Only days ago, Shev would have agreed with Bélanger. But seeing the girl’s desolate expression made him rethink his earlier assessment. “Shall we put his theory to the test?”
“Theory?” Jacqueline looked from him to Anne.
“Thoughts,” Miss Crawford offered as a substitute.
“I don’t want to scare the horses,” Jacqueline whispered. “Just want to pet them.”
“Then pet you shall—after a bit of shrieking.” Shev danced his fingertips beneath the girl’s chin, under her arms, and along her sides.
Overcome with laughter, she did not even realize they now stood inside the stables, amidst thirty prime horses. Their big brown watchful gazes followed the wiggling girl as she tried in vain to evade his fingers. The more curious horses stuck their heads out into the aisle for a better view. The shyer ones tracked her progress from within the safety of their stalls.
Shev wondered what Miss Crawford thought of his antics. He was rather surprised by them himself. Children always tended to want something, either physically or emotionally. The former was easily achieved with a penny here or there. However, he had no notion of how to assuage their emotional needs. They seemed to flop about like leaves in a storm.
He stopped in front of his gentlest mare, Lottie. Overcome with giggles, it took Jacqueline a few seconds to become aware of her surroundings. About the same time, Lottie nosed her shoulder. Not understanding, Jacqueline arched away from the mare and wrapped her thin arms around Shev’s neck.
The contact caught him off guard and, once again, he looked to Miss Crawford for guidance. This time, her expression glowed with encouragement and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pride. Her simple acknowledgment that he’d done right by the banshee made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years, decades.
Jacqueline buried her head deeper into his shoulder, bringing his attention back to his mission, of sorts. He rubbed his hand over her narrow back. “Jacqui, meet Lottie. Not everyone gets her nose nudge on the first day. She likes you.”
Using his free hand, he slid it down the mare’s sleek brown cheek. He continued the motion until Jacqueline raised her head. “Would you like to give it a try?”
She nodded and made a quick movement toward the horse. Lottie backed up a step. Jacqueline retreated to his shoulder. “I scared her.”
“Nonsense. Lottie’s a brave girl, and it will take more than a wee lass to spook her.”
“But she backed away.”
“Sudden movements can cause uncertainty in any animal. People too.” Shev angled his head to the side to see her face. She stared at the horse with a mixture of longing and dejection. Moments like this reminded him of why he kept his association with people brief and of little consequence. Stringing together a proper set of words to soothe another’s feelings was foreign to him. Normally, he would not even try. However, Shev felt an unusual, compelling need to return the smile to Jacqueline’s miserable face.
“Lottie likes you. Now you must earn her trust.”
A small spark of hope entered Jacqueline’s sad eyes. “How?”
“Hold your hand out flat like mine.” He waited for her to comply. “Follow my lead. Gentle strokes.”
With a timidity he had never witnessed in her before, Jacqueline’s hand followed his down Lottie’s broad, white-streaked nose. They repeated the action twice more before the mare stepped closer, her eyelids growing heavy. Shev removed his hand and allowed the girl to continue on her own.
“Now you have her friendship and trust,” he said in a low voice. “You must work hard to keep it.”
“I will.” Determination laced her awed voice.
Shev glanced over Jacqueline’s head in time to see Miss Crawford spin around and stride in the opposite direction. He started to call out to her, then noticed she made a surreptitious swipe across one cheek.
He caught the eye of his stable master and motioned him over. “Finn, would you mind giving Miss Jacqueline a tour?”
“Would be my pleasure, sir.”
The Irishman peered down to where Jacqueline now stood at Shev’s side. Women of all ages found Finn’s exaggerated winks and crooked smile charming and his brogue lyrical. He wondered if Miss Crawford would agree.
“Have you much experience with horses, lass?” Finn asked.
“No, sir.”
Lottie picked that moment to extend her long neck over the stall door and nudge the back of Jacqueline’s head, causing the girl to giggle.
Finn held out his hand. “Looks like Lottie wants you to meet the rest of the ladies and gents.”
Jacqueline looked to Shev for confirmation. He nodded and she slid her tiny hand into the stable master’s.
“Finn, I’ll rejoin you in five minutes. Why don’t you take Jacqui to see the newcomer?”
The man flashed him a mischievous smile, then led Jacqueline away. Shev watched them for a moment, admiring Finn’s ease with the child. In no time, he had her skipping along next to him.
He found Miss Crawford hovering near the entrance to the stable, the bright morning sky glowing behind her, casting her familiar form in dark shadow. She was like a forbidden beacon, one he could not ignore.
Stopping a few feet away, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Did I say something to upset you?”
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, then her shoulders relaxed and she turned to face him. All traces of her tears had disappeared. “Of course not, my lord.”
“Why did you walk away?”
“What you did back there, with Jacqueline, was amazing.”
Shev’s grip on his hands tautened. “And this distressed you?”
“Quite the contrary, my lord.” She glanced down at her own tightly clasped hands. “I found myself riveted by the way in which you worked to repair the deep wounds inflicted by her French father. And for that, I beg your pardon.”
He stepped closer, wanting to ease the tense lines bracketing her forehead, her eyes, even her mouth. His gaze lingered on the fullness of her lips, the delicate pink hue. He had no doubt their softness would be unrivaled by any he’d tasted before.
When the ravaged sound of his breath reached his ears, he dug the blunt tips of his fingernails into his palms. Focus on the conversation at hand, Shevington. “Why do you need my pardon?”
“It was a private moment between you and Jacqueline, and I had no right to intrude. I’ll not make the same mistake again, my lord.”
Knowing he shouldn’t, but helpless to stop his forward momentum, Shev reduced the distance between their bodies. “Number one: Had I wanted privacy, I would have asked for it. Number two: Your presence provided the necessary guidance I needed not to muck up the situation. And number three: You had every right to be there. Without your patience and gentle hand, Jacqueline would never have given me the opportunity. She would have run away, screaming something indecipherable.”
The governess’s expression went from embarrassment to shock to disbelief to horrified amusement. He enjoyed the latter the most. In her sparkling wide eyes, he glimpsed not the unblemished, leather-bound edition of Anne Crawford she presented to the world, but the raw, unedited, infinitely more interesting version.
“Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Miss Crawford?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“I almost got you to laugh aloud.”
She molded her features into their normally neutral schoolmarm position. “You make me sound dour, my lord. I assure you I am not.”
“Perhaps your happiness only reveals itself when I’m not around.”
“Would it not seem odd if I walked around smiling all day?”
He thought back to the brief smile she’d given him moments ago and the resulting nail marks scored into his palm. Dangerous might be a more appropriate description.
“Perhaps you are right. Walking around with a frown is far less odd.” Suppressing a grin, he held out his arm. “Shall we rejoin the banshee and stable master?”
“I do
not frown all day either.” She nodded at his arm. “Thank you, but I’m not a genteel lady for you to escort about.” She swept her hand in front of them. “After you, my lord.”
Shev slowly lowered his arm. In the logical part of his mind, he agreed with her. A marquess would never offer his arm to a member of his staff—unless the individual was injured or incapacitated in some way. Even then, it was doubtful he would offer physical assistance if other servants were about to take care of the situation. Which they would be. They were always nearby.
But the flesh and blood part of him wanted nothing more than to feel the soft curve of her breast along his arm and the swoosh of her skirts against his leg. He wanted her close enough that he could finally detect her scent, hear the slow release of her breath.
He wanted the impossible. She knew it. He knew it. Even his mother knew it, given the stern looks she’d been sending his way of late.
“Have it your way, Miss Crawford.” Striding away, he followed Jacqueline’s excited chatter until he found her and Finn peering into one of the larger stalls. Even after Anne’s rejection, he still kept one ear on the conversation around him and another on the governess’s approach. An eternity seemed to pass before he felt her presence behind him.
Chapter Ten
Anne’s insides roiled like boiling water in a kettle. One moment she stood strong in her conviction not to give in to her inappropriate feelings for Lord Shevington, and in the next second, she hovered over an abyss of indecision.
If only he weren’t so handsome, intelligent, amusing, and heartbreakingly considerate of his daughter’s feelings, she could overcome her attraction. Push it away to the farthest reaches of her mind and simply admire him for having the qualities of a good man.
But he was all those things and more. The barrier her mind had erected—the one that guided her along the jagged path of right and wrong—had begun to tremble and crack, allowing bands of brilliant, invigorating light to shine through.
She was drawn to those bands in the same way a ship’s crew who had dwelled at sea for far too long sought out a speck of land.
A gasp rent the air, forcing Anne’s inner struggle to the background. She paused behind Lord Shevington, Jacqueline, and the stable master. The trio observed something inside a large stall.
Anne moved to see what had drawn their attention when Jacqueline turned to her suddenly and exclaimed, “A pony!”
All Anne’s wariness, concern, and self-recrimination vanished at the sight of one beaming smile from a troubled little girl. Without thought, she stepped forward and gathered Jacqueline’s long, wavy hair and draped it down her back before settling her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
Inside the massive stall, a mare and her newborn stood with their noses together. The baby’s coat was a deep, impenetrable black but for the adorable white patch above its left knee.
Lord Shevington peered down at his daughter. “He needs a name.”
“He doesn’t have one yet?”
Before the marquess could answer, Finn jumped in. “His lordship wouldn’t hear of it. Informed us all that he was bringing someone special to Fenmore to do the honors.” He winked at Jacqueline and received a scowl from her father. “You’re a lucky young lady. His lordship doesn’t allow just anyone to name his prized horseflesh, and this young buck is going to be a champion. Mark my words.” Finn lowered his voice. “Make it a strong name, Miss Jacqueline.”
The girl’s face puckered in concentration. Anne could almost feel the girl’s desire to pick the perfect name. It was obvious she’d never been entrusted with such a task before, and she wanted to get it right.
Curious, the newborn tiptoed to where Jacqueline stood with her face pressed between two wooden slats. The closer he came, the broader the girl’s grin grew.
Remembering what she’d been taught, Jacqueline smoothed her small hand down the newborn’s narrow black nose. When he made to shy away from her touch, she coaxed him forward with melodic words in her native tongue.
He stepped closer again, and Jacqueline rewarded him with a smile. “Petit courageux.”
Brave little one.
Pride wedged itself in Anne’s throat. Only a short while ago, Jacqueline balked at going near the horses for fear of scaring them. And now, she praised a newborn for being courageous.
Anne glanced at Lord Shevington and found him looking at her out of the corner of his eye. The same pride she felt shone in his dark eyes. She smiled, enjoying the moment with him. His nostrils flared and his chest rose. His head slowly angled her way.
Her attention dropped to his mouth. A mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. Need fanned through her, heating her most intimate places and making her pulse spiral out of control.
Turning to her more fully, he lifted a hand toward her cheek.
“Prewitt,” Jacqueline announced, oblivious of the inferno igniting at her back.
The marquess dropped his hand to his side, and the look he sent Anne made it clear they would discuss what had almost happened—later.
“Prewitt, you say?”
“Oui.” Jacqueline sent a tentative glance toward the stable master. “Is that a strong name?”
Finn deferred to Lord Shevington. “What do you think, my lord? Is Prewitt brawny enough for your champion-to-be?”
Jacqueline lifted worried eyes to her father.
“Indeed, it is. A fine, brawny name.”
With those four words, he won over Jacqueline’s trust. And Anne’s heart.
* * *
Unlike their previous meals together, this evening’s dinner turned out to be a lively affair.
Jacqueline regaled her grandmother about the newborn and listed all the different names she’d considered before deciding on Prewitt. And how she and Prewitt were already fast friends. The marchioness listened with the rapt attention of a besotted grandparent, encouraging the girl to continue her story with expertly delivered questions.
Lord Shevington did his part to keep the conversation going, making outrageous comments and forcing his indignant daughter to correct him. For the first time since joining this household, his lordship seemed genuinely amused by his daughter’s antics. His indulgent, I’m-of-superior-intellect expression never made an appearance. Not once. Nor did he pick at Anne to see what type of reaction he could elicit.
As for Anne, she listened, allowing the normality of the evening to wash over her. Partway through the meal, she realized the pleasant sensation she was experiencing was happiness. Unrestricted happiness.
And in a dangerous moment, she understood what it would feel like to have a family of her own. Something she had never allowed herself to think upon before.
The realization should have sent her ricocheting back behind the shield of her reserve, but it didn’t. In fact, the knowledge warmed her. Settled her. Branded her.
One day, she would have a husband, a child—or two, a mother-in-law, a home of her own, and more. She would have a life where she looked forward to every waking hour. Where she would play with her children and lie in her husband’s loving arms, all night, every night.
An image of her and Lord Shevington tangled in luxurious sheets and straining limbs burned in bright detail in her mind’s eye. She didn’t shy away from the forbidden fantasy. Something within her had shifted today. Something she couldn’t let go.
Acceptance, she thought. Acceptance of her heart’s desire. “Dear God, I love him,” Anne whispered. She loved Lord Shevington—Marcus. How it had happened in such a short amount of time, she didn’t know. After all, she still did not know him all that well. But the simple act of admitting her feelings aloud lifted the last dregs of uncertainty from her mind.
However, Anne’s pragmatic side recognized that she wasn’t the first governess to lose her heart to the master of the house, nor would she be the last. She would cherish the time they had together. At the end of her three months, she would search for employment elsewhere and pray for the strength she needed to survive a li
fe without him.
After retiring for the evening, Anne pulled the pins from her hair and brushed the fine strands with long, even strokes. She loved this time of the night when the household quieted, her thoughts grew sluggish, and her muscles relaxed their brutal hold.
Lost in the repetitive motion, Anne failed to hear the click of her door opening and the soft tread of footsteps that followed. She didn’t become aware she was no longer alone until she felt a gentle tug on her hair.
Anne jolted at the contact.
“Jolis cheveux.”
She swiveled around to find Jacqueline, standing barefooted in her nightclothes, a look of wonder on her sweet face.
“Is everything all right?” Anne asked.
“I could not sleep.”
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“Nurse was snoring.” She ran her fingers over Anne’s hair again, as if she’d never seen a woman’s hair loose before.
Anne toyed with one long strand of Jacqueline’s locks. “Has anyone ever told you that you have very pretty hair?”
Jacqueline shook her head.
“May I brush yours?”
The girl began to nod, then hesitated. “I have knots.”
“That’s all right. I do too.”
She looked at Anne’s shiny, smooth hair with skepticism.
Anne laughed. “Not now, silly goose.”
Rising, Anne held out her hand. “Come, let’s climb onto the bed. It’ll be more comfortable and I can reach you better.”
They sat cross-legged, one in front of the other. Anne untied the ribbon holding Jacqueline’s unruly hair in place. After unwinding the thick plaits, she began brushing in long, hypnotic strokes.
After several minutes of silence, Anne asked, “Do you miss doing this with your mother?”
“Maman did not like my knots.”
Regret stung the backs of Anne’s eyes. Regret that Jacqueline had been denied this simple pleasure. Regret that she herself had lost her mother at an age not much older than Jacqueline.
When Jacqueline’s head began to droop, Anne set aside the brush and scooped Jacqueline up into her arms. Jacqueline’s eyelids fluttered. “All is well.” Anne kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
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