Chapter Ten
That night sleep again evaded Leah as worries about her future tormented her. The minute she lay in her bed, they surged to the fore, keeping her mind active even as her body craved sleep. With a muttered oath, she threw aside the bedcovers and rose from the bed, pushing her feet into her slippers. She lit a candle, slipped her dressing gown on over her nightgown and left her bedchamber by the connecting door to her sitting room. The fire was not yet dead, so she stirred it with the poker and laid small sticks in a lattice over the hot ashes. In no time, the dry wood caught, allowing her to feed bigger sticks and lumps of coal onto the fire.
When it was burning steadily, she went to the table by the window and pulled her writing slope towards her, running her fingertips over the rosewood surface, her mind travelling back into the past with every familiar scratch and dent. It had belonged to Papa—her real father, not the man whose blood she shared—and she treasured it and the memories it evoked; happy memories, of Papa writing his sermons, his pen quietly scratching over the paper while Mama sewed, her head bent over her needle. A lump of pain formed in Leah’s throat. She had been so very alone since Papa died...no one to really care if she lived or she died. Dolphin Court had given her a sense of belonging she had felt nowhere else, and now she must leave here and face an unknown future with two half-sisters who were virtual strangers. She must say goodbye to the three children she adored, and how she dreaded that prospect. How would she say those words without dissolving into tears and making her departure even more painful for them? Increasingly, too, the prospect of never seeing Dolph again played havoc with her emotions.
Her head might accept that going to London and attempting to fulfil the conditions of Lady Tregowan’s will was the only sensible course of action, but her heart was still not convinced.
Cursing again beneath her breath, she opened the slope to form a writing surface and then took a sheet of paper from inside. She opened the inkwell, picked up her pen and began to reply to Aurelia’s letter, hoping the activity would help quell the turmoil of her thoughts. It did not. She pushed her chair back, crossed to put more coal on the fire and then paced the room, her mind still hopelessly alert. After several turns up and down the room, a wail penetrated Leah’s constantly circling inner monologue.
Stevie!
She did not take her candle, knowing from experience the light would rouse him more fully and make it much harder to settle him back down. She went out onto the landing and hurried along it to the boys’ room. Stevie was thrashing around, whimpers escaping him from time to time. Leah sat on the mattress and stroked his clammy forehead as she murmured soothing words, her eyes growing accustomed to the dark.
‘Hush. It’s all right. There’s nothing to fear, sweetie. Settle down now. I’m here.’
Gradually Stevie calmed, lying still. His thumb stole into his mouth—a habit she still could not break him of at night although he no longer sucked it during the day, long since cured of it by his little brother’s scorn. Gradually, Stevie’s breathing eased, and Leah stood to go. Stevie’s eyes opened, looking right at her, and he mumbled something around his thumb. Gently she removed it from his mouth and asked him to repeat what he’d said.
‘I dreamed you went away, like Mama did.’
Her heart cracked in her chest. She could not promise him she would not go. Oh, but how she wished she could give him that reassurance. She stroked his hair back from his forehead again.
‘It was just a dream, Stevie. See? I am here.’
She bent to kiss his cheek, tormented even more by the dread of saying goodbye. His eyes fluttered closed and his thumb crept into his mouth once more. He sighed. Leah straightened, watching him; within minutes he was asleep, and Leah slipped out of the room, having left the door ajar. She frowned at a pool of light further along the landing, then gasped, her heart in her throat as a dark shape stirred and stepped away from the wall, resolving itself into the silhouette of a man.
‘It’s all right. It is me.’ Dolph spoke in a whisper. ‘I left the candle along there so the light wouldn’t disturb Stevie. You did well to settle him down again so quickly.’
Her insides fluttered at the realisation he must have stood in the doorway, watching her. Listening to her.
‘Thank you.’ Leah stepped past him. ‘Goodnight, sir.’
‘Wait.’
His hand on her shoulder sent shock waves rippling through her as her breath caught. His fingers closed, not violently but more in a caress. She faced him and his hand dropped away. He was still dressed in his evening clothes, enticingly masculine in black coat and white neckcloth. An evocative mix of citrus, brandy and musky maleness wreathed through her senses, sending a pleasurable shiver racing through her, right to her tingling nerve endings. His breathing sounded ragged in the hush of the night but, rather than fearing him and the subtle tension that appeared to hold him in its grip—or even fearing the alarming leap of her pulse and those tingles sweeping her skin—Leah felt drawn to him, as a moth was tempted to a flame. Even though she knew, as a moth did not, that flames burned. She stood still and waited, hardly daring to breathe.
‘I heard floorboards creaking.’ His gaze raked her face, and she struggled to blank her expression. ‘Footsteps...in your sitting room. Back and forth. For several minutes. Are you still struggling to sleep?’
‘Evidently. But it was not I who disturbed Stevie.’
‘I do not accuse you of it. It was one of his nightmares, I assume?’
Leah nodded.
‘We cannot talk here, and I confess I, too, am not yet tired. Will you join me in a glass of brandy downstairs? It might help us both sleep, and I would welcome the chance to talk to you about Steven and these nightmares.’
Leah’s mouth dried as her pulse beat erratically at the thought of being alone with him. She should refuse. But...
‘Yes, of course.’ She scanned the dark landing. ‘No Wolf?’
The dog would at least have provided some distraction for her.
‘No. I left him in my room.’
She forced a quiet chuckle, desperate to appear nonchalant. ‘That was wise. I’m sure if Stevie caught sight of Wolf, it would thoroughly wake him up.’
From being wary of the dog, Stevie now worshipped him and they were all but inseparable during the day.
Dolph led the way downstairs to the library, where he lit candles on either end of the mantelshelf and poked the fire into life before pouring two glasses of brandy.
‘I was reading in here before I came up, so I knew the fire was still warm.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Have you thought further about confiding in Miss Strong?’
‘I have. I shall write and ask when I might visit her.’
His gaze did not waver from her face, and she felt the weight of it...read the concern in his grey eyes.
‘I am relieved, and I hope it might set your mind at rest. You look tired, and I know the boys are early risers.’
‘I shall cope.’
The urge to be honest with him, to tell him she must leave, rose up within her, but she could not possibly tell him now. Not here, in the dead of night, attired only in her nightgown, with her dressing gown clasped tightly around her and her hair casually plaited. She knew, without recourse to a mirror, her hair would be a mess—it had ever been unruly and required ruthless pinning during the day to tame it and render it suitable for a governess.
Dolphinstone stared at her frowningly before poking the fire again and feeding it with more coal. Then he faced her, nudging the candlestick out of the way to allow him to prop his elbow on the end of the mantelshelf.
‘Come. Sit. I wish to discuss Steven.’
* * *
Dolph watched as Leah moved to a chair by the fire, her movements graceful and, somehow, measured. She had poise. She held herself in a way many a society lady could only dream of emulating, even though she
was attired in plain nightclothes and her hair...her hair... His heart gave a funny little thump at the sight of those fiery tendrils floating around her crown. That fat rope of plaited hair, held loosely in place by a pale green ribbon, draped over her shoulder and her breast—a siren call to a man to tug the bow free and to plunge his fingers through the heavy, shining mass.
For God’s sake, man! Stop this fantasy. You told her you wanted to talk to her about Steven.
It had been a lie. He would have said anything at that point, with the scent of warm woman filling his senses, to bask in her company for just a few more moments. Anything to avoid retiring to his cold lonely bedchamber. How had the simple act of returning to Dolphin Court awakened within him this urge for female company? The desire to be held? The drive to hold a warm, willing woman in his arms and to bury himself deep within her heat? He had told himself it was the memory of Rebecca and the echoes of married life, but could that be the only reason for this strange emptiness deep in his soul? He and Rebecca had never been that close. It had been a good enough marriage—they had each passed their time leading their own lives and doing more or less as they wished, no different from so many Society marriages. His political interests and the estates occupied his time and attention. Rebecca had disliked London and its frantic pace of life and had been content to spend her time in Somerset with the children.
But she wasn’t content, was she? And I did not even notice.
He shivered as reality hit him, chilling him. He had failed her. He had not even seen the warning signs.
‘You wished to speak to me about Steven, sir?’
Leah’s quiet question brought his attention back to her.
‘Yes. I am concerned about him.’ And that was true, even though it had not been Steven in his thoughts when he had spoken. At times, his son and heir seemed so timid...too anxious for a child, far more so than the younger, more rambunctious Nicky. ‘He is intelligent and has a quick understanding, but I do worry how he will cope when he goes to school. He is so nervous.’ Her brows drew together, and he added, ‘He will have to go away to school when he is older, you know that. I should like your opinion as to what we can do to toughen him up a bit. Is there anything we should do to—?’ He fell silent at her disapproving expression before continuing, ‘I am aware I still do not know the boys very well, but I wish to learn; to be guided by you.’ He scrubbed his hand up the side of his face, feeling the rasp of stubble. ‘I just want to help my son become the best man he can be.’
She smiled at that. ‘You can do that by allowing him to be a little boy. He is still only seven, you know. And please do not mistake his sensitive nature for cowardice or timidity. Yes, he is sensitive, but in a good way. He is sensitive to others’ feelings whereas Nicky lacks that awareness. He is more concerned with his own wants and needs.’
Dolph leapt to the defence of his younger son. ‘Nicky does not have a nasty nature. He is just...lively.’
The weight of her luminous gaze settled on him, sending tingles down his spine. The illumination from the candles highlighted the blue-greenness of those beautiful, and intelligent, eyes.
‘It was not a criticism of Nicky.’ His ruffled feelings were instantly soothed by her gentle words. ‘I was trying to illustrate—perhaps a little clumsily—that the two boys are quite different in character, and there is no need to force them to fit the same mould. They each have strengths and weaknesses and, in time, they will hopefully recognise and learn to compensate for the latter.’
‘Much as we do for ourselves as adults?’
‘Precisely. Although, regrettably, not all adults identify their own weaknesses or, if they do, are not prepared to remedy the flaws in their characters.’
Dolph’s eyes narrowed. ‘It sounds as though you speak from experience.’ Having lived with guilt for so long, he worried her barb was aimed at him. It should not matter what she thought, but he couldn’t bear her to think of him as the sort of man who could not—or would not—learn from his mistakes. ‘Were you speaking of anyone in particular?’
Her lashes swept down, concealing her thoughts, and her teeth caught at her lower lip. His blood surged at that unconsciously erotic act even as he read her avoidance of eye contact as confirmation that the criticism had, indeed, been for him. His entire body tensed as he awaited her answer.
‘Not necessarily,’ she said, after a pause. Her tone became acerbic as she then added, ‘Although perhaps Lord Hinckley would benefit from a dose of introspection as to his behaviour.’
His shoulders relaxed. ‘George?’
‘Yes. I apologise, because I know he is your friend, but I find it reprehensible he thinks it acceptable to trifle with women’s feelings and then shrug off any responsibility. He must know how such behaviour might be misconstrued.’
‘But... I explained this to you...’ He cringed inwardly at his patronising tone but felt honour bound to defend his friend. ‘And I have warned him, but these...games, if you will...are constantly played out in Society. It is expected. If a gentleman fails to compliment a lady, he is considered a very poor sort of fellow.’
‘And is that how you behave in Society too, Lord Dolphinstone?’
‘My behaviour is neither here nor there. We are not discussing me. And do not forget Miss Strong is a willing participant.’
‘Willing only because she trusts Lord Hinckley, thinks him sincere and believes him to be a gentleman!’
Dolph straightened, pushing away from the mantelshelf. ‘Or willing because she wants to believe him. May I remind you that George, as a wealthy earl, is regarded as quite a catch in the matrimonial stakes. The young ladies and their mamas fawn over him at Society events, each of them praying she will be the one to finally ensnare him. Can you categorically deny Miss Strong is any different?’
‘Oh!’ Leah sprang to her feet to confront him. ‘How dare you imply Philippa is mercenary.’ One finger poked him in the chest as her face tilted up and she glared at him, those extraordinary eyes blazing. ‘Is it too hard for you to understand a woman might place the personal attributes of a man above any amount of wealth or status?’
God, I want to kiss her.
He could think of nothing else. She fell silent. Their gazes remained locked. The tip of her tongue emerged to moisten her lips, sending the blood rocketing through his veins. Without volition, he traced those full, lush lips with one finger. Her breathing hitched in the quiet of the room. He moved closer. She did not retreat. Rather, she swayed towards him, and then, before he had time to gather his thoughts, or to consider the consequences, his arms swept around her and their lips met in a searing kiss. She melted in his arms as his tongue penetrated her mouth and he deepened the kiss. Their tongues tangled, and his blood sang at her eager response. All too soon, however, she stiffened and pushed him away.
He reined in his rampaging lust, forcing his arms to release her, and stepped back, thrusting one hand through his hair as Leah stumbled back and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes huge and round.
‘Is this how gentlemen such as Lord Hinckley and yourself treat unwary females?’ She spoke from behind the shield of her hand. ‘You all appear to believe you are entitled to act as you please, and that we are there for your pleasure: to be dallied with and cast aside at will.’
‘What do you mean by you all appear? Has this happened before? Were you cast aside by some man?’ Anger flared inside him.
She shook her head vehemently, her eyes stricken. The desire to protect her made him extend his hand, but he did not touch her and instead tried to soothe her with his words.
‘I apologise. I had no intention... I did not mean for that to happen. It was entirely reprehensible.’ What else could he say? There was no excuse to justify kissing her, not even when she appeared willing. He was her employer. He had a duty of care towards her. ‘I have no intention of casting you aside for something that was my
fault, but I shall understand if you wish to leave. I will supply you with a good reference, you need have no fear of that.’
‘I...’
She heaved a sigh, her bosom rising and falling. Dolph forced his gaze higher. To her face. Her flushed cheeks. Her glittering eyes. Were they suppressed tears? He felt even more of a scoundrel.
Her voice trembled as she said, ‘I must bear some of the blame. I could have stopped you.’ She subsided into the chair again. ‘I should have stopped you.’
There was a sadness in her eyes, and a touch of shame that puzzled him. Again, he wondered if she had experienced something similar in her past, but the air between them seemed too brittle to broach the subject again, so he resisted the urge to bombard her with further questions.
‘You bear none of the blame, Leah. I meant what I said—the fault was mine. But I had no intention of kissing you. It took me by surprise as well.’
Her eyes searched his face. ‘So...if you did not mean to kiss me, why did you?’
What to say? I couldn’t not kiss you, at that moment, when you looked up at me with your eyes like deep, sunlit pools? I couldn’t not kiss you because I find you irresistibly alluring, with your long, slender limbs and your red hair and your freckles, that entice me into wondering if—and where—they sprinkle your skin in places hidden from my gaze?
‘I cannot explain it.’ He moved again to the fireplace to prop his elbow on the mantelshelf, his heart thundering in his chest. ‘I have found it difficult, coming back here... The memories are unsettling. I am unsettled. Although that is no excuse for taking advantage of you. I do not know what came over me.’
‘You must miss your wife dreadfully.’
Her sympathy penetrated deep inside his soul like a knife and twisted. He welcomed the pain. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. Not when he was responsible for Rebecca’s death. He had kissed Leah to satisfy his own needs without a thought as to how it might affect her—he was no better than George.
The Rags-to-Riches Governess--A Cinderella Regency Romance Page 10