A Temporary Governess

by Blaise Kilgallen

  "Who named the little blue devil?"

  "Your daughter, of course. We have been reading about Camelot and King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table. Beatrice prefers Sir Lancelot to Arthur. I told her, though, that he had stolen Queen Guinevere's affections from the austere King, and that it was not a nice thing to do since the queen was a married woman."

  Alex cocked a rakish eyebrow.

  "She reads?” he asked, not commenting on the Camelot story.

  "Of course, she reads, Your Lordship. She is eight years old. And Jane, er, Miss Hornsby is an excellent teacher, although, I must say that Lady Beatrice is somewhat stubborn and reads only that in which she is interested. I thought she did very nicely with the book on budgerigars we borrowed from Mr. DeLand.” Clarissa smiled. “Along with your daughter, I, myself, am only learning about the little creatures."

  "Do tell. And have you managed to teach this little fellow to speak yet?"

  Clarissa blushed. “I fear there are no specific training lessons in the book we borrowed, so I will have to research farther. Perhaps Mr. DeLand has another that will show us how to begin the training. Meanwhile, Beat ... Lady Beatrice ... repeats, ‘good morning, Sir Lancelot’ to him, over and over."

  "Perhaps, she should also repeat, ‘good night,’ too. That way the bird's day will be complete."

  Clarissa noticed a tiny squiggle moving his lips into a smile.

  "I shall suggest that to her, my lord."

  Quite suddenly, there was nothing to say, and a dead silence hung between them.

  The marquess stared at her for a long time, his gaze keen and intense, before he spoke again. “That was not the reason I came here, Miss Marrick,” he said, reaching out and re-covering the cage.

  "I came to make my apologies. I ... uh ... made a stupid mistake. I learned ... realized ... later to my chagrin. I had, uh, met with someone erroneously. A lady I believed was a member of the Prince's entourage."

  "Your Lordship, I—"

  Clarissa looked up into the marquess's slate-colored eyes, a strange light glowing inside them. Their gazes clashed. Unable to finish her sentence, she was unable to tear her eyes away from his.

  He took a step closer to her as if impelled to do so.

  She felt his warm breath, laced with a something strong and potent, brushing lightly across her cheeks.

  "I would dearly like to discover the lady I met erroneously in the dark. Were you that person, Miss Marrick?"

  Clarissa did not reply. She would not answer what sounded like a rhetorical question, and she could not lie.

  "I thought so,” he murmured.

  Very slowly, Alex dipped his head and brushed his lips gently against hers, back and forth, several times. His lips were warm and dry until he coaxed her to allow him inside the same way she had in the small, confining hallway.

  Clarissa's head tilted back when his tongue delved deep between her teeth, swirling it inside in such a way that her knees again buckled.

  This time she did not clamp a loaded pistol in her fingers nor aim it at a man.

  "Umm, yes,” Alex whispered against her mouth, his breath brushing across a cheek. “I was almost sure it was you. I knew I had tasted those sweet lips somewhere else and felt that lovely body pressed against me in a darkened room."

  Silently, Clarissa clung to him. Her breathing escalated. Enraptured by his aura of muscular male strength, the whiff of fine wine escaped his lips and tickled her nostrils. When she leaned close and inhaled, the pungent odor of cigar smoke rose from the soft weave of his jacket. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his lean waist. His kisses led to enticing sensations in the same way they did a short while ago. They burned into her subconscious. She wondered if these memories would fade. Or if she wanted them to.

  Her nerve center had calmed, but now she was aroused all over again. Powerful, untamed desire flamed through her like the heated, leaping fires of Hades that her father preached about in his sermons. Surely, she would be damned by the devil and his minions after what she was feeling and doing, wanting so much to experience everything in his arms.

  "Little hoyden,” Alex whispered. His head lifted only slightly when he asked, “Were you hoping ... waiting for me to come here, cherie?"

  Without expecting a reply, his tongue traced an earlobe. He nuzzled behind her ear, nipping the satiny skin on her neck, gently licking, as his lips moved down to the inviting juncture between shoulder and neck.

  Clarissa's gown was cut moderately low, not a tea gown, nor quite eveningwear, but somewhere in between. It allowed enough skin exposed that Alex could kiss along her collarbone. He freed one hand and pulled a capped sleeve off of Clarissa's shoulder. Then he lowered his head to trail kisses just above the swell of her breasts.

  Prominent new quivers rode across her skin, leaving goose bumps and galloping down along her spine. Her mind felt numbed by developing emotions whirling through her unworldly, but somewhat unorthodox upbringing. Heat and sensation took over as Alex kissed and caressed her. She had read about such things. Now she felt them blossoming in the strangest places. Clarissa no longer had control of her body. Her breasts ached; an unusual spike of warmth had teased a new sensation between her thighs.

  She had thrown her head back and closed her eyes, loosening her hold on him. Still enthralled by his masterful kisses, she allowed herself to enjoy what was happening to her.

  Could she possibly put these feelings into writing for her manuscript?

  Alex's broad palms slid up the sides of her gown, reaching for the lush weight of her breasts. His thumbs brushed the prominent rise of her nipples under the fine fabric. He rubbed and teased, feeling the nubs harden under his touch. He ducked his expert mouth into the valley between her breasts, and licked along the delightful groove where lush flesh pressed against his cheeks.

  "I knew you wanted me when you teased me on Thunder. Now let me pleasure you, cherie. I promise not to hurt you, or compromise you.” He kissed her again. “I could not get the thought of you out of my head. I had to seek and find you. At first I meant only to apologize, but—"

  Clarissa Marrick's kisses were tentative, unschooled, but she soon forgot her inhibitions and opened to him in the tiny hallway and now, here, in the schoolroom. Was he wrong about her? Was what he wanted hours ago still an option? To make love to her the way he wanted to?

  Right now, his erection was long, hot, and hard against his satin breeches. It was two days since he had sex, and he was raunchy and uncomfortably itchy. Fondling and kissing any female normally aroused a male's lust. Before the ball, Alice Charrington, one of Lord Waldrop's latest lightskirts, had a footman deliver a note to him during supper. She had invited Alex to come to her chamber when he felt the time was ripe. He was anxious to find release, sate his desire. Either he had been too early for their tryst, or too late. But it was Clarissa Marrick whom he found there in the dark.

  She had snuggled into his arms, but deep inside his brain, he believed she was not expert enough to tease a man into ravishing her. Was she or was she not a virgin? Was it simply awkwardness or inexperience? There was only one way to tell for sure. He vowed not to compromise any virgins, but it was damn difficult not to take her now, here, in the schoolroom. She seemed pliant and quite willing, but until he knew for certain, he could always pleasure her ... and himself ... in other ways ... without disavowing his pledge.

  Alex's demons suddenly descended in full force to remind him where he was and what he was doing. There was a time when any experienced woman he approached would do to slake his sexual appetites. But now—

  Just then, the door to the bedchamber belonging to Beatrice next to the schoolroom pushed open. A lacy cap tied over her golden curls popped inside the doorway.

  "Ooh! I heard Sir Lancelot making terrible noises! He sounded frightened, Miss Marrick!"

  Dazed, round, sleepy eyes blinked and opened wide in the child's face.

  As if scorched by the heat of a lit candle, Clarissa pulled away from the mar
quess's embrace. Wispy strands of hair had come undone in the chignon she fashioned before traipsing along the Priory's halls to watch the parade of elegant guests descending the central staircase. Her hands reached anxiously to adjust her disarrayed coiffure.

  "Beatrice ... Lady Beatrice! Oh no! Not to worry. It is just that ... well, your father came by the schoolroom to see him."

  Clarissa threw an agitated glance toward the marquess.

  Silently, Alex took a few steps back toward the birdcage.

  "Your Lordship removed Sir Lancelot's cover, is all,” Clarissa cajoled. “That was when he squawked, but really, he is fine. He is not hurt. Not a bit."

  Alex said nothing.

  Beatrice whined, rubbing her eyes, her lips twisting into a concerned expression. “Is he taking Sir Lancelot back?"

  Clarissa's gaze clashed with the marquess's as she waited for him to say something comforting to his daughter.

  Alex coughed behind his hand, then swiveled to face his daughter. “You may have as many birds as you wish, Beatrice. Rest assured I will not, uh, take Sir Lancelot away from you."

  "Oh!"

  Beatrice never looked at the marquess when she spoke, only at me. How strange. Is the child afraid of him or does she simply dislike him?

  "I think your bird will be fine now, Lady Beatrice.” Adding a smile, Clarissa said sweetly, “Would you like me to help you back to your bed?"

  The girl nodded. Clarissa took the child's hand and went with her into the adjacent bedchamber. When she settled Beatrice under the covers and closed the door to the schoolroom again, it was empty. The marquess had gone.

  Lying in the middle of the large table where she usually wrote entries in her diary, she found a boldly scratched note in his hand. Ride with me. Eight o'clock. Glory will be saddled. It was signed, AW.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Clarissa took time to write her reflections on her several unexpected meetings with the marquess before she went to bed.

  May 5, 1811:

  I cannot believe the Marquess of Chester came to visit Beatrice's schoolroom this evening. Even more surprising is the fact that he kissed me. Again. Surely, he did not realize I was the same woman he made love to down the hall earlier. But I am certain I would know if he were the man that kissed me, no matter when it happened. No one else could send quivers through me with his wondrous kisses. Is this truly how lovers feel? But then, I must not fantasize. I must realize we are not lovers. And never will be lovers. No, of course not. So, then, how can I write down these feelings?

  Clarissa put down her quill and stared into space. Soon she closed her diary and made ready to go to bed, her mind still whirling with improbable fantasies.

  * * * *

  Clarissa was both anxious and excited, anticipating her gallop with the marquess. Both Beatrice and the head groom had told her that the nobleman was an extraordinary equestrian in racing circles and in the hunt field.

  Looking forward to the next hour or two in his presence, Clarissa wished she had something other than her faded, outmoded riding outfit to catch His Lordship's eye. A perky hat would be fashionable, too, but of course, she never owned such a thing.

  So she listened to her silly musings and scolded herself silently. Surely, the marquess simply wanted to discuss Beatrice or her lessons; most likely he wanted to explore what his daughter was learning in the schoolroom, and not about her own scandalous behavior from last evening. It was a happy thought, though, if he finally took some interest in his daughter's accomplishments. Then Clarissa's mind took another nasty turn.

  What if instead he was sending me away, and waited until Jane returned to continue his daughter's lessons?

  Of course, she knew Jane had no plans to return to the Priory because of Mr. Black. Oh my! Maybe she should complain to him. The marquess never visited the schoolroom before. He said he wanted to apologize, but last night he did more than that. Clarissa's mind was going in circles. She did not know what to think or do.

  Clarissa's thoughts were still in a muddle when she strode toward the stables, swishing her riding crop next to her as she walked. Still agitated, she leaned over and swiped a large blossom from its stalk along the path, then felt sorry. She picked up the flower and cradled it in her gloved hands, remembering how gently her mother had cared for her own flower garden at home. Memories of her deceased mother carried her as far as the stables.

  In the stable yard, the marquess waited with Thunder. Mr. Ferris held Glory's reins as the two men talked.

  Clarissa decided no matter what happened, she would be brave today, and speak her mind out to him. For one thing, he needed more lessons on the callous behavior he showed toward his daughter. It was obvious, to her, at least, that the girl was almost fearful of him. And, as for him, well, he needed to learn how to behave like a parent. Their discussion would be accomplished easier on horseback, she thought, rather than sitting or standing across from him in a more formal setting.

  "Aha!” Alex said, when he caught sight of Clarissa coming along the path. “It is about time. I prefer to ride in the early part of the day, Miss Marrick, so mount up if you will."

  Ferris brought the horse to the mounting block so Clarissa could slide onto the sidesaddle without help. “Sorry if I am late,” she said over her shoulder to the marquess. “Lady Beatrice wanted to join us, but I told her you had not given her permission."

  The marquess was already mounted on Thunder when Clarissa settled herself on Glory's back. Ferris handed her the reins.

  "Shall we?” he said, his voice rumbling in that autocratic tone of his without replying to Clarissa's explanation as to why she was a bit late. Alex led the way out of the stable yard and onto the magnificent parkland surrounding the Priory. They seemed headed toward a large cluster of trees that lay a short distance away down a slight slope. Clarissa and Beatrice had not ridden in that direction before.

  Clarissa tapped Glory lightly with her crop and followed Alex.

  The words they spoke while in the stable yard were the sum total of their conversation so far. Clarissa grumped to herself. Why did he ask me to ride with him?

  Deciding the marquess's demeanor at times was completely incomprehensible, she concentrated on her riding. When was he going to tell her what he wanted to discuss?

  * * * *

  The marquess led them around the perimeter of the stand of trees Clarissa had seen from the stable yard. Beatrice told Clarissa there was a racecourse somewhere on the Priory grounds, but she expected it to be a flat, open, well-tended arena. She did not anticipate that it would be shaped like a real racecourse, oval in shape, with white rails enclosing it. Exclaiming in awe as she and Glory trotted up beside the marquess, she said, “What a fine place to gallop, my lord!"

  "What do you think of my racecourse, Miss Marrick?"

  "Of course I am impressed by it,” she replied.

  "Will you prefer a safer place to race than that field populated by hedgehogs?"

  Clarissa looked at him tentatively. “You mean race with you?"

  "Why not? Glory is well-trained. And I should like to try out Thunder's paces against his stable mate."

  Clarissa's eyes lit up, but then she frowned slightly.

  Alex saw her hesitate, believing she might decline, so he decided to challenge the lovely, feisty governess to a contest. “First horse to round the oval and pass this fencepost wins,” he said. Then he added, “I suppose I must give you a small start, Miss Marrick. I know you are a fine rider but you have little experience racing. Your wild gallop across the meadow on Glory, however, had me spellbound."

  Clarissa smiled, hearing his words. “Thank you, my lord."

  "Of course, here, instead of a winning purse, there is a forfeit for the loser,” the marquess went on to say.

  Clarissa winced. Of course! There is always something to lose when one does not win. But I will win! And then I shall ask him, as a forfeit, to invite his neighbors and children to tea to meet Beatrice so she can mix and sel
ect a few friends to ease her loneliness when I am gone.

  Alex never proposed anything so devilish like this before, but he wanted to learn for certain how worldly or experienced Beatrice's governess was. He was planning to seduce her, possibly, when the race was won. By him—naturally. His blood had run hot and heavy most of the night, waking him early this morning more than uncomfortable than when he left her last evening, not having indulged in sex for several days. He had to get her out of his thoughts, and do it soon.

  Clarissa had the feeling the marquess was deliberately provoking her for some reason. Well, she would never allow herself to forfeit anything she attempted, be it croquet, chess, or galloping around an oval. What if the marquess was a highly-placed peer and she was a poor country miss—only a temporary governess—whose father's title was paltry and his pocketbook too small to purchase such an animal as she now sat upon? She could still win. She knew Glory was smooth-gaited and fast. And the marquess must weigh three stone more than she, so his horse would be carrying more weight. Surely, she and Glory could gallop the oval in faster time than he.

  "Has Glory raced before, my lord?"

  Alex grinned, seeing her weaken. “Many times, Miss Marrick. Glory was one of the finest racers in my stable. But he has a bit of age on him now and may not be as fast as he used to be."

  Did the marquess know that offering a challenge to her was as seductive as Lucifer's?

  Clarissa smiled and gently nodded her head in agreement. “Well, then. Where shall Glory and I start the race?"

  * * * *

  The marquess's oval was as sizeable as a country racecourse. Given the signal, now Glory leapt forward, accelerating as Thunder's hoof beats pounded behind him. Clarissa kept her mount on a tight rein at first; she certainly did not wish to lose her grip again. But she would let the horse gallop faster when they neared the end of the lap.

  Her heart beat fast and hard in her bosom. She heard the marquess and Thunder gaining on her. He behaved so authoritative and male in everything he did, she wanted badly to beat him in this contest.