by Cheryl Holt
So what could have happened to change him into the sort of cad who would seduce a married woman and sire two children on her? It made no sense.
But Alex Wallace and her brother had dueled. Mary and Millie were her brother’s daughters, were her nieces. She couldn’t fathom how to say it in a letter, and she was terrified to put the information on paper.
The mail was so unreliable, and who could predict—should her missive be lost—where it might end up.
At the moment, she didn’t know where Sarah and Catherine were employed. The last time she’d seen them had been in London. They’d been between jobs and renting lodging at a boarding house, had been interviewing for new positions just as Abigail had been. They kept in touch through Mrs. Ford’s office.
What if Abigail wrote to them and Mrs. Ford snooped under the seal and read the scandalous account? How might she respond? Abigail couldn’t bear to find out.
If she didn’t write, her sole other option was to wait until they were face to face, but the tale was so gripping she couldn’t imagine burying the secret for months or perhaps longer than that. She wondered—after a few weeks had passed—if Mr. Wallace might let her take a trip to town. She could locate her sisters and share the story in person.
If she didn’t tell them—and soon!—she thought she might explode.
The old house creaked and groaned, and she cocked her head, thinking she heard footsteps on the stairs. Just as she’d convinced herself it was nothing, someone knocked softly, then slipped into her room. She glanced over, figuring it was Faith home from the manor so she couldn’t hide her shock when she realized it was Alex Wallace instead.
Her first impression was one of delight and excitement. She was so glad he’d come! She was weary and exhausted and extremely distraught, and she relished the notion of having him as a visitor.
That initial spurt of joy was immediately replaced by dread and alarm. He couldn’t be in her room! He couldn’t trek to the cottage, sneak up the stairs, and make himself at home.
She stuck her quill in the jar, feeling absurdly relieved she hadn’t started a letter. He was nosy and bossy and much too curious about her, and she couldn’t have him inquiring about her correspondence.
She spun on her chair and glared at him, but he simply grinned.
“You can’t be up here,” she scolded. “Turn around and go back downstairs.”
“No.”
“Is there something you need? We can talk about it down in the parlor.”
“I don’t need anything.”
He began walking about while she sat in her chair and watched him with no small amount of exasperation. She didn’t have many possessions, but he was determined to discover what they were.
He snooped in the dresser and wardrobe, assessing her brush and comb, running his hands over her stockings, her cloak, her winter boots. It didn’t take him long to finish his inspection, and once it was concluded, he said, “Your clothes are horrid.”
“Well, what do you expect? I’m not rich like you.”
“But you were.”
She shrugged, but didn’t reply.
“I’m buying you some dresses,” he said, “and don’t argue with me. I’ve told you this before: I won’t have you tending my wards while you’re attired like a pauper.”
“I won’t accept any gifts from you.”
“Yes, you will,” he declared like a domineering tyrant. “The gowns will be so pretty, and you haven’t had nice apparel in ages so you won’t be able to resist.”
The fact that he was correct only increased her aggravation. Was she that shallow? Would she accept an inappropriate gift merely because it was pretty?
Probably. After her family’s catastrophe, no one ever thought of her in a kind way or gave her presents. She couldn’t imagine herself refusing any boon he chose to bestow.
“Why are you over here?” she asked. “Isn’t there another party at the manor tonight?”
“There’s always a party, but I don’t like this group of guests, remember?”
“And why are you in my bedchamber?”
He didn’t explain but said, “This room is tiny. Are you happy in it?”
“I’m very happy,” she insisted.
“Because if you’re not, I could move you over to the manor. You could have a whole suite to yourself.”
Was he mad? He was certainly acting as if he might be.
She could think of nothing more repugnant than to reside in the main house where his mistress ruled the roost. Plus, it would send the other servants into a jealous frenzy of speculation over why he would be so generous. Her reputation would be shredded.
“I don’t need a suite,” she said. “I’m fine right where I am.”
He scoffed with derision. “In your little room, with your drab clothes?”
“Yes, and stop being so pompous. I can’t help it if I’m poor. If I could buy myself a hundred gowns, I would.”
He was wearing a coat, and he yanked it off and hung it on a hook by the door. As he turned to her, she noticed his hair was damp, his trousers and boots too.
“You’re wet.” She’d stated the obvious. “Have you been outside in the rain?”
“Yes, I was riding until it was too dark and stormy.”
“You ridiculous man. Are you trying to kill yourself with a virulent influenza?”
“Maybe. Would you miss me if I perished from it?”
“No.”
She retrieved a towel from the wardrobe. He took it and patted at his hair and shirt as she scooted by him to throw a few more coals on the stove. Then she sat in her chair again. She might have balanced her hips on the edge of the mattress which would have been more comfortable, but with him so close she wasn’t going near it.
“Tell me about your evening.” He tossed the towel on the floor for someone to pick up later on. The lazy oaf!
“I got the girls to bed and chatted with Faith for a bit, then she went over to your party.”
“Faith went again? I didn’t see her anywhere.”
“She likes Lord Pendergast. Perhaps she’s with him.”
At the mention of Faith and Lord Pendergast, emotion flashed in his eyes, but he tamped it down.
“How have you kept yourself busy since she left?” he asked.
“You are so meddlesome. Why would you care?”
“I’m totally fascinated by you. I can’t focus on any other topic.”
“You’re being absurd, and I wish you’d go.”
“Not just yet. I can’t. You wouldn’t kick a man out into a veritable deluge, would you?”
“Yes.”
“You are a cold, hard woman, Miss Barrington.”
“Only with you. With all others, I’m a model of decorum.”
He crossed to the stove and held his hands in front of it, relishing the heat.
“What have you been doing?” he pressed. “I’m dying to know.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to hasten your demise so I’ll admit I was about to write a letter to my sister.”
“You have a sister? What’s her name?”
“Sarah.” She didn’t include Catherine or provide any information that would reveal more than she should.
“Sarah Barrington. Is she in service too?”
“Yes.”
“Does she hate it as much as you?”
“I don’t hate it.” Most of the time she didn’t.
He smirked, deeming her comment to be a lie.
“I was wondering,” she tentatively ventured, “if you would ever consent to my traveling to London.”
“Why?”
“She’s started at a new post, and I worry about her. I’d like to check out her situation for myself.”
“I’m acquainted with everyone in this accursed country,” he claimed. “Who is she working for? I probably know them too.”
“I don’t know who it is.”
“Ar
e you telling me the truth that you don’t know their name, or are you simply determined I never learn any details about you?”
“I’m telling you the truth, but I’m also determined you never learn any details.”
He chuckled and stared at her for a very long while. He was in an odd mood, and she couldn’t guess what was vexing him.
Ultimately, he said, “I heard you had a visitor today.”
“Yes, I met your mistress.”
“What is your opinion of her?”
“She’s beautiful and vain and completely unlikeable, but if you were thinking we would discuss her, you should think again.”
“She’s incredibly irked that I hired you.”
“I’m sure she was. I was rude and impertinent, but it was quite shocking of her to force herself into my presence.”
“Yes, I got an earful about it.”
“She fired me. I take it you’re aware of that fact?”
“Yes, I’m aware of it.”
Suddenly, she was terrified over the reason for his arrival. Had he changed his mind about terminating her? Was he henpecked by Miss Robertson? Would he obey her? Abigail couldn’t imagine it, but she had no clue about the actual status of their relationship.
“Are you here to apprise me that I’m fired after all?”
“No. I have no idea why I’m here, but don’t fret about this. You’re staying.”
“Thank you. Faith had told me the same, but I’m grateful to have you verify it.”
She caught herself speculating over his conversation with Miss Robertson. Clearly, he’d stood up for Abigail, but with her having met Camilla Robertson his defense boded ill for Abigail remaining at the property. Miss Robertson would guarantee Abigail’s life was as miserable as possible.
“You don’t seem to like her very much,” she said.
“I like her all right. She was my only friend at a time when I didn’t have any.”
“She’s so different from you.”
“Different how?”
“You’re nicer than she is.”
“That’s not difficult to accomplish, and I’m not that nice either. You just haven’t seen my worst side yet.”
“You haven’t rushed to agree with her that I was insolent and shouldn’t be allowed to insult her. I thought you’d be angry.”
“She’s an adult. If she can’t figure out how to interact with you, I can’t help her.”
“Could you keep her from visiting us again? It was such a distasteful encounter, and I’d rather not have to deal with her. If she can show up whenever she likes, it will make everything so hard.”
“She shouldn’t have to come back. You’re doing a very good job, and she doesn’t need to supervise you.”
He didn’t exactly answer her question, and it sounded as if Miss Robertson would strut in as she pleased. If so, Abigail would have to shut her mouth and not bait the notorious woman.
“I like having you here,” he said.
“I’m glad. I like being here.”
“I don’t want you to leave. I told her so. You’re not going anywhere.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. She had to stay for the twins, and in the future when he no longer wished to employ her she would have to find a way to take them with her. Would he give them to her? It was obvious he didn’t care to be burdened by them. Would he grasp the benefit of letting her have them?
He was finished snooping, and he strolled over and—surprising and astonishing her—he bent down and kissed her.
She tried to draw away, but he simply deepened the kiss, and he slid his arms around her and pulled her to her feet so her body was snuggled to his. With her attired in just her nightgown and robe, the faded fabric thin and tattered, it seemed as if she was wearing nothing much at all. Sensation rocked her.
She’d meant to scold him viciously while she marched him to the door and shoved him out into the hall, but he was too much man, and she didn’t have the power to refuse any request he tendered. And she didn’t actually want to refuse. When he looked at her—as if she was unique and special—she remembered the young lady she’d once been, the life she’d once had.
But even though he ignited waves of nostalgia, it didn’t explain where her pride had gone. He was a dissolute libertine who kept a mistress. Not only did he keep her, but he lived openly with her.
Perhaps—before he’d ridden to the cottage—he’d been kissing Miss Robertson. Perhaps his lips had recently been pressed to hers, and now they were pressed to Abigail’s, but she couldn’t muster the temerity to order him to desist.
Apparently, she was content to debase herself in any fashion he demanded, and it was insanity to let him implement another round of flirtation. Each one was more intense, and she ended up permitting more than she’d vowed she would.
She was the governess. She’d been trained by Mrs. Ford who’d been very blunt in her advice as to the sort of havoc an inappropriate liaison could cause, and her place with Alex Wallace was extremely tenuous. He’d developed an odd obsession for her, but when he became bored with her she’d be terminated for the least little infraction.
She knew all that. She understood the ramifications of a dalliance. She recognized the chaos that could result. And she wasn’t concerned in the slightest.
He flopped down on the bed, and he tugged her down with him. He was a crafty, smooth character who hadn’t ceased kissing her for a single instant. She was on the bottom, and he was stretched out on top of her. It was the one and only time she’d been in such a position, and her reaction shifted from joy and amazement to horror and fear. He spurred her to behave as she’d never planned, and this was definitely beyond the pale.
“Mr. Wallace?” He didn’t reply, but dipped down and nibbled at her nape so she tried again. “Alex?”
He popped up and smiled a breathtaking smile. “You called me by my Christian name. I like it.” His smile widened. “You were saying?”
“I can’t do this with you.”
“Sure you can.”
“No, no, this is wrong. It’s dangerous.”
“Hush, Abigail. It’s just kissing. It’s not dangerous.”
“It seems dangerous.”
“It isn’t.”
As if to prove his point, he began again, but the embrace quickly spiraled into a hot, fierce inferno. His hands were everywhere, caressing her in spots he had no business touching. Occasionally, he even stroked a palm across her breast, the naughty gesture like a jolt of lightning.
This was precisely how innocent maidens landed themselves in trouble, and she’d always supposed—should she ever find herself in a passionate situation—she’d have more fortitude than those other females.
But evidently, she was no better than she had to be.
He continued forever, and she joined in with a reckless abandon. Gradually, her thighs had widened, and his torso had dropped between them. Her nightgown and robe were rucked up to her knees so much of her legs were bare. His loins were crushed to hers, and he was flexing against her. She adopted the exotic rhythm as if she’d frequently done it with him in the past.
She was growing very tense, feeling uncomfortable and out of control. She couldn’t abide the pleasure he was inflicting and wondered if she might explode.
She was about to inform him she couldn’t bear to keep on, but suddenly he yanked away and rolled onto his back. She peeked over at him, watching as he steadied his respiration, as he calmed down. Was he in a wretched state too? Was his torso electrified with yearning and desire?
She tamped down a grin, liking to realize she might have enticed him.
After a bit, he turned onto his side, and she turned too so they were nose to nose.
“Why did we stop?” she asked.
“Because you drive me wild.”
“I have no idea how.”
“You’re like a disease in my blood. I can’t get enough of you.”
“Are you in the habit of tumbling your servants? I’m worried about your behavior toward me and I—”
He cut her off. “You needn’t worry.”
“Will you do this tomorrow with one of the housemaids?”
“No!” He scowled ferociously. “I never tumble my servants. My father caused too much turmoil with his scandalous conduct. I learned my lesson from him.”
“So I’m the first?” she asked.
“Yes, you’re the first.”
“I can’t decide if that makes me lucky or unlucky.”
He was a cocky bounder, and he preened. “It makes you very, very lucky.”
She sighed with resignation. “What will become of me?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“What will become of you?”
“I can’t guess about that either, but amour can’t be managed or tamed. We share a potent attraction that’s too tempting to resist. We shouldn’t ignore it.”
“You view it that way because you wallow in immorality, but I certainly don’t.”
“You fret too much.”
“I’m afraid you’ll kick me out once you’re tired of me.”
He studied her for an eternity, then murmured, “I doubt I’ll ever get tired of you.”
“I’d like to stay with the twins,” she said. “I can’t have you grow weary or angry to the point where you’d demand I leave.”
He placed a finger on her lips to silence her. “You constantly expect disaster to strike.”
“That’s because—in my experience—it usually does.”
“In my experience too,” he agreed, “but maybe we’re both due for Fate to smile on us for a change.”
“Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?”
He rolled onto his back again, and he pulled her to him so she was partially draped over his body. He gazed at the ceiling while she rested by his side, her cheek on his chest, her ear directly over his heart. It was a gloriously intimate moment, and she hoped it never ended.
“I don’t want you to have a mistress,” she blurted out. “I want you for my very own.”
He snorted with amusement. “What would you do with me if you had me?”
“You might be surprised.”
“I bet I would be.”
