That had not gone well.
It would have been laughable had it not been so utterly pathetic on the surface and so horrible at the centre. What kind of man was he, if his first experience with a woman since his wife’s death had reduced him to this?
But there was so much more than that involved. He had known that coupling with some willing female was not out of the question for him, if it was discreetly done and there was no real emotion involved. But he had thought to travel down to London and avail himself of the demi-monde, when the need grew great enough. Instead, he had all but forced himself upon a servant. He might try to persuade himself that she had gone willingly to her fate. But at its heart, that was a lie. He had tricked her into it. He’d offered a temptation too great to resist, in exchange for her virtue. And once they were alone, he had toyed with her until she begged him to do what he had done, so that he might not feel guilt for it later.
He shook the water from his hair and hung his head again, letting the coolness wash over him, wishing it would cool his blood so that he did not wish to do the thing again. She had been smooth and tight and wonderful, twisting and pushing against him, eager to be had.
Even now he was thinking of all the ways he wished to take her: the places, the positions, the frequency. One time, and she had made him a slave to sensation, with the boundless desires and energy of youth. Before, he thought he had wanted her beyond sanity. Beyond reason. And now it seemed he wanted her even more than that.
And she had given him no sign that she would deny him. As he’d finished, he’d heard her soft sigh of pleasure and felt the way her hand reached back to absently stroke his flank in thanks. He had done the unthinkable. But she was not afraid. She was not hurt, or angry, or shocked, or revolted. She was welcoming, her head lolling upon his shoulder, her body still close to his as though she felt protected. And without wishing it, he was aroused again.
And so he had sought to wipe it all away, to drive her from him before he treated her as he had treated the last woman he’d dared to care about. Knowing what would happen, he had pushed his lips to her ear, and told her what she claimed she wished to hear.
His stomach heaved again, and he was sick. He lifted a hand from the dirt to wipe his mouth, realised that with the mud upon it, it was likely to make things worse. So he used the back of his wet sleeve. He tipped his head up to catch the rain in his mouth, washed it clean and then spat.
Now that his conscience was as empty as his gut, he wondered if he should feel better. And surprisingly enough, he did. He had said out loud the thing everyone knew, but which no one was willing to say.
Perhaps she would run from the house, as she should have before now. Or call the magistrate. Bring the Duke and Duchess, and force them to deal with him as he should be dealt with. At least Daphne deserved justice for the way he had treated her. If she had wanted the truth so deeply, he could but hope that she had a plan to use it, once it was known.
Perhaps it was cowardly to wish her to free him of the responsibility of ending his own life in atonement of the crime. But he was exhausted by the whole thing, so tired of living with guilt that he had become afraid to take the next step and die. Right now, she was lying in her bed, outraged at his treatment of her, shocked by his confession, angered by his departure. She could take her revenge, and it would be over.
But he remembered the gentle touch of her hands upon his body. And thought of what it would be like if things were different. Just as he had, when he had been with her—he imagined twining her fingers with his, bringing them to his lips and then leading her back to lie on her cold, hard bed. They could begin again, more slowly, learning each other’s bodies, secure in the knowledge that this was just the first of many such nights.
He shut his eyes tight against the vision. It was happiness. And after what he had done, he had not earned it. Either she would denounce him in the morning, or he would send her away. But he could not keep that which he did not deserve. And he dared not risk that she might become in his care: another broken body at the foot of the stairs, victim to his drunken rage.
Daphne woke the next morning, trembling with cold, although the room was no different than it had been before. But she was different. Conscious of her body, and the air upon it. Aware of her nakedness, and her submission at the hands of her cousin’s murderer.
No.
She tried to reconcile the man she had come to know with the man she had expected and the pieces would not fit together. He’d had opportunities from the first moment to harm her. Yet he’d waited until she had given him leave to come to her room. He had begged her to stop him.
And she had not. For she’d wanted it as much as he had. When he was through, she was sure that she had not had enough. There should be more. They should hold each other in the dark room, clinging body against body until dawn broke. And when he had begun to whisper in her ear, she was expecting endearment or assurance.
Instead, he had poured out those poisonous words, like a flood to drown her passion. And she was sure that was what he had meant to do. He wanted to hurt quickly, before she had a chance to hurt him, as his wife had done. For despite what he might think, she was convinced that he was no more a murderer than she was. She was no closer to the truth than she had been on the previous day, but it was all the more urgent that she find it. While Clare might deserve justice, it was far more important that she save the living: Tim Colton and his children. They were suffering under the misunderstanding far more than she had been.
She went to the basin to refresh herself, washing carefully in preparation for the day. And she remembered his hands upon her body, the way he had coaxed her until she was mad with desire. The pleasure came upon her again, in a sudden rush that made her grab the night table for support, until the feeling had passed. But her own touch was not enough. She wanted him there to fill her, and his lips upon hers as he did it.
She glanced at her face in the mirror. Her cheeks had a healthy glow, and there was a knowing look in her eyes that had not been there on the previous day.
She put on her dress and did up her hair, hoping that the truth was not too obvious to all around her. Tim would know what it meant, of course. He might think that he could avoid what had happened. But he would have to face it, each time he looked into her eyes.
She went down the stairs to her breakfast tray in the nursery dining room, and prepared for the day with the children. She left them to work at their own projects just as she had done in the past, and found that her eyes were drawn to the window. She stared out into the garden, imagining it as it might be in spring, took up her sketchbook and drew it as she imagined. Full of life. Full of joy.
If she could find a way to end the troubles, she might be there to see it. In spring there would be flowers, she was sure. And she wondered what type were meant to express what she was feeling. There must be something quite splendid to represent the previous night.
A footman came to the door, and announced that the master wished to see her in his study. She felt a sudden flutter of alarm. Whatever was to happen between them, it was to happen now. She made sure that the children had sufficient work to occupy them and made her way to the ground floor.
He sat at the desk, barely looking up when she entered the room. There was nothing about his demeanour to say that anything unusual had happened between them, and she wondered if it was only some strange dream on her part. But then she realised that he was playing the part of the unaffected employer, just as he had done at dinner after he had first kissed her. His feelings for her frightened him. And now he would try to push her away.
He reached into the desk drawer in front of him, and removed a bag that chinked. ‘As you know, Miss Collins, it was never my plan to have a governess for the children. And much as I have tried to abide by the wishes of the Duchess, my opinion on the matter has not changed. Whatever your reason for coming here, the job seems to have become something much more akin to an investigation. But now that you have dis
covered what you wished, I doubt you will want to remain. There is nothing further to uncover. Your services will no longer be required. I will arrange for whatever references you might need, of course. And I am willing to pay a year’s salary, in addition to what the Duchess has offered you, since the inconvenience of coming here was great.’
‘Inconvenience?’ she said, numbly.
‘Two years, then,’ he said.
‘You call what happened last night an inconvenience, do you?’ She tried to keep the shrill tone out of her voice. Carrying on like a courtesan would not help the matter.
He flinched. ‘This has nothing to do with last night.’
‘Liar! You cannot even look me in the eye to say that.’
With great effort, he raised his head and met her gaze. It gave her some small satisfaction to see the guilt and shame in his eyes. If he meant to buy her off, at least he was not unaffected by it. ‘I am not lying. This has less to do with what happened last night, and everything to do with what will happen in the future. If you do not go, what happened between us will most assuredly happen again.’ There was defiance in his gaze as well, now. ‘I wanted you. I want you still. If you stay, I will continue to take. And when I am through, it will not end well. It is far better that I send you away now, than after you have formed some false attachment to me. For it will lead nowhere.’
She laughed, her best drawing-room set-down. ‘You are trying to protect my feelings, since it is too late to protect my honour. Spare yourself, my lord. I have few romantic illusions about the sort of man that turns to his servants to gratify his lust.’
Anger flashed in his eyes, and she remembered too late that he might be a dangerous man to provoke. Then his expression changed to something strange and unreadable. ‘I have no illusions about my character, either. It does little good to whine that I was not in the habit of such behaviour until last night. I cannot pretend that with the act my character has suddenly transformed for the better. And I shall not lie and say that, if you remain here, you will be safe from me.
‘My behaviour proves that there are no depths to which I will not sink to gain my desires. Although I detest what I have become, I cannot change it. And when I look at you, even now, I feel what little control I have slipping from me. God help me. That you were innocent does not matter. I want you still. Honour means nothing.’
And she could understand him, for she felt no different. Need for him ran through her like an ague. Taking the money on the desk and leaving was unthinkable, if it meant that she would never see him again, nor feel what he had made her feel in the dark the previous night. ‘Just as my reputation means nothing to me, when I look at you. Put the money away,’ she said softly. ‘I will not leave.’
He stood up from his desk, and came to glare into her eyes in a way that might once have terrified her. ‘If you do not go, I will put you out myself. Or worse. You know what I am capable of, should you cross me.’
‘Do it, then. If you can. If you let me go, I will tell everyone what has happened.’ And now she would know if he was the villain he pretended to be. She stepped near to him, reached for his hands and put them about her throat. Then she put her arms around his waist and waited for him to decide.
He froze against her, holding himself stiff and unmoved. And then there came something, from deep in his chest, that sounded almost like a sob. But when she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed, and his cheeks were dry. But she could feel him begin to shake, as though he was fighting the urge with every fibre of his being. Then he reached out and held her as well. He was gentle, so as not to disturb her gown or her hair. He would leave no embarrassing signs that he had touched her.
When he spoke, his voice was different, as though he were a different person. ‘It would be better for you if you were to go. You might be safe. No one need ever know what happened here. I swear they will not hear it from me. I would help you start again. But if you stay…’ He flinched against her, and then drew her tighter. ‘Oh dear God, I want you to stay. But I can promise you nothing.’
‘It does not matter,’ she said, surprised that she meant it.
‘It does. We both know that.’ He pushed her away. He turned back to the desk, and busied himself amongst its tiny drawers, removing an envelope of what looked like tea. He poured the leaves into the cup on his desk. Then he handed it to her. ‘Drink this.’
She looked into his eyes, took it and drank, without hesitation, thinking too late of poison, and the sort of man that he claimed he was. ‘What is it?’
‘It will prevent…’ he paused awkwardly ‘…mistakes.’
‘Then you should have given it to me before today’s geography lesson, for I am sure I have confused the children again.’
He managed a bitter smile. ‘Not that sort of mistake. I fear you are helpless there.’ He glanced at the cup, and said, in an almost scholarly voice, ‘If taken regularly, there are certain herbs that inhibit gestation. If you mean to stay here, it would be best if you were to take a spoonful each morning with your tea.’
He was right to wish to avoid a bastard. And if she meant to be so foolish as to lie with a man without protection of marriage, than she need concern herself as well. He had done nothing to make her believe that there was a future in what they had done. And, some time, she might have to return home to her old life and pretend to forget what had happened between them. If that day came, it would be best that there be no outward evidence of what had occurred.
And now, the sour taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the concoction she’d drunk. She stared down into her cup. ‘Very convenient that you had it handy. Did you know that I would refuse your offer? Have there been others… like me?’
‘Like you?’ He shook his head and stared sadly down at his desk. ‘I suspect that there are no others like you. At least not that I have had the good fortune to meet. Do you mean, have I had mistresses? Yes. But not in some time. Certainly not in the house, with my family present. It was in London, years ago. And I did not need to see to their reproductive habits, for they knew more about the subject than I.’
‘Then you suspected…’
‘That you would stay with me?’ He looked truly sad. ‘I did not dare to hope. Even now, I do not know which of us is the bigger fool for continuing with this.’ He glanced at the packet on the desk. ‘The herbs belonged to Clare. I prepared them for her, after Sophie was born.’
‘You did not want more children from her?’ Which was strange, since the man adored the three he had.
‘Things concerning Clare were seldom about what I wanted. We would not have had two children, had Edmund come before Lily. Although she enjoyed the getting of them, she found the whole process of carrying and birthing to be distasteful. And confinement, with no balls or friends to entertain? She informed me after Edmund that I’d got my heir and could leave her alone. She was having no more of me, if I meant to breed her like stock and keep her penned up for half the year.’
He chuckled. ‘She was most put out when she came to me with news of Sophie. It was the closest I have seen to contrition. She had been careless, and had waited too long to rid herself of the problem. Now she would have to go through it all again. And she must beg me to acknowledge the child, which was a further indignity…’
He seemed genuinely amused by the story, and it was the first time that she had seen him in real mirth, when he was not speaking to his children. ‘Why would you have refused?’ she asked. ‘You adore the girl. Don’t you?’ Suddenly, she was too confused to continue.
He looked at her, and the light faded from his eyes. ‘You have not guessed the truth already? That is good, for I feared that as she grew it would be more evident. Apparently not.’ He looked at her again. ‘When Sophie was born, my wife and I had not been intimate for several years.’
‘Then how…?’ She’d begun before realising how naïve it would sound. If the child was not his, then it must be a result of Clare’s infidelity. ‘And you were not angry?’
‘Resigned, more like. I knew that Clare was not with me. And I knew that she was not celibate. Only a fool would not have recognised the risk. One cannot deny nature, after all.’ He looked no more interested in the idea than if it were some statistical or scientific problem. There was none of the rage she would have expected from the sort of man that might be moved to murder an unfaithful wife.
‘And you claimed Sophie as your own?’
‘She is my daughter in all ways that matter,’ he said, effectively closing the subject. ‘If ever I meant to reject her and her foolish mother, the feeling was banished at first sight of that little girl. She was as beautiful a baby as she is a child, and totally innocent of the sin of her parents. She has grown more dear to me with each passing year, and has never known another father. And I am content with that.
‘But I did not want Clare to think that my patience was infinite. So once Sophie was born, I gave her the herbs and explained the advantage of regular usage. She had no more wish to be pregnant than I had to raise a collection of other men’s children. There were no further problems.’
That he knew of. She wondered if he had read the letters she’d found. They might imply that there was another child on the way. Or did they refer to Sophie? Without Clare to answer, it would be impossible to tell.
‘You grow quiet. Is it so shocking to you? Do you object to educating a child born on the wrong side of the sheets?’ There was something in his tone that warned it had best not be the problem. ‘For I wish her to be treated no differently than the other two.’
‘Of course not,’ she answered quickly. ‘If anything, she needs to be treated with more delicacy, and it has nothing to do with her parentage. Recent events have shocked her badly. It will do no good to try to impose discipline on an undisciplined mind at this time.’
‘That is so. Your behaviour to her, your gentleness and loving attention have been quite different from what she received from the heartless woman who should have held her dear. But what else could I have expected from Clare? In all the time I knew her, she never showed a moment’s care for any but herself.’
Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess Page 13