The Reluctant Governess

by Maggie Robinson

  She turned mid-step and he nearly bumped into her. “My room or yours?”

  He’d dismissed the borrowed valet before he came down to dinner. There might be some poor little tweenie waiting for Eliza, though. Tubby’s house was a masculine enclave despite the delicate furniture, and no one was much accustomed to waiting on women.

  “Mine.” There might be old socks on the floor, though Nick doubted it. Tubby’s valet knew what was what.

  She nodded and proceeded up the stairs, hesitating when she reached the top. Three corridors branched out in front of them.

  “This is ridiculous, but I don’t remember which hall we’re on.” Her voice shook just a little, belying her earlier bravado.

  Nick took her hand. It was still so cold, but nothing would stop him from wanting it anywhere on his body. “This way.”

  They walked in silence past the dim electric sconces that failed to light the shadows away. Nick’s door was standing open, the bed turned down, the socks absent. A fire was rumbling in the grate beneath an elaborate chimneypiece carved in the Grinling Gibbons tradition. He closed the door behind them and turned the key. “Here we are.” By the gods, he sounded stupid.

  Eliza presented her back to him. “Can you undo the hooks, please? You know what a time I had.”

  Yes. It had been amusing to stand outside her door and listen to her curse. He’d been so tempted to go in to help her, but then they never would have gotten downstairs to dinner.

  Nick made quick work of the fastenings, and the gown slid over her hips and straight to the carpet. Eliza wore nothing—nothing—underneath it. If he’d known that, he would have been unable to swallow a single morsel of food.

  He could barely swallow now. The sweet curve of her hip and rounded bottom rivaled any classical painting he’d ever seen. And when she pivoted to face him, he lost his breath. Her breasts were plump and high, her nipples peaked. Nick realized she was much more finely made than the blowsy portrait he’d worked on just this morning. She raised her arms and removed a pin that anchored the classical coronet on her head. She could have gone to a fancy dress party tonight as a Jane Austen heroine.

  Her golden braid tumbled down her back and Nick’s fingers itched to unravel it. But he also wanted to suckle those nipples and kiss her mouth and cup her mons. Too many choices, all of them urgent.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” he croaked. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, his throat constricted.

  “Either say something about my glorious nudity, or start taking off your clothes. I feel silly just standing here.”

  “You are—you are exquisite. Incomparable. I wish I had my camera.”

  Eliza waggled a finger. “We’ll have none of that. No photographs for posterity. I’m not going to be pinned up on the bathroom wall for anyone to see.”

  “Of course not!” The very thought of exposing her beauty was an anathema. Eliza was his alone—he wouldn’t share her with anyone. Nick struggled with the buttons of his waistcoat but his hand felt as if it belonged to someone else.

  “Here, let me. At the rate you’re going, I’ll catch a chill.”

  “Minx.” Where was the pretty prig? Gone, and good riddance. Nick stood like a statue while Eliza’s nimble fingers divested him of every article of clothing in record time. By the gods, he was being seduced down to his toenails by her eager innocence.

  And when she dropped to her knees, he was light-headed, sure that if there was a fainting couch in the room he’d be on it. She looked up at him, blue eyes wide and mischievous.

  He awoke from his stupor. “No. As much as I want you to, no. This night is for you.” He pulled her up and touched her lips.

  She captured his finger and brushed it away. “Can’t it be for us both?”

  “It will be. Believe me, it will be. Eliza, you cannot know how much I want you. Well, perhaps you can—I don’t usually walk around in this state. But are you absolutely sure? We’ve come this far, but we need not go any further. Think.”

  “No more thinking. I can’t when I’m around you anyway.”

  Nick held her against his body, skin to skin. The floor lurched beneath him, as if he stood in an earthquake field. The hair lifted from the back of his neck, and he was hot and cold and undeniably confused.

  A kiss might clear his mind—what was he waiting for? An engraved invitation? Eliza had made her intentions crystal clear as she melted in his arms, her lashes shyly tickling his chest. He nuzzled the top of her head, breathing in citrus. She placed her palms on his shoulders and lifted her face.

  He was lost. It was she who guided him to the bed, she who tipped him backward onto the sheets. She who climbed atop him and kissed him, she who clasped his hand and drew it to her breast. Eliza made him forget the order of events he’d skillfully plied for a decade. There was no order to any of it, no rhyme but plenty of reason to explore her wet core with a finger, to nip her shoulder, to whisper pledges when he wasn’t drowning in her kiss.

  If she heard him, she gave no sign, her body just skimming over his so lightly she felt insubstantial, like a golden apparition. Nick needed more.

  He’d never breached a maidenhead before, had never wanted to. But now, knowing Eliza was giving him this gift, he was humbled and almost afraid. He’d sworn to give her pleasure, not pain. She hovered above him, his cock tortuously close to her entrance.

  If he let her take control, she could determine how deep. How hard. Contemplating the logistics was an Eliza-like thing to do—he smiled through the kiss at his foolishness. Lord, he might spill before she even sank upon him, he was that aroused.

  Nick guided himself so that he touched her velvet inner flesh. She stilled—even the kissed stopped mid-tangle. Eliza raised her beautiful face, and Nick could see the tears welling.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I can’t bear to see you cry again. We’ll stop.”

  She gave an ineffective slap on his chest. “No! I’m crying because this is so—so—extraordinary. I’m just not sure what you want me to do.”

  Everything, he thought.

  “First and foremost, relax.” Nick knew she was ready even if she didn’t; her honey had coated two fingers.

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t ask for much, do you?” she said, her voice shaking.

  “I’m going to put myself inside you. Get up on your knees and slide down when you think you can, just a bit at a time.”

  “Wouldn’t it just be better if I came down all at once? Get it over with? It’s like getting an inoculation, isn’t it? The anticipation is so much worse than the actual poke itself.”

  Nick couldn’t do anything but laugh. The rumble started deep in his chest, and before he knew it, tears were in his eyes. “You have a great deal to learn about lovemaking, Miss Lawrence.”

  “You’d better hurry up and teach me, then, Mr. Raeburn.”

  And Nick proceeded to do just that.

  Chapter 31

  Somehow when Eliza had imagined a man and a woman together—not that she had very often—talking had not been involved. Certainly no laughter. The room would be hushed and dark, the coupling quick yet sweet and satisfying.

  Instead, an electric lamp blazed on the bedside table. That was entirely her fault—she should have turned it off before she tackled Nicholas. And tackled him she had, with a kind of ferocity she hadn’t known she possessed.

  Eliza had tried to make up for it, barely touching his body as she positioned herself over him. Every place they made contact—a hip, even a shin—had caused a fiery jolt clear through the rest of her. When he caressed her breast she thought she might just incinerate.

  The copper hairs on his perfect body gleamed in the lamplight. She had mussed his pomaded hair, and he looked nearly innocent against the pillow. But his kiss had been as hungry as hers, which was gratifying.

  For a short while earlier
, Eliza thought Nicholas might refuse to go through with this, and her impatience had risen—and her risk. Getting down on her knees had been somewhat brazen, especially since she didn’t have the first idea what to do.

  But the heedless gesture had prompted him into action, so she couldn’t regret it. It was not every day she threw away her virginity, but she was not going to berate herself over it tonight. There would be plenty of time for debate with her conscience in the future.

  His hands had been sure as they smoothed over her skin, finding the neediest spot between her folds. When his fingers inched inside, Eliza marveled at the ease and inerrancy of his touch. It was only when he canted himself up and touched her center with his manhood that her resolve wobbled. Eliza felt so dreadfully exposed. Vulnerable. She wasn’t sure this was the way she could ever relax.

  Nicholas brushed the tears from her cheek. “The first lesson: We are not going to ‘get it over with.’” He gently removed her and rolled her on her back. “Perhaps we’ll be conventional after all. You are a very proper sort of girl, aren’t you?” Leaning up on one elbow, he smiled down at her.

  “Not at the moment.” Why was he talking instead of doing something? She wanted his fingers back where they had been.

  Nicholas must have read her mind. He kissed her nose, of all places, then began to circle that bud of flesh that was so remarkably sensitive, watching for her reaction. It was not long in coming.

  Eliza knew what to expect now. Her spine relaxed, and she shut her eyes so she couldn’t see him staring at her. Looseness was slowly replaced by a building expectation. The tautness slithered right down to her toes, locking her body in its feral grip. Her gasping breaths should have been embarrassing, but Nicholas murmured words of encouragement.

  She didn’t mind his talking now, even though some of his words were rather shocking. Moving, no, writhing, was de rigueur—she didn’t require his suggestion to let herself go. She was more or less gone already, and when his mouth came down on her breast and captured her nipple, the last knot pulled free. The waves hit her hard, and she rose to meet them. Nicholas slid his fingers inside her and touched something that made her climb even higher.

  And then he covered her mouth and her body with his and sought her heat. The kiss strengthened and so did his attempt at entry. A stretching glide aided by his hand—so gentle yet inexorable. She shuddered under him, swallowing a cry. There was no real pain, just unfamiliar pressure as he seated himself within her.

  The waves had subsided, but Nicholas sought to build them back up, rocking slowly until she felt her stomach flutter again. He broke the kiss and she felt the cool air creep between them.

  “Open your eyes, Eliza.”

  She didn’t want to. To see him would be to admit that she cared more than she wanted to. He would know at once. She was no actress, and would be incapable of pretending that this was simply an ordinary evening diversion between two consenting adults.

  Reluctantly, she blinked up at him. The expressive face she saw could have been her own. There was tension. Uncertainty. Lust.

  Perhaps the tiniest scrap of love. His eyes were dark with desire, his voice rough, near breathless.

  “There will never be another night like this,” Nicholas said, pushing himself in deeper. Deeper. It seemed impossible.

  “Just as it was meant to be,” he said. “I adore you.” With every word, his cock thrust within her.

  Her lashes fluttered shut. “No. Look at me. I want you to see . . . and feel . . . what you’ve done to me.” One muscled arm was at her shoulder, the blue-tinted snake alarmingly near. His other hand was still at their connection, working her clitoris as he had before to drive her mad again.

  His curls were damp, his throat corded as he held himself above her. Eliza wanted to wipe away the lines of strain at his mouth and eyes. She dug her heels into the bedcovers and something inside her constricted. Nicholas’s eyes flashed, and he hissed in pleasure.

  “Move with me. Ah, fuck, just like that.” His eyes didn’t leave hers. Eliza felt like she was falling into an abyss, a dark place from which there was no return. They were falling together, she clenching, arching, catching his rhythm after a few false starts, building to what she knew would be another stunning climax. Even better this time, because they were fitted together in exquisite friction.

  She wondered how she’d survive.

  When the tremors began, he bent and kissed her, all the while extricating himself from within. As if his kiss would distract her and make up for the loss. Hot liquid spurted on her hip. This time he’d had his completion, too, and she didn’t feel quite so selfish.

  They lay heart to pounding heart. Eliza gloried under the weight of him—somehow, despite everything, she felt protected. Peaceful.

  And not so very improper.

  Nicholas took a ragged breath. “Are you all right?”

  Eliza nodded. Speech wouldn’t come.

  He used a corner of the sheet to wipe away the evidence of their coupling. Eliza supposed he’d done the gallant thing—how awkward it would have been if he’d spilled inside her and there had been consequences.

  As there had been with Barbara. Eliza pushed her pointless jealousy into a corner where it belonged.

  Nicholas was very pale. Eliza was certain she looked like she’d just popped out of a furnace, her face—all of her—was so very hot. “Are—are you all right?”

  He rolled off her suddenly and lay on his back. “I really don’t know.”

  Alarmed, she sat up, covering her chest with a pillow. A little late for that, my girl. He’d seen and touched and licked everything. “Are you ill again?”

  “I can’t be. I don’t have time.” He drew a breath. “Eliza, please forgive me.”

  “For what?”

  His hand swept the distance between them. “For this. My judgment is execrable. Everyone knows it. It was wrong for me . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Anger shot through her. She was not lying here regretting anything, and if anyone should be having second thoughts, it was she. “Are you saying you made a mistake taking me to bed?”

  “Yes. No. I’m truly humbled by your trust in me, Eliza, but you shouldn’t—we shouldn’t have—damn it. I don’t know how to put it.”

  “How about you put it right up your—” Eliza shut her mouth. She wouldn’t allow the moment to be completely ruined. She wanted Nicholas to hold her in his arms and murmur sweet, wicked things as he’d done before. Instead he was a marble-white martyr to his faulty honor. “Never mind. Don’t torture yourself. It’s not as if we’ll be making a habit of it.”

  He mumbled something unintelligible, and she wanted to press the pillow over his face.

  No man could pretend to like something with such enthusiasm and mastery as Nicholas had shown. Nicholas had liked it, had liked her. She’d seen straight into his soul—he’d made her watch. This belated crisis of conscience was annoying in the extreme.

  Eliza was no porcelain doll. She wasn’t going to shatter because her hymen had broken. Hell, she hadn’t felt more than a pinch, a moment of discomfort. What had all the fuss been about? How very silly she had been, and how very silly Nicholas Raeburn was being right now.

  She swung her legs off the bed, feeling only a trifle woozy. She didn’t have far to go, just across the hall, where she could fall onto her own bed and cry her heart out. Muffled, of course, so Nicholas didn’t get the wrong idea and go hang himself. Honestly, men were idiots.

  No, not men. What did she know about the tribe, really? Just one particular man was taking her to the brink of insanity.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my room, of course.” She stuck a foot into her borrowed dress. Hopefully none of the servants would see her with a bare back as she ran across the carpet.

  Nicholas sat up, his hair tousled over his forehead. “No! Please do
n’t leave.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stay here and face your recriminations.” Her other foot joined the first, and she bent to pull up the gown. Her nipples, she noted, were still sharp enough to cut glass. All sorts of sensations still rumbled through her nether regions like a runaway train, making standing very unreliable.

  He pushed the hair out of his face. “I’m not recriminating!”

  “That’s not even a word.” She shoved an arm into the little puffed sleeve, scratching herself on the gold appliquéd leaves.

  “Eliza!” Goodness, he sounded somewhat desperate, almost in agony. Before she knew it, he was bouncing off the bed and grabbing her elbows.

  “Let me go!”

  “No, not like this. I’m an ass. I’m not usually such a—such a—”

  “I believe you’ve settled on ass,” Eliza said, trying to shake him away. His grip only got firmer.

  “Listen to me—you’ve made me so stupid I can’t think.”

  “Why should I listen to you, then, if you’ve got only nonsense to say? And anyhow, I’ve done nothing to you. It’s as if you think I’ve cast a spell on you!”

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “Haven’t you just? You are a witch, Eliza Lawrence. A complete and utter witch.”

  She couldn’t take umbrage verbally—he was kissing her again, keeping her lips fully occupied. A savage, wicked kiss that could not be repelled or denied, at least in Eliza’s present frame of mind. She was as confused as he, angry a second ago, abandoned to all good sense the next.

  Abandonment felt so, so much better. She rejected the idea of stamping on his naked foot. Instead, she rubbed it lightly with her own and he startled as if she’d touched his manhood. The kiss was urgent, wilder. There was nothing but teeth and tongue, soft wet hollows, snatched gulping breaths. Eliza shook as if she’d taken a chill, though she was as hot as a living flame.

  But then she became tangled in the dress that had slid back down to her ankles. She had no recollection of Nicholas pulling the sleeve from her shoulder. He lifted her from the puddle of fabric and carried her back to the bed. She was not as light as a feather and Nicholas was still recovering from his wound, so there was a moment when Eliza wondered if they would make it to the mattress in one piece. Fortune was with them as they toppled together, bare skin bonding.