by Allison West
“Yes. Go.” He gestured with the flick of his wrist for her to get up and to be dismissed. Sighing he pushed his own chair with a loud groan further from the table. He had not intended to offend her but he had done well at making her uncomfortable. How could she not have learned French? Perhaps her lessons were long forgotten with her lack of current use as a shopkeeper. Charles did not wish to push Delia away. He swore she would be the last governess, that he had chosen right, and she would desire to stay with him and the girls. Had he been mistaken? Perhaps he had judged her too quickly on many accounts. She was young and still budding like a flower who needed tending. Delia could be an amazing governess for his daughters, perhaps he could groom her properly for the position.
* * * * *
Delia walked out of the room, head held up, showing no hint of defeat. Charles had torn her down, whether he intended to or not. He had reminded her that she had very little and though she thought they had moved past the struggle between them, promising never to steal again, he had insulted her.
Of course she had learned French as a child! How was she expected to remember a word of something that had been spoken more than twelve years ago? Her governess had taught her the basics of the language, but she had never quite mastered speaking it fluently. Perhaps if her father had been around more and quizzed her on her French lessons she would have studied and been tempted to retain the information. Instead, she had learned it solely for the tests her governess would give, before letting the information seep out of her like a sponge, gone forever.
Why didn’t she realize that Charles would have expected his children to learn French? Perhaps she would have been better cut out as a nanny for a household with young children. Though it was too late now. She owed Charles for the rubies and the only way to pay off her debt was to work for him. He may not have had the best governess in all of Great Britain for his children, but she would have to be sufficient and he would have to accept her as she was.
Stepping into the hall, she closed the dining room door behind her. The hall had grown significantly darker with the sun having set hours ago. Lanterns lit a path up to the stairwell. No one had shown her to the room she was to be staying in. Her one bag of clothes that she had brought with her had vanished sometime during the day’s events. Perhaps the housemaid had carried her luggage to the guest room. She did not see a soul to ask.
Delia glanced behind her at the shut door to the dining room. She could go back inside and ask Charles where her bedroom was, but she did not want to deal with him again tonight. Her bottom still felt on fire, all through dinner, and his questions and scrutiny had not made her any more comfortable.
“Are you looking for something?” Nanny Ida asked. Her tone was far less pleasant than when they had first met. Though Delia had not exactly found Ida to be a very welcoming individual.
“Would you mind showing me to my room?”
Ida’s lips contorted upwards in a slight smile. “I would be happy to do that for you. I already brought your luggage upstairs. Come with me.”
“Thank you,” Delia said, following Ida up the staircase. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge the older woman. Nanny Ida had to deal with the two young children from sun up to sun down. It was no wonder she had been tired and probably a bit cranky when they had met. Delia had no reason to hold it against her and desired to make friends around the Hayward residence.
“You should get undressed and ready for bed. Mr. Hayward keeps a tight schedule and will expect you to be up at dawn to teach young Emma her lessons.”
Delia wanted to spend a little time with Alice as well, though she knew the girl was much too young for a full day of schooling.
Nanny Ida opened the door at the farthest end of the hall. The room was dark except for a lantern that sat perched at the edge of the dresser and a fire roaring in the fireplace. Atop the mattress lay her luggage, waiting for Delia to unpack.
“Thank you,” Delia said, heading into the room. She shut the door behind her and opened her suitcase, rummaging through the contents to find a gown suitable for sleep. She pulled each dress from the bag and opened the closet, surprised to see men’s suits hanging with no room for her clothes. “He does not have enough space he has to take over the governess’ closet as well?” There was no point in arguing or saying a word to Charles about the situation, since he was the one causing it.
She stripped down from her gown, leaving her clothes at her feet as she stood naked in the bedroom, fiddling through the bottom of the luggage for the light pink nightgown that held thin light straps. The room was surprisingly warm from the heat of the fire. With her back to the door, she heard the wood groan and she spun around, clasping the thin fabric to her breasts.
“Mr. Charles!” She had not expected him to enter her room without knocking.
“Delia? What are you doing in here?”
“What do you mean? I am in my bedroom. Nanny Ida showed me to my room and brought up my luggage.”
He tried to hide the ever growing smile across his face, as he toed the door closed behind him. Why wasn’t he leaving and affording her any hint of privacy?
“Nanny Ida’s been naughty. Do you agree?” He paused glancing toward the fire as he walked further into the bedroom. “This has been and always will be my bedroom, Delia. I am going to assume you did not know that and Ida played you.”
With his back momentarily toward her, she slipped the gown over her head, only to watch him spin around to see her bottom half naked. She turned, giving him only a glimpse of her bottom as the gown swept down her body and covered her to the floor. Her cheeks flamed and her cunny pulsed. It was not as though she had never been with a man before, her younger trysts had been in secret with a boy she once thought she had loved, Claude Moore. She had been too foolish to know what love had been and prayed that he would not stain her name or her reputation.
“Now I am beginning to understand why there was no room in the closet for my clothes.” She spun around to face him. “I am incredibly sorry for the intrusion.”
Charles strode across the room, trapping her between her position of where she stood and the door just behind her. His hand came out, stroking her wrist as he pulled her closer to him. Did he intend to spank her for being so stupid as to listen to Ida? Or was he going to take her over his knee because she had intruded in his personal space?
“Stay with me.”
“Excuse me?” Delia asked. Had she heard him correctly? She was the governess, not his whore.
He laughed, sensing her discomfort. “Nothing will happen. I think it would be good for us to relax and talk. Besides, Nanny Ida is likely waiting outside that door to see the look of embarrassment on your face. Would you not rather see her look of shock when you return several hours later?”
Delia had not even considered what Charles was suggesting. “Do you want her to think something happened between us?”
“She has always been a bit of a gossip. Let her mind wander for awhile. Maybe it will find its way to be kinder to you.”
“I doubt that,” Delia said. She had not intended to speak poorly of Ida but the woman certainly had not done anything to get on her good side. Tomorrow she would have to figure out some way to get along with the older woman. They would have to work together and see one another daily because of the girls. Emma and Alice came first.
Charles grinned and smacked the door loud with his palm as his breath came up beside Delia’s ear. “Oh Lord. Do that again!”
Delia’s eyes widened in horror. Did he just do what he thought she did? It went beyond scandalous to scream for his housemaids and nanny to hear. She smacked him across the face. Maybe he had not kissed her or made a move but his words had been enough to elicit the response of fear. If Ida was the town gossip, then she did not wish for everyone to think that she had slept with Charles. It would ruin her reputation and though she did not intend to marry anyone, she still did not want to soil her good name.
“You slapped me,” Charles
said, his blue eyes had darkened into a richer hue as he glanced down at Delia’s lips. “Is that foreplay or are you telling me to stop?”
Had no one ever put him in line and disciplined him before? In truth, she did not want to stop. Nothing had transpired and yet everyone in Windsor would believe it had. Would the news travel as far as London and reach her father?
Her breath mingled with his as she leaned in. “I do not want to stop, but you know that we can not do this.” She was to be the governess for his children. Mixing pleasure and business would be a terrible idea, even if it would be thoroughly enjoyable. Besides she was here because she owed him a debt and was escaping her own capture in marrying a man she did not wish to be tied to for eternity.
Charles breathed a heavy sigh and took a step back. He seemed to shift on his feet, looking albeit uncomfortable.
“I promise you that we will never have to speak of this incident again.” She wanted to make it easy for him, give him the option of pretending it never happened.
“What if that is not what I want?” Charles asked. He stepped closer, his hands finding their way behind the small of her back as he pressed his body into hers. “What if I do not want to pretend to make love to you, but I wish to feel your body withering against mine?”
Delia’s eyelids fluttered shut. He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. She did not try to stop the kiss or push him away. The desire throbbed between her thighs as he shoved her up against the door. Was he doing this so Ida could hear every sound they made?
She may have cared earlier when it was just pretending, but now that he kissed her, she had no qualms about doing this. All rational thought flew away. Whatever happened tomorrow, she would deal with it. Her lips parted and she felt his tongue push its way inside, his hands running over the soft pink gown as he clenched the material in his fists, lifting it higher. His palms grazed her thighs and then her bottom, forcing a moan from her lips. The sting had returned as his touch melted her insides and his fingers dragged over her hips and up her stomach.
Delia winced not from his touch hurting her but the memory as his fingertips grazed over the scar on her hip.
“Hand it all over and no one gets hurt,” the masked man held a knife extended out toward Delia. Dressed in rags that smelled of pigs, the thief had no money of his own and probably what he stole was wasted on ale.
In her right hand, the satchel of money her father had made for the week gripped tight in her fist. It had taken everything to earn what they had, spending every waking hour at the shop. She would not fear a man who refused to show his own face.
“No!” Her father would not be pleased if the money was lost and worse they would not have food next week if she allowed this man to steal what money they had earned honestly. Who was he to come and snatch her earnings with a knife? Next time she would better protect herself, buy a knife of her own to threaten the thief with.
He was but one man. How bad could he hurt her?
The masked stranger darted at Delia with the knife firmly planted in his grasp. Tearing her dress, he lunged at her, trapping her against the ground.
“Get the blasted off me!” she shouted, kneeing him in the groin as she wrestled him around, fighting for control to pin him down. The thief was not much larger than Delia but he was stronger. With one sharp jolt, he pushed the blade through her dress, tearing it a second time and drawing blood.
Pain seared through her hip as other patrons slowly began to intervene and see what happened. The satchel had been snatched but the knife left unattended, still sticking out from Delia’s hip.
“Do not move!” A gentleman twice her age said, bending down. He removed his scarf and pressed it against the wound. “We will get you help at once.” The stranger had the bluest eyes and dark thick chestnut hair. He offered her a warm smile. “What is your name? I must find your father.”
“Delia,” she whispered through the pain. Her bottom lip trembled for fear that she had disappointed him. “My father is Jack Amor. He works at the fabric shop on the corner.”
He rested a soft comforting hand on Delia’s shoulder. “Charles,” the gentleman said, turning toward his son. “Go find her father. I am going to carry her to the hospital.”
He bent down and scooped Delia into his arms.
She found it too painful to wrap her arms around his neck, the pain searing through her stomach as the knife moved just slightly from jostling around.
“You will be just fine, Delia.”
Her hands tangled in the nape of his neck and through his hair, bringing his lips to hers, wanting to forget the memory and the day it happened, instead keeping him tight against her. Her heart slammed against the walls of her chest. Desire struck her, begging to be set free. With the glow of the fire, she freed the buttons on his shirt and trousers, stripping him down as she walked him back toward the plush mattress. It looked comfortable and heavenly, fit for a king, perfect for the governess.
His hands smoothed over her skin, lifting the thin slip of material over her head, hands raised high. He tossed the nightgown to the floor. “I have been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He hoisted Delia up as she wrapped her legs around him. Charles carried her to the bed, lying her down, while his body covered hers. His hands pinned her down, trapping her small frame beneath him.
She struggled against his grasp. “I want to touch you.” Her voice came out whiny and filled with need. He still had his drawers on, the last material between them and she wanted it gone. He bound her hands above her head with one hand while the other moved across her stomach and down to feel the soft curls between her thighs.
“I guess you will have to wait,” he said, teasing her.
Did he know that he had the ability to drive her wild?
He pushed his knee high between her thighs, grinding his hips into hers. Letting her eyes fall shut, she rocked against him. His hand trapping her to the mattress slid down her arm and to her breast, cupping the succulent mound before placing his lips over her rosy nipple. His tongue descended, tasting and sucking, one hand caressing her quim while the other paid attention to her womanly curves.
Her hands found his neck, dragging her fingernails across and down his back toward his bottom. She wanted him to feel the same sting that he’d bestowed upon her. Her hand came down hard, spanking his bare skin.
Not so much as a yelp expelled from his lips as he flipped Delia onto her stomach. He pinned her arms behind her back. Leaning down his breath tickled her ear. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to.” Was that not a good enough reason? He had peppered her bottom with countless beatings from that damned cane. Why could she not have a little fun herself?
His hand came down hard, painting her rear as she squirmed to get away. He did not let her move from the grip he held on her. One hand restrained her two wrists while the other continued smacking her rear.
“Enough! Enough!” she squealed and thrashed, realizing that one smack to his bottom had not been worth the assault to her own. “You do not play well with others,” she said, pouting as he loosened his grasp from her wrists.
“On the contrary, I think I play exceptionally well,” Charles said, rolling Delia onto her back. She hissed and winced as the mattress touched her bare bottom, the sting all too familiar from dinner.
“I want to be on top,” Delia said. Right now she would do anything to keep her bottom from being touched, even with the gentlest of strokes.
“Not a chance.”
“Please.” She would resort to begging if it were absolutely necessary.
“Do you want me to flip you around and paddle your bottom a third time today?” Charles asked.
Delia shook her head no. She leaned up, brushing her lips against his, needing the warmth and desire to course through her body and erase the sting from her bottom. He was the only thought that could take the pain away.
His breath moved down her stomach, his lips trailing a path of soft kisses do
wn between her thighs as he nuzzled her folds.
Restlessly she shifted, anxious for his touch, his tongue, anything to take her over the edge. Her body trembled and Delia ran her fingers through his thick dark hair as she held him against her cunny, letting him lick and suck, his tongue teasing her tiny pearl as it grew with each swipe and long stroke.
His fingers satisfied her, slipping from her thighs as he held her down and inside her warmth, stroking her wetness as she clenched onto Charles’s digits. Two fingers were not enough. She wanted every inch of his cock tight inside of her quim.
“More,” she said, her breath purring as she struggled to open her eyes and stare at him. She pulled at him to move further up her body but he did not seem to listen to what she wanted. “Please, Charles.” It felt strange to say his name without a proper salutation or calling him by his surname. There was something naughty about the scenario and forbidden though the entire affair of what they were doing was highly unacceptable and yet she did not have the slightest care in the world. He made her feel damned good! She tried not to dwell on what would happen tomorrow.
He curled his two thick digits inside of her cunny, forcing her body to tremble and her breathing to momentarily still as a wave of warmth and wetness coursed through her, forcing her hands to clench onto the mattress as her head thrashed from side to side, her back arching off the mattress as he steadied her with one hand while the other brought her to new heights.
Gasping for breath, Delia’s heart felt as though it might truly pound from her chest. She had never experienced something so amazing with another person. Her tryst many years ago had been enjoyable but not life altering. All she could think about was Charles. It took a few moments for her heart to settle before she reached down between them, taking his cock into her grasp.
Charles grunted. Had he not expected her forwardness? They should have been past that after what they had just experienced together. “Slow down,” he said, resting his hand atop hers.
Her thumb dragged over the head before sliding down the shaft. She pushed him onto his back, taking the lead until he spanked her into submission. Delia kissed a path down and across his chest with one destination in mind. Her tongue flicked over the soft hairs of his stomach as she moved down toward his cock. Since the moment he removed his drawers, she had been itching to touch him, taste him, and make love to him. He had made her worries vanish and all thought disappear from her head. She wanted to gift him the same pleasures.
