Kissed at Midnight (3 page)

By the time he’d returned to
the house, he was chilled and a tad annoyed. Mrs Pepperwhite opened the door
cautiously and her eyes lit up as they skimmed his person. He let his jaw
tighten.

“All is well, Mrs
Pepperwhite. I suggest you return to your bed now.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,
Mr Avery.” She cinched her coat about her waist. “How are things? The child
isn’t bothering you?”

“Not at all.”

Mrs Pepperwhite’s assertions
that he needed a woman to help look after the child never failed to rankle him
and it looked as though she was about to repeat those beliefs. He feared she
hoped he might suddenly decide she was the woman he needed to help him look
after her. Not likely. He might be sleep-deprived but he wasn’t mad yet.

He ushered her out before
she could talk any longer or delay his first good night’s sleep in months. When
he returned upstairs, he popped his head into Elsie’s room and assured Miss
Davis all was well.

“Oh good.” Her radiant smile
beamed through the night like a lighthouse directing ships away from rocks.

Except he felt very much
like he was being drawn to danger instead of being warned away.

“Good night then.”

“Good night,” she said
softly.

As he eased back into bed,
her enticing voice whirled around his head. The need for a good stiff drink
burned through his veins. He’d been considering a trip to the local gentleman’s
club after Miss Davis had settled in but he might even go tomorrow. Anything to
relieve the stress of the past few months. He had barely seen a soul since
Elsie had come to him, and it was no doubt addling his wits. A little
indulgence and he’d be back to feeling himself.

And he wouldn’t be thinking
about his ridiculously attractive governess in any more inappropriate ways.

He hoped.

Ivy jerked awake and held her breath for several moments.
What had awoken her? A thud sounded from the hallway. Her heart echoed that
sound, seeming incredibly heavy and sickening. She might have only been in Mr
Avery’s house for two nights but she had become accustomed to waking regularly
already and found herself awake at the slightest sound from the baby. But that
was not the baby.

Their visitor from yesterday
perhaps? He’d said it was one of the neighbours.

There was another knock and
then... was Mr Avery singing? She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to her door to
press her ear to it. Sure enough a low male voice greeted her.

“Doo-be-doo-be-doo.   Home! 
Sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home. Dum-de-dum.”

Ivy pressed a hand to her
mouth to stifle a giggle. He was foxed, surely? He had informed her he would be
gone for the evening, but she hadn’t expected him to be drinking. A business
meeting of some kind perhaps. She sighed. She still knew so little about her
employer. He was hardly the sort for small talk but curiosity burned brightly
inside her. If she was to live with the man, she needed to know more.

Then came a series of thumps,
like several staggering footsteps and a crash. Something had shattered.

“Oh bugger,” came Mr Avery’s
voice, muffled by the door.

She drew back and
contemplated the door handle. He had broken something, had he not? If it was
the large vase on the console table—as she suspected it was—it had probably
scattered all over the floor. He might hurt himself.

Drawing the door open
quickly before she could change her mind, she took a moment to let her eyes
adjust to the dim light of the hallway. The curtains hanging from the window at
the end of the long corridor had not been drawn and cast enough light for her
to spot Mr Avery on his knees, his back to her, trying to pick up all the
shards of the blue and white vase.

He cursed—a sharp, rough
curse that Ivy had never heard from a man so impeccably dressed. Her eyes
widened at the coarse word. He lifted his hand in front of his face. She spied
the dark well of blood on his finger and moved closer to tap his shoulder.

“What in the—” Mr Avery
bolted to his feet and stumbled towards her.

She cried out and held out
her palms to protect herself and prevent him from falling. His weight made her
stagger back several paces before he righted himself and turned to view her.
Even in the dim light, she saw his quizzical expression, the deep dip between
his brows as he viewed her.

“Miss... Davis...” he
slurred. “Whatever are doing out here? You do know...” He lowered his voice as
though he was confiding some great secret, “that you are wearing only your
nightclothes.”

“I am aware of that, Mr
Avery, thank you.”

He took a step back and eyed
her, the movement almost sending him toppling the other way so she gripped his
arms.

“I say,” he said, though he
did not sound offended, rather more... excited? Some excitement of her own
thrummed through her body at the feel of those muscles undulating against her
fingers. He must have removed his jacket downstairs.

“You’re an attractive woman,
Mish Davis, but... but nevertheless, you are the nurshmaid. No, the governess.
Or some such.” He waved a hand, drawing attention to the cut on his finger.

“Governess,” she said,
unsure now why the distinction was so important. Governess seemed respectable. Somehow,
it didn’t remind her that she had dropped her dreams for the moment in pursuit
of money. Plenty of well-bred young ladies became governesses. Ignoring his
comment on her attractiveness, promising herself she wouldn’t mull over the
words later, she urged him towards his bedroom.

It took them several
stumbling steps to get them into his room and deposited on the bed. She fumbled
for the tinder box on the fireplace and lit a candle. Then she used it to get a
lamp burning and turned up the wick so it glowed brightly enough for her to see
the damage on his finger.

Her breath clogged her
throat when she faced him. His room was decorated similarly to her room, in
shades of burgundy, only the pattern on the wallpaper was bolder, more
masculine than that in her room with sharp lines dissecting the floral
patterns. It reminded her that she was in a man’s room.

Her master’s room.

And with the tingling
sensation of having been pressed to his side still running up and down her
body, she eyed her master. One leg hung off the bed, an arm was sprawled above
his head. His chest rose and fell against that pristine white shirt.

It looked as though his
waistcoat hadn’t been buttoned properly but she recalled he had been perfectly
turned out when he had left. Had someone taken it off? A woman perhaps? The
oddest stab of something uncomfortable struck her. He was a bachelor. Of course
he had to take his pleasure somewhere, and it certainly wasn’t any of her
business.

 Ivy lifted the lamp and
strode over to his bedside to place it on the table next to the bed. She took a
moment to eye his peaceful expression. His lips were parted and that scowl she
was slowly getting used to was gone. But the crease between his brows remained.
 What caused that permanent line even in sleep?

A smile teased her lips as
she allowed her gaze to skim over his mouth and features once more. His dark
lashes were thick against the harsh planes of his cheeks. A fluttering
sensation resided in her chest. She’d never paid much attention to men—her
focus had been on singing—but this one was certainly one of the most handsome
she had ever seen.

“Mr Avery,” she called
softly. He didn’t stir so she tried again, “Mr Avery.”

She dared not speak too
loudly for fear of waking Elsie or worse—Mrs Cartwright. For an older lady, she
seemed to have excellent hearing. She had already complained several times
about the time it had taken Ivy to drag herself out of bed to tend to the child
the previous night. The disturbed sleep wasn’t much fun but her previous
lodgings had hardly been the quietest.

Ivy darted a look at the
door as she eased herself down onto the bed beside her master. The housekeeper could
have no reason to come upstairs but if she caught her in the master’s room—on
his bed no less—she could be in quite a pickle.

“Mr—” A snore escaped his
mouth and she shook her head. “Oh dear, Mr Avery. You are the one who is in a
pickle I think. Or more likely utterly foxed.”

Leaning over, she went to
grasp his hand to study the damage and froze when he grunted and rolled towards
her. His arm landed near her backside on the bed and his head was almost on her
lap. Ivy attempted to take his hurt hand from behind her but he wriggled it out
of her grasp and released a low mumble. She gasped when his hand curved around
her backside. She wore only her chemise and her drawers. Mr Avery’s warm hand
fairly burned through the cotton, feeling as though she would wake up with a
handprint on her bottom.

She twisted to yank his hand
away, only to end up with his head pressed against the side of her breast. Mr
Avery nuzzled his face against her breast and she stilled. She should draw
away, press him back, but for some reason her body refused to cooperate. Hands
to his head, she found his hair to be soft and thick.

Oh dear. One part of her
body seemed to be working—her fingers. They twined into the softness, so at
odds with the rest of him, from his stern features to what she suspected was a
body that rivalled the statues of London. He released a muffled groan against
her and she heard him inhale deeply.

“Smell so good,” he
murmured.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
She was going to lose her job not two days into it if she was not careful. Her
nipples were tight and hard. Lush heat rolled through her as he burrowed closer
and his hand splayed across her back to hold her to him.

A creak from somewhere else
in the house startled her into action. She jerked back and clasped his wrist to
force his hand back. At least in his foxed state he wasn’t particularly strong.
She had no doubt if he really wanted to keep hold of her, he could, but had he
been sober, she was positive he’d want nothing to do with the governess.  A man
like Mr Avery likely enjoyed the company of women less... interesting-looking
than her. Blonde ones with soft features and a delicate manner.

He rolled onto his back, a
grin cracking his face. His eyes were at half-mast and she wasn’t sure what
amused him. Recalling her original reason for being on the bed, she grasped his
hand and inspected the cut. It had already stopped bleeding so couldn’t be
deep. Ivy rolled her eyes to herself. All this for a tiny scratch. At least he
was so foxed he would never recall any of it.

She came to her feet and
checked the jug of water beside his bed. He would need some fresh water. She
wasn’t one for drinking but her father had enjoyed a tipple and always needed a
lot to drink after a night of indulgence.

“I’ll get you a drink, sir”
she told him, though she knew better than to expect a response and wasn’t even
sure why she used the formality at this point.

“Playing hard to get, eh?”
he murmured as she hastened out the room to refill the jug from the bathroom.

While she filled the jug,
she allowed herself a smile. She wasn’t sure she knew how to play hard to get.
She supposed the men her mother had introduced her to might think she did, but
she had genuinely never been interested in male of the species. They were dull,
tiresome creatures, who either feigned interest in her in the hopes of getting
her in their bed or for her money. Not that she had any now but her parents
did. They might not be titled, but her father was richer than even some of the
most titled of men.

Mr Avery wasn’t tiresome
though. Indeed, he had showed little interest in her. He was quite endearing
when he was foxed though, and not at all like the stern employer she thought he
might be. Likely he’d be back to scowling and seeming serious indeed tomorrow.

Jug in hand, she returned to
his room. She was halfway across the plush carpet before she had registered
what he was doing. He had somehow dragged himself off the bed and was busy
divesting himself of his shirt, his back to her. She spotted his waistcoat
discarded on the floor by the bed, and his cufflinks lay atop the dark blue
fabric. She wanted to scoop them up and ensure they were safe, but he was
already thrusting his shirt from his shoulders.

Ivy gulped. Apparently the
carpet had turned to glue for she could not seem to move her feet as rolling
muscle came into view. The lines of his arms were stark and strong. Each
movement revealed the strength sitting behind skin that glowed golden in the
lamplight.

He turned then, a lazy brow
rising as he spotted her. He didn’t seem to care she was there. “Give me a hand
will you?”

All that muscle. That wide
chest. Oh dear Lord. She released a squeak and her feet became unglued. She
scurried across the room, placed down the jug and retreated, her face hot. Part
of her wanted to ensure he got to bed safely but this was too much. Ivy flew
out of the door and slammed it shut behind her.

As she paused to take a
breath and press a hand to her hammering heart, she heard his annoyed snort.
Then there were footsteps and the creaking of his bed.

Good, he was going to sleep.

She lifted both hands to her
cheeks. Her second day as a governess and she had already seen her employer
half-naked. She would not be able to look at him without recalling the image of
his chest and those ripples that led down his stomach, or that slight
scattering of dark crisp hair that covered his chest. And the little path of it
that vanished into his trousers.

“Oh dear,” she murmured to
herself. How did she get herself into these situations?

Sucking in a long breath,
she drew her shoulders straight and headed back to her room. He wouldn’t
remember. Tomorrow they would be back to master and servant. She slipped into
the cool, crisp sheets of her bed and sighed. If only she could forget so
easily...