His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2

by DeLand, Cerise

  “Ah, yes. We are here because I wish it. Higher fires. I was quite cold this morning. Nothing for it. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. No, sir.” She’d wish him warm and comfortable.

  “Also last night as I put Daphne to bed, I saw her room is outdated. I think we must redecorate. They are dull. The walls must be painted, the drapes replaced with new.”

  “That is generous of you, my lord.”

  “We are friends. And I shall do for Daphne as I would for my own child.”

  This man was a prize. How had she become so fortunate as to work for him?

  To share his meals, to see him for hours each day set her heart beat racing. What a terrible joy to know she would not merely dine with him, but also converse and perhaps even laugh with him. The very idea set her hope of a normal life soaring…but she wasn’t his equal. She was his employee. She had to note her surprise and her gratitude. “That is most unusual, sir.”

  “It is. But I require good company. A man does not spend years of his life on foreign lands with men and not yearn for finer conversation with women. Besides, Daphne must learn how to dine and converse amidst proper company, and you, I would assume, would like the variety as well.”

  She found in his gaze a frankness of purpose that she valued. He deserved a proper answer. “I would, sir. Very much.”

  She must now match his honesty with her own. The matter of her kiss was too important to avoid.

  Shrewsbury passed around the table and into the wine cellar.

  Cook had disappeared into the larder and the footman had taken the stairs up to the first floor.

  Belle lowered her voice and once more leaned toward him.

  * * *

  He had read the tension in her body and he knew what was coming.

  “Sir, I hope you will excuse my behavior of last night.”

  So you do remember. “You were awake?”

  “I was. That is, I became so and I…” She swallowed hard and glanced to her lap. “I am not a woman of poor persuasions. And I hope you will keep me on.”

  “You think I would terminate your services?” Over that? A kiss that aroused my senses as no other has in years?

  Her startled eyes locked on his. “Most would.”

  He snorted. “I am not most.”

  “No, sir. But you are a bachelor and you seek a wife, so it would be improper if anyone thought that you and I—”

  “My dear Miss Swanson—Belle—no one was with us last night in your bedroom.”

  At the approach of Shrew, she went ramrod straight.

  They sat silent, she fidgeting, he wishing he could put his arms around her. Then Shrew shuffled past him back to his wine cellar.

  “No one knows,” Win assured her when they were alone once more.

  “I do and I am—” She cut off her last words when the footman reappeared to sort the silver in the caddy.

  Win wished he could soothe her fears. For now, he said, “I noticed you moved my rook.”

  At the change in topic, she frowned at him. “Sir?”

  Mrs. Wiggins, the housekeeper, walked slowly past them toward her sitting room and office. If the woman was attempting to overhear their conversation, Win was not amused. He remained silent until she closed her door.

  At the snick of the latch, he leaned closer toward Belle. “I wish to play chess formally. With you.”

  “Sir? That’s not proper.”

  What happened last night was so delightful, he needed it again. And again. And if he could not have her lips just yet, why could he not in the meantime enjoy her mind? “More proper than what we did last night.”

  Blushing a bright red, she rounded her eyes at him in warning as the footman descended the stairs…and passed them to head for the kitchen door and the mews.

  Hell, he was going to fire the lot of them just to have a quiet moment alone with her. “Come to the parlor tonight after Daphne is abed. We’ll play a game.”

  Shrew reappeared, his rubbery old face working very hard to suppress a smile.

  Win rose and put down his serviette beside his plate. “We begin at nine.”

  * * *

  Belle’s afternoon had consisted of one frustration after another.

  Lord Cartwell—she must call him that—did appear in his carriage and escort them to the little corner of Hyde Park where Daphne had enjoyed herself yesterday. Belle and he had not had a minute alone in which she could once again refuse his invitation to chess. He’d chosen a bench. They’d sat. Looked suitably cool to each other…or at least, Belle had donned that impersonal demeanor toward him. He’d only raised his brows at her and tucked his chin into his cravat as he smiled at the lift of her chin. Daphne’s acquaintance of yesterday had not appeared with her own governess. And then it began to rain.

  That’s when the afternoon had become more challenging.

  Belle had brought her parasol and his lordship had only his walking stick. She opened it, but alas, the heavy cotton was no match for the downpour.

  “Let’s find some shade,” Cartwell told her, hooking his fingers around her elbow and commandeering her by the arm toward the shelter of a large plane tree.

  “Come, Daphne!” Belle waved the little girl toward her and took her in the curve of her torso.

  His lordship drew his ward near him. Sandwiched between them, Daphne kept dry.

  “I expect Hart to turn the carriage toward us. He knows I hate a deluge.”

  Win—Cartwell did appear to be uncomfortable, huddled down into his frock coat as the wind picked up and the rain lashed the three of them.

  “Are you well?” she asked him, concerned.

  “Rain puts me out. Always hated it. Bothers my leg.”

  “What’s wrong with your leg, sir?” Daphne asked, looking up, her brow wrinkling.

  “I was injured in the war.”

  “Like my papa?” The edge to Daphne’s voice spoke of the horror of losing her guardian. “You will not die of it, will you, sir?”

  “No, my dear. Come closer,” he bid her, one hand on Daphne’s shoulder, the other curling around Belle’s waist. “Don’t get wet.”

  Belle felt the rapture of his care and no, she did not move. She was too warm, too delighted.

  He fixed his gaze on her and as if he knew his affect on her, he shook his head once. With Daphne between them, he did not want her voicing objections that the girl could put to anything other than shelter from the storm.

  Belle admired this man, while her body went to mush from his nearness…and her heart grew mellow with his sweet regard of her and his ward.

  “Did you suffer much with rains during the wars?” Silly of her to ask, but her compassion for his challenges suddenly seemed more important than being proper.

  “I did. We all did. As many men of mine died from exposure to the wind and rain and snow, as died by saber and bombs.” His gaze trained upon the far lane where calèches and coaches began to line up, he winced at his memories. “A soldier’s life is only noble after the battle’s won. Not while waiting for it to begin…or recuperating from its end.”

  “My brother wanted to join to fight the French,” she told him, lost in memories of the fine man her sibling had been. “My grandfather let him go, though he hated the idea of war. He’d been in the fight in the American colonies at Yorktown and he loathed war for the same reasons as you.”

  “Protracted misery. A hazard, yes. One takes from military service the honor of service to country, saving the integrity. After that, you must take your pay, your knowledge of the world and count yourself educated. Sometimes crippled.” He lifted his walking stick and tapped it against the toe of his boot. “But hopefully you’re well enough to walk away and count yourself grateful to go home to the peace you created.”

  “Despite your wound, you seem to walk easily.”

  “It throbs in this weather.”

  “When we return, I’ll make a warm compress for your leg.”

  He looked into her ey
es, his voice bright with humor. “Are you now a nurse as well as governess?”

  “I took care of my grandfather as he aged. His legs cramped. We put warm bricks in thick lined pillows in his bed until he was released of his aches and pains.”

  “I’ll try it.”

  “I’ll be happy to instruct Shrewsbury how to apply it,” she said, eager to give him relief from pain.

  “Shrew has enough work. What if you applied it for me?”

  “Oh, I—”

  He did not grin at her. He seemed instead to…smolder. And by god, did he look to enjoy it.

  “Here’s Hart approaching now. Shall we?” He led her quickly across the lawn toward his carriage, while Daphne skipped ahead, laughing in the rain.

  * * *

  Belle captured his queen with a flourish and an impulsive grin on her beautiful face.

  He pushed over his king with one index finger. “Clever woman. I should know not to play with wizards.”

  “Ah, no wizard, sir.” She was glorious in her victory, her dark brows high with delight, her ebony hair in riotous disarray, glistening in the candlelight. “You might be…shall we say…rusty?”

  Playful, she was half taunting him and half teasing him. Did she know how damn appealing she was? He doubted it. For a countless time, he marveled that in her natural state, she could be so guileless. So alluring. He applauded that. Valued it.

  “A good line man never admits to that!” He pushed aside the hot towels wrapped around a hot brick. The compress she’d put in his chair did alleviate his pain. Pointing to the cart he’d had Shrew bring in before their match began, he asked, “Brandy?”

  Her glee faded. Her sense of rules and propriety stiffened her backbone.

  “Don’t you dare object.”

  She pressed those luscious lips together. “Do sit, sir.”

  “Only if you call me Win. Address me as ‘sir’ and I think it’s my brother you speak to.”

  “Very well. But put that compress bedside your leg once more.” She strolled to the cart and unstoppered the fine bottle of cognac. “The longer you apply it, the greater the relief.”

  “Be liberal with that liquor. We’re celebrating.”

  “Why would that be, sir? Rather…Win.”

  “Your remedy works wonders.”

  “I can drink to that.” She handed him a glass.

  Their fingertips brushed as he took it from her.

  And a frisson shook her ever so slightly. And ever so deeply, he noted his own body’s rising interest.

  “Huzzah,” he said, more in delight that she’d agreed to drink with him, than in remembrance of his military past. “To you, Belle Swanson, and your skills at nursing.”

  Her green eyes rested in his for a long minute until she remembered herself and pulled back. “My lord, regarding my actions last night, I wish to apolo—”

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip.

  “Then I kissed you, Belle. You responded.”

  She looked miserable. “Often.”

  “True.” He swirled the liquor in his glass.

  She caught his hand. “I need this position, Win.”

  “Obviously. You wouldn’t have fought me on your wages if you didn’t need quite a bit of money. So you cannot resign.”

  “After last night, I should think that you want to terminate me.“

  “I do not. If I did, Belle, I would have done that this morning.”

  “Daphne’s presence prevented that.”

  “No, she didn’t. If I had cause, I would have done it anywhere in front of anyone. But I don’t and I won’t.” He took a healthy drink.

  Belle considered her glass.

  “I know you value this position. You needn’t tell me.”

  She made to leave.

  “Please stay. Here me out. I also know you need a considerable amount of money. And you needed it immediately. I was happy to give it to you. What I want to know is, what will you do with all that money I pay you?”

  The look on her face declared she was insulted, but her hand strayed to the pocket in her skirts. Paper crinkled there. “I save my salary for a special project.”

  Ah, yes. Another letter. Win had seen Shrew put it aside after the post arrived earlier. Then the butler had taken it up to the nursery. That constituted her special project, whatever it was. That was her purpose. Was she supporting orphanages and work houses? “How much do you need? In total?”

  “That is very personal.”

  “Yes, I will agree. But I have a vested interest in you. Will you leave us when you have paid for this special project?”

  Her eyes widened. “My project does not depend solely on my funds.”

  On what then? He bit back fright she’d depart and soon. “I must know how long you will remain with us.”

  “It may take me years to rectify.”

  How wonderful for him. How awful for her.

  “Daphne may be a young woman before I gain my—”

  “Your what?”

  She scowled at him. “ I dislike your persistence.“

  “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll stop asking questions.”

  She stared at the floor, the chessboard, him. “I might not achieve my goal.”

  “This injustice that was done to you is one you fight?”

  She hesitated but then said, “Yes.”

  His heart went out to her. He hated those who preyed upon others. “I’d like to help you.”

  “That’s kind of you.” Tears sprang to her eyes, but she sniffed them back. “I cannot accept your help.”

  He leaned over the chessboard toward her, digging his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offering it to her.

  She grabbed it and put it to her cheeks.

  “Why not, Belle? Why can’t you accept it?”

  “Because then I would owe you and I might not be able to repay the money.” She dabbed at her eyes, but her charming face was succumbing to the onslaught of her fears.

  He took her hand. “But you just told me money can not cure the thing. Belle, I could help you without lending you money.”

  Her chin quivered and she pulled away. “Stop.”

  “Do you need a doctor? A banker? A lawyer?”

  “No.” She wiped her tears.

  “‘No’ to the doctor?”

  She nodded.

  “‘No’ to the banker?”

  She hooted in laughter. “Definitely no.”

  “A lawyer then?”

  She stared at him, but tears dribbled down her cheeks.

  “I know lawyers, Belle. Good ones. If you need one, I can recommend a few.”

  “Yours would be too expensive.”

  “I could find one of whom you’d approve.”

  She covered her face in his handkerchief, her voice quaking. “Oh, sir.”

  He couldn’t hold back any longer, but stood and pulled her around into his arms. She was small, delicate, and broken-hearted. There he let her cry.

  But the storm was brief. She regained her presence, pushed backward and shoved his handkerchief into his palm. “Thank you. But I promised myself this…this would not happen again.”

  “But you did not kiss me.”

  “Still—” She blurted out a laugh. “This friendship cannot continue.”

  “Why not?” When I want it, enjoy it. “You need a friend. I wish to be yours.”

  “We are employer and governess. Earl and woman of no standing. Bachelor and spinster together in one house.”

  Her litany of reasons made sense and he admitted she had the right of it. But were any of those of any importance? Life and death, battles and hardships, men maimed and children starving had taught him what mattered in this world and what did not. “And yet, last night, when you were without such social strictures, you kissed me.”

  She lifted her chin. Valiant in the face of the onslaught, she donned her maiden’s armor. “I did.”

  He loved her bravado. �
��Why?”

  “I like you.”

  He smiled, the sunshine of her honesty suffusing him like a rainbow after a storm. “I like you, too. Can we not enjoy each other as we are?”

  “No, we cannot.” She shrank further away from him.

  “Oh Belle, never forget I am a foot soldier of many years, a commander of men, a tactician who understood his opponents.”

  She shivered, clutching her arms. “I am not your foe, Win.”

  He reached out to caress her cheek with gentle fingers. “Never.”

  And she, so startled and so undone, closed her eyes at his touch.

  “Mark me, my dear, I know a feint when I see one. You tell me no with your lips, but beckon me closer with your eyes. Which is it, Belle? Which rules you?”

  “My mind. My reason. And you must accept that.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Her tears welled again as she fought to speak. “Then I must leave you. And I will.”

  As she spun out into the hall, he tracked her and caught her by the wrist.

  She put out a hand to ward him off.

  He gave her a compassionate smile. “I promise you not to cross social lines. In return, you must promise me you won’t leave us.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “In that bargain, I must lie to you. I do not ever wish to.”

  Truth or compliance? He had to let her go. “Very well, then. Good night.”

  She spun, snatching up her skirts and rushing up the stairs, pausing only an instant to look at Caroline and Roderick.

  With trepidation, Win watched her go. What social rules forbade him her company were ones that meant so little to him. She was the only woman he’d met in years who intrigued him intellectually. Who drew him physically.

  Why must he forsake her? Who would deny him? The ton?

  What would they care if he took a comely, educated woman to his name and title? How many men took wives for whom they cared nothing? Treated badly? Confiscated their dowries and flung the money down in gambling hells and whore houses? Why would those abused women sit in judgment of him and a choice he would make based on admiration and affection? They would condemn him because he had the audacity to defy their rules and live as he wished while they wallowed.