Temptation of a Proper Governess

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Yes, my daughter,” Wardley stated. “She’s the gal you’re stretched out on top of.”

  Before Michael could respond, Mrs. Wardley pushed past the men to make her presence known. “Mr. Wardley, is something the matter?” She sounded as if she was reciting lines on a stage, and in her low-cut dressing gown and her rose-colored turban, she appeared far too presentable to have just been woken.

  “I caught Severson with our daughter,” her husband announced in ringing tones.

  “Lillian?” Mrs. Wardley took a step toward the bed, clutching her breast. “Oh, my child, what has he done to you?”

  At that moment, Isabel raised her head. “Good evening, Mrs. Wardley,” she said with amazing composure. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair tousled, and her skirts up to her thighs.

  This time, Mrs. Wardley wasn’t feigning shock. “Miss Halloran?”

  “The governess?” her husband asked.

  “Yes,” Isabel replied in a small voice.

  “Where’s Lillian?” Mr. Wardley looked around the room as if expecting her to be standing right there.

  “In her bed,” Isabel responded.

  “Her bed?” Mr. Wardley repeated. He gave his wife a puzzled stare. “Wasn’t she supposed to be in this bed?” he muttered to his wife.

  Foxner and Buddings grinned like fools, thoroughly enjoying the scene. Riggs was white-faced. Michael knew this was one story that would be making the rounds.

  They were also lewdly ogling Isabel. Even Wardley was taking an eyeful.

  Michael rose, blocking their view and pulling down her skirts. He offered his hand. She came to her feet gracefully, her color high. He knew pride forced her to hold her head up.

  “Do you mind leaving my bedroom, Wardley?” he said. “Miss—” He stopped, not remembering her name.

  “Halloran,” she supplied, her face reddening all the more.

  “Miss Halloran and I have private business to discuss.”

  “I imagine you have been,” the ruddy-faced Buddings chimed in before he and Foxner exchanged brandy-fumed smirks. Only Riggs had the decency to move back.

  Mrs. Wardley discovered her voice. “I am shocked,” she said, this time with true emotion. “Miss Halloran, you are not a fit influence for Lillian. You will remove yourself from this house first thing on the morrow.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wardley.”

  “Do not expect references!”

  “Wait a moment,” Michael said, interjecting himself. “This is my fault.” He had no idea why the governess was in his room. But then, what else could a gentleman do? “I take full responsibility.”

  “For what? Ducking the governess?” Wardley said. He yawned and let out a burp. “She’s a servant. Come, gents, let’s leave them to their sport. Unless you want a go at the lass?”

  Foxner opened his mouth as if to take him up on the offer—until he took one look at Michael’s face. He held his hands up to protest his innocence.

  But Miss Halloran took that moment to slip past him and the others and run out the door.

  Mrs. Wardley frowned at her husband. Some form of silent communication flowed between them, then his wife marched out of the room and down the hall, grumbling to herself.

  “Sorry, Severson,” Wardley mumbled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your fun. Better go see to my wife.” He left.

  Their hosts gone, Foxner and Budding, out in the hall, collapsed with laughter.

  “I think you were almost trapped into marrying his daughter,” Budding said.

  “The look on Old Wartley’s face when he saw you were with the wrong woman was priceless!” Foxner agreed. “Could you believe it, Riggs—?” He looked around. Riggs had disappeared.

  “Where the devil did Riggs go?” Foxner complained.

  “Why don’t you find him?” Michael suggested, shutting the door in his companions’ faces. He turned toward the bed, frustrated…and then his gaze fell on the glint of a gold chain buried in his carpet.

  In the upstairs hall, all was silent, except for the sound of Nanny’s gentle snoring. Even Lillian had given up her battle and fallen quiet.

  A burning candle stub had been left for Isabel on the hall table. Isabel picked it up and hurried to the haven of her room. She shut the door and crumpled to the floor. Never had she felt such shame.

  All her life, she had struggled for respect. It hadn’t been easy growing up as the village bastard. Her mother had bought respectability through marriage, but there were those who had believed the sins of the mother should be visited on the daughter.

  Everyone knew her mother had been the marquis’ mistress. They knew who her father was. And they also knew how much her stepfather hated having under his roof a reminder of his wife’s past.

  Isabel forced herself to stand. Pity was a luxury she couldn’t afford…and yet, for the moment, she wanted to wallow in it a bit. To let loose her frustrations. To rant and rail and throw a tantrum to rival any Lillian could imagine.

  She set the guttering candle in the holder on the table by her bed. It was really little more than a cot. She pulled her valise out from under it and threw it down onto the thin mattress. Everything she had to her name could fit in the bag with room to spare.

  Isabel raised her hand to her forehead. How could she have been so wanton?

  Growing up, she’d had more than her share of unwelcome attention from men. They had sniffed around her like dogs. Village boys with dirt under their nails who felt she should give them a kiss. She’d stayed close to her mother, embarrassed to repeat some of the things they had said to her.

  Richard was the first who had gotten past her guard.

  Mr. Severson the second.

  The difference between the two men was that Richard she had fought off; Mr. Severson she had encouraged.

  And she didn’t know why.

  He was a stranger to her, and she’d met him kiss for kiss. She’d been as aggressive as he. After all these years of working so hard to protect her precious reputation, she had ruined herself in front of the worst possible audience.

  What had come over her? She’d never reacted to a man that way. She had allowed him astounding liberties, and her body still simmered from the heat of his touch. She’d actually liked feeling the weight of his body on hers.

  There was no excuse for her behavior. Mrs. Wardley had been correct to dismiss her. Isabel would have done the same.

  She opened the valise and started to gather her meager belongings, uncertain what to do next. Two jobs, and she’d received references from neither of them—

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of her bedroom door. Richard strode in as if he belonged there.

  He slammed the door shut.

  Isabel groaned silently. “What do you want?”

  His jaw tensed. “You. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I first set eyes on you.”

  There had been a time when she had thought him attractive. Now, after she had been in Mr. Severson’s presence, Richard’s handsome, boyish looks had lost their appeal. He seemed thin and ineffectual.

  Nor was she intimidated by him. Not any longer. Something inside her had snapped.

  “I’m sorry, Richard. I have just lost my position because of a man, and I really am not in the mood to deal with another.”

  A vengeful light leaped into his eyes. “He attacked you, didn’t he? By God, he will answer to me.”

  Isabel’s tenuous hold on her temper broke. “Answer to you?” She gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You have no rights over me.”

  “I would defend you.” He took a step closer. She was thankful the bed was between them. “I’d protect you from anything, Isabel.”

  “Except yourself, or have you forgotten?” she answered, the memory of him holding her down very clear in her mind. But she’d known how to protect herself. She’d kneed him in the groin, the tactic she had learned to use against the village boys who had teased her.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said dispassiona
tely, “but I do not return your affections. Now go, Richard. Leave me be.”

  “You would take him over me?” Richard acted as if he couldn’t fathom such a thing. Isabel reminded herself that he had been drinking. She wrapped her hand around the valise handle, preparing to use it to club him over the head if necessary.

  “Yes,” she answered, defying him to make a move toward her.

  He didn’t. Instead he whined, “Severson is a dangerous man. He’s a murderer.”

  “I’ve heard. Makes me wonder why you associate with him.”

  Richard’s mouth flattened. She knew the answer to her question. Mr. Severson was wealthy, and Richard needed money to pay for what he lost on the gaming tables. “I have my reasons,” he replied.

  “And I had my reasons for being with him, too.”

  “You are still angry with me, aren’t you? Nothing happened that day between us, Isabel. I did release you.”

  “Released me? I fought you! Granted, you were the worse for drink, but then you followed through on your threat to see me dismissed. You lied to your aunt, Richard. You told her I encouraged you.”

  He held his hands up as if irritated by the topic. “You make too much of it, Isabel. God made you for man’s pleasure. With those looks, you weren’t designed for a life in the schoolroom. You were meant to be cared for and cosseted. That’s what I was offering. What I am offering if you’d only be reasonable. I could make you very happy.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” she said. A wiser woman might have spoken with more tact…but she knew tact was lost on Richard. “Look at you. You drink too much. You have no ambition, no responsibilities.”

  “I have a title.”

  “Yes, and like so many others, you believe it justifies your place in the world. It doesn’t, Richard. Nor does it give you a right to me.”

  “You are wrong about me, Isabel. I made a mistake with my aunt over you. It seemed easier not to tell the truth.”

  “To lie,” she corrected. “It was easier to lie and to let her believe I lied.”

  “If you wish to have it that way.”

  “I do.”

  His lordship’s lower lip pouted out. He wasn’t familiar with people telling him no, and Isabel realized that a part of her wanted to believe there was something more to him than the spoiled, petted young lord he was. But then, what had she expected? There were no romantic heroes.

  “You are so hard,” he said. “If you aren’t careful, I shall forget I offered to keep you. The world can be very cruel to a woman alone.”

  He was right. “You’ve already taught me that lesson, Richard.”

  For a moment, she feared she’d gone too far.

  His jaw went hard, and his eyes turned murderous. It took all her courage to hold her ground.

  “Very well,” he said tightly. “I’ll let you stumble a bit until you learn your place. But this time, I won’t help you find a position. Oh, you thought you’d landed this job with Wardley on your own? No, my sweet Isabel, I had him hire you. Otherwise, no one else would have, not with everything my aunt had to say about you. So think long and hard before turning down my offer. Your looks won’t last without a protector, and they certainly won’t find you a decent position—especially after the stories circulate about you and, of all people, Severson.”

  With that prediction, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.

  Isabel stood stunned. Had Richard encouraged Mr. Wardley to hire her?

  Dear God, what was she going to do?

  For a moment, her resolve weakened. Caring for other people’s children was not an easy task, or a gratifying one. She didn’t mind hard work or scrimping and saving, but she hated being talked down to by people with less intelligence than she. Or by those who wouldn’t pay wages on time. It was already a month into the new quarter, and Mrs. Wardley had not paid any of her servants. There was no greater insult than not to be paid for labor performed—although Isabel doubted if she’d see any money now that she had been sacked.

  This was not the life she wanted to lead.

  She wanted more. She didn’t know what more was, but she vowed to find it. She must. She needed to believe there was more to her existence than waiting on the whims of others.

  Hope gave her courage. Richard was wrong. She was not defeated, not yet.

  As a sign of her renewed determination, she went out in the hall and gathered up all the bits of candles that were left on the table there. In her room, she started lighting one after another, setting candles in wax on her windowsill, the seat and back of a chair, all over the bedside table until their glow brightened even the darkest corner.

  When she was done, she stood in the middle of the room by her bed. Each flickering flame seemed an embodiment of her spirit. She wasn’t defeated yet. She didn’t know what she would do on the morrow or even how she would eat, but she vowed to succeed. At all costs, she would not be beaten—

  A knock sounded on her door.

  Isabel whirled to face it. Why couldn’t Richard leave her alone? Let him go find another bottle to drink or more friends to fleece.

  He knocked again, the sound more insistent. She was tempted not to answer…except that would be cowardly, and Isabel was no coward.

  She went to the door and threw it open, ready to send him on his way—but the words died in her throat.

  Richard was nowhere to be seen.

  Instead, Mr. Severson stood there in shirt-sleeves, his neckcloth still disheveled, his eyes alive with anger. His presence filled the doorway.

  He held up Lillian’s bracelet, the charm swinging on its chain. “What the devil is going on?”

  Three

  Michael’s patience was stretched thin. Wardley had attempted to trick him. He was certain of it. He wanted answers, and he expected Miss Halloran to give them to him.

  Instead, that stubborn chin of hers shot up in open defiance a beat before she slammed the door in his face.

  He stared at the painted wood, and his blood boiled.

  He’d had enough.

  He’d played “Society” games. He’d tolerated cold shoulders and outright rudeness. Gossip followed him wherever he went. They said one thing to his face, another behind his back.

  Three weeks ago, a young idiot with too much drink in his veins had publicly challenged Michael to a duel. He’d claimed Michael’s presence in London was an “affront to dignity.”

  Michael chose swords and had shown the pup what a true “affront to dignity” was by disarming the braggart in a matter of seconds. He was later criticized because his method wasn’t sporting, but he’d also achieved a new respect. No one was foolhardy to challenge him now—but for one governess.

  And he wasn’t going to take this sort of treatment from a servant.

  Turning the handle, he opened the door and walked right in.

  The ninny apparently hadn’t anticipated such an action. She was bent over a valise, folding clothes—

  Michael stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback by the array of burning candles. They were everywhere. Candle stubs of all sizes. Their flames generated warmth and filled the room with the sweet scent of hot wax and a golden glow.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded, sounding more gruff than he’d intended.

  “It should be obvious. I’m packing.” In the candlelight, she was even lovelier than he had first thought, and more spirited. Any other woman would have been intimidated by a man of his size intruding into her personal domain. Not Miss Halloran. She appeared more than ready for a fight.

  But his temper had cooled, replaced by interest. “I was asking about the candles,” he said. “My impression of Wardley didn’t lead me to the conclusion that he is a generous or wasteful man.”

  “You are correct.” She started to place the folded clothing in her bag, but then changed her mind, realizing her shoes should go in first. They were a well-worn pair of black slippers, the sort that was all the fashion in London. The leather looked to be k
id. Shoes of that quality would be quite an expense for a governess, and she handled them as if they were pure silver.

  She was also pointedly ignoring him.

  Michael knew how to handle that. He plopped himself on the rickety bed, knowing she’d have to look at him. He just prayed the thing wouldn’t collapse beneath him. “How could anyone sleep in such a flimsy thing?” he wondered aloud. “I’d prefer the floor.”

  Miss Halloran placed a protective hand on her bag, frowning at his audacity. “Usually,” she said in a clipped tone, “when someone slams a door in your face, it means you are not welcome.”

  “I didn’t expect to be,” he answered, making himself comfortable by resting on one elbow. From that angle, he could see her feet. She was still barefoot, and he noticed that she seemed to have two hems. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  She placed her precious kid slippers into the bag. “It is none of your business.”

  “You have on two dresses. Now, I understand why I’d had so much trouble figuring my way beneath your clothing. Every time I thought I’d found your laces, there were more.”

  Her face flooded with color. “Mr. Severson, please leave.”

  “I will,” he promised, “after you explain this.” He held up the graceful bracelet.

  “Don’t pretend to be naive,” she answered, placing her clothes on top of the shoes in her valise, her actions deliberate and forceful. “Your friends grasped the situation immediately.”

  “They aren’t my friends,” he corrected carelessly. “And I want to hear the story from you.”

  “And then will you leave?” She shut the valise.

  Absolutely not. Michael smiled. “If I must.”

  “You must.” She moved to the other end of the bed. “Mr. and Mrs. Wardley had hoped to trap you into marriage by claiming you had compromised their daughter.”

  “But she is a child. Is she even sixteen yet?”

  “She turned seventeen last month. Apparently, Mr. Wardley wants a rich husband for his daughter, and he chose you. Lillian liked you, too. It must be difficult to be so handsome women throw themselves at you.”