The Secret Desires of a Governess (10 page)

“I won’t be far behind you,” she promised and gave him a little chuck under his chin.

Now that her curiosity was irrevocably snagged, she’d not leave the old church grounds without looking around a little while longer. There was still the matter of the missing grave. Luck, she had a feeling, was on her side in solving some of the mysteries the old woman had whispered about.

Jacob finally left her there, looking back every ten paces, as though he was afraid she’d disappear altogether.

She waved back at him until finally, he was out of view.

She turned her back to the main house and looked at the fallen walls around her. What secrets did this place hold?

Jacob had mentioned ghosts. Why would Lord Brendall insist on such rubbish? It made little sense that the boy had been frightened from searching this particular area of the castle, considering he explored more dangerous and ill- repaired portions of the house and grounds. It was evident that his lordship was hiding something.

Walking beneath what must have been the old vestibule doors, she entered a clearing filled with more tall grasses and wilted wildflowers. It was so desolate and dreary that the scene before her seemed at odds with the bountiful beauty found in the flora growing everywhere the sun’s faint rays touched.

She’d never seen ruins before. Had the church been long abandoned before it had tumbled to the ground? Had it fallen in a siege as the bells rang out their warning above?

She trailed her hand over the weatherworn pillars that remained standing in the old garden enclave. For what reason had this whole structure not been taken down?

Surely there was a story here. One she was most interested to uncover.

Would she find the grave? She’d not checked here previously. And there were obviously a great many places in the castle she wasn’t aware of, like the catacombs. There were so many places for her to discover that it made her heart skip a beat in eagerness.

Abby’s foot caught on a rock slab hidden beneath the tall grasses, bringing her to her knees. Her hands smacked down in front of her on the ground, holding her steady. A large white piece of broken stone lay dismally beneath her.

“Damn it. I haven’t an ounce of luck with me in this bloody place.”

Dusting off her hands against her skirts, she got her feet back under her and threaded more carefully through the grounds, taking slower steps so she didn’t trip again.

The old churchyard looked about a quarter mile square. It was tucked against the south wall on one side, the back of the stable on the other. It was hidden away, and she supposed easily forgotten in this less traversed part of the castle.

On the west, there were markers indicating an old graveyard. Interesting that it wasn’t better looked after out of respect for the dead.

She gingerly made her way closer, wondering if she’d be able to read any dates on the stones. Most were so faded and pale that her fingers couldn’t even trace the names etched into the stone slabs. The sea air had eaten away at them, fading and erasing the history of this mysterious place with time.

The farther into the small plot she walked, the newer the stones were. Newer in the sense that one was dated 1620. Another,1710. How old was this castle? Quite possibly it dated back to Norman times.

What an interesting history such a place must hold.

She was determined to find some books in the library on this castle when she went back up to the main house. It was fascinating to discover new secrets and hidden places on a daily basis. She certainly wouldn’t be bored in a place where every day brought her something new.

Toward the back of the graveyard there was a taller and newer grave marker, standing out from the rest. It was shaded by the hedgerow growing wildly on the right and a solid chunk of what remained of the church wall on the left. Abby stood in front of it, making out the inscription clearly on this one.

The breath left her lungs at the realization that the old woman’s words had come to fruition. Here lay the grave whispered about.

The inscription read madeline harriett graham, born 1820, died 1841. Seven years ago. One year after Jacob had been born. Had she died trying to birth another babe? Had she died for other reasons? Why was her grave hidden away from everyone? Including her son?

Abby traced her fingers over the letterings of her name.

There was no epitaph marked on the cold stone. No loving words for the woman who had given birth to the next heir to Brendall Castle. Only her name and date. What a gloomy and lonely death for this woman. Abby wiped away a stray tear, feeling overwhelmingly sad at the thought of Jacob’s mother buried and all but forgotten where people daren’t tread. Where Jacob would never visit with a bunch of picked wildflowers?

Abby screwed her lips together in thought. There had to be a reason to bury her in the back of the unkempt graveyard. Now she wondered about everything else the woman from town had accused Lord Brendall of. Could those words hold the same amount of truth as they had for finding the grave? Could he have been the cause of his wife’s death?

She was making fanciful leaps with her imagination and let out a frustrated exhalation. Lord Brendall was no murderer. He might seem coldhearted, but he was not cruel.

She had tarried long enough here; it was time to get back to the main house for a quick luncheon before the afternoon lessons began.

The sun shone high in the sky ahead of her. She had to shade her eyes as she picked her way back to the front of the church. Just as she reached the edge of the wall of the original building, she stepped into the path of Lord Brendall.

He had a penchant for finding her in the most unusual and private of places. Had he been following her? Certainly not, or he’d have stopped her from exploring the grounds sooner. Wouldn’t he? How had he seen her tucked so deeply inside the shaded churchyard? Prying eyes on the outside world should not have seen her. This place was its own forgotten sanctuary.

A thousand questions came to mind on seeing him.

Thank God none came flying out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure what to say, when he had a peculiar look on his face.

Not precisely anger, though it was clear he wasn’t thrilled to find her. Should she rise to defend her whereabouts? No spot on the castle grounds had been forbidden her entry.

It wasn’t as though he had forbidden her to come here.

No, there was no reason for her to apologize for being caught exploring her new home. She lived here in this monstrous castle, too. She had a right to know her surroundings and whatever secrets they guarded.

He looked behind her— to where his wife’s grave lay forgotten— then back to her.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asked.

The prince prayed the day would come when he could forget the woman who haunted his dreams.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Sweat beaded at his temples. His shirt stuck to his chest in the front, and the sleeves were loose and rolled up to his elbows; dirt smeared his forearms and his shirt. His hands were loose at his sides, chin high and haughty, his lips pursed together in disapproval. It was as though he were saying, how dare you.

“I was on my way back to the main house.”

She attempted to step out from his path, but he followed, stalling her escape. His eyes were narrowed as he studied her, and he’d shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Where you should be, but aren’t.”

“I decided to explore the castle grounds a little while longer before heading back,” she felt the need to explain.

“This is not a safe place to explore.”

She narrowed her eyes. More likely he wanted to hide his wife’s grave where no one would see it. And for what reason? So many questions burned at the back of her mind, eager for explanations to appease her curiosity. She’d not utter a single one of them. She was a stranger here. It wouldn’t do for her to stick her nose in things that had nothing whatsoever to do with her. She would have to employ other means of weaseling out the information she wanted.

“Stay clear of these grounds. There are loose stones that could tumble down at any time.”

He had a point that was hard to argue. The grounds didn’t look the least bit safe. But if this place were so dangerous, why not just level the

whole structure to the

ground? Set up the grave markers more clearly so the dead could be properly respected? Why bury his wife here in the unsafe rubble, where no one could lay down flowers next to her marker?

Lord Brendall took a step closer to her. She held her ground, cocked her head to the side, and let him approach.

She should have probably avoided him, run back to the house and just stayed out of his path. But she was too busy trying to read his expression, trying to interpret the reason for the tic that had started under his eye. There was no anger in his carriage. It was some other indefinable emotion.

She had this inexplicable need to understand this man.

Even if only in a moment of unguarded shock by her boldness, she said, “I found your wife’s grave.”

He remained calm. His look, his stance, none of it changed.

“It was inevitable that you eventually would.”

She thought he would deny it. Now she had a host more of questions.

“How did she die?”

It was a bold inquiry, but one she couldn’t help but ask.

“You can’t guess?”

“There is the logical part of me that would assume she died bearing another babe. My mother died birthing a fourth child. A son. He came too early and neither survived.”

“The situation with my wife was far from logical.”

“I keep coming back to that woman’s words. The woman at the rail. Bethesda, Thomas called her?”

“You shouldn’t trust the words of a woman scorned.”

“Scorned by whom?”

Instead of answering he said, “Bethesda has long hated the Wrights. My family’s history with the village goes back to the time we took over the castle. They were dark times.”

He scratched at the back of his head in thought. She’d not stop him from revealing tidbits of

information about himself. She wanted to know more. Everything.

“Though she despises the ground I walk upon, Bethesda probably wasn’t too far off from the truth. There’s a lot of speculation surrounding my wife’s death.” Why was he so forthcoming all of a sudden? She hadn’t expected him to reveal any of his secrets.

Certainly the witch’s words were a lie. This man might be frightening in his grand size, but he was as gentle as a . . . a puppy.

“She said you were the cause of your wife’s death.”

She’d not worded it quite so gently as that, but that was essentially her meaning.

“Not too far off at all.”

“I don’t believe you. Tell me what happened instead of dancing around the subject.”

“You are new to the castle, Miss Hallaway, what right have you to know its secrets?”

“Because I doubt anyone has ever bothered to ask for your side of the story before.”

Lord Brendall slowly wheeled them both around and put her back to the last standing portion of the interior wall of the building.

“She killed herself, Miss Hallaway. There’s your truth.

Nothing so romantic as having another child. Or death found in sickness. Unable to bear life anymore with me . . . or Jacob, she killed herself.”

Abby looked away from the hurt blazing in his eyes.

Her fingers plucked at a blade of grass shooting out a crack in the stone wall behind her. What could she say to that declaration? She was ashamed to have asked, but surprised he gave her the truth. A lesser man would not have admitted that fact.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to mutter.

“I haven’t asked for you pity.”

Is that what he thought she offered? Not pity but condolences for his loss, and for the pain her death must have caused. His expression was difficult to read, but she thought maybe he was waiting for her to reject him after his admission. Storm away from him and run back to the main house.

“Now that you know my secrets, why don’t you tell me what you are running from, Miss Hallaway?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because anyone with your youth and brains would have thought better than to stay on here. Would have found a more biddable life.”

“You shouldn’t misjudge me.”

“Misjudge isn’t the right word. You’re a distraction I could do without.”

“I will endeavor to stay out of your path, then.”

“No. Don’t do that.”

He stepped closer to her, so close there wasn’t any space between them and her breasts heaved against his chest, and then her body was moving closer, forming and shaping more firmly to him. Her nipples went taut, and her breathing grew erratic.

The press of his body was solid and masculine against hers. They both held perfectly still and tight against each other— neither, it seemed, willing to move away. What did it say about her that she wanted to rub up against him?

To feel the firmness of his body beneath hers as their limbs tangled together and his lips explored hers?

Excitement for something more fl owed through her veins. Her body warred with her mind on the matter of Lord Brendall. She needed to avoid him because this man would make her hunger after something she shouldn’t want . . .

“I want to know your secrets, Miss Hallaway.”

“I have none.” None worth sharing.

His hand came up, the back of his forefinger trailed a path down her cheek.

“Your son will be looking for me.”

“But he’s not so foolish as to come here in search of you.”

“We should leave.” Not that she wanted to.

“Soon.” He leaned in close, till his lips were a fraction above hers.

“Soon,” she repeated and swallowed any rebuff she thought to utter.

“When you came to me last night, I had hoped—” He shook his head slightly and pressed his lips together for a moment. “There is something to be explored between us.”

“Are you so sure?”

“Yes. And not wholly in a bed, though the idea holds great appeal.”

If he knew how badly she wanted to be in his bed, what lengths would he go to ensure such a thing happened in truth?

What was wrong with her? In the company of Lord Brendall, her brain ceased to function.

With more effort than it should have taken, she mentally shook the thought away, burying it deep in the back of her mind. She needed to think with her head right now, not with her unruly yearning for another touch from this man.

She’d not become a senseless simpering female, throwing herself at every eligible, handsome bachelor in the hope of shackling herself to one. Doing so would mean she was no better than any of those silly chits she’d been unfortunate enough to meet in London, and that her worth rested purely in becoming some man’s wife, or in the case of Lord Brendall . . . his mistress of sorts.

Without kissing her, his lips brushed over her cheek and around the shell of her ear. His breath was hot against her skin.

Her eyes slid shut as he whispered in that gruff tone of his, “What do you want, Miss Hallaway?”

Nothing.

Everything.

Oh, God, she was so close to falling into a trap that she daren’t speak in fear of making this whole situation worse. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, except those that occurred in nature. A lone warbler chirped a soft song in the nearby shrubbery; gulls cried in the distance, their wails carried in on the wind whistling through the castle grounds. The constant chirp of crickets hummed around them as they stood quiet and still against the wall.

Then there were the even, deep breaths of Lord Brendall, awaiting the answer she could not give. Refused to give him. She clenched her hands into fists so she wasn’t tempted to flatten them against his chest and feel the muscle so taut and brawny and just within her reach.

“Why should you want me at all?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question since you arrived.”

What could she say to that?

His hand glided firmly over her arm then around to the small of her back. His long fingers spread wide, his arm strong as he held her away from the cool stone wall.

Move away, she told herself. Slip beneath his arms and tell him he should stay away from her. Tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him, even though it was a lie.

No objection made it past her lips. Her fluttering, frantic heart did not beat in protest, either. Her mind, on the other hand, insisted she do what was proper before she acted on rash impulses. But right was relative, wasn’t it?

“I have to go back to the house.” What a feeble excuse.

The words were the right thing to say, her actions the opposite of what she should do to follow through on that suggestion.

“Not yet,” he said, brushing his thumb over her right cheek and then cupping it with his palm. At least she held herself back from nuzzling into the rough feel of his hand.

She looked up into his eyes; the blue was eaten up by the black centers. They were so intense and full of lustful hunger. Need. Want. It all mingled there. So many emotions, she couldn’t pinpoint just one.

She shouldn’t have looked so closely at him. Because now she didn’t know why she should deny herself something she wanted. Deny herself something that felt so right to indulge in.

Fists unfurled, she pressed them against his shirt and went up on her toes. She’d do the kissing this time. Because there was definitely going to be kissing. Lots of kissing if she could help it, since she liked the way his tongue rolled around in her mouth. The way he tasted faintly of coffee and brandy.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered.

Before she could think better of her hasty actions, deny herself what she wanted most right now, her mouth pressed against his.

She didn’t start slow and gentle. She didn’t want any such thing. She took and took. Delving her tongue into his mouth, thrusting her tongue against his, with his, around his. This was a very bad idea. But no one would know what had transpired between them, except them.

Mayhap it would be their little secret. She nearly snorted with that thought. It was as though she were reaching for a glittering shilling in a deep, deep well. Instead of clasping it, she was tumbling over the precipice. Eventually she knew she’d crash to the bottom, broken and dejected. Yet she still reached for that shiny, tempting coin.

He should have marched her back up to the main house and told her to get on with her lessons and not to wander the castle in idle musings.

Elliott had planned to chastise her for entering the old church, not engage in intimacies that never found a satisfying completion.

Instead all he cared to do was see how far she’d be willing to take this kiss. Would she let him touch her? Feel her? This obsession he had for her made no sense. What was the attraction? Certainly not her snide, quick remarks.

Maybe it was her sudden interest in and desire to help his son? Or maybe . . . maybe it was Elliott’s need for a companion?

He’d gone a long time without the company of a woman.

It wasn’t just the physical intimacy he wanted, but the presence of another in his everyday life.

It had been so long since he’d had someone at his side. Miss Hallaway’s nearness made him want those things. Things he hadn’t realized he had missed all these years. How could you miss something when you didn’t know you were in fact missing it in the first place?

So here he was, with her in his arms, instead of demanding she hie it up to the house.

The second she’d stepped up onto her toes and kissed him as passionately as she had, he couldn’t stop from wanting more. Now that she’d initiated the kiss— showing him just how much she desired him, and not vice versa— he wanted more.

She arched her body away from the wall, threaded her fingers through his hair, effectively fusing their bodies from pelvis to pelvis, breast to chest.

The crush of her small breasts made him want to feel them naked against his body. He wanted to cup those small mounds in his hands, pluck at the tips till they stood firm from her body, and suck them into his mouth as he thrust his cockstand inside the velvety warmth of her sheath.

He dropped his hands and tilted her more firmly and comfortably against his burgeoning prick. What would she do if he took her right here, right now? Would she welcome him with open arms? Would it be as passionate as the kiss they shared?

Pulling her skirts up, he encouraged her to hook her leg over his hip with his hand so they were more intimately in contact. So that he could grind against that sweet feminine part of her and rub his hand along the smooth skin of her thigh— though there wasn’t much to feel with her unmentionables covering everything he wanted to touch most.

Had she not been wearing so many damn layers, he’d be inside her right now.