Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  She knew a sudden urge to clasp his face between her hands and rest her forehead against his. Had he really called her his dear?

  “Oh, my dear sir, I should be honoured,” she said, resisting the temptation but aware of a warm glow suffusing her.

  A wide grin lit up his whole face, making him at once appear younger than his two-and-thirty years.

  “I am afraid it is hardly suitable for a lady. It is rather warm in places.”

  “I doubt it can be much worse than some of the Greek tales my father was wont to regale me with!” she quipped.

  To her surprise, he suddenly grasped her hand and brought it to his lips.

  “My dear, sweet Amelia, you are— May we begin at once?!”

  He reminded her of a small boy and she could not prevent an answering smile curving her lips.

  “I really think I should be properly attired, my lord! Perhaps – if I may be so bold – another trip to the island would be propitious?”

  Chapter 5

  They were seated in the pavilion with the remains of a picnic lunch on a low stone table in front of them. The children had gone off to play hide and seek and could be heard shrieking with laughter on the other side of the island. The book of pirates sat beside Hugo on the bench, but in his hand he held some sheets of paper. On one sheet, Amelia had written three-letter words; on a second, she had listed four-letter words; on another, five-letter words and so on, up to eight letters.

  Hugo had fairly cantered through the three lettered words with barely a hesitation; he had trotted through the words on the four and five-letter sheets, stumbling a little over ‘alder’, ‘bacon’ and ‘right’. Now they were working down the list of six-letter words and he was still recognizing them far more readily than she had anticipated.

  “That is very good, my lord,” she praised as he reached the end of the first column.

  He looked sideways at her. There was definite smile in his eyes, although his expression was serious.

  “Call me Hugo, please… Amelia. I may call you by your name, may I not? This is the first time in my life I have not been terrified, either of getting it wrong or of making a fool of myself. I owe it to you. Surely we might be informal when private such as we are now?”

  She looked away for a moment, in order to compose her features into a semblance of modesty.

  “It is hardly proper for us to be on such familiar terms, sir, but given the situation, I confess I should not be averse to a slight relaxing of the rules.”

  His grin was infectious and stole an answering one from her before she could prevent it. Turning back to the paper, he continued to read.

  “Stable… st-status… street… strong… sup – supper… sue-it… no, suited!”

  “Well done,” she said quietly. “I think perhaps you should stop for a while, now.”

  He puffed out his cheeks and leaned back against the pale stone wall behind him.

  “It was always hard, yet I do not recall it being this tiring. Some days, the words appeared to wriggle on the page like eels in a basket on a Bristol wharf. I could make neither head nor tail of them. Those days were the worst, for I knew no matter what I did, nothing would make any sense and there would be only one outcome.” He sighed and rubbed his free hand along his thigh. Amelia could not help noticing the muscled strength beneath the snug biscuit-coloured breeches. “I tell myself to lock the memories away and forget, but it is proving an impossible task. There are reminders everywhere. I beg your pardon, I am making you uncomfortable. I seem to be making a habit of that. I swear, ’tis not my intention.”

  Amelia had uttered a tiny, involuntary sound of pain. It was hardly in keeping with the distance a governess should maintain, yet the picture painted by his words, of a small boy tortured by disability and lack of tolerance, was harrowing to one of her sensibilities.

  There was a slight pause while she attempted to gather her scattered wits.

  “Tell me about Miss Amelia Burcott,” he said into the breach. “If it is not too vulgarly inquisitive, how does a gently-born lady such as yourself come to be eking out what must be a miserable existence as a governess? You are intelligent, articulate, fine of feature and person; any man would be proud to have you for a wife, I am sure.”

  “My lord!” she almost spluttered, raising her hands to her cheeks. “You are putting me to the blush!”

  “My apologies.” His frown was an adorable mix of confusion and solicitude. “I am, as usual, making a complete mull of this. I rarely consort with ladies for the simple fact that I either say the wrong thing or become completely tongue-tied.” To her surprise – and she suspected to his own as well – he lifted his hand and with a finger beneath her chin, gently turned her to face him. “And I have no notion what induced me tell you that.”

  He smiled and a delicious warmth rippled through her, reminding her of the sun-kissed waters of the lake when the oars broke the surface. This man was breaking the crust of reserve she had used to protect herself during the past eight years.

  ~*~

  Something strange was happening to him whenever he was in Amelia’s company, Hugo reflected as he considered the smooth skin and perfectly arranged features of the young governess’ face, bare inches from his. What was she – five, perhaps six-and-twenty? Whatever had brought her to the necessity of earning a living, she was undoubtedly a lady; a lady who gave him confidence and hope where, for almost his whole life, there had been none. Of its own volition, his thumb stroked her chin and he felt her shiver. Why did he get this absurd desire to confess all his innermost secrets into her shapely ears? Furthermore, why did he keep blurting out the most foolish of sentiments – and why did he have this insane urge to kiss her?

  She was not a woman with whom a man enjoyed a dalliance; she was indeed a woman a man married. He pulled up on the thought. Whatever was he considering? He must have windmills in his head if that was the direction the breeze was drifting. A man did not marry his governess, no matter how ladylike. Besides, he had determined a long time ago marriage was not for him. The attendant social whirl would reduce him to a stuttering imbecile. Not even Amelia could steer him through such treacherous waters as those. Amelia… Her name brought his attention back to her.

  Somehow he had bent closer to her; their lips were mere inches apart. Her beautiful hazelnut eyes fluttered nervously this way and that, a hint of pain or fear in their generous depths. Hugo sat up straighter and scratched his nose, thinking swiftly. His hand touched the book on the bench beside him. He picked it up and held it between them.

  “Are you stout enough of heart to listen to me attempt a passage from this?”

  The warm smile she gave him was all the reward he needed. The stone wall he had built to guard his heart all those years ago shook beneath its gentle force.

  “If you feel you are ready, sir,” she answered softly.

  Did her voice quaver, or was it the throb of fear in his ears? “I memorized the description of Blackbeard. As a boy it was one of my favourite parts. I should be able to recognize those words, should I not?”

  “It is possible, of course, but—”

  He found himself wanting to offer her encouragement. “If I fail, it will be no fault of yours, but I should like to try.” He opened the book and flicked through the pages until he came to the picture of the dastardly Edward Teach, otherwise known as Blackbeard, one of the most vicious corsairs on the high seas. Then he passed it to her. “If you please, will you discover for me the place where it describes Blackbeard? It begins, ‘This beard was black…’”

  He tried not to feel envy of the swift way she scanned the pages, telling himself she was not beset by snakes and eels. Accepting the book back, he stared at the dancing squiggles and knew a few moments of panic. He had felt so sure he could do it after his success with the words she had written out. Briefly, he closed his eyes, opening them again when a hand was laid upon his arm.

  “Take a deep breath,” she whispered, “and allow the words to
take shape. Let the snakes become drowsy and still. Allow your fear to subside. No-one is going to be angry if you fail, but you will not fail, because you are no longer afraid.”

  A stone crashed down from his inner wall and permitted a tiny sliver of light to penetrate to his deepest, darkest cavern, where lay the shreds of his heart.

  “This… beard was black,” he began, slowly and deliberately, “which he… suff… suffered to grow of an ex… ex…”

  “Extravagant,” Amelia assisted.

  “…extravagant length,” he repeated. “As to bread… breadth… it came up to his eyes; he was acc-ust-omed to twist it with ribbons, in small tails, after the manner of our… What is that word? I remember it as ram’s knees, but that cannot be right!”

  He was charmed by her low laugh. It was slightly husky and did odd things to his equilibrium.

  “I believe that is Ramilies, my lord; Ramilies wigs.”

  “Ah, yes. Thank you. If you continue to call me ‘my lord’, I shall force you to listen to my reading until I can recite this book perfectly from first page to last.”

  She actually giggled. “No! So cruel! Then, my good sir – Hugo – I must indeed comply.”

  “I salute your inveterate good sense, Amelia. Now, where was I? Ah, yes… in small tails, after the manner of our Ramilies wigs, and turn them about his ears. What a figure he must have cut! In time of act… shun… he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three… bra… bray… brayce—! … three brace of pistols, hanging in hol… holsters like bandoliers – I remember that bit! And stuck lighted matches under his hat, which appear… appearing on either side of his face, his eyes nat… natur…ally looking… fierce and wild… It is, is it not? …made him all-to… gether such a fig… figure, that im… im…im…” Do not panic, you fool. Think of a word which begins with im…

  The words wriggled and squirmed before his eyes. They seemed to slide over the page, never remaining still long enough for him to make sense of their various shapes. The old panic began to well up in his chest; the shadow of a black crow hovered in his soul.

  “There is nothing to fear, Hugo. Close your eyes. Think of something calm and pleasant and allow yourself to breathe normally.”

  The effect of Amelia’s voice was instantaneous. The dread spectre of Father Bertram receded and Hugo’s breathing steadied. She must have moved, for there was a rustle of fabric and the now-familiar scent of lavender filled his senses. After a few moments, he braved opening his eyes again and discovered that the snakes had returned to being words.

  “You made the demons go. Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

  He ran his finger up the page to find his place, but Amelia’s hand firmly removed the book from his grasp and closed it.

  “I think that is enough for today. Pushing yourself when you are tired can only lead to difficulty and a loss of self-esteem. In any case, I think I can hear the children returning.”

  ~*~

  “Uncle Hugo! Uncle Hugo!”

  Several excited voices accompanied the sounds of running feet on the hard ground and the crashing so indicative of four or two-legged animals barging willy-nilly through woodland. The voices and the accompanying noises grew progressively louder and nearer. Amelia and Hugo moved as one to the sun-bathed clearing.

  Within seconds, all five children appeared, in various states of disarray. Alexander and Robert had their shirts hanging loose, orange-red streaks decorating the fine linen; their hair was tangled and glued to their foreheads with sweat and their cheeks were crimson. Harriet and Jenny were dishevelled, with hair escaping from the tidy arrangements with which they had begun the day and their bonnets dangling from crumpled ribbons of blue and yellow.

  “Uncle Hugo, you will never guess what we have found!” they chorused.

  The four children divided as they surged into the glade, but before Amelia could ask where Edmund was, the little boy appeared from the same, little-used path. In his arms he was carrying a squirming, filthy and wet object, which she could only conclude was a dog, from the way the thin tail was waving beneath the child’s arm.

  “Edmund, look at the state of you!” she could not keep from protesting. He resembled a gypsy urchin, his hair matted with something she dare not conjecture and the colour of his clothes barely distinguishable beneath the amassed grime, stains, insects and vegetation. “Harriet, Alexander! Whatever were you about to permit him to get into such a condition?”

  “’Tis not our fault, Miss B,” Alexander protested. “We were playing hide-and-seek and the silly chump went back to the badger sett.”

  “After I had told him not to,” put in Harriet with a fierce look at her small brother.

  “Then I trust you have learned a valuable lesson, Harriet,” Amelia said briskly. “Never, under any circumstances, tell a small boy not to do something that you know is his dearest wish, for he is bound to do just that!” She sighed eloquently. “Edmund, did you learn nothing from your last encounter with that badger sett?”

  “More to the point, young man, how do you come to be soaking wet and how did you come by that mutt?”

  Hugo’s query was voiced in a calm tone, but she was beginning to recognize when he was exercising control over his emotions and he was less than pleased. No doubt his own mental exertions were in some part responsible for him suffering a loss of humour, but for herself, she was struggling not to show her enjoyment of the tableau before the children.

  “I found him in the little cove facing the far bank,” Edmund was explaining ebulliently, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. The canine waif at once wriggled to be free, forcing the child to clutch it once more with both arms tightly around its midriff. Amelia could see it was pitifully thin. “He had been tied in a sack and left to drown!” He turned to Hugo. “Uncle Hugo, I can keep him, can I not? He can sleep in my bedchamber!”

  “How did you discover him if he was in the water?” asked Hugo, ignoring the questions. Amelia saw his lips twitch and was conscious of a huge wave of relief.

  “The sack had caught on a branch! I heard him cry and waded into the lake to rescue him.”

  “Yes, and then you got caught up in the reeds and we had to lower that sapling over the water in order to get you back out!” complained Alexander.

  “I shall name him Pirate!” Ignoring his brother’s interpolation, Edmund tipped his head on one side and looked up at his uncle; the mutt took the opportunity to lick the boy’s face, leaving a sludgy brown smudge across his cheek. “Do say I can keep him!”

  Hugo folded his arms and gave Edmund a severe look. Amelia doubted the children were aware it was feigned.

  “He will sleep in the stables with the other dogs and you will personally give him a thorough bath before you come in the house. If I find him in your chamber or the nursery, I will give him to the gypsies, is that clearly understood?”

  Amelia smothered a smile. What a Banbury story! It was no doubt the gypsies who had left him to die in the first place. She had a strong conviction that Pirate would join the rest of the pack of assorted dogs which were often to be seen at Hugo’s heels, never to know a moment’s deprivation ever again.

  “Why are you carrying him, Edmund?” she asked. “Surely he is able to walk?”

  “He has a grievous cut on his leg,” explained Alexander. “It looks to me as though he has been caught in a trap. I offered to put an end to him properly, the poor thing is so weak, but Edmund would have none of it.”

  “I should think so!” piped up Robert. “It is all right for you, you have your own dogs, but we do not. It will be famous fun for Edmund and me. We can teach him tricks!”

  “What about me?” immediately demanded Jenny. “I want a dog, too!”

  Harriet sighed and glared at her elder brother, as if to say, ‘Now see what you have done!’ Without thinking, Amelia looked across at Hugo to find his gaze already upon her. There was a twinkle in his eye although his face wore its habitual sombre expression. To her utter amazement, he winked
at her. It happened so fast, she thought she must have imagined it, but then he smiled, a smile of such beauty, she knew her heart had never been in more danger.

  “Well, then my hearties!” His words boomed in the confined space. “All hands to it! Collect up everything we brought. It seems we have captured a Pirate and must take him back with us for questioning! Edmund, you will go with your brothers in the other boat. I will not have you soiling Miss Burcott’s gown, nor allowing that… picaroon to do so either. Do not let him escape. Once he is respectable, we may address his afflictions. Jump to it, then, shipmates, unless you have a mind to swing from the yard-arm!”

  Chapter 6

  Late one evening, about a week later, Amelia was crossing the hall towards the imposing entrance door. It had been a hot day and she felt in need of some exercise now it was cooling down. A gentle breeze had blown up and the delightful perfume from the honeysuckle beneath her window had enticed her to leave her lesson plans and take a stroll in the shrubbery. In her reticule she carried a slim volume of poetry with which to while away a peaceful half-hour, had she the mind to.

  As she stretched out her hand to open the heavy oak panel, it swung inwards, admitting Hugo. The Earl of Raftesbury, her inner voice corrected her with a touch of impatience. It would not be wise to allow herself to fall too much under his spell, she warned, suppressing the certain knowledge that it was already too late. They had been to the island three more times during the week and each precious hour had become a memory to store against a lonely future. He smiled and bowed; Amelia’s heart gave a skip. Indeed, given the slightest encouragement, that foolish organ would prostrate itself at his feet.

  She glanced down at his elegant, polished top boots as she dipped an answering curtsey and was surprised into exclaiming: