The Secret Desires of a Governess (18 page)

He snuffed the candle; the only thing to see by now was the fire burning warm and bright in the fireplace.

He lifted her from the edge of the bed and placed her in the center as he climbed in next to her. She rolled to her back wanting to see him, talk to him right into the wee hours of the morning if she could.

Elliott propped himself up on his arm next to her and brushed strands of hair away from her face.

“Will you tell me Bethesda’s story?”

“She was my mother’s nursemaid in the village and Martha’s aunt. She lived here until I was around seven, but my father made her leave. My mother walked out into the sea three days after that.”

Abby stretched her fingers toward his jaw line and traced around the tip in his chin.

Not only had his wife ended her own life, his mother had, too.

“You must remember her fondly. I’m sorry about your mother.”

“I am, too. But it’s too late to be changed.”

“Seems odd that both their lives ended so tragically and in somewhat the same fashion.”

Instead of responding, he leaned in close to her and pressed his lips to hers. He parted her mouth enough that he could suck and nibble the lower lip between his, then the upper.

She gave a breathy moan into his mouth, hungry for so much more, but too tired to take what she wanted. He pulled away, turned her to her side, and settled in tight at her back, her rear tucked into his groin, her back along his chest, his arm wrapped around her middle and tucked tightly between the bed and her waist.

The last thing on her mind before sleep took over was: When you fall in love with someone, does your notion of marriage change? Do you ultimately decide that life alone will no longer do? Not that Elliott was offering marriage.

It was silly to even think about such things, seeing as she’d always been adamant in not wanting to end up shackled to any man.

She closed her eyes, convinced that all she needed was a good night’s sleep. In the morning, she would forget that she had contemplated the ridiculous notion of marriage at all.

In lands far away from the Kingdom of Brahmors, a battle was fought on a blood- spattered fi eld and the prince fell to his knees, but not from the bite of a blade.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Elliott wasn’t sure what had awoken him. He’d been warm and cozy holding Abigail in his arms, and then he’d heard something that had made him spring up in bed and look around the room. Had someone just rattled the doorknob?

Had the noise been the wind shaking the windows?

Nothing seemed out of place. Not that anything should be since he’d locked the chamber door behind them last night. There was a clock on her escritoire, but the fire had died down too much to make out the hour.

Tucking the blankets he’d displaced back around Abigail, he got up to build the fire and listen to the sounds around him. Unease crept through his body. Something seemed off. He’d need to check on his son just as soon as the fire warmed the room again.

Grabbing up his shirt, he tossed it over his head and found his shoes next. He’d not leave any evidence that he had been in the governess’s room overnight. He’d not leave any clues that he’d ever been in here aside from when the doctor had visited.

All his things gathered up, he approached the bed one last time. He brushed a few strands of hair away from Abigail’s face. He’d confided a lot about himself to her. She’d probably been too tired to rationally digest what he’d said, but he didn’t doubt she’d have questions today.

How much should he tell her about his past? He’d not talked about the events that had unfolded during the months leading up to his wife’s death. It might have happened seven years ago, but he could recall every detail as if it had happened only yesterday. And it had him thinking, wondering. His wife had been convinced that someone—

she often blamed him— wanted to harm her. Had he been blind to some unknown threat or had she really gone mad?

The doctor had confirmed that Madeline’s mind was fragile. And Elliott trusted Dr. Cornwell’s— Patrick’s opinion. The man had tried to help, had prescribed laudanum after she’d had Jacob, and had even gone so far as to visit every few weeks to see if his wife’s condition would improve. It hadn’t. And now she lay in a lonely grave soon to be forgotten by the rest of the world.

He knew the local townsfolk thought he had burned down the church with his wife inside. He’d not told anyone about what had transpired that day. He’d never talked about it with Thomas, Martha, or Lydia. It simply wasn’t spoken of.

He wondered what else Bethesda had whispered to Abigail in her hatred and rage toward the inhabitants at Brendall Castle, namely him?

He couldn’t blame the old woman. She’d been wronged somehow. He was sure his mother had documented it in her journals, only he could read no more than the numbered dates. She’d written multiple times a day in the weeks leading up to her walk into the sea. He could not bring himself to ask Martha to read them. He did not want to shine any ill- begotten lights upon his mother and the memory people had for her.

How much more of that sordid, ugly past would Abigail want him to reveal?

Letting himself out of Abigail’s room, he walked down the hall to Jacob’s chamber. His boy was sound asleep.

Fixing up the fire in his son’s room, he went back to his chambers to divest himself of yesterday’s clothes and displaced the counterpane and sheets to make it look as though he’d slept in his own bed.

Then he walked the corridors of the upper floor. The normal sounds of the old house wouldn’t have awakened him from a dead sleep at three in the morning. So something else had to have disturbed him. Taking the stairs to the third floor, he stopped every few paces to listen to the sounds of

the night. Nothing unusual to be heard.

The old floorboards creaked in protest under his weight.

Elliott hadn’t been up to this floor since his son was born, hadn’t liked the memories associated with this place and his wife’s final months.

The air was stale and dusty. A window probably hadn’t been cracked open up here in near to eight years. They’d probably seized shut in this forgotten realm above stairs.

There was no sign of a disturbance in any of the rooms, so he headed down to the main floor. The hour was still too early to unlock the house, so he padded around the house quietly checking each room before moving on to the next.

Nothing seemed out of order. His imagination was getting the better of him in light of yesterday’s events.

Making his way to the study, he turned suddenly when he heard a sound that could only be described as someone dragging themselves across the wooden floor. Hand raised to the wall for balance, Elliott tried to determine the direction of the sound, but it stopped just as swiftly as it had come.

Thinking it nothing more than the wind playing tricks on his mind, he entered his study and set himself to lighting a fire to stave off the early- morning chill.

Now that his thoughts weren’t focused on finding something untoward and shifty in his home, his mind turned to Abigail.

He’d shocked himself by how much he’d so unwittingly shared. Even though she’d reached out an accepting hand to him last night, that didn’t mean she’d remain sympathetic to him today. She knew one of his secrets.

Maybe the smallest fact, but it could still have a bearing on what she thought of him come morning when she’d had time to sleep on what he’d revealed.

How would she react if she knew the whole truth surrounding his wife’s death? Or the sad truth with regard to his son’s lack in aptitude where his studies were concerned?

Abby awoke to a warm room, but a cold bed. She turned on her side and stretched her hand over the spot Elliott had slept in. It shouldn’t bother or upset her that he hadn’t stayed till morning. The

house hold, and Jacob, could never know of their growing relationship. It would remain a secret for as long as she shared his bed, or he hers as the situation had presented itself last night.

As long as they lived in this house together they’d remain strangers by day, familiar companions by night.

It made her feel like Cinderella, only her allotted time with her prince ceased upon the morning hour not at the strike of midnight. By day, she was back to the rags of a servant, by night she’d don the opulent silks of a woman fallen and half in love with the man occupying her bed.

Nothing good could come of her time with Elliott. Heart-ache when it was time for her to leave, but that was her own foolishness for opening up her heart to the man, for allowing herself to feel something that went beyond friendship and closer to love.

Rubbing her eyes, she tossed the thought to the farthest reaches of her mind and yawned her welcome to the day.

She couldn’t define it as love yet. She hardly knew Elliott.

In time, she had no doubt she’d fall in love with him, but now . . . she was merely fascinated by what she didn’t understand and craved his company for more carnal reasons.

Or at least that was what she would tell herself.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she tested her weight on her injured ankle before she stood. Her ankle felt a great deal better, but she’d not chance putting her full support on it.

Not wanting to lounge about in her chamber too long this morning, she cleaned up quickly at the washstand and dressed.

At some point in the evening, or maybe even early morning, Elliott had brought the walking stick up and set it by the door so she couldn’t miss it on her way out of her chamber. The thoughtful gesture made her pulse pump faster in her veins as she made her way downstairs.

Elliott stood at the foot of the staircase when she turned on the landing above. She couldn’t help the smile that naturally lightened her face on seeing him.

“Good morning,” she called to him and grasped the railing before slowly taking her steps.

“And to you.” He stepped close to her to whisper that seductively. His hand came around the small of her back as he lifted her tight against his body and brought her down the last few steps and set her gently on the floor. “It seems a good night’s rest has put a healthy glow back in your cheeks.”

“I’ve always had a hearty constitution.”

“Glad to know you can’t be kept down for long.”

There was so much suggestion in his last comment that her heart tripped crazily in her chest. She wanted to close her eyes and lean into him. Tilt her head back and feel the heat of his mouth on hers. Not where anyone could see them, though. Instead of leaning into him, she took a step back and inhaled deeply, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Nothing gets me down for long, my lord.” She added the last with a curtsy on seeing Lydia and Martha turning toward them at the far end of the corridor.

Elliott spun around to see what had arrested her gaze and probably to determine the reason she’d suddenly turned formal.

He turned back to her, giving a surprising wink. ”Don’t strain yourself overmuch today, Miss Hallaway. Jacob needs you well if he’s to make further advances in his studies.”

With that, he walked toward his study. Lydia gave her a cordial greeting on the way past. Martha said nothing, didn’t even so much as glance Abby’s way. What had she done to displease the older woman now?

She wouldn’t worry on it. Martha would have to learn to like her, because Abby had no plans of seeking employment elsewhere.

Abby found Jacob in the same parlor they’d occupied yesterday. At the door, she said, “You’re down before me, young master.”

“Father said to help you.”

He stood before her, hands clasped in front of him. He was neatly attired in gray short pants and a pressed white shirt; his hair was clean and combed back from his face.

Was he making an effort to come to her cleaned up or was the house hold staff to thank for this sudden change in his appearance? Either way, it pleased her.

“Gather up our materials from yesterday.” There were only a few things scattered around the parlor; she left him to collect the items so she wasn’t hobbling around on her sore ankle. “I’ll not lie here like an invalid for days on end. We’ll go back to the library where all my accouter-ments are within reach.”

He was quick in following her to the other room. She paused on entering, astonished by the progress she’d made with her young pupil. He seemed most apt and willing to learn this morning. More attentive than he’d ever been before.

She gave him an inquiring look. What had changed over the last week? Aside from his grasp on language?

“Have you decided that you like the schoolroom?” she asked.

He scratched at his head and screwed up his face as he thought of an answer. “You’re different from the other teachers. They didn’t like me. Said I was a heathen child before they could show me any letterings like you did.

And they never let me teach them nothing.”

“Anything,” she corrected then pressed her lips together in thought.

Did Elliott know of the treatment his son had received prior to her coming here? Not just from Martha, but now she was hearing tales of previous governesses’ cruelties.

How could anyone treat a child without compassion?

“Perhaps they were the heathens,” she teased, getting a smile and laugh out of him. “You should have put frogs in their beds. I did that once, but to my eldest sister. My father laughed and laughed and told her that she should guard her tongue before calling me an unruly child.”

“I thought girls didn’t like frogs.”

“What’s not to love about frogs? Perhaps we’ll go hunting for them come spring. Don’t imagine you can scare me by putting them in my bed. You’ll have to be more inventive than that. I should warn you, not even snakes or spiders will scare me.”

Jacob’s eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t, miss. I promise.”

She ruffled his hair with a laugh then hobbled her way over to her chair and sat behind the wide desk. Her ankle ached something fierce. She’d overtaxed herself in their walk yesterday. She’d have to stay indoors today. At least she wasn’t confined to a window seat.

“Come, we have much to do this morning.”

Jacob pulled his chair around to her side and sat next to her. He placed his mathematics workbook on the desk and opened it to the last lesson she’d given him.

“Did you have any questions or problems with the work I assigned you?”

He shook his head. She looked over the fractions all neatly written out. Not a scratch mark to be found or an error for that matter as she checked his fractions added and multiplied and divided correctly.

“You have a great talent for math. When we have you reading better, we’ll introduce some word problems to give you more variety.”

“Math was the only thing the other governesses taught me. Said I wasn’t good for anything else, so they made sure I knew my numbers till I could do them with my eyes closed.”

Abby’s heart ached for the boy. She stretched her hand out to pat his hands, which were folded over on top of the desk.

“You’re an excellent pupil in all subjects, Jacob. Were your governesses often unkind to you?”

He shook his head. “No. I remembered because of what you said about math.”

“Do you want to talk about the teachers you’ve had before me?”

He shook his head again. “None of them stayed long. I can’t remember them all.”

She didn’t correct the usage of words in his sentence this time.

“I hope I’m not as forgettable, then. I’ll do my best to make a positive impression upon your young mind.”

“I’ll not forget you, Miss Hallaway. Not ever.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked her charge over, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. She’d never forget him, either. He’d so easily stolen a spot in her heart.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d love to be in the company of children.

“I found a children’s book a few days ago. If you’ll retrieve it from the shelf.” She pointed to where she’d set it, facing forward so it could be found again. “It’s a simple fable, and I will help you read every single word if we must. I want you to sound out the letters with me so you can learn to recognize them and group them on your own.”