A Temporary Governess

by Blaise Kilgallen

"Oh? Why is that? Beatrice still needs someone to teach her lessons."

  "I had thought to keep you on.” That right eyebrow quirked upward again. “But now I know that will never do."

  Clarissa's puzzled expression soon faded. “Forgive me, my lord, if I did not satisfy you. This was my first position as governess, but I had hoped—"

  "I am not talking about your work as a governess. Nor am I displeased about you ... satisfying me,” Alex said, moving closer.

  Tall and striking, combining his physical presence with a significant title, Alex Warner would always be impressive. He still sent shivers along Clarissa's backbone. This second visit to the schoolroom, especially his visit to her bedchamber, was even more daunting. He towered over her. Whenever he was that close, she needed to tilt her head back in order to read his expression. Now his gaze was intense. She wondered if he was trying read her mind. His warm breath fluttered the loose tresses springing out of her temples. She swallowed and backed up until her legs pressed against the bed's mattress.

  The marquess reached out to her as if his was an unconscious move, not certain of what he was doing as he slowly picked up a fat curl that lay upon her breast.

  Was it inadvertent—or was it on purpose—when his fingers grazed fabric and flesh?

  "Quite lovely,” Alex murmured, caressing the plump curl that rested like a prize in his broad palm. “So different. So extraordinarily soft and silky.” Alex's intense gaze captured Clarissa's as if caught in a mousetrap. “Like you, Clarissa."

  "Please...” she whispered, swallowing hard again, her voice cracking with tension and too many other emotions.

  "Why not, Clarissa? I believe you enjoy my kisses. My caresses.” The corners of his lips lifted upward. “Or does saying ‘please’ mean you want me to kiss you again?"

  "Oh! Of course not!” She burst out, blushes rushing in to warm her cheeks.

  He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

  She did not pull away. She attempted, instead, to reason with him.

  "Y-You and I are separate worlds apart about so many things, Your Lordship,” Clarissa began. “The two will probably never mix. So, no, sir, I do not want you to kiss me again. Nor touch me either. I am returning to my safe world very soon. Not quite willingly, but I must, nevertheless, since it makes the best sense to me. I leave behind an adventurous taste of your world, here at the Priory. For those exciting and new experiences, I must thank you."

  Clarissa placed an open palm on his fancy waistcoat and gave him a slight shove backward. “Everything that happened between us was brought about by a strange sort of aberration.” She met his gaze straightforwardly. “Nothing more than that, Your Lordship. I have put it out of my mind, and I am sure you will, too."

  "Not true, Clarissa.” He dropped the curl of hair and now gripped her upper arms. “Let me offer you a life that is more than enjoyable, more comfortable, than the one you are returning to. A life you need never go back to.” He leaned ever closer, his lips hovering over her mouth as he murmured, “In London, sweetheart, and here, too. As my mistress."

  Coming out of a blue haze, caught in his potent charisma, Clarissa's emotions were scorched by a potent surge of female anger so powerful that she was stunned when she heard the marquess's out-of-the-blue offer to make her his mistress. Good heavens! Had she been that dull-witted? Letting him touch her so intimately? Letting him kiss her and caress her when no man ever had? Though she knew their intimate relationship could never be, why did she let it happen? It must have been the whispers in the wind and too much romantic moonlight.

  Without thinking, and without stopping what else she might say or do, Clarissa reached into the pocket of her wrapper and pulled out her grandfather's dueling pistol.

  * * * *

  To say that Alex was dumbfounded would have been a misnomer. He stepped back from her almost immediately when the weapon was pointed at his midsection. Just as quickly, his eyes locked with Clarissa's.

  "What is this?"

  "Your Lordship! Stay back! Good heavens, y-you are no better—no, no different—than Mr. Black! I told him if he pestered me again that I would not hesitate to shoot him. He already threatened both Miss Hornsby and me. For some unworthy reason, I thought you were a-a gentleman.” Clarissa shook her head from side to side as if denying the words she had blurted out in anger.

  "I know that the upper class—at least the male half—assumes they can do as they please with poor, less unfortunate governesses or helpless female servants living under their roof. If employees do not succumb, they are turned out without a decent character. After that, they can no longer find suitable work in order to survive. I thought you were different, my lord, but now, oh, how stupid I have been. I should have realized you and your male counterparts are always on the prowl for conquests."

  Clarissa paused, inhaling a deep breath after her vicious, prolonged rant.

  A taut expression crossed Alex's countenance.

  "Tell me, Clarissa. Has Freddy touched you?” He demanded a reply in no certain terms. “Because if he has—"

  She blinked up at him, her lids narrowing as she held the pistol steady. “No. I chased him away."

  "Thank God,” the marquess sighed.

  "Is that all you have to say?” Clarissa asked in wonderment.

  "Yes,” the marquess said, again peering down at the pistol briefly. He then met Clarissa's wide-eyed gaze. His expression had changed quickly. His lips almost creased into a smile.

  "By the way, Miss Marrick, I just decided to retract my earlier offer."

  With that curt statement, Alex turned away and left Clarissa's bedchamber, snapping the door quite firmly behind him.

  Alex fumed as he descended the central staircase and returned to his study. He flipped the door open before a footman had a chance to do so. It banged against the inside wall. Freddy rose from the chair he had occupied for the last half hour. He still held an almost empty snifter of brandy in his paw.

  "Alex? Has something else happened?” he inquired. “Has the chit taken a turn for the worse? Or, perhaps, for the better?"

  Alex felt ire seething along his backbone. A few days earlier, he had chuckled with Freddy when told of the missing keys to the schoolroom and governess's bedchamber. But he was unaware that Freddy had pursued both of Beatrice's governesses. Yes, both he and Freddy were dyed-in-the-wool rakes, as well as cads and libertines. It was one thing to diddle with someone else's servants, but not in his own household.

  "I would not know, Freddy. I have not been in to see her."

  Freddy's brows lifted again in question.

  "I did speak with Miss Marrick though. She told me some Banbury tale about your harassing both her and Beatrice's former governess—trying too seduce them in the schoolroom. Is it true, Freddy? Have you pursued them both?"

  Freddy managed to sputter out an excuse. “Alex, neither of Beatrice's governesses are worthy of your notice. I thought to amuse myself while I was here."

  Alex's frown deepened. “And by doing so, I believe you chased them away."

  "After all, you have Georgie to slake your carnal appetite, Alex."

  "Had, Freddy. I have not touched Georgie in weeks. We are fini."

  Freddy put down his glass and eyed his friend's irate expression. “Aha! That's it, then. That is what riled you. You had any eye on the luscious Miss Marrick for yourself. You wish to bed the new governess, eh what? Well, Alex. Of course, be my guest. I shall find someone else to amuse myself."

  Alex's expression cleared. “That might be a fine idea, Freddy. There are more fish in London's waters than here in the country. Plenty of wealthy widows. See if you can sink a hook, perhaps catch someone worthwhile to keep you afloat before the countess and I both turn you out. You may even net one quickly, eh?"

  "Let me understand, Alex. Are you asking me to leave?"

  Freddy almost choked on the words. “What will you do without me to keep you company? To keep your spirits up?"

  "
I suppose I shall survive,” Alex replied, blandly. “Perhaps we will meet now and again in Town."

  Freddy's cheeks flushed carmine, and then went pale. No way did he like what he was hearing. He hoped to solidify his friendship with the marquess now that Georgianna was dragged back to London by the irate earl. It must have been the governess bitch who turned Alex against him. Dammit! He would see to her before he left the Priory.

  "I will need to borrow a horse,” Freddy suggested.

  "Of course. Mr. Ferris will saddle a suitable mount for you. I expect the animal to be delivered to my town house when you arrive in Town."

  Freddy poured the rest of his brandy down his throat, put down the snifter with a flourish, and rapidly stalked from Alex's study without another word of thanks or friendship.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Clarissa plunked her backside onto the mattress, her knees shaking, the pistol still clutched in her cramped fingers.

  What in the world was that all about? she wondered as an afterthought. Her brain was bombarded by what occurred minutes ago, but she knew now what she must do. She would leave the Priory as soon as possible. Learning Beatrice's condition was her only reason for staying longer.

  Clarissa tucked the pistol back in the drawer of the bedside table and quickly donned suitable clothes. She hurried back to Beatrice's bedside, hoping for the girl to wake up and speak.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Pritchett again asked to switch places and sat next to the girl's bed. Clarissa rose and paced around Beatrice's bedchamber. The rooms that made up the schoolroom's suite were as silent as a tomb until several loud screeches pierced the quiet atmosphere.

  "It is all right, Mrs. Pritchett,” Clarissa said. “Sir Lancelot is frightened. Most likely, it is the marquess come to check on Beatrice. I will calm the bird, so the noise does not disturb Your Ladyship."

  Clarissa entered the schoolroom. When she saw who was there, she quickly shut the door to Beatrice's room.

  "What do you want, Mr. Black?” she hissed softly, her voice as cool and unperturbed as an iceberg. Walking farther into the schoolroom, she paused beside the birdcage. Sir Lancelot was hopping from one perch to another, still screeching irritably. “You are bothering Beatrice's pet bird. Be good enough to leave here immediately."

  "Who are you, Miss Marrick, to give me orders?” he grumbled.

  Freddy started to approach Clarissa, but she swiftly ducked behind the large table where she normally wrote her notes. Located in the center of the room, the furniture lay between her and Black. She threw a glance toward her bedchamber and saw the connecting door was open.

  "I've had just about enough of your slanderous innuendoes,” he sneered. “You need a lesson or two. And that is something I can teach you. I am not really the well-brought-up, proper gentleman the marquess thinks I am."

  Freddy lunged for Clarissa, but she darted into her bedchamber with him close on her heels. She yanked the dueling pistol out of the table's drawer and spun around, and again confronted him with it.

  "Stop right there, Mr. Black! I warned you what I would do if you tried to touch me!"

  His growling sneer rebounded across the room like a threat, but he did not venture any closer. “Perhaps we should talk about it some more, you smart-mouthed bitch."

  "We have nothing to discuss. Do as I ask. Just leave. Now!"

  Clarissa saw heated animosity glowing deep in the man's eyes, added to his nasty tone and his angry name calling. His demeanor had changed demonstrably since he approached her days ago. This time a strong sense of fear surged through her.

  "I won't leave until I get what I wanted ever since you came here, wench! After that, the marquess may have my leavings."

  Freddy stepped forward as he spoke.

  "A kiss or two and—"

  Clarissa's legs were braced against the mattress. A thought flashed through her like a streak of white lightning. If he pushed her, she would topple backward, and he would be on top of her in an instant. She dare not let that happen.

  "No!” she exclaimed.

  She meant to wing him in the foot—but as she pressed the trigger, the pistol kicked higher. The explosion that followed seemed to reverberate off the walls and re-echo again and again around the room.

  For a split second, Clarissa could not breathe, could not move, could only stare wide-eyed at the man who had crumpled into a heap at her feet. Horror swept through her. She killed him when she meant only to wound him! Oh God! She cringed at the thought; her brain felt stuffed with sawdust and she started to shake.

  What occurred was so unexpected and awful that she wanted to scream. Instead, she gripped her hands tightly against her bosom, letting the pistol slide from her fingers onto the bed. She felt her heart beating in triple time behind her corset stays.

  Her father would learn quick enough what she had done. Hopefully, he would support her, but, of course, he would panic when he got word and be deeply distressed. Good Lord! His only child—a murderer!

  And, Jane! Oh my! Poor, frightened, Jane. She may be pressured to testify that it was she that mentioned Mr. Black's unwanted attentions. And that was the reason Clary had taken the pistol with her to the Priory to use as a weapon against him.

  The sudden realization reminded her there would be servants rushing in to see what had happened. Moving quickly, Clarissa edged around Mr. Black's quivering body, shut the connecting door to the schoolroom, and left through the doorway into the hall, leaving Sir Lancelot still squawking and fluttering around inside his cage.

  Clarissa paused, still trembling in the corridor. The disastrous conclusion to her unplanned action poured through her brain like water over a dam. No doubt, justice would be served. Murderers were usually hanged.

  That single notion speared through her.

  Sweet heaven, I am too young to die.

  There was only one person who might help with a miracle. Could the marquess possibly save her from the dire consequences? To her mind, it was a justifiable crime. Was there any chance he could rescue her from a hangman's noose? Clarissa started down the center staircase, knowing she must find the marquess and tell him what she had done, then beg him to help her.

  * * * *

  Freddy was in shock. Not from the wound in his thigh so much, but simply because of the unexpected attack of Clarissa Marrick. He never thought she would dare pull the trigger. He had toppled to his knees when the bullet nicked his thigh, then lay on the floor, quiet and dumbfounded by the shooting.

  Just goes to show what a sharp-mouthed bluestocking bitch would do to fool a man.

  He looked down at blood slowly oozing from the bullet hole in his breeches, just above his knee. Thank God it was a flesh wound and missed his kneecap. Leaning up from where he lay on the floor, Black undid his cravat. He wrapped it tightly around his leg like a tourniquet. Having seen enough blood and guts on the Peninsula, he knew his bullet wound was not life threatening, just very painful.

  Damn that bitch! He would not be able to ride; he needed to borrow one of Alex's vehicles to get himself away from here.

  Levering himself to his feet, Freddy managed to hobble awkwardly along the hall toward his bedchamber, mumbling a few more blue-tinged curses against Clarissa Marrick.

  * * * *

  Lady Beatrice fluttered her eyes, opened them fully, and gazed up at the high ceiling in her room, wondering how she had arrived there. When she turned her head, pain stabbed through her. She whimpered aloud, suddenly, enough that her nanny heard.

  "Lady Beatrice! Oh thank the good Lord, you are awake!” Mrs. Pritchett exclaimed. “We were so worried!” She leaned over, gently soothing a cool palm over the girl's forehead.

  "Nanny?” the girl asked, blinking over at the woman sitting next to the bed. “Oh! What happened? How did I get back to my room?"

  "M'lady, you must not talk now. Just rest. You will feel better soon."

  "Oww!” Beatrice squealed, louder this time. “It hurts! What happened to my arm?"


  "You fell from your pony, m'lady. The doctor put a splint on so it can mend."

  The girl was silent for a moment before asking, "Snowy? My pony? Is he all right? He stumbled, and—"

  "Yes. The pony is fine. But you must not talk, milady. Stay quiet. I will stay with you."

  "Where is Miss Clarissa?” Beatrice turned her head again, but another twinge of pain brought on another moan.

  "I th-think she was r-racing behind me.” The child pulled in another tortured breath.

  "On-on the racecourse.” Then Beatrice squeezed her eyelids shut and held her breath until the hurting eased. “Nanny, what happened to her?"

  "Not to worry. Miss Marrick has been with you all the while. She simply went to see who came into the schoolroom because your bird was squawking like the dev—"

  Just then, there was a loud noise from the other side of the connecting door to the schoolroom.

  "What was that?” Beatrice asked, her eyes now wide open.

  "I am sure it is nothing, m'lady. Miss Marrick must have dropped something and it broke into pieces. She will let us know when she returns.” Mrs. Pritchett smiled comfortingly and patted the girl's uninjured wrist.

  "But I want to see her."

  "You will. Soon enough. Be quiet and rest."

  Beatrice sighed. Slowly her eyes drifted shut again.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Hurrying down the central stairs, Clarissa ran past several footmen and yanked open the door to the marquess's study without knocking. She paused in the doorway, hesitated, then saw him standing across the room with his back turned. He turned smoothly with an inquisitive expression. “Yes? What is it Miss Marrick?"

  Her heart beat in triple time; she was so glad to find him. She strode in swiftly to meet him face to face. In a wavering voice that seemed to start from somewhere deep inside her, she stammered, “I-I am so sorry—so very terribly sorry, Your Lordship."

  "Oh?” That single dark eyebrow lifted. “And why is that?"

  "I am afraid I shot Mr. Black."

  Air in the room quivered with silence.

  "He—I think he is dead!” Clarissa finally managed to blurt out.