The Secret Desires of a Governess (22 page)

His body heaved above hers, rocking their pelvises so tightly together that he felt they were joined as one.

In giving herself to him after everything that had happened today, he realized something . . . she belonged wholly to him. He’d not let her stray, nor could he ever let her go. She belonged to him just as he belonged solely to her.

He’d fallen hard for his little governess. Faster than a peregrine falcon diving from a cliff . . . only

there were no brakes to slow him down, no wings to allow him to soar through the air. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stop the life- altering free fall that grasped him by the gut and pulled him in for the thrilling ride. He didn’t resist the pull. He embraced it.

Their mouths clashed in a desperate tasting. She nipped at his bottom lip and sucked at his tongue, their teeth clanked together as they tasted as deeply as they could of each other. Their bodies moved fluidly. Both were desperate for climax but not desperate enough to finish their joining.

Was it possible to fall in love in such a short time?

Without knowing all they were? Only that they fit together perfectly, that she was brightness to his darkness, that he was wickedness to her goodness.

He had no idea.

The only thing he knew with any certainty was that it had happened to him. Had happened to him with Abigail.

There was no changing what was. He’d not fight against what felt right.

She panted into his mouth, the pounding of their slick bodies forcing a small squeak from her every time he pounded against her tight core.

He fucked her like a man desperate. Like he couldn’t get enough of everything she was. And he couldn’t. There would never be enough of her; he’d always want, and probably always take when she offered herself so freely. He’d beg and plead on his knees for more if she ever refused him again.

He doubted he’d ever be a complete man if she were absent from his life. Wasn’t sure now if he’d ever been complete when she hadn’t been here to brighten his home.

His life. His son’s life.

He wasn’t a man falling in love.

He was a man in love.

There was no greater gift than this, he decided. Being tightly wrapped around the woman he loved. Cherished, even.

Her panting turned into high- pitched mewls as his body met hers and rotated over the spread lips of her sex after every propelling thrust forward. Her hands tightened on his, squeezing them so tightly he thought the blood might stop fl owing to the tips. He didn’t care. He only wanted her to find her climax because he’d soon follow. This felt different from previous times. This felt like more. Like everything.

Her whole body arched off the bed, her fingers grasped his in a death- like grip. Her sweet cunny flexed around his cock, milking it for all he was worth.

He kissed her again as he shot his seed deep into her womb. The only thought going through his mind was that she was his.

In every way, she belonged to him.

They collapsed in each other’s arms without any strength to move for a quarter hour.

His cock was still semi- hard in her. The pressure of her cunt like a fist urging him to full mast. The day had been trying. This was enough. They might just have tomorrow.

He rolled off her and tucked her tight against his body.

Sleep found her easily. Elliott listened to the soothing deep breaths she took in sleep, trying to imagine what it would be like to not hear that sound. He couldn’t picture it. Refused to.

What a state she’d put him in. He’d gone from wanting her from the start, to forcing himself to keep away, to doing everything in his power to secure her as his companion of the night. And now . . . now he was in irrevocably in love with her.

“Father,” the dragon cackled. “You have made me this creature and now it is my duty to end your reign.”

“Look upon yourself, son, and see the monster you became.”

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Abby watched Elliott show Jacob how to mix and spread the slop they used to secure the new stone blocks on the wall. It was Saturday, a free day from studies, so she and Jacob had come out to see Elliott and Thomas finishing the last stretch of the wall.

She wondered how she hadn’t seen the bond between them before now. Jacob doted upon his father, while Elliott showed so much patience with his son that it made her heart clench maternally. He was a good father. Kindhearted whenever he was with his son— her, too, under the cover of night.

Abby sighed. It made her realize just how much she missed her own father in watching them together. Her father had died four years ago. She’d found him slumped over in the chair behind his great oak desk, hand clenched around a tumbler of whiskey. Father hadn’t been all that old, he had years ahead of him, but he’d been weak-hearted after Mama had died.

She’d grown up that day. The change had been from a young girl just about to find her way into the world, as her sisters had done before her, to a woman who had better ideas than settling into a life that didn’t seem to suit her when she couldn’t control the outcome. Life was too short for any uncertainties about one’s purpose. Marriage had always been an uncertainty.

She looked up to Elliott. Was he the reason these old memories were resurfacing? She sighed again. There never was much use dwelling on the past. It couldn’t change the present, or dictate the future. You could only learn from it.

And the day her father had died she had decided to live her life as she saw fit.

“It’s rather cool out today. I’m going to head indoors.”

“We’ll see you for luncheon,” Elliott said.

Having at least an hour to herself, Abby made her way back to the house to plan the rest of the week’s lessons with Jacob since she had no other pressing matters.

She couldn’t believe she’d been here for almost six weeks. She would need to write to her sisters and explain her long absence; otherwise they would be liable to come find her. Not that she’d given them any clear indication to where exactly she was staying, though they did know which town she had taken the train into. It wouldn’t be hard for them to find her. It had been terrible of her to not write to her sisters. Especially since she missed them fiercely.

Martha approached her while she unraveled her shawl from her shoulders, in the foyer.

“I know we don’t have many visitors up here,” Martha said. “But you can’t use the front door as you please. Walk around the kitchen and enter where the rest of the servants come in.”

Abby was shocked by the bitterness in the old woman’s voice. She stood there, dumbfounded, the heavy woolen shawl folded over her arm. Should she respond?

Was it worth it to defend her actions? She doubted Martha would ever like her, for reasons unknown. Abby probably hadn’t helped the situation; she wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings toward those she disdained. She was sure she gave that fact away by sneering at Martha every time they happened upon each other.

“For what reason do you dislike me so thoroughly?”

She should have bitten her tongue. Yet . . . she couldn’t regret asking the question.

Was it possible that Martha would request her resignation for speaking out of turn? She wouldn’t put it past the woman to let her go on so little reason. Martha could tell her she had to leave. But Abby wasn’t ready to leave Elliott’s side. Not with so much more to explore between them.

She couldn’t even ask for Elliott’s help in dealing with Martha. Everyone would know why the lord of the manor favored her if she dared to do something so transparent.

“Don’t think I’m unaware of what is happening in my house hold.”

It was no more Martha’s house hold than hers. Despite the fact that Martha had lived here for a greater number of years, it didn’t give the woman any right to treat Abby like an outsider. She’d proven herself with Jacob. Proven that she wanted nothing more than to help Elliott’s son as if he were her own child. Had succeeded where all the past governesses had failed.

Of course, it was possible Martha thought her a great whore if she had any inkling as to what happened in the evenings between Abby and Elliott. Could she possibly know? Elliott came to her room once he was sure the house was empty till morning.

“I’ve done nothing more than I was hired to do.”

Not really a lie. She hadn’t meant to fall in love. Hadn’t meant to find companionship in Elliott’s arms. It couldn’t be denied that there were strong feelings growing between them. Strong emotions she wanted to explore every facet of.

“Should never have hired you on. You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth. You’ve got master Elliott wrapped about your pretty little finger.”

“You’re wrong.” Abby was too stunned by Martha’s words to think of a better defense.

Martha smacked the handle end of the broom against the stone floor. The sound was like a hunting rifl e going off as it echoed around the foyer’s bare marble walls. The out- of- character action made Abby jump back a step. This woman would not rest till Abby left the castle. She saw that now. She hated that that was the case at all.

Abby refused to leave. This was her home. She didn’t want to leave Jacob when they’d made leaps and bounds with his language lessons. She didn’t want to walk away from Elliott and the love she felt bonding them closer every night they spent in each other’s arms. She didn’t want to go back to the dull balls and lackluster soirees her sisters hauled her to.

“You mistake my intent,” Abby said. “I’m sorry you are not pleased with the progress I’ve made with Jacob.”

“I know your type. Should have sent you away when I realized how young you were. Your type aren’t welcome in the castle.”

Martha pursed her lips and turned the straw broom around to sweep the sand and dirt from the foyer toward the open door much as she might sweep away an unwanted guest.

Abby was not afraid of Martha and showed that by taking a few steps forward, putting the woman within reaching distance. Martha would do no more than scowl and frown at her and deliver a few careful insults. If Martha never grew to like her, so be it. It didn’t matter to her.

Abby was here to carve out a path for herself in life.

Although . . . that grand plan of in dependence had changed over the weeks since her arrival. She didn’t know precisely what she wanted anymore. She only knew that it wasn’t what she had wanted previously.

She was never supposed to want marriage. Or want a man to make up part of her life as though he were her missing half. Life was sometimes cruel and decidedly unfair; it twisted what you didn’t want into something tempting. And when you finally gave in to that temptation and realized you’d been wrong all along . . . life shadowed all that seemed bright for the first time.

She would find her way. She didn’t have to decide her fate today. More important, she didn’t have to leave the castle today.

“I’ll be in the library,” she told Martha, “should the young master wish to find me before luncheon.”

Without giving Martha a chance to respond, she left her in the foyer, furiously sweeping away what was no longer there. The house keeper mumbled something insulting that Abby couldn’t quite make out, didn’t want to make out.

Abby was a bigger person than Martha; that was all there was to it. She’d be kind and

understanding and make the older woman look a fool in front of her master. These things had a way of working themselves out for the better.

Abby circled her fingers in the light dusting of coarse hairs on Elliott’s chest, as she often did when they lay in bed at night.

“Elliott?”

“Hmmm,” he replied, half asleep with her soothing ministrations.

She was tired, too, but had too much on her mind to find sleep easily to night. Guilt gnawed at her like a vulture starved and desperate for food. She had to tell him who she really was and why she’d come here. How could she hold back any part of herself from the man she’d fallen in love with? Doing so felt wrong.

“I have something I need to tell you . . .”

She bit at her lip, not sure she wanted to go on, or how to for that matter. He’d probably fall asleep soon and forget that she’d started a conversation if she remained quiet.

“What is it?” He yawned and barely brought his hand up to cover it in time.

She sighed heavily. No such luck that he would find sleep and forget that she needed to divulge her secrets, which weren’t near as life changing as the ones he’d shared with her. That should make it easier to tell him the truth, but it didn’t.

Chances were, he’d not care that she was a lady by birth and in standing. Or that she would be a wealthy woman once her inheritance came to her. On the opposite side of the coin, he might care a great deal that she had lied to him. Send her back to her sisters.

This was a burden in desperate need of lifting. It would do her well to tell him the truth.

“You should know something about me. It would never have mattered had we gone on as master and servant.”

“You were never a servant in my eyes. Not since the moment we met.”

She flattened her palm against his sternum. She needed to stop fidgeting. “And it was with great difficulty that I viewed you as merely my employer. You know I have two sisters.”

“I recall you telling me of them.”

“What I failed to mention was that they both married rather well. They don’t know that I came here to be a governess. I lied to them, you see.”

“Then write to tell them the truth.”

“I can’t.”

Abby pushed herself up on her elbow so she could look at Elliott. His eyes were closed, but he opened them when she shifted her position. Stubble darkened his face and shadowed those slashed cheeks and dimpled chin of his.

She wanted him to make love to her body with his mouth so she could feel the prickly scruff of his cheeks sensitizing her skin. She looked away from him and focused on the quilted counterpane that lay bunched up next to them.

“They think I’m here attending a friend’s first birth.

Had they known I’d taken on a position as governess, they’d have found a way to keep me in London till I was safely wed.”

She looked at his face to gauge his expression. He sleepily lifted a brow in question and put one arm behind his head to raise it from the pillows.

“You fear matrimony so much?”

She gave his arm a playful shove.

“No.”

Not anymore. But she couldn’t voice those words. She knew Elliott had no wish to marry again. He had told her that he was quite happy with how things had turned out and that he never wanted to change their arrangement.

“I might have failed to mention that my sisters are both countesses.”

One black brow was still arched in question over his left eye. “And what does that make you, my fair Abigail?”

“I was born into a good family. My father was a viscount.”

“Lady Abigail Anne Hallaway, then. Whom did your sisters marry? Perhaps I know them by name.”

Elliott had admitted an uncanny ability in remembering names and faces; he had to commit a great many things to memory when he couldn’t read.

“You may know Emma’s husband. He’s the Earl of Asbury. I think you are near to the same age.”

“I only ever visited London thrice. On one of those occasions, maybe nine or ten years ago, I met Asbury. He was older so probably not your brother- in- law. His father perhaps? He helped me with some investments.

“The local villages relied heavily on smuggling in my father’s time. When the bans were lifted on the making and distributing of whiskey, the main source of income died here. I remember Asbury because he suggested I invest everything I had into livestock. Cows, sheep, and goats. I thought him a fool. I still took his advice since I had nothing left to lose. He was right.”

Elliott proved himself over and over to the people in Northumbria. It upset her to know they disliked him so much. For what reason could they loathe a man who made sure no one under his rule starved? Would she ever know the reason?

“Grace married an Italian count. I left just before her wedding. I fear she’ll never forgive me for my hasty departure. In my defense, I’d already accepted the post before news of her marriage.”

“I’m sure she will. From what you’ve carefully said about them before now, they seem as though they love you a great deal.”

She nodded. “They do. My sisters wanted nothing more than for me to marry a title. But my heart wasn’t in it.”

“Your heart wasn’t in it?” He was teasing; she knew because the left side of his lip twitched upward, revealing an amused smile despite his even tone of voice. “So you fled as far as the train would take you.”

“Yes and no. I did try to appease my sisters. I mingled and danced, dined and flirted all in the hope of finding the perfect suitor for more than three years. There were no potential husbands in my dinner partners.”

“I see where your problem lies.”

“What do you mean?”

He wouldn’t offer marriage, would he? In her revelation, had she hoped him to act a true gentleman and offer for her hand knowing that he’d ruined a lady? She wanted to tell herself that wasn’t what she felt in her heart, but she was done with her lies, even to herself.

He had been clear when he said this was all he could offer her. A life of half sin. Would he change his mind?

And why was she even thinking of marriage? Had she completely forgotten her resolve never to walk down the aisle and say her vows with God as her witness? Hadn’t she decided that the best course for any woman was to grasp her future with both hands and make it her own?

“Abigail, darling, there are no perfect men.” She ignored the twinge of disappointment that stabbed at her heart and took his tone for what it was, teasing. Mere teasing. “We are all savage beasts no matter how you dress us up or how prettily, or dully, you make us speak when in polite company. We all have the same goal.”