The Secret Desires of a Governess (9 page)

But with Lord Brendall, it was as though no other man existed. Maybe, deep down in the recess of her mind, she didn’t wish to be in de pen dent? Or didn’t want to play the meek role of governess? If her sisters knew what thoughts she harbored, they’d lock her away until they could safely marry her off

to a respectable man.

For shame, the only thing she liked the idea of right now was threading her fingers through all his thick dark hair of his and pulling him down to her mouth. Or asking him to slip his hand beneath the material of her bodice and massage her flesh instead of teasing his fingers and knuckles so lightly over what he’d exposed.

She barely knew this man. Could it be that his rough exterior intrigued her? Perhaps his barking, demanding, gruff ways would continue to vex her but his strong, masculine manner would tempt her by night? Maybe she wasn’t meant for a life alone, but for wedded bliss. Though it was doubtful Lord Brendall held any thoughts of wedding her. Bedding her on the other hand . . .

And despite her earlier words, she didn’t dislike him.

What a ninny she was.

Abby pressed her hand atop his, stalling his progress.

So warm and tempting. As much as she would prefer tangling her fingers with his, she had to stop whatever it was he had planned.

Focused on his hand flattened against the top swell of her bosom, she swallowed the lump of regret in her throat and lowered her eyes to steady her gaze on the wrinkled folds of his shirt where they were rolled up his forearms.

He had very nice, strong arms. What would it feel like if he wrapped them tight around her? The outline of muscle was well defined like those on a race horse. She could reach out and trace the sinew . . .

She closed her eyes and let out an unsteady breath. She could not throw caution to the wind. Would not jeopardize her position here. And certainly would not lower herself to playing the role of mistress of the night.

She was worth so much more than that. Her unruly desires would have to be trampled and beaten into the ground.

Before she could push him away, though, he took a step back, sliding his hands from beneath hers. Was he fighting his desires, too?

She had never been so horrible at reading a person. To her, his eyes, his intent could not be made out in his sharp gaze. She saw no anger. No upset. Not even a reflection of the arousal she certainly felt right now. Was the man devoid of all emotion?

“You don’t want to stop,” he said. His voice was like brandy in coffee. Smooth, practiced, and warming . . . just intoxicating enough to loosen inhibitions.

“You do your son a disser vice in your attempt to seduce me.”

She hated to admit the truth now. Not when living in a fantasy world filled with erotic promise held so much appeal.

“Drivel.”

Abby pinched her lips together. He was right. What would she have done had he not moved away from her?

Submit? She hoped she had more control over her body and mind than to do something so foolish.

Walking to the middle of the room, she turned her back to him and tucked her scarf back into the bodice. Had she had her wits about her, she’d have pushed him away before he had started undressing her. But she hadn’t.

She said nothing. Really, what was there to say? She felt gauche. Awkward. Confused by her conflicting feelings to flee when really she wanted nothing more than to allow him any and all the liberties he wished. Any and all liberties she wished, but couldn’t voice aloud.

There had been a thread of need in his voice when he’d told her that he had tried to avoid her— that admittance had been a sharp hook luring her in.

With a deep inhalation and a determined firmness to her stance, she headed toward the door before

she could change her mind.

She made it close, but didn’t quite escape before Lord Brendall gently grasped her by the hand and spun her around to face him. She didn’t need coaxing. She allowed her body to be pulled flush up against his. He was like a blazing fire down the front of her. So hot, she melted against that warmth and swayed more firmly into his grasp.

Gone was the frigidness she’d hoped to display and in its place a wantonness she had never felt toward any other man. Definitely not for any of the men who had attempted to court her in London, nor any of the men who had sequestered her on a darkened balcony to steal a kiss.

Lord Brendall was none of those men.

He was brash and unkind.

Ill mannered and cross.

She should despise him for those traits alone, yet she couldn’t. She also sensed him to be a caring father, a man who could take advantage of her in his position but held back. Why did he hold back? If he wanted what she wanted, why stop himself in his own domain? Because he was a decent man under all that gruffness, that was why.

And what did it say about her character that she so badly wanted him to take? And take. And take.

When Lord Brendall lowered his mouth to hers, there was a spark, like a jolt of lightning, hitting her dead center and setting her heart to a frantic pace. She moaned as the impact of his mouth to hers forced her lips open.

He did not coax, did not tease. He took. And before now, this was not a liberty she’d given to any man. Everything in the past had always been done on her terms. But she hadn’t pulled away, she’d invited his actions. She wanted him to do so much more.

Curse her stupidity to hell and back, she didn’t want to protest or deny him anything at the moment.

Her fingers curled over the bulging muscles in his upper arms. He was tightly strung beneath her fingers, whereas she was clay in his hands.

His tongue slid into her mouth, playing and wrapping around hers. Unsure how she should respond, she wrestled her tongue against his. Indulging when she ought to think twice about what she did with her employer.

Now that she’d done the unthinkable, she couldn’t stop herself from taking a little bit more of what Lord Brendall offered. She wanted a taste of the forbidden. A taste of him and everything he offered her in the moment.

Her arms rose of their own accord, curling around his neck, forcing her to stand on her toes so he could better assault her mouth and she his.

Lord Brendall did not remain idle, either. One hand tangled beneath the chignon at the back of her head, the other spanned over her back, rubbing in small hard circles, drawing her closer despite the fact that she was already plastered as tightly as she could be against him.

The friction of their bodies rubbing together made her all too aware of the state of arousal he was in. The state of arousal she was in. A heavy dampness flooded her core.

Her body ached. The material of her drawers pressing intimately to her wasn’t near enough to the pressure she desperately craved. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, rub against him. Feel his body sliding over hers as he eased both their needs.

Obviously her senses had left her the moment Lord Brendall laid his hands upon her. How far she was willing to take this was anyone’s guess. Thankfully, that question would remain unanswered, for a knock sounded at the door.

Quick as a bucket of cold water thrown on them, she tore away from Lord Brendall. His expression was dark, his carriage tenser than it had been moments ago. She pressed her hand to her mouth; the sting of his lips and beard lingered. She didn’t want to lose that feeling. She wanted more.

He stared at her and silently mouthed, fix your dress and hair, then waited for her to put herself to

rights. She smoothed back her hair and tucked the loose strands back into the pins.

“Come,” he called just as she gave a hard yank at the creases in the front of her skirts, smoothing them out.

She put her shoulders back and held her head high as though nothing was out of place when Martha entered the study. The older woman looked her over from head to toe very quickly— had Abby not been so sensitive to her surroundings right now, she might not have noticed the strange regard, one of pure malice, as though she shouldn’t be sequestered in his lordship’s study alone— then Martha focused on Lord Brendall.

Martha’s entry gave her the perfect opportunity to escape.

Abby cleared her throat and dipped her head. “As we have concluded our discussion on your son’s curriculum, my lord, I’ll not bother you a second more.”

Abby did not wait for him to respond. She did not look up to Martha, either. Could Martha guess they had really been occupied doing in the study? Certainly not. That was impossible.

She left quickly without looking back, thinking that she must do better to avoid Lord Brendall in the future. She could not trust herself around him. What if they hadn’t been interrupted? What would have happened? How far would she have allowed their intimacies to advance?

Once in her room, she locked the door behind her and pocketed the key. Lord Brendall would not be making any nightly visits to her room. Not that he’d be so bold as to do so. Not that she’d admit to herself she hoped he would take that kind of liberty.

She groaned on realizing her feelings were in conflict with her hunger for something of a more carnal nature.

She had to keep away from him. She wanted to run to him too desperately. She wanted to experience more of what she’d only had a small taste of tonight. That small piece of plea sure he’d shared with her had unfurled a beast inside her . . . one hungry for more than the meager sampling she’d gotten.

Throwing herself down on her bed, Abby pressed her hand to her erratically beating heart and closed her eyes on a deep inhalation. She pressed her fingers to her kiss-swollen lips.

Why did she want his kiss? Why did she want another?

For that matter, why couldn’t she think about anything but seeing him again?

She couldn’t focus her every thought on her employer like this. She had to forget about Lord Brendall’s mouth on hers. Forget about his body pressed against hers, making her feel so many things a lady shouldn’t want. Making her questions her refusal to ever marry.

Letting out a noise of frustration, she pounded her closed fists to the bed.

The only important thing she should be focused on was young Jacob. He needed all the help she could give him.

And she’d not let her longing for Lord Brendall deter and distract her from that goal.

The prince set out to regions far and fought in the harshest of wars to appease his heart.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Abby looked for the children’s fairy- tale book she had left on the table yesterday after working with Jacob. At least she thought she’d left it on the desk. Perhaps someone else had borrowed it? She checked all the shelves in the library with no luck in locating the old book of fables.

Rifling through the drawers on the desk, she still came up empty- handed.

She stood up on seeing Lord Brendall and his son walking through the open library door. He walked ahead of his father today. Maybe yesterday had made Jacob realize that his lessons were worthwhile, even a bit fun.

Abby nodded to his lordship, then did her best to ignore him because her thoughts seemed to belong wholly to him since waking this morning.

Last night, sleep had not come as she had tossed and turned in her lone bed, wanting. Wanting something she understood the basic fundamentals for but did not understand why she was so desperate to explore with this particular, more- than- aggravating man.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, then the connection snapped the second he turned to leave the room. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t greet her. It was probably better that way. To feel any hurt by his disregard was silly beyond reason. Did he regret their actions yesterday?

She said nothing to his retreating form, not even giving him a good morning. After her sleepless night, she’d resolved to check her yearnings for an inappropriately intimate relationship with Lord Brendall and focus on the task at hand.

Jacob needed a strong teacher to help him with his studies. She’d not abandon him now that she knew how much he needed her guidance.

Smiling down at the boy, she said, “Good morning, young master.”

Jacob screwed up his nose and scowled down at the floor, kicking at a bump in the carpet. “Good morning, Miss Hallaway.”

She beckoned him over with a motion of her hand.

With one final kick to the offending carpet, Jacob came around to the desk.

So Jacob still didn’t want to come for his lessons. She let out a long exhalation. Perhaps the classroom was not an ideal place to start enjoying his studies?

“Have you seen the fairy- tale book I read from yesterday?”

“No.”

“Such a shame to have misplaced it.” She sighed. “I had hoped to bring it with us. We’ll have to look for it later.

I propose a simple lesson today.”

“I don’t want any lessons.”

“You haven’t a choice in the matter. You will be the Earl of Brendall someday, and therefore you must learn all you can to fulfill that role. Besides, I believe you’ll enjoy our day together.”

Jacob turned his head and looked up at her with disbelief in his eyes. She grinned and walked around the desk so she could kneel in front of him.

“As you are a native to the grounds, I suggest we take a historical expedition.”

His eyes sparked with interest and his expression quickly changed from a scowl to one filled with boyish curiosity. That was much better, Abby thought.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, I’m sure there are a great many things about this old castle that you know and I don’t. How about you play the teacher this morning, and I will help you with your letters in the afternoon?”

It was an excellent compromise, and Abby hoped it would soften the child’s feelings toward learning and maybe toward her. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse the offer. However,

before he could protest, she grabbed up her bonnet and started out of the room.

Thankfully, he followed.

“Where are we going?”

Abby turned and looked down at her charge. “Wherever you wish to lead. It is your morning to teach me something. You have much to teach me since I know nothing about the castle.”

He scratched at his head.

“Is this some sort of trick?” he asked earnestly.

She grasped his hand, saying, “You’ll never know if you don’t come away from the library.”

He pulled his hand from hers once they were outside.

Feeling a bite in the air, Abby realized she should have taken a warmer shawl with her, but she’d not turn back now. Tying her bonnet under her chin, she waited for Jacob to pick a direction. He was still scratching his head, looking about them as if deciding which path was best to take.

It was then she noticed that his hair was washed, his face clean, and his clothes not smudged with dirt. She had relayed to Lydia the previous day that she wanted the young master better tended to. It seemed her request had not fallen on deaf ears. It pleased her immensely to know she had an ally in at least one other member of the house hold.

She waited patiently and was rewarded when Jacob finally walked toward the keep. She strode by his side, keen to hear what he would say about her new home. He didn’t disappoint, either. He took her up to the parapet wall. The walkway looked to go on for at least a mile. Some stones had fallen over the years and littered the path, but the walkway was mostly intact.

“The castle has been here forever. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Thomas told me there were lots of wars here. But no one could ever take the castle. It’s got a look-out over on the sea, so no one can invade by water. And the rocks below make climbing the wall impossible.”

Abby looked over the parapet wall. It was a long drop.

“Very true and intuitive of you to make such a clever observation.”

That earned her a smile.

The village was about half a mile off to the south.

There were only three or four dozen houses in the village.

Wind rolled over the tall grasses stretched between the castle and the village below, making it look like a sea of brown wheat beneath them. Jacob stood on a fallen stone next to her so he could better see above the wall.

Over the years, tall deciduous trees had grown along the base of the rocky wall, adding to the formidable appearance. A dirt road curved around the castle and into the inner grounds. She followed it with her gaze as far as her eye could see then focused back down the wall of the parapet.

“It looks very hard to climb. I can’t imagine it being an easy feat for anyone to take the castle.”

“But it did fall to one of our relatives,” Jacob piped in, his excitement evident in telling her the rich history of his home. “Father said it was two hundred years ago that the Wrights came here.”

“I daresay the Wrights were a formidable family and not easily defeated.” She turned and looked to the inner bailey. The sea frothed in a black- and- white mass in the north, seabirds rode the invisible current of the wind, and shags dove from the sky and into the water to catch fish. “The view is spectacular. I don’t think I’ve seen a more magnificent sight.”

Jacob turned to see what she watched on the seaside.

“We’ll have to walk the dunes someday soon. Before winter has a chance to set in,” she suggested.

“Father doesn’t like me going down to the water.”

“Well, you’ll be with me. And there is a great deal to be learned about the animals that call this place home.”

“I’ve been down by the water. Father said not without someone to go with me. He just prefers me not to walk there.”

Which made perfect sense to her. Lord Brendall was more doting and protective of those he loved than she had given him credit for.

“Now you’ve someone to go with. I’m afraid you’re stuck with my company for an indeterminate amount of time.”

He looked at her strangely after her teasing comment.

Did he not believe her?

As they walked the remainder of the parapet, Jacob talked animatedly about the wars that had happened against the castle before his family had taken their seat here. There was a section of the wall tumbled down on the south side. Abby pulled Jacob away from it, forgetting that he probably knew where not to walk better than anyone.

After they stepped carefully over the crumbled rocks, small bits of stone tumbled and bounced to a ledge about ten feet below.

The damaged parapet wall was far more dangerous than the fallen wall on the west end of the property that Lord Brendall and Thomas were busy repairing. Why hadn’t the parapet wall been fixed? Especially since the boy made a habit of walking up here. Though it wasn’t her place to suggest anything, she would point out the danger of the walk to Lord Brendall and ask if it could be re-stored.

They exited at the opposite end, taking a set of stairs that spilled out into the stable yard.

“Where are we going next, my young historian?”

That comment got her a lopsided grin. The innocence in his gaze had her stumbling a step. Jacob was akin to a little man, never child- like in his outward disposition.

But in that moment, she saw the child beneath: a child who yearned for the companionship of an adult, one who wanted nothing more in the moment than to be a child.

With his hands in his pockets, Jacob brought his shoulders up in a shrug. “What else did you want to see?” he asked.

She took his arm in hers, and led him around the yard and toward the old churchyard. Surely there was a great deal of history to be learned there. They had another hour till lunch and she’d not hide away indoors when the day was finally warming.

When her feet edged toward the tall, uncut grasses, Jacob yanked his arm away from hers. “We can’t go in there.”

Taken aback by his sudden refusal to explore the grounds, she went down on her haunches so she was level with Jacob. “I’m rather curious to know more about this place.”

“Father said to stay clear of this place. It’s where the ghosts are the worst.”

“You think the castle has ghosts?” It was hard for Abby not to chuckle.

Jacob nodded his head vehemently. “Plenty of ghosts in the catacombs. Sometimes you can hear them on a day like this, but mostly you hear them when the tide is high.”

“I had no idea there were catacombs here! As fascinating as it sounds, we’ll have to save that story for another day.” She stood and held her hand out. “This is an old church, is it not?” At his nod, she continued, “There won’t be any ghosts on consecrated ground.”

He shook his head this time, and his eyes were as round as tea saucers.

“I, for one, want to see what the inscription on the bell reads. Do you know why the bell is lying in the grass?

Why it’s never been righted? Do you think it fell in a long-ago battle?”

She hiked up her skirts to aid her in walking through the tall grasses. She hadn’t thought to explore the old church grounds before now for some reason. It had seemed like a sacred untouched place and she hadn’t wanted to disturb it, afraid to ruin the wildness it had sprouted into over the years.

“Father will have my head if we go in there. You can’t go, Miss Hallaway. Please . . .”

He tried to grasp onto her hand, but she was already steadily moving forward. Jacob remained in

the clearing, just on the other side of the tall grasses.

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” The only way to prove that for fact was to show him, she figured. “I promise.”

She stepped toward the lime- crusted bell, her fingers outstretched. The old bronze was cold and rough beneath her hand, and she stroked over the long- faded inscription, barely making out the words coramdeo and nothing more.

How many battles had this very bell gonged through, warning the inhabitants of an imminent battle, warning townsfolk of an incoming enemy from the seaside?

“Have you ever touched this church bell?” Abby walked around the bell, skimming her bare fingers over the alloy as she went. “It’s almost as if I can hear it ringing as it once used to.”

She closed her eyes and trailed her fingers over the cool rough surface as she inhaled the sea air deep into her lungs. She loved the sound of church bells.

When he didn’t respond, she looked to where she’d left him standing on the cropped grass. All the color had drained from his face, making him look a phantom next to the brown- and- green weedy field she’d stepped into.

Yanking her hand away from the rusted bronze, she headed back toward her charge.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a bell long fallen. It probably fell in one of the battles you told me about.”

Holding out her hand, she waited to see if he would take it. So odd to see a child deathly afraid of anything, especially something that was a part of his home. When he placed his small sweaty palm against hers, she grasped it gently, and beckoned him with a nod of her head to step into the tall grasses with her. He came reluctantly.

“Father says to stay away from here. Says it’s haunted and the ghosts want revenge.”

She gave him a skeptical look. Why would Lord Brendall want to instill fear in his own child? Make the boy afraid in his own home? That didn’t make any sense to her. A home was meant to be a safe place. A refuge. That empathy she’d felt yesterday swelled in her breast. While she was here, Lord Brendall would have to stop making up tales to scare his son.

“Are you telling me you’ve never been curious to explore this section of the castle grounds?”

She didn’t walk toward the bell again, but toward the remains of the stone walls where the church once stood.

There was no feeling of malevolence here. No fear. Just a solemn peace in the beautiful surroundings.

“Why are you to avoid this part of the castle and not the fallen wall on the parapet, or the ruins of the attic in the main house?”

“I want to go back up to the house,” he replied instead of answering.

“It’s not so frightening now that you’re in here, is it?”

When he didn’t answer, Abby led them away from the sacred grounds of the church. She would not add to his fear by forcing him to stay.

“Go on up to the castle,” she encouraged him. “I’ll meet you in the library after you’ve had something to eat.”

He seemed reluctant to leave her side, despite wanting to steer clear of the old church. He looked from the main house, back to their surroundings, and then to her.

How endearing that the child was worried a ghost might cause her any harm. Perhaps she’d already won the boy over.