Kissed at Midnight

by Holt, Samantha

  She whirled when the door clunked behind her and she released a breath when she saw Mr Avery standing in the hallway. “Oh thank goodness.”

  The words were out before she thought about them and had she not been holding Elsie she might have clapped a hand across her mouth. Then she realised her mistake. Why should she be relieved it was Mr Avery rather than Mrs Pepperwhite? He put her on edge more than that rude woman.

  “You met my neighbour, I presume,” he said dryly.

  The grin that broke her face proved impossible to resist. From his sour expression, he wasn’t any keener on her than she was. “I did.”

  “Mrs Pepperwhite’s husband died a year ago and the woman seems to have little better to do than shove her nose into my bloody business.”

  Her eyes widened at his coarse language and frankness but she could not help appreciate it. Her master was a man of brutal honesty it appeared. She could not claim to be well-travelled but she had met enough liars to last her a lifetime, including several men who claimed they could find her fame and fortune. Thank goodness she had discovered their true motives before something awful had happened to her. Thank goodness she had this job. She was sensible enough to know she was easy prey.

  “I suppose it must be hard for her to be alone,” she offered charitably.

  He released a derisive noise. “Hardly. Her husband was never around as it was and as near as I can tell she hardly mourned at all.”

  Understanding dawned. Her gaze skimmed his broad shoulders in a fine-cut navy jacket. Mr Avery was wealthy and attractive—a fine catch for any woman. Mrs Pepperwhite clearly had her sights set on him as a replacement for her husband.

  She couldn’t blame her really. Of its own accord, her gaze dropped to the matching navy necktie that knotted around a really quite attractive neck. Men’s necks had never held any appeal before but the way his Adam’s apple moved and the cords in his neck undulated, hinting at some kind of restrained power, did something strange to her stomach.

  When she dragged her gaze away, she realised Mr Avery’s own gaze had dropped to her lips and she’d been licking them as though he were a tasty morsel. Heat flooded her face. The room grew smaller, the air thicker. She longed for the red carpet to turn into something soft and enveloping so as to swallow her and hide her embarrassment.

  “Where have you been?” she spilled out, the urgent need to cover her behaviour forcing the question that she’d been pondering from her lips.

  “The library,” he said simply.

  “Oh.” Well there went that avenue of distraction. She summoned a polite smile. “If you’ll excuse me I must change Elsie. We were to take a walk to the park.”

  A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips and she knew he was recalling her last trip out and the disaster afterwards. The cad.

  “Of course, do not let me keep you.”

  Swallowing the knot wedged in her throat, she pivoted and her feet somehow found the first step. Her knees felt like someone had replaced them with sponges overnight.

  “Miss Davis.”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “May I accompany you?”

  Inwardly she laughed. She also wanted to cry and cringe and do a dance of excitement, such were the emotions this stoic man conjured up. Why that was, she had little idea.

  Outwardly, she pasted on a serene smile. “Of course.”

  His stern nod of acknowledgement and the way his gaze clashed with hers lingered as she took Elsie upstairs and made sure the child was clean and ready to leave the house. She’d only just fed her so she hoped there would be no tears this time.

  Mr Avery waited for her in the hallway, apparently having remained there during her time upstairs. In his camel trousers and embroidered waistcoat, he made her heart somersault. It didn’t matter she had only seen him minutes before. Every time she set her gaze on him it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

  She shook her head at herself and slipped Elsie into the pram. Thinking this way about her master was not at all appropriate. Tales of seduced governesses, ruined by their masters were not rare and she certainly did not plan to be one of those. Besides which, it wouldn’t do to get attached to him in anyway. As soon as she found a singing role, she would be gone.

  He opened the door and aided her with the pram down the steps, for which she was grateful. She paused to do up her green jacket and tuck Elsie’s blanket around her. The sky was thick with white clouds, preventing the spring sun from warming them.

  They began their journey to the park in silence. What did one say to a man one hardly knew? One who was her master? And with her tendency to speak without thinking, silence was certainly the preferred option.

  Passers-by nodded their greeting and Mr Avery touched his hat in response. Ivy drew up her shoulders and saw a few admiring glances sent their way. Did people think them a handsome couple perhaps? Did they see a beautiful young family? Thoughts of having a family of her own had never really occurred to her until now. Her parents were not the most loving of people and avoided each other as much as circumstances allowed.

  To her, family meant little, yet walking alongside this attractive, powerful man with Elsie behaving beautifully filled her with an empty ache. If she pursued her dream of singing it was unlikely she’d ever marry. Few men would tolerate a wife who performed, and the lifestyle didn’t lend itself to having children.

  “How are you settling in, Miss Davis?”

  His voice, so soulful and deep, shattered her thoughts. “Very well, thank you, sir.”

  “I feel...” He cleared his throat. “I know very little of you yet you live under my roof. I thought it sensible that we get to know each other a little better.”

  “I see.”

  Her stomach dropped. What could she tell him that would not make her look irresponsible and foolish? Your governess ran away from home to become a singer but the amusing thing is, Mr Avery—and you shall laugh quite heartily at this—she freezes every time she steps on stage and now she is too ashamed and scared to return home to whatever arranged marriage her mother has in store for her.

  How foolish she sounded.

  “You do not wish to get to know me?” Wry amusement made his voice warm.

  “Oh no, it’s not that. I just... there is little for you to know about me.”

  “Let us start simple. Where do you come from? You’re not from the north.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m from Surrey.”

  “And why are you so far from home?”

  She swallowed. Lying did not come easily to her. Falsities always came out awkwardly, and she usually fidgeted and gave herself away. She clamped her hands around the handle of the pram.

  “I could no longer stay.”

  “You ran away?”

  “I suppose one might say that, yes.” She slid a glance his way and braced herself for a look of disapproval.

  “And you came to Manchester?”

  “London first,” she replied, surprising herself with her response. But his lack of censure drew the truths from her. She would have to be careful indeed not to admit to her ambitions. What refined man would want a singer as his ward’s governess? “I came here looking for work.”

  “As a governess?”

  “Not at first.” She pursed her lips. Would he continue to press her or leave the subject be?

  A tiny splash on her face saved her from finding out. She glanced up and noted the thick cloud cover. Funny, she hadn’t even realised it was going to rain. She’d been far too preoccupied with Mr Avery. Another few drops fell and she stopped to ensure the hood of Elsie’s pram covered her.

  “We’d better turn—” Mr Avery started but the rain grew heavier, so he motioned to the thick trees lining the park. “Let us find shelter,” he said as the rain pattered onto the ground, turning pale paths dark grey and filling the dips in the cobbles rapidly.

  Hand to her hat, Ivy followed along. He helped her navigate the pram down the side of the pavement and over the
road. Passing carts splashed in the ruts and a spray of muddy water hit her skirts.

  By the time they made it under the shelter of a great oak tree, her hair hung in ringlets and water had begun to soak her thin jacket through to the blouse underneath. She shuddered and patted Elsie’s blanket.

  “Well, it seems you did not get wet at least,” she said to the infant who did not seem one bit daunted by the sudden spring shower.

  Mr Avery drew off his hat, shook the drops from it and ran his fingers through his hair before placing the hat back on his head. A few remaining drops hung from the brim for several moments before falling. Ivy watched those rivulets, fascinated, as one landed upon his face when he tilted his head to view the cloudy skies.

  It trickled down his cheek and onto his neck, leaving a damp path that made her mouth water a little before vanishing under his necktie. He faced her and did a quick study of her. She forced her gaze down and away for fear of him discovering her fascination. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met a man so attractive. There was something innately appealing to those wondrously blue eyes and firm jaw.

  “Damn, you’re soaked.”

  She glanced down at her skirts and noted the unsightly mud splatters and the way it had lost its shape under the weight of the rain. Then she shrugged and laughed. It did amuse her that she had been admiring him when he had likely been thinking what a state she was.

  His lips tilted, as though uncertain what to do, then he released a chuckle too. His hands came to the buttons of his jacket and he unpopped the buttons with ease. And her mouth had gone dry yet again. Crisp cotton, a well-fitted waistcoat. It all seemed to have the effect of making her knees feel wobbly and her body suddenly hot. If she wasn’t careful, steam would begin to rise from her clothing and then she’d have some explaining to do.

  Mr Avery thrust his jacket at her and she took it without a word. His formal manners were really quite charming. Did he understand the effect he had on her? On all women probably. None of what he did appeared calculated but it all had the same wonderful effect of drawing her in and making her more interested in him by the day.

  “Thank you,” she murmured and shoved her arms in the jacket.

  The inside was warm and to imagine it pressed so close to his skin sent a ribbon of delicious excitement down through her. She fought the urge to squeeze her legs together.

  Ivy left the jacket unbuttoned but apparently this didn’t suit her employer. He gave a tiny scowl—an appealing flex of his brow that made her fingers twitch with the need to smooth the crease out—and stepped closer to do up the buttons.

  He didn’t meet her gaze as he did so, giving her the chance to observe him up close. She noted the tiny creases around his eyes and one or two grey hairs at his temples. It made him seem worldly rather than old. And the way he fastened her into his jacket made her heart expand. Who had ever cared if she was cold? Not her parents for certain. The nursemaids—perhaps. None of her governesses were interested in her physical welfare to be sure.

  “There, that will keep you warm until we can head back,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr Avery,” she said. For someone who usually could not stop her tongue from flapping, she had become surprisingly uncommunicative. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick.

  He let loose a twisted smile. It lit his face in ways such a small smile shouldn’t be capable of. It made her heart do things it certainly wasn’t capable of.

  “Call me August,” he told her, his voice low and husky.

  She licked her lips and nodded. “August.”

  The word seemed to curl around them both while rain splattered against the leaves and wooden wheels rumbled against the cobbles. She dropped her gaze before steeling a cautious peek at him.

  August.

  Oh, how she liked being able to call him that far too much. Oh, how she liked her employer far too much.

  Chapter Eight

  August stared at the darkness for several moments trying to orientate himself. He was in his bed. It was certainly night time. Elsie wasn’t crying. So what had awoken him? He rolled and closed his eyes, feeling sleep creep up his body and begin to consume him. His heart thudded as a shuffle sounded outside his door. A thief? Miss Davis... no, Ivy? Why would she be outside his door?

  He got swiftly to his feet and part of him hoped it was someone breaking in. He wasn’t sure how much more of Miss Ivy Davis he could take. Safe to say, joining her for a walk had been a terrible idea. He’d felt strange at the idea of knowing so little about her—that had been his reasoning at least—but deep down, he knew the truth. He had simply wanted an excuse to be near her, to breathe in her scent and to watch those myriad expressions flutter across her face.

  He’d never met a woman so animated, so open. While at times she made him feel ancient and jaded, at other times, he felt her youthful vibrancy fed and revived him. Quite a feat seeing as they had spent no more than a few hours in each other’s company since her arrival.

  August strode across the bedroom and snatched up the poker, heart thumping in his chest. The thought of the two vulnerable people in his house, under his protection, made him clench the iron tightly. He drew open the door slowly and peered out. His heart came to a juddering standstill and he imagined he heard it squealing to a stop like the wheels of a train on wet tracks. The poker fell from his hand and landed on his toe.

  Hard.

  “Pissing hell,” he spluttered.

  But the apparition in the hall didn’t turn. She had her back to him, a vision in white cotton. Moonlight streamed in through the window at the end of the hallway. There was nothing attractive about the long white garment with ruffled sleeves and a collar that rose up around the back of her neck, covering every inch of her. However, her unbound hair spilled down her back. It must have come loose from a braid as it was wavy and luxuriant. He longed to bury his hands in it.

  She stood there, sort of wavering from side to side for quite some time before he found his voice.

  “Miss Davis?” he hissed. “Ivy?” She didn’t even turn and he dared not speak any louder for fear of waking Elsie. The baby’s bedroom door was shut but Ivy’s wasn’t and the door adjoining the rooms would be open.

  Kicking aside the poker, he moved stealthily towards her and put a hand to her shoulder. Instead of screaming or jolting, she remained still, her skin warm against his palm. It made him acutely aware of how little she was wearing beneath that prim nightgown.

  “Ivy, what is the matter?” he whispered before easing her around with his palm to her shoulder.

  Realisation dawned when he spied her open eyes, staring off into nowhere. The girl was sleepwalking. Of course she was. Everything about Ivy was unusual, why wouldn’t the woman sleepwalk?

  But what to do with her?

  He skimmed his gaze down her and quickly snapped it back up. With the moonlight directly on her, he had a fine view of her figure against the cotton. Her thighs pressed against it and he imagined feeling the shape of those legs. Were they long and slender or plump and ripe for grabbing? He suspected slightly on the plump side.

  Her flesh would give way beautifully under his fingertips. But worse was the memory of her breasts curving against the material, of the dark nipples clearly visible.

  Heat licked along his body. Breathing grew hard. Other parts of him grew hard too. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d already broken his promise by touching her, no matter how brief, and here he was lusting after her while she wasn’t even lucid.

  He’d have to break his promise again and urge her back to bed. What if she tried to go downstairs and she fell? What if she tried to enter his room? Or even his bed? Damnation, how he wished she would.

  August bit the side of his tongue, punishing himself for the thought. Sucking in a deep breath, he steeled himself against the sight of her and took her hands. Her slender fingers in his sent a jolt through him that seemed to aim straight for his heart.

  She let him lead her easily into her bedroom and coax
her towards her bed. The trust she had in him—albeit while she was asleep—made him feel more of a cad than ever for his heated imaginings. He clenched his jaw as he eased her down with two hands to her shoulders.

  Clearly he needed to find some satisfaction—and fast. A trip to a high-class brothel was in order perhaps. He grimaced. Since work on the tunnel had taken over his life and then Elsie entered it, brothels seemed tawdry, no matter how expensive or well looked after the girls were. It had been different when he was younger and he cared little where he found his pleasure. As he grew older, the thought of bedding a strange woman and paying her for the privilege appealed less and less.

  As if aware of his thoughts, Ivy flopped back against the bed, her legs hanging off the bed, her arms sprawled. Her breasts rose up like an offering. The temptation to bend over her, take one of those nipples in his mouth and suck until the cotton was transparent created such an ache in his gut that it nearly forced him double.

  Ironic. Had she not done the very same thing for him but a few nights ago? He lifted her legs and pushed them under the blankets. Soft skin brushed his palms and she kicked off the blankets.

  “Damn it, Ivy.”

  Even in the dark, he could make out the attractive arch of her calf and knew it was the same warm colour as her face.

  Wonderful. Now he was wondering what they would look like around his hips? This was an innocent woman for goodness sake’s. He scrubbed a hand across his face and tried to think of something distasteful. Mrs Pepperwhite with her shocking taste in hats. Yes, that might do it.

  No, that wouldn’t do it.

  Ivy’s taste in hats was no better yet she looked entirely too beautiful in the overly-ruffled, brightly-coloured concoctions she wore.

  August bent to tuck her in again, and he found himself with a mouthful of cotton and—bloody hell—breasts. She had latched her arms around his neck and drawn him down on top of her. He pressed his palms against the mattress, the wooden frame creaking in protest of their combined weights.