The Secret Desires of a Governess (23 page)

“And what is that?”

“Care to guess?” he said, skimming his hand up the inside of her thigh and stopping at the short crisp hairs at the apex. His blue eyes flickered with naughty intention, and he focused on his hand

slowly inching closer.

“And how do you know that’s not all a woman desires?”

Turnabout was fair play. Her hand, which rested over his chest, slid down the center of his body over the coarse hairs that trailed low on his belly, pointing the way to her goal. She didn’t stop her exploration till she grasped the root of his prick.

“Is it?” His eyes focused back on hers.

He pushed her thighs open so he could glide his fingers between the lips of her sex. Languid, arousing strokes. He definitely wanted to excite her passions again this evening.

Oh, but it took so little to do just that.

“You don’t mind that I lied?”

“No. You’re still my Abigail.”

That had a nice ring to the consonants: his Abigail.

She had tabled all but one of her secrets. Yet the last one wasn’t so much a secret as it was a suspicion. Her menses should have come and gone at least once while she’d been at the castle. They hadn’t. It was too soon to know anything. Too soon to know if life grew within her.

The rightness of them being together as companions and lovers could never be argued. But in her heart, she had to admit that she craved commitment. Marriage. Would he feel obligated to marry her should she prove to truly be pregnant? She didn’t want to force his hand.

The tumultuous thoughts had her stomach flipping in nervous sadness instead of arousal as he inched his fingers closer to her sheath. She banished the worries from her mind. She could think on them tomorrow.

All she wanted was to feel. To forget that her mind warred with her body.

With the back of her hand, she caressed his quickly hardening member.

“Minx,” Elliott growled, thrusting two fingers up her sheath.

Fingers tightening around his rod, she gently pulled the cap back from the head, and reveled when she heard a curse spill from his lips.

Suddenly she was on her hands and knees, rear in the air, his heated palm pressed to her back and forcing her bare chest to the mattress.

“Stay put,” he mumbled. He did so enjoy this position.

What did it say about her that she enjoyed his guttural demands? She who never wanted a man to rule her life?

Though he hadn’t taken command of her life, merely her body.

The backs of his hands stroked over each buttock and the tops of her thighs in tandem.

Should she be embarrassed to be in such a position?

Exposed so thoroughly? How could she be? She was with Elliott. He had her explicit trust in all things. He had her heart and soul; if he asked for either, she’d tear them from her body to show her devotion and complete surrender to this man.

“Prettiest sight I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Abby couldn’t help that his seductive words had her back bowing and her rear pushing closer to his warm body.

She wanted nothing more than for him to blanket her body with his own. She craved the feel of him between her legs.

“Fill me,” she asked in a heated whisper.

Her fingers curled into the soft sheets on either side of her head. Her sheath convulsed in anticipation of her request.

“In time.”

The palm of his hand came down on her buttock in a playful yet gentle smack.

“Elliott,” she groaned, wanting so much more.

Her core tightened and her fluids slicked the skin between her thighs.

“Fill me,” she begged. She needed him, was desperate for the feel of him.

He leaned over her, bringing their bodies close together, but not close enough to appease the desire to feel him inside her.

“Do you know, I saw you before you invited me to your bed.”

His voice was like hot brandy on her tongue, and it melted her insides all the way down to her belly.

How had he ever seen her? When had he seen her?

“It was your first morning in the castle,” he answered her thoughts.

One of his hands slid over her hip and around to her stomach. The tickling touch had her wriggling in his hold.

His hand stopped just shy of reaching her breasts. She wanted him to touch her and stop taunting her. She wanted his hand to brand her instead of tease her.

“I came upon you in the kitchen. You were bathing.”

His cheek pressed lightly between her shoulder blades, his body finally covered hers as he relayed the first time he’d seen her. The jut of his cock pressed to one cheek of her rear. She felt a bead of his semen wet her skin there.

His free hand smacked down on her buttock again.

The sting sent a hot jolt of desire through her whole body and had her biting the sheets to keep from screaming out in plea sure.

Did it make her depraved to enjoy him spanking her rear as if she were a disobedient student? She didn’t mind being wicked alongside Elliott. The hardness of his instrument pressed like a rod of steel against her was evidence of his desire for the act he committed. He wanted her to enjoy this erotic game he played at. And she did.

Fully. Thoroughly. Completely.

“I wanted to span my hand over this pretty rear of yours when I saw you take off your chemise that morning.”

His palm came down on her again. The sensation like hot wax dribbled on her skin. Thrilling for the momentary rush it filled her with on the initial sting. She wanted it again. And again. And again.

The hand beneath her sternum slid more firmly onto her breast; his body pushed forward, lodging the nut of his cock just inside her. He was intentionally drawing out their time together and the intimacy of their every touch.

He enjoyed arousing her every sense, titillating her beyond reason before either of them found their crisis every night.

His hand did not come down on her bottom again. He pushed her legs out farther and, in one long stroke, slid his cock deep inside her.

Abby pushed herself up on her elbows, liking the sensation of him behind her. Loving how much more he filled her body in this position. Loving that he never held back from doing as he wished with her body.

He lifted away from her so he could kneel behind her.

His hands rubbed over the globes of her buttocks as he slid in and out of her core at a moderate pace.

He kept her wanting more. And what she wanted more than anything right now was rough and manly and strong.

To feel the bulge of his muscles beneath her exploring hands as he filled her body and rode them both to sweet paradise. To night she didn’t want him holding back. She wanted everything without knowing all that entailed.

“More, Elliott.”

“You are anxious to night.” He squeezed her buttocks with both hands. “I’ll have to give this part of you more attention in the future if it turns you to melted butter on my tongue.”

He leaned over her and licked a hot trail up her spine, sending a shiver of pure delight through her veins. She pushed herself up on her hands. Wanting to feel his chest against her back as they moved together.

Elliott pulled out of her sheath to her utter disappointment and urged her toward the head of the bed, saying,

“Grasp the headboard to hold you up.”

As soon as her hands wrapped around the intricate molding of the pale wood, he pressed her thighs apart with his knees and slid back inside her. She practically sat on his lap in this position. His hand reached around and squeezed her breast and tweaked her nipple between two of his fingers with every upward thrust to her core.

The feel of their sweaty bodies sliding and grinding together had Abby leaning her head back to Elliott’s shoulder and closing her eyes. So many sensations bombarded her that she could do nothing more than hold on to the bed and let Elliott give them both plea sure.

The slide of their bodies together was powerfully arousing. The coarse hairs of his chest at her back a sweet contrast of his hard body against her softer one. Her loose hair stuck to both their bodies and eclipsed them in heated bliss. The smell of their sex and sweat was rapturously delicious with every inhalation and gasp she made. Her fingers curled tighter around the headboard.

“Touch yourself,” Elliott commanded.

When she hesitated, not sure what exactly he meant, he uncurled her fingers from the wood and lowered both their hands to the exposed pearl at her center. Her sex was slick with her own fluids. Elliott groaned as their fingers met with the moisture. It was a deep groan, like a contented purr rumbling against her back.

He took the shell of her ear between his teeth, flicked it with his tongue, and demanded more firmly, “Touch yourself.”

And she did. Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, the feel of him siding in and out of her more erotic than even the position they were in. She pulled her fingers away from that slick, hot touch to rotate them around the nub of her sex. Elliott’s fingers moved with hers, pressed down on hers.

She felt like she was coming undone. Like her whole being was unraveling to the very core of what she was.

Her heart sped so fast in her chest that it forced her breathing to come faster, harsher. With every pant she made a little noise in the back of her throat that was high- pitched.

Needy.

“Come for me,” Elliott said, his hand still atop hers, his other squeezing at her breast. “I want to suck the swollen bud of your sex into my mouth and feel you come around my face.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, having no strength for any other words when she was concentrating on all the other feelings ravaging her body into a void of complete surrender.

She felt the tightening of her sheath around his prick.

The calmness she inevitably experienced just before her release. His fingers pressed hard down on hers, made them move faster until finally, she had to pull his hand away and rest her forehead to the cool surface of the wooden headboard.

Her body unraveled, starting in the pit of her pelvis and moving through her limbs in a thrill of excitement so forceful, she could hear and feel nothing but that plea sure for a long moment.

When her body awakened to Elliott’s, he still moved inside her. His pace increasing as he shouted out his release and bit at her earlobe. He jerked the final few thrusts inside her before he was completely sated and empty of seed.

Her body felt overworked. Tired. Not even awake enough to speak after such a powerful intimate

moment.

Her mind had turned inward anyway.

Guilt in having an affair without the sanctity of the church filled her with sorrow. Not because it was wrong in God’s and everyone else’s eyes, but because she could never openly show the love she had for Elliott. Love was sacred. It should be shared. Cherished openly.

Somehow, they ended under the sheets, her body tucked against Elliott’s. Neither of them seemed to have the strength to speak. Before she knew it, a need so great for sleep closed in and finally claimed her.

“There was ever only one monster in this fair Kingdom, Father. And that was you. I’ve been gifted a form that can defeat the evil in this land and here I am come to claim you.”

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Elliott looked at Abigail from across the bedchamber.

She sat on a white silk- covered chair, he on the edge of her bed.

“I think you need to find another governess. We can’t go on living in secret, Elliott.”

“I see no reason why anything needs to change.”

“Martha suspects us. Suspects me to be a great harlot and seducer of all men, I’m sure.” She loosened the coil she kept her hair in during the day, letting ringlets of red-dish blonde hair fall around her shoulders.

“You’re speaking nonsense.”

He didn’t want to think of the day when she would have to leave. Jacob would need her guidance until it was time for him to attend school. That was four years off.

Elliott was so thankful to her for teaching his son to read that his heart was near to bursting with joy. Reading was something he would never be able to do.

After his initial revelation of that fact, neither of them had talked about it. He wanted to ask her if she could help him with his letters but feared that would get in the way of her teaching his son. He couldn’t demand more of her time with their nights and Jacob’s lessons during the day.

“I’m simply speaking the truth. I have to be honest with you, Elliott. I can’t live in secret for however long you wish it. It’s as though what we are doing is shameful. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t want this to feel as though we’re doing something wrong.”

“Then don’t think. Just enjoy the time we spend together. Is that so much to ask?”

There was nothing else he could give her. Nothing more permanent than what they already shared. There was marriage, but that was for the fools who thought they were in love and didn’t want their lady to escape and reject them later on. That had been him and Madeline. God, he’d been so wrong about her. So very, very wrong.

“Elliott . . . there is going to come a time when I have to leave. It’ll be sooner than either of us really wants, I fear.”

“More nonsense,” he said, pulling his shirt from his trousers.

She stood from her seat and took off her dressing robe.

She looked tired to night. Was it the conversation that tired her or the late nights? Maybe a bit of both. He felt unusually tired, too, but that probably had to do with the finishing repairs on the west wall. It would be done in the next week.

Nothing more than sleep for them both to night. He shucked his trousers and socks, but left his smalls on and held a hand out to Abigail.

“We’ll talk of this another day.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. She was reluctant in taking his hand. He hoped that didn’t mean she’d start refusing his company in her bed. He craved the feel of her warm body at night. Wanted to watch her sleep and wake with her looking down at him at the first crack of dawn before they had to part for the day.

“I’m not likely to forget that you suggested that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replied as she placed her warm palm in his.

Abby stared out at the North Sea. The water was rough, a churning black mass of frothy waves pounding against the rocky shore like angry fists. As far as her eye could see, there was water and sand; farther out she could barely make out the small islands that dotted throughout the water a few miles off from where she stood.

Abby had perched herself on a large rock close to the water’s edge. She needed to rest. She’d

strained herself in traversing the sand dunes that surrounded the beach so quickly. She’d been desperate to put distance between her and Elliott.

Lifting her heavy shawl from her shoulders, she settled it higher around her neck and ears. It was only early evening but the wind had turned brisk. She could taste the fresh coolness of winter in the air. It would snow soon.

Maybe even to night.

She had come out here to escape all the eyes on her in the house. And to think without anyone to interrupt her thoughts.

Her hand rested on her belly. She had to tell Elliott that a babe grew within her. She had been positive of her state for a few days, but every time she’d tried to tell Elliott, the words got stuck in her throat.

She had so many conflicting feelings about her and Elliott’s relationship, about her life at Brendall Castle.

Martha had grown colder toward her— if such a thing were possible. She often treated her poorly by insulting her and talking down to her as though she were no better than vermin. She did this in front of Lydia. Sometimes, even in front of Jacob. Rarely did she do so when Elliott was there to play the witness.

Martha checked to make sure Abby was alone in the library or parlor before taking her leave of the house in the evenings, too. Abby was sure that Martha would have guarded her bedchamber door to make sure she slept alone had she lived in the main house.

All this made for very uncomfortable living arrangements. Made more uncomfortable by the fact that she wouldn’t be able to hide her condition much longer.

She’d felt sick so many mornings. She had even had to run for a chamber pot during the middle of the day to empty the contents of her stomach when something so much as smelled disagreeable— which was almost everything.

She couldn’t live like this. In secrecy. In subterfuge.

Without the blessing of those around them. Without her sisters to share the joy she felt in her life when she so much as thought about Elliott and about having his child.

She couldn’t go on living this way for much longer.

How was she going to admit all this to Elliott?

She bet her finest ruby necklace that Elliott had never before spent so much time with any of the past governesses. Or any other woman at the castle for that matter.

But how obvious was that fact to the rest of the staff? Had she and Elliott not taken enough measures to ensure their affair remained a secret?

Or had Martha recognized Abby’s sickness for what it was?

Abby knotted the heavy twill shawl protectively over her stomach and turned back for the castle. She did not want to be trapped on the beach at high tide, which was due any moment with the sun fast setting in the west.

Watching the ground for fear of twisting her ankle care-lessly since she was overtired, and clumsier than usual these days, Abby took each step gingerly.

A falcon screeched overhead; the sound pierced right to her soul and made her breath catch in her lungs. She swore her heart stopped for a full two beats as the sound sliced through her center.

She glanced up to see the bird circling, then suddenly a dark object swinging toward her head. She thought for a moment it was the bird diving in her direction and raised her arms to block the great harpy beast. But the blunt force that knocked her from her feet was not that of a falcon’s claws.

She fell like a sack of rocks tossed in the water to drown unwanted kittens. Blotches of black and gray danced across her vision, and her head spun so fast she thought she might be sick.

When she opened her mouth to speak, she screamed instead. Someone grasped her by the chignon

she often tied her hair in, and dragged her across the beach. It seemed impossible to get her feet under her and find her balance again. Her head faced the sandy rock- ridden surface beneath. She saw nothing but a dark figure wearing what looked like a ratty old brown habit and— in her peripheral vision— the rush of water washing up on the beach with foamy white fingers.

She attempted to scratch at her captor’s strong, unrelenting arms, but her hands only met with thick, rough cloth; not flesh that could be easily maimed with her ungloved fingernails.

She kicked at the ground trying to get her feet under her and make whomever held her in a death- like grip release her, but her skirts hampered her balance further.

They said not one word as they dragged her closer yet to the water. She managed one strong kick at her captor’s calf, stumbling them in their path, but it wasn’t a hard enough strike to incapacitate them or make them release her.

Next she knew, ice- cold water slicked through the layers of her skirts and underthings and slithered its death-like touch over her skin. The chill numbed her limbs at an alarmingly quick rate. Her mind trudged slower through murk of non- understanding. She was cold. So cold rational thought fled.

How was it possible for her captor to drag her through the water without feeling the cold right down to their marrow?

Abby could do naught but lie in the rough sway of the sea. It would carry her to her death, she thought. The life growing in her would never have a first breath of air. And Elliott didn’t know.

Tears warmed her face, but it was not enough warmth to awaken her weak limbs. She hoped death was merciful.

Quick. Like the way she was fast losing feeling in her arms, her feet, her lower legs. She hoped the water swallowed her whole and kept her in this state of unfeeling and numbness.

She couldn’t fight the pain and fog clouding her mind, sucking her into a deep void of nothing. She couldn’t fight to live. Not for herself. Not for the babe nestled in her womb.

Such a miserable, lonely way to leave the world. Not at all part of her plan to seize her own fate. Not what she wanted for herself, at all. Drowning in a sea of bitter loneliness was not what she had imagined for her end. Taking the innocent life of her child with her seemed wrong.

Elliott studied the land that surrounded the castle from the window of his bedchamber. He was waiting for her to come back. Night was setting in fast, and Abigail had not come in from her walk. He’d left her to her own devices, understanding her need to collect her thoughts. She said she’d needed time alone. He wondered if she regretted their time together. Did she wish to leave the castle and him behind?

He suspected that to be the case after their previous evening’s conversation.

He didn’t like the fact that she’d remained out of doors for so long. He’d seen her picking her way down the beach.

The gentle push and sound of the waves had been a solace to him many times in his life so he understood what drew her to the water, but the tide was coming in soon. The water was an unpredictable force of nature once she turned rough- and- tumble, like the fury of a lightning storm striking when least expected.

Surely she understood the dangers in staying down by the water late in the evening.

Not wanting to take any chances where her safety was concerned, especially after the mishap on the parapet wall, he grabbed up his jacket and headed for the door.

Martha intercepted him in the main hall.

“My lord.” She looked at the coat he held and clucked her tongue like a mother hen. “It’s quite chilly outside to-night. Let me find you a warmer, heavier coat before you venture out. There’s sure to be snow later this evening.”

“I’ll be but a short while,” he assured her.

Martha had taken up the role as mother to him when his own had passed away. More than twenty

years ago now.

God, time passed by so quickly. Before he knew it, his son would be a grown man.

Her fingers were still wrapped around his wool coat.

Effectively stopping him from going anywhere.

“I can’t wait,” he said and walked around her, forcing her to release the material from her grasp.

Was Martha intentionally stalling him?

It felt imperative that he locate Abigail. He rubbed at his chest, feeling a bloom of pain and worry settle around his heart.

He found the old wooden door covered in the vines of dried ivy and opened it up to a path leading down to the beach. The door was closed, which seemed odd. If the latch came down, it stopped anyone from returning from whence they came. He was positive he’d seen her come this way.

“Abigail,” he called as he pushed through the door and took to a brisk walk over the sand dunes. With practiced ease, he traversed the terrain quickly, making it to the beach in less than five minutes.

No slender figure stood at the edge of the sea, or walked the sandy and pebbled terrain. Had Abigail not had a penchant for colorful dresses and brightly twilled shawls, he would never have seen her in the murk of the water.

He made for the shore at a dead run, throwing his jacket off before he waded into the freezing sea nearly to his waist. His heart lurched at the sight before him. She lay faceup in the water, her heart- shaped face pale and white, lips tinged a deathly shade of blue, and the side of her face and temple marred with a bruise. He might have wondered if her being in the water was an accident if not for the dark swelling at the side of her head.

Her skirts were caught between two rocks and the fl oat-ing debris of seaweed and a chunk of tree trunk. It was probably the only thing keeping her afl oat.

With a supporting arm across her back, he ripped the garments free from where they were wedged, caught her up in his arms, and made his way to the shore.

He placed her gently on the sand— not an ideal place to set her down but he felt he had no choice. He parted her lips to make sure nothing blocked her airway, then lowered his ear to her chest and listened for her breathing. Hearing it faintly, he released a small sigh of relief.

Thank God.

Tucking his discarded jacket around her, he lifted her up in his arms again and made for home. It took him longer to pick his way back over the sand dunes, maybe double the time it had taken to make his way down to the beach. He hoped he wasn’t too late to help his Abigail. Their night was far from over. He’d keep vigil for days if he had to, though.

He’d not lose her to the sea as he’d lost his mother.

No, Abigail would live because he willed her to do so.

Once she was settled and well again, he’d question each and every person in the castle. Someone must have seen something this time.

Martha. He’d talk to Martha very soon. Something felt off with her lately.

But for now, his first priority lay prone and lifeless in his arms.