Clarissa saw the man wore no jacket or hat. His shirt collar was open, exposing a faint pattern of curly chest hair visible at the base of his throat. Black as a raven's wing with a splash of silver at both temples, his longish hair had been rumpled by their wild gallop across the field. Caught by the strange look on his face, Clarissa did not comprehend his expression, his eyes startling in their intensity, steady and piercing when he gazed down at her. Her heart did a couple of heady flip-flops. Finally realizing how close they stood, so intimately, her hands resting on his chest, Clarissa blinked and pushed hard against him.
Only moments ago, he had experienced an excruciating jolt of horror as he watched the headlong gallop across the field—an accident about to happen. Now, he growled at her.
"What the devil is the matter with you?” he demanded sharply. Alex's handsome face clouded over, a frown deeply embedded in his broad brow. His question sounded a lot angrier than he felt. “Why were you racing Glory in this unplowed field? Don't you know it is heavily populated with those damn burrowing creatures?"
Clarissa swallowed, sucked in a breath, pulling in desperately needed air.
Omigod! It's him! The marquess!
Chapter Fourteen
Lust, with its accompanying desire for immediate sexual satisfaction, was something Alex lived with for more than eight years. Experiencing it now and here—only heightened his far-from-innocent, masculine sex drive. Considered a dashing catch, even as a widower, he vowed not to involve himself with innocent females. No more virginal encounters for him. He learned his lesson, kept that vow, and sought his everyday sexual pleasures elsewhere. Only the soft pulsing of a lazy wind wafting over the warm spring day, had aroused his libertine tendencies for some unknown reason. World-weary after another drab season in town, his blood rose hot, racing through his veins alongside the horses galloping across the field. He realized almost immediately that he was attracted to this unknown governess. It was a terrific shock to his twitching, aching nerves.
He had given some thought just recently to changing his frivolous lifestyle. For those eight years and a few more months, he had indulged himself with nothing but pleasure. Of course, he had enjoyed a multitude of carnal trysts with a plethora of lovely, willing women right up to now. Much satisfaction came along with it, too, when he bred superior thoroughbreds, raced them, or followed his hounds in foxhunts over Trury's thousands of untouched acres.
He sometime wondered, however, had times been different, would he have been different had his elder brother, Richard, stayed out of the war altogether and remained at home in England, perhaps married before he himself did, instead of fighting the French and Napoleon? Richard was always the acknowledged heir. He took the title and the estate's responsibilities seriously at a young age. Nevertheless, his brother had purchased his colors and left for the Peninsula with Wellington's army, and subsequently, lost his life there. His mutilated body remained buried somewhere in Spain.
Tenants, his estate, and his business interests had been ignored during the year Alex grieved for his brother. More, perhaps, than he ever grieved for his dissipated father. Reaching the age of thirty, Alex finally comprehended that he had certain responsibilities to the Chester title, the Priory, and its people, too. He was not sure he could change, but there was no one to inherit except third and fourth cousins. The idea hit him hard and fast last night, when totally foxed, he almost ravished an unwilling, unknown female in the second storey hallway. Damn good thing that she boxed his ears.
Could he pull himself out of the quagmire of debauchery that had been the story of his life during the last eight years and assume the role he was destined to play? He still was not sure he could.
* * * *
The words aimed at her with sneering sarcasm had scorched Clarissa's ears, and she felt her cheeks flame with heat. “Truly, my lord, no one warned me!” she retorted, taking the brunt of his aristocratic irritation onto herself.
"Drat it, woman! I might have lost a fine thoroughbred because of your foolishness had Glory put a foot in one of those gopher holes,” he went on. A cool sizzle burned low in his slate-colored gaze. “Who told you, you could ride him, anyway?"
"Your-your head groom, my lord. Mr. F-Ferris,” Clarissa said, swallowing a lump that had lodged in her throat. “And Mr. Griggs."
Holy fiddlesticks! The marquess looks fit to be tied.
"I ... I suppose I am to blame. I was stupid, Your Lordship. I-I didn't think ahead. Please forgive me!” Her excuses trailed off in silence.
She watched his slow, scornful gaze skim down her outmoded riding clothes after completing his appraisal of her worried countenance. She knew her outfit was much too skimpy, the bodice gaping open between buttons fastening her jacket. And after losing the ribbon during that unwise, unscheduled race with the marquess's daughter, Clarissa knew her disheveled hairdo looked like a rat's nest, blowing loose around her head in the spring breeze..
Alex blinked and inquired with another growl, “Who the bloody hell are you?"
Clarissa's eyebrows rose at his coarse language. “Uh—my lord, I am the substitute for Miss Hornsby ... Lady Beatrice's new governess. Clarissa Marrick.” Clarissa, dry-mouthed, croaked out the reply. Her knees wobbled, and not only from the unscheduled race across the field. A jolt of pure excitement sped through her at the same, precise moment. The marquess was extremely handsome—even when irate.
"I was not told about a change in hiring until a day or so ago. Therefore, we have never been introduced. I am the Marquess of Chester."
Alex had been told that Beatrice's governess contracted the measles and would not return to the Priory for a month. This, then was the rumpled female who was the temporary replacement. She looked too young to be a governess. However, there had been no reason for him to interview her or even present himself to her. For years, he had stayed strictly away from close contact with his wife's bastard.
Dammit! Alex took another look at the female, thinking she could not be long out of the schoolroom herself. Certainly not one with whom he might play carnal games.
"I was unwise and rather foolish, Your Lordship,” Clarissa said again, her voice a bit stronger now. “Please allow me to apologize. I know better than to risk a magnificent animal such as Glory so recklessly. We were only to go for a short run, so I gave Bea ... I mean, Lady Beatrice, a head start on her pony so she could win. It would have been good for her to win. And I didn't know about the field being full of hedgehogs. But when a fuzzy head popped up, and Glory shied and took off, well, I lost my grip on the reins and—"
Alex finally released Clarissa. He took a step back. She was slightly unbalanced when he let go of her, and she swayed, bracing her hands on his chest again. Alex grabbed her shoulders, a little less roughly this time.
"Are you all right?"
"Uh ... yes, of course. I'm fine,” she replied. “Please, my lord, it won't happen again, I promise.” Her voice lowered into sincerity beneath the dark intensity of his gaze.
He raised an imperious, upraised palm to halt her babbling.
Just then, Beatrice trotted up on Snowy and halted beside them on Snowy.
Turning to the girl, Clarissa said, “I think we should go back now, Lady Beatrice. If you do not mind, I think I've had enough excitement for one day."
Beatrice nodded to Clarissa's request without argument for once.
Alex grabbed Glory's reins and looped them around the leaping leg of the sidesaddle. Pointing the horse toward the Priory, he slapped the gelding on the rump. The horse cantered off in a straight line for the stables.
Clarissa looked at Alex in astonishment. “You mean I'm to—"
"Walk?” One black eye brow quirked upward. “No, of course not. I did not send your hack to the stables expecting you to do so. We shall ride double."
"But—” The idea shocked Clarissa. “'Tis not very far, my lord, and I am quite accustomed to walking long distances in the country,” she said.
"That is fine. But yo
u will do as I say.” Alex's right eyebrow again curved into a haughty arch. For a very brief moment, a humorous twitch flirted with his lips.
Clarissa's jangled wits twisted. She was crushed. Would the nobleman no longer allow her to ride because she had endangered his horse?
Alex stretched out a hand to his daughter's new governess. As she placed her gloved fingers in his, Alex easily lifted Clarissa onto the flat saddle. Her legs now hung on either side of it, the tattered hem of her riding skirt tucked up near her knees. Dark, darned cotton stockings encased shapely calves above scuffed boots.
Alex gripped an ankle, then ran a broad palm along her calf and squeezed gently. “You have shapely legs. I can tell that you do a lot of walking.” He looked up and met her eyes with a wicked smile.
Blushing, Clarissa tried desperately to yank the skirt lower, but without success.
"You need not worry. I have seen female legs before,” he said. Then he stuck his boot in a stirrup and mounted behind Clarissa before she had a chance to challenge his unorthodox behavior.
Already, she thought better of snapping at him with a caustic reply. She was still worried about her new found position as governess. A lump of worry and anxiety stuck in her throat. What if he dismissed her the moment they returned to the Priory's stables?
Meanwhile, her buttocks rested on the flat saddle, her thighs spread over the width of the horse's back. Heat flooded through her, brought on by the marquess's proximity behind her. Their positions on the horse were upsetting, and not at all proper.
I thought making him a marquess also made him a gentleman.
But then she was reminded of her mother and Olly's admonishments about nobles’ behavior toward unmarried governesses. Nevertheless, Clarissa found herself wondering ... somewhat titillated by her odd situation.
The chestnut stallion trumpeted, whinnying across the field as the gelding galloped helter-skelter toward the Priory's stables.
"Quiet, Thunder,” the marquess commanded the stallion and reached for the horse's reins.
Chapter Fifteen
Clarissa noticed the marquess's muscular thighs covered in tan leather breeches, looking like sturdy tree trunks planted behind hers. She felt those muscles moving against her calves. She was caught suddenly by a disturbing and unusual awareness of their bodies’ contact.
She tried to sit as straight and rigid as a statue, her senses attuned to the marquess's deep breathing, the rumbling from deep in his chest when he spoke, his body radiating heat, his musky male smell reaching her nostrils from behind her. She realized she should be aghast, deeply concerned for her reputation, if not totally scandalized. The marquess's male beauty plus his unconscious handling of her seemed to have escalated into indecent visions—beyond any she had ever experienced.
There was more, too. Minutes ago the marquess held her in a vice-like grip after he caught her racing across the field, then steadied her in his embrace in case she stumbled and fell. Afterward, he had lifted her onto his horse, his hands strong and sure where they gripped her waist. All those strange, new, peculiar twinges now rocketed through her. Could she possibly categorize them so she could make notes for her novel?
Their position on the horse still caused Clarissa unusual flutters inside her. She felt her cheeks turn pink. She had jerked almost instantaneously when Alex slid his arms around her waist, grasped the reins in both hands, and nudged the horse forward with his heels.
She realized they were astride the horse she had first asked to borrow. The well-trained stallion moved out with a fluid gait. They headed toward the stables, Beatrice on Snowy, already trotting ahead of them.
The marquess seemed unconcerned as to how close they sat on the horse. His hands were only inches above Clarissa's crotch in front of her bellybutton. On such a balmy day, he must have decided a jacket was not needed. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves, baring his muscular forearms. His arms brushed the sides of her breasts constantly as the horse moved forward. Warmth radiated from the marquess's big male body, teasing Clarissa with mental pictures and subconscious images and impressions. Her breasts tingled with unaccustomed sensitivity. Although she didn't believe the marquess's movements were deliberate, certain sensations shot to other parts of her body as well. She suddenly became aware of what was happening between her thighs, probably because of the horse's rocking motion and the fact that her thighs were spread open by the width of the saddle. The hard leather seat rubbing against that intimate part of her body sent an intriguing and unusual feeling through her she had never before noticed.
* * * *
Alex, of course, was well aware of the enticing young woman he held between his arms, the clean perfume of her silky hair tickling his nose and cheeks, cognizant of things he should not allow himself to notice or feel. He was trying to ignore those feelings, and her. But he had to smile to himself. He knew it was wicked to tease her. She may be naïve, judging by her age, but if she guessed what he was thinking, or knew of his immoral visions and his contemplation of making love with her, this lovely country chit would be shocked out of her half boots. Meanwhile, his senses were achingly mindful of his thoughts, as they would be with any lovely armful, noble or not, especially if it were someone as damn attractive and vibrant as this one. Her fly-way, flame-tinged tresses flowed behind her on the morning breeze like an eye-catching flag, not tamed by the usual hat. Alex's lust grew as he glanced at the petal-soft skin tinting her creamy cheeks, tiny ears, and slender neck.
He could almost guess what he would see if he stripped away her dowdy riding outfit. Certainly, he would get a delightful gift. And look at this! Here she was, right between his outstretched arms and legs. He actually discovered the minx right under his nose. Since his scheming ran to seducing willing lovelies into his bed as often and as quickly as possible, unfortunately, today, he could not take advantage of his good fortune. For one, his head still throbbed, and his stomach was not as steady as it might be. He emptied it when he first awakened until the dizziness abated somewhat. He waved away his valet with a curse when he had the audacity to mention breakfast.
Alex sighed, muttering a curse or two between clenched teeth. The vow he made eight years ago—never to lust after virgins—must continue. Especially if they were young, luscious, lovely, cunning, lying, and betraying virgins—like the one he married so unwittingly. To this day, he kept that vow, but this particular beauteous armful had titillated his strict control.
* * * *
Clarissa rested her hands lightly on Alex's forearms because it seemed stupid to leave hers hanging in midair. Imperceptibly, she tried to reposition herself. When she slid back, she realized, belatedly, that her wriggling put her backside more firmly in the cradle of the marquess's muscular thighs.
"Oh ... good grief,” she mumbled.
The marquess grunted audibly. “Careful,” Alex told her sternly where she squirmed on the saddle. “You will upset my horse."
Her mouth dry as desert sand, Clarissa dared not reply. She inhaled instead, tried to relax, attempting to rein in the storm of emotions bombarding her brain and body.
The marquess's fingers tightened on Thunder's reins. The governess's breasts were invitingly soft against his forearms each time the horse trotted forward. Already determined that she was without a corset under those shabby clothes, Alex's mind games became more vivid with every salacious vision as he thought about riding her long and hard, somewhere, anywhere, other than here on Thunder's back.
Clarissa felt the marquess's warm breath tickling an ear. She tried to duck away from him, but he was deviling her, unconsciously perhaps. She tried not to think about the exciting sensations galloping along her spine.
To tamp down his own heated musings, Alex started some light chitchat. “Uh ... do you like to ride, Miss...? What did you say your name was?"
"My name is Clarissa Marrick. And yes, I enjoy riding. I learned as a child. It is one of the most exhilarating pleasures I think there is in this world."
Again,
Alex's laughter gurgled deep in his throat. He nudged a thick tress of Clarissa's hair aside with his chin, then leaned to touch his lips against her ear. “Ah, then, Miss Marrick, perhaps will you tell me what your next most exhilarating pleasure is?"
Instead of licking around the enticing edge of her ear the way he really wanted to, which would probably frighten her away, he kept his tongue tucked in his cheek.
Persistent stimuli uncurled within Clarissa's lower body. Spread by her position on the saddle, an embarrassing dampness settled between Clarissa's thighs. Unthinking, she squeezed her legs together.
Thunder felt her jab his sides with her calves and moved forward with a bit more energy. Alex felt the movement as well. He smiled behind her, enjoying his little flurry of teasing.
Clarissa held her back so rigid her muscles began to ache, quite uncomfortably. Easing back slightly to change her position, her head ended on Alex's shoulder. She felt his smooth, shaved chin brush her temple, the air from his mouth blowing a strand of hair across her forehead.
I could stay this way forever, she thought. The idea, wicked as it was, ran through her even though it was wrong for her to even think it. Her father was a preacher. And she was a preacher's daughter. Nevertheless—
"Well, now,” Alex murmured, holding the reins in one hand while the other slid over Clarissa's ribs and wrapped itself around a point below her breasts. Without conscious thought, she covered his with a gloved hand and held it against her. In a moment of utter, wanton abandonment, Clarissa turned her head and grazed the marquess's warm throat with her lips.
A Temporary Governess Page 9
