Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess

by Christine Merrill

  But she had not been tending to Sophie’s lessons, since the girl was happy to entertain herself, now that she had paper and pens. And Daphne had been rewarded with just the sort of pictures she should have expected when the girl had nothing specific to occupy her mind. Endless sketches of Clare, all curiously misshapen, so oddly angled and disturbing that it gave her vertigo to look at them.

  She set the girl to drawing pictures of her brother and sister, of the furniture in the room, and the marble busts in the front hall. And all of them came out properly formed and natural, with nothing the least bit alarming. It was only when the little girl attempted to draw Clare that the results were wrong. Perhaps it was the fading memory that caused it. If that was true, they would run their course and stop altogether one day, once the memories held no more fear for her.

  So Daphne had bundled up the pictures and stuffed them into her trunk where none might come upon them by accident. Perhaps she should simply throw them on the fire, but she could not bring herself to do it. They were Sophie’s memories. It would be unfair to take all she had of her mother, no matter how horrible that might be.

  Below her, she thought she heard a tread on the stairs. There was only one person who would come to her at this time of night. And without meaning to, she hoped.

  It was galling to know that she could forget so easily how angry she was with him. Now that he was near, she’d managed to convince herself that the differences between them could be solved. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or at least, later this evening.

  He must feel it too, for his step sounded hesitant, as though he could not help but go forward, but was not sure it was wise to continue.

  He’d reached the top of the stairs now, and stopped. He did not open the door, but neither did he knock. And refusing to make it easier on him than it needed to be, she did not call out.

  And then, the footsteps shuffled on the landing, turned and retreated.

  She lay upon her bed, angry and frustrated. She heard the steps going down one flight, and then another, until the sound faded. He was going? Without a word of apology. Not even a whisper. No note slipped under the door. Just a pause at the head of the stairs, and that was all?

  Perhaps not all. She took up her candle and opened the door, holding it low so she could see the floor in front of her. Small purple flowers, scattered like wishes at her feet. She scooped them up, into a lopsided bunch. No book was necessary to interpret the message. They were forget-me-nots.

  She gave it not another thought, running down the stairs in her bare feet, as silently as she could. She hesitated only a moment at the door that would lead her to the bedrooms. They did not matter, for she knew that she would not find him there.

  Down another flight, then, as she forced all thoughts of their argument from her mind. She must believe, in her heart, that what they were doing meant as much to him as it did to her. Or how could she bear to live?

  When she reached the downstairs hall, a faint light was shining from the glass doors at the end, which stood partly ajar.

  She smiled. It was just as she’d suspected. He’d brought the flowers and returned to the safety of the conservatory. It was where he always came when he was unsure of himself. And it was the place where he was most like the Tim Colton that she admired. He claimed he did not mind visitors. Now was an excellent chance to put his statement to the test. She slipped into the room with him, and closed the doors behind herself with a soft click.

  At first, she saw nothing but the shadows of the plants, but there was a faint glow coming from the back of the room. The stoves were lit, but there was only a single candle, near the work table. She could see Tim moving from place to place, familiar in the darkness.

  He looked up as she approached, freezing in place as he watched her. ‘I did not expect you.’

  ‘You did not?’

  ‘I was caught up in work.’ He gave a shadowy gesture to the table before him. ‘Some say that it is better to plant at the dark of the moon. I doubt it will make a difference. Although there is a pull on the tides. But in the seeds and the earth, it would be so small that it shouldn’t matter. Still, it may be that the wisdom of those that till the earth is greater than mine…’

  She crooked her head to the side, and set the flowers upon the table beside him. ‘What utter fustian. You brought these to me. What do you mean by them? You cannot think that I would forget so soon?’

  He wiped his hands upon his apron, in a nervous gesture. ‘They mean that I am out of hyacinths. Hyacinths are better for a proper apology. I suspect that I shall continually be forcing bulbs, if I can persuade you to remain with me. I cannot help making a muddle whenever I talk to you.’

  He had made her smile, and she bit her lip, trying to hide the fact. ‘When you say remain, what do you mean by it? Remain in the conservatory? For though it is quite nice by day, it is well past time for us to be in bed.’ Three days past time. She smiled again, at what a wicked thought that was.

  He gave her an odd look. ‘I often sleep here, nights. I find it more peaceful.’

  ‘You sleep here.’ Again, she feared her amazement would offend him. ‘It cannot be particularly comfortable.’

  ‘I have seen where you sleep, my dear. You must understand that comfort is hardly an issue, if one is tired enough.’

  ‘So you work yourself to exhaustion, and then sleep in the conservatory to avoid going up the stairs.’

  She saw his reaction, and knew that she had guessed correctly. ‘Not every night,’ he hedged.

  ‘But often.’

  ‘It is not so uncomfortable. There is a chaise near the stove. You were sitting on it yesterday.’

  She walked to the back of the room, behind the screen of palm trees, and sat down upon it again. ‘Here? This is your bed?’

  He was obviously embarrassed, now, and went to the stone basin in the corner, carefully washing the soil off his hands. ‘Silly of me, I suppose. It is really quite pleasant, once you get used to it.’

  ‘Compared to a fine bed upstairs, with silk hangings and a warm fire. And a valet to look after your every need.’

  ‘It is more than I deserve,’ he muttered, and she could feel the darkness stealing in on him again.

  ‘Then share the space in my bed, under the eaves. There is not much room, but you are welcome there,’ she said softly. ‘Use the back stairs, if the main ones trouble you so.’

  ‘You would allow me more freedom than my own children? For you have trained them to go up and down the main stairs again, as though nothing is wrong with them. Just like they used to.’

  ‘They are young. They can heal from anything, given the chance. And perhaps a gentle nudge such as I gave them.’

  ‘But I am old?’ He smiled sadly. ‘Older than you, certainly. Thirty-three.’

  ‘That is not so very old. And age does not signify. You are merely set in your ways. And harder to persuade than the children. Stubborn.’

  She had made him smile.

  ‘But if you are a scientist, then you must have a rational mind. When the time is right, you will abandon your fear.’

  He shook his head in amazement. ‘You are a nine-days’ wonder, Daphne Collins. You give me too much credit. And you still treat Clare’s death as though it were some sort of unfortunate accident. Can you not see that what I did was wrong? And what I have done to you is just as bad. You should not be encouraging me to continue.’

  Perhaps it was true. She would have been sure, at one time. But now that she had known him, she could not manage to give him up. ‘I only know that it feels very right when you are with me, and very wrong when you are not. Whatever happened, I do not believe you can be blamed for it. And if this is where you wish to be, then I would be here as well.’

  She leaned back, and stretched out upon the chaise. When she opened her eyes, and looked up, she gasped in wonder. ‘The stars.’ For there, stretched out before her on the other side of the glass roof, was the night sky.

  He laughed softly. �
��You have discovered my secret. And I needn’t feel guilty for the pleasure it brings me. For it is available to saints and sinners alike, if they take the time to look.’

  She could feel him sitting down beside her, but was unable to tear her eyes away from the sky to look at him. ‘It is amazing. So dark. The stars are like diamonds. And there are so many. I have never seen a sky like this in London.’

  ‘Because the smoke in the air spoils the view. Only when you are deep in the country and the moon is new can you see a night as black as this. And that is the best time to see stars.’

  He blew out the candle that sat nearby. And as the room became darker, the stars seemed to pop from the sky in relief. She imagined she could see the distances between them, and that some were far closer than others. She reached out a hand to them. For a moment, she had been tricked into thinking she could pluck them from their places.

  She could feel his hands, moving to the ties of her robe. ‘I meant to resist. But I cannot help myself. Let me see you by starlight.’

  And she felt the lascivious urge to feel the light upon her bare skin, as though it were sunlight after a storm. She heard him sigh, as the cold air touched her naked body, and she arched her back to let her breasts point up to the heavens. She stared up at the stars again. ‘So many. And they all have names.’

  ‘The stars?’ He laughed. ‘You must know that as well as I, for you are a teacher.’

  She squirmed slightly against the couch. ‘Well, I know the Plough, of course. And Polaris.’ She pointed.

  He leaned down and turned, to follow the line of her finger. Then he took her hand and moved it. ‘There is Polaris. You are pointing at Sirius, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, my. Well, they seem very different in the sky than they do in books.’

  ‘Do they now?’ He did not believe her in the least. But he did not seem to mind it, overly. ‘It appears I must teach you astronomy.’ He released her hand, and reached out again to touch her shoulder. ‘If you look above where you are pointing, you will see a great W in the sky.’

  She furrowed her brow, wondering whether she should pretend it was clear or admit defeat.

  He touched her body lightly with his fingers, at the navel. ‘If this is Polaris, then…’ he traced his fingers from shoulder to breast to throat, to breast, and then the opposite shoulder ‘…there is Cassiopeia.’

  He traced it again, and again, lingering over the tips of her breasts. She shuddered at his touch and closed her eyes.

  He took his hand away. ‘There, now. You will never learn the stars by keeping your eyes closed. Open them again.’

  She did as she was bade.

  ‘Do you see them, now?’ His lips replaced his hand, travelling gently over the path of the stars. For a moment, she was lost between pushing him away so she could concentrate, and pulling him closer, never mind the stars.

  And then it was as though the great W over her head leapt into sight, so clear and bright that it was a wonder she had not noticed it before. ‘I see it.’

  ‘Very good.’ He dropped another kiss into the hollow of her throat, as though to reward her. And then to her mouth, kissing slowly. She could feel the smile upon his lips. ‘Now that you have found that, lower your eyes to Polaris.’ His lips travelled down her body to her belly. ‘And you can find Ursa Major.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment, she lost all sense of the stars, and could think only of his tongue on her body.

  ‘The Plough.’ His fingers were tracing the bowl of the dipper on her skin, curving with the handle to go lower on her body.

  His touch was so gentle, it felt as though he were drawing the design on her skin with a feather. As he passed, each nerve awakened, singing for more stimulation. When she looked down, he was staring at her face, watching her reaction. ‘Can you see it?’

  When she looked puzzled, he pointed up towards the sky.

  And she glanced up to find the brightest star, and let her eyes wander the path that his fingers had taken, feeling the skin heat as she looked at the stars. She gave a trembling sigh. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very good.’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘Now let us find something else. Orion. The hunter. His arm is like so, with sword raised.’ He took her right hand and raised it over her head, trailing his fingers along the skin. ‘And Betelgeuse is here.’ He settled his lips upon her right shoulder, sucking gently upon the skin, until she felt her breasts tingling in response. ‘His throat.’ He moved to demonstrate, licking at the hollow of her throat, until she twisted, trying to catch his lips with her own.

  So he moved to her other shoulder, kissing it, and stroking down her arm. ‘His bow arm, outstretched.’ He twined his fingers with hers until she stilled.

  And then he slid lower on her body. ‘And the stars of the belt.’

  She had been waiting, breath held, for the feel of his lips upon her breasts, but he had gone lower, and was circling her waist with kisses. And when she looked into the sky, to the stars that he had described, she could find them all. There were the lower stars, just there, where his hands were resting on her knees.

  And the stars that made up the sheath. She felt her body give a shudder, as she understood where the lesson was likely to end.

  For he had settled there, where there were many stars, clustered together, and kissed her as though he knew the position of each one.

  She stared up into the night sky. And it was as if she could see the lights turning above her, spinning around Polaris to mark the time. He kissed, lightly at first, and then more boldly, tracing designs upon her with his tongue, sucking upon the tender flesh, delving deep, his hands stroking her thighs, and parting them wide. He held her tight against his mouth, as his tongue dipped into her, and then returned to work magic.

  The sky was spinning madly now and she bit at her lip to hold back the scream she felt was coming. Her body pulsed in rhythm with the touch of his tongue and clenched to each brush of his lips. And then his fingers came into her, and the stars came unfixed and flashed before her in a jumble of brilliant sparks.

  He shed his clothes then, and came to her as she trembled in anticipation, finding his place inside her as surely as if he’d never left. She touched his body, which was hard and real, moving with him and against him, staring up into the fathomless night sky as she felt him find release. Then he reached for the thin blanket that was thrown over the end of their substitute bed, and pulled it up over them. And she settled into the small space between the couch and his body, wrapped her arms around his neck and they slept.

  She awoke tangled in her lover’s arms, still balanced precariously with him on the chaise. As she moved, he rolled with her, slipped out from under the blanket and dropped bare on to the stone floor of the conservatory.

  And he laughed. He looked up at her, from his seat on the floor, rested his elbows beside her on the makeshift bed and kissed her.

  ‘What time is it?’ She whispered the words, and wondered why it had taken her so long to realise the risk.

  ‘After six, I expect. The sun is up.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Suddenly, her voice sounded very much the offended schoolteacher. She reached for her wrapper, quickly pulling herself back into respectability. ‘I must get back to my room, before I am missed.’

  ‘If you leave me, I assure you, you shall be missed.’ He reached out to stroke her hair. ‘Stay.’

  ‘Do not be a fool. You know I cannot. I have stayed too long already. It is light. The servants will be up. And someone is sure to see me on the stairs.’

  He seemed only mildly affronted by her tone. ‘You needn’t worry. I doubt that it is still possible to shock the occupants of this house, after what has occurred already.’

  ‘But none of that pertained to me.’

  His face quirked in an ironic smile. ‘And the fact that I have borne shame means nothing to you?’

  ‘Only because you refuse to look for the truth.’ She put her hands on her linen-clad hips. ‘You are innocent of what hap
pened. And I will never believe otherwise. Never.’

  ‘Then though you are beautiful, you are also a fool.’

  The words stung, for she had feared he thought thus. ‘And you do not wish a fool for a wife, so you won’t have me.’

  ‘That is not what I said,’ he corrected hastily.

  ‘Do you mean to offer for me? Answer truthfully.’

  And he hesitated. But then he said, ‘In the hallway, when Bellston left, I said it badly, for I made it sound as if I didn’t care about you. I am sorry for that. I wish very much to offer for you. But I want you to face the facts of the marriage you will be making. If you wish to be the wife of a murderer, then I shall be happier than I deserve if you will take me as your husband.’

  ‘I do not wish to marry a murderer. I wish to marry you. I love you, Tim. And I will not change.’

  ‘Then we are at an impasse, Daphne. I love you as well. More than ever I believed I could. And I will live a long and full life if you will admit my crime and forgive me for it. But it will hurt too much for me to bear it, if you believe me innocent. For the day will come when you come to full understanding of the mistake you made.’

  She turned and fled, running for the stairs, heedless of her condition, and surroundings.

  And there, at the foot of the stairs, was Mrs Sims staring in chilly disapproval.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In her room, Daphne scrubbed at her face, trying to make the tearstains on her cheeks less visible. She had met the cook on the stairs as well, on her way from bringing the children their breakfast. In a short time, everyone in the household would know what she had done. She would have to face their disapproving looks in the hall and know that they thought her unfit to care for children. And what would they think of their master? Though they could forgive him a murder, there might be a limit beyond which he had travelled that would lose their respect.