More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “Because I was afraid I would lose all self-control if I did. And I have a feeling that ravishing you on the drive in front of the entire Wetherby family may have had dire consequences.”

  “Lord Hastings, this is highly unorthodox,” she countered, trying to hide her smile and the fact that she was exhilarated by his presence.

  “Which answers your other question, I’m sure.”

  “Oh.” Of course that explained it. This was improper, scandalous...though, Becky was thrilled that in spite of all that, he’d come to her anyhow.

  Still, she shouldn’t encourage him.

  “Yes?” he said, clearly sensing she had more to say.

  “Well, it’s just that...after the other evening...morning...” She had no idea what she wanted to say. His proximity suffocated and intoxicated her. “Could you please not stand so close to me?”

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked, his voice husky as he reached his hand up to smooth a stray lock of her moist hair.

  She shivered at his touch. “Do you not think you should?” she asked, really hoping he would make it impossible for her to make him leave.

  “Just say the word, Miss Thorn.” His voice was a whisper against her cheek, his breath warm on her cold, damp skin.

  She couldn’t say it. The words simply would not come. Instead, she used her mouth to kiss him, to taste him, to drink him in. His hands worked quickly to release her dripping hair and it tumbled down her back in one swift, sensuous fall. He grabbed her with gentle force by the nape and tipped her head back to allow himself easier access to the recesses of her mouth.

  Becky’s knees went weak. If not for the muscular strength of her intruder’s arms, she would have crumpled to the ground in ecstasy. Her body went limp as he scooped her into his embrace and placed her gently on the bed, never once taking his lips from hers. His mouth was firm, persistent, taking Becky’s very breath away.

  “How did you find my room?” she asked, suddenly curious.

  “I knew the servants’ quarters would be deserted today,” he answered in between kisses. “I had to go opening doors to find it.”

  “That was rather risky, wasn’t it?” Good heavens, what if he had been caught? She was certain there were already murmurs amongst the servants about her relationship with his lordship. If someone had seen him, they surely would have known what—or rather, who—he was looking for.

  “It was worth it.”

  Those four simple words spawned an odd tugging at her heart. He thinks I’m worth it. Worth the risk of his servants finding him snooping about their rooms.

  “Why?” she managed to ask, while he nibbled at her ear.

  “Why what?”

  “Why me? Or do you do this with all your governesses?”

  He pushed up slightly and looked her in the eye. Something flickered there, but Becky couldn’t say what it was. She suddenly felt the need to apologize for her poor attempt at humor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a bit unnerved, I suppose.”

  Stephen sucked in a breath as realization obviously dawned. “Oh, God. Becky, you’re…an innocent, aren’t you?”

  Becky’s cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “What has that got to do with anything?” she asked, allowing an indignant tone to creep into her voice.

  “Are you?” he persisted.

  Becky paused. What did he want to hear? Would he only have her if she were already ruined? Did he not want the responsibility that came with an unspoiled girl? Or did he prefer to be with a chaste woman? She assumed he’d find out one way or another and decided the truth was probably best.

  She nodded. They lay there, staring at one another, neither one saying anything until Stephen finally removed himself from the bed, leaving Becky feeling cold and empty and discarded.

  She hadn’t wanted him to stop; she had just wanted to understand why he had come to her. And whether or not she was the first to receive such attentions from him—a question he still had not answered.

  ***

  Stephen walked to the opposite side of the room, which put only a few feet of distance between them, his erection still throbbing inside his trousers.

  A virgin. He hadn’t expected it. She was well past twenty and seemed far worldlier than most women of his acquaintance. She was both motherly and sensual at the same time—a combination one would not expect from a woman who had never experienced intimacy.

  And her kisses. He had imagined an innocent’s kisses would be tentative, awkward, but hers...

  Stephen turned to her and saw she was trying to choke back her tears. But he was not annoyed by her emotion; instead, he wanted to comfort her. To hold her in his arms until she knew how much he wanted her, how much he cared for her.

  How much he needed her.

  “You may leave if you want,” she said quietly. “I will understand.”

  “Why would I want to leave?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Because...well, I’m a virgin.”

  Stephen chuckled as he walked back to the bed and sat down. “This does tend to complicate things. But it does not have any bearing, whatsoever, on how much I want you.”

  Her startling green eyes blinked with shock. “You want me?”

  “Was it not obvious?”

  “Well, yes, but I thought...” Stephen did not allow her to finish her thought. He pushed her down into the lumpy mattress and kissed her thoroughly.

  It was ecstasy being there with her. Making love to her while the rain beat steadily against the windowpane. He took things slowly. He didn’t want to frighten or hurt her. He’d been well warned about the responsibility of taking a girl’s virginity, but he certainly didn’t have firsthand knowledge of the task.

  “Take me, Stephen,” she whispered against his ear, her hands grabbing at his thick, brown locks. “Take me, please.”

  “Slowly, darling. There is plenty of time.”

  “No, there’s not,” she replied, moving against him.

  He shushed her with a roguish smile as his hand moved slowly down her body, making its way beneath her drawers. She rose up to meet him as if desperate to be touched, and gave a cry of delight as his finger found her most sensitive spot. He played deftly with the bud of her sex, stifling her moans with his mouth, before he plundered her depths with his finger. Her body contracted at the intrusion and Stephen rejoiced in the feel of her. Even if she was not yet ready to receive him fully, it was enough to imagine what it would be like once she was.

  He released her mouth in favor of her now exposed breasts. He took a dusky nipple between his teeth and teased with his tongue. His fingers began to work expertly, spreading and ravaging her while his thumb rubbed delicately against her tiny, pink nub.

  As she succumbed to the inevitable, Stephen stifled her glorious wails with a forceful and passionate kiss.

  He kissed her long and hard while she slowly drifted back to earth and held her close before removing his finger. She moaned as he withdrew. He pulled back to look at her and faced the most beautifully sated woman he’d ever seen.

  “What about you?” she asked once she'd regained enough of her senses.

  “Perhaps another time,” he said, helping her to sit up. “I shouldn't keep you any longer.”

  As she dressed and repinned her hair, Stephen sat back down on the bed and watched, well aware that he was grinning like a fool.

  “I don’t, by the way,” he said quietly, remembering her earlier question.

  Becky turned to look at him. “You don’t, what?”

  “I don’t do this with all my governesses.” Her smile lit up his heart and when he winked at her, it grew even wider.

  Yes, it had been well worth the risk to seek her out today.

  Fifteen

  Becky was still blushing by the time she made it to the drawing room that night. Her head still spun from the fracturing euphoria of the afternoon. She had never experienced anything so exquisite or alarming in all her life, and the feel of his fingers still
lingered in the secret places where he had touched her.

  They had parted ways rather quickly – Becky afraid she had left the children alone too long, and Stephen afraid the next wave of guests would be arriving soon.

  He had requested, however, that he be allowed to stay in her room for a few minutes afterwards, but for what, Becky did not know. Something told her it had to do with the bulge in his pants, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Max and Lydia were thankfully absorbed in their respective activities upon her return, so much so that they barely heard her enter the room. There was little left to the day—only baths and dinner—but even that was more than Becky’s mind could focus on.

  “Why are you grinning like that?” Max asked her when she paused mid-sentence during their bedtime story.

  “Oh,” she replied, embarrassed she had allowed her mind to wander so. “I’m just...happy, that’s all.”

  And now, as she walked into the drawing room, her pale blue gown billowing around her feet, she realized it was true. She was happy. Completely and unabashedly beside herself with joy.

  Phoebe and Lord Eastleigh were already there, entertaining Lord Hastings’ guests with a little ditty on the pianoforte, while the twins stood by, sipping nonchalantly from their snifters. All the other guests were men, which was not at all surprising to Becky. Lord Hastings was probably more accustomed to organizing a deer hunt than a house party.

  Somehow, Becky was glad for that. This way she would not have to divide her attention amongst other women and could focus solely on being with Phoebe.

  “Becky!” Phoebe spotted her from across the room and her russet curls shimmered with her excitement.

  Becky blushed as several heads turned to regard her. “Good evening, Lady Eastleigh,” she intoned as she made her way to Phoebe’s side.

  Phoebe smiled and rolled her eyes. “Must we stand on ceremony, Miss Thorn?”

  “We are hardly doing so as it is, but I must maintain some sort of professionalism, you know. Lord Hastings is my employer, after all.”

  “Ladies, may we offer you a glass of wine?”

  Becky looked up to see all three Wetherby brothers standing before her, each one just as handsome as the next. Though, a great deal more mischief lay behind the dark eyes of the younger two.

  “Wine would be lovely.” She inclined her head and turned back to Phoebe as the gentlemen made their way to the side bar.

  Phoebe took her by the arm and led her to a little bench by the window where they sat side by side. Becky gave a contented sigh. How lovely it was to have Phoebe here with her. She couldn’t deny that it felt a bit awkward to be socializing amongst the actual guests, or partaking of her employer’s wine, but she wasn’t about to question it. She would enjoy this while it lasted.

  “You know what I was thinking of the other day?” Phoebe asked, drawing Becky’s attention to her.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember that song you used to sing? The one about the sailor?”

  Becky felt the color rise to her cheeks. How could Phoebe bring up such a topic here? This was hardly the place for bawdy sailor songs.

  “What of it?” she asked guardedly.

  “How did it go? Oh, goodness, it used to make me laugh. I want Benjamin to hear it.”

  “Lord Eastleigh?” Becky couldn’t imagine Phoebe repeating any of the words in that particular song, let alone to her husband, a peer of the realm.

  Phoebe giggled. “Come on, just whisper them to me so I may commit them to memory.”

  “I’m not sure I can remember all of them,” Becky lied in hopes her friend would cease her pursuit.

  “Nonsense...ah, thank you darling!” Phoebe reached out to take a glass of wine from her husband while Becky accepted a glass from Andrew. “Now, go away,” she continued with a sweet smile. “Becky and I have much to discuss.”

  The marquess chuckled at his wife and pecked her on the cheek before leading his brothers to the other side of the room where the other guests had congregated.

  “All right, go ahead,” Phoebe urged as she sipped from her glass.

  Becky sighed, resigned to her fate. “Fine. Are you ready?”

  Phoebe nodded.

  After taking a sip of her own wine, Becky began quietly, “‘Who is knocking at my door, said the fair young maiden.’” Becky waited while Phoebe mumbled the words back to herself and then continued, “‘Open the door and let me in, said Ballochy Bill the Sailor.’”

  She paused, before relaying the next stanza, to take another drink of her wine. “‘You may sleep upon the floor, said the fair young maiden.’” Becky winced and shut her eyes to sing the next words. “‘To hell with the floor, I can’t...fuck that, said Ballochy Bill the Sailor.’”

  Phoebe giggled behind her fan as she repeated the words quietly to herself. Becky took another sip and let out a little laugh as well. The situation really was quite funny, especially when one imagined how Lord Eastleigh would react to hearing the song later.

  “‘You may lie between my thighs, said the fair young maiden.” Both she and Phoebe fought to stifle their laughter now. “'What’ve you got between your thighs? Said Ballochy Bill the Sailor. O, I’ve got a nice pin-cushion, Said the fair young maiden. And I’ve got a pin—´”

  Becky stopped singing, suddenly aware that a shadow had moved over them. Her cheeks grew warm. She knew exactly who stood before them, it was apparent in Phoebe’s shocked expression, and Becky winced as she turned slowly to face him. Her eyes met with a shockingly blue gaze. She swallowed convulsively as she waited for him to say something. He looked handsome in a frightening sort of way in his black evening clothes, and she couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like to have him touch her that afternoon. To have his lips pressed firmly against hers, his tongue teasing her taut nipples, his fingers—

  She feared her face told too much, but she couldn’t seem to find a voice with which to break the tension.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I was just...we...”

  “Good evening, Lady Eastleigh,” Lord Hastings said, shifting his gaze to Phoebe and then back to Becky. “Miss Thorn.”

  “My lord.” She nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Lord Hastings, I wish to compliment you on your wine selection. I am enjoying this vintage ever so much.” Phoebe smiled widely and Stephen inclined his head.

  “I am happy to hear you are enjoying it,” he said. “And what about you, Miss Thorn? Do you share your friend’s taste in wine?”

  Becky cleared her throat uncomfortably and nodded. “I do, my lord. It is...very fine, indeed.”

  “Good.” He clapped his hands together and said, “Well, then, I think I hear the dinner bell.”

  The small group made their way to the dining room in an informal procession. Becky smiled and did her best to remain gay, but she was mortified. How humiliating to have her employer overhear her repeating such an awful song. What must he think of her now? She was a governess for heaven’s sake, not a bloody Winchester Goose!

  They took their places at the elegant dining table. Dressed with gilded candelabras and miniature golden statues, it depicted a scene out of ancient Rome. Much to her relief, Becky was not placed in her normal seat next to the viscount, but rather at the opposite end of the table. She had hoped to be seated next to Phoebe so she could discreetly shame her for making her repeat the sailor song, but it would have to wait until later. For now, she was at least happy to have Andrew and Michael for company.

  They engaged in a robust conversation about London life, the boys recounting their latest escapades, while the first course was served.

  “I can’t believe either of you would ever be so bold as to actually say that to Lady Bloomfield’s face,” Becky said, laughing at their bravado when it came to Society. “The poor woman just wants to see her daughter happily settled.”

  “You would have said the same thing were you in my position,” Andrew countered. “She was p
ositively out of line.”

  “The woman knows no bounds,” Michael chirped in, his near-black eyes flashing with mock indignation.

  “Well, I do hope you would never speak to me in such a fashion,” she teased.

  “Never,” Michael said boldly. “Besides, after that performance in the drawing room, I think I’m a little afraid of you.”

  Becky flushed and hissed, “You could hear me?”

  “You weren’t exactly discreet about it,” Andrew replied. “But not to worry, I’m sure no one here will go running back to London to tell of the Hastings’ profane governess.”

  Becky fought the urge to slap Andrew. “Yes, well that is the least of my worries. I have a feeling I might be going back to Ravenscroft Castle with Phoebe and your brother thanks to that song.”

  “Posh!” Andrew exclaimed. “Hastings has a sense of humor, doesn’t he? I’m sure he thought nothing of it.”

  “Yes, but I’m a governess, remember? My ethics may be under scrutiny at this point.” Good heavens, they certainly would be, and not just for the sailor song, either.

  Before she could say more, the door to the dining room opened and Bentley walked across the room to deliver a calling card to Lord Hastings.

  “Ah, excellent! Do send him in, Bentley, and see that his bags are taken to the Green Room on the second floor.”

  “Hastings, will you not delight us with news of your latest brews?” Michael called down the table as the butler retreated. “Your ales are highly regarded in London. Might we have something new to look forward to in the coming months?”

  Becky sat back in her chair as the talk turned to ale and pushed her greens mindlessly about her plate. She picked up her wine glass and took a not-so-dainty sip just as Bentley returned to the dining room.

  “Mister David Shaw.”

  Becky was mid-sip when her heart gave a spastic flutter, causing her to choke on the wine still in her mouth. She covered her face with her napkin in an effort to keep her identity hidden, but it was too late. She’d already drawn a great deal of attention to herself, blast it!

  “Miss Thorn?” Becky realized Stephen regarded her with what looked to be concern, as did the rest of the table, and the still-standing Mr. Shaw. She avoided his gaze and focused on Stephen.