RUNAWAY GOVERNESS, THE

by TYNER, LIZ

  ‘I will accept that.’ He brushed a kiss at her hand before she slid her glove from him.

  She bundled back into the seat, huddling. The sun was lost behind a cloud and the temperature had dropped as the day progressed.

  He put an arm around her, pulling layers of coat into his clasp and getting feathers in his nose. He huffed them away from his face. ‘You might as well be wearing a suit of armour,’ he muttered.

  Bright eyes again. ‘You do.’

  ‘Where has my sweet bride gone?’ He dodged feathers again.

  ‘I don’t know who you are speaking of,’ she said and straightened. Reaching up, she thumped the carriage top. ‘But I am going for a walk.’

  The carriage stopped and she darted out. He followed. She shouldn’t walk alone and he could not let her. But she’d not liked him holding her tight.

  They walked, the carriage wheels rolling behind them, snowflakes beginning their flurry. ‘The butler told me it would be bad weather,’ he said. ‘Claimed his bones were trumpeting it to him.’

  She kept her pace, her coat hem kicking up.

  ‘You cannot outrun me, Isabel.’

  ‘I would not try. I am merely keeping my blood flowing in the cold.’

  A ragamuffin darted from a shop, shoulders hunched, hands in tattered pockets.

  ‘Boy!’ she called. ‘Boy.’

  He turned, soot on his cheek.

  ‘Can you direct us to Somerset House?’

  He nodded, and quickly spoke the directions.

  ‘Thank him.’ She nudged William with her elbow.

  He reached into his frock coat and pulled out a coin. She coughed. He reached again, pulled out another and gave them to the lad, who took them both, grinned from ear to ear and bowed before scampering away.

  ‘Now it is beginning to feel like Christmas.’ She walked again, her pace slower. ‘I have never strolled in the streets like this. So different than the Christmases at the school past, and the ones before at my parents’ home.’

  They walked along, not speaking. An older woman pushed a cart along their direction, followed by a shuffling man.

  Isabel almost blocked their path. ‘Can you direct us to Somerset House?’ she asked.

  William reached into his coat before she finished speaking.

  As they walked on, he spoke. ‘You can only ask direction three more times before my pockets are let.’

  She laughed. ‘You do have enough for three times?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She clasped his arm. ‘Is not this more fun than losing the coin at a game of cards?’

  ‘I do not play to lose. But, yes, I am enjoying the pace. You do realise the woman sent us in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Yes. And I think she knew it. But we didn’t turn either and she surely noticed. So, it is a game we both played.’ She paused. ‘If both know the rules, it is a game, not a ruse.’

  ‘Don’t let the game trip you up,’ he said. ‘But one must never forget if the opponent is playing, too. We could have easily turned in the wrong direction there, had we not known.’

  ‘We would have found our way again.’

  Neither moved until a burst of wind pelted them with snow, mixed with just enough frozen water to sting the cheeks. He stopped. Putting his gloved hand over her fingers clasped on his arm, he waited until the coachman caught up. ‘We need to get the horses to the mews,’ he said.

  This time in the carriage, the feathers didn’t brush against him, but he held her close, letting their body heat melt into one. If not for the horses and servants, he would have kept the carriage going for hours.

  He wanted this moment to last because he knew this path would not continue. He’d already discovered another property for sale and it would meet his needs. He had not seen it, but that didn’t matter.

  ‘After Christmas, I will be moving,’ he said.

  The clop of the horses’ hooves, the sound of someone shouting for dinner and wind buffeting the world sounded before she spoke.

  ‘Why wait?’ Her voice had the coldness of the icicles hanging from the eaves.

  ‘The property won’t be available until then.’

  She turned in his arms, but he kept her firm.

  ‘Why are you telling me now?’

  ‘The game is too serious. We will work out an arrangement that will suit us both. We’ll not be tripping over each other, however, and if you wish to see me not at all, I will agree. Perhaps a few soirées here and there but that, of course, is up to you.’

  He could feel nothing except his heart beating.

  ‘I think…’ The carriage rolled over a bump, and he cushioned her. ‘I think that as you are leaving soon, it will be no rush to decide on the particulars. Perhaps we can meet in the summer some time to decide. Or perhaps it would be best after the weather cools again, as people are returning to town and the soirées begin anew.’

  He hugged her tight. He would make this a wonderful Christmas for her and let her know that even if he could not love, she would always be able to count on him in the ways that were most important.

  She patted his chest.

  He closed his eyes. Relieved. She understood.

  And he wished wild flowers truly bloomed from graves and the sun only shone in Isabel’s life. He realised something else. He would have allowed someone else to marry her had the man been able to treat her well and love her as she wished.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isabel patted his chest. Warm. Deceptive.

  He must have a heart and it must be beating. But that was all the good it did.

  She rested her hand against his coat. ‘I think when the weather begins to warm, I will visit my parents.’

  ‘Have you written your mother that you didn’t trap me into marriage?’

  ‘Did I not trap you? Although it was not my goal.’ She paused. ‘But, yes, she knows there is not a little one on the way.’

  ‘She should realise that her precious, and only, daughter is quite accomplished enough even for a duke and not only a viscount’s son.’

  ‘She didn’t truly intend that in the letter. It’s just the way she writes—and speaks. I resemble my father’s family in height and looks, and she still thinks me the gangling little creature who cannot keep from tripping over her own feet. She was uncertain I would be able to secure a post as a governess, so the information that I wed someone of the peerage was a shock to her.’

  ‘Has she ever truly seen the Isabel that you are?’

  Isabel didn’t answer. She put her arm tight and hugged him close. ‘I do thank you so much for rescuing me. Both from Mr Wren and from being a governess.’ She took her time with the next words because tiny blades had got loose inside her body and were ripping along from one point to the next, puncturing everything that could cause any pleasure inside her.

  ‘And I don’t understand why you cannot stay in the house. I can grasp that you’re not in love with me. I can understand that you may never be and I can accept that.’

  ‘I am not meant to live with anyone. To feel trapped—confined—smothers me.’

  ‘Love could be pleasant. In only a few days I fell in love with Rambler and he was underfed, yowled and had a bent tail. It was my good fortune to be able to have a cat of my own. Had I been a governess, I could have loved the family pets, but not my own if the mistress of the house had spoken so.’

  ‘You’ve only had the cat a short time. How could you love him so quickly?’

  ‘He was shivering and had a crooked tail. He needed me. And perhaps I needed him.’

  ‘I think you’re mistaking compassion for love. Compassion and love are not the same. And even if I could feel love, then I don’t know that it is always a good thing except for a mother and children.’

  ‘I love Rambler. I looked into his eyes and I saw the sad moments and my heart just wrapped around him.’

  His voice rose in tone. ‘He’s a cat. And you cannot just love instantly.’

  She looped her fingers
around a button of his coat. ‘You are not an expert on love. You are an expert on not loving. I can tell you that I fell in love when I looked into his eyes. It might have been a small little seed of love. But then he walks into my sight again and the little seed grows and grows, until it becomes a full-sized love.’

  She pulled at the button and then released it. ‘It is his loss if he does not care for me and sometimes I’m sure he doesn’t and is just there for the food.’ She brushed at his coat. ‘He just does not quite understand what it is to love someone.’

  His kiss dissolved the chill in her body into sunshine. ‘Let us enjoy these precious moments we have together today and not worry about a stray cat who has no home.’

  He reached up and pulled at a tiny feather in her hat. Her hand locked on the hat, keeping it in place. He pulled a small wisp of a feather from it and tickled her nose.

  She tried to snatch the feather, but he held it away from her.

  ‘The cat has a home,’ she said. ‘With me.’ She swatted for the feather again.

  He tucked it at his ear and she laughed to see the wisp sticking from his locks.

  ‘Perhaps the cat is fortunate to have found shelter and your heart. But no cats or dogs will be at my new residence.’

  ‘You are so alone that you cannot make a home with me?’

  ‘I doubt I will even stay in the house where I’m moving very long. It’s meant to be temporary.’

  ‘Some things should be permanent.’

  ‘I thought the town house was to be.’

  ‘How long had you lived there before I moved in?’

  He spoke the words gently. ‘Four years, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Then I started putting furniture and pictures and things to make it a home.’ Reaching out, she removed the feather he’d lodged in his hair, but his hand clasped over hers, and with his free hand he took the tuft of feather and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket.

  She wanted to pull away, but something deep, deep inside her told her she mustn’t. And something else told her it might not be just his feelings for her that he moved from, but from the furniture and fripperies she’d added in hopes of making the town house feel like a home to him.

  *

  William saw the downward tilt of Isabel’s chin as she moved to the carriage door to alight at the town house. He gave a quick pull to her hand and she stumbled at the last steps, right into his arms.

  ‘My pardon,’ he said, giving her a squeeze before righting her to her feet. ‘I am fortunate I was able to catch you.’

  He leaned forward and sniffed. ‘Are you…have you been drinking strong spirits? What will the neighbours think?’ He swooped an arm at her waist, causing her to stumble against him. ‘Do not worry, I will reassure anyone watching that we are most proper folk.’ At the gate, he reached to snap an icicle from its clasp on the iron fence.

  Then he crunched the tip of it into his mouth.

  ‘William,’ she whispered. ‘The coachman is watching.’

  His lips almost touched her ear. ‘This will not impress him as much as the morning after my fourteenth birthday.’ He crunched the icicle again and blew a cold breath at her. ‘He stopped the carriage to push my boots back into the door so he could close it again—which I didn’t find out about until the night I turned fifteen.’

  ‘Four years younger than I am,’ she said.

  He nodded, their eyes catching. He saw the moment she realised their true differences in age. She was but five years younger and yet perhaps two lifetimes.

  He tossed the icicle aside. Before she could think any more he lifted her into his arms and moved to the door, thumping his boot against the base. The butler opened it.

  William spoke in tones suitable to Drury Lane. ‘I fear my dear Lady Wife has fainted from the cold.’ He whisked her inside. In a low tone, he said, ‘Close your eyes, Isabel…’

  In two quick strides he was at the base of the stairs. His voice still rang to the rafters. ‘I must deposit her by a warm fire.’

  ‘No,’ she screeched and clasped her arms at his neck. ‘You can’t take me up the stairs. You’ll kill us both’

  ‘Perhaps you are right.’ He put her to her feet. His tone became formal. ‘My pardon.’ He bowed and in a flash he’d removed his coat and tossed it to the butler.

  Before she could ascend the stairs, he stopped her, twirled her around and bent to grasp her legs and hoist her over his left shoulder. ‘This will be safer.’

  ‘No,’ she yelped out.

  But he trundled her up the stairs and was at the top almost before her protest finished. He didn’t set her down, but called down the steps, still performing. ‘Wine. My Lady Wife must have wine to be revived.’ The acting ceased, but the strength of his voice didn’t as he continued speaking to the butler at the foot of the stairs. ‘Leave it in the parlour, then see that everyone else in the staff who wishes is also revived with the same spirits. We cannot have anyone expiring from this cold.’

  She pounded his back. ‘Put me down.’

  ‘But I so like carrying you.’ He could not see her head. ‘Your bonnet is still attached, is it not?’

  ‘Yes. It is hanging by pins.’

  He hefted her a few times. ‘I can tell. The feathers are making you light as thistledown. But I will find a place where you can recover.’

  He spoke for her ears only. ‘And I will help you get warm.’ His boots sounded as he took her into his bedchamber.

  He put her feet on the floor. Before she fully righted herself, his hands rested atop her shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you earlier, but you’re about to lose that concoction on your head.’

  ‘No wonder. You have shaken it—’

  At the same instant, their hands reached to the hat, but his captured hers and lowered them aside as he took out the remaining pins and slid the bonnet free. He put it on the table at his bedside.

  Taking her chin in both his hands, he held her face.

  Lips covered hers, tasting. Every sensation but his lips fluttered away from her and she waited, savouring the clasp of his hands and their kiss.

  His retreat left her chilled, in a way she’d never noticed before. A sort of aloneness that made her want to follow his lips.

  ‘I liked the hat, though. It suited you, and—’ he leaned back into her realm ‘—it gave me an excuse to touch your hair.’

  He pulled a pin free—just the right pin—and her hair fell about her shoulders.

  ‘Even the littlest curl peeking out…’ he tossed the pin with the bonnet ‘…distracts me. And when I sat at the table near you at your friends’, everyone kept speaking and talking and I thought, how can they be so absorbed in things so unimportant? Can they not see Isabel has removed her bonnet? Are they not aware of those sparkling eyes?’ He untangled more pins from her hair. ‘I suppose we ate.’

  ‘You said— You said later it was the best meal of your life.’

  The merest nod. ‘I told the truth.’

  He unbuttoned the coat and pulled it from her shoulders, leaving her feeling lighter. He tossed it to the side, then took her gloves from her hands. ‘I’ll never forget the dinner. Your laughter.’ He brushed the leather against her cheek. ‘Innocent eyes. Innocent gaze. And laughter so husky I could not stop trying to bring it to your lips again. You laughed three times.’

  Her heartbeats changed. Her whole body insisted she get closer to him.

  Her fingertips ran the outline of him, over muscled arms, the curve of his neck and the strength of his jaw. Soft skin at his ear contrasted with the roughness where the day’s growth of his beard stopped.

  With the precise care of savouring each moment, he reached behind her, unfastening her dress and letting it drop to the floor.

  His little finger traced her jaw, swelling the feelings inside her. He trailed down her throat and over her breast, swirling against her peaks.

  Tendrils of his hair fell forward, brushing against her cheek, caressing like feather-ti
ps. His lips covered hers again, pulling back enough to whisper her name. When he closed his lips after speaking, he trailed them about her neck, sending shivers deep inside her, melting away all thoughts of any world other than the one in the confines of their fingertips.

  Through the darkened room, she could see without using her eyes, aware of each contour where their bodies touched. Aware of his breath, his pulse and his thoughts, because in that moment, they were all the same, combined in a way that only the touch of lovemaking could intertwine two people.

  *

  Isabel woke, aware instantly that she lay in William’s bed and the space beside her was empty. The room had completely darkened except for the fire. A scraping sound had awakened her. She raised her head.

  William stood at the fireplace, holding the poker, pushing the coals, moving them about this way and that, flaring sparks, causing the flames to rise or fall as he moved the fuel around. He held his hand too close to the fire and jerked back. The scent of burned hair confirmed his error.

  ‘That is what happens when one plays with fire,’ she said.

  He chuckled. ‘Thank you for informing me. But I had already realised it.’

  ‘William. You could not be more naked.’

  ‘You could,’ he said. He moved to the bed, dashing into the cocoon, his body warm and feet cold. He pulled her close, sliding a leg to hook hers and pull her against him.

  ‘You do not think you will miss this when you move away?’ she asked.

  ‘I know I will.’ He put a kiss on her lips.

  She pulled back. ‘You do that to silence me.’

  He kissed her again. Soft pulses dragged her words away, but a small bit of thought remained.

  She pushed and he rumbled a fake growl into her ear and rained kisses at her cheek and down the curve of her neck into the valley at her collar bone.

  ‘I should go back to my bed or you will get no sleep tonight,’ she said. She could not go from the room.

  ‘I want none. Besides…’ his chuckle poked humour at himself ‘…it is not first light, so it is hours until my bedtime. And I have a Christmas surprise I have been waiting to tell you about.’