The Governess Game

by Dare, Tessa

  On her part, Alex had never known such pain.

  Good heavens. She knew virgins often found the first time uncomfortable, but she hadn’t known it might be like this. Pleasure wasn’t even a mirage in the distance. She would count herself lucky if she made it through the act without shrieking.

  She bit her lip until she tasted blood, determined not to give herself away. She didn’t want to hurt Chase’s feelings.

  “Alex.” He rocked against her. “You feel so good.”

  She growled in pain through sealed lips, hoping it sounded like a moan of pleasure.

  “Tell me what pleases you,” he said.

  “That’s perfect. Just . . . keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “At the moment, I’m not doing anything.”

  “Yes, I know.” She let her head roll back against the grass and flung a hand over her eyes. “It hurts like the devil. I’m sorry, but you’re either unusually large or unusually bad at this. I suspect it’s the former.”

  Laughter rumbled through his chest. It rumbled through that painful part of him, too. Alex whimpered.

  “You should have said something.” He pushed up on his hands, kneeling between her thighs. “We’ll stop at once.”

  He began to withdraw. She squeezed her thighs together, locking his hips in place. “I don’t want to stop.”

  “But—”

  “If it’s going to hurt the first time, I’d rather have the first time over with.”

  “Yes, love. But I’d rather our first time not be something you grimly endure. Unusually large men have their pride, too.”

  “I don’t see the way around it. There must be some solution.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said fondly. “Always sensible, never deterred.”

  Alex’s mind began spinning. “I mean, there are a dozen positions for intercourse, aren’t there?”

  “Hundreds. If a well-worn, illustrated volume in my library can be believed.”

  “Perhaps we can find one that isn’t quite so painful,” she said. “If it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “An inconvenience?” he echoed. “Alexandra, you are asking me to make love to you in a dozen different positions. If that’s an inconvenience, I beg you. Impose upon me nightly.”

  Alex smiled. She loved him so.

  Oddly enough, the pain had already begun to lessen. Their time spent talking had given her body time to adjust, and now that she wasn’t trying to hide her discomfort, she wasn’t holding every muscle tensed.

  “Let’s try this, then.” He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. He grabbed her bottom, holding her close and hooking her leg over his hip. “Any better?”

  “I think so.”

  Without the force of his body weight added to every thrust, the sensations were gentler. More within her control.

  He still felt impossibly big within her—but Alex was gaining faith in her ability to conquer the impossible.

  As a test, she cautiously rolled her hips, slowly moving up and down his length. The dull ache was still there, but it had a new, sweeter edge. A low moan eased from her throat.

  He studied her face. “Still that bad?”

  “No.” She repeated the same subtle movement. “No, it wasn’t bad. It was rather good.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, moving her hips again. “Yes.”

  She didn’t know how long they remained that way. Moving together in a slow rhythm, perspiration building between their bodies.

  Alex felt as though she were climbing a mountain slope, one step at a time. Each movement taking her higher and higher. The nearer she came to the peak, the thinner the air became. Her lungs worked for breath. She was dizzy.

  “Chase.”

  “I’m here.” His reply was shaky. “Still good?”

  “Very, very good. And how are you?”

  “Dying by a thousand blissful cuts, thank you for asking.”

  Alex smiled to herself. He’d been so patient with her. So gentle. She thanked him by trailing light kisses along his neck and chest. She scraped her fingernails lightly down his arm.

  His grip tightened on her backside. “For God’s sake, Alexandra. You’ll ruin my display of heroic restraint.”

  She looked up at him. “Perhaps that’s what I’m hoping for.”

  He pressed his forehead to the crown of her head and gripped her tight. Then he thrust hard and deep, wrenching a gasp from her.

  “Yes,” she managed, worried he’d mistake her reaction for pain. “Don’t stop.”

  She needn’t have worried. He didn’t even slow down.

  If pleasure was a mountain slope, Chase was scaling its rocky face in determined strides. And Alex was slung over his shoulder, carried along for the ride.

  He took her in strong, fierce strokes with an intensity that thrilled her. Even the gruff, desperate sounds he made were deliciously arousing. When he growled crude profanity in her ear, a naughty sense of excitement shot through her veins.

  Yet the wilder he grew, the safer she felt. His need for her was so palpable, so raw. As though he would die before he let her go. She felt, for the first time in ages, truly, entirely protected. All the uncertainty she carried inside her—the constant fear she shrugged off as practicality or logic or common sense—it drained from her body.

  The climax sent her soaring, weightless and free.

  “God.” His rhythm faltered. But he never buried his head in her neck, or her hair, or the crook of his arm. He never went away.

  He was here. With her. With her. With her.

  “Alexandra.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “It’s me.” She stroked her hands down his back. “You’re here, with me. I love you. There’s no place you belong more.”

  “Alex. God, I—”

  As the pleasure racked his body, she held him tight. He clasped her to him afterward, pressing kisses to every part of her face. When he kissed her nose, she laughed.

  He rolled aside, and they lay as they’d begun, holding hands and staring up at the stars. Could it have been only five or six hours ago?

  Chase drew her closer, tucking her head against his chest. His fingers toyed with her hair. “I think the world is spinning.”

  “The world is always spinning.”

  He exhaled in a soft groan.

  “Well, that’s the truth. It’s spinning all the time.”

  “How about this. What if I say that you’re my world. You’re not spinning.”

  “But I am. We all are. We’re on the earth, and it’s spinning, so we’re spinning, too.”

  “You are ruining all my sweet nothings.”

  “That’s just it.” She put her hand atop his chest, covering his fiercely beating heart. “To me, the truth doesn’t ruin anything. Why should understanding the universe diminish our sense of wonder at it? We are spinning around and around, at hundreds of miles an hour, on a rock in the midst of a fathomless universe. Isn’t that awe-inspiring enough?”

  “If we’re spinning at hundreds of miles an hour, it seems a miracle that we stay on this rock at all.”

  “That’s not a miracle. That’s gravity.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I love you. There. Have you some astronomical way to ruin that?”

  “No.” She was grateful he couldn’t see her face contorting with elation. “That’s a miracle.”

  “See, to me it’s the most logical thing in the world.” He gently eased her aside and rolled over to face her. His fingertips traced the features on her face and the contours of her body. “Listen, I could make some excuse about there being no coaches or boats at this hour, or say there’s a bridge that’s been washed out. We could find an inn where there’s only one room left and pretend we’re forced to share. But the God’s honest truth is this. I want to spend the rest of the night holding you, and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.”

  She smiled. “Then
let’s do that.”

  They made love twice more at the inn, with a scant hour or two of sleep between bouts of passion. After all that exertion, nourishment was a necessity.

  “Do you want a long engagement?” Chase mumbled the question around a mouthful of fried egg.

  Alex set down her cup of tea. Suddenly, she didn’t trust her fingers to grip it properly. “Wh . . . What was that you just asked?”

  He buttered a point of toast, folded it in two, and downed it in one bite. “Waiting might spare you the worst of the gossip. You could return to your house, we’d allow some time to pass. Perhaps a wedding next spring.” He set down his knife and fork, then looked at her across the table. “Damn it, I don’t want to wait until spring.”

  “Chase, what are you talking about?”

  “Our wedding. What else should I be talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Something that might actually happen?”

  He pushed his plate aside, propped a forearm on the table, and leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “I told you last night, this means always. You said you wanted that, too.”

  “Of course I want that,” she whispered back. “But marriage?”

  “You said you wouldn’t be my mistress.”

  “You said you couldn’t offer me anything more.”

  “I changed my mind,” he said.

  “So did I,” she replied.

  He tapped one finger on the table. “I’m confused.”

  “Consider this. If the comet is my comet, I can find someone who’ll pay to name it. Perhaps enough that I can be an independent woman with a home of my own. Your lover, not your mistress.”

  “I’ve had my share of lovers, and several other men’s shares, as well. I don’t need one more.”

  Alex sighed. “You can’t marry me. My father was an American who made his living in trade. My mother was an illegitimate mestiza. I was christened Catholic. I’ve no money, no relations. For heaven’s sake, you’re going to be a duke. I’m the governess.”

  His eyes flashed with emotion. “After months of needling me about commitment, you’re refusing my proposal. You’ve spent all summer telling Rosamund and Daisy that a woman can do anything. Now you’re going to tell them you can’t be a duchess. Were you lying to us all this time, or are you deceiving yourself now?”

  “I don’t know.” A lump thickened in her throat.

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his, tenderly stroking the back of her fingers with his thumb. “I’m sorry. We needn’t sort it all out this morning. I just want to be with you.”

  “I want to be with you, too.”

  He kissed her hand. “Then let’s go be together at home. I miss our mattress.”

  She loved that he called it their mattress.

  She loved him.

  Maybe . . . just maybe . . . this time, her hoping wouldn’t end in disappointment. Perhaps dreams could come true. She wasn’t wishing on a star. She had a comet now.

  Adding in the coach journey, by the time they returned to Mayfair it was mid-morning. Alex planned to do nothing with the day, save for dragging herself into the house for a bath and a nice long sleep—in Chase’s arms, if it could possibly be managed.

  Upon arriving at Reynaud House, however, their plans for a rest were immediately abandoned. Mrs. Greeley rushed from the house before the carriage had even come to a halt.

  “Oh, Mr. Reynaud. Thank the Lord you’ve returned.”

  “Good God, what is it?”

  “Rosamund and Daisy, sir. They’re gone. They’ve run away.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Run away?” Alex echoed, hoping that she might have misheard the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Greeley broke down in tears.

  Chase didn’t wait for further confirmation. He bolted into the house, and Alex followed him.

  Together they rushed up to the nursery and across the room to the open window. A knotted rope ladder dangled from the windowsill down to the street.

  Oh, no. Oh, Lord.

  Alex flew to the girls’ trunk and dug through it frantically, all the way to the bottom. Just as she’d feared. “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?”

  “Rosamund’s bundle. I came upon it by accident once, weeks ago. She had money squirreled away. All those pennies and shillings added up to a significant amount. There were other things, too. Like maps and coaching timetables.”

  “And you didn’t do anything about it? Christ, Alex.”

  She wilted under his stare. “I didn’t want her to know I’d found it.”

  “You should have told me. You should have taken it away.”

  “She would have only packed a new one. The best way to keep her from running was to make her feel she had a home. And I thought she was feeling that way lately. I can’t imagine what might have changed her mind.”

  Chase shook his head. “The letters. It has to have been the letters.”

  “What letters?”

  “Letters from every decent boarding school in England, offering the girls admission. I left them on the desk last night.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “She probably came down hoping to pocket a shilling or two and saw them.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Where will they have gone?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps toward a port city.”

  “A port city?”

  She briefly closed her eyes, feeling sick. “They may be planning to pose as boys and find work aboard a ship.”

  Chase swore with a viciousness to rival even the most black-hearted pirate.

  Alex cursed herself. She ought to have known. Rosamund hadn’t joined the piracy game to indulge her whims. She’d been paying attention. Not only gaining the skills required of a ship’s boy, but learning how and where to find work. All this time, Alex had been striving to make the girls feel they had a home. Instead, she’d given Rosamund lessons in how to run away, so fast and fearlessly that no one could catch them.

  Chase left the nursery as decisively as he’d entered it, bounding down the stairs. And once again, Alex followed.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said weakly. “This is my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  He didn’t slow down to apportion blame. “I’ll have the groom ready a fresh horse. I’ll begin with the southerly coaching inns, ask if anyone fitting the girls’ description has purchased tickets, and if so to what destination. If that turns up nothing . . . Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. You’d only slow me down, and one of us should remain here in case they return.”

  “But I—”

  “Stay.” Chase went to her and held her face in his hands. “I’ll find them. No matter where they’ve gone. I’ll find them, and I will bring them home.”

  Night was falling when Chase finally returned to the house. He wasted no words on pleasantries. “Tell me they’re here.”

  Alex dearly, fervently, with every fiber of her being, wished she could tell him just that.

  Instead, she had to shake her head in the negative. “I sent notes to Penny and Nicola. Neither has seen them, but they’ve promised to send word first thing if they do. I wrote to your brother, as well. John’s gone out searching.”

  “But no word yet.”

  “No.”

  The pale, bleak cast of his face was like no expression she’d ever seen him wear. He staggered to a chair, fell into it, and dropped his head in his hands.

  “Oh, Chase.” She hurried to him, kneeling on the carpet and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “We’ll find them. We will.”

  “I’ll go back out.” He braced his hands on the chair’s arms and pushed himself to a standing position. “I can’t just sit here.”

  “You’re exhausted. Let me go instead.”

  “I told you—”

  She laid her hand on his chest, firmly pushing him back. “It should be me. I have the best chance of finding them. I all b
ut drew them their escape plan.”

  Alex would hire a ship of her own and sail off in pursuit, if that’s what it took. The thought of sailing the ocean still terrified her, but that terror paled in comparison with her fear of losing the girls. And losing Chase, too.

  The doorbell sounded.

  They rushed to the entrance hall.

  When the door was flung open, there she stood—the mulish, pilfering, ten-year-old answer to a prayer.

  “Rosamund.” Chase pulled her into his arms, clasping her head close to his chest. “Thank God. Thank God.”

  Alex scanned the steps and pavement. “Daisy. Where’s Daisy?”

  “She’s in the hackney. She’s been hurt.”

  “Petersfield.” Chase tipped back a swallow of brandy. The amber liquid burned its way down his hoarse, weary throat. “They made it all the way to Petersfield. That’s nearly to Portsmouth.”

  Alex nodded and sniffed. “I know.”

  The hours since Rosamund had appeared on the doorstep had been divided between three activities.

  First, calling for doctors.

  Next, teasing out the details of their adventure.

  Last, sitting in the corner of the nursery, watching the both of them sleep.

  “Petersfield,” he repeated numbly.

  Apparently, Rosamund’s grand plan had been to travel to Portsmouth via stagecoach—only nine hours’ journey, she made a note of mentioning. Upon arrival, just as Alex had surmised, the girls planned to cut their hair, put on homespun trousers, and search for work as ship’s boys.

  The plan had been executed flawlessly, except for one hitch. On her way down the rope ladder, Daisy had fallen and landed on her arm. Rosamund ignored her sister’s complaints of pain for much of the journey. After all, Daisy was expert at inventing maladies. However, once the swelling and bruising set in, there was no ignoring that she needed a doctor. They’d exited the coach at Petersfield and caught the next coach going north.

  “You must admit, it’s rather remarkable how well they handled it. Rosamund knew to return home, and she and Daisy made it safely back. That shows a great deal of courage and ingen—”

  “Don’t,” he clipped. “Don’t look for the bright side of this. If Daisy hadn’t fallen at all, they’d be a full day’s sail from England by now. And if Daisy had taken that fall any harder, or from a slightly greater height . . .”