The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance

by Alison Shaw

  Justine de Mornay was every bit as beautiful as people said. She sat opposite Charlotte in the cramped carriage, glowing in the gloom as if she were lit from within, her face exquisitely framed by the red silk of her hood, her lips a perfect bow. Charlotte was suddenly painfully aware of her own plain grey gown frayed at the hem. She felt dowdy and insignificant, and a tight knot of despair and jealousy weaved itself around her heart.

  The weather was reflecting her mood. The wind howled outside and rainwater seeped through the rattling door, soaking her scuffed boots. There was nowhere comfortable she could look. It was too painful to watch Madam De Mornay’s smiling visage and she dare not even glance at the man sitting beside her, the man whose presence filled the space and made her breathing laboured. Instead, Charlotte looked down at Arthur’s curly blonde head lying in her lap.

  She could feel Rafe’s eyes on her like a heated caress but she would not look at him, she must not look at him. But then she thought she heard him gasp, a strangled moan that shot across her skin like a bolt of lightning and her eyes were dragged towards him, to his lap where Madam De Mornay’s hand was stroking an unmistakable and familiar bulge.

  “We must almost be there,” Rafe said, suddenly breaking the silence, his jolly tone not disguising the strain in his voice. Arthur twitched in Charlotte’s lap and Madam De Mornay pulled her hand away and gave an unconvincing trill of laughter.

  Charlotte’s cheeks were red with shame but the woman who should be embarrassed looked as collected as ever, and merely adjusted her gloves with a smug little smile. And when Charlotte finally looked at Rafe’s face, she saw how he shifted impatiently in his seat, his eyes anywhere but on her, his mouth set in a grim line.

  She knew this day would come. Rafe was not a man who was accustomed to being rejected, and it was clear he was finding his pleasure elsewhere, with someone who had less to lose than Charlotte, with a Lady with beauty and sophistication and obviously one who was more than willing to accommodate his lust, wherever they may be, and whoever they may be with. Charlotte acknowledged with a pang that she had lost her beautiful outrageous Earl of Langham. In fact, he had never been hers at all.

  And when the boys had been roused and the carriage drew to a halt, Rafe did not hesitate to escort Madam De Mornay out into the rain, leaping from the carriage in a chivalrous manner and giving her his arm as he carefully held the umbrella over her. The boys cheerfully followed and Charlotte was left sitting alone and totally forgotten, listening to the rain drumming on the roof and feeling a cavern of emptiness open up inside her.

  But then he was back, bursting into the carriage in a blast of cold air and rainwater, his wet hands enveloping her face, his hot lips pressing over hers, breathing life and fire into her as he kissed her so ardently her head fell back and hit the back of the seat, a shock which made her finally register what was happening and she pressed her hands against his chest and managed to push him away from her. “Rafe! What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “I am doing what I have been thinking of doing all the way from London.”

  He still wanted her! The joy threatened to show on her face, but Charlotte held on to the last threads of her pride. Another woman’s hand had been caressing him only half an hour ago. He had not spoken to her since that day in the library when she had told him to forget her.

  “Don’t you dare do this when I have had to witness your mistress groping you right in front of me!” she said more calmly than she ever thought she could.

  He stared at her and said in an equally calm voice, “I’ve had enough of politeness and courtesy. I want you and I shall have you.”

  And God help her but his words were lighting a fire in her, a blazing inferno of desire that would be impossible to douse. Her head was swimming and her limbs were weak and she probably would not protest if he chose to take her right now, here in the carriage in front of her employer’s front door.

  She gasped his name as his hand left her face and thrust roughly under her skirts, his aim deft and sure and her legs opened instinctively to allow his confident fingers to push inside her, her muscles yielding to his sure touch.

  “I could fuck you right now. God knows I’m hard enough,” he growled against her lips and she could feel a gush of wetness flood over his hand. “I could fuck you right now where anyone could find us. I don’t care!” and she gripped his strong biceps as he twisted inside her. “There’s not a damn thing you could do about it. I could get my hard cock out and hammer it into your tight little pussy.” Charlotte gasped at the filthy words he was growling in a low, deep voice and as his thumb pressed over her throbbing clitoris a scream of pleasure threatened to escape from her, her whole body trembling around his insistent thrusts.

  Then he said suddenly soft and tender, “Open your eyes Charlotte. I want you to be looking at me when you come.” And it was too much. She did as he said and was greeted with his indigo eyes, almost black with arousal staring straight at her and then his lips descended on hers as his thumb pressed down hard and an orgasm took hold of her and threw her into a whirling torrent of sensation.

  She was left shaking in his arms, paralyzed with wonder and he had to peel her from the seat and almost carry her from the carriage, the sudden shock of cold rain helping her to partially return back to earth. He held her hand tightly all the way up the steps, only letting go as they reached the door. Then she stood in the entrance hall, her legs barely keeping her up, surrounded by the business of arrival, taking nothing in. All she could see was Rafe’s wet hair curling over the collar of his coat and then she felt his breath against her cheek and heard him murmur “Tonight” and he was gone.

  She spent the rest of the evening in a daze, unpacking her meagre belongings, discarding her rain drenched clothes, washing herself in luke warm water, pulling her simple nightgown over her head, getting into bed, holding her book in her hands and staring at her closed door. Would he come as he promised? Her heart raced and her skin felt tight and sensitive. The candle by her bed flickered.

  Had he forgotten her? Was he, right now in the de Mornay woman’s room, peeling her red dress away from her slender body, covering her porcelain skin with his hot kisses?

  Then the door opened and he was in her room, pressing his back against the closed door, staring at her with haunted eyes. Charlotte gripped her book and took him in, hardly able to believe that he had come. She could hear his laboured breathing; see the paleness of his brow. She had never seen him like this before. He looked almost vulnerable. He was trembling.

  At last he spoke. “Are the boys asleep?”

  She nodded her head slowly and watched his brows furrow with tension as he stammered, “I … I had to see you Charlotte.”

  The way he said her name made her nipples tighten into hard knots of need but she had to find out something before they went any further. “And that woman? Where is that woman?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

  He said it with such force, she was tempted to end the conversation at that but she could not help asking, “What is she to you? Do you love her?”

  The word ‘love’ seemed to hover in the air, as he said, “No. She’s nothing Charlotte…” his voice trailing off as he visibly swallowed his words, and sank further against the door, his palms pressed onto the wood.

  Charlotte suddenly had an overwhelming urge to laugh. He looked scared out of his wits, clinging to that door as if he could not trust himself to speak or move. It seemed it was her who would have to take control or they would spend the entire night staring at each other across a chasm.

  She put her book down on the chair next to her bed and pushing the covers back, stepped onto the cold floorboards. Rafe watched her intently as she walked towards him, his gaze heating her skin.

  “You are uncommonly quiet, my Lord,” she said. “Are you sleepwalking perhaps?”

  “No,” he choked as she reached him, “but I feel like I am.”

  Her nightgown brus
hed his boots but he still did not move. Her lips hovered over his. “Touch me, Rafe,” she said.

  And then his hands were at last on her and his mouth open under hers, and her arms were around his neck and their bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need, and she had absolutely no intention of stopping. This was a meeting of equals. Their desire was the same, equally matched, equally giving. And when they tumbled onto the bed and he took her with his mouth she knew she had never given herself to a man so completely. And then he entered her and filled her and pulsed inside her until they were crying out each other’s names and his deep thrusts drove her higher, pounding her into mindless oblivion, her hips rocking upwards to meet his, her release ripping through her body as he moaned above her and with wild abandon he let himself go, flooding her with his hot seed until he was wrung out and shaking and slumped in her arms.

  And Charlotte held him close, cradled his dark head against her chest, no thoughts in her head except one single, terrifying word - love.

  Chapter 20

  The Governess Regrets

  In which the governess is left to ponder her night of passion.

  The Earl of Langham and the governess lay entwined on her bed, in that dead hour before dawn. His breeches and boots lay discarded on the floor, her nightgown was pulled down somewhat belatedly to cover her modesty and they listened to the heavy quiet beyond the room and the sounds of their hearts beating in their chests.

  Charlotte had actually slept with Rafe’s head still cradled against her chest, but he had thrashed out in his sleep and woken them both and finding his boots still on, he had removed them and then his breeches, and then discovering he was half erect he had evidently decided to make the most of it by relighting the lamp and then stroking himself to full arousal while staring at the nest of curls between her legs. He had nudged Charlotte’s thighs apart to get a better view and she had covered her face with her arms in embarrassment. He made her feel like an inexperienced girl even though she was most definitely not. The intensity with which he stared at her and the shameless way he touched himself made Charlotte blush.

  He did not say a word to her. He just pulled her knees upwards, lifted her hips and kneeling on the bed pushed his rigid prick inside her. She wished he would take his shirt off so she could see his muscular chest but sleep had made her relaxed and passive and she just watched his focussed expression as his short thrusts increased in speed, the slap of his balls against her the only sound in the room. Then with a whispered curse he thrust in deep, her cunt encasing his cock and pulsing around him as he gripped her hips tight and shuddered out his release.

  He had come inside her twice now and she had not thought to stop him. In fact, it only now occurred to her what a mistake this might be. It was true, in all her couplings with Randall she had never become pregnant, and since he already had a child she had presumed it was her who could not conceive. But there was a possibility that she might be wrong. No matter, she did not want to face that now, not when Rafe was looking down at her with such sated, almost gentle warmth. Did it not concern him that they might have started on a disastrous track?

  He pulled her nightgown back over her thighs and then lay beside her, his indigo eyes staring into hers, no words on his lips, just his relaxed breath fluttering over her cheek.

  “I must go,” he eventually said, his voice jolting her into reality.

  Charlotte thought he had meant he must leave her room, but when she struggled from her bed only a few hours later, and joined Sophie and the boys for breakfast, she discovered that he had in fact left the house. He had departed for London, Sophie informed her. And where was Madam de Mornay? No one seemed to know. She must have gone with his lordship, Sophie whispered to Charlotte, clearly scandalised by her cousin’s flagrant disregard for propriety.

  Charlotte should have known. He had gotten what he wanted and left. At least she felt some relief when she discovered that the teasing Eddie Johnson was also no longer in the house. Now, she could return to her earlier resolve and have nothing more to do with handsome men who turned her legs to jelly. But she spent the rest of the day with an increasingly heavy heart and tears constantly threatening to spill from her eyes.

  Weeks went by and at first Charlotte managed to find some happy peace in the men’s absence. William and Arthur thrived under her patient tutelage, and an equal time was spent in the schoolroom and out of doors. Sophie was proving to be a pleasant companion as well as a kind employer, and Charlotte was making other friends in the household. The head groom, Thomas, was especially kind and Charlotte would often find herself in the stables feeding the horses apples from the orchard as he went about his business. It was true, he was a handsome man and maybe it was not wise to spend so much time in his presence, but he had told her all about a girl in his village whom he was clearly in love with, although he did not seem aware of that fact himself.

  Sometimes when Charlotte watched Thomas roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps and bend to shovel hay she felt the unmistakable stirrings of arousal; her nipples tightened and her breath came faster and there was a heavy ache in her groin. She imagined standing next to him so she could smell his fresh sweat and lay her hand on his broad damp back. She would run it downwards until she felt the tight muscles of his backside flexing, and then turn him round so she could see how his cock swelled in his breeches. His lips would clamp over one of her nipples through the thin lawn of her summer dress, and he would nip and suck while her hands ran over his tight arse.

  But Thomas was no Eddie Johnson. He was a simple man who carried out his duties with efficiency and would no more ravish a governess in a stable than he would mistreat one of the horses. Charlotte had to swallow a pang of disappointment at this thought and then remind herself once again of the promises she had made.

  Nevertheless she could not help moving closer to him as he propped the pitchfork against the wall and wiped the sweat from his brow with a large handkerchief. He grinned at her, a friendly guileless smile that told her he had no idea of the thoughts that were writhing in her head. If he knew he would most likely turn heel and run!

  “Are you well Miss Kemp?” he asked. “You look pale.”

  Her eyes could not seem to move from where the open collar of his shirt revealed curls of blonde hair and sweat-slicked skin. She licked her lips.

  “I’m fine Thomas, it’s just so hot today isn’t it?”

  He smiled again but as she moved closer the smile faded and he shuffled his feet.

  “Um…maybe you could go for a ride?” he muttered, while his gaze seemed to involuntarily sweep over her body and settle on her breasts.

  “Maybe,” she said softly as she almost reached him. She had no idea what on earth had come over her. Teasing Thomas was a cruel and foolish thing to do, but she could not seem to help herself.

  Thomas visibly gulped, his hand still gripping the shaft of the pitchfork. As if in a trance, Charlotte raised her hand and ran a finger slowly down the front of his damp shirt. Maybe she could persuade him to take it off?

  Then there was the sound of footsteps and she pulled her hand away. The Earl of Langham was standing in the doorway, long legs encased in tight breeches, broad shoulders pulled back, his fingers curling into fists at his side. His steely eyes flicked from her to Thomas and back again and he said in a haughty voice, “You are wanted in the house, Miss Kemp,” then abruptly turned and left.

  Charlotte was seized with a surge of anger. How dare he keep appearing like this, crashing into her life with no warning, appearing and disappearing as the mood took him. She followed him into the courtyard where he was standing waiting for her and before she could speak he took hold of her wrist and dragged her under the archway and roughly pushed her against the wall.

  His touch sent tingles of pleasure shooting over her skin but she gritted her teeth and looked coolly into his stormy eyes.

  “What were you doing with that man?” he demanded.

  She took a deep breath to contai
n her anger. “How dare you appear after weeks of no word and throw your weight around like a petulant brat! Take your hands off me.”

  “That man?” he asked again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

  “What is it to you? He’s a good catch, upstanding and honourable and he makes a good living.”

  The look on his face made her regret her words. Making the Earl of Langham jealous was clearly a dangerous game and he grabbed hold of her wrists and dragged them to almost above her head. His knee pushed hard between her legs as he gave a predatory smile and said, “He’s a better catch than me, is he?”

  “Undoubtedly. Thomas treats me like a lady, not like a worthless whore he can manhandle at his will,” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady despite the wild beating of her heart and the even wilder pulsing between her legs.

  He stared at her, his eyes softening slightly and lowering to her mouth.

  “No you don’t,” she said quickly before he could make his move, and she tugged one hand away from his grip and held his chin. “I don’t want any of your kisses. Keep that mouth away from me.” If he kissed her right now she would not be able to control her response. She would be helpless.

  “Oh Charlotte, my sweet whore, I want to fuck you so badly. I want to shove my cock into you and nail you good and hard. I want to hear you scream.”

  At his words, she almost squirmed against his hard thigh. Kiss or no kiss, she was already helpless. “You have a dirty mouth, my Lord,” she said quietly still attempting defiance.

  “You know what I can do with this dirty mouth, Miss Kemp,” he said in a voice so soft and deep it caressed her heated skin.

  “Thomas would never speak to me like that.”

  “I’m sure he would not. And I bet he wouldn’t screw you as well as I do either.” His eyes were now pools of the darkest blue and his black eyelashes swept downwards as his lips parted and he said, “I want to lick your pussy again.”