The Governess Club: Louisa (7 page)

“She’s a piece of work, ain’t she?” Robbie said, breaking into his fantasy.

John tore his gaze away from the object of his lust and reined in his wayward thoughts. “Eh?” He finished nailing in the shingle and shifted over, accepting a new one.

“Mrs. Bristly, some are calling her.” Robbie grinned at him.

“Bristly?” More hammering helped him regain his focus. He stole a glance back to see that she had disappeared.

The younger man shrugged. “She’s just so prickly. Like a hedgehog, I figure. Can’t get close to her without risking your blood.” He held out another shingle. John took it, but did not resume work. Robbie kept speaking. “I mean, she looks good and all, but as soon as she starts talking to you, your little boys curl up and hide, know what I’m saying? What man wants that? You must have balls of steel to be working with her.”

Never mind that his initial impression of her had been similar. John took issue with the man’s comments. “Oi, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Come on, mate, you telling me she ain’t a fishwife to you?”

“Quit your jabbering, Robbie,” Joe called from down on the ground with a fresh load of shingles.

“Aw, Joe, ain’t no secret ’bout it,” Robbie complained, lifting the load up by a rope. He untied the bundle and carried some back to where they were working, walking along the frame. “Likely nagged her husband to death, Mrs. Brock did. Glad my Amelia is biddable. All I hears from her are ‘Yes, Robbie, oh, Robbie, yes, yes, oh yes!’” The young man grinned and laughed at his crude joke.

John dropped the shingle and hammer and rose to his full height. Even tilted on the roof of the cottage, balancing on the frame, he was hard to ignore. He stepped closer to the young man just barely out of adolescence, using his height to maximum intimidation advantage. He spoke softly. “Listen well, boy. I don’t want to hear no disrespect of Mrs. Brock or any other woman, you get me? I’m not keen on ending my retirement on the likes of you.”

Robbie bent his head back to look at John’s serious face. His face paled and he visibly swallowed. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t know she was your woman.”

John shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t your mother teach you no manners?”

“Excuse me, gentlemen!”

Mrs. Brock’s voice interrupted them and they all turned to see her walking across the yard with Timothy and Alan carrying tankards and a tray laden with food. She called up as they moved closer. “It is nearing time for luncheon and I thought you might be hungry.”

John turned back to Robbie and said with a growl, “Would a fishwife or hedgehog do that?” He made his way to the ladder and climbed down, Robbie following him. He met Mrs. Brock as she was nearing the cottage and took the food tray from her. “My thanks. We were just talking about taking a break.”

She gave him a strange look, but he ignored it and set the tray on a nearby log. Joe and Robbie made their way over to the food, but when Robbie reached to take a tankard from Timothy, John pushed him away. “You’re last,” he muttered with a glower. “When we’re done, you can eat. And thank the lady for her consideration in bringing your ungrateful ass food.”

“Yer joking!” the boy exclaimed.

John glared in answer and Robbie shrank down, shuffling away from the tray. He muttered what passed for a thanks.

John took a long drink from his tankard and felt her move to his elbow. “What was that about?” she asked quietly.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Nothing. Just a boy growing up.”

“You will inform me if there are any problems, correct?”

“Of course.”

Her fingers lightly touched his elbow. John stilled, his senses honing in on the light pressure. He turned his head to look at her, his body following suit when his gaze met her mahogany eyes. They had the strange effect of both calming and exciting him, to be the recipient of her focused attention.

She spoke, keeping her voice at a discreet level, well aware of Joe and Robbie sitting not too far away against the wall of the cottage. “I want to thank you, Mr. Taylor, for seeing to my cottage.”

He felt a surge of pleasure at her thanks, but tried to dismiss her gratitude. “It is part of our arrangement and no bother. I enjoy this type of work. Gets the kinks out and all that.”

“Nevertheless, I appreciate it. This is something I do not have the skills to see to myself and must then depend on others.”

He grinned at the disgruntled look on her face. “Poor Mrs. Brock,” he teased. “Forced to depend on the kindness of others.” She lowered her brow, creating creases along her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her by running his thumb along those creases, smoothing them out.

He did not know why he did it. It was more automatic than anything. Under his thumb, her skin was smooth and soft, its creaminess contrasting with his own tanned skin. His eyes narrowed in on where his thumb came in contact with her forehead, focusing in on the spot. He rubbed her forehead a few times before trailing his thumb down to her cheek, learning the texture of that skin as well until he was caressing her chin with his thick digit.

Mrs. Brock’s eyes had widened when he touched her forehead, stared at him unblinkingly as his thumb traversed her cheek. Now her mouth gaped open slightly and her shoulders rose and fell with her breathing. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips and his eyes were riveted by the sight of it. When not pressed into a thin line, her mouth was pale pink, nicely shaped with her lower lip more lush than the top and the small bow along the top lip just large enough to catch a man’s attention.

But John’s attention was currently on that lush lower lip. It begged him to kiss it, draw it into his mouth to nibble and suck. Heat flooded his body at the thought of closing the small distance between them and doing just that. Based on the look on her face and her breathing, Mrs. Brock would welcome his kiss at the very least. He shifted, preparing to do just that.

A clatter broke the spell. John dropped his hand and turned to look at Joe teaching Timothy and Alan about the shingles, the boys throwing them onto the growing pile to be pulled up to the roof. Robbie had moved to the shade of a tree and was stretched out for a nap, his cap covering his face.

The sound of skirts moving reached his ears and John had to watch Mrs. Brock return to the inn. She strode quickly and did not glance back over her shoulder. He ducked his head ruefully, his body pricking with want. He had to content himself with watching her hips sway back and forth until he couldn’t see her anymore.

G
iant Johnny stuck his head into the office. “Come with me.”

Louisa glanced up from the accounts. “What for?”

He sighed. “Just come. I only have a few minutes. Please,” he added.

With a frown, she stood and followed him out through the noisy kitchen towards her cottage. The carpenters had finished for the day, the sun already beginning to set. “What is it, Mr. Taylor? Dinner patrons will be arriving shortly. I still help to prepare and serve meals, as you well know.”

“First off, I think being partners means we can address each other by our Christian names. John is mine.”

“I know what your name is. And I disagree, as the use of our Christian names implies an intimacy that does not belong in a business partnership.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“What about all those husband-and-wife partnerships? We are hardly the only couple to run an inn together.”

Louisa lifted her chin. “You have hit upon the difference. We are not married.”

“No, we are not.” He had stopped next to the ladder up to the roof and looked at her, his dark eyes smoldering. She knew what that look was for and it sent a wave of heat directly to her womb. Good Lord, it had been some time since she had had such a reaction to a man. She couldn’t remember it being so powerful.

She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to hide how her nipples had tightened. “Why did you bring me here? Is there something the matter with my cottage?”

Giant Johnny shook his head. “Nothing is the matter. I just thought to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“How to shingle a roof.” He gestured to the ladder. “Up you go.”

Her eyes widened and she felt her jaw drop. She just stared at him for a moment before regaining her wits. “I beg your pardon?”

He grinned at her, making her stomach tighten. “You looked so unhappy to not be able to repair your own roof. I thought you might like to learn the basics, at least.”

Louisa glanced warily at the ladder. “You expect me to climb that thing in a dress?”

“I would lend you some of my trousers, but I doubt they would be your size. Even with a belt, they would be so big on you they would be a danger.” He leaned into her with a cheeky grin. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

Her face reddened and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “You will proceed before me,” she stated.

“Have you climbed a ladder before?”

She sniffed. In stables, yes, but not for many years. “How difficult can it be?”

“The ladder wobbles.”

“Thank you for the warning. I am sure that I will be fine, if it holds you. Now if you please.” She nodded at the ladder and waited.

With a shrug, he scaled the ladder until he could swing up onto the roof. He leaned over to watch her ascent. Pressing her lips together, she held her skirts up by one hand and with the other clasped the wood of the ladder. Leaning in to compensate for her one-handed rise, she climbed up rung by rung, using the heels of her shoes to secure herself more firmly to the ladder. When she reached the top, he offered her his hand, which she refused until she noticed that half the roof was missing. Deciding the loss of pride was preferable to the loss of her life, she took it.

When his fingers encircled hers, the sensations from earlier that day came rushing back. His calloused skin scraped against hers, making all of her nerves stand at attention, focused on him. Thoughts of how his hands would feel against her belly, her breasts, her thighs and she felt a tingle tease her core.

He didn’t release her hand, instead pulled her closer to him, his arm sliding around her waist. “Be careful.”

“I am fine,” she said, but didn’t pull away, not when his hand felt so nice against her hip.

“Allow me this,” he murmured in her ear. “It is dangerous up here for even the most sure-footed of men.”

She nodded, still focused on the heat coming from his side and seeping into her body. A part of her mind whispered that she should move away, that she did not need to lean against him so, but the instinct to survive had her relishing his support.

Giant Johnny gestured with his free hand, covering the whole roof and pointing at the exposed wood. “We had to reframe most of the roof. The wood was rotten and you would have found yourself with one big hole, hopefully one that didn’t fall on your head.”

“I know what happens to rotten wood.” She found her voice again.

He ignored her and continued explaining their progress on the roof to her, carefully maneuvering her toward where shingles had already been laid, watching to see that she stepped carefully along the exposed wood and providing her support.

He glanced down at her and smiled. John released her to pick up a hammer and held it out to her. “Want to shingle your roof?”

Louisa stared at him. He could not be serious? She had never shingled a roof before. It was a task reserved for m—

On that thought, she took the offered tool and lifted her chin. “Tell me what to do.”

A grin covered his face and he led her to the laid shingles, walking onto the roof. She followed, holding her skirts in one hand, stepping cautiously. She eyed him walking confidently and forced herself to relax. If the wood supported his weight and size, it would do the same for her. Except that statement was something her logical mind failed to communicate fully to her still tense body. A part of her wished he still held on to her hand.
Just for the support
, she told herself.

He bent down and picked up a shingle. He knelt down and showed her the layering. “When it rains, you want the water to be able to run unobstructed down the roof. By layering the shingles, it keeps the water from entering the house, but if the first layer was at the peak—”

“The water would pool in the ridges instead of flowing down,” Louisa interrupted. “Yes, I see. That is quite logical.”

He grinned at her. “Yes, we men are known for our logic.”

She glared at him. “Do you really want me to respond to that?” She belatedly recognized the tease.

The grin remained. “The shingles are to be nailed down, like so.” He crouched, overlapped the new shingle over the top half of the already placed one and put a nail in each of the four corners, ensuring they entered both wood and shingle. “Easy as that.”

She eyed the shingles uneasily and glanced down at her green dress. She would have to be careful if she did not want it ruined. She hunched down beside him and took four nails from the nearby bag. He handed her a shingle, which she adjusted to overlap as he had. Nailing it in was challenging, as she did not want to hit her fingers. But when it was done, she looked up at him with a smile. “Easy as that.”

They continued that way, John handing her the shingles to nail in. Their progress was slower than it had been with Robbie and Joe, but he did not mind the view of her crouching on the roof and swinging a hammer.

It was oddly arousing, watching her confidence with the task increase. He gave a brief prayer of thanks that she hadn’t helped them during the day; it would have been difficult to explain the allure of a hammer.

Their pace picked up. “Not so hard, is it?” he said after several minutes.

“So easy even a woman could do it, is that what you are saying?”

“Easy, don’t get all prickly.” He spread more tar around. “It was just a comment. I happen to like conversation.”

“We can converse about the inn. I had some thoughts about the drink selection.”

“What about it?”

“We could purchase a variety of alcohols and different qualities as well.”