Meredith slipped off his lap as Alfred groaned. “We agreed—”
“Agreement be damned,” said Alfred passionately. “I know you want me to kiss you. You do, don’t you?”
For one heart-stopping moment, he thought he had misread the signs. But there was no mistaking that look. Meredith’s gaze raked over him, finishing at his mouth, and he saw her lick her lips. He almost groaned aloud with the self-restraint.
“Yes,” Meredith whispered.
In an instant, she was in his arms, and Alfred’s lips were on hers. Pushing her back, he pinned Meredith between his chest and the sink, his hands around her waist, keeping her there as she moaned in his mouth.
Alfred pulled away, passion clouding his eyes but not his intentions. He had to give in. He could not stand it any longer.
“I…I want to please you,” he said in a jagged voice. “It won’t harm you. It won’t take any of your innocence from you. Will…will you let me?”
Meredith looked up in wild confusion, her lips bruised by the violence of his passion. “Please me?”
Alfred moaned as his head dropped. It was too much; she was too precious. “Yes,” he said quietly, raising his head to look into her eyes once more. “You can ask me to stop at any time, and I promise I will do so. Let me…let me please you, Meredith.”
It was almost a plea, and he could tell she heard the longing in his voice.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I want—”
She was not permitted to continue. Crushing her mouth with his own, Alfred tried to steady himself. He could not rush this. It had to be perfect.
Still worshipping her mouth with his, he gently moved his fingers down the length of her nightgown and then hiked it up.
“Oh!”
His fingers stopped as he broke the kiss and looked at Meredith. Her eyes were full of desire, her body only still upright thanks to the support of the sink behind her.
“Can I keep going?” he whispered, kissing her neck and feeling her shiver under him.
“Yes,” whispered Meredith in return. “Oh, yes…”
He moved slower this time, achingly slower as his fingers gently stroked the stockinged thighs that quivered at his touch. God, it was all he could do not to pull down his breeches and enter her, take the pleasure he was painfully denying himself.
No. That would not do. He did not bed servants.
“Meredith,” he breathed, moving from her neck to those lips once more at the same instant that his fingers brushed across her secret place.
“Oh!” she gasped, eyes wide.
Here she was, utterly at his mercy. He was stronger, more worldly, master to her. He could take what he wanted but never would. He would never countenance such a thing.
And she did not ask him to stop.
“Trust me,” he breathed, and she nodded, unable to speak and eyes fluttering as he gently moved a finger within her. “Christ alive!”
She was perfect. Alfred gloried in the feel of her, almost groaning at how welcoming she was, how wet she was. It was all he could do to concentrate on kissing her, keeping her upright with one hand as the other slowly teased her, stroking the fires of her pleasure.
“Alfred,” she moaned, and hearing his name on her lips as she twitched with pleasure almost made him cry out with joy. “Yes, oh, yes, more…”
More? Alfred swallowed and allowed a second finger to tease her, and as he bent his head to kiss her decolletage, he felt the change within her. She was close.
“Almost there,” he whispered, capturing her mouth once more with his to ensure her shouts of ecstasy did not raise the whole house.
When she came, shuddering and wonderful under the rapid rhythm of his clever fingers, Alfred closed his eyes and almost wept. It was beautiful. It was everything he wanted.
Almost.
Meredith’s hands had clutched his shoulders as the ecstasy overwhelmed her, and then she leaned back.
“I…I could never have imagined such pleasure.”
Alfred smiled. He had never known such torture. “And that’s just a taste…”
He leaned forward to kiss her again, his fingers moving to the buttons at the front of his breeches.
It was the wrong decision.
“And—and you’ll not be getting any more,” said Meredith hastily, her voice still weak. “Not from me.”
Alfred knew what she needed to hear. Had he not said it a thousand times to the ladies of London streets? “’Tis not just about wanting, Meredith. I…I care about you. I have feelings for you.”
And it was true this time, though it felt strange admitting it. What had this governess done to him?
Meredith looked up, her hair disheveled, her eyes piercing him as though attempting to understand what he had done to her, what he meant.
“Alfred,” she whispered. “I…I think I am starting to fall—”
“Your Grace? Is that you?”
They froze. The voice was just outside the kitchen. It was Roberts, damn him. Alfred was not sure whether he would ever be able to forgive him.
“Your Grace?”
Alfred groaned quietly and hung his head. “I…I have to go.”
Meredith nodded, taking her hands away. “I know.”
Bloody hell! The last thing Alfred wanted to do was leave her, especially after giving Meredith her very first taste of what a man could do to a lady.
But he had no choice.
He stepped away, the connection broken, and he hated it. “We will finish this conversation another time,” he promised her.
“Christ,” swore Alfred as he turned away, unable to look at her. He would have her, one way or another. “I am confused.”
Meredith nodded. “I know. So am I. This…this sort of thing, it usually ends in tears.”
He knew she was right. Masters and servants kept their distance for so many reasons. When the lines were blurred, no one knew how to retreat back to those old niceties.
“I promise not to weep over you,” he quipped.
The last thing he wished was to give Meredith—Miss Hubert—false hope. He had to try to keep away from her, or he would say or do something that he would, in time, regret.
Now how could he get out of this sticky situation he had created for himself—without hurting her or himself?
Chapter Fifteen
September 20, 1812
“Are you absolutely sure you want to go ahead with this?”
Meredith had not intended her question to be offensive. Nor was she doubting Alfred. There were few gentlemen so proficient.
As the carriage rocked around a corner, she kept her arm closely around Archibald to ensure he did not slip out of his seat. His elder brother, on the other hand, looked as though he would be quite happy to throw himself off the nearest cliff to escape the carriage.
Meredith looked closely at him. Alfred’s face was pale, his smile gone, his expression anxious.
He nodded.
Meredith bit her lip. They had all entered the carriage five minutes ago, and he had not appeared so nervous then.
They were going to the husting.
She did not say any more. It did not appear Alfred could answer any questions as it was, and she did not wish to pile any more pressure on him than he was always experiencing.
Meredith’s mind took her back to that practice speech she and Archibald had listened to a few weeks ago in the ballroom. The usually so eloquent Duke of Rochdale had…
Well. Fallen to pieces was not the most pleasant way to describe it, but it was at the very least accurate.
Some people were just not suited to public speaking.
In just an hour, Meredith told herself, this would all be over. If she thought saying those words to Alfred would bring him any comfort, she would, but there was no point. Alfred knew as well as she did that he would have to make his speech before all the potential voters of Rochdale, and that was something he considered quite impossible.
“Oh, yes, the Duke of
Rochdale is an elegant speaker,” Mr. Walker had assured her only the day before. “Yes…a little stilted, at times, but he speaks from the heart.”
Meredith glanced at Alfred. Today, it looked as though he was more likely to speak from the stomach.
It had been only two days since their encounter in the kitchen.
Alfred had touched her, had teased her, had made her…
She had permitted him to…
What had she been thinking? What had Alfred been thinking? He had been so riled up that he seemed to have taken leave of his senses.
She must never speak of it. Who would she ever be able to confide in? That was not something ladies did. Meredith flushed. It was something harlots did, women with no dignity and no honor!
At the very least, she consoled herself as she leaned back into the carriage, she could take refuge in the fact that she had kept her maidenhead.
Yes, no matter what pleasure had rocketed through her body, and it was far more than she had ever believed possible, she was a virgin still. That was important. Not that she would ever be getting wed.
“’Tis not just about wanting, Meredith. I…I care about you. I have feelings for you.”
What he had meant was certain. He wanted her, exactly how he was not sure, and besides, matrimony was absolutely off the cards. Marriage to the Duke of Rochdale?
Miss Clarke would never let her hear the end of it.
Archibald looked up. “What happens if someone shouts during Alfred’s speech?”
Meredith frowned. “Now, do not worry about such a thing, Archibald, I am sure—”
“Or someone throws something?” Archibald said eagerly, looking over at his half-brother, who had closed his eyes as the carriage rattled on. “Or what about if—”
“Archibald!”
Meredith rarely had to raise her voice. It was one of her talents she was most proud of. There were governesses forced to shout at their charges every day to keep them in check.
Not her. This was probably the first time she had to really glare at Archibald, and her glare was another fine characteristic of being a governess.
Archibald sighed. “It was only a question, Miss Hubert.”
He turned to look out of the window, thankfully falling silent so Meredith would not have to field any more questions.
It also gave her the opportunity to examine Alfred without Archibald guessing there was something more to it.
He looked dreadful. Meredith would never say it, of course, but it was hard to ignore the pallor of his cheeks or the frantic look in his eyes. Alfred was not made for this sort of life.
Yet he clung to it. Tradition, family, honor, duty…whatever he called it, Alfred was stuck in a rut, life mapped out for him.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and Meredith looked hurriedly out of the window. So lost in thought, she had not noticed they had arrived at Rochdale’s town hall.
“You are going to be brilliant, Al—Your Grace,” she said hurriedly.
She reached out and squeezed his hand. Alfred smiled weakly but did not speak.
Meredith hesitated. There was so much she wished to say, so much that could help—but with Archibald right beside her, there was no possibility of being so honest. She attempted to communicate through another squeeze of her hand.
“Alfred,” she began quietly.
“We’re here! Can I get out? Can I sit at the front?”
Archibald’s enthusiasm entirely distracted Meredith, who quickly turned to her charge.
“We are, you can, and not a chance,” she said breezily, opening up the door and seeing the driver there ready to help Archibald. “Carefully, now.”
The boy scrambled down and disappeared from sight. This was it; the only moment that she and Alfred would have together before the husting. Perhaps the last time they would be alone for a long time if their last parting words were going to mean anything.
“Even if…if there were a question I would like to ask you. I…I cannot. Not tonight. I am sorry, Meredith.”
“Alfred, I—”
“There he is! The man of the moment—good morning, Your Grace!” Mr. Walker had appeared in the doorway beaming. “Let me help you out, no, no trouble at all, take my hand.”
There was nothing for it. Alfred nodded at Meredith and released her hand before stepping out of the carriage, assiduously ignoring the hand proffered by Mr. Walker.
By the time Meredith had gathered her skirts and was ready to descend, there was no hand to help her down. She was left to descend the carriage alone. She was only the governess, after all. The only reason she had been included in the invitation was because Archibald—now running about the pavement excitedly—would need someone to keep him in line.
“I want to go to the front!” Archibald was saying impatiently as Meredith stepped out of the carriage and over to him. “Can we sit—”
“No,” said Meredith decidedly. She and Archibald—especially Archibald, in this mood—would be more hindrance than help. He was moving about most distractingly. “We have no wish to divert your brother’s attention, do we? Now, let’s find seats near the back.”
The town hall was rammed. It appeared that the whole of Rochdale had turned up to hear the two candidates speak, even those who, she thought ironically, did not even have a vote.
Near the front of the hall, where two chairs had been set out to face the rows, was John Talbot. Meredith tried to keep her gaze averted. The last thing she needed was to catch his attention. Not today. Not here.
Mr. Talbot was surrounded by a group of well-wishers, however, and Meredith was able to shepherd Archibald to the back row of seats and nudge him along to the end.
“There,” she said quietly. “We will sit here and encourage your brother with our smiles. And I am expecting you, Archibald Carmichael, to sit still like a grown-up.”
Archibald looked up with wide eyes and immediately sat stiffly.
She smiled. “Just sit and watch, Archibald. I am sure your brother would like you to take in as much as possible.”
As she said this, Mr. Walker stepped to the front. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, take your seats—please, we are about to begin. Each candidate will share their thoughts on the election and the issues that matter most to you, the people of Rochdale. First, we have…”
She was interested to see what the people made of John Talbot. From the little she had seen of him and the little more she had been told, she did not have a high opinion of him.
His speech did not improve that estimation. He spoke well, clearly, without hesitation, and with a great deal of self-satisfaction, which did not endear him to Meredith at all.
It was the content of his speech, however, that was most repellent. She had expected to hear his story, family history, and passion for the area, and then dive into some of the concerns of the people he would seek to rectify if elected their representative for Parliament.
That was what she knew Alfred would be speaking of, anyway.
John Talbot, on the other hand, took quite a different view.
“I am not precisely saying that I am the best candidate for your votes,” he said, that horrible smirk once again appearing on his face. “Though I do not believe I would be telling a falsehood if I said I was the only candidate who deserved your votes!”
That statement received a few laughs from the gaggle of people seated at the front right—most of them, Meredith saw, those who had surrounded him before the speeches had begun.
Meredith frowned. It was not very noble of him to speak that way about Alfred, even if that was what he believed. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of honor in politics?
“These Carmichaels have taken too many liberties for too long,” Talbot said to gasps from some members of the audience and cheers from others. “They just assume they will have your votes, so they do little to secure them! When I was speaking to a Mr…”
Meredith could not believe he was getting away with speaking like that! To sa
y such things at all was abhorrent, but in a public platform—nay, as a speech to the populace!
He was a fool if he thought people would be impressed, she thought dryly. The people of Rochdale were not fools. They would not be taken in by such a vicious and unprovoked attack.
She looked around. Other than those who were quite clearly his supporters—Meredith spotted Miss Wilhelmina Talbot nodding her head—no one else seemed to agree with him.
Her spirits lifted.
Meredith clapped politely as John Talbot came to the end of his speech.
Archibald was outraged. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “He is against Alfred!”
Meredith nodded. “But just think what people would say if they thought we were not being sporting?”
She watched the child’s brow furrow as he considered this and then clapped politely.
Surely there would be a better reaction to Alfred’s speech. Meredith was sure there would be; it came from the heart, and he was a better man. The best man she had ever met. She could not allow her emotions to be too visible on her face, not here in public. It would never do for anyone to guess.
Alfred clutched at the papers in his hands and did not look up at his audience.
Meredith tried to send him all her courage, all her bravery, all the gumption that had got her from there to here.
As though he could feel her thoughts, Alfred glanced up and caught her eye. Meredith beamed, and a small smile flickered across his face. He shifted his feet, standing a little taller, and the look of imminent nausea faded away.
“Ladies…ladies and gentlemen,” he said hesitantly. “Ladies and gentlemen.”
Meredith found her mouth going dry. This was the moment he had to prove himself a politician, not just the son and grandson of one. He needed to read her marks.
Alfred took a deep breath, but nothing more came out.
Archibald looked at Meredith as mutters began. “Is he going to keep going?”
“Of course. He just needs a moment.”
She had not taken her eyes from him, and Alfred met her gaze once more. From this distance, there was nothing she could say to hearten him, but she took a big theatrical breath.
A Governess of Great Talents Page 19
