by Regina Darcy
“Mmm.”
Arabella hoped that would be the end of the discussion, for it was quite disconcerting to hear her employer and the two ladies discuss her.
The Dowager Duchess was now talking to her grandchildren, leaving the Duke and Lady Bentley to talk among themself. Unfortunately, Arabella’s hope that the discussion might stop was not to be fulfilled.
“I should have thought you might wish to find a governess with just a touch more experience,” Lady Bentley continued, her voice sounding closer to them than before.
“I am surprised at your choice, Your Grace. What if she were to—”
“Enough,” the Duke interrupted, sounding exasperated. “The governess is my choice, Lady Bentley. I have no reason to dismiss her, and certainly will not be doing so based on your wishes. You have had quite enough of your way already.”
Upset and angry, Arabella pushed past Lord Daven, attempting to find her way back. Ignoring her scraped elbows from where she bumped into the walls, she stumbled on blindly, hot tears pricking at her eyes.
***
Groaning, Peter reached for Miss Cartwright, thinking perhaps his idea to eavesdrop on his brother and his fiancée had not been the most prudent one. He had not expected them to be conversing about Miss Cartwright. And certainly not in such a forceful manner.
“Miss Cartwright,” Peter whispered, loudly, managing to catch her arm. “Wait.”
To his utter surprise, Miss Cartwright turned into him at once, her quiet sobs caught against his shoulder. He held her awkwardly, battered with guilt.
“You do not need to fear,” he said, softly. “The Duke will not dismiss you. I will not allow it, even if he should consider it.”
His words sounded hollow, given how little the Duke had listened to him in the past, but Peter swore to himself he would not allow Miss Cartwright to be treated so poorly. For whatever reason, an almost overwhelming desire to protect the lady rose in his chest, as he continued to hold her tightly.
“I am so sorry for weeping,” came her shaky voice, as she tried to extract herself from his embrace. “I should not have had such a ridiculous reaction. The Duke defended me, and that is all that matters.” There was no confidence in her voice, which made him worry.
“Are you sure there is not something more that is upsetting you?” he asked, softly, wishing he could see her face in the dark. “Something that you overheard previously?”
He heard her sigh, her hands leaving his chest until they were no longer touching.
“Yes, I suppose there is,” she replied, quietly. “Perhaps I was wrong to keep it to myself, Lord Daven. However, we cannot talk now; I must return to the children.”
Relief flooded him.
“Of course,” he murmured, finding her hand in the dark and walking back the way they had come. It did not take long for them to return to the sunlit room, narrowing their eyes at the sudden light.
As his eyes adjusted, he studied her carefully, seeing the way she patted her hair to make sure not a single strand was out of place. Her eyes were a little red-rimmed from her crying, and his heart tightened with sympathy.
“Your position here is safe,” he promised, wishing he had never taken her through the passageway. “I can promise you that, Miss Cartwright.”
She shook her head and gave him a tight smile.
“Not if Lady Bentley has her way,” she murmured, looking down at their still-joined hands. “And, as you said, she intends to be the next duchess.”
Peter glanced down at their hands, realising he still held hers. A rush of heat washed through him as he became uncomfortably aware of how attracted he was to the woman in front of him.
“Miss Cartwright,” he said, hoarsely. “I am sorry for taking you in there. Perhaps, in hindsight, it was poorly thought out. I assumed that you had not believed my previous assertions of Lady Bentley’s true character.”
Miss Cartwright looked at him steadily, before shaking her head. “You are correct, Lord Daven,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I did not believe you. However, you have proven yourself to be trustworthy, on occasion.”
His eyebrows lifted. “On occasion?” he repeated, feigning mock surprise. To his relief, a small smile played around her mouth.
“Maybe in time I shall trust you more fully, my lord,” she replied, looking away. “Despite our unconventional introduction.” Her cheeks suddenly sported a beautiful pink blush.
Peter found himself remembering how soft Miss Cartwright had felt under his hands, and how her face had been such a beautiful picture of surprise when he had stolen his kiss. The desire to do so again overwhelmed him, to the point that, before he could stop himself, he had her in his arms and was, once more, lowering his mouth to hers.
To his great surprise, she did not step back, nor did she push him away. It was as if she had accepted what he was going to do. Her lips pressed against his gently, her hands rising to rest on his chest. This was not the reaction he had expected, but all he could have dreamed of.
Peter slowly realised that what he was feeling was more than desire. This intriguing young woman was on the verge of ensnaring his affections. As his arms slipped around her waist, resting around the curves that her dress tried to hide to no avail, Peter fought against the emotions growing in his chest.
The object of his torment, let out a soft sound as he lifted his mouth, her eyes fluttering open as she looked back at him.
“I cannot do this,” Peter breathed, dropping his arms and stepping back.
She frowned slightly, clearly confused by his behaviour.
“You are not Eleanor,” he continued, running a hand over his brow. “I swore I would not love again.”
“Love?” Miss Cartwright gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “Dear heavens, I—”
He groaned, cutting her off. Frustrated with himself, with everything he was feeling and fighting against, he threw his head back and stared at the ceiling.
“Please,” he heard her say. “Lord Daven, do not be upset on my account. I should not have welcomed your embrace so openly. I do not know what came over me.”
Dropping his head back to her, Peter was astonished to see tears in her eyes. Was she upset on his account, or on account of his actions? Suddenly, the air felt too thick, his proximity to her too close. A picture of Eleanor floated in front of his eyes, and he stepped back from her once more.
“Excuse me,” he said, sweeping a bow. “I must attend to something. Perhaps we can speak tomorrow, at some point.”
She swallowed, hard. “Tomorrow I am excused from my duties,” she whispered, her face a picture of misery. “I believe you are all to go on an outing?”
Cursing under his breath, Peter remembered his brother had made plans to take them all to see some spectacular gardens nearby. He had agreed begrudgingly, although he’d told himself he could use the opportunity to keep an eye on Lady Bentley.
“Then the day after that,” he promised, aware of his clenched fists as he took in her expression.
“Forgive me, Miss Cartwright.” And with that, he left the room, leaving the governess standing alone.
THIRTEEN
Arabella smiled and waved as the carriage departed from the house, keeping a fixed joyous expression on her face as the children left with their father, grandmother, and Lady Bentley. Lord Daven had apparently left already on horseback, although Arabella had to admit that she was glad not to see him.
Sighing to herself, she walked back inside and wandered to the library. The Duke had been gracious in allowing her access to his vast collection when he was not at home. She was going to take advantage of that since they were all out for the day. Maybe she would write one more letter to her papa…a confession of how far she had fallen. She took a deep breath. No, she would do no such thing.
“Can I bring you some tea, Miss Cartwright?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” she replied, startled out of her brooding thoughts.
“I shall
take it in the library.”
She smiled at the thoughtful housekeeper who always seemed to go out of her way to make her feel welcomed. She could perhaps understand Arabella’s situation more than most, given that a housekeeper’s station was slightly higher than the footmen and other servants, making her live a somewhat separate life.
Walking into the library, Arabella chose a book at random, noting it was a novel of some kind. Seating herself in the window seat, she looked across the gardens, her heart weighing her down.
Lord Daven had kissed her, yet again, and she had not only accepted but welcomed it. She had practically melted into his arms, finding in him both support and affection. This kiss had been markedly different from the first time she’d been in his arms. Instead of being strong and forceful, he’d been tender and soft, slowly encouraging her to respond. To her eternal shame she’d needed very little encouragement. Had she known that being away from home would turn her into a jezebel she might not have left.
She resolved to pray to the good Lord for the strength to withstand Lord Daven’s attentions. The scandalous rogue was without a doubt a threat to her virtue.
Sighing to herself, Arabella reflected on the reasons she had come here as a governess. In truth, she had cared very little about her future charges, or their education, thinking that she would find herself a husband as quickly as possible instead.
Now, looking back on her time with the family, she realised how selfish a motive that had been. The children had grown very dear to her, to the point that she thought her heart might break to be parted from them forever.
That had been why she’d dissolved into angry tears over hearing Lady Bentley’s comments regarding her employment at the Abbey. On top of all this, there came a concern for the Duke himself, given what she had heard from Lady Bentley, as well as her confusing feelings over Lord Daven.
Sighing to herself, Arabella rubbed a hand over her eyes and tried to think calmly and clearly. Lord Daven had kissed her on two occasions, and her feelings for the man could no longer be ignored. She found him handsome, quick-witted, and charming when he made an effort to be. However, he was also mysterious and confusing.
Her lips twisted as she thought of how he’d stepped back from her, apologising for kissing her when she had felt quite the opposite. To date, she had still not yet discovered who the lady in the portraits had been, nor why he had been burning them. Would he ever tell her?
Frustrated that she’d promised to tell him what she’d overheard from Lady Bentley, Arabella bit her lower lip. Now she might never discover the truth about whoever that lady had been to Lord Daven, not unless he chose to tell her and she did not expect that to happen anytime soon!
Another sigh escaped her lips. Perhaps instead of thinking of Lord Daven, she should enjoy her solitude and turn her attentions to the book in her hand.
Opening the front cover, Arabella attempted to focus on the words on the page, murmuring her thanks to the housekeeper for the tea tray when it arrived. Except, it was not the housekeeper.
“I believe this is for you.”
Startled, Arabella jumped in surprise, seeing Lord Daven approaching with the tray in his hand.
“What—why…?” she stammered, swinging her legs to the ground and hoping she had not allowed her ankles to be on display.
“Whatever are you doing here, my lord? I had thought you had gone with the family?”
“I had a splendid argument with my brother,” he replied, with a jaunty grin. “That apparently had me spoiling the outing for everyone, so I decided to leave them be and return here.” His expression softened slightly. “After all, I believe we have much to discuss.”
Arabella’s stomach flipped over as she regarded him. There was an openness about his expression that told her perhaps they might talk more frankly, now that there was no one about.
“What about my reputation?” she asked, softly. “The household servants might gossip.”
“Only the housekeeper knows I have returned,” he assured her. “She will say nothing, I assure you. Besides, when the carriage returns, I shall be in the drawing room, and you will have spent the day reading in your room.” He gave her a slight smile.
“I have thought of everything, have I not?”
Still uncomfortable with the idea of being entirely alone with an unmarried man who had already taken liberties, Arabella gave a small nod.
“I shall also give you my word not to kiss you again,” he promised, his voice softening. “In truth, I should ask your forgiveness for doing so again, when I believe I promised I would not.”
Arabella swallowed, placing the book down and folding her hands in her lap.
“It is not something you need forgiveness for, Lord Daven. I did not precisely dissuade you.”
He sighed. “Can we dispense with formalities, just for a moment? Would it be terribly improper? I would prefer it if you called me Peter. After all, we have already moved past mere acquaintances.”
The sincerity of his naked gaze, left Arabella defenceless. Heat crept up her spine and into her cheeks.
Lord Daven to a step forward and whispered, “Arabella.”
He murmured her name, as though testing how it felt on his lips. “That is a truly lovely name, Arabella.” His tone grew more serious. “Now, I do believe we were to discuss what it was you heard from Lady Bentley.”
Relieved that they were back on neutral ground, Arabella nodded. “Yes, I did say I would, did I not? On reflection, perhaps I should have told you immediately.”
FOURTEEN
Peter listened carefully to every word Arabella said, his anger slowly rising as she spoke. Lady Bentley clearly had his brother in some kind of predicament, which meant that he was being forced into marriage.
“I do hope I have not spoken out of turn,” Arabella finished, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “I am sorry I have withheld this information from you.”
He shook his head, reaching over and grasping one of her folded hands. “You need not concern yourself in that regard, Arabella,” he said, softly, despite his inner turmoil. “I well understand that I have not always appeared to be the most trustworthy of gentlemen!”
To his very great surprise, her fingers unfurled, clutching his. They remained so for a few moments before he detached his hand and sat back, staring at Arabella.
There was something about her that continued to draw him in, continued to force him to examine his heart. Over the last few days, he had pushed down his attraction to her, reminding himself of Eleanor and his vow never to love again.
Despite all that, he longed to be near her again. A single touch of her skin against his had his heart beating all the faster, and her name on his lips brought him a growing sense of intimacy.
“Do you think you can help the Duke?”
Her soft voice broke into his thoughts, forcing him back to the present and the current dilemma that faced him.
“I hope so,” he said, slowly. “My brother has never been inclined to listen to my advice in the past, which comes as little surprise, given what has passed between us.”
Wincing, he shut his mouth tightly, realising he had said more than he ought. He did not want to speak of Eleanor, even if being in Arabella’s presence had him more vulnerable and more open with her than with anyone else.
“Does it have to do with the lady in the portraits?” Arabella asked, as though she’d read his thoughts. The question made him flinch and, glancing at her, he saw from her expression that his action had given her the answer to her question. Her face filled with sadness, as she looked at him in sympathy. “You loved her.”
“I did, once,” he admitted, almost unwillingly. “In truth, Arabella, I do not wish to speak of Eleanor again.”
A gasp escaped her mouth, and, as he looked up at her again, he saw her mouth hanging open, which was quickly covered by her hand. Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked, a little ter
sely. “Just because I do not wish to speak of something—”
“The Duke’s wife?” she whispered, interrupting him.
“You were in love with the Duke’s wife?” She stared at him, eyes filled with condemnation. “Those portraits—the intimacy they portrayed!”
Realising what she must think, Peter let out a long, loud groan. “Yes I was, but not in the way you imagine. The intimacy…is not what you think.”
Looking at her, he was taken aback by the stricken expression on her face and felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. There was no easy way to explain, not without going through the pain of it all over again.
“So, this is why you were burning her portraits,” she whispered, getting to her feet and staring down at him. “You did not want the Duke to see your paintings of her.”
“No,” he croaked. “I mean, yes, I did not want the Duke to see but—”
“And this is why you will not love again,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly pregnant with unshed tears. “Because your love for her still blooms, even though she is deceased?” Her eyes closed, as the colour drained from her face. “And then you kissed me…”
“I should not have,” he agreed, trying to catch her hand. “I am battling my feelings, Arabella. I swore I would not love again so that I would not have to go through the pain and hurt I have already experienced.”
“So, I was just sport,” she replied, tugging her hand away and stepping out of reach. “Did you imagine her when you kissed me? Was it her lips you touched, instead of mine?”
“No!” he exclaimed, suddenly angry. “If you would just allow me to explain, Arabella.”
“It is Miss Cartwright,” she retorted, stiffly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I feel the need to return to my room. I wish you luck in dealing with your brother. Good day.”
“Please,” he begged, horrified that things had so quickly spiralled out of control.
“Arabella, don’t.”