The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance

by Alison Shaw

  Chapter 26

  The Governess is Rescued

  In which the governess realises that summer cannot last forever.

  On her regular afternoon walks, Charlotte was noticing the end of summer. Diaphanous sycamore seeds floated through the air, mushrooms dotted the grassy track and a cold breeze reddened her cheeks. Change was in the air and she felt uneasy. Ever since Johnson's return the Earl of Langham had withdrawn. It was not obvious, in fact she sometimes wondered if she were imagining it, but his kisses seemed less insistent, his gaze less intense, his touch less determined. There had been no repeat of their reckless threesome either, which she should have been relieved by but strangely was not. Oddly, it left her feeling bereft, which she could not fathom because when she looked at Eddie Johnson now she felt nothing but annoyance. She surmised, eventually, that she felt bereft because she had begun to anticipate losing Rafe. She suspected her time at Fairburn House, like summer, was almost over.

  The feeling was cemented when Rafe left for London without saying goodbye. He would only be gone a few days, she had found out, but still, it seemed to her a sign. She pondered this as she wandered the narrow path that skirted the ridge at the edge of the estate, a free day unexpectedly handed to her with both William and Arthur bedridden with heavy colds. She was so deep in thought that she failed to notice someone approaching from the opposite direction and almost walked into him.

  “It looks like rain. You shouldn't be this far from the house,” Johnson said from under the wide brim of his hat.

  Charlotte barely disguised the grimace as she looked up at him. He had no right to tell her what to do.

  “Why are you not in London?” she asked rudely.

  “I'm meeting his Lordship in Derbyshire in a few days,” he said.

  “Derbyshire?” she asked surprised.

  “He's attending a shooting party,” Johnson said, taking off his hat and running his hand through his dark hair. “Did he not tell you?”

  No, thought Charlotte, he seemed to keep her remarkably uninformed.

  Johnson took a step towards her and leant down slightly so his mouth was just above hers. She reminded herself that she hated him as his full lips curled upwards in an inviting smile. “Maybe we should make the most of his absence,” he murmured and his hand rested on her waist.

  She firmly removed his hand and said, “Let's not,” then stepping around him continued on her way. But he just followed her, catching up in a couple of long strides.

  “It is going to rain, you know,” he said cheerfully, obviously unaffected by her rejection. “I think you should turn back.”

  She just kept walking, trying to ignore his big annoying presence beside her, and the big fat raindrop that had just landed on her nose. A loud roll of thunder rumbled not too far away.

  “I told you,” her uninvited companion said smugly.

  The raindrops were now coming far more heavily, splashing on Charlotte's face. Johnson put his hat back on and looked up at the sky, which had suddenly become ominously dark. Charlotte could not help noticing he had not shaved today; there was a dark shadow across his chin. He was dressed far more casually than usual too in a brown tweed coat and leather boots. As a sudden wind whipped Charlotte's skirts, he took off his coat and held it over her head.

  “Here it comes,” he yelled, the downpour almost drowning out his words, “We'll have to run for it!”

  Johnson held Charlotte's hand and practically pulled her along the path, her flimsy shoes slipping in the mud. He had draped his coat over her shoulders but her skirts were wet through. Not as wet as Johnson though, who was in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, the wet cotton transparent and plastered to his muscular arms.

  “Come on,” he shouted. “There's shelter just down here!” and he pulled her through a gate and down a steep little path to a stone cottage. They skidded to a halt under the canopy over the door and looked out at the rain.

  “Looks like it's going to be a while,” Johnson said and Charlotte shivered uncontrollably. “God, you're frozen, let's go inside.”

  Inside, it was dark and damp with nothing but a forlorn little table and broken chair in the centre of the room. Johnson took Charlotte's hand and pulled her into the next room where, surprisingly, there was a big double bed all made up with pillows and blankets. Johnson opened the curtains to let in some of the meagre light and then proceeded to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “How did you know this was here?” Charlotte asked, as Johnson peeled off his waistcoat and started on the buttons of his shirt.

  “I used to meet someone here,” he said looking, for once, a little embarrassed.

  “Who?” she asked before she could check herself, but he just gave her a sheepish little grin and pulled the wet shirt off his arms, dropping it onto the floor in a soggy heap.

  It was only then that Charlotte registered that he was standing before her in nothing but his skin-tight breeches and boots. She had a sudden memory of the first time she had ever seen Rafe, in the courtyard of the house similarly bare chested and wet. Johnson was taller with broader shoulders and more muscular arms, and his chest was partially covered in hair that trailed down his flat-ridged belly to the waistband of his breeches. Her mouth watered as she stared. She was trembling now for altogether different reasons.

  As she stood transfixed, he kicked off his boots and then his hands were on the fold of his breeches.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, horrified.

  “Taking off these wet clothes,” he said. “You ought to the same before you die of cold.” But then he seemed to change his mind about taking off his breeches and said instead, “I'll make a fire to dry everything.”

  Charlotte still stood stupidly, dripping rain water onto the floor as she watched him rearrange the half burnt sticks and logs in the grate and deftly coax them into flame, the muscles in his smooth brown back flexing as he worked. Then he fetched the broken chair from the next room and draped his wet shirt and waistcoat over the back. Facing her with his hands on his hips, he said, “Come on then Miss Kemp, let's have 'em.”

  Charlotte had no idea why she was so paralysed with shyness. She had allowed this man to do all number of obscene things to her, to run his hands over her body, to sink his fingers inside her most private place, to bury himself in her and whisper filthy words. Only a week ago she had been on her knees with his cock filling her mouth, but all those things had been done clothed and now she could not bring herself to disrobe in front of him. For Rafe she had stripped when he had ordered her to, but this was not Rafe and it was an entirely different situation. For some reason it felt more intimate.

  “Charlotte,” Johnson said in a more gentle voice, “You are shivering with cold and there is a nice warm bed right there. Wouldn't you like to get in it?”

  Oh God, she had not even thought that far! Were they both going to get in that bed with not a stitch of clothing between them?

  Johnson was looking at her with one of his dark eyebrows raised and his mouth turned up in that annoying grin. “Well if you're not, I am,” he said and he finished undoing his breeches and tugged them down his legs. To Charlotte's relief he was not aroused. His cock dangled softer and smaller than she had ever seen it. He was cold after all. He looked down at himself and then back up at her and grinned, “See! You have nothing to be afraid of!” and then he turned and gave her a view of the most deliciously muscular backside she had ever seen, before he pulled back the blankets and disappeared beneath them with a satisfied groan. The groan did nothing to settle her nerves; it merely reminded her of groans he had made in the past.

  He pulled the blankets up over his muscled belly, folded his arms behind his head and raised that eyebrow again. His armpits were hairy and the sight made Charlotte blush.

  “I'm lovely and warm now,” he said.

  Despite herself Charlotte found herself laughing and before she could change her mind she shrugged off his wet coat, but as her hands fumbled with the bu
ttons down the front of her bodice she realised he was watching her avidly. He was still lounged casually but his dark eyes had become darker.

  “Can you manage? Want a hand?” he asked, his voice sounding almost rough.

  Charlotte gave an exasperated sigh. “No, I'd like you to turn away please.”

  Reluctantly he turned over in bed, his back to her, the blankets just covering his narrow hips. Charlotte took a moment to take in the broad expanse of his back before she continued on with her buttons.

  “I don't know why you're being so bashful,” he said. “We have fucked after all.”

  Charlotte continued to undo the buttons and then peel her dress away from her chest and down her arms. Her skin was pricked with goose bumps despite the heat from the now roaring fire.

  “Although I've never seen you naked,” he added and then was silent, seemingly contemplating this point.

  Charlotte had hoped her underclothes would be dry, but to her dismay they were soaked through. She was going to have to take everything off or she would catch a chill. She looked at Johnson to check that he was still turned away and pulled off her corset and chemise and virtually threw them at the chair.

  She put a hand on the bed an inch away from Johnson's hot skin. She could feel his warmth radiating towards her. “Move over,” she said and when he had shuffled to the other side of the bed she dived under the covers, pulling them all the way up to her chin.

  Johnson turned round and she pressed her arms on top of the blankets to ensure they did not move.

  “See, that wasn't so difficult,” he said and she turned to face him, suddenly noticing how handsome he was. His unshaved chin gave him a rakish edge and there was the bare chest of course, so smooth and brown and inches away from her. She remained rigid under the sheet, like a terrified virgin on her wedding night. Her pussy involuntarily twitched. Oh why had she thought of that comparison! Now her mind was full of visions of her rakish bridegroom coaxing her into submission. What would he do? Push his hand under the sheets and ease her legs apart? Ease the blankets down to reveal her nipples? Suck one into his mouth as his fingers gently stroked her? She closed her eyes and suppressed a moan. Getting into this bed with him had been a very bad idea.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked. Oh he had some inkling. She could practically hear his smug smile.

  She opened her eyes and looked straight at him. His eyes were black pools of lust. She could bet his cock was no longer so unthreatening. She wanted to run her eyes downwards to see if he were showing interest but she knew he would catch her doing it.

  She inwardly laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation she was in. Now they were both thinking about the same thing and having to pretend otherwise and for what? Misplaced decorum? Decorum had never occurred to them before. At least, it hadn't when they were fucking each other against the folly wall.

  Johnson was smiling at her, a wicked gleam in his eye and she couldn't help smiling back. He was so bloody pretty. Then, he took her smile as an invite and eased himself up onto his elbow. Just as she had imagined, his hand came up and his fingers ran along the edge of the blanket that she held tight over her chest. “Let me see,” he whispered and tugged so the blanket came down a little revealing the swell of her breasts. Her arms relaxed beside her as she gave in to the inevitable and he tugged further to reveal her hard nipples, puckered from unbearable lust as much as the cold.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, trailing a finger over one hardened bud and then the other. Under the blanket her legs opened of their own accord.

  “Shall I suck them?” he asked, his dark eyes gentle, his lips hovering over her.

  “Yes,” Charlotte whispered already so aroused that she was perfectly happy for him to do anything he wanted, absolutely anything.

  He groaned as he sucked her into his mouth and she caressed his hair and tried not to writhe beneath him. She was enjoying this slow seduction and must not ruin it by showing impatience. This gentle Eddie Johnson was a revelation.

  His hand cupped her other breast as his hot lips pulled and slid over her, his tongue occasionally flicking out to draw a cry from her. It was too much, too good, she could not keep still. Her hand left his head and slid down his back, pushing the blanket away as she went, desperate to feel the hard muscles of his beautiful bottom but she could not reach. He pulled his head away from her and tugging at the blankets threw them off the bed so they both lay there on the white sheet exposed and as naked as the day they were born.

  “That's better!” he laughed and pushed her onto her back so he could survey her fully. His eyes roamed over her, stopping on her breasts, the swell of her tummy, the patch of hair between her legs. He placed his hand gently on her thigh and said in a low voice, “Open your legs.” She bent her knee and let it flop to one side and he sighed. Then he bent his head towards her and she almost squirmed with anticipation. His tongue pressed hot between her folds, lapping her with slow measured strokes while his hands held her thighs apart. She could feel herself trembling under his touch, her hands going to her breasts as if they had a mind of their own. He was humming against her as he gently stroked and she could feel the pleasure building inside her and then there was the added stimulus of watching the muscles in his back flexing and his long legs spread out in front of her. It was too much; she did not want to come yet. She wanted to come with him inside her. Grasping his hair, she pulled him away from her. He looked up at her, his eyebrows quizzical, his whiskery chin glistening with her juices.

  “My turn,” she said and with surprising ease flipped him onto his back.

  He was so tall he filled the full length of the bed, his feet reaching the end. He folded his arms behind his head once again, revealing those manly armpits and she drank in his body as he smiled lazily, the hair on his chest, the slender hips, and the big cock lying rigid on his hard belly.

  “Shall I suck you?” she asked in imitation of what he had said earlier.

  “Yes please,” he said, his cock twitching. “Lick my balls too.”

  Charlotte smiled to herself; the domineering filthy Johnson was still there. She teased him by hovering with her lips almost touching and occasionally flicking out her tongue to lick him. His hips thrust towards her but she would not let him take charge and it was only when he was mindlessly begging that she properly took him in her mouth and played with his balls until his grunts became positively feral, at which point she pulled back and straddling him sank down onto his cock.

  They both cried out as she took him all the way in and he thrust his hips to get the deepest possible penetration. Charlotte had forgotten what this could be like, how two people unhindered by clothing could come together in this age old dance, flesh against flesh, in an act so instinctive it required no thought. There was merely the sensation of him thrusting into her, of his hands gripping her waist, of his dark eyes burning into her as her breasts bounced and her wetness surrounded him and they were both thrown over the precipice and collapsed, chests heaving and hearts thumping.

  Outside the rain had stopped but neither of them noticed or cared.

  Chapter 27

  The Earl is Caught

  In which our naughty regency rake accepts he cannot avoid his responsibilities forever.

  There was a reason that the Earl of Langham spent so much time at his Uncle's country house rather than his own much grander pile in Derbyshire, and it was not just its closer proximity to London or the presence of one delectable governess. His house in Derbyshire was well appointed, with beautiful grounds but there was one fixture that he had no desire to see, or indeed be less than fifty miles from, and that was his Mother, the formidable Dowager. Lady Catherine Fairburn had been widowed for five years and had reluctantly seen her husband's title pass to her only son, but she still ruled the household with an iron fist and Rafe wisely stayed away, preferring the much more pleasant and relaxed environs of Hertfordshire.

  As his mother hating the crowded city, London was safe, so Rafe
was happy to spend a couple of days there fulfilling not particularly onerous duties such as visiting his tailor and reacquainting himself with Henry Barnes's latest escapades. Henry met him one evening at their club and over a few glasses of claret entertained him with racy stories of a married woman he had recently bedded. Apparently she liked to be tied up with rope and thrashed. Henry's face grew quite flushed as he recounted their latest rendezvous during which he had used a cat of nine tails and she had screamed so loudly when she came that he was considering gagging her next time. He wanted Rafe's advice on how to do this, but Rafe had to confess that his experience of such perversions was not that great. His tastes were more on the conventional side of the scale. Henry had laughed at this and pointed out that fucking their manservant was not something done by all the gentlemen of the Ton.

  “If they had a valet like Johnson, they might reconsider,” Rafe said wryly.

  “He's back then, is he? Had enough of the lovely Justine?”

  “Came crawling back with his tail between his legs,” Rafe lied.

  “And you forgave him?”

  “He's hard to resist,” Rafe confessed. “No-one sucks cock like Johnson, not even Madam Bella's most experienced whores.”

  Henry shifted in his seat. “Not my cup of tea, as you know.”

  “No,” laughed Rafe, “You prefer beating women until they scream.”

  Henry put his wine glass down on the table.

  “Speaking of screaming women, how's your mother?”

  Rafe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could not believe that Henry would bring her up in a conversation such as this. His balls had suddenly and painfully receded into his body.