To Kiss a Governess

by Emma Prince

  A noise in the distance made her still, her breath puffing white in front of her. She strained to hear over the hammering of her own heart. Had that been a branch snapping? The fog muted the sound, making her uncertain where the noise had come from.

  Silly, she chided herself. Now was no time for gothic fancies. Thea prided herself on being practical—and strong, though she knew she didn’t look it to others. She was petite, true, but there were many different kinds of strength. It was not in her nature to be caught in a mental flight of over-imagination.

  She trudged on, but another noise made her freeze a moment later. A low rumbling—no, not so much a noise as a feeling. The ground vibrated beneath her boots.

  Thea whirled just in time to see an enormous horse emerge from the mist directly behind her—an enormous horse bearing a kilted rider on its back.

  Panic spiked hard in her stomach. They were barreling toward her at a gallop. The few meager feet separating them were being eaten away by the horse’s powerful hooves even as she stood frozen with shock.

  A scream rose in her throat. She couldn’t seem to move fast enough—as if her limbs were suspended in molasses.

  The rider at last seemed to notice her. “Whoa!” He yanked hard on the reins, making the horse skid in the mud. The animal reared wildly, whinnying in fright.

  Thea flung herself to the side just as the horse’s hooves carved the air where she’d been standing. She landed hard on her side, the air slamming from her lungs.

  A string of curses filled her ringing ears as the rider thumped to the ground next to her.

  “What the bloody hell—”

  Suddenly big, warm hands latched around her shoulders and dragged her up to sitting. She blinked into the rugged face of the angry rider.

  Dark stubble covered the angular lines of his jaw. His firm mouth was turned down, and the low-drawn angle of his black eyebrows made his scowl even fiercer. Unbound, near-black hair rested on his broad shoulders, one lock curling damply against his forehead.

  He blinked too, his dark green eyes clouding with confusion as if he were realizing she was a woman for the first time.

  “What the hell are ye doing on this road?” he demanded, the blunt words making Thea wonder if she’d misread the surprise in his eyes a heartbeat before.

  “I am the governess,” she blurted. Perhaps she had bumped her head harder than she thought in the coach earlier, or else the fright from the rider’s sudden appearance had scrambled her brains. She drew a deep, painful breath into her battered lungs.

  “I am Miss Reynolds,” she tried again. “The Earl of Kinfallon sent for me to work with his sister.”

  Something flickered in the depths of those forest-colored eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” she said, reaching for the calm self-assurance that normally came so easily to her. But something about the way this strange man was looking at her, as if he could see straight through to her wildly beating heart, set her nerves on edge.

  He swept her with his gaze. “Are ye all right? Ye took quite a fall.”

  “I am unhurt,” she breathed, acutely aware of his large hands, which still lingered on her shoulders. “And you? Your horse?”

  “Unhurt,” he replied. He blinked again, as if coming out of a daze. “We need to get ye out of this damned fog and to the castle.”

  Without waiting for a response from her, he slid one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. She gasped as he rose to his feet, lifting her and holding her to his chest. Unbidden, her arms looped around his neck, her fingers curling in his unbound hair.

  He set her atop his horse, which had calmed considerably, then smoothly swung into the saddle behind her. To Thea’s shock, once he was settled, he pulled her across his lap so that she was firmly tucked against him, her legs dangling over one of his powerful thighs.

  His arms looped around her as he took up the reins and urged the horse on, thankfully only at a walk.

  At the edge of her bonnet, she could see the green and blue checked plaid he wore around his waist. His coat looked to be made of coarse wool, and he wore no cravat, his off-white shirt open at the neck.

  Thea tried to remain stiff, to put at least a hair’s breadth of respectable distance between their bodies. A governess was the moral center of a nobleman’s household. How would it look to arrive at her new employer’s doorstep in the arms of some strange Scotsman?

  But the motion of the horse’s steps drove their bodies together time and again. Her shoulder bumped into the man’s broad, hard chest until she was sure she’d have a bruise there tomorrow. And her bottom… Heaven help her, her bottom was perched on his steely thigh, shifting ever so slightly against him with the horse’s hoof falls.

  Ahead of them, two stone towers began to materialize from the fog like black slashes against the gray sky. Blessedly, the sight of the castle tore her thoughts away from the Scotsman. Thea strained to make out more of the structure, but the combination of darkness and mist made it seem ghostly and ephemeral.

  At last, they crested the rise they’d been climbing and Thea got her first full look at the castle. She sucked in a breath at what she saw.

  The main keep was low and squarish, with two round towers jutting up from it, one on the north side and the other, closer one on the south. Each tower was perhaps four storeys high and capped with a crenelated battlement. Arrow slits made black tick marks in the gray stone. Surrounding both the keep and the towers was a circle of crumbling rock that once must have served as the castle’s curtain wall.

  This was no luxurious residence for a pampered nobleman. This was a fortress—one that looked to be four or five hundred years old.

  The rider guided his horse through an opening in the disintegrating wall, then reined the animal to a halt a dozen paces from the enormous iron-banded wooden door leading into the keep.

  As he dismounted, Thea scrambled for her wits.

  “Thank you for escorting me the rest of the way to the castle,” she said. “I’m sure my employer will be grateful to you.”

  He cocked a dark eyebrow at her as he reached to pull her down. “I’m sure he will,” he murmured, wrapping his hands around her waist and drawing her from the horse’s back.

  Leaving one hand at her waist, he lifted two fingers to his mouth and whistled. A stable lad came scurrying from behind the keep, where Thea assumed the stables lay, and gathered up the man’s horse.

  Strange. Was the rider some sort of acquaintance of the earl’s?

  Just then, the door creaked open and an older woman bustled out into the foggy twilight.

  “Welcome back, my lord,” the woman said, then faltered. “And who are ye?” she asked Thea.

  Unease coiling in her belly, Thea replied. “I am Miss Reynolds, the earl’s new governess.”

  She turned slowly to the man who had almost run her down on the road, who had lifted her as if she weighed no more than a leaf, and who had held her close as they’d ridden to the castle.

  “And I am Edmund MacLainn,” he said, watching her with inscrutable eyes. “Earl of Kinfallon.”

  Chapter 3

  Damn it all. The lass was looking at Edmund as if he’d grown two heads.

  “Inside,” he said gruffly, making it sound more of a command than a suggestion. He frowned at himself as he motioned for the governess to follow Mrs. MacDuffy. The lass stood rooted for a moment, but finally she dropped her wide eyes and hurried after his housekeeper.

  His frown deepened as he realized that for the second time in one day, his choice of clothing had degraded him in the eyes of a guest. He was not a man prone to vanity or concerned with fashion, yet he could not deny the pinch in his chest at the way the lass had looked at him, as if he were the savage everyone took Highlanders to be.

  It was too bloody late now, at any rate. He refused to feel ashamed for dressing like—or being—a Scotsman. The sooner this new English governess realized that, the better. And there was no point wasting time changing—h
e had too many questions for Miss Reynolds.

  As he stepped into the keep’s great hall, he said, “Tea for Miss Reynolds, please, Mrs. MacDuffy. And something warm to eat.”

  Mrs. MacDuffy bobbed her graying head and hurried toward the kitchens attached to the back of the hall. Miss Reynolds came to a halt and watched her go, her face hidden by her bonnet but her shoulders and slim back unnaturally stiff.

  Edmund strode by her toward the hearth that spanned nearly half of one of the hall’s walls. Blessedly, his housekeeper had the foresight to lay and light a fire already.

  “Come,” he said curtly. “Warm yerself.”

  Miss Reynolds started slightly, then did as he bid, head lowered. As she passed him, he noticed the wet mud clinging to her cloak where she’d fallen earlier.

  “Take off yer outerthings so that they can be cleaned and dried.” He was certainly playing the part of barbarian well, he thought sourly. Everything seemed to be coming out a sharply spoken order this eve. A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. Aye, it had been a long day, even before Miss Reynolds had startled his horse, nearly throwing him from the saddle.

  With a slight bob of her head, Miss Reynolds unfastened her cloak and slid it from her shoulders.

  She wore a plain, dark-colored gown underneath that was cut well enough to display her gently swelling breasts, narrow waist, and the enticing flare of her hips without having any extra trimmings or frills he’d expect to find on an Englishwoman. Her sleeves fit with snug practicality to her arms without those ridiculous puffs and billows of fabric in style at the moment. And though her skirts were obviously lifted by petticoats underneath, her silhouette was surprisingly natural.

  Her hands went to her bonnet. She carefully untied the plain ribbon under her chin, then lifted the stiff material away from her head.

  Unbidden, his eyes keenly took in the sight of her hair. It was in a neat, simple bun at the base of her neck, but for some reason, it felt intimate to see her bare head, even with her hair bound.

  The color was pale brown. In fact, everything about Miss Reynolds was pale—her hair, her skin, and especially her eyes, which were the shade of ice formed over a Highland loch.

  Edmund could only pray that her constitution wasn’t as weak as her coloring. She was in the Highlands now, alone and with a difficult task ahead of her. A surprising surge of hope stole over him that she was up to the task, for he would very much like to know what sort of woman she was.

  She stood awkwardly holding her cloak and bonnet, yet she kept her back straight and her chin up as she swung her gaze to him, a question in her eyes. He took both items from her just as Mrs. MacDuffy bustled back into the great hall with a tray.

  Instead of guiding her to the long dining table on the other side of the great hall, Edmund directed the housekeeper to set the tray on an end table near the hearth, then handed her Miss Reynolds’s damp things with quiet instructions to clean and dry them.

  He turned back to Miss Reynolds to find her still standing stiffly where he’d left her.

  “Sit. Please,” he said, motioning toward a tall-backed, upholstered chair.

  But when she took her seat, he realized the chair was too far away from the hearth for the fire to warm her and dry her skirts. Without thinking, he moved before her and placed a hand on each of the chair’s arms. Just as her gaze locked with his, he pulled, dragging both her and the chair across the carpet.

  She gasped, a soft, feminine sound that did something strange to his insides. Aye, he was every bit the Highland savage this eve, it seemed.

  When he’d moved close enough to the hearth that the warmth from the fire blasted the backs of his bare knees, he released the chair and moved the end table with the tray to her side.

  He motioned toward the steaming pot of tea and the bowl of stew Mrs. MacDuffy had prepared, fearing that if he spoke again, his words would come out as another gruff command.

  Fortunately, she took his nonverbal cue and poured herself some tea. Once she’d sipped it and turned her attention to the stew, he moved to a large wooden cabinet on the adjacent wall where he kept his whisky. He poured a generous glass, then positioned himself before the fire, listening to the soft clatter of dishes as Miss Reynolds ate behind him.

  When he’d drank half his glass and the room fell silent, he turned to find Miss Reynolds watching him intently.

  It was time he had a few answers from his new governess.

  “What were ye doing walking alone in the fog, and so late?” he asked bluntly.

  She blinked, but remained motionless otherwise. “My coach driver told me that we were to reach Kinfallon Castle this evening. He stopped at the inn just down the road but said we could go no farther because of the conditions.”

  “So ye set out, alone and at nightfall, across unfamiliar terrain?”

  She lifted one shoulder. The motion was slight, but it belied a defiance he found surprising coming from such a petite young woman. “I longed to stretch my legs, and I was eager to begin my post,” she said.

  Edmund swept her with his gaze once more. “Where are yer things?”

  “I left them at the inn. I can retrieve them first thing tomorrow if you’ll allow me to—”

  He waved a hand, cutting her off. “I’ll fetch them. Ye neednae fash.”

  She nodded slowly. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Edmund took a long sip of whisky, priming himself for his next line of questioning. This was his last chance to help his sister and save Kinfallon. He needed to be sure he hadn’t misplaced his hopes in Miss Reynolds.

  “Ye are a good deal younger than I expected.” And far more bonny. Edmund shoved the thought aside and forced himself to focus.

  Her cheeks now held a faint tinge of pink, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the fire or his brusque words.

  “I thought ye’d be older, what with yer experience and the reference I received from yer former employers in York,” he went on, watching her.

  Aye, she was definitely blushing now. It made her look even bonnier still.

  The lass couldn’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three, yet she’d been with the Braxton family for nearly four years, and before that, she’d come to them with what their letter of reference had called “several years of experience.”

  “You have looked into me.” It wasn’t a question, but an evenly spoken statement.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  Her voice dropped to a soft murmur. “And what did you find?”

  Was it his imagination, or had her lips gone white around the edges?

  “That ye are quite accomplished—and now I realize ye are even more so for being so young,” he said.

  She lifted her gaze to him then, and her eyes shone with something resembling relief. Or perhaps she was simply proud at the praise, but from what he’d heard from the Braxtons, she’d earned every word.

  “If I may ask, my lord, how did you find me?”

  “Yer reputation preceded ye.”

  At that, she stiffened. He watched her, fascinated by this woman’s every subtle move, every flicker of emotion and thought behind her eyes. “Oh?” she said faintly.

  “Aye. I have been looking for someone with no’ only experience, but also a certain ability to…innovate. Someone who isnae afraid to be unconventional in her methods.” He shrugged. “When I expanded my search to England, yer name came up.”

  She shifted slightly but remained silent, so he went on. “From what I’ve heard, ye dinnae strike yer charges, yet ye’ve had success where others have failed. Ye’ve worked with difficult children. Ye’ve brought them out of their shells.” From all accounts, she was just the kind of woman he was looking for.

  “I do my best to meet my charges where they are, to guide them toward learning without forcing them to it,” she replied.

  “That is good,” he said, holding her gaze, “because Clarissa promises to be yer most difficult charge yet.”

  Miss Reynolds straightened i
n her chair. “Though I may be young, and though I may not look it, I am stronger than you might think, my lord.”

  “God, I hope so,” he murmured into his whisky before taking another sip.

  “Am I to meet her tonight, then?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he replied. “It is late, and she has already…retired for the evening.” The words tasted sour on his tongue, ruining the warm, sweet burn of his whisky. Could Clarissa be said to retire for the evening if she never left her chamber in the first place most days?

  “May I ask how old your sister is, my lord? You didn’t specify in your missive. I have worked with children from ages four through fourteen, and I’m sure I could give your sister some training beyond fourteen if a finishing governess is not readily available, but—”

  Edmund pulled in a slow breath. “My sister is twenty-nine.”

  The hall fell completely silent except for the crackle of the fire. Even Thea’s heart seemed to stop for one long moment before hitching with a hard thump.

  “She is…I beg your pardon?”

  “She is twenty-nine,” Lord Kinfallon repeated.

  “There has…there has been a mistake.” Thea rose on unsteady legs.

  “Nay,” Lord Kinfallon said, his eyes keen on her. “No mistake. I sought ye out. I hired ye. I want ye.”

  The words, blunt as they were, sent a coil of heat through her. Her skin tingled at the memory of their bodies touching, his hands on her waist, his legs beneath her bottom.

  “You…” Thea took a breath and willed her tongue to work. “You said you wished me to attend to your younger sister.”

  “She is younger. A year younger than I,” he replied.

  She shook her head. Now he was toying with her. “I am a governess, my lord. I work with children, not grown adults.”

  “Ye will recall that in my missive I said that I required yer skills—no’ that I required a governess.” He took a step closer to her, and her rebellious knees wobbled.

  “Perhaps you wish to secure a companion for your sister,” she tried again. “Someone to keep her company, to be a friend rather than a—”