To Kiss a Governess

by Emma Prince

  She and Lady Clarissa strolled past the tidy stables at the back of the castle, then made their way around the west edge of the keep. As the front of the castle came into view, Lady Clarissa murmured something to the dolls she clutched, then unlooped her arm from Thea’s and knelt to refasten the laces on one boot.

  Just then, a smartly dressed man rode up the path leading to the front of the castle. He dismounted smoothly, but before he could reach the keep’s large door, Edmund emerged. Even from more than a dozen paces away, Thea could see surprise flash on his features when his gaze landed on the newcomer. Neither man had noticed Lady Clarissa and her at the corner of the castle.

  “What are ye doing here, Selfridge?” Edmund demanded. “I told ye I needed a month before I would have my final decision on yer scheme.”

  The man, Selfridge, lifted the black silk hat from his dark blond head and gave Edmund a slight bow. “I’m only here for a visit, my lord,” he said with a smile. “I thought to inquire how your decision-making process was going—and to see if the rumors in the village were true.”

  “What rumors?” Edmund snapped.

  “That your newest employee has cast some sort of spell over Kinfallon,” Selfridge replied.

  Thea stiffened. The man was referring to her. People were already gossiping about her in the village? Certainly she’d drawn attention at the inn when she’d decided to walk to the castle alone, but what could they possibly find interesting about her work with Lady Clarissa?

  Or was it her interactions with Edmund that had whispers circulating? Walls had eyes. Even with a skeletal staff at the castle, perhaps someone had noticed a lingering look, a blush or smile, something that gave away her feelings—

  Thea compressed her lips. She was being foolish. Worse, she was eavesdropping.

  “Come, Lady Clarissa,” she said, extending her hand and helping the woman rise. Linking their arms, Thea walked briskly to where Edmund and Selfridge stood.

  Both men turned, Edmund with a dark scowl on his face, and Selfridge wearing a startled expression.

  Selfridge blinked. “Lady Clarissa,” he said with a crisp bow. “And you must be the new companion.”

  The man’s put-on English accent was jarring to Thea’s ears after a fortnight among Scots. Still, she plastered a smile on her face and bobbed her head at Selfridge.

  “Miss Reynolds, this is Mr. Perry Selfridge,” Edmund said, still scowling. “Selfridge, Miss Reynolds.”

  As Selfridge came up from a far shallower bow, his dark blue eyes locked on her, keen and assessing. “You clearly have a way with Lord Kinfallon’s sister,” he said, as if Lady Clarissa weren’t standing there. He waved at their linked arms. “You’ve already lasted longer than most of the others.”

  The polite smile threatened to slide from Thea’s lips at the rude comment. She noticed a muscle ticking in Edmund’s jaw.

  “Miss Reynolds has been most helpful,” Edmund said, fixing Selfridge with a hard look. “In fact, her assistance has allowed me to make a great deal of headway on my assessment of the estate—so much so that I am confident I’ll have a decision for ye in another fortnight, as agreed, though I cannae promise that it will be the answer ye are hoping for.”

  Selfridge’s mouth thinned. “Is that so, my lord?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, then. I wish you a continuation of your good fortune, my lord.” The last was said tightly as Selfridge’s gaze swung back to Thea. His eyes were decidedly colder now.

  “I’m sure ye do,” Edmund replied frostily.

  Selfridge continued to stare at her for another long moment. Thea forced herself to remain motionless, but she longed to move behind Edmund and let his tall, strong frame shield her from Selfridge’s cutting gaze.

  “I have matters to attend to, Selfridge. Thank ye for yer visit,” Edmund said in a brusque dismissal.

  Selfridge bowed, slowly replacing his hat and striding back to his horse. Edmund remained rooted, his eyes fixed on the man’s back until he’d ridden down the road and out of sight. At last, he let out a long breath, some of the tension easing from his broad shoulders.

  “Forgive us for interrupting,” Thea said, breaking the awkward silence. “We’ll let you return to whatever matters require your attention.”

  She began guiding Lady Clarissa back toward the keep’s door, but Edmund halted her with a big hand on her arm.

  “I was actually on my way out to see ye—both of ye,” he corrected quickly. He turned to Clarissa. “It is a joy to see ye walking the grounds as we did in our childhood, Sister.”

  Clarissa nodded, but her head drooped. “Margaret is tired. I think I’ll take her to my chamber for a rest.” She disentangled her arm from Thea’s and slipped into the keep, holding her dolls close.

  “I may have overextended her,” Thea said, watching the door close behind Lady Clarissa.

  “Nay, dinnae doubt yerself,” Edmund replied. “Ye are challenging her, aye, as I have failed to do these last two years, but I see now how much good ye’ve done for Clarissa. I meant what I said to Selfridge.” His voice dropped to a low rumble. “I’m verra grateful to have ye here.”

  Heat began to creep into Thea’s cheeks. Needing to change the subject, she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing Mr. Selfridge mention me. May I ask what manner of business you were discussing?”

  A frown stole over Edmund’s face for a moment. “He had no place bringing up gossip about ye,” he said. For a moment, Thea thought he would put an abrupt end to that line of conversation.

  But then he met her gaze and his eyes softened. “As to the business he has with me—I would love to show ye.”

  “Show me?”

  “Aye—if ye dinnae mind walking a wee bit more.”

  Thea drew in a lungful of the fresh, cold early-December air. “Not at all. Now?”

  She already wore her cloak and bonnet, and she was eager to discover what Edmund had in mind, but he had neither overcoat nor hat with him. He’d stepped from the keep in just a dark green frock coat, gray trousers, and his usual tall black boots. His head was bare, his dark hair unbound around his shoulders, and his cravat characteristically loose.

  “Aye, now,” he replied, extending his arm to her.

  She looped her arm through his, resting her hand on his forearm. Even through the wool of his coat, she could feel the corded strength beneath her fingers. He pulled his elbow to his side, effectively drawing her closer until her shoulder brushed his arm and her skirts rested against his leg.

  Before she had time to blush at the intimacy of such nearness, he set out at an easy pace, guiding her toward the rolling hills to the west of the castle.

  “This land has belonged to the MacLainn clan for centuries,” he said as they cut across the brown landscape. “When the Jacobite uprising failed, some clans were disbanded, but my family was allowed to retain Kinfallon Castle and the estate surrounding it.”

  As they walked on, he continued to explain the history of the castle, the lands, and the MacLainns. When they crested a particularly rocky rise, Edmund paused, his eyes fixed in the distance.

  Thea followed his gaze to a whitewashed croft nestled between two hills. She noticed several more small crofts dotting the landscape nearby.

  “My people have worked this land through wars, famines, and other hardships too many to name.” Edmund glanced sideways at her, and she was surprised to find a playful smile lifting one side of his mouth. “Ye ken that Highlanders are a stubborn lot, dinnae ye?”

  “I’ve heard something of that,” she replied, matching his grin.

  He returned his gaze to the crofts in the distance, growing sober. “This land is these peoples’ home, yet it is also meant to produce money—for the maintenance of Kinfallon Castle, and for the Crown. Selfridge has been trying to convince me that I should displace the farmers and turn the land into grazing range for sheep. It is more profitable, apparently.”

  Thea drew in a breath. Something Edmund had said when
she’d first arrived came back to her. “The clearances—Lady Clarissa’s family. They were forced off their land—killed—for that very reason.”

  “By Selfridge.” When her mouth fell open, he clarified. “Nay, he wasnae the one to put the torch to their home, but it was his scheme that killed John and Margaret. The sheep—and Countess Sutherland’s profit—were more important. When Selfridge approached me with a similar offer a year past, I flat-out refused. But then with Clarissa requiring care, and so many failed attempts to find someone up to the task…I neglected the ledgers. It has only been in the last fortnight that I have been able to assess just where the estate stands—thanks to ye.”

  He turned to her, and her breath caught at the look in his eyes.

  “I am only one link in the chain of keepers of Kinfallon,” he murmured. “But until ye came, I feared that I would be the one to break that chain, to destroy the legacy my ancestors worked so hard to build. Ye have given me hope that no’ all is lost, though—that I am no’ at an ending, but rather a beginning.”

  A knot of tangled emotions rose to Thea’s throat. At the same time her heart soared at his words, dread and shame dragged her down. Edmund was a man of honor, a man with a legacy to protect. And Thea—she had no past, or at least she pretended she didn’t. What would Edmund say if he found out the truth about her? Would he still look at her with such unguarded longing in his eyes? Or would he turn away, repulsed by her deception?

  “Edmund…” she murmured, her voice low and tight.

  Just then, a slew of fat, cold raindrops dropped on them. An angry peal of thunder sounded in the distance. Even before its last rumbles faded, the skies had opened and now torrents of rain fell.

  Muttering a curse, Edmund took her hand and bolted for the nearest cover. She scrambled over the uneven ground, trying to keep up with his long strides as he made his way toward a copse of Scots pines. Amazingly, she managed to keep her footing over the rocks and rain-slicked brown grasses—until her boot hit a patch of mud only a few paces from the trees.

  With a startled cry, she slid, landing hard on her bottom.

  “Shite,” Edmund bit out, dropping to his knees beside her. “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “Yes,” she replied. Suddenly a bubble of laughter rose in her throat.

  A month ago, if someone had told her that she would be running from a rainstorm with a breathtakingly handsome Highland earl, she would have scoffed. If they’d told her she’d embarrass herself by falling in the mud like an ungraceful foal—well, sometimes all one could do was laugh.

  Without preamble, Edmund scooped her up in his arms, just as he’d done the night she’d met him. He dashed the remaining distance to the trees, where the heavy pine boughs shielded them from most of the rain. Yet he held her close for a long moment before setting her on her feet.

  “Ye are sure ye’re all right?” He lifted a thumb to her cheek and dragged it slowly across her skin. “Ye have some mud just here.”

  Thea’s heart stuttered painfully. She stared up into Edmund’s eyes, so dark and expressive. The whole world came to a standstill. Even the raindrops seemed to slow in their descent toward earth as Thea lost herself in forest green.

  Slowly, slowly, Edmund tilted his head toward hers.

  “I have wanted to do this since the moment I first saw ye,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning her lips.

  And then he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

  Chapter 7

  Through the raging storm of desire breaking inside Edmund, some distant voice of sanity called to him.

  Gentle.

  Her lips were so soft under his, so yielding and sweet. God, he wanted more, yet he checked himself for fear of frightening her.

  He cupped the nape of her neck and let himself relish the feel of the damp tendrils of hair clinging there. When he drew her bottom lip gently into his mouth, he was rewarded with a shiver and the ripple of gooseflesh under his palm.

  Looping his other arm around her waist, he slowly pulled her closer until he could feel her soft breasts against his chest, her ribs straining against the rigidity of her corset with each of her ragged breaths.

  When he flicked his tongue along her lip, asking entrance, she opened with one of her little gasps. Their tongues met in the damp heat of her mouth, and the pleasure hit him so hard that he actually jerked slightly. He willed his body to cool, to slow in its spiral toward the point of no return, but then she laid her hands on his shoulders, and he feared he would never be able to stop.

  He deepened their kiss, tilting his head to claim more of her mouth. She moaned, and the vibrations shot straight to his manhood. For all that Thea was everything a proper English governess should be—calm, decisive, composed—he sensed a deep well of untamed desire within her. She read gothic novels. She met his gaze boldly. And aye, she moaned at his kiss.

  Abruptly, she pulled back. Panting in confusion, Edmund tried to focus his gaze on her face. Had he misread her?

  Nay, for her dewy skin glowed pinkly and her pale blue eyes were glazed with pleasure and unfulfilled desire.

  “We shouldn’t,” she breathed.

  He carefully untangled his fingers from the hair at her nape and stepped back, but only enough to create a sliver of cold air between them. “Why no’?”

  She faltered. “Because I am a governess.”

  “Is it propriety ye are worried about then?” he asked. “Because ye shouldnae. This is the Highlands, no’ London—or York, for that matter. Besides, nothing we could do would cause a greater scandal than when my sister married a farmer. I assume yer family has fallen out of fortune, otherwise ye wouldnae need to work as a governess, but ye arenae a commoner.”

  Edmund winced once the words had tumbled out. Bloody hell, what was he thinking, mentioning marriage, her family’s wealth—or lack thereof—and creating a scandal, all in one breath? If he meant to soothe her nerves, he’d no doubt just done the opposite.

  Sure enough, Thea blanched a ghostly white. “What…what do you know of my family?”

  Edmund felt his brows draw down. That was what disturbed her most out of everything he’d said?

  “Nothing,” he replied, puzzled. “Only that governesses usually come from families of noble origin that have fallen on hard times.”

  Why was he blathering on about her family and their status when he could be kissing her instead—or telling her what she meant to him?

  Slowly, he took her hand in his and lifted it between them. “If ye are worried that this is some dalliance for me, the lord of the house chasing the governess’s skirts or some such, ye neednae fear on that score. I…I care about ye, Thea. A great deal.”

  She met his gaze. “I care about you, too. A great deal.”

  His heart lurched against his ribs at her words. “We cannae run from this, or deny it.”

  “No,” Thea said, shaking her head slowly. “We can’t. But…”

  “But ye are still afraid,” he murmured. “Of what, sweeting?”

  He watched as distress, then sadness crossed her bonny features. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  Edmund raised her hand to his mouth to halt her struggles. “Speak on it only when—or if—ye are ready,” he breathed against her knuckles, then placed a kiss there. He lifted his head, capturing her troubled gaze. “I would only ask that ye listen to yer heart and give this a chance. Dinnae leave, lass. No’ when we’ve only just found each other.”

  At last, Thea’s brow smoothed and her eyes softened. “I promise,” she said.

  When the rain ebbed at last, Edmund took her arm under his and guided her back to the castle, his heart expanding with hope for what could lay ahead.

  Chapter 8

  Over the next week and a half, the rains turned to snow, and Thea could no longer take Lady Clarissa out for walks.

  Thea should have been discontent at being cooped up. She should have been fretting over what had passed between her and Edmund—and the ever-
growing emotion she felt for him, but still refused to name.

  Yet they were some of the happiest days of her life. The blanket of white snow resting on the landscape made everything dazzlingly bright. The castle seemed cheerier, softened somehow by a coating of snow.

  One morning after a particularly heavy snowfall, inspiration struck Thea. Perhaps it was the nip in the air, or the coziness inside the castle when Lady Clarissa, Edmund, and she sat in the great hall, a fire roaring in the hearth. Or perhaps it was a longing to enjoy the season with Edmund and Lady Clarissa as a family did. Whatever the case, Thea proposed that they organize a proper Christmas celebration.

  Thea arranged for the stable lad to bring her several clumps of mistletoe and clippings from pine boughs.

  “How downright pagan of ye,” Edmund had commented as she’d arranged the boughs over the hearth and hung the mistletoe over all the doorways. He spoke with one dark eyebrow arched and a smile playing on his mouth, his eyes following her intently enough to send heat into her cheeks.

  As she worked, he told her of the season’s traditions here in the Highlands—of Hogmanay and the first-footing, of the singing of Robert Burns’s poem “Auld Lang Syne,” and of Yule and its carolers and the special porridge breakfast called sowens.

  They hadn’t spoken of their kiss, yet the mere memory of it knotted Thea’s stomach with longing. It was too good to be true—it must be. Edmund didn’t know the truth about her. If he did, he wouldn’t desire her so. In fact, he would probably throw her out of Kinfallon Castle for her deception.

  Some small, selfish part of her wanted to pretend that she was who she said, though, to pretend that she, a governess, could capture the heart of a man like Edmund—and give him her heart in return.

  So she carried on, spending time with Lady Clarissa, dining with Edmund, and distracting herself from the aching desire twisting her insides by preparing for Christmas.