An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2

by Amy Rose Bennett

  “You seem nervous,” he observed, a note of concern in his voice.

  Abigail licked dry lips before attempting a smile. “Yes.” There wasn’t much point in denying it. She supposed most mistresses were self-assured seductresses. Whilst she had some experience, and she’d imagined doing all kinds of things with Sir Nicholas, now that the moment was upon her, self-doubt gnawed at her confidence. He wanted her, but would she be enough for him? She wanted to please him, but would she remember what to do?

  Sir Nicholas rubbed his jaw as he contemplated her. “Forgive me for speaking plainly but perhaps it was wrong of me to assume that I wouldn’t be your first...” He raised an eyebrow in query.

  She shook her head. “No. You’re not wrong. But it was several years ago that I... He was in service too. A footman. I liked him well enough but we were both young.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And then he moved on to another position.”

  “Ah, I see.” Sir Nicholas held out his hand and smiled. “Come.”

  Abigail placed her hand in his and he threaded their fingers together in such a way that her heart flipped over. These unexpected displays of tenderness were difficult to deal with. Telling herself that Sir Nicholas felt nothing but lust for her, she allowed him to draw her down onto the settee so that she was practically draped across his lap. One of his arms held her lightly about the waist whilst his other hand continued to hold hers.

  “We will take things slowly, my lovely Abigail,” he murmured. His thumb scuffed over her palm and a pleasurable warmth rippled through her. “And we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Sir Nicholas placed a gentle kiss beside the corner of her mouth. “So...” Another light buss landed on the other corner and then he feathered another one across her jaw. “I take it kisses still meet with your approval?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I kiss you here?” He rained a trail of light kisses across her cheek, up to her temple. “And here?” His lips brushed her ear lobe before his tongue swirled around a sensitive hollow, making her tremble.

  “Yes.” Abigail closed her eyes and gripped his dark blue silk waistcoat with her free hand.

  “And what about here?” Sir Nicholas nibbled a path down her neck. When his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive point near her shoulder, she gasped as molten desire blasted through her, quelling the last of her anxiety. She felt a gust of warm breath as he chuckled against her skin. “I’ll take that as a yes, too.”

  “Yes,” she whispered again. He was playing games with her but she decided she liked it.

  “Hmm. I’m beginning to think there aren’t many places you won’t let me kiss.” His hot mouth drifted across her collarbone. And then the tip of his tongue traced along the top of one breast at the edge of her neckline.

  Her nipples tightened. “You didn’t ask me about licking.”

  “That is true.” He slipped a finger beneath her bodice and traced another path along the top of her other breast and her nipples grew even harder. “Would you like me to stop?”

  “No.” She opened her eyes and gripped his upper arm. Through the sleeve of his cambric shirt, she felt his bicep flex and she almost moaned aloud. “Don’t you dare.”

  Blue fire flickered in his eyes. “Your wish is my command, Miss Adams.”

  Abigail decided then and there that she quite liked the idea of having power over Sir Nicholas—even if it was only for a little while. Actually, the idea was quite intoxicating. Her desire made her bold. “Take off your shirt.”

  His mouth kicked into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.” Abigail slid to the side of the settee and Sir Nicholas rose to his feet in one fluid movement. His eyes never leaving hers, he loosened his cravat and dropped it on the floor before he made short work of the buttons of his waistcoat. It landed on the Turkish carpet, and then he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it away with the same careless disregard.

  Abigail swallowed. Oh, my goodness. She had seen Sir Nicholas from behind, but that hardly signified. The sight of his naked, heavily muscled chest and ridged torso, only an arms-length away, was something else entirely. Lust pulsed hot and heavy through her blood and moisture welled between her thighs.

  She reached out and ran her fingertips through the light dusting of black hair covering Sir Nicholas’s pectorals. His bronze-colored nipples contracted and her mouth lifted into a small smile. She swept her fingers lower, tracing a path over his defined abdominal muscles, the sharp outline of a hipbone. When she placed her palm over the sizeable bulge in his breeches, he sucked in a breath.

  “You’re magnificent.” She lifted her gaze to Sir Nicholas’s face. His eyes, almost black with arousal, glittered beneath the sweep of his dark lashes. “I want to see all of you.”

  Without a word, he unbuttoned the fall front of his breeches and his member sprang free. His long, thick, thoroughly impressive member. It rose proudly from a storm of black curls and Abigail licked her lips. Oh, my.

  She grasped his shaft at the base then squeezing gently, slid her hand upwards. Then down and up again. Teasing him and testing the glorious feel of him at the same time. To her delight, Sir Nicholas groaned, “Sweet Jesus that feels good, Abigail.”

  Emboldened by his words, Abigail repeated the action. His shaft was hot and hard and silky and the musky scent of his arousal flooded her senses. Her mouth watered. She had dreamed of this. Wanted to do this. For him. And for her own pleasure.

  As she stroked him, a pearl of his seed appeared atop the deep rose colored head of his cock. Unable to resist tasting him, she lapped it up with a gentle swirl of her tongue. Another swirl followed, over and around the sensitive rim and then she suckled him like she was savoring a delicate summer strawberry.

  That’s when Sir Nicholas released a sharp hiss. “Sweetheart,” he gritted out, spearing his fingers into her hair. “You’re a wicked, wicked woman. Keep going. Please keep going, my lovely Abigail.”

  Her blood humming with dark delight, Abigail engulfed the whole head of his cock and took as much of him into her mouth as she could. Continuing to stroke him, she pleasured him with her lips and tongue, sucking and sliding up and down, up and down, over and over again until Sir Nicholas was shuddering. His guttural groans and gasped words of encouragement fueled her own desire; her nipples ached and her lower belly pulsed with unfulfilled need; the folds of her quim felt slick and heavy. Rocking back and forward on the low settee in a perfect counterpoint to Sir Nicholas’s increasingly frantic thrusts into her mouth, she attempted to relieve the almost unbearable tension inside her. But it was to no avail; all she could do was squeeze her thighs together and moan in frustration.

  Determined to destroy Sir Nicholas’s control and send him over the edge, Abigail rolled his heavy balls between her fingers and hollowed her cheeks, sucking as hard as she could. Within the space of a heartbeat, he clutched the back of her head and cried out. “Christ... Forgive me, sweetheart... I’m going to spend...”

  A hot, salty rush of semen immediately flooded Abigail’s mouth, but she swallowed down everything Sir Nicholas gave her. He tasted like passion and satisfied male and bright triumph flared to life inside her. Despite her initial fears and doubts, she’d succeeded in pleasing him. And that was deeply satisfying in and of itself.

  She released Sir Nicholas from her grasp and after licking and wiping the remains of his seed from her lips, she placed a gentle kiss on his taut abdomen. To her surprise, he lifted her chin with shaking fingers.

  “My God, Abigail. You astound me,” he said in voice hoarse with lust and another emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I never expected you to... I mean, I’d hoped that you might...” He raked a hand through his already tousled hair. “Jesus, I sound like an idiot. What I mean to say is thank you, Abigail. You are quite remarkable.”

  He bent down and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head then began to fasten his breeches.

  Abigail gripped
the edge of the chair and stared at the floor, suddenly at a loss to know what to do or say. Was she dismissed? Was that all? Yes, she’d received high praise for her efforts but her body still ached with the need for her own release.

  She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. Was this the way it was to be? That Sir Nicholas would take from her and leave her wanting? She’d begun to believe he wasn’t the type of arrogant nobleman she’d heard about who used women with selfish disregard. But what if she’d been wrong? Resentment sparked within her heart at the unfairness of the situation. If this was how Sir Nicholas treated his mistresses, she should call off the arrangement right now.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. Looking down at Abigail’s bent head, the rigid line of her back and shoulders, Nicholas sensed she was upset.

  Christ. Did she regret what they had just done? He’d assumed that she’d wanted to pleasure him in that way—the coquettish look she’d given him right before she’d taken him into her mouth had set him ablaze. And he’d made it clear at the outset that she did not have to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. But maybe she hadn’t wanted things to go so far after all. Maybe he’d been too rough with her when he’d gripped her head during his climax—he certainly hadn’t meant to be. Or perhaps he’d shocked and revolted her by coming in her mouth. But she’d been so eager and adept... So adept, his body still vibrated with deep satisfaction; indeed, he felt like he’d just downed half a decanter of brandy.

  He dropped to his knees and lifted Abigail’s chin. She was gnawing on the plump curve of her lower lip and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Bloody hell. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “Nothing, sir,” she said in a flat voice. “I’m pleased you are happy with my efforts. If you’d just let me up, I’ll leave you in peace.”

  What the deuce? He released her chin and sat back on his heels. “Of course, you are free to leave if you want to. But I can see you are upset. And I want to know why. If I hurt you or you felt I was forcing you—”

  Abigail shook her head and a lock of her sleek brown hair escaped its pins. “No. No, it’s not that at all. I wanted to pleasure you that way. But if you have finished with me...” She trailed off and glanced toward the door.

  “Finished?” Nicholas frowned in confusion. Then it hit him like a lightning bolt. He’d buttoned up his breeches. Perhaps she was upset because she thought he was a selfish brute and this was going to be a one-sided transaction. What a clodpole he’d been. “Well, I’d hoped you’d stay a bit longer.”

  At last she met his gaze. Even though her expression was wary he thought he detected a glimmer of interest in the gold and green flecked depths of her beautiful hazel eyes.

  As if he was soothing a restive creature, he brushed the back of his fingers down her soft cheek. “If you are in agreeance, I’d like to return the favor.”

  She blushed and he couldn’t help but smile considering that she had just drained him to the lees. “Are... are you sure?” she asked.

  “Of course, I’m sure. Since I came upon you at the stile I’ve practically thought of nothing else.” Beneath the cover of her skirts, he brushed his fingers in a teasing caress from her slender ankle to the top of her stocking and then rested his hand on her knee. “I’ve dreamed of tasting what’s between your luscious thighs for days, Miss Adams.”

  “Oh.” She lowered her gaze and her blush deepened to an appealing shade of dark pink. But she didn’t move away from his touch. Far from it. Her knees spread slightly apart.

  Encouraged, Nicholas summoned his most seductive voice. “I promise you, you’ll be more than satisfied before you leave this room, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  Abigail thrummed with a peculiar mixture of heady emotions; relief that Sir Nicholas wasn’t the self-centered rogue she’d feared he might be and unbridled excitement as she considered his brazen promise. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he would perform such a decadent act in Hartfield’s drawing room.

  How could she say no? Especially now that Sir Nicholas’s warm hand lay on her knee; his fingers made lazy circles on the inside of her leg, raising goose flesh. Her quim throbbing with an excruciating need for release yet again, she slowly lifted her skirts and cambric petticoat and spread her legs wider in an intimate invitation.

  Yes, she was a hussy but right now, she simply didn’t care.

  Sir Nicholas’s gaze dropped to the place between her thighs. His expression was intense as his fingers stroked with agonizing slowness up her inner leg, stopping just short of her sex. “Miss Adams, you have the prettiest pussy I have ever encountered,” he murmured in a voice husky with desire. “Now, lie back on the cushions and prop your leg over the arm of the chair.”

  Oh, dear Lord, this is so, so wicked. Abigail felt like she was about to melt into a puddle of liquid heat as she complied with Sir Nicholas’s request. Her face aflame, she watched Sir Nicholas as he continued to raptly study her most private place. She felt his fingers drift through her curls; it was a deliberately teasing touch—a touch that was so close yet not quite close enough to the place she wanted him the most. She moaned and arched toward his mouth as he bent lower and blew over her sensitive flesh. She was so wet, she was more than a little embarrassed. “You’re tormenting me again,” she whispered.

  He chuckled and placed a kiss on her quivering inner thigh. “Yes.” A kiss glanced across her other thigh. “Yes, I am.” He lifted his head and his eyes locked with hers. “But trust me, a little teasing will make the pleasure more intense.”

  Abigail drew in a breath to argue she doubted that very much. But all her thoughts dissolved as soon as Sir Nicholas’s fingers slid between the slippery lips of her sex, spreading her wider. And then at long last, he swirled his tongue tip around her aching core.

  Oh, God. She gripped Sir Nicholas’s head as glorious fire licked along her nerves, setting her ablaze. The man was utterly brilliant—the hot flicker of his tongue over and around her clitoris, the maddening slide of his fingers as they worked in and out her inner passage, everything he did was the most exquisite of tortures. Panting, thrashing, she clawed at his bare shoulders and pulled at his silky hair, barely aware of what she did as she spiraled higher and higher toward the peak she so desperately sought but couldn’t quite reach.

  Cruel man that he was, Sir Nicholas gave her no respite from the firestorm of sensation he was rousing within her. When she bucked beneath him, he transferred his grip so she couldn’t escape his ministrations; with one hand on her hip and another on her thigh, he spread her legs farther apart and lapped at her juices before plunging his tongue inside her.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Sir Nicholas was as wicked as the Devil himself yet she couldn’t deny that she loved what he was doing to her. Just when she thought she couldn’t endure any more, he returned his attention to her clitoris. Sucking the tight bud between his lips, he applied the perfect amount of delicate suction to at last throw her heavenward into bliss.

  Yes, yes, yes. Burying her face in the cushions by her head, Abigail attempted to stifle her sharp sob of release. Never before had she experienced such an intense climax. Seemingly endless waves of pleasure rippled through her and it was some minutes before her heart and breathing slowed to anything approaching normal.

  When she turned her head back to face the room, it was to find Sir Nicholas sitting quietly on the floor beside her.

  The tender smile on his lips made her breath catch. “I take it you achieved satisfaction, my sweet Abigail?” he said softly as he brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek.

  “You know I did,” she replied with a contented sigh. “That was just marvelous. More than marvelous. In fact, I can’t even think how to describe the way I feel.” Closing her legs, she rolled onto her side and wished she could curl up and go to sleep in Sir Nicholas’s arms. But that was impossible given the current situation. She would still have to publicly act the part of the governess-cum-librarian until she quit Hartfield Hall
.

  Sir Nicholas placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad to hear it,” he whispered. His lips brushed hers. “I can’t wait until later to—”

  The doorknob rattled and then there was a faint knock. Abigail’s heart leapt into the vicinity of her mouth. As she bolted upright to a sitting position and pushed her skirts down, she heard Sir Nicholas mutter a curse.

  “I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” he barked. “Who is it?”

  Silence. Abigail held her breath.

  “Well?” he demanded, getting to his feet and throwing on his rumpled shirt. “It had better be damned urgent.”

  A muffled voice filtered through the door. “It’s... it’s only me, sir. Keziah. Sorry, sir. It’s not urgent. I’ll leave you be...”

  Sir Nicholas blew out an exasperated sigh as he turned back to face Abigail. “Is that blasted girl always so annoying?”

  Despite the fact her heart still raced, Abigail couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Right.” Sir Nicholas bent down to retrieve his waistcoat and neckcloth. “Let’s repair our attire for the sake of appearances.” He strode over to the gilt-edged mirror hanging above an ornately carved oak sideboard and began to tie his cravat. “And then I’m going to hunt down Cruikshank so he can get started on the arrangements for us in London. Discretely of course.”

  Us. A curious choice of words. But Abigail would be foolish indeed to think it meant anything. She approached Sir Nicholas hoping to use the looking glass after he was done so she could fix her disheveled chignon. Her green calico gown was hopelessly crushed but there wasn’t much she could do about that.

  Sir Nicholas had obviously noticed her trying to smooth her skirts as when she looked up, his eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m sorry to have rumpled your dress so badly,” he said with a guilty grimace. His cravat now roughly tied, he stepped out of the way so she could attend to her hair.