Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

  When he caught up with her, she was sitting in the shade in a secluded arbor. The sun was shining through the leaves, dappling her in shades of green and gold so she appeared to glow.

  Her hair was down and tied back with a ribbon, her bonnet shielding her face so she didn’t see him coming. She looked serene and beautiful, and with her encircled by roses and thick foliage, she might have been a figure in a painting.

  He stopped and studied her, liking how calm she seemed, how composed and unruffled. She had an inner peace and equanimity that wafted out toward him. It made him eager to stand close so he could bask in the soothing aura she projected. Had she bewitched him somehow?

  He never suffered flights of fancy, never viewed women as being calm or serene or projecting auras. What was wrong with him?

  “Hello, Miss Barrington,” he said.

  She turned to him, her alluring smile firmly in place. “You have a spectacular property, Mr. Wallace.”

  “I know. I’m lucky.”

  “Yes, you are,” she agreed. “I’m loafing. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind. Shall we walk down to the beach? It’s even more stunning down there.”

  She considered, then shook her head. “I’d better not.”

  “My butler said you came to see me, but you were too timid to venture inside.”

  “I didn’t want to intrude.”

  “Liar. Faith scared you by claiming I was hosting a ribald party.”

  “Yes.”

  He liked that she didn’t quibble or equivocate.

  “Just so you’re aware of what counts as ribald to Faith,” he told her, “there are some men playing cards in the front parlor, but most of the guests are in the music room singing duets.”

  “Well, then, I should have barged in and joined in the merriment. I love to sing.”

  “Wonderful. Do you play any instruments?”

  “I’m a governess, aren’t I? I’m proficient on the harpsichord and the violin. I could hardly teach people’s children if I weren’t.”

  “Then I shall demand a private concert at the first opportunity.”

  “I won’t give you one.”

  “You will if I insist.”

  “You are so annoying. Do you talk to every female the way you talk to me?”

  “Yes.”

  She rolled her eyes and peered out to the ocean. They were too far away to see the waves crashing on the beach, but they could hear the frothing water. What topic was she pondering? She was likely tabulating all the reasons she didn’t like him.

  Without even trying, she made him feel like a bully and a fool, and he couldn’t abide the emotions she generated. He’d simply wanted to hire a governess to watch over Mary and Millie. He didn’t want one who vexed him constantly.

  He plopped down beside her and sat much too close, his thigh and elbow pressed to hers. She would have eased away to put some space between them, but there was an arm on the end of the bench so she couldn’t escape.

  “Are you here to resign?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “If I pack up and depart, how would you prevent me?”

  “I suppose I could shackle you to a bedpost with a very tight knot.”

  She scoffed. “You probably would. I believe you might actually be that horrid.”

  “I am awful. I warned you.”

  “You didn’t tell me the half of it.”

  “Would you have dawdled even this long if I had?”

  “No.”

  “Well, there you go. If it would only have caused you to run away, why would I have confided in you?”

  “You have to be the most scandalous, corrupt man in the kingdom.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “If I remain, how will I ever find work in the future? My reputation would be absolutely shredded.”

  “Oh, that.” He made a waffling motion with his hand. “I’ve lived without my reputation for most of a decade. I’ve survived without it.”

  “Yes, but you’re rich. You can afford to have bad things happen. I can’t.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you can. After you’ve been with us for a few years—”

  “A few years!” she huffed.

  “You could forge a portion of your resume. Lie about where you were employed. Didn’t you claim in our interview that your resume was faked? You can add other bogus positions and never mention me.”

  “I was jesting. Every entry on my resume is real and correct.”

  “So you’ll finally invent one. And if you need to account for your time here, I’ll pen a recommendation using a false name.”

  She sighed with exasperation. “You’re impossible.”

  “Yes, I’ve always been told I am.”

  She shifted on the bench, and he shifted too. Suddenly, those odd sparks ignited again. He gazed into her blue, blue eyes until he felt as if he was drowning in them.

  He was overwhelmed by a wild urge to kiss her, and with any other female he would have proceeded without hesitation, but alarm bells were ringing in his head.

  A gentleman didn’t kiss his servants. His father’s behavior with Faith’s mother had proved how destructive such a reckless act could be to an entire household so he remained right where he was.

  “I spent the evening with the twins.” Her voice was low and intimate, as if they were sharing secrets. “I was with them this morning too. They’re smart and funny and sweet-tempered. I like them.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “But I’m confused about my choices. I shouldn’t stay here, but they desperately need me.”

  “Why shouldn’t you stay?”

  “You know why. Don’t pretend.”

  “All right I won’t, but I have to tell you—while I’ve endured many calamities—I didn’t cause them.”

  “You’re divorced! You fought a duel!”

  “With a cad who seduced my wife!” he hotly retorted. “You might disapprove of such a violent response, but I’m not the sort of fellow to take such a hideous insult lying down.”

  “I understand that you’re not.”

  “I lost nearly everything because of it.”

  “You still have your home, your wealth.”

  “But not my career in the army and that was what mattered the most. It was all because I was young and stupid and married a deranged lunatic. Should I be punished forever? Should Mary and Millie be punished?”

  He couldn’t believe he’d offered up the remark. He never talked about his past or how the ramifications continued to rock his life, and she was practically a stranger.

  “No, I don’t think you should be punished forever,” she murmured.

  He clasped her hand in his and, as if they were adolescent sweethearts, he linked their fingers. She glared at him and pulled away.

  “Do it for the twins,” he said. “Not for me. Do it for them.”

  She stared at him, her deep assessment jolting him. She was eager to figure him out, to discover what drove him, but she never could.

  Eventually, she said, “We’d have to establish some rules.”

  He smirked. “I would establish any rules. You’re the governess. You don’t get to have a say.”

  On hearing his reply, she smirked too. “I do get to have a say, and you have to listen to me. From the start, I have to feel I can help them or what’s the point?”

  “I expected you to be fussy—and you are.”

  “You have no idea, Mr. Wallace.”

  “Would you call me Alex?”

  “No.”

  “May I call you Abigail?”

  “You most definitely may not.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Miss Barrington.”

  “I’m a governess. In your eyes, I can’t be a woman. I’m a servant.”

  He sighed with feigned aggravation. “What is rule number
one?”

  “You have to have regular consultations with me. You have to agree to discuss the twins and aid me in improving their situation.”

  At the notion of frequent encounters, his pulse raced, but he tamped down any reaction. “We can consult regularly. What’s rule number two?”

  “I’ll need some pin money. They’ve grown over the prior year, and they need new clothes and shoes so they don’t look like ragamuffins.”

  “Done. Simply apprise me of how much you require and you may have it. What is rule number three?”

  “I haven’t thought of it yet, but I’ll make a list.”

  “Gad, don’t tell me you’re a female who makes lists.”

  “I am, and you’ll read them and comment.”

  “In writing?”

  “It depends on how difficult it is for me to track you down. If I can find you, we’ll confer face to face. Otherwise, I’ll insist on correspondence.”

  “Is that it for now?” he asked.

  “For now.”

  “I’m surprised it was so easy,” he told her. “I assumed your requests would be finicky and complicated.”

  “I try to be amenable.”

  “Ha! That, Miss Barrington, is a lie. You are the most irksome, infuriating shrew to ever cross my path.”

  “We haven’t even begun to tangle over any genuine issues.”

  He grinned. “Why am I suspecting I’ll enjoy it?”

  “I’m sure you won’t. Not after you put up with me for awhile.”

  “But you’ll stay for the next year?”

  “Yes, I’ll stay.”

  “And perhaps the year after that?”

  “We’ll see how much you irritate me.”

  “We’ll get on fine,” he said. “I promise.”

  “You shouldn’t count on it.”

  “I most certainly will count on it.”

  Their banter dwindled, and they sat in the silent garden, taking each other’s measure. The most poignant intimacy had been generated, and he felt as if he’d known her forever, as if they’d always been friends and he could tell her any secret.

  “When would you like our first meeting to be?” He’d already decided—no matter what her response—they would meet soon and often.

  “How about tomorrow? I’ll jot down the items they need.”

  “Don’t beggar me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “There’s a condition on my giving you any money. You have to purchase some flattering gowns for yourself too. I won’t have you dragging around the estate in your dowdy governess’s attire.”

  “You’re not buying me clothes.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You’re caring for the twins on my behalf. You shouldn’t stagger about like a pauper.”

  “It would be very improper, and I won’t discuss it.”

  Then and there, he resolved to purchase some things for her without her permission. She still hadn’t realized that he never listened to others, and since she’d forbidden him from proceeding he absolutely would.

  She was much too pretty to be draped from chin to toe in drab gray. He liked pretty women to look…pretty.

  She drew away and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Will you come to the cottage? I’d really rather not visit the manor.”

  “Yes, Miss Barrington, I will spare you the shame of encountering my dissolute acquaintances.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  She turned and started off, and he studied her lush feminine curves, her backside swishing against the fabric of her skirt. He hated to admit he was such a roué he was lusting after his governess. It was like a plot out of the type of horridly-written erotic novels they’d smuggled into the dormitory as schoolboys.

  The afternoon and evening stretched ahead, the hours seeming unusually dull without his being able to tarry in her company.

  “Miss Barrington?” he called.

  “Yes?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “Would you like me to harness a carriage? I could drive you to the cottage.”

  “I can get there on my own. It’s not that far.”

  “There’s a shortcut through the woods. I could show you.”

  From how she gazed at him, he was positive she’d like very much to stroll with him in the woods, but she said, “No, but thank you.”

  He pointed to the path that led into the trees. “Just follow it. Before too long, you’ll see the cottage’s chimney. You can’t miss it.”

  They stared and stared, and he sensed she was anxiously biting down numerous comments. As to himself, he was bubbling with unspoken comments too.

  He should have kissed her when he’d had the chance. Governess or not, it would have lessened the tension.

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  She continued onto the path he’d mentioned, and she walked down it until she disappeared in the trees.

  He rose and snuck after her, furtively observing to ensure she made it safe and sound. He wasn’t worried about miscreants or mishaps in his forest, but he tagged after her anyway, liking the excuse to watch over her.

  Already, he was impatient for their next meeting. And why should he wait for it? Maybe he’d pop in and visit her after supper. There was no reason he couldn’t, and at the prospect of being with her again so soon he rippled with excitement.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Camilla Robertson sat at the dressing table in her boudoir and studied her reflection in the mirror. It was a nightly task about which she was extremely meticulous. She’d always been praised for her beauty and voluptuousness. They had brought her innumerable boons in her life, and she didn’t intend to ever age.

  She was twenty-eight already, but delighted to report that not a single wrinkle had dared to appear on her pristine face. Her auburn hair was thick and lustrous. Her bright blue eyes still sparkled like diamonds, and her curvaceous figure still drove men wild with lust.

  Alexander Wallace was rich, handsome, and virile, and he could have any woman on Earth. Well, not any woman. Not a respectable, decent woman. But in the demimonde where she thrived, doxies lined up to please him.

  She’d been with him for five years, having snatched him up in Venice after her very elderly paramour had died unexpectedly. With no funds of her own, and her having been disowned by her father due to her debauched habits, Alex had arrived at the right moment to rescue her. In her own way, she’d rescued him too.

  Before he’d staggered to Italy, he’d been wandering in Arabia so he’d resembled the heathens with whom he’d traveled. He’d been raging over the unfairness of his situation, and she’d worked to soothe the inferno that had burned inside him.

  She’d gotten him barbered and sober, and she’d dressed him like the wealthy man he was. They’d remained in Italy and had had a grand adventure there. She’d have stayed there forever, but the minute his exile concluded, he’d arranged for them to sail for Wallace Downs.

  She hadn’t wanted to live in England again. The people were stuffy, the rules strict, the morals oppressive. She’d preferred the freer existence in their villa where there’d been no one to scold them when they misbehaved.

  As if she’d conjured him by thinking about him, he popped up in the doorway that separated their bedchambers. He was wearing the casual clothes he donned at the estate: trousers and loose-fitting shirt, but no coat or cravat. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing his tanned, strong arms.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Drinking with Price.”

  “Why is he here? I didn’t invite him. It’s just like him to show up anyway.”

  “He doesn’t need an invitation.”

  “He does in my book. I don’t care if he’s your friend. He should learn some manners. What if I only had eight place settings and eight guests and he demanded to be the ninth?”

  “I guess he’d sit
on the floor and eat with his fingers.”

  It was pointless to talk about Price Pendergast. It was a conversation she could never win. Alex was absurdly loyal to the useless oaf and wouldn’t listen to any complaints.

  She hadn’t met Price until they’d returned to England three years earlier, and they’d immediately detested each other. On her end, she simply couldn’t abide his vanity or narcissism. He was an earl’s son so he’d been raised to believe the world should bow down, and she was too galled to humor him.

  On his end, he didn’t like the fact that Alex was close to someone and it wasn’t him.

  She’d been about to ring for her maid to dress for supper so, as she spun on her stool, she was attired in her robe and completely naked underneath. The belt was loose, the lapels flopping open so Alex was offered tantalizing peeks down her torso, but with such a crowd in the house she didn’t have time to give him a tumble.

  But she was his paid consort, and she understood her role. She would do whatever he wished, and she would do it gladly.

  He insisted he’d never marry again, and she agreed with him that he shouldn’t. His first experience with Eugenia had been such a disaster. Yet he had to sire a few heirs, and in the darkest part of her heart where she kept secrets she would never reveal, she thought he should marry her.

  It was the motivating force behind all her efforts on his behalf. Someday, he would shuck off his aversion to matrimony, and he’d realize his next bride had been standing by his side all along.

  “You’ve been in an odd mood all week,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  He was leaned against the doorframe, looking lazy and decadent. He took her breath away, even after so many years.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he claimed.

  “That’s not true. What is it? Tell me so we can deal with it. I can’t have you glowering at everyone.”

  “I loathe this group of guests.”

  “I read the list to you. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You know I don’t actually notice who you include, but by now I shouldn’t have to explain the sorts of people I like and the sorts I don’t.”

  “You’re bored, and it’s my fault?”

  “Yes.”

  “So spend your time with Price. It’s what you like to do most of all. He’s here so stop brooding. He’ll entertain you.”