Seducing the Governess

by Margo Maguire

  His breath seemed to whoosh out of him. “Mercy . . .”

  He tugged on her chemise and bared her breasts, then bent to take one pebbling nipple into his mouth.

  Mercy’s knees buckled.

  It was sheer heaven, the only thing missing was his own chest bared. She craved the feel of their bodies touching each other, skin to skin.

  But she whimpered when his tongue swirled around the tip of her other breast, and held his head in place as desire spiraled completely out of control.

  He stopped suddenly and spoke, his voice a mere rasp. “Mercy . . .”

  She didn’t know if he was murmuring her name or pleading for lenience.

  The cold air touched her bared breast and caused her to shiver. It shocked her back to earth, to where she was and what she was doing. She caught her breath when she met Lord Ashby’s gaze, his eyes full of potent male appreciation as well as a sudden reserve.

  Lord above. What could she have been thinking?

  He pulled the edges of her bodice together over her bare breasts, and bent so that his forehead touched hers as their hearts slowed and their breathing became normal again.

  Mercy knew better than to allow such drugging caresses. She could not put together a single cohesive thought, but somehow knew she had to retreat. Had to get away before she dug her fingers into his shoulders to hold him there. Before she demanded he continue his all-absorbing kisses.

  “No.”

  He could barely have heard her, because her voice was weak, her throat thick with need.

  It was not her body that denied him, but her years of training in Reverend Franklin’s house. For Mercy still wanted far more of his kisses and his intimate touches than was at all suitable. She swallowed the thick taste of regret and blinked away her tears of frustration and remorse.

  She was not a loose woman in any way. She wanted Andrew Vale to marry her, and not succumb to the heat of desire in the arms of a nobleman who was only toying with her.

  “My lord . . .” She had no idea what to say. Or how she would ever face him again.

  He eased away, though it seemed not easily. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and spoke, his voice gravelly and deeper than she’d ever heard it. “My apologies, Miss Franklin. I am not in the habit of accosting young ladies in such a way.”

  Mercy licked her lip, still savoring the taste of him, her desire warring with good sense. She could not dally with this obviously unattainable peer of the realm, for it would be far too easy to care for him. She already felt much too strong an attraction for this lord who struggled with his injuries and his terrible losses every day. She could easily come to love the man who’d dismissed Emmaline’s nurse for being unkind to his little niece.

  Mercy needed to try to regain her senses. She had to keep her position at Ashby Hall, at least until she could get a letter to the far more appropriate suitor Mr. Vale—and receive his response. The urgency to write her note to Whitehaven took a massive leap.

  She took a step toward the window. “I-I-I will just . . . er, leave you now.” She felt like a fool for stammering like a child as she moved away from him. Her legs felt shaky and her heart still pounded as though she’d just run up one of the fells that surrounded the lakes.

  “Allow me to assist you, Miss Franklin.”

  “No! No, please.” Do not touch me, else I might do something completely unconscionable. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

  Although she could not. She stumbled slightly and he grabbed her arm, steadying her as she made her way back to the window. She could not look up at him as she sat on the sill and attempted to swing her legs inside without seeming too clumsy. Not that she should even care.

  She slipped into the attic and removed his jacket, then turned and handed it to him through the window. “I nearly forgot.”

  Nearly forgot her wits, and they seemed far too sluggish in returning to her. She would like nothing better than to remain there and explore the heady sensations he wrought in her.

  He put both hands on the sill and leaned toward her. “Miss Franklin . . .”

  Mercy held her bodice together with one hand, aware that it was far too inadequate a covering. “I accept your apology, my lord.”

  “That isn’t— I . . . want you to know . . .”

  “I must go, my lord.”

  “Aye.”

  “Emmaline w-will be ready to go with you to the neighbors’ farm whenever you wish to go.” But Mercy did not know how she would endure a long outing in his presence. Not after . . .

  How could she ever face a man who had actually taken the tips of her breasts into his mouth and swirled his tongue around them?

  Lord Ashby gave a quick nod, his expression unreadable in the shadows. Mercy hesitated for another moment, even though she knew it was vital that she leave him now, before she abandoned the last of her principles entirely.

  But she was loath to go. Loath to give him back his coat. Loath to abandon the pleasures promised in his touch.

  Nash must be losing his mind. He’d definitely lost control of his body. He wanted Mercy Franklin with an intensity that was unparalleled in his experience. He knew he should never have touched the alluring governess, not after he’d officially begun his courtship of Carew’s daughter during his visit to Strathmore Pond earlier that evening.

  Helene had worn an ice-blue gown, designed to seduce a man. It had ridden low on her bosom, exposing her delicate collarbones and the modest swells of her breasts. Her skin was as perfect as porcelain, and she’d worn her shimmering, silvery blond hair in an intricate, artful arrangement of gravity-defying curls that lay in perfect symmetry beside her ears.

  And yet she’d had far less allure than the plainly dressed governess who’d captured far more of his attention than was prudent. Nash needed Helene’s dowry, needed the exorbitant sum of money that Horace Carew had hinted at—no doubt to whet Nash’s appetite for his daughter.

  And yet Nash knew his interest in Helene would not increase any time soon, even though he had an immense attraction to her marriage portion.

  He didn’t understand how the girl could have so little fire in her. She was as bland as the frocks Mercy Franklin wore, and as cold as the icy color of her gown. He’d gotten Helene to smile a few times, and she’d even managed to look him in the eye once or twice. Unfortunately, he had not been able to keep from thinking of Emmaline’s governess all through the meal, of her fine green eyes and delicate floral scent. He’d had to force away images of beautiful Mercy lying under him, responding fiercely as he made love to her in a field of fragrant lilies.

  It was probably the reason he’d lost his head with her on the roof. He’d used up all his powers of resistance while dining at Strathmore Pond, and when faced with Mercy in the flesh . . .

  He swallowed hard and forced some control into his wayward body. Thinking about Helene helped.

  Nash wondered if there was something intrinsically wrong with her for her father to be so very intent upon the match. He could easily take his daughter to London for a season and snag an influential earl or marquess for her.

  Then Nash recalled Horace mentioning they’d already tried that route. And there had been no acceptable offers forthcoming. For whatever reason, the Carews had moved away from London to Cumbria to rusticate in the hilly country of the Lake District.

  Not that the fells weren’t beautiful and appealing in their own way, but Nash could not help but wonder what had gone wrong in London. He decided to have Lowell write to his solicitor in Town and find out.

  Or perhaps not. Nash decided a bit of prudent reserve was in order. He did not fully trust Lowell, especially after seeing him chatting with Carew in Keswick. Nash doubted Lowell had been interested in Carew’s landau, but he could not imagine why the older man would lie about their conversation.

  Nash decided to write his solicitor himself, and see what he could discover about Carew’s reasons for leaving London.

  He exited the roof, closing th
e window behind him. Mercy’s scent lingered in the attic room, and Nash inhaled deeply. He shuddered, aware that he’d never wanted a woman more than he wanted Mercy Franklin.

  She had slid her hand up the side of his face, not even slowing when it met the rough skin of his scars. From the beginning, she had not flinched from the sight of him.

  Nash did not know how it could be possible, but his heart gave a strange tug at the thought of Mercy Franklin being unaffected by the damage to his face.

  Descending the stairs, he decided to have Parker increase the intensity of his massage tonight. Nash knew only the pain his valet could inflict would give him any respite from the intensity of his arousal. He only wished the man could magically eradicate the taste of Mercy Franklin from his tongue.

  And the notion that his damaged visage made no difference to her.

  London, England

  Once Gavin Briggs located the man tailing him, he took a back way out of the hotel and hailed a hackney cab to take him to the Payton house. From the Payton housekeeper, he acquired the address of the nurse who’d taken care of Windermere’s grandchildren all those years ago. Quickly returning to his cab, he gave the driver the woman’s address in Cheapside.

  He was fairly certain there was no one following him this time, but he ordered the cab to stop well before he reached Miss Thornton’s neighborhood, and walked, taking a roundabout route to the river’s edge. He strolled down Old Church Street, turned into the embankment, losing himself in the crowd of pedestrians that walked along the riverside. He continued with them for several blocks, then took a quick turn into Flood Street and back toward Miss Thornton’s house.

  It was nearly dark, and not the best time to call on an elderly lady. But fate had taken him there at this moment, so he proceeded to the address given him. He arrived at the neat little house, knocked on her door, and hoped for the best.

  A modestly dressed dowager came to the door, carrying a lamp. She pushed aside the curtain and looked at him through the glass. “Who’s calling?”

  “I am Captain Gavin Briggs, ma’am. I’m here on behalf of the Duke of Windermere to speak to Miss Thornton.” He held out the duke’s letter, even though the old woman would not be able to read it through the glass.

  “Just a moment.” She let the curtain fall, and Gavin heard her footsteps as she retreated into the house. A moment later, she returned and unlocked the door.

  “Miss Thornton is not well, Captain Briggs. If you will make your visit brief and to the point?”

  “Of course.”

  He followed the woman into an unassuming sitting room and saw a very frail-looking lady sitting in a cushioned chair. Her hair was a dull gray, pulled back into a tidy little bun, but her hands shook and her eyes were glassy. She was clearly not well. “Miss Thornton, thank you for seeing me.”

  He took a seat across from her, while his escort, the woman with the lamp, waited impatiently.

  “You wished to speak with me, Captain Briggs?” Miss Thornton asked, her tone one of puzzlement.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m trying to discover what happened to the Hayes children.” He got up and set the duke’s letter on the low table between them. “I understand their grandfather, the Duke of Windermere, sent a man to collect them and remove them to the Lake District. Is that correct?”

  The elderly nurse frowned, giving a little nod of her head. “The saddest time I can ever recall.”

  “Do you remember where the children were taken?”

  Her frown deepened as a dark suspicion crept in. “No, Captain Briggs. I wasn’t told. The duke’s man came . . . What was his name? Wait, I’ll think of it.”

  Gavin eased back in his chair and watched while the elderly nurse collected her thoughts and memories. After all, he’d given her no warning, no time to think back on those days after the drowning. It would take her a moment.

  “Newcomb. That was it. He carried a writ of some sort from the duke. Brought a nursemaid with him, too, named Thornberry. I remember because her name was so similar to my own. But not her temperament,” Miss Thornton added with a grimace. “She was a severe character at best.”

  “Where did they take the children?” Gavin repeated.

  She gave him a puzzled expression. “To the duke, is what we were told. To their grandfather.”

  “At Lake Windermere?”

  “Yes. I was to pack up all their things and have them ready in just half an hour. They cried, poor little things. Cried for their mama every day after her death. I’ve taken comfort over the years in the knowledge that they had a home with their grandfather.” She frowned deeply. “Are you saying . . .”

  Gavin considered his words carefully. “No, ma’am. I’ve just been asked to do a bit of an investigating into Mr. Newcomb’s actions twenty years ago. Do you know if Miss Thornberry returned to London?”

  “No,” she replied. “I remember she was hired specifically to travel with the Hayes children all the way north. I would have gone with them, if only I’d been asked.”

  But that would have been the last thing Windermere would have wanted. His intent had been to sever all connections to their old life. No doubt the duke had ordered Newcomb to be circumspect so as to avoid any talk of his decision to disown his orphaned grandchildren.

  “Miss Thornberry was quite anxious to complete her journey with the children and return to her home in Oxfordshire. There was a position waiting for her there with a young couple expecting their first child.”

  “Did you ever hear the name of the family with whom she would be employed?”

  She pressed a parchment-pale hand to her chest. “No, sir. Now you have me worried. Those were the sweetest children I’ve ever nursed, and their parents some of the finest people. He was very rich, you know. But never put on any airs. Treated all of us in service very well. So did the missus. Gracious, she was. And very beautiful.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

  “Is this about their father’s estate? It had to have been substantial.”

  Gavin puzzled over that statement for a moment. He had not thought about the possibility of a Hayes estate. “Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

  “I understand,” said Miss Thornton, although Gavin knew she could not possibly understand. Even he wasn’t privy to every detail—certainly nothing about a Hayes estate. It cast the Hayes daughters in quite a different light.

  “Was there a solicitor involved when the children were taken from their home?” Gavin asked.

  “Solicitor?” Miss Thornton repeated. “No. Fleming—the butler—read the directive from the duke and told us what we were to do. It was very official, the letter with its seal. Just like the one you carry, Captain Briggs.” She gestured toward the document on the table.

  Gavin stood and bowed, considering this new twist. The duke had not mentioned anything about Daniel Hayes’s wealth. Surely a man as astute as Windermere would not have missed something so consequential. Gavin wondered whatever happened to their money.

  Wherever it went, the key to finding out was their grandfather, the duke.

  Gavin stood. “Miss Thornton, thank you very much for your time.” He glanced at the companion. “If anyone else comes round asking questions about the Hayes children, you’ll be sure to turn them away, won’t you?”

  Miss Thornton gave a worried nod, and Gavin started for the door.

  “Thank you again, ladies. I’ll see myself out.”

  Perhaps when he found Sarah Hayes’s children, he would suggest that they write a few lines to their old nurse, just to reassure her.

  Chapter 18

  Ashby Hall

  Nash slept badly, and not because of the painful muscle stretches Parker had had him do. The massage and hot bath afterward should have relaxed him, but neither had done the trick. He dreaded his impending outing with Mercy, and yet craved it like nothing else in the world.

  He was a ravening fool.

  The morning was overcast, but Nash did not think
it would rain, which was fortunate. Since Ashby’s carriage had been destroyed in Arthur’s accident, there was only a small barouche for him to take all of them to Metcalf Farm. He had Harper get it ready, then sent Henry Blue to fetch Miss Franklin and her pupil.

  To be sure, this would be a far easier trip on horseback, alone. But Nash had not been able to refrain from inviting Emmaline’s governess any more than he’d been able to resist taking that incredible taste of her while they stood together on the roof the previous evening.

  As far as it had gone, it had been much too little.

  Thinking of that kiss made him hard all over again. He could almost feel her fingers in his hair, and taste the sweet flavor of lilies on her skin. He’d wanted naught but to take her to his bed, and undress her slowly as he kissed every inch of her body.

  She’d shown that she was no passive miss, neither submissive nor unresponsive. She would be as fiery as a thunderstorm, and just the mere thought of pulling her beneath him and sliding into her body sent a jolt of fire vaulting through his veins.

  Nash did not think he was mistaken in believing their kiss had been her first. Her reaction had been ingenuous, as he should have anticipated. She was a vicar’s daughter, after all, and likely quite sheltered all her life. He ought to be horsewhipped for seducing such an innocent.

  And yet he could not regret it, not when she looked at him without seeing the damage done to him at Hougoumont.

  He glanced around the stable yard, reflecting that he hadn’t thought there could be anything new for him to experience. With a full and rich childhood growing up with his brothers and boyhood friends, and then his years at school and in the army, he’d led a life fuller than most. He’d flirted with death too many times to count, and taken a considerable number of beautiful women to his bed.

  But none had been like Mercy. The breathless sounds she’d made, the weight of her breasts in his hands, the press of her feminine mound against his straining cock . . .