“I’m not going,” Lillian announced.
“Very well,” Isabel answered. “Nanny, I’ll need your help.” The older woman left her post by the stairs to come to Isabel’s aid. In a sweeping gesture, and before Lillian knew what to expect, Isabel threw back the covers, trying not to be shocked that the girl was stark naked beneath them.
“Merciful heavens,” Nanny said under her breath. “The child knows no shame.”
“I’m not a child anymore,” Lillian declared, and would have snatched back the covers had Isabel not been quicker. She caught the girl by the ear, gave it a twist, and cupped a hand over her mouth before Lillian could scream. Nanny removed her own dressing gown and threw it over Lillian’s nakedness. Together, the two of them herded the squirming, kicking girl out into the hall and up the stairs. It was a battle, but one Isabel was angry enough to win. She didn’t breathe easy until they had Lillian locked in her room.
Isabel fell back against the door, exhausted. Lillian let the world know what she thought by pounding her fists against the wood and screaming at the top of her lungs.
“You are stronger than you look,” Nanny said, gasping for breath. “I don’t know that I was that much help.”
“It took the both of us,” Isabel assured her.
“She’s going to wake the babies if she keeps that up,” Nanny worried, and, as if on cue, one of the little ones gave a call for her. “You are on your own now,” she whispered, and hurried across the hall to see to her charges, who shared the room next to her own.
“You think you are so clever,” Lillian shouted, the thick door muffling her voice. “My father will be furious with you!”
“Your father will thank me for saving your reputation,” Isabel corrected her, and was tempted to add, such as it is. But she didn’t. She knew how important it was for a young girl to have someone believe the best of her. She was desperately attempting to do that for Lillian.
Lillian kicked the door and yelped upon hurting her toe.
“Go to bed,” Isabel instructed her. “And stay there. We shall discuss this in the morning.”
“We’ll discuss nothing!” Lillian sounded as if she spat at the door. “Father wants me to be in Severson’s bed. He wants me to have a rich husband.”
“Husband?” Isabel turned and stared at the door. “How? By entrapping him?”
“Everyone knows you aren’t the best governess. They know about you and Lord Riggs. They’ll blame you for my getting into trouble,” Lillian taunted.
The child had finally gone too far. “Of all the disgusting, deceitful, underhanded—”
She stopped. Why was she surprised? Mr. Wardley had never impressed her as an honorable man. And Nanny was right, he wanted his daughter married off.
Murderer or not, not even Mr. Severson deserved Lillian. And no man would compromise her while Isabel was in charge. “Let me tell you something, Lillian, and you’d be wise to listen well. Whatever you heard about Lord Riggs and me is not the truth. He attempted to compromise me, but I fought him off. Do you understand? Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I don’t believe in honor and integrity, two qualities I’ve been attempting to instill in you. As for this night, you and your father can give up your silly plan. Someday, you will thank me for it.”
Lillian’s voice sounded as if it were close to the edge of the door. “Silly, silly governess,” she said softly. “I left my bracelet in his bed. I am compromised. He must marry me. Father says that Severson wants to be accepted in Society and will have no choice but to marry me. I am going to be a rich man’s wife, and you will be dismissed.”
Righteous anger welled up inside Isabel to the point she shook with it. There was a way of doing things in this life. An order. Principles meant something. And people, even women, were not to be used as pawns in a chess game. They were important. Her mother had been important, and so was she. The marquis should have done better for them.
“I’m going to fetch that bracelet.”
“No!” Lillian slammed the locked door with her body as if to run through it and stop her, but Isabel was already on her way.
She’d left her candle in Mr. Severson’s room. She didn’t bother to pick up another off the hall table. She knew the way.
The guest passageway was still empty, and laughter echoed through the rooms downstairs. She could imagine fresh bottles of port being opened. That didn’t mean she had time to spare. Someone could come upstairs at any moment.
The door to Mr. Severson’s room was open. Neither she nor Nanny had taken the time to close it when they’d carried Lillian out of the room. Her candle still burned on the night table.
Entering the room, Isabel quietly closed the door and began a frantic searching of the sheets.
Nothing.
She felt under the feather pillow, then ran her hand between the mattress and the headboard, probing with her fingers for the delicate gold chain. She knew the bracelet. It had been a gift from Mr. Wardley to his daughter for her birthday a month ago. There was a small charm attached to it engraved with Lillian’s initials.
Just as she pulled out the bedsheet, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass over the chest of drawers across the room and was so startled she stopped. It was like staring at a stranger.
Her heavy dark hair had come loose from its braid and made her appear vulnerable. Her brown dress had ripped at the sleeves, probably during her battle with Lillian. She looked like a woman whose life had not played out the way she’d hoped.
And that was true. Regrets threatened to overwhelm her. She was tired. It had been a long day even without Lillian’s escapade. She worked so hard to be everything proper and right, and this was where she found herself—searching a man’s bedclothes in the middle of the night and working for such crass people as the Wardleys.
Her mother’s death had changed her life. Isabel had never been a welcome addition to her stepfather’s family. She was a reminder of her mother’s past and that she had loved another. After her mother died, Isabel’s stepfather had wanted her gone, just like Mr. Wardley wanted to rid himself of his troublesome daughter.
Well, life was full of disappointments, Isabel reminded herself as she turned from the mirror. Nothing was everlasting, especially love, words her mother had repeatedly said to her—
She caught a glimpse of gold on the floor near the table. The bracelet. She practically leaped for it, scooping it up from the floor. The delicate charm reflected the candlelight, and she released her breath with relief.
Isabel set to work remaking the bed. In minutes, it would be as if no one had been in the room.
She fluffed the pillows, threw them in place, and yanked the silk spread up on her side. The bed was too wide to finish making by leaning across it. She had to walk around to the other side. There was three feet of space between bed and wall, just enough room to allow it to be made with some ease. She pulled up the other half of the spread, soothed out any winkles, and was bending over to pick up a pillow that had been knocked to the floor when the bedroom door opened.
Isabel froze.
She hoped it was Nanny coming to help her.
It wasn’t.
It was Mr. Severson.
She caught a swift glance at his dark head and started to duck, but then stopped. She had nothing to hide. If anything, he should be grateful she had rescued him.
Isabel closed her fist around the bracelet and forced herself to straighten.
Mr. Severson slammed shut the door and walked directly to the dresser without seeing her standing in the far corner of the room. Isabel held her breath, uncertain of what to expect. He was taller than most men and, she sensed, stronger. His boots gleamed with champagne blacking. His neckcloth was crisp and snowy white. He wore the best. Nor did his tailored jacket of dark blue superfine need padding to enhance the width of his shoulders. He was a Corinthian, a sportsman…a man in command of his world.
At the dresser, he placed a hand on each corner and b
raced his weight as he bowed his head. Isabel thought he was feeling the effects of drink. But then he faced the mirror, looking himself straight in the eye, and said with stone-cold sobriety, “Damn.”
The concise, angry word was laced with a wealth of frustration. “Go back down there,” he ordered himself. “Wait them out. One of them is the key.”
The key to what?
Isabel pulled back in the corner, her courage disappearing. It wasn’t just his size she found intimidating—it was his looks.
If the devil were to come to life to tempt women, this was the face he would choose. Slashing black brows, a lean jaw, and brown eyes so penetrating they appeared as if they could look into another’s soul.
Her heart beat faster just looking at him…especially when she realized he was looking at her, too. He could see her reflection in the glass.
Panic paralyzed her until pride took hold. Her motives were honorable. She refused to flinch from meeting his gaze.
It was an electrifying moment. The chain in the palm of her hand became an after thought.
Neither spoke.
Isabel moved to the end of the bed, staying close to the wall, his gaze holding hers. Her heart beat so hard against her chest, she was certain he must hear it.
She stopped.
The light of the bedside candle didn’t reach that corner of the room and yet, she sensed, he missed no detail of her appearance. He was as aware of her bare toes peeking out from beneath her skirts as she. He knew she wore no undergarments, no smallclothes or petticoats. His sharp gaze brushed over her hair, her eyes, her nose, her breasts.
And he liked what he saw.
Just as she liked him. The pull between them was indefinable and powerful. His lips curved into a lazy smile, and she thought her legs would melt.
This man didn’t see her as a servant or a governess. He saw her as a woman. And when he said, “Come here,” she had no choice but to comply.
Two
Michael watched the woman walk to him, her expressive eyes wide with apprehension—and longing.
Yes, this is what I need. Mindless sex would relieve the tension and frustration that had been building in him ever since he’d returned to England.
Elswick had shut him out. For close to five months, Michael’s every effort to reclaim a place in Society had been thwarted to the point he’d had no other venue to pursue than the likes of Riggs, the profligate nephew of a duke whom few people accepted, and the drunken, fawning Wardley.
Not even his brother returned his calls. The butler, whom he had known since boyhood, seemed to enjoy informing him they were “not at home.”
Michael knew Carter was there, and his wife Wallis, too. He could feel them watch him as he left their doorstep. They wanted him to stay out of their lives.
Meanwhile, Alex had returned from a profitable trip to Spain. Their shipping venture was already returning their investment fourfold. He had suggested Michael go with him on their next trip. Michael refused.
There had been a time, before Aletta’s death, when he would have taken the easy route, when he would have forgotten the past. Now, he was a man who got what he wanted.
And at this moment, he wanted this woman.
She offered a much-needed diversion—and an excuse not to return to feigning drunkenness with Wardley and his ilk. He’d had enough.
Nor was Michael unaccustomed to women presenting themselves to him. He wasn’t vain about his looks, but he knew their power. Furthermore, money was a potent aphrodisiac. In spite of the rumors swirling around his name, women in London eagerly sought him out. But the incident with Aletta had taught him discretion. He’d not taken what was freely offered. Even in Canada, he’d rarely had lovers. He’d been too focused on building his fortune and preparing for the day when he’d return to clear his name.
However, this woman attracted him in a way he’d not felt for a very long time. Her shining hair hung in a loose braid almost to her waist, reminding him of the proud Indian women back home. She was tall, her straight back and high cheekbones giving her an aristocratic air. A most unusual woman for a servant…but then, in Canada, he’d met many who had been bold enough to carve a place for themselves in the world. He’d just not expected to find such pride under Wardley’s roof.
The woman stopped as if unable to take the last step toward him. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows around the room. Her skin was smooth and without the artifice of the cosmetics that so many women used in London. Her full, black lashes framed apprehensive sherry gold eyes. Seductive eyes. The sort that lured a man with their innocence.
His mind warned she could be a trap. His instincts didn’t believe it. She was as leery of him as he was of her…and yet as caught up in the moment as himself.
He lifted his hand toward her hair. She drew back. He held still.
“I want to touch your hair,” he whispered. “I want to know if it is as silky and heavy as it looks.”
This time, when he raised his hand, she didn’t flinch. He took his time, slipping his fingers into the clean, shining mass. She smelled of soap, fresh air, and woman.
Just this light touch was enough to make him hard with a force that was astounding, and he knew he was going to have her. She shifted away, shying from him. He brought his other hand to cup her face. Her skin was softer than he had anticipated.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Her gaze held his. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice so low he could have almost imagined her words.
“But you are,” he responded just as quietly.
She nodded.
“What is your name?”
She wet her lips, the movement almost bringing him to his knees. He wanted to smell, touch, and bury himself in her.
“Isabel.”
“Isabel,” he repeated. Even the sound of her name was magical.
A pounding began in his ears. It was the beat of his blood propelled by the force of that blessed need that made him a man.
Go easy, he warned himself. Take care. But he could not heed his own advice. “I want to kiss you.”
She didn’t reply, her gaze solemn, and he took that as permission, placing his hand on her waist and gently bringing her closer. She didn’t balk…or turn away when he lowered his mouth to cover hers.
His mind registered a moment’s resistance, a hesitancy, but as he fit her to him, her lips softened. She sighed her acceptance, and he could finally kiss her properly.
Elswick, Riggs, Wardley, the world disappeared. For too long he’d kept his guard up, his drive for vindication taking precedence over other desires. Now, the urge for release pushed him as it never had before.
He could tell she’d not kissed many men, but she was an apt pupil. As their kiss deepened, her own uncertainty vanished. Her arms came up around his neck.
Michael deepened the kiss, and she responded, her breasts against his chest, her body fitting intimately to his.
His blood pounded in his veins. He was hard, ready. Dear God, why hadn’t he thought of seeking out this release before?
Because no woman he’d met in London had tempted him as this one did.
Did she know how much he wanted her? What he would do to have her?
He began moving her back, toward the bed. When her legs hit the edge of the mattress, she startled. Their kiss broke.
Michael would not have her leave. Not now.
He gathered her closer and whispered coaxing words into her ear, enjoying the sound of each syllable of her name. Is-a-bel. He told her how lovely she was, how much he wanted her, how much he desired her. She melted into his arms, her mouth seeking his.
Michael knew this wasn’t some wayward maid, the kind that gave a man a quick tumble while looking for a little coin, but he didn’t want to ask any questions. Without breaking their kiss, he shrugged out of his coat and threw it aside. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her skirts up her legs. She d
idn’t wear shoes or stockings. He had already discovered she didn’t wear anything else either under her dress.
She had his shirt bunched in her fist against his chest. “Unfasten my breeches,” he whispered. “Touch me.”
Isabel did not move her fist.
Michael was a patient man with an impatient need. He’d show her what he wanted. He covered her hand with his. Gently, he pried open her fingers. She held a thin chain.
So, she was a thief.
The stab of disappointment surprised him—but then she pressed herself closer against him, and Michael would have given her his whole purse to be inside her.
Warm, willing woman…
He rolled the chain out of her hand, not caring where it fell. Pressing her hand to his buttons, he begged again, “Release me.”
This time, she attempted to undo the first button. Michael kissed her ear, her neck, her throat, his hand moving to her breast.
The moment he touched her, she gasped, stiffening slightly. Michael didn’t move. Slowly, she relaxed, sighing as he circled her hard nipple with his thumb. The layers of material did nothing to hide her own aroused state.
She undid the second button. The tips of her fingers brushed his arousal.
Dear God, he was about to explode. His body moved toward her with a mind of its own. He wanted her naked and beneath him. Now.
Michael pushed her back onto the bed, his hands moving down to her thigh to pull her dress up her legs. He needed to feel her, to rest his weight on top of her, to—
His bedroom door flew open. The room flooded with the light from the hallway sconces and the branch of candles Wardley carried. His host practically stumbled into the room, followed by Riggs and the other two men, Foxner and Buddings, who were fellow guests for the hunt. All were the worse for drink and enjoying themselves mightily. Michael attempted to shield Isabel from their leering faces.
Once he had righted himself, Wardley demanded in a voice so dramatic it would have been comical, “What are you doing with my daughter?”
Michael blinked, his brain having trouble wrapping around the words. “Your daughter?” He’d met Wardley’s daughter earlier. She’d impressed him as a precocious twit who was far too forward for her age. This woman was not his host’s daughter.
Temptation of a Proper Governess Page 2
