‘You had a choice, Louisa. You knew my habits, my friends, yet you contacted not a single one.’
‘And risk further humiliation?’ Louisa gave a strangled laugh. Even the innocent girl she had been knew the sort of company he kept and how women were passed around like gaily wrapped parcels. She had had their child to think of. No child of hers was going to be abandoned in a foundling home while she warmed another man’s bed. ‘I think not, sir.’
‘And do your swains know about your past? Did Miss Elliot?’
‘Do not threaten me, Lord Chesterholm. I have paid for my sins.’
‘Surely you know me better than that.’ He brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his cuff. ‘I never threaten. I make promises and I always keep my promises.’
‘And that is supposed to make me quake in my evening slippers?’ she asked scornfully.
‘You may do as you like—go dance around St Nicholas’s church in your petticoat if it pleases you, but answer my question. Why did you conspire to fake your death?’
‘You should be careful of your accusations. I have never abandoned anyone, nor have I ever pretended to be anything but alive.’ Louisa gripped her reticule tighter. Dance about St Nicholas’s church dressed only in her petticoats? The man was insupportable. ‘Simply repeating lies over and over does not make them suddenly become the truth.’
‘I never lie. Can I be held to blame if people choose to misinterpret my words?’ A muscle tightened in his jaw and Louisa knew she had scored a hit.
Once she had readily believed the words that had tripped off his tongue. I will love you for ever, Louisa. You are the only woman in the world for me. You are my wife in truth. What is a licence but a piece of paper? I will return. I know how to handle the ribbons of a curricle. I will always find you. Your life will be one of luxury. Instead she had discovered the humiliation and degradation of trying to find work without a reference and what it was like to be pregnant without a friend to turn to. It was then she had stopped believing in happily-ever-afters.
‘Piecrust promises, then—easily made and easily broken. Your servant, Lord Chesterholm, but there is no claim on either’s part.’ Her self-control amazed her, but he did not deserve to know of her heartbreak or the baby. She had decided that long ago. She had her pride. She gave a perfunctory curtsy. ‘You will forgive me, but I have other business to attend to.’
He took a step towards her, brushing aside the chair. It fell to the ground with a thump. ‘In the village churchyard where you grew up, there is a stone that bears your name. I have placed flowers there every year on the anniversary of your death.’
‘Your stepmother engineered my disappearance, as you call it.’ Louisa retreated and found herself pinned between the table, a pile of two chairs and the wall. ‘Why would I seek a life of shame? How could I stay after I had been dismissed? A governess has little choice in such matters.’
The shadows deepened in Jonathon’s eyes and his advance stopped. There was the faint hint of hesitation in his mouth as if he had never suspected his stepmother might do something like that. Louisa’s stomach lurched. He did know. He had to have known what Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had done, what she was capable of doing. A tiny whisper resounded in the back of Louisa’s brain—perhaps he hadn’t known.
She quashed it.
‘I was an innocent, Jonathon. You were infinitely more experienced.’ She paused and controlled the faint tremor in her voice. ‘You knew what you were doing. I had no idea, but I knew you were disappointed in me. We quarrelled. You broke with me. It was a late summer romance and then the chill winds of autumn came.’
‘You are wrong, Louisa, very wrong.’ Jonathon banged his fists together and took a step towards her, his face contorting in anger. ‘I wanted you.’
‘You may wish to live in fantasy worlds, Lord Chesterholm, but mine is solidly grounded in reality.’ She kept her voice steady and her eyes on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder. Dignity and hard-won poise would see her through this ordeal, rather than weeping uncontrollably or shouting. ‘You discarded me because I no longer excited you.’
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Interesting—that is not my recollection of the night. Untried, yes, but passionate and willing to learn.’
Louisa focused on the dust-sheeted furniture, forced herself to remember the awful words Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had said when Louisa had proudly boasted that she would marry Jonathon. ‘You left your stepmother to sort out the mess just as she had sorted out every other scrape from the Earl’s wife to the little dancing girl at Covent Garden.’
‘Which Earl’s wife? What dancing girl from Covent Garden?’ Jonathon tilted his head to one side, his lips a firm white line. ‘What fustian nonsense are you spouting, Louisa? Why would I ever ask Venetia to do something like that?’
‘The women that your stepmother had to pay off. She showed me a list of your women …’
Jonathon’s mouth dropped open and his eyes were wide with disbelief and horror. The expression vanished in an instant. He slammed his fists together. ‘I have never asked for any assistance from anyone in my family with managing my women, as you call them. I never would.’
‘You married another woman, a woman who was far more acceptable to your family. You were engaged to her when you made love to me,’ Louisa continued on, refusing to allow him and this pretended outrage to distract her. ‘You never looked for me.’
‘One does not look for the dead amongst the living, Louisa. Clarissa and I only became engaged after I thought you were dead,’ he said slowly, running his hand through his hair. A small shiver ran down her spine. He was serious. He had thought her dead. ‘As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I thought you dead—a fact you have not until now bothered to correct.’
‘I refuse to dignify that remark with an answer.’
‘What were you so frightened of that you had to disappear?’ His voice held a new note, a plea for something. In many ways, it was worse than his anger. Anger she could react against. ‘Did our love-making frighten you? There was so much passion between us.’
She gazed up at the ceiling, noticing the swirls and stains from the burning tallow candles. He was right in a way. She had been frightened, frightened of losing him, particularly after their bitter quarrel in the curricle as they had journeyed back to the house. Her cases had been waiting for her in the vestibule as Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had discovered her lie about her ill friend. And Jonathon had departed before she could ask for his help. Very quickly the enchanted afternoon and night had become a nightmare.
His stepmother had said the very words Louisa had half-expected to hear drip from Jonathon’s lips on his return from his great-uncle’s. She had been a mere plaything and had served her purpose.
A great weariness invaded Louisa’s being. This battle was four years too late. Taunting him was beyond her. Venetia bore some of the blame, but she had put her past behind her.
‘Your stepmother would have made a good general. She leaves nothing to chance. And never gives any quarter to her enemies. Should haves and could haves serve no purpose. What was between us ended and you married another while I began my life again.’ She smoothed the folds of her mauve silk gown, a small action, but one that served to remind her of her independence. Jonathon might threaten and bluster, but ultimately she would survive. ‘Let me go, Jonathon. It is over between us.’
In the silence that followed, Louisa could hear the concertgoers moving around outside the room. A woman had lost a glove, another wanted to find her carriage, little snippets of ordinary conversations that reminded her there was another life out there, waiting for her.
He took a step towards her, his blue-green eyes flashed and his fingers flexed as if only through the greatest act of will-power did he refrain from wringing her neck. ‘No, it is not over.’
‘Four years ago we parted,’ she said and hated the way her voice squeaked. She always promised herself that if they ever met she would be calm and collected. She would act
as if nothing had happened and as if the grave in Sorrento did not exist because he had no right to know. And now there had to be a way of making him understand, of getting through to him before he did something that they both regretted. ‘The girl I was, the young man you were … they are gone. Dead, if you like. Unwelcome memories.’
He stopped, fingers outstretched as if he had been about to capture her and pull her to him. A small traitorous part of her was disappointed. Louisa quickly silenced it. Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe, now Fanshaw, Lord Chesterholm, had played her for a fool four years ago. His touch might feature in her dreams, but on waking she remembered the aftermath.
‘You are wrong, Louisa.’ He lifted a hand and brushed her cheek, a butterfly touch, but one that sent pulses of warmth throughout her body. ‘My memory of you is far from unwelcome.’
‘I have put the sordid episode behind me. I suggest you do the same.’
She waited. If anything, his eyes glittered more dangerously. The silence threatened to press down on her soul. He had to believe her. All she had to do was to stick to her rules. They were simple and straightforward.
‘The past has nothing to do with my future, Jonathon.’ Louisa started to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking the door. The cut of his evening coat made his shoulders appear broader than ever. ‘Neither of us wants or desires a scandal. Society has rules for a purpose and I for one intend to keep them … this time.’
‘But scandals can be enjoyable.’
Louisa ignored the sudden prickle of heat that coursed through her. It was simply a reminder of why Jonathon was dangerous. He lived and breathed sensuality in a way no man had before or since. In the intervening years she had not been tempted or felt one ounce of breathlessness. But now she spent a few moments in his company and the hot pounding of her blood started again. This time she was wise and mature and recognised it for what it was—a remembrance. She refused to give in.
‘Remove yourself from the door and allow me to be about my business.’
His hand reached out and grasped her waist gently, but firmly enough to keep her there. The prickle of heat threatened to become a flame. Louisa concentrated on breathing slowly. She had survived such things before. Jonathon would be no different than the major who had had too much to drink at the Trasemeno hotel. Her rules had worked then. They would work now.
‘About my business?’ The lights in his eyes deepened. ‘And what exactly is my business?’
She moved to the next stage. ‘Unhand me, sir.’
‘My hand is off you.’ His fingers hovered above her waist, and somehow it was worse because her body ached to have the small caress. ‘You are free to go.’ He leant forwards so his forehead touched hers. ‘But before you do, Louisa, do you think about what we experienced together? How your lips felt against mine? At night when you lie in bed?’
‘Never,’ Louisa breathed. Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears that she thought surely Jonathon must hear. It bothered her that she remained attracted to him, but that had always been her problem. Even the first time she had seen him, her pulse had beat faster. This was simply an echo from the past. Everything to do with being this close to a man for the first time since … since the last time she had been with Jonathon.
She swallowed hard and grasped her reticule to her bosom. It was not the same. She had changed. She knew the pain men were capable of inflicting on her soul. She knew why the rules existed. She had learnt her lesson well. ‘You have vanished from my mind.’
‘You were always a poor liar, Louisa.’
Before she had a chance to move away, he lowered his mouth and captured hers. The kiss was designed to evoke a response—small nibbles at her mouth, swiftly followed by a more lingering meeting as her lips gave way to temptation.
Louisa’s backbone melted as small tongues of fire leapt from his hand to her skin. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders and she remembered how Jonathon had once run his hands through it, proclaiming it softer than silk and infinitely more precious. She knew she should stop, but her body luxuriated in his touch.
Abruptly he released her and she stumbled away from him.
‘Is that the best you can do? Seek to dominate me with the physical?’ Louisa automatically began to straighten her gown, but she knew her chest rose and fell far too fast. ‘I never think about such things. They have vanished from my mind.’
A smug look appeared in his eyes. ‘We are far from finished, Louisa. We have only just begun, and this time, it will end when I say it does.’
Louisa paused with her hand on the door. She gave him a quelling look. ‘I decline your offer of marriage. We would not suit.’
‘You should wait until you are asked, Louisa.’ His face became all planes and shadows.
‘Then I decline whatever you are offering.’
Louisa pulled the door open and slammed it behind her. Never again would she return to being that woman who melted at the slightest touch from Jonathon. That woman no longer existed. She had died when they had prised her baby daughter’s lifeless body from her. Born too soon, the baby had failed to draw even a single breath. It had been a judgement from God and she would do well to remember that.
* * *
‘I want this letter in the first post,’ Jonathon said, handing the sealed note to his valet.
‘Very good, my lord.’ Thompson gave a bow and left Jonathon alone in the library of his Newcastle town house on Charlotte Square.
Jonathon swirled the untouched ruby port in his glass. His stepmother would come to Chesterholm and she would bring his half-sister Margaret. Before he confronted Venetia over Louisa, Jonathon wanted to make sure that Margaret could not be held as a hostage. If Venetia was prepared to lie about Louisa’s death when he lay injured in order to further his relationship with Clarissa, Jonathon knew that she would not hesitate to arrange a marriage that Margaret might not desire. He had a duty towards his sister. Margaret deserved her chance to find love.
What to do about Louisa Sibson and her reappearance in his life? She denied the passion that had existed between them, but it was there, and this time she would stay until the passion burnt out.
Even the last few remaining coals in the fire mocked him, echoing the colour of Louisa’s hair. She was here and alive, utterly unrepentant and utterly desirable. How many times had he longed for Louisa’s return, if only for a few minutes, if only so he could whisper that he was sorry. He gave a wry smile. His nurse used to say it was never good to get what you wish for.
His mind returned to the early days after the accident when he had asked for Louisa to see if Clarissa’s overly pat tale of woe had any substance. Clarissa had been there, competent and efficient, the perfect nurse, alongside Venetia. And each time he had asked, her frown had increased. He clearly remembered the exchange—why is he asking for that governess?—and his correcting shout—my fiancée. And his stepmother had patted Clarissa’s arm and told her not to worry about the baggage before forcing more of the damned laudanum down his throat.
He reached forwards and gave the fire a stir, making the coals glow bright orange.
Louisa should have trusted him. What more could she have desired from him? What further proof had she wanted? He had asked her to marry him, to run away with him.
He tapped his fingers together. His late great-uncle was fond of quoting Eros’s explanation of why he left Psyche—there can be no love without trust, but there can be desire—to say why he had chosen to be a bachelor. Jonathon had never understood the saying until now.
And what of her future plans? Her marriage plans? Did she love this baronet, Francis Walsham, whom she had dangled in front of his nose? Debrett’s only listed a solitary name, a man old enough to be Louisa’s grandfather, but wealthy. Had she ever kissed Walsham the way she kissed him? The very thought made him want to tear the man limb from limb.
Jonathon took another reflective sip of his port. And why had she returned to England if she intended on marrying? What was there f
or her here?
‘Forgive the late-night interruption, Chesterholm, but you are my only hope.’ Furniss burst into the library. ‘My need is a matter of life and death.’
‘How so?’
‘Did you know tonight was the first time that I have seen Miss Sibson flustered? She nearly forgot her reticule in her haste to inform Aunt Daphne of her decision to go. Her reticule goes everywhere with her. Her lifeline, she calls it. Something has unnerved her. She plans to return to Sorrento as soon as she can find passage on a steamship.’ Furniss put his hands to his head. ‘This is bad, bad, bad. Miss Sibson is notorious for her schedules.’
Leaving. Running. From him or from her desires? But she would fail to escape. This time, he knew she was alive.
‘And why should I be able to help you?’ He gave a light laugh that sounded hollow to his ears. Furniss fancied himself in love with her. Jonathon ground his teeth. How many bloody admirers did Louisa have? ‘I have no power over Miss Sibson’s movements.’
‘Aunt Daphne is here in the north-east to visit her childhood haunts.’ Furniss’s ruddy face became alight. ‘Then she is returning to Sorrento where Miss Sibson plans to marry Sir Francis Walsham. Previously Miss Sibson promised to stay until Aunt Daphne was ready to go back to Italy.’
‘You are making no sense, Furniss.’ Jonathon forced his tone to be light as a surge of jealousy cut through him.
‘I intend to marry Miss Sibson,’ Furniss continued blithely on. ‘I will have no chance if she returns to Sorrento and her baronet. Here, in England, I do.’
‘You want to marry Miss Sibson? Has she agreed?’ Jonathon stared at his friend, furious that Furniss had not bothered to confide in him. Tonight’s farce could have been avoided.
‘I am certain my late aunt would have approved. Why else would she have left Miss Sibson the money?’
‘Why indeed? Perhaps she liked her.’ Jonathon shook his head as a primitive urge filled him to proclaim that Louisa was his. Furniss was a far more dangerous rival than the far-off baronet. Furniss had youth and a genial manner on his side.
Breaking the Governess's Rules Page 3
