An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2

by Amy Rose Bennett

  It was an assessing look. A dangerous, hungry look. A look that made her toes curl inside her slippers and her heart crash against her ribs.

  Oh, dear Lord. How she had underestimated Sir Nicholas. The very air vibrated with tension and she was torn between the overwhelming urge to flee and the strong desire to stay and drown in those deep, midnight blue eyes.

  When Sir Nicholas at last spoke, she nearly whimpered with relief. “I’m sure you know why I needed to see you, Miss Adams.” His tone was deceptively mild given the intensity of his gaze.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She tried not to wring her hands by keeping them tightly clasped in her lap. “And I... I know it is probably foolish of me to even try, but I want to apologize for my improper behavior—”

  Sir Nicholas waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t want or need an apology from you.”

  “Then what?” Something dark and hot flashed in Sir Nicholas’s eyes—it certainly wasn’t anger—and Abigail immediately knew what he wanted. How could she have been so naïve not to think of such a possibility until this very moment?

  Hadn’t he wanted her from the very start?

  Sir Nicholas leaned forward, his arms resting on his muscular thighs as he loosely linked his hands together. “I think you may have realized by now that I’m not much of a gentleman, Miss Adams. Indeed, I would not blame you in the least if you thought of me as...” his gaze raked over her body with a deliberation that made her breath catch before returning to her eyes, “wicked.”

  “I... I don’t know what to say.” Which wasn’t quite true. Abigail drew a deep breath and lifted her chin as she added, “Although, perhaps it is not you, but me, who is deserving of such an epithet.” As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny the wicked lust she felt for Sir Nicholas too. Even now, despite her deep shame, a thrill of anticipation shivered down her spine at the thought of the dark proposition that was sure to come.

  Sir Nicholas’s chiseled mouth widened into a wolfish grin. “Well, the good news for you, Miss Adams, is that I’m rather fond of women with a wicked streak.” He paused and thunder rumbled in the distance as if warning Abigail to take care. That a temptation, like no other, lurked very close. “I hope you can forgive me for speaking frankly, but considering what happened at the lake only an hour ago, I believe a frank conversation is in order.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

  Abigail sat up straighter, determined to meet her fate head on. “Yes, sir.”

  Sir Nicholas inclined his head in acknowledgement. When he spoke again, his rich voice surrounded her and it felt like she was being wrapped in soft, dark velvet. “The attraction between us, it is undeniable wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I am not in the habit of dallying with the staff, but you have aroused my interest, more than any woman has in quite some time, Miss Adams. And I think I can safely say—judging by your reaction to catching me in flagrante delicto—that I have aroused your interest as well.”

  Abigail swallowed. There was no use denying it. “Yes... I find I have been quite overwhelmed by you. You see, you are unlike anyone... I have never...” Oh, good Lord. She was as tongue-tied as a giddy girl straight out of the schoolroom. Abigail drew a deep breath and began again. “What I mean to say is, I’ve never behaved this way before. When I saw you—”

  Sir Nicholas leaned forward a little more, trapping her with a gaze so hot and heavy, she thought she might catch alight. “Yes?”

  “When I saw you, and what you were doing, it made me feel and think and do things that a woman in my position should not.” There, she’d said it. Admitted how sinful she was.

  But Sir Nicholas didn’t seem to mind. His mouth curved into a slow, seductive smile. “Then perhaps you are in the wrong position, Miss Adams.”

  Sir Nicholas’s inevitable and irresistible invitation to ruin hovered so close, Abigail could feel it. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to whisper, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Become my mis—”

  Resounding thunder crashed around them, making Abigail jump, and a gust of wind whipped the crimson damask curtains by the open window all about. The storm had at last descended. Feeling like a doe escaping a wolf, Abigail leapt to her feet and dashed to the window to close it; a squall of rain hit her as she struggled to close the casement. And then Sir Nicholas was beside her and within moments the window was shut tight.

  Abigail was breathing raggedly, but whether it was from the physical effort she’d exerted to close the window, the shock of being doused with icy rain or the close proximity of Sir Nicholas, she couldn’t have said. She leaned back against the windowsill and looked up into his indecently handsome face.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark sweep of damp hair over his brow and the deep blue of his eyes as he stared down at her.

  She trembled and licked dry lips and Sir Nicholas’s attention immediately dropped to her mouth. A sensible, virtuous woman would make her excuses and leave right now.

  But it seemed Abigail was neither sensible nor virtuous. Instead, she found herself murmuring, “My apologies for interrupting you. You... you were about to ask me...” She inhaled deeply and to her relief, Sir Nicholas raised his gaze to hers again. With a wince, she asked, “I don’t suppose you were about to suggest I give up my position as governess to become your librarian on a more permanent basis?”

  Sir Nicholas’s mouth twitched with a fleeting smile. “No, I was not.” He propped one wide shoulder against the window frame and crossed his arms; it was a deceptively casual stance considering the level gaze he fixed on her. “There’s no point in beating about the bush any longer, Miss Adams. I want you to be my mistress. The question is,” he cocked an eyebrow, “will you accept my offer?”

  Even though she had known this was coming, Abigail’s face burned. She turned around and gripped the windowsill with both hands and stared out onto the wind and rain lashed grounds. Her thoughts and emotions were just as wild and storm-tossed. Her heart beat hard and fast and her stays felt far too tight. Could she do this? Could she willingly throw all of her scruples to the wind and become a courtesan? Live a life in the shadows, unfit for decent society? A life of decadence and excitement and pleasure. And sin.

  Wonderful, delicious sin.

  She thrust the wicked thought aside. In the grey, rain-veiled distance, beyond the woods, she could just make out the dark spire of Hedgecombe Priory. How ironic that only two days ago, Mr. Wentworth had offered for her hand in marriage.

  And now Sir Nicholas wanted her to be his doxy. A Cyprian. A lightskirt.

  A whore.

  She should be insulted. She should be angry.

  She would be mad to even consider such an offer.

  Perhaps sensing her turmoil, Sir Nicholas continued in a low tone, “Of course, if you agree, I will provide you with a most generous contract. A London townhouse with servants, your own carriage and horses, a wardrobe of the finest clothes, jewels, an allowance... Even though I will make every effort to prevent conception, generous provisions will be made for any progeny that may result.”

  “Yes.” The word tumbled out of Abigail in a breathless, nervous rush. Oh, dear God. She bit her lip. Did she really just agree? “I mean... I suppose I could... It’s just that...”

  Sir Nicholas’s brow lowered into a deep frown. “You are not sure, Miss Adams. If you need more time to consider... Oh, hell.” He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve never done this before. Propositioned a member of my staff. And I should make it clear that you are not obliged to accept my offer. Despite everything that happened earlier today, your position here as governess is safe. Or if you would prefer it, I will assist you to find another situation. Given everything that has transpired between us, I can understand that you might feel uncomfortable remaining here at Hartfield Hall. The decision is yours.”

  “Really? You would do
that?” How strange to think a rakehell like Sir Nicholas should have a sudden attack of conscience. Or that he was willing to overlook her shocking transgression.

  “Really.” Sir Nicholas smiled a little and took a step closer to her. His musky, sandalwood scent stirred her blood almost as much as his next words. “On the other hand, and you can correct me if I’m wrong, I suspect a spirited soul like you finds being a governess rather mundane. A safe but entirely drudging existence. I think you crave excitement and passion just like I do.”

  Abigail swallowed. Dear Lord, how easily he reads me.

  Reaching out, Sir Nicholas brushed an errant tendril of her hair away from her rain-damp cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Such a simple gesture, yet Abigail shivered with awareness. “I think you and I will suit each other very well. But I only want you to enter into this proposed arrangement if you are sure it is something you want too.” And then his hand fell away. And he waited.

  The sound of drumming rain filled the silence between them for one long moment. A moment taut with expectation as Abigail considered her options.

  And then she drew in a fortifying breath and stepped over the precipice of no return. “There is something you could do that might help me make a decision. One way or the other.”

  Amusement sparked in Sir Nicholas’s eyes. “I’m open to any reasonable suggestion. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’d like you to kiss me.”

  The corner of Sir Nicholas’s mobile mouth curled into a smile. “Well, I’m more than happy to oblige, Miss Adams.”

  Her body thrumming with anticipation, Abigail’s breath caught as Sir Nicholas’s hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer; even that light touch seemed to sear her through her clothes. Lifting her chin with gentle fingers, his gaze traced over her face before focusing on her mouth.

  Dear God, even the way he looked at her made her burn. Made her pulse dance a wild rhythm. What would it be like when his lips touched hers? Impatience made her restless. Curling her fingers into the lapels of his coat, she grumbled, “Why do you delay, sir? Is there something wrong?”

  Another seductive smile. “This is our first kiss, Miss Adams. I’m savoring the moment.”

  “Is that what you call it? It feels more like torture.”

  “Hush.” Sir Nicholas’s thumb brushed across her bottom lip, effortlessly fanning the flames of her desire. And then at long last, he framed her face with his large hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  And Abigail melted.

  Yes. Lips, firm and warm, moved over hers with consummate skill. Coaxing and arousing. Setting her entire body alight with a need she could no longer ignore. With a moan she yielded to the hot flicker of his tongue across the seam of her lips. Let him in, let him taste and explore her with a thoroughness that made her head spin.

  It had been so, so long since she’d been held like this. Touched like this. Ravished like this. Her memories of being kissed were but insubstantial shadows compared to the blazing reality of this wonderfully erotic encounter. Spearing her fingers into the short, silky hair at Sir Nicholas’s nape, she dragged him closer and tasted him back, relishing the velvet rasp of his tongue against hers, his rich taste. His heat. His hard, masculine strength.

  His lust.

  As soon as one incendiary kiss ended, another began. When Abigail nipped at Sir Nicholas’s lower lip, he growled in appreciation and backed her into the oak-paneled wall beside the window. Pressed against the long, powerful length of him, Abigail could feel every hard contour of his body. His burgeoning erection...

  The clear evidence of Sir Nicholas’s desire set her blood singing. To know that this man’s hunger was as strong as her own was beyond thrilling. He devoured her like a man starved for kisses. Like he couldn’t get enough of her. His hands slid in a long, gliding caress over her neck, across her shoulders and down her back, raising delicious tremors wherever he touched. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her firmly against him and there was no mistaking his arousal; his iron-hard shaft jutted into her belly. Her sex tightened with longing and she squirmed to ease the pressure.

  And that’s when she knew Sir Nicholas’s kisses wouldn’t be enough for her either.

  Panting, she pulled her mouth away to at last confess her need but Sir Nicholas spoke first.

  “This is what you do to me,” he groaned, as he gently thrust his hips against her again. “This is why I want you so badly.” He brushed his lips across her jaw and tugged lightly on her earlobe with his teeth before adding in a hot, ragged whisper, “I’ve felt this way from the moment we met and I’m not ashamed to admit I was thinking about you at the lake. But,” he raised his head, locking his smoldering gaze with hers, “the question still is, have you decided what you want, Miss Adams? Have you made up your mind? Will you accept my wicked and thoroughly indecent proposition? Or not...?”

  Abigail laid a hand on Sir Nicholas’s wide chest and through the layers of silk and cambric she felt him draw in a deep breath. Felt the thunder of his heart. “Yes, I accept. I will be your mistress.” She dared to place her other hand against his lean jaw. “I want you too.”

  Chapter 7

  “I want you too.”

  Nicholas turned his head and kissed Miss Adams’s—Abigail’s—palm. After the incident at the lake, he’d set out to seduce this beautiful woman—had ruthlessly taken advantage of her vulnerability—and he’d succeeded in getting what he wanted. But as she’d touched his jaw, her fingers had trembled and an uncharacteristic surge of tenderness had washed over him. Despite his triumph—and despite the fact she was ruled by her desires just as much as he was—he couldn’t help but feel like a satyr despoiling a maiden.

  He’d never deliberately ruined a woman before, but without a doubt, that’s what he was doing by persuading Abigail to give up her safe, respectable existence and become his mistress. A better man would resist his carnal urges and wouldn’t have propositioned her the way he’d just done. But he wasn’t that man.

  He brushed a finger down her flushed cheek. “I’m delighted to hear you say yes. And that you want me too, Miss Adams. Or may I call you Abigail?”

  The smile she gifted him was delightfully shy. “Of course.”

  Nicholas couldn’t resist kissing her again. And she kissed him back with a desire that matched his own. As he’d long suspected, she definitely wasn’t an innocent. She would be able to feel his raging erection and she clearly wasn’t perturbed. Far from it. The hand she’d pushed inside his coat earlier had worked its way south and her fingers were now curled into the waistband of his buckskin breeches. Fire seared through him straight to his groin at the thought she might stroke his cock. God, he had to have her, sooner rather than later... Right now.

  He was just about to palm one of her breasts when she broke their kiss yet again. “If you don’t mind my asking, how will things proceed?” she asked in a deliciously husky voice. “I imagine it will take a little while to make the arrangements you suggested. In London. I could come to your room tonight... Or you could come to mine...”

  “Or we could lock the drawing room door.” He dropped an open-mouthed kiss upon her neck, inhaling her delicious scent —was that lily-of-the-valley he detected?—before he brushed his lips along her jaw. “No one will disturb us.”

  She stiffened a little and as he drew back he caught a shadow of uncertainty crossing her face.

  “You’re concerned about your reputation,” he said softly. It suddenly occurred to him that it was Abigail’s paradoxical qualities that had him so enthralled; that beneath Miss Adams’s very proper governess’s exterior lurked a passionate woman. A veritable siren.

  He couldn’t wait to get to know that side of her. But in the meantime, he would do what he could to allay her concerns.

  “I know it sounds ridiculous,” she said with a small sigh as she fiddled with his lapel. “You’d think my reputation shouldn’t matter to me considering the fact I will be leaving here. Most of the staff probably suspect s
omething already. Especially Mrs. Graham.” She grimaced and transferred her attentions to the top button of his silk waistcoat. “Colin is probably waiting for me in the library right now.”

  The bloody footman. Surely she didn’t have a tendre for the presumptuous upstart. “I knew this interview might take a while so I had Lawson reassign him. I’m sorry if I’ve made things awkward for you.”

  A mischievous smile lit her eyes. “No you’re not.”

  “You’re right. I don’t give a jot about what the staff think, including Mrs. Graham. Or my sister-in-law for that matter. No one has a claim on your time except me, sweetheart. And I’m definitely not sorry about that.” He trailed a finger along the neckline of her plain green gown. Her pulse leapt in her throat and he smiled. He would dress her in the finest satins and silks and velvets. Or better still, nothing at all. Leaning in, his lips brushed her shell-like ear as he whispered, “I’ll take care of you, Abigail.”

  Her breath caught and she splayed her hands over his chest. “All right. We’ll lock the door.”

  “Excellent.”

  * * *

  As Sir Nicholas secured the double oak doors, Abigail placed her hands over her hot cheeks. Dear God. She’s just agreed to have sexual relations with her employer—or perhaps she should now think of him as her protector—in the middle of the afternoon in the drawing room of Hartfield Hall. The notion was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. She moved away from the window toward the center of the room and hovered near a red brocade settee, unsure how to behave. Thoughts of what they were about to do filled her head and she gripped her hands together to stop them from shaking. The sound of teeming rain filled the otherwise silent room. That and the mad drumming of her heart.

  As Sir Nicholas prowled across the carpeted floor, his blazing blue gaze focused solely on her face, he shrugged off his charcoal-grey coat and threw it carelessly over the back of a wingback chair. When he stopped directly before her, she exhaled a shaky breath and a frown creased his brow.