The Secret Desires of a Governess (21 page)

It was hard to say whether she deserved an easy way out of the living world or not. He’d tried to help her, to reason with her, to understand what was wrong with her. All to no avail. She’d not been right after Jacob had been born.

And what of Abigail? Would she grow to hate him as his father had, as his wife had? Why would anyone want to stay with him knowing that the two women he’d loved were dead? Not only dead, but had taken their own lives to be rid of him. And now, he’d proven himself to be dumb. How could she not think less of him knowing that painful truth?

There was no reason for her to stay. He’d been an utter ass to her; a raving madman no better than his father with his moods shifting among lust, want, and fury.

He didn’t want her to leave.

He pushed his horse back toward the castle and the woman he wasn’t ready to let go of. A woman

he deeply cared for. Maybe he could convince her that he was no different from any other man. That he wasn’t completely worthless, that he wasn’t a raving madman like his father.

He’d never lift a finger in anger toward her, never hurt her as his father had hurt his mother.

He had lived here too long alone. If she stayed . . . alone was not what he wanted. But he might need to give her time to come to terms with everything he’d revealed. Time.

He was a patient man. Had always been. There was nothing to gain in rushing Abigail’s decision to stay. Whether she graced his bed again was another matter entirely.

Abby stood inside the stable door. She couldn’t go after him. She knew he wouldn’t want her company. He wanted to think about what she had uncovered. Her only purpose in following him out here in the first place was because she hated that he had walked away from her without hearing her out. He’d been hurting when he’d left. Hurting and angry at himself, not with her; she saw that.

His revelation had been shocking. Confusing. It shed light on so many questions she’d had and created more in their place.

Once he was completely gone from her sight, she slowly made her way up to the main house. She should clean up the mess he’d left in the study, hide the evidence of their argument.

Why, though? Why should she play into Elliott’s game of unneeded secrecy? Surely the house knew of his lordship’s inability to read or write.

He’d chosen to run from her instead of face her as any man in his position should have done.

Making her way back to the house, she closed the study door behind her and looked around the darkened room.

Striding over to the curtain- covered window, she threw the heavy brocade open to let what little light remained in the dreary sky beyond illuminate her surroundings. Perhaps she should feel ill at ease, snooping around his home wanting to know if there were other secrets she’d uncover.

Now that the room was washed in natural light, she took note of the surroundings. How had she not noticed that there were no books adorning the built- in shelves?

Behind the leaded- glass panes fripperies, clocks, and odd pieces of china filled the shelves instead of dusty old tomes.

On the lowest shelf there were tall black leather- bound journals.

She opened the cabinet door and pulled out one of the books, opening it to the middle. Grain counts. Stock shipments. Livestock numbers. Nothing but lists and numbers and simplistic words. Words, she noted, not written in Martha’s hand but in Elliott’s heavier precise scroll. There were misspelling, and inverted letters even with the most basic of words. Placing the ledger back behind the glass, she walked over to the desk set off to the left of the room.

Kneeling on the carpeted floor, she righted the inkwell.

Most of the Indian black had already bled into the pages and Persian rug where it had landed in Elliott’s destructive mood. She lifted another page half filled with Elliott’s exacting scroll. More grain counts. Is this what he did when he was in here? Copied out inventory lists? Why didn’t he just have Martha enter them into the books?

She searched through the papers on the floor to find the original. Unsuccessful, she stood to check the desk.

There the list lay in the center of the leather inlay.

She pulled the page closer, inspecting the familiar hand of the woman she’d corresponded with for a month prior to traveling to the castle. Looking through more of the pages on the floor, she tried to understand what Elliott had been doing. Could he be trying to learn the letterings? The words? The language? Was that why he copied out the lists Martha kept?

The heavier pad of slippered feet came down the hall and stopped outside the door. Abby gathered up the papers, sorting them into as neat a pile as she could, and took three steps away from the desk and the evidence that she’d been snooping through.

As though summoned by Abby’s thoughts, Martha pushed the door open, first seeing only the stack of papers scattered over the desk in messy piles; then the older woman’s eyes alighted on Abby. At least Abby had the sense to compose her features.

“Where’s the master?”

“I’m not sure. I came to discuss something with him, but found only an empty room.”

Martha’s bushy eyebrows drew closer together. “You’ve no need to be in here, then. And with the door closed.”

Abby agreed but she’d not be talked down to like a disobeying dog. Martha had disliked her from the start. It stopped now.

“I thought to pen him a note,” she stated, wondering if Martha would give any indication that a note would mean naught to his lordship.

There was nothing but the schooled expression of a woman who had lied so long to herself for her employer that she probably believed her lies to be truths. A kernel of respect sprouted in her heart for Martha, even though Abby wasn’t sure what or even how she felt about the recent revelation of Lord Brendall.

Making good on her word, Abby went to the desk, dipped the quill in the inkwell that she’d righted, and scribbled out a note for Lord Brendall. She did it for no other purpose than to appease Martha, who still stood over her like a stern schoolmistress ready to use the rod if Abby so much as blinked wrong.

She wrote that she wanted to speak with his lordship as soon as possible about his son’s progress, knowing Martha would read the note once Abby left the room.

The king’s worst horrors came to life before his eyes. Unbelieving that the beast was the prince, the king brandished his sword and stepped into the light to challenge the monster. With a swipe at the scaled belly of the dragon, the king dared to destroy the creature besieging his castle.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Despite his best intentions to go back up to the castle, Elliott hadn’t. He’d spent the greater part of the early evening outdoors with Ivan, aimlessly wandering the land surrounding his home. He well knew that made him a coward. A coward because he couldn’t bring himself to face Abigail even though he’d talked himself into the necessity of doing so hours ago.

After brushing down Ivan and putting a blanket on him to guard against the evening frost, he left the stable and headed for the main house. Once inside, he ensured all the doors were locked. Nothing untoward had happened since Abigail’s fall, so he wasn’t sure why he kept up the routine.

He returned to his study to clean up the mess he’d left there. A solitary candle flickered on top of his desk.

The papers he’d thrown from his desk were set in a neat pile off to one side, the inkwell capped and sitting atop the papers.

He turned around only to find Abigail sleeping on the sofa. A heavy shawl was wrapped around her, a pillow tucked under her head at the arm.

All the tension that had been racking up in his body, making it difficult for him to face the rest of the night, drained away on seeing her at ease and asleep in his study.

She’d waited for him and he’d been too much a coward to come back up to the castle and face her after the truths he’d been forced to reveal.

He’d been unkind and cruel to her earlier and regretted it immensely.

He didn’t deserve her presence. Didn’t deserve for someone like her to wait up for him. It would have served him right had she left him to his own devices. Or even left the castle in pursuit of another less foreboding place, and of a kinder employer. One who wouldn’t take advantage of her every chance he could.

But she hadn’t left. He didn’t have to go on living as he had before. Walking over to her, be brushed the back of his hand over her brow and stared down at her relaxed form.

Her cheeks were rosy, her hair unbound and tucked beneath the shawl. She usually wore her hair braided in a thick rope down the middle of her back at night. He wanted to run his hands through the long loose tresses. He’d desired doing so since first seeing it down the day he’d spied her in her bath and again when he’d seen the fire that lit it under a morning sky. He had been right; it was as fiery as her tenacious nature.

Should he wake her or take them both up to bed? He was tired. He was even a little chilled from staying out so long with Ivan. Would he be welcomed into her bed again? Surely her being here was a good enough indication that she wanted his company. That she wanted more between them. That she wasn’t willing to walk away from him no matter how much he might deserve that.

Gathering up his stubborn governess in his arms—

stubborn because she’d waited up for him and had probably intended to confront him after everything that had transpired between them— he blew out the candle and carried her up to her room. She snuggled her face into his chest and curled her arms around his neck, murmuring unintelligible words. All he caught was something about men being beasts. It made him smile and had the constriction fi sting tight around his heart loosening the smallest bit.

Once in her room, he gently placed her on the bed and turned around to shut and lock her chamber door.

He stripped out of his clothes, including his trousers since they smelled of horse and rain and sweat. He made quick work of cleaning his body with a washcloth in the basin of tepid water set near

the water closet.

He then set himself to removing Abigail’s outer clothes.

Her skirts were the easiest to pull down from her hips. Her shirtwaist was more difficult to take off since he didn’t wish to wake her. She must have been half awake because she aided him in removing the material once he started pulling it down her arms.

Stripped of her day clothes, she curled her arms around a pillow and pulled it close. He wanted her to snuggle into him, not an inanimate object.

Elliott pulled down the bedding and climbed onto the mattress next to her, tucking his body tightly around hers, wrapping his arms around her afraid to ever let her go.

Come morning, she could prove to be livid with him.

Might even tell him to leave her be.

Could he prove his worth to her again? Would she be angry with him for sliding into bed next to her?

Abby had been vaguely aware of Elliott carrying her up to her room. She’d waited so long for him that sleep could not be helped. She thought maybe she had slept for a few hours. Her mind slowly came awake. Her body, too, for that matter. Warmth enveloped her.

Elliott had come back to the castle. She assumed, by his presence in her bed, that he wanted to discuss everything that had transpired, as opposed to walking away from it. That, or he wished to continue their affair under everyone’s noses and forget everything that had been revealed this afternoon.

She’d not allow for that to happen. She’d not think ill of him, either. Him being here was enough for now. He’d probably been as startled by his forced revelation as she had been to learn the truth.

He had opened himself up to her this afternoon. More than he dared to with others, she imagined. He’d been hurt, been embarrassed, and had expected rejection from her earlier with his admittance.

She’d not walk away from him. There were no secrets too dark for her to dismiss him. With love came acceptance of good and bad, ugly and beautiful.

She nearly snorted . . . yes, this was definitely love. A predicament she’d never expected to find herself in, but one she wouldn’t change for the world.

Turning in his arms, she pressed her forehead to his, savoring the feel of his warmth and masculinity surrounding her.

Yes, she loved him. Had for some time now. It was only reaffirmed when he came back to her to night. She closed her eyes and ran her hands along his hair- roughened face, feeling every contour beneath her fingers.

She pressed her lips to his, wanting to wake him, to admit the truth. No, not yet. It was too soon. They’d just come over their biggest hurdle; she’d not put another ob-stacle in their path.

She sidled closer to him under their shared blanket, rubbing up against his body, needing to feel his skin next to hers. The burgeoning swell of his cock was firm between them.

Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, she wrapped her arm around his waist, fingers molding to the bare skin, massaging the muscles there. He came awake slowly. The hand that had been tucked under her breast when she’d woken was now pressing firmly at her lower back, bringing her pelvis tight against his.

“Abigail,” he whispered against her lips before sweeping his tongue deep within her mouth.

She accepted him eagerly. His hand slid lower, beneath her drawers to cup one cheek of her backside to pull her closer. He ground his cock against her center, igniting her passions.

“Don’t leave,” he panted.

“Never,” she responded. “I . . .” What had she been about to say? That she loved him? No, it was too soon. “I won’t leave you or Jacob,” she finished.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Let me love you.”

“Yes,” she moaned, taking his mouth again in a devouring kiss.

He broke their kiss shortly after to move down her body.

Laving his tongue around her nipple, he sucked it into his mouth, pulling deep, making her arch closer to him. He nipped at the underside, squeezing the other firmly with his hand.

“Elliott . . .”

He released her so suddenly she cried out at the loss of his touch.

“Shhh . . . ,” he soothed. “Flip over on your front.”

Her heart ratcheted up in speed, her breath stilling in her lungs in excitement. What did he have in mind?

“Trust me,” he said when she stalled too long.

She turned over on hands and knees, bracing herself for what ever he had planned. He squeezed her hip, leaned his much larger frame over her from behind, and gently nipped at her side with his teeth. His fingers found entrance to her womanhood through the slit in her drawers, slicking her sheath with the juices he’d drawn so easily from her.

Two fingers slid into her, in and out. A rhythmic thrusting that had her pushing her behind out, wanting him to be rougher, faster, harder.

“I want you, Elliott,” she groaned into the pillow beneath her head, biting at the edge to keep from screaming out her plea sure.

He moved away from her, to strip himself of his clothes, she assumed, then he was on her, his legs pressed to the back of hers, his instrument sliding deep inside her.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Is this what you want? You want me taking you from behind, fucking your sweet cunny with you on your hands and knees?”

“Yes, Elliott, yes!”

He moved inside her. Solid, firm strokes that hit her so deep inside, she thought she’d die from the plea sure. His hand stretched around to grasp her breast and pull teasingly at her distended nipple. The first ripples of her orgasm came quickly. She had to bite the pillow beneath her harder or she would most certainly scream when her release thundered through her body.

“Come for me, Abigail. Come around me. Milk me.”

His words were enough to set her aflame. There was no holding back, denying her finale. She came. Just as he demanded. She didn’t stop coming for some minutes. Elliott lazily thrust in and out of her, her lubricity quite increased with her orgasm.

“Now for slow again,” he said, pulling out of her and turning her to her back.

Elliott skimmed his hands over Abigail’s waist, ribs, and breasts, loving the feel of her soft skin under his labor-roughened hands. He couldn’t stop touching her, squeezing and stroking her flesh. Feeling every bit of pale skin he exposed to the moonlight.

Her breasts, though small, were perfect for his hands to just cup. The areolas were a flattering pink next to her pale skin, the nipples a deep ruby and glistening wet from the ministrations of his tongue and mouth.

He took his time, in no hurry to reach his finale. With the hand that wasn’t exploring her body, he cupped her buttocks and guided her hips in an easy, unrushed rhythm.

He’d have to build her desires sure and steady if she was to come again.

If only the joy they found tonight could erase the afternoon’s revelation. He wished she’d never learned of his failings. Would she reject him come morning? If not in the morning, would she eventually move on because he was not a man of worth? He didn’t want to think about any of these things.

He closed his eyes, effectively shutting out the thoughts bombarding him and focused on Abigail.

He sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth. Her nipple lengthened with his attentions and was

like a sweet, hard berry rolling around on his tongue. She slid over his cock faster, making him thrust up into the welcoming haven between her thighs.

He could stay here forever. Forget the world around them and lock himself in her room for the rest of his days.

Or never let her leave the bed for that matter. Keep her here with him always.

Of course, that would never be possible, but it was a nice fantasy.

Her fingers threaded through his hair and she forced his head away from her breast so she could look him in the eye. She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t utter a single word.

She just stared into his eyes as he did hers. The little flecks of gold danced around the dark of her pupils.

His arms wrapped tight around her waist, one hand across her lower back and the other spanned between her shoulder blades. He didn’t break eye contact with her.

Could she see what was inside him? How his heart swelled whenever he thought of her? How he wanted more from her every moment he had her in his arms?

Maybe she was a witch after all. How else had she stolen into his heart and mind so deeply? He knew the dangers of letting anyone get too close. But she’d completely bewitched him. She knew his worst secrets, and here she was opening herself up to him. Giving her most precious gift to him. She was ruined for marriage in lying with him.

A shame he could never offer for her hand. He’d not watch her fade as Madeline had.

Hating that his thoughts kept coming back around to this, he focused on the meld of their bodies instead. He picked up the momentum of their thrusting together, grinding and rotating his pelvis against hers. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her ankles locked at his tailbone as her heels dug in, urging him to move faster and harder against her. He took her hands in his and stretched them above her head, his fingers entwined through hers.

He would watch her facial expressions as she came undone this time. She did not remain idle with him atop her. Her pelvis drove up toward his. The hot depth of her cunny seemed to suck hard at his cock. Damn well nearly took everything in him to hold his seed back.

Abigail threw her head back, her neck arched toward him. He nibbled and licked her skin from the dip at the base of her neck all the way up to her chin. He sucked the dainty point of her chin into his mouth and gave it a gentle bite, which made her moan and her hands fl ex in his.

He pulled his hand away for a moment so he could hitch one of her legs higher. Grasping it behind the knee, he pressed it so it rested against his shoulder. He groaned at the change in position. With her pelvis tilted forward, he felt as though he was inside her as far as he could go.

When he slid his hand away, she was forced to hook her knee over his shoulder as he took her hand in his again.

“Look at me,” he whispered, pressing his lips against hers. “Look at me while I give you plea sure.”

Her eyes drowsily . . . lustily opened; the green was hard to distinguish around the large black orbs.

The tip of her tongue slowly peeked out from her pink mouth, and she ran it over the top edge of her lip, wetting it as she whetted his appetite to taste her. He slammed into her core and squeezed her hands tightly in his. Her gaze never wavered. Neither did his; it was steady as a pendu-lum without momentum to keep it from moving away.