The Secret Desires of a Governess (15 page)

She probably heard the rapid beat of his heart where her ear pressed to his chest. If her eyes were open, she’d know exactly what kind of state he was in. How could a man not be in that kind of state when a woman he desired curled up trustingly next to him? She was all soft and so very feminine.

Her fingers did not remain idle. She drew little circles around a button halfway down his shirt. How

he wished her hand would move lower.

Shit.

He couldn’t remain still for much longer. His hands couldn’t keep from exploring her form, either. His left one caressed along her side. He was only human. A man with a larger appetite than normal. But then, what was normal when a woman hadn’t graced the castle for nearly seven years? Hadn’t been in his bed and stayed the night for even longer than that.

He should tell her to stop her ministrations. To roll away from him so he could get out of the bed without jarring her injury. But there she was. Obviously aware of his state, for she continued to tease him by drawing those little circles over his stomach.

The doctor would be here in another two hours at most. A lot could be done in that time. Although he wondered if she would regret anything they indulged in. Why else would she have avoided him after the time they’d spent together in his study? Simple fact of the matter was, why tamp down her desire this past week if she wanted him as thoroughly as he wanted her?

Without a doubt, they’d be explosive in bed. He knew that.

His conscience chose that moment to pinch him sharply.

He started sliding away from her as gently as he could. He couldn’t be in her company. It would be impossible to stay sane considering the state he was in.

She wrapped her arm more firmly around his middle, stopping him from leaving the bed.

“Stay,” she said again.

“If I stay . . .” He shook his head and thought carefully on his words. She didn’t deserve him being snappish. Or angry. It wasn’t her fault he was hard as a stone and ready to impale himself between her sweet thighs given the slightest indication that she wanted it.

What should he say? That he’d take advantage of her if she requested his presence for much longer? That he’d try to get her out of her clothes? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his damn hands to himself?

“You know where this is leading,” was the best response he could come up with.

“Stay,” she whispered in that husky voice of hers. “Let me relieve you.”

The offer had his prick throbbing and semen pushing out the tip. What was it about this woman? Would he ever know? Would he ever figure her out?

What kind of cad did it make him that he settled back down beside her? That he took her palm and pressed it against his groin and thrust into her palm?

One of these days, he’d get her out of her clothes and all her fine underthings and enjoy the soft give of her body beneath his. Not today, though. Not only because she was injured but because the chances of them righting themselves quickly should someone interrupt would be slight.

This would suffice, and he could get his hands on her pretty little cunny while she stroked his cock.

Her hand slid over his cloth- clad erection in even, torturously slow strokes. It wasn’t nearly enough. With a flick of his fingers, the fastenings on his trousers parted. Marginally better, even though his smalls still covered him.

Careful about not jarring her injured ankle, Elliott hiked up her skirts and found the slit in her underthings. His fingers met with moisture.

“Shit,” he muttered, then groaned as her hand slipped beneath the material, keeping them from skin- to- skin contact.

He couldn’t wait to have the little minx. Ride them both to oblivion and back. To night. When the castle was settled in to bed, he’d come to her room. Ask her if she truly intended to avoid him? Ask her if she truly didn’t want him. If she said no, then they could no longer deny what they both so badly wanted.

Wrapping his free hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her face in closer. He needed to taste her lips.

Nibble at their pink plumpness. Now.

She rolled onto her hip, managing to keep her left foot elevated— he checked to be sure he hadn’t displaced her leg before he lay siege to her mouth.

She tasted of cinnamon and apples—the tart he’dwatched her nibble on earlier. Her lips were warm and supple beneath his. Tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue, he stole into her mouth as her hand flanged over the crown of his penis. Their tongues lazily tangled in a slow loving.

“You make me crazy for your touch.”

“I am crazy for yours,” she responded.

With the glide of one finger inside her sweet cunny, he stroked the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs with his thumb. Her cream coated all his fingers. He was desperate to taste her again, but thought it better he not get too lost in the moment. He stroked her harder, wanting her to find an end to their mutual insanity.

The faster his hand moved, the faster hers stroked over his prick. Her motions were jerky, unpracticed. Endearing. Her thighs clamped around his hand, squeezing him closer, making it impossible to pull away without a harsh yank. He had no intentions of stopping. Her hand tightened and slowed on his cock as she came gradually to her crisis.

He pumped his finger through the slickness of her cunt and kept his mouth busy tasting of her lips and tongue as she rode out her end on his hand, her pelvis moving of its own accord, milking him for every bit of plea sure. As the thrust of her hips slowed, her hand moved again along the heavy length of his cock. He put his hand over hers to increase the tempo.

Feeling his end coming, he grabbed the thin blanket folded on the lower portion of the bed, then pushed her hand away to pump his seed into the wadded- up material.

Head dropping back onto the pillow, he took a deep breath as the final squirt of semen pumped out of him.

Well, damn, if that wasn’t the shortest race to the finish line he’d ever had.

Elliott sat up, swinging his feet down to the floor, and fi xed his smalls and trousers so he was presentable again.

He’d never done that with anyone. Sex and other intimacies, yes, but this . . .

When he stood and faced Abigail, she was pushing down her skirts. He walked over to the other side of the bed, helped her smooth the heavily pleated linen over her legs, and placed the ice- filled cloth back on her ankle, since it had fallen to the floor in their haste.

She did not meet his gaze. Was she embarrassed by her behavior or by committing such an intimate act with him?

He said nothing. Not because it wasn’t an appropriate time, but because he didn’t know what to say. Words often escaped him. Not so surprising that they did at a time like this. That shouldn’t matter; he was more of an observer, never much of a talker. No sense in changing that habit now. Hell, he’d talked to her more than any single person in the span of his life, aside from his son.

Walking over to the window, he propped it open for a moment. The scent of what they’d just done was in the air, and he’d not have anyone judging her for his inability to keep his hands off her. Although she seemed to have as much a problem keeping her hands to herself as he did.

Perhaps that reason alone was why she’d avoided him?

Slamming the window tight against the cool air outdoors, he walked over to the mantel and tossed more wood onto the dying fire.

Intelligent woman that she was, she made no comment as he brooded while staring at the flames. What did all this mean for them? Dare he hope that this was an invitation to her bed to night?

Not willing to put voice to those questions, for fear of her rejecting him again, he walked back to the bed, wadded up the blanket, and stuck it under his arm as he made his way to the door. Turning to her one final time, he caught her confused look at his hasty retreat.

“I’ll get rid of this”— he motioned to the material in his arms—“and see if the doctor’s arrived.”

The doctor wasn’t set to arrive for more than hour. He was running from her. Escaping her because he didn’t know what to say.

She nodded once and turned her face toward the window. Was she uncomfortable with what they’d just done?

Hell if he knew what was playing in her mind right now.

Damnable woman. Why did she have to be so difficult to figure out? Why should he care to figure her out at all?

It did him no good standing here. So he left her, intent on washing the blanket in his room and then waiting for the doctor downstairs so he wouldn’t have to face her quite yet.

The king laughed on shutting out the old woman, thinking her a fool, for he already had a son and knew his family would live for generations to come.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Someone had meant to harm her today. She had been lucky to escape from the fall with only a minor injury.

Had the person on the parapet with her intentionally pushed her? Maybe they’d gone for help, or— fearing they’d really done her lasting damage— they’d fled and were still hiding.

She snorted at the realization that she sounded like a witless heroine in a gothic novel.

Shoving more pillows behind her, she leaned back on the cushioned softness. The throbbing in her ankle wasn’t nearly as bad now that the ice had brought down the worst of the swelling. Then again, perhaps she couldn’t feel the pain because an altogether different kind of throbbing pulsated through her limbs.

What a ninny she was for daring to be so forward with Elliott. Clearly, her mind had gone by the wayside and been trampled on by passersby. She had not one whit of sense left. She’d invited him into her bed, so that she could . . . oh, dear Lord. So that she could do what she did!

She groaned and covered her face. He probably thought her a great hussy. She’d gone and embarrassed herself worse than before. Much worse. What was wrong with her? Every time she was with him, she lost all her good sense. She did things that people simply did not indulge in just for the sake of indulgence.

When a knock came at the door, she didn’t even attempt to sit up and greet her guest. She didn’t want to put on a smile and pretend that everything was all right with her. It wasn’t. She couldn’t get Elliott out of her head. Out of her thoughts. Her dreams. He was firmly embedded in everything she did.

Her actions today made it so much worse. How could she be so stupid?

“What have you gone and done to yourself, miss?”

Lydia clucked her tongue in disapproval. She had brought fresh linens with her. “Lord Brendall asked me to keep you company till the sawbones arrives.”

Was that so he wasn’t tempted to find his way back to her chambers? To delight in more wicked things they ought avoid?

“What happened?” Lydia asked.

“Lord Brendall did not tell you?”

“No. You know how he is now that you’ve been here the last couple of weeks. That man’s not one for talking.”

“You’re right in that regard.” But why did Elliott have to keep her fall a secret? Did he think one of the staff was involved in foul play?

“I was foolish. Out before the sun had fully risen and tripped over some rocks. Lord Brendall saw me fall, so he helped me back to the house. I couldn’t stand on my own two feet.”

She would have to synchronize her story with Elliott’s later. Hopefully he hadn’t said anything as of yet to the others in the house. Her lies were minimal, so they’d be easy to keep straight.

“You have to be more careful, miss.” Lydia shook her head like a mother reprimanding her child, though they were of the same age. “It’s an old castle, and you aren’t familiar with the way of it yet. Even I find new facets to the grounds I’ve never noticed before.”

“Probably because so much of it lies in disrepair.”

“I’m supposing you’re right in that regard.” Lydia sighed as she stood and flattened a crease from her apron. “Can I get you something to eat? Pa’s not back yet with the doctor, and I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be gone.”

“I had an apple tart earlier. I’m fine for now.”

Lydia checked the ice around her ankle; it had melted down significantly. “Is the pain bearable?”

“It’s numb right now from the ice. I imagine it’ll hurt more as the day wears on.”

“Nice of Lord Brendall to fetch it for you. There’s not much left from last winter. He’s a kindhearted man.

Doesn’t often show that side of himself.”

That remark chafed like nettle under the skin. Why did everyone dislike his character so much, yet stay on as help? The only person to genuinely care for his lordship seemed to be Thomas. That wasn’t to say Lydia disliked Elliott, but it was obvious the other woman remained wary of his lordship, despite having grown up in the castle and having a better understanding of the man than Abby did.

What wasn’t she seeing that everyone else was?

If he would but talk to his staff instead of barking out orders to them, and then subsequently ignoring them the rest of the time, maybe they’d warm to him? How was it that she had warmed to him? Surely that had something more to do with her unruly desires.

“I would not have been able to make it back here on my own, if not for him.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’ll have to stop walking the grounds when there’s no light to be had. You were out dreadfully early, miss.”

“I like the solitude of the morning. I went out to watch the sunrise. It’s rather beautiful when it rises over the sea.”

Both Lydia’s brows arched high on her forehead.

“Shame there’s no sun to be had today, then.”

Abby pursed her lips. She’d been so lost in her thoughts this morning—

thinking about Elliott—

that she hadn’t

even noticed the gloomy day and the storm approaching.

“The sky was so pretty and red this morning; I hadn’t thought anything of it till the rain let loose in a fury fit for a ride of Valkyries. At least it didn’t come down till we were safely back in the house. I’ll not be taken unaware again.”

“Weather here takes getting used to. A lot of storms roll in from the North Sea unexpectedly. Sometimes they disappear just as fast as they came.”

Abby nodded her agreement. She’d noticed the weather could be volatile. The unsettling feeling of that made her crave her familiar home with her sister Emma. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and put her head back on the pillow. She refused to grow maudlin.

“Does it pain you so much?” There was a note of concern in Lydia’s voice. “I can fetch more ice.”

“Don’t waste anymore ice on my sprain. I’ll be fine as soon as my ankle is bound.”

Another knock came at her bedchamber door. This time a young man came in. He was handsome, and so much younger than she expected for a doctor. His hair was a wave of brown, his beard clipped close to his face. His brown eyes were warm and welcoming.

When Lydia stood from the chair she’d pulled close to the bed, he handed his hat to the maid and kept his focus on his newest patient.

“I heard you had a fall, Miss—”

“Miss Hallaway,” she supplied, recognizing him from church.

The doctor approached her. “I’m Dr. Cornwell.”

“It would have been a plea sure to have met you under any other circumstance.”

He smiled at her. His teeth were full and white beneath his somewhat thin lips. He shrugged out of his navy- blue jacket and hung it over the back of the chair Lydia had vacated.

“That’ll be all,” he told the girl.

Lydia curtsied, her face red at being dismissed so suddenly, and left the room.

Abby noted the presence of Lord Brendall, standing just outside the door. What was he doing

here? She had thought he would escape her presence for the rest of the day after what had happened. He seemed just as unsure as she with the positions they often found themselves in.

Dr. Cornwell looked down at her ankle and gently lifted her leg by the calf to better inspect the swollen parts. His touch was cool, but not uncomfortable.

“The ice has helped,” he said as he flexed her foot forward slowly.

Abby hissed in a breath and clenched her fists against the pain.

“You’ll be off it for at least a week if this movement pains you so much.”

He flexed her foot so it was back at its normal position.

That seemed to hurt more, and, helpless to hold it back, she made that known by letting out a small pained sound.

Elliott stepped into the room then. A silent brooding presence. But she understood that he worried for her welfare. He didn’t like to see her in pain, she decided.

What did he think to do, toss the doctor out on his ear, even though the man had probably been coerced to come up to the castle before the cock could even crow?

Arms crossed over his chest, Elliott wore a scowl that would cause the strongest warrior to take a step back and reassess the situation. Why did he have to stand over her like a Berserker ready for blood retribution? He’d frighten off the doctor if he continued staring after the man in that fashion. Was he so worried about her welfare that it bothered him to see her hurt?

She glared back at him, hoping he’d leave her alone till the doctor could finish up. It was pointless since he ignored her.

Resting her foot back on the perch of pillows, the doctor pressed his fingers into the area around the swollen ankle, then the ankle itself. She hissed in a breath, but didn’t cry out again.

“Nothing more than a sprain.”

Dr. Cornwell placed his doctor’s bag on the chair and opened it. Pulling out a glass bottle filled with liquid and another filled with cream, he held them out to her. She didn’t hesitate to take them even though she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with either one.

He must have read the confusion in her eyes, and clarified, “The liquid is laudanum. Should the pain worsen, take no more than a quarter teaspoon in some water. The other is something that will bring the swelling and bruising down. You’ll want to apply it directly to the sprain twice daily. I’ll check on you again in a week to make sure there are no small fractures.”

“What is the cream?” Elliott’s voice was edged with curiosity as opposed to distrust.

“A liniment of arnica. Of course, we could bleed her instead to relieve the bad blood.” The doctor seemed put out by the suggestion, as though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Abby had never been bled in all her life. She thought the idea distasteful and said so. “I like this much more. I can’t thank you enough for coming up to the castle so early in the morning, Dr. Cornwell.”

“It was no bother, Miss Hallaway. I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself to you at church last Sunday. Though I’d rather you hale and hearty at church than abed with a bad sprain.”

“You are too kind, Dr. Cornwell. I thought you lived in the next township over.”

“I do. But I grew up here. So I ride over on Sunday to attend church with my aunt.”

He smiled back at her, a dimple flashing in one cheek, then turned back to Elliott. “Will it be possible for her to stay off her feet for at least a few days?”

Elliott merely nodded.

“You’re in good hands with Brendall here. I’ll see you in a week’s time, then, Miss Hallaway.”

She should offer the doctor something for his troubles.

He was probably bullied out of his bed early this morning.

Abby looked to Elliott. “Lord Brendall, it would please me to speak with Dr. Cornwell alone for a moment.”

She thought he’d argue, but after a pointed glare from his lordship to the doctor— who seemed not at all bothered by Elliott’s gruff behavior— Elliott turned and left, striding out of the room with his back up like a cat who’d been dunked in water.

“I’m sorry that you were demanded away from your home at so early an hour. I’m grateful that you came.”

“I’m glad to be of any service, Miss Hallaway. Brendall and I are old friends, he was no bother.”

Unsure how to offer a barter, she boldly said, “I haven’t any coin with me, but I do have some pearl earrings— perhaps for your aunt— that I could give you for your time and your medicines.”

Dr. Cornwell raised his hand in objection. “It’s not necessary. I’d be well compensated merely by your presence in church again.”

Oh, how had she not read his interest before this awkward moment? She couldn’t help that a blush stole up her face and neck. Of course no one would think her romantically involved with Elliott. He was such a— a pigheaded oaf of a man. Dr. Cornwell was very handsome. He looked to be around the age of Elliott, maybe a year or two younger.

But he was like every other man she’d met in Town. It seemed she preferred the brooding difficult type as opposed to the kind gentleman standing before her.

“You are too kind, Dr. Cornwell. If I can convince Lord Brendall or even Lydia to church again, we would be happy to share a bench with you.”

Martha’s daughter, she thought, would make a wonderful wife for Dr. Cornwell. She was well spoken, could read and write, and was dedicated to her duties. Of course, much depended upon the doctor’s prospects. Maybe he could not support a wife. Though she had her doubts with his simple, but finely cut jacket. Having grown up well provided for, she could see that he had means of his own.

“I will look for you on Sunday, then.”

Dr. Cornwell packed up his leather case and with a tip of his hat before he placed it on his head he left the room, whistling as he went.

She was left alone for some time. She felt nearly ignored until Elliott came into the room, body strung tight like he wanted to break something. Was he angry that she’d be off her feet? Just because she was supposed to rest her ankle didn’t mean she couldn’t attend to her duties and instruct his son.

“There was no need for you to offer him payment.”

“You were listening?”

“Of course I listened. It’s my own damn fault you met with an accident. I look after everyone in this house hold.”

Could he really be upset about something so small?

Insignificant really.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, my lord.”

“Elliott, please.” The anger and tension seemed to drain from his body with his request.

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

He shoved his hands roughly through his hair, but said not one word in disagreement. It wasn’t appropriate to address each other intimately. Not when they couldn’t be sure they were alone.

“If you could have the staff help me set up in one of the parlors, I’ll meet with your son promptly. He’ll not miss his lessons because I’ve sprained my ankle.”

It was such a debutante thing to do— sprain her ankle and require a gentleman to come to her rescue. Though it was arguable that Elliott lived up to what being a gentleman entailed. He was too raw and gruff for so gentle a term.