Meredith rose from her seat, and Alfred got up hastily. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, I am rather tired. I think I will retire upstairs and go to—”
“I wish you would not,” said Alfred in a low voice. “I would encourage you to stay. I have not requested cheese and port yet, and there is much I would like to discuss with you.”
Meredith swallowed. His intoxicating presence was building, and she was finding it difficult to remember why she had wished to leave. There was such honesty in his eyes and yet such desire, too. Could one hold back the other? Was it worth the risk to find out?
“I think I have stayed long enough,” she said quietly.
Their eyes met, and Meredith almost gasped at the intensity of that look. He knew. He knew she found him to be most attractive, and she could see what he wanted from her.
She had to get out of this room.
“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” she said quietly, stepping away from the table.
She was not quick enough. Alfred had mirrored her, moving quickly to the door and reaching it before her, thanks to his tall stride.
“Allow me,” he said quietly.
Meredith nodded, trying not to look into his eyes. All she had to do was get out of the dining room.
Easier said than done. The duke had not opened the door wide, and as she moved forward to step through, he did not move away or widen it for her. Meredith’s heart fluttered as she stepped closer. They were but inches away now.
Meredith could not stop herself. She paused, right before him, their noses almost touching. What was she doing?
All she knew was that she wanted to wait, in this perfect moment, when she could pretend that there was something real between them. That she was not merely a governess, but a lady who had been invited to dinner and was now going to test the limits of the attraction that they most certainly shared.
It would be easy, wonderful to allow herself to give in to temptation. She watched him swallow, watched him lean closer, so that she would only have to lean upward, and then their lips would meet.
Meredith stepped through the door and murmured, “Good night, Your Grace.”
Chapter Ten
August 28, 1812
“Your Grace? Your Grace, can you hear me?”
Alfred blinked. This was starting to become a bad habit, but it was hardly his fault. He had been concentrating on what his steward had been saying as they rode slowly along the boundary between his land and the common land, but then…
He looked around. They were at least three miles from where he last remembered discussing the need for fencing. They were nearer the Johnsons’ farm now, weren’t they?
How had they managed to get here?
Riley, his steward, smiled bemusedly. “Are you feeling quite well, Your Grace?”
Alfred sighed heavily. His steward was a good man—another man who came from a long line of men who served the Rochdales. Why was he so incapable of treating them with the respect they deserved? Walker, Riley…
He needed to pay attention. He needed to stop thinking about…
“Quite well, I thank you,” he said, heart heavy and hands patting the neck of his horse, Parker. “To tell the truth, Riley, I have not been listening. I am sorry. I have no excuse and will therefore not attempt one.”
Despite his rather blunt words, Riley smiled. A man in the prime of his life, double Alfred’s age and with far more experience with the land than Alfred would ever have, he was too accustomed to his master’s physical absences to be upset about his mental ones.
“Ah, ’tis no bother,” he said easily, pulling his stocky horse closer to his master’s. “I will admit, for some reason, I did not think that the change in drainage on the outer fields had much of an interest to you.”
Though the man spoke with a light, unconcerned tone, his words only served to make Alfred feel even more guilty. The land was his. Carmichael land. Rochdale land. It had grown him as surely as any other parent, and not only did he own it, but he represented it in the highest house in the country.
The least he could do was pay attention when someone was telling him how to take care of it.
But estate management was never something he was particularly skilled at. He had never taken to crop rotations and herd management as his father had.
Alfred smiled. One of his favorite memories of his father was the two of them stomping about the moors, his father in thigh-high boots, eyes sharp, looking for a lost lamb that had meandered away from its mother.
Every farmer and his daughter had been out looking for it. But it had been the Duke of Rochdale of the time who had found it.
Alfred’s smile faded. He had always known he had never measured up to his father, not really. It was a sad day when it was so obvious.
But today was not the day to attempt to find a new vigor and passion for the way his estate was managed. Not when he had someone like Riley, so capable, in charge. Not with all his thoughts on the damned election and how it grew ever closer, inching forward like a tiger.
Not when two days ago, all that passion had been directed at a rather sensual governess, who had almost given in to temptation and kissed him.
Meredith.
Alfred swallowed. “Right then, lead on, Riley. Where to next?”
Meredith Hubert. What a temptress she was, even as a governess in that straitlaced gown.
Just the mere memory of their conversation was enough to set him alight. If only he had been braver. If she had not pulled away…if he had closed the gap between them as she had been leaving…
Alfred swallowed, his heart rate raised partly due to the effort of keeping up with Riley and partly from the remembrance of Meredith’s warm body so close to his own.
In a way, it was a relief they had not kissed. Then what would he have done?
Paid her off probably. Alfred shook his head. Then he would have no governess for Archibald, and the boy would be angry, go wild, and get himself into trouble again. Bring the Rochdale name into disrepute again.
Lose him the election.
It would never do to get that close to a servant—too close. As Alfred and Riley jumped a stile over into the next field, Alfred knew that was precisely where the trouble came from. There were ladies one courted and eventually married, and there were women who served you.
Miss Hubert served him, served him well. Better than he could have imagined.
He would not risk that. He would not risk losing her.
“I suppose when you have been elected again, Your Grace,” said Riley comfortably as they slowed to a trot, “official like, you will be back in London for most of the year.”
Alfred nodded.
“Ah, London,” said the steward wistfully. “What a sight it must be.”
Alfred glanced at him as they meandered around a field, careful not to disturb the hay that was drying. It could not be plainer that Riley wished to be in London almost as much as he wished to avoid it.
“You are not missing much,” he said dryly.
It was hard to imagine why anyone would wish to spend any amount of time in the capital—except, of course, that to most of Rochdale, it was faraway and more enticing.
Alfred could not believe anyone, once they had experienced both Rochdale and London, would ever prefer the latter. London was dirty, smelly, overcrowded, and one never managed to see one’s friends, even when they were in town.
Give me clean country air and a sense of duty to one’s neighbors any day, thought Alfred.
The grass was always greener. He was called back to London by duty, honor, and his position. Anyone who had no choice but to stay on Rochdale land was desperate to leave it.
“I may not win, you know,” he added.
Riley waved away his words. “Of course you will, Your Grace. There is always a Carmichael as the Rochdale member of Parliament.”
They rode on in silence, Alfred wondering just what would happen to the people of Rochdale if he did not become a member of Parlia
ment. The end of the world, it appeared.
All he could do was walk down the steps laid out for him. Follow the chain of events, nod at the right time, and hope he could find some fun along the way.
“Good night, Your Grace.”
Alfred’s jaw tightened. If he could be so brave as to have fun with Miss Meredith Hubert…
He shivered, and Parker whinnied beneath him at the sudden movement. Alfred patted his steed’s neck reassuringly as they moved into another field, Riley saying something about the way the drainage fell in this field.
Alfred could not take it in. His thoughts were entirely overwhelmed by thoughts of Meredith. Her beauty. The way she smiled when she thought she had figured him out. The moment they had almost kissed, kept apart by nothing but their determination not to permit themselves that one final pleasure.
“…but we decided against it in the end, the Johnsons weren’t happy,” Riley was saying, though what the Johnsons had not been happy about, Alfred could not tell. “And so in the end, we had to compromise and…”
Alfred nodded. Nods seemed all that was required—except when it came to Meredith.
“I said, can you hear me?”
Alfred jerked to attention, making poor Parker take a discomforting step to the left. Getting his horse under control was easy, but facing up to the rather disappointed face of his steward was more difficult.
“I am sorry, Riley,” Alfred apologized. “I just…well, as I said. Head not in it today.”
Riley shook his head with a smile. “Aye, you did, Your Grace. Mayhaps I should have listened to you, then.”
It was a sorry day indeed when a steward was getting the better of him. Here he was, almost thirty years of education and privilege, and yet it couldn’t prevent him from making a complete ass of himself.
“I think we can safely say I am not in the right frame of mind for this,” Alfred said heavily. “Again, my apologies. Can we go around the estate another day—tomorrow, perhaps?”
The steward hesitated, and Alfred felt a rather strange sensation wash over him. A tangible reminder that being the master of a great estate put him in a rather strange position—but none so strange as those who served him.
“Yes, of course,” said Riley with a slightly constrained smile. “Just let me know what time, and I will meet you at Rochdale Abbey. Will you away home, now?”
Alfred sighed. “I am not sure I would be much use there either. Come tomorrow at whatever time suits you, Riley. There is no point in me getting in the way of your day merely because of my faults. Good day.”
He watched his steward canter off in the direction of his homestead and turned Parker toward the abbey. The longer he was out here, doing nothing, the better.
And he did feel better. When left alone to his thoughts, all he wanted in the first place, a weight lifted from his chest that he did not even realize there. He could disappear here, spend hours riding Parker around the county, and only return home when he wished to be the duke again.
“Archibald and his education take up much of my time, and I have use of your library and my horse. I…I enjoy riding.”
Damn. What had that been? Five minutes without thinking of Miss Hubert?
Alfred shook his head irritably. He should never have attempted to kiss her; it had been madness to even consider it. The temptation had been great, but he was supposed to be a gentleman.
If Meredith had closed the gap between them, there was no knowing what he would have done. How much he would have taken from her if she had been willing to give it.
Christ alive, to hear his name cried out from her lips…
Alfred swallowed. She was intoxicating in a way he had never known before. Oh, he had known women. Had bedded a few in London; girls with no names he had picked off the street after particularly hard days. He had paid them well, and they had done their duty.
He had known ladies. Miss Wilhelmina Talbot was not the only lady of good fortune and standing in the Duchy of Rochdale, and Alfred had been to a few weekend parties.
But Miss Meredith Hubert. She was something entirely different. There was something about her…
Great talents, that was what he had asked for, and by God, he had received it. Archibald was a new boy. The way she had helped him with his husting’s speech…
“This is also the art of speech-making, Mr. Walker, and something I have both studied and taught. Please let me work.”
If only she knew just what to do in the bedroom, too…
Alfred coughed as though that would clear the thought from his head. A governess of many talents.
“Get a grip on yourself,” Alfred muttered as he and Parker leapt over a stile and onto Rochdale Abbey parkland.
It was only then he noticed there was another rider ahead of him. These damn trespassers; they were all over the place now. It was impossible to get rid of them. One could put up as many fences as you wanted, but it did not matter.
If Riley were here, he would have sent the man to say something. Alfred sighed. As he was on his own, and it was his damned land, after all, he supposed he had better do it.
The rider had dismounted and was looking at the scenery. Alfred couldn’t blame them. It was a beautiful part of the parkland, but that did not give them the right to treat his home like their own personal view!
“Come on, Parker,” he muttered, nudging his horse toward the intruder.
It was only as he got closer that he realized it was not a rider.
Well, it was. But it was also Meredith.
And she was not merely looking at the scenery. As Alfred approached, he realized there was something wrong with her horse.
“Hello,” he said in a half-strangled voice.
Meredith turned to see who had spoken to her and blushed. Alfred felt his body surge with a sensation of power and importance.
So, she blushed to see him. That was worth knowing.
What was she thinking? Was she remembering the moment they had almost kissed? The memory did not leave his mind, almost overwhelming his view of her.
“Are you quite alright, Miss Hubert?”
“I am perfectly fine,” she said shortly. “’Tis Beauty. She has thrown a shoe, and I have no wish to force her all the way back to the stable with me on her back. I was about to start the walk.”
Alfred’s mouth fell open. “But—but Meredith, it is near seven miles to the stables!”
She said nothing about his use of her first name, for which he was grateful. He would have to be careful he did not do that again.
“A few miles will not hurt me, Your Grace,” she said. “Besides, I am a governess. I am made of iron!”
“Really? That is news to me. You did not appear made of iron when we…”
Christ alive, he almost said the words aloud. He would need to get a hold of himself if he was not going to embarrass himself entirely.
It was so delightful to see the way she blushed.
Whatever she was thinking, however, she did not mention the kiss that never was.
“A good, long walk will do me good,” she said bracingly. “I would never permit Beauty to carry me if that is what you are suggesting.”
“No, of course not, I am no brute to make a lame horse carry a person’s weight—but this is ridiculous. Why not ride back with me?”
Meredith’s eyes flickered between her horse and his own. Then her gaze met his, full of curiosity and more than a little heat.
Alfred swallowed. It had been an offer he would have made to any lady in distress, but having just made it to a woman who made him…
Well. The idea of her behind him, clinging onto his waist as he rode her to safety…
“I do not think that is a good idea,” the governess said quietly.
Alfred nodded. She was right. She was always right. Had it not been Meredith who had pulled her hand away from his, who had refused to take the kiss offered to her?
Yes, she was far too sensible for any of that nonsense.
&nb
sp; Meredith was still smiling. “I could always take your horse, Your Grace, and you could walk back.”
“I thought I told you to call me Rochdale,” said Alfred, moving his horse closer.
“If I do, will you lend me your horse?”
Alfred laughed before he realized she wasn’t joking. She really thought—she believed she could control Parker?
“I am willing to be of service,” he said seriously, “and you are a skilled horsewoman. I noticed that on our ride. But…Meredith, you could not control Parker. Few people can. He was bred for loyalty. Only I can control him, really.”
Meredith arched an eyebrow and patted her horse’s flank gently. “Oh, I don’t know.”
In that very slow and sultry way that ladies seemed to be taught at the age of eighteen, Meredith walked slowly over to Alfred, still atop his horse.
Alfred swallowed and kept a tight grip on the reins. Parker did not really like anyone, as many of the stable hands could attest. When it came to tacking Parker, Alfred usually did it himself. It was safer that way.
But as Meredith grew closer, she stopped about six feet away. Parker turned his head, staring with obvious disdain.
And then not so obvious. Meredith moved slowly toward the beast, breathing steadily out of her mouth, eyes never leaving him. Alfred watched, enchanted. What on earth was she doing?
She reached Parker and blew very softly on his nose. Parker took a step backward hesitantly, something Alfred had never seen him do before.
Meredith did not move. She waited, still blowing slowly out of her mouth. Alfred had a job not to allow his gaze to meander down, below her neck, to…
Well.
Parker whinnied softly and then stepped forward again, closer to Meredith. He nudged her until Meredith slowly raised a hand and stroked his nose.
She was an enchantress. What had she done to Parker? And perhaps more importantly, was she doing the same to him? Was this why he could not stay away from her, why every step he took seemed to be just another step that led him to her?
“How…how did you do that?” Alfred breathed, almost afraid to break the moment.
A Governess of Great Talents Page 13
