by Lisa Campell
“It’s Margaret. You’re allowed to address me that way now. Take your time, but don’t be late for my son.”
“I won’t.”
Drawing away, Lady Andrews signalled for Charlotte to follow her. Charlotte hurried over and hugged Emilia tightly before stepping back, her face screwed up as she tried not to cry. Emilia almost giggled when she saw her friend’s expression. In the last couple of weeks, Charlotte had been very emotional, and the slightest thing had set her off. Emilia was sure that Charlotte was with child, something she and Peter had been hoping for since they married. With any luck, they would find out soon.
Both women left and Emilia wandered back over to the mirror. She smoothed her hands over her dress and examined herself again. It certainly accentuated her curves and fitted nicely to her frame. Charlotte really had a good eye for these things. Emilia had an eye for colour, but she wasn’t good at knowing which dress would work for her. And she had wanted to buy the first dress she saw, but Charlotte had talked her out of it.
Emilia was glad that she had. Thomas was going to love this dress.
The door opened, and Emilia turned. Had Charlotte forgotten something or was Mrs. Gallagher coming in to help with something or other? The housekeeper had been bustling about with some excitement for some time. But it wasn’t either of them. Emilia stared as Thomas closed the door behind him.
“Thomas? What are you doing in here?”
“I came to see my bride.” Thomas reached behind him, his eyes darkening as he looked her over. “And I certainly like what I see.”
There was a click. He had turned the key in the lock. Emilia swallowed as Thomas prowled towards her. God, she would never get used to how imposing he was.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” she protested as Thomas drew her into his arms, pressing kisses to her neck. “You…”
She whimpered as Thomas’ hand cupped her backside, lifting her against the erection straining against his britches. Thomas nudged her head up and kissed her softly.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to be complaining right now. It is our wedding day.”
“This is supposed to happen after the wedding!”
Thomas grinned. His eyes glinted.
“We’ve been doing a lot more than this before the wedding. And I wanted to see you.” He cupped her jaw, resting his forehead against hers. “Just for a short while. I’m missing you.”
“I’m only in the next room.” Emilia couldn’t help but smile at Thomas’ declaration. “We’ll be seeing each other in half an hour anyway.”
“You think I can wait long enough for that?”
With the way he was pressing her against him, Emilia didn’t need to guess. He was hungry for her. And his hunger was feeding her. She could feel her own lust building, her hands slipping under his jacket as she nipped his lower lip with her teeth.
“Your mother’s coming back in fifteen minutes.” She grinned. “Which means we’ve got ten.”
Thomas groaned. “Plenty of time.”
He pushed her against the wall as he kissed her, Emilia knocking her shoulder against the doorframe. She barely had time to react before Thomas was shoving his hands under her skirts and tugging her drawers down. Emilia managed to kick it off one foot, the other leg getting caught on her shoe, before Thomas lifted her off her feet, reaching between them to unbutton his britches with a fumbling hand. He thrust, and Emilia had to fight back a moan as he filled her, pressing her against the wall. She had to look a sight, her wedding dress up around her waist with her soon-to-be husband rutting with her so eagerly. It was a good thing he had locked the door, because Emilia did not want him to stop.
She clung onto Thomas as he pressed himself in deep with each thrust, biting his shoulder as her cries got louder. Her whole body was starting to shake, but Thomas wouldn’t let up. He buried his face in her neck and let out a growl as he came, his hands tightening on her backside as he hauled her close. Emilia’s climax was not far behind, biting her lip as she tried not to cry out. Thomas grabbed her head and kissed her, swallowing her cries. One of them, or both, were trembling, and Emilia was sure her legs wouldn’t hold her up when Thomas put her down. But she didn’t care.
“Hmm.” Thomas slowly drew back from the kiss, giving her a smile that Emilia felt all the way down to her toes. “I certainly needed that.”
“So did I.” Emilia managed to reach up and check her hair. “I don’t need to redo my hair again, do I?”
“No, it’s fine. You look beautiful.” Thomas kissed her. “Thoroughly loved, but beautiful.”
“You…” Emilia slapped his shoulder. “People are going to know!”
“Considering what we’ve been doing for the last month, do you really care now?”
Before Emilia could respond, there was a knock at the door that had both of them freezing. Then Emilia heard Charlotte’s voice.
“Emilia? Can I come in? I forgot something.”
Emilia almost let out a giggle, which had Thomas’ shoulders shaking. He carefully eased himself out of her and lowered Emilia to the floor.
“Emilia?”
“Just a moment, Charlotte.” Emilia called back. “I’m...I’m just finishing up.”
Thomas made a strangled noise, which had Emilia swatting his shoulder again.
“That’s not amusing!” she hissed.
“I think it is.” Thomas kissed her softly. “I’d better go out the other way. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Then once he had adjusted his britches and made himself look more presentable, even though his eyes were sparkling more than when he had come into the room, Thomas hurried across to the other door in Emilia’s bedchamber, the one that headed to the nursery. Giving Emilia one last grin and a wink, he let himself out.
Emilia leaned against the wall, waiting for her legs to stop shaking. Whoa. Even now he had the ability to make her body feel weak. Only a few minutes could have her covered in sweat. Hopefully, it would pass off as her being nervous for her wedding day this time. If not, Thomas had a lot to answer for.
Emilia picked up her drawers and began to dress herself again. She had better not delay anything now. She had a wedding to get to. Then maybe she could get her own back on Thomas for daring to sneak into her room. Emilia was looking forward to that.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Afterword
Thank you for reading my novel, Governess in Disguise . I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?
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Do you want more Romance?
Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my previous best-selling novel: The Lord of All Sins
This is the story of an angelic innocent Lady and a charming devilish gentleman. They share nothing in common, but the opposites attract. And the more close they get, the more danger lurks, like fire ready to burn everything. But sometimes, someone may find his Paradise through the fires of hell, if they can survive long enough...
The Lord of All Sins
Chapter One
Olsen Adley nursed his third glass of brandy, staring dolefully past the gambling tables to the club door. He had been ensconced in White’s, the most esteemed private gentleman’s club in London, since the early evening. Now the hands of the golden carriage clock above the fireplace ticked towards two in the morning. Adley moaned softly to himself, head in his hands. It would not be long before this reputable establishment refused him at the door. Once they heard of his insurmountable debts, Le Beau Monde would reject him, his creditors would be conta
cted, and a jail sentence would follow quickly on their heels. Unless he could miraculously dig himself out of it. That’s what he was here for: He was in pursuit of a miracle.
“Speak of the devil! Lucifer, how have you been, old chap?”
Adley’s head shot up, staring blearily in the direction of the voice. In the doorway of the gaming parlour stood a slightly drunk patron, leaning his corpulent form against the arm of a tall, dark gentleman with a profoundly disturbing aura. There he was, in the flesh, the legend that Adley had been seeking: Lucifer of London. He watched tentatively as Lucifer's right-hand man, a shorter, athletic Italian Adley vaguely recalled as being named Giovanni pushed the drunken punter away from his master and cleared the way for Lucifer to descend. A poker table was made available, the current players being cleared with a dark, angry glare, and Giovanni ushering in suitable opponents. Adley recognised that they were all stern and mysterious men of business with hard reputations and even harder poker skills. He knew he would have no hope at a table like that, but he had no choice. He rose from his leather chair unsteadily and licked his dry lips before approaching cautiously.
“Who are you?” Giovanni asked, stepping in his path.
“Marquess of Willington.” Adley tried to straighten up. “I seek an audience with …,” he swallowed hard. “Lucifer.”
Giovanni crouched down next to Lucifer’s ear to murmur, “Mr Klane, the Marquess of Willington seeks an audience.”
At first, Adley was confused but then remembered, of course, even the legendary dark king of London had a real name: Silas Klane, though it seemed rarely used. Adley tried not to let his hands shake as he took a seat next to Lucifer. He was an uncommonly tall, well-built man with dark brown hair that he wore greased down, and black eyes under heavy black brows. He had an unsettling scar on his jaw, suiting his deadly reputation. No one in London knew exactly how the man had accumulated his vast fortune. After all, he had no family of significance, only a sister he kept away in the country, and no title at all. Yet he was never refused entry to any ball, gentleman’s club, or even the court of the Prince Regent. No one said no to Lucifer.
“What is it you want, marquess?”
Adley almost jumped. Lucifer’s voice was sharp as a knife, but it was refined: the . deadly tone of a predator. He swallowed hard.
“I want your help.”
“Oh? What could you offer me? Your investment portfolio is worthless.”
Adley flushed. “A person cannot devalue like an investment.”
The look Lucifer gave him was truly terrifying. “I do not trade in human flesh.”
“No, no, that is not what I mean!” Adley hastily back-peddled.
He remembered, with horrifying clarity, that there had been rumours that Lucifer had made a large portion of his fortune as a mercenary on the Continent, a murderer for hire. He felt he could see death in those black eyes.
“I have a d-daughter,” Adley stuttered out. “A rare beauty, of marriageable age -,”
Adley fumbled in his coat pocket for the miniature portrait his daughter had given him inside a gold locket. He opened it and set it before Lucifer’s hands, his daughter’s angelic face in clear view. Lucifer’s eyes paused, settling carefully on the exquisite portrait.
“How old is she?”
“Five and twenty.”
“Too old.”
“Not yet, she will still breed,” Adley rambled. “And her beauty has only increased with her womanhood. Her hair curls that way naturally, her skin is truly porcelain, her eyes as green as summer leaves -,”
“Such beauties are rarely unplucked.” Lucifer pushed the locket away. “I have no need of another man’s seconds.”
“Not my Anna.” Adley pushed the locket closer again. “She is as pure as the driven snow. With a title and inheritance like mine, and my only child - she - she would suit you well.”
Lucifer laughed. “If she really is as fine as you say, what could possibly be worth such a loss?”
“Settle all of my debts,” Adley blurted it out. “Give me enough to live on. You can have her, and I will never ask or question your rule of her. She will be yours … entirely.”
“How much is your debt?” Lucifer blew smoke in his face and Adley forced himself not to cough.
“Ten thousand pounds,” he whispered.
Lucifer nodded. Adley saw that he wasn’t surprised. He already knew the debt, likely had known this was the reason Adley had sat down and was only toying with him. Adley felt a surge of helpless rage. There was nothing he could do with it except stare at the man, willing him to accept the offer.
“Will you have more children?” he asked finally.
“No. My wife is unwell.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Lucifer leaned closer. “You would need to sign a legal document to say that any progeny your daughter produces will automatically inherit the title of Marquess of Willington. Would you ensure that any child you had, any male bastard that might be lurking around would not be able to ever inherit. That instead, your title will defer to your daughter’s progeny.”
“You are asking me to sign over my title?” Adley jerked back.
“Do not worry.” Lucifer gave him a chilling smile. “You would retain the title until your last breath. After that, however, my child would bear it. And, all of my line afterwards. On those terms.” Lucifer extended his hand. “Do we have an accord?”
Adley’s name, the name that had borne the title of Marquess for generations, would die out entirely. Adley closed his eyes against it. It did not matter, he realised painfully. His name had already died out. It had died with his only son. This was only the nail in the coffin. Sighing heavily, he extended his hand.
“You have an accord, Lucifer.”
Chapter Two
“Father, you cannot be in earnest!”
“I am.”
Anna Adley stared at her father across the breakfast table, her fork hanging loosely in her hand. He had come home impossibly late, risen with red eyes and the stench of smoke and brandy, sat at the breakfast table in a mope for most of the meal and now had the indecency to tell her, mumbling the words into his morning coffee, that she would soon be married.
“To whom shall I be married?”
“Mr Klane.”
Anna’s fork clattered against her plate and her father winced.
“But - but -,” Anna barely knew where to begin.
“Anna,” her father raised his hand placating. “He is the richest man in a London -,”
“With a terrible reputation!” Anna exclaimed. “Everyone says he has no background, he does not even have a title, he is thought uncouth, and hard, and possibly a criminal! You truly want to align our family with his?”
“It is no longer about want. I am doing what I must.” Her father rubbed his red eyes. “He will take my title for your firstborn son.”
“But - but that is Andrew’s title -,” Anna’s heart constricted as she thought of her brother. “You told me no other man would ever bear it, that it died with him -,”
“Everything died with Andrew!” Her father jumped from his chair, his plate, eggs and coffee cup smashing to the floor.
“Papa!” Anna rose quickly, sweeping a napkin off the table and bending down to clean it up. She was reluctant to call the servants in when her father was like this.
“You should not even mention his name to me!” her father roared. “If you hadn’t been in that carriage -,”
“It was your idea, Papa!” Anna cried, rising up to face him. “You told us to attend the ball -,”
She didn’t see her father move but his slap made Anna stumble against the breakfast table, spilling the tea pot. She pressed her hand against her stinging cheek, her eyes smarting as she stared at her father. Since he had begun drinking, these violent tendencies had been emerging.
“I will not marry him,” her voice was tremulous with tears. “You cannot make me.”
“There may be nothing I can do to force th
e words of marriage from your lips, but I can tell you the truth.” He lifted his red, feeble eyes to her face. They were filled with malice. “Our finances are ruined. You cannot expect another offer of marriage to be made to you once the news of our misfortune is made known in Town. How will your poor mother fare, do you think, when we are ruined?”
She could not believe that her father was leveraging her mother’s poor health against her. Then again, a year ago she would not have believed her father would gamble away their fortune, trade her happiness for gold, and strike her when she dared to speak her mind. She did not know him anymore. There was only one more bargaining chip she had.
