The Secret Desires of a Governess (25 page)

her skin.

“Abigail.” Elliott yanked back all the blankets and gathered her up in his arms, pressing the linen between her thighs. She didn’t want to be held, she just wanted the pain to ebb. To stop bleeding.

“Shh . . . ,” he whispered. “Hold on to me. I’m so sorry.

I didn’t think.”

She swallowed sobs that were fast building in her throat.

Why was Elliott sorry? He wasn’t bleeding. She was.

She tried to push herself up, but the pain in her belly seemed worse and forced her back down on her side to clutch her hands over the linens Elliott had pressed to her.

Tears of silent misery and agony slipped down her face as she wiped her blood- covered hands over the white sheets around her. She wanted rid of the reminder. Wanted this horrible day to disappear into obscurity. To not be reminded of what she stood to lose.

She thought she might hyperventilate. Or worse, scream and have the whole house running to her aid to witness her terror.

There was no air coming from her lungs, though. There was nothing but a deafening silence of numbness. A pain so deep it was debilitating.

Was this punishment for what she’d done? For indulging in her secret desires with Elliott? Had her sins been so great that the devil had cut the cords of life that had sprouted in her womb?

Oh, God, there was no denying the truth of her pregnancy now.

She felt nothing but deadness. A different kind of numbness than she felt when she’d fl oated in the sea.

She felt nothing but despair as she bled out the beautiful miracle from her unwelcoming body.

She was in Elliott’s arms, blankets, sheets, and all, unsure how she’d gotten there. Then she was in warm water, his body tucked behind her in the tub as he held his arms tight around her middle and cooed sweet noises of nothing in her ears.

Nothing. It was all nothing. Buzzing silence. Abject loss.

She wished the sea had taken her. Taken her with the babe before it could bleed from her body.

She thought maybe they were in the water for a long time. The water grew cool around them. She felt empty inside. Not just in body but in heart.

The side of Elliot’s face rested at the back of her head.

His one arm was snaked tightly around her middle, the other brushing through her hair in slow, methodical calming strokes.

“Elliott.” Her voice was barely decipherable; her throat ached to utter his name. Silent agony was all she felt.

“Save your voice. Sleep if you can. I have you.”

She closed her eyes not because she wanted to sleep but because they felt so swollen and achy that she needed to rest them.

The water all around them was stained pink. Elliott had braided her hair as she’d half dozed, half slouched against him in the warm water. It hung like a lifeless rope over the edge of the bathtub. Her body now lay limply against his.

Had he not interfered, had he forced himself to remain indifferent to her, she wouldn’t be suffering right now.

This was his fault.

He drained the tub and filled it once more with warm, almost hot, water. Her blood had stopped fl owing. He knew because the water was clear now.

He had suspected that she was carry ing his child. Had noticed the increased plumpness and sensitivity to her breasts. The appetite she’d developed late at night that had him raiding his own kitchen for a midnight snack fit for a king. The obvious pallor of her skin and the early hours she went

to bed to combat with her overtiredness.

He’d recognized the signs that she was with child a week or so ago, yet he’d foolishly said nothing.

The miscarriage was probably brought on by her plunge into the cold sea and then their lovemaking afterward.

God, he hated himself for that. It tore his heart in two knowing he’d contributed to the destruction of a helpless life. That he’d ripped Abigail’s innocence from her and now . . . she suffered.

Standing with her held tight to his body, and with a hand at the back of her knees, he swooped her up into his arms and dripped all the way to the chaise in his room. It was as though everything she was had drained from her with the blood that had come from her body.

Settling her on the chaise, he stripped the bedding aside and tossed fresh linens down to the center before bringing her back to the bed.

With the extra bath linens he wiped her down till she was completely dry, placed linens at the center of the bed should she bleed any more, then tossed the blankets atop her. When he was sure she was settled comfortably, he changed out of his damp drawers, tossing the soiled material in with the bedding from her room.

Turning to check the time on the mantel clock, he wondered if he could right Abigail’s room before the servants noticed something was off this morning. It was already six. Martha would be set up in the kitchen for the morning and would have noticed that he wasn’t in his study. With a quick decision he donned his day clothes and locked his room behind him.

There was nothing he could do for Abigail right now.

He’d join her shortly. Just as soon as he made excuses for them both. With the key he’d taken from Abigail’s night-stand, he locked her bedchamber door and headed for the kitchen.

“Master Elliott, what brings you to the kitchen?” Lydia asked. Her mother was absent this morning.

“I was famished,” he lied easily. “I saw Miss Hallaway this morning. She’s taken a fever so I advised her to rest for the day. Tell your mother.”

“I hope she hasn’t got that horrible sickness going around the village. There were a dozen people sick from church last Sunday.”

Lydia had always been a kind woman. She was eight years his junior, born half a year after Elliott’s mother had died. It was a wonder she hadn’t married yet. She’d befriended Abigail early on. She was close to the same stature as Abigail, too. Lydia would not have the strength to drag Abigail across the beach and into the water.

Was this how it would be? Would he be suspicious of everyone?

“That could very well be it. I’m feeling off kilter myself. I am going to rest for the morning in my chamber.

Have luncheon left outside my room at noon.”

“Yes, my lord.” Lydia dipped her head at his request.

He needed to see Martha before he went back to his room. He knew Martha hadn’t liked Abigail from the start. Had never cared to figure out why, either. Could Martha— a woman who acted as the matriarch in this household— have done something so vile?

Martha was on the second- floor landing, staring up at the tapestry of his dead wife. “Morning, Master Elliott.”

“What brings you to this part of the house so early in the morning?”

“Nothing my lord, you weren’t in your study when I brought a breakfast tray by, so I came to make sure you fared well.”

“I have fared better. But I should be well enough soon.”

He looked up at the tapestry of his wife. She had been a beautiful woman. Kindhearted and sweet when he’d first brought her here. But it had all changed within the first year of their marriage.

“Always knew there was something off about her,”

Martha said.

Come to think of it, Madeline had claimed strange things happening in the house hold against her person. Complained of hearing peculiar noises. Had tried to tell him harm had befallen her more than once. She’d never been hurt, never fallen, or been dragged into the sea, but . . .

Elliott looked back to Martha. For what reason? What motive? It didn’t make sense. Martha was a hearty woman; she’d have the strength to drag Abigail into the water. But why? She’d been a part of this family as far back as he could remember.

Thomas could have done it. Only problem with that was Thomas enjoyed Abigail’s company. Enjoyed teasing her like a father would a daughter.

He focused on the woman he’d known his whole life.

“You left late from the house last evening.”

“Just finished up a few letters for the livestock we sold over the border.”

Yet she had carried no parchments on meeting him outside his study. She’d tried to detain him. Tried to stall his leaving.

Martha, then, was his main suspect in Abigail’s incidents. Martha would answer to him as soon as he had proof.

“I’ll be abed for the remainder of the morning. I have a dreadful pain in my head.”

“I’ll bring you a drink to ease it.”

“No. I’ll be fine after a few hours’ sleep.”

“I haven’t seen Miss Hallaway about the house hold yet. She’s usually up for her walk. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

There was an expression of genuine care in Martha’s question. But was it real? He didn’t think so.

“She was ill in the night. She’s taken to her bed today.

Jacob shouldn’t bother either of us. I don’t want him sick, too.”

“Of course, my lord.” Martha descended the stairs.

“I’d like to go over the accounts with you later,” he called down to her.

She looked up at him from where she stood on the bottom landing, and replied, “As you wish.”

He took the stairs two at a time after that, his only worry Abigail. He wondered if he should call for a doctor.

But then, everyone would know his business. Or maybe not? He’d see her first then decide. If he had to ride out to get the doctor himself, he would do so.

She didn’t know how long she slept, but she woke with a start. Elliott was at her side, gathering her up in his arms.

“Abigail.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” The words were so quiet, but to speak them louder and put conviction to them would break her right now. She felt so delicate. Like she’d break if she thought too much on the ordeal.

“I had suspected. It was early on. It’s all right.”

“It’s not fine. Not in the least. I wanted that baby. I wanted it so badly.”

Hot fat tears fell from her eyes. There was no stopping this expression of sadness. She’d lost too much today. Although she’d known for certain for only a short a time that she carried Elliott’s child, it had been precious to her. A tiny miracle growing inside her. A gift from the heavens despite the sin they lived in.

He brushed her hair back from her face, rocking her gently in his arms in the center of the bed. His thighs flanked hers as he held her tight.

“I know,” he whispered against her hair, kissing lightly at her temple. “I’m sorry you’ve had to experience this at all.”

“Don’t ever let me go. Oh, God, Elliott. I can’t bear this. I can’t!”

“Shh . . . I have you.”

She fell asleep in his arms, he gently rocking her back and forth, rubbing a soothing hand over her back.

The king raised his sword intent on blooding the great beast, but the dragon was quicker and wasted no time in ending his plight as he breathed his fire down unto his cruel father’s weak fight.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Abby stood from the settee and walked dazedly over to the chair Elliott sat in. They were ensconced in his private chamber, where the servants could not interrupt them in the early hours of the evening.

She’d lain in bed all morning, still weak and saddened from her ordeal. Her loss. There had been nothing to do but think of the situation she was in, and she had come to some harsh conclusions and realizations today.

Would the small bit of happiness and joy she’d seen light his eyes these past weeks be completely snuffed when she told him she couldn’t stay? Not unless he offered her something more than living a lie. Only then would she consider facing what ever danger threatened their happiness.

“I may meet the same fate as your wife.”

Abby didn’t want to believe it possible. She was stronger than the woman before her. She knew right down to her bones that she and Elliott could make this work. While she wouldn’t allow madness to eat away at her mind, she wasn’t sure she could keep looking death in the eye and walk away unscathed indefinitely.

The last accident had been too much for her to bear.

She bit her lip hard to squelch the tears that formed in her eyes. She would be strong for this conversation.

“It’s possible,” he replied.

She wished he had lied. Then she might have convinced herself to stay even though she knew he would not offer marriage.

Elliott tapped the arm of the chair for her to sit on. She couldn’t be so close to him. Not when she was going to reject him, run away from him. If she sat next to him, she’d want him to comfort her, to tell her they would get through this. She knew he wouldn’t tell her that.

She sat across from him in an identical leather chair instead and curled her feet up under her and crossed her arms over her middle.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I don’t want you to find yourself the victim of another accident. I don’t want to find you dead the next time I happen upon you.”

She had wanted him to argue that she should stay. It felt as though he was giving up on her.

Yesterday he’d spent the day with her as she’d cried over the loss of the baby. She’d not bled again after he’d bathed her and settled her in bed. Now she felt bereft. Worn out.

She thought only a man in love would stand by his woman’s side when she experienced something so heart wrenching. She’d seen tears in his eyes when he’d realized what had happened. It wasn’t for her that he had cried . . . it was the tiny life torn from her body that he’d grieved for.

Maybe knowing he’d impregnated her had made him realize that had the child grown in her belly, they’d not be able to hide their affair from the house hold, or from the village for that matter.

She’d been welcome as a companion, welcomed so easily into his bed as his lover that she hadn’t thought to step back and see the worth of her sacrifice in falling so easily in love with him. Yesterday had changed everything.

She gave him a sad smile, her lip quivering where she bit down into the bottom one. “Our match was doomed from the start.”

He nodded his agreement and dropped his gaze to the fireplace.

She needed to stay her course. Focus on what her heart was telling her to do— tell him that she would be gone in a couple of days. She only needed time to heal before her journey home.

Numbness, she decided, was too passionless a word to describe how she felt. It was as though she wasn’t in her body, but looking down on the scene before her. As though she weren’t truly seeing things through her own eyes.

“You are crippled by your worst fears, Elliott. Madeline still has her claws in you.”

“Abigail . . .” His tone was even. Careful. “My wife has nothing to do with us.”

His wife had everything to do with them, she wanted to scream. Absolutely everything. But the words, the accusation, lodged in her throat.

“I think you want me to stay. But you are afraid to truly let go of your past to embrace a future of a different making. Had this malice toward me never happened, you would open your heart up and let me in. You would give our future a chance.”

“What in hell are you talking about?” He rose from the chair.

She stood, too, and raised her hand to his face, cupping the prickly stubble in her soft hand as he came nearer to her. His skin was so dark next to hers. A contrast. An opposite. She’d fallen into a false security these past weeks, thinking him her other half. What a fool she was. A simpering, naive debutante just as she’d always tried not to be.

When they had met in secret over the past weeks, it had felt as if the whole world had ceased to exist around them.

It was a nice fantasy, but Abby was no longer willing to settle for merely that. Despite what she had always believed she wanted, she realized how wrong a life of solitude would have been now that she’d invested her heart in the man she loved.

Everything had changed. She felt as though she had changed.

“I can’t live the way we are living,” she admitted. How strange it felt to voice that opinion. But hearing it made her really believe those words for the truth.

“You’ve always deserved better than this heap of rock.”

His hands caressed her arms. It was meant to be soothing, she thought, but didn’t feel that way.

“Why do you refuse me a position by your side?”

“I can’t offer marriage, Abigail.”

She made no response. There was nothing left to be said. She dropped her gaze from his.

“Would marrying me be so awful?” She wasn’t sure she wanted him to answer that. But it was better to know than to hope for more.

“You’ll grow sick of this place. Marriage would bind you here and you’ll eventually want to leave.” It was an honest answer. False, but honest. If he couldn’t commit to her, then there truly was nothing left for her here.

He shook his head and focused on his hands where they clasped around her arms. He dropped them away and gave her his back. Could he so easily turn away from her? Forget her?

Elliott couldn’t look at her, or face the hurt radiating from her like a stove letting off excess heat.

The crackle of the fire in the grate let off little pops as the wood disintegrated in the fl ame. He heard someone in the hall. He wondered if they listened at the door.

Everything was as it should be, except the part where he was rejecting the woman he loved. Convincing her that there was nothing for her in this cursed place. Agreeing with her leaving, when he knew she wanted him to object.

He felt as though he were discarding her. Betraying her. He was, in a sense. After the mishaps, he couldn’t trust that a worse fate wouldn’t befall her— a fate like the screaming terror of his wife’s voice as fire had engulfed her in an inferno of personal hell.

To keep Abigail safe, he had to let her go.

If she left, she could start afresh. Forget the pain and sadness he’d watched her live through these past two days.

Maybe she’d be happier without him. Only time would tell.

He wished he could go with her, but it was better if he stayed away from the vapid gossipmongers that made up the ton. He’d not be subject to their wagging tongues, or play the butt to their jokes should anyone ever learn his secrets. That would only bring down Abigail in their eyes, too.

Besides, he couldn’t go when he’d decided the only task for him now was ferreting out the person responsible for hurting Abigail. They’d see no compassion from him.

None. He cared not who it was in the house hold, or how long he’d known them. They’d answer to all their crimes committed, including the death of his unborn babe.

He looked at Abigail again. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy. He hated that he had caused these tears.

“I’ll provide for you,” he said quietly, feeling the need to fi ll the silence in the room. She’d want for nothing in her life. She could live in dependently from her sisters if she so wished it.

“You’ll provide for me?” She laughed bitterly. “I’ve a fortune of my own.”

She dashed away a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

“When you realize everything that stands before you is a gift rather than a burden, I fear you’ll realize that you have banished another opportunity at love. I was a fool to think I could change you, Elliott, or even hope to persuade you of something far better than the loneliness we both lived with before finding each other. I’m sorry I was wrong.”

“You weren’t, Abigail. And there is nothing to apologize for. I care a great deal for you.”

“I’m not sure who the greater fool is in all this.”

“You’ll be safer if you leave. You know this. Someone has nefarious intentions toward you. You’ll not be safe until I know who it is and put a stop to it.”

If he let her walk away as she seemed adamant in doing . . . it would be better for them both. He had to believe that. Didn’t believe it, but had to.

“I’ll tell the house hold you are ill. You can remain in your room or mine until you leave.”

“What of your son? Do you not care for his well- being?”

“Someone will be able to pick up where you left off.”

He knew she’d refuse him entry to her bed, not that he wanted anything more than to watch over her, make sure she slept well. Make sure dreams of losing the babe didn’t keep her up at night as they had the past two. He’d find a way to make this up to her.

“I’ll leave the day after tomorrow. I only need a cart to the rail. I’ll book passage on the first available train home.”

“Do you travel to London?”

“Bakewell first. I don’t know where my sister is staying right now.”

“What about a companion for the trip?”

“There’s no need. The trip will be but a few days, no more.”

The tears had dried up in her eyes. She held her head high and proud. She was already shutting him out. He felt it like a thick wall of fog growing between them. Separating them.

With four steps, he was in front of her. He’d not let her go without giving her something more.

He took her in his arms and planted his mouth against hers. His hands wrapped in her hair, holding her head close so she couldn’t pull away. Not that she attempted to.

She opened her mouth and her arms to him. Their lips melded and nipped a final time.

His hands held either side of her face when he pulled away from the kiss.

For her ears alone, he whispered, “I love you. Remember that I love you.”

Tears of silent distress flowed down her cheeks. No sobs racked her body or had her whimpering in his hold.

Just silent tears met his declaration. She didn’t repeat the sentiment; not that he had expected her to, she was too distraught. Angry with him. Furious with this whole situation.

“You’re a scared fool, Elliott. Remember that.”

She wiped her sleeve across her face and sniffled, then took a step away from him and walked out of his room.

He watched her go. Maybe he was a scared fool.