Temptation of a Governess

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘What the devil do you think you are doing out here at this time of night?’

  The voice behind her told Diana that the earl had also reached the bank. The brusque tone also informed her that he was not a whit less angry. Well, that was hardly her fault. She had not asked him to spy upon her!

  ‘I might ask you the same question,’ she countered, swinging around to face him.

  He was in the act of pulling off his wet shirt and her mind went blank. She was distracted by the sight of his naked body and could not drag her eyes away. The muscles in his powerful chest rippled as he drew the wet linen over his head, his ribcage expanded, throwing into sharp relief the narrow waist and flat stomach. There was a faint shadowing of dark hair covering his chest and descending downwards until it disappeared beneath the waistline of his breeches. She dare not allow her gaze to drop lower, for the material covering his legs clung so tightly it left little to the imagination. Quickly she turned away and picked up her cloth, rubbing her hair with hands that were not quite steady.

  ‘I could not sleep,’ he answered curtly. ‘But I had no intention of taking a midnight swim!’

  No, well, a midnight stroll would be enough for him, thought Diana bitterly. He walked, nay strode, with a lithe, effortless grace. He did not hobble in an unsightly fashion whenever he put one foot before the other.

  ‘I did not ask you to rescue me.’

  ‘How was I to know that? I saw you struggling in the water and thought, with your leg—’

  ‘Water is the one place where my leg does not bother me!’ Diana bit her lip. She had not meant to say that. She hated any reference to her lameness. With a sigh she spread her cloak on the ground and sat down upon it. ‘Swimming is one of the few things I can do well.’

  ‘I know that now.’

  His voice had softened. There was even faint amusement in his tone. She tried to ignore him, pulling her hair over one shoulder and catching it in the towel. Too late, of course, her nightgown was already sodden where it had touched her wet body and the added water dripping from her hair made little difference.

  The earl went to retrieve his own clothes from the jetty.

  ‘Here.’ He held out his coat to her. ‘Put this on.’

  She shook her head. ‘Thank you, I am not cold.’

  ‘Not yet, but you will be. I would not wish you to catch a chill.’ He dropped the jacket around her shoulders and she fought down a childish urge to shrug it off. It was a chivalrous gesture and she would be churlish to refuse.

  Alex gestured towards the cloak. ‘May I?’

  Diana moved over, which he took for assent and threw himself down beside her. The flimsy nightgown clung to her curves, but thankfully with his jacket about her shoulders he could no longer see the swell of her breasts, nor the faint outline of dark nipples through the damp cotton. He could not forget the sight of her cutting strongly through the water as they swam to the lake’s edge. He had deliberately stayed behind her, ostensibly to make sure she did not get into difficulties, but there was no doubting the pleasure of watching her naked body as she emerged from the water. It was a brief view, for she was quickly hidden by the tall grasses, but it was enough. She was petite but perfectly proportioned and scrambled effortlessly on to the bank. He noted that her shapely legs showed no sign of deformity and her soft white body looked like marble in the moonlight, very like the Canova he wanted to bring to Chantreys. But Diana was no cool statue, she was alive and hot-blooded. Hot-tempered, too, he thought as he watched her rub her hair with quick, angry movements.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said peaceably. ‘I see now that you can swim very well. Where did you acquire such an accomplishment?’

  He thought she might ignore him or snap his nose off, but she answered quietly.

  ‘When I was young we lived near a river and Margaret and I often used to play there. Andrews, our old groom, taught us both to swim.’ A sudden smile flitted across her features. ‘He said it was in case we were taken up by the press gang, we would be able to jump overboard and swim ashore.’

  ‘A wise man,’ he said gravely and saw her shoulders lift in a tiny shrug.

  ‘He knew swimming was something I could do as well as Margaret. I am no cripple in the water.’

  She threw her hair back so that it tumbled down over her shoulders, the thick tresses hanging sleek and black against his jacket. She held out the towel.

  ‘Would you like to dry yourself with this?’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ he told her. ‘It is a warm night, my skin will dry naturally.’

  He saw the corners of her mouth lift again.

  ‘I would not wish to be the cause of you catching a chill, my lord.’

  It was not a chill that she was causing him, he thought ruefully as his pulse quickened and the hot blood began to course through his veins. She was still rubbing at her hair with the towel. The nightgown was long, but with her arms lifted it barely covered her knees. He had an excellent view of her lower limbs and shapely ankles. He frowned slightly, looking hard at her dainty feet.

  * * *

  Diana felt his eyes upon her. The anger had evaporated and she was acutely aware that they were alone. She reached down to pull at the hem of her nightgown, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist.

  ‘Wait.’

  Suddenly the night air was no longer balmy. It was hard and sharp as crystal. Diana swallowed as the earl reached out and ran his free hand over her left foot.

  ‘Where was the break in your leg?’

  She should protest, pull away, but she could not do so. In alarm she realised that she did not want to do so. It was not just the iron grip on her wrist that immobilised her, the gentle touch of his fingers was equally compelling. She felt tense, fragile as spun sugar that would shatter at the slightest movement. She managed to run her tongue around her lips and answer him.

  ‘J-just above the knee.’

  His hand moved slowly up her leg. His touch was light as a feather but it left a burning trail on her skin and provoked an ache deep inside, an ache that brought back the memory of the punishing kiss he had bestowed upon her. The gentle fingers grazed over her skin in a tantalising caress. She did not move when he gently pushed her nightgown aside to reveal the jagged scar on her thigh. She trembled when his fingers touched the puckered skin where the gash had been badly stitched together. Even now she remembered the surgeon’s words as she had slipped in and out of consciousness.

  ‘A messy fracture and badly dealt with, but we can repair the damage and the leg will be as good as new, but she will need to work at it...’

  Weeks of pain while the doctors argued over her, before her parents dismissed them all and consigned Diana to the nursery where she had been cosseted and pampered. Her old nurse had no truck with modern methods, with making children put weight on a limb if it hurt them.

  The earl’s fingers continued to move over her thigh, pressing lightly on the tell-tale bump beside the scar, on the outer edge of her thigh just above the knee joint.

  ‘Is this the break?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  He lifted his hand away and Diana felt the cool air on the spot where his fingers had been. Only then did she realise how her flesh had heated beneath his touch. He shifted and knelt before her, taking her feet in his hands and studying them intently. His thumbs moved slowly over the skin in an idle caress that left her breathless.

  ‘There is no discernible difference in length,’ he said at last.

  ‘It...’ She swallowed, her voice sounding strained and hoarse. ‘It is very slight. An inch or so.’

  ‘Not even that. The limb is strong, I have seen how you run and jump. Do you never try to walk normally? Perhaps the muscles need to be worked.’

  ‘I cannot do so.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ He frowned, loo
king down at her feet, still cradled in his warm grasp. ‘You have let such a little thing ruin your life, Diana.’

  No! It was an anguished cry inside her head. It was not a little thing. How could he understand? How could he know the humiliation of being referred to as the little lame girl, of having her parents constantly apologising for her appearance. Her mother shaking her head and smiling sadly while she told everyone, ‘It was an accident, you see. So tragic.’

  Diana shivered. She must shut out those memories and she must be practical. She did not want sympathy, especially from this man.

  ‘I have the life I want,’ she said briskly. She pulled her feet free and began to wipe them with the towel. They were perfectly dry, but she needed to rub away the memory of his touch, it disturbed her too much. ‘We should go.’

  Without a word he reached out and picked up her stockings and shoes, placing them beside her before moving away to put on his own boots. When they were both ready he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. She shrugged off his coat and gave it to him.

  ‘I have my cloak,’ she explained as she wrapped herself in its voluminous folds.

  It was a relief when the earl donned his coat and she was no longer obliged to see his naked chest. None of the statues she had seen at the British Museum had prepared her for the sheer beauty and power of a real, flesh-and-blood male. She wanted to stare at him, to reach out and touch the bare skin, to feel the steely strength beneath. Diana thought how fortunate it was that the path was barely wide enough for one person. He would have offered her his arm and she really did not think she dare walk that close to him. He picked up his wet shirt and stuffed it into his pocket as they turned to leave the lake, then he reached out and took her hand. Immediately she hung back.

  ‘I can walk unaided—’

  ‘The moon has moved on, the path is not so well defined now. I do not want you tripping over a tree root.’ He ignored her protest and tightened his grip. ‘Come along, I will lead the way.’

  * * *

  Alex moved carefully through the darkness. Diana’s little hand was secure in his grasp and it felt so right there, so perfectly at home. She followed him silently, uncomplaining and he made a conscious effort to slow his own pace so that she need not run to keep up. When they came to the edge of the woods she stopped him.

  ‘I would rather use the path I followed to get here,’ she said. ‘The one over there. Through the trees.’

  ‘Afraid of being seen with me, Diana?’

  ‘Of course I am. There would be talk, if we were seen walking in the moonlight together.’

  ‘But it is your natural milieu, is it not? You are named after the goddess of the moon.’

  ‘Do not mock me, my lord.’

  ‘I don’t.’ He pulled her closer, imprisoning her with one arm while the fingers of his free hand tilted up her chin. ‘There must be some magic in the moonlight. Your limp has quite disappeared.’

  She gazed up at him. In the gloom her eyes were huge and luminous and as dark as the lake they had left behind them.

  ‘You, um, you were walking ahead of me, ’tis merely that you have not noticed it.’

  ‘I notice everything about you,’ he muttered.

  Their faces were only inches apart and his body screamed at him to capture those lips that were parted so invitingly. His arm tightened. Was it her heart thundering against his chest, or his own tumultuous pulse? His fingers released her chin but only so they could trace the line of her jaw. Alex cupped her face and ran his thumb gently across her bottom lip. Her eyelids fluttered and his spirit blazed with the knowledge that she was not immune to him.

  Her lips parted even before they met his own, her face turning up, straining to reach him and when they did kiss Alex felt it like a spark on dry tinder, an explosion of light and heat roared through his body. She trembled and leaned into him, her body surrendering, moulding with his as his arms slid around her back. His tongue darted, tasting, exploring, tangling with hers for a brief moment before she drew back, breaking off the kiss with a tiny sob.

  ‘Ah, please, don’t!’

  Diana put her hands against his chest to push him away and he released her immediately.

  ‘This is not right,’ she said, averting her face so that he might not see her distress.

  ‘It feels very right to me.’ He had not intended it to sound like a light-hearted quip, but he was struggling for control. ‘Diana.’

  He reached out to touch her and she flinched away.

  ‘Perhaps it would be best if we made our separate ways back to the house, my lord—’

  That he could not allow. Who knew what perils she might meet walking in the dark woods at night.

  And what of the peril of being in your company?

  He thrust the thought aside. There was no danger. His body was under control now.

  * * *

  Diana turned towards the woodland path, only to stop with a gasp as the earl caught her arm.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said roughly. ‘If you think I will let you wander about the grounds at night without an escort, you are very far off.’

  ‘There is no need for you to come with me. I know my way.’

  She knew she must be rational, even when she wanted so very much to throw caution to the winds and hurl herself back into his arms. His grip on her arm loosened, but only so he could slide his hand down and take her fingers again. How could something feel so comforting and so dangerous at one and the same time?

  ‘I am sure you do,’ he said, ‘but I shall not rest until I have seen you safely back in the house.’

  He set off and she was obliged to go with him, since he would not release her hand. In truth, she was glad of his support, for she stumbled occasionally over a stone or a tree root. The moon was low in the sky by the time they crossed the short stretch of open ground and slipped through the door into the kitchen garden. The path was narrow and Diana’s skirts brushed against the plants lining the way, herbs in the first flush of new spring growth. Their delicate fragrances rose up to meet her: angelica and lovage, sage, thyme and rosemary. It filled her head with thoughts of fairy dells and magical meetings.

  Ill met by moonlight...

  With the house now in sight her fears of being alone with the earl were beginning to recede. She could even smile at the analogy. She was no Titania and he was certainly no fairy king, although the effect he had upon her defied her comprehension.

  ‘I went out by the servants’ door, over there,’ she whispered when they reached a junction in the paths. ‘I left my bedroom candle in the lower hall.’

  He led her down the steps and into the house. Only then did he let her go and she felt achingly bereft. While the earl locked the door behind them Diana lit her candle from the single lamp burning on the wall. She had not realised just how much she was trembling until she tried to hold the wick steady in the burning flame. The passage ahead of her was in darkness and she waited until the earl was ready before setting off, holding her candle aloft so that he might see his way on the stairs. He walked close behind her and her spine tingled at the knowledge.

  They soon emerged in the main entrance hall. No lamps burned there, but the darkness was alleviated by the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows and from the fanlight above the door. The earl touched her arm and the tingle ran up to her shoulder.

  ‘Go on upstairs. I left by the front door, so I must lock it again. Do not worry,’ he added, when she hesitated. ‘There is sufficient light for me here to see my way.’

  Diana hesitated.

  ‘Sir, what happens in the morning, when we meet again?’

  ‘What would you like to happen?’

  Her mouth went dry.

  ‘N-nothing,’ she said at last. ‘I would prefer to forget everything that has occurred tonight.’
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  For a moment he did not answer her. He reached out and touched her cheek.

  ‘Is that truly what you want?’

  Of course not! I would like you to take me to your bed and in the morning to declare your undying love for me, but I am not that much of a fool.

  The words screamed in her head, but only the last one taunted her. Fool.

  ‘Yes. Truly.’

  She managed the words with admirable calm. His hand fell and he gave a little bow.

  ‘Then it shall be as you wish,’ he said lightly. ‘It is forgotten.’

  * * *

  Without another word Diana slipped away, being careful to avoid the creaking stairs and floorboards. By the time she reached her bedchamber on the top floor she felt as if she had climbed a mountain, her heart hammering against her ribs and her breath ragged and painful. She climbed into bed and huddled beneath the bedcovers.

  Tears were very close but she would not let them fall. Indeed, why should she be unhappy? She had enjoyed swimming in the lake, it had been invigorating, liberating and she had done nothing wrong. True, the earl’s arrival had shocked her, but he had not really been angry with her. She shivered when she recalled the sight of him when he had first climbed out of the water. He had positively glistened in the moonlight, the damp shirt moulding to his form like a silver skin.

  She remembered how he had examined her ankles and the shivering grew more intense until she could feel it deep inside her, but it was not unpleasant. She was already curled into a ball and her hands slid down her calves, wondering why his touch should cause such strange and unfamiliar sensations. He had said he could see no difference in her legs. He could not understand why she should limp so badly, and as he had led her away from the lake it was as if he had cured her simply by the force of his will. Not so, of course, but it had been less noticeable, just as it was when she played outdoor games with the children, running and jumping and forgetting the heavy, awkward drag of that left leg.