carriage at the three amazed faces.
‘Sword fighting?’ Theodosia asked, her eyes lighting up.
‘Who are you, Miss Salinger?’ Priscilla shook her head in disbelief as she spoke.
‘Yes, who are you?’ Lord Westcroft murmured.
‘I had a very full education and parents who wanted me to be as well educated as any man, for my sex not to hold me back.’
‘We’ve had four governesses before you,’ Priscilla said slowly. ‘And they all just went to school until they were of an age to leave and become governesses.’
‘Who was your father, Miss Salinger?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. A man who can afford to give his daughter that thorough an
education must be wealthy, if not titled.’
‘Salinger is my mother’s name,’ Selina said quietly.
‘Who was your father?’
‘I hardly think it...’
‘Who was your father, Miss Salinger?’ Lord Westcroft asked softly. He’d been wanting to ask her since she had first let slip her family were wealthy.
‘Viscount Northrop.’
Three stunned faces looked back at her.
‘Why are you a governess if your father was a viscount?’ Priscilla said, frowning slightly.
Selina swallowed—voicing the words was still too painful.
‘Fortunes change,’ Lord Westcroft said gently. ‘I think that is one of the reasons Miss Salinger wants you to have such a rounded education, so you are equipped for anything that might befall you.’
Considering her next words carefully, Selina spoke, ‘Women have none of the power in this world. We are told what to do by our fathers, our husbands, our guardians, our brothers. They can give us everything and they can take it away. All you can be left with are the skills and knowledge you have amassed.’
‘Were you wealthy once, Miss Salinger?’ Theodosia sat looking at Selina, her eyes wide.
Selina thought of the dozens of fine silk dresses she had owned, the pearls and her treasured set of diamonds, all claimed by her half-brother after her father’s death.
‘I was.’ She smiled brightly, trying to push the maudlin thoughts of the past away, ‘But wealth does not give you happiness. You have to find that elsewhere.’
‘Do you actually believe that?’ Priscilla asked.
Selina looked at the young girl. ‘Yes. I do. Poverty can make you unhappy, but wealth alone is not the only ingredient in the recipe for happiness.’
‘Well said,’ Lord Westcroft murmured.
‘Why are you a governess when your father was a viscount?’ Priscilla asked again.
‘My father died. Everything was left to my half-brother. He’d never liked me so he told me to leave.’