Presently, she became aware of arms around her, picking her up and carrying her back to the road. Looking up at her rescuer, she saw his face illuminated in the flash of a lightning strike. Water drenched his hair, making the color impossible to decipher, but he had two shining, blue eyes that reflected the stormy landscape raging around them. His features were strong and masculine, with a hint of freckles across his nose.
“Did they hurt you?” the gentleman asked.
“They… they took my necklace,” she whimpered.
“Are you injured?”
Teresa shook her head slowly. “I… I do not believe so.”
“That is good news, indeed. It is fortunate I arrived when I did, otherwise… well, that does not matter now.” He offered a reassuring smile. “You are safe, Miss, but we must get you to a physician. You are so very cold, and your lips are turning blue.”
“You rescued me,” she murmured, holding his gaze.
He nodded. “You are safe now. But, tell me, where is it you are headed?”
“The Rowfex Estate.”
He stared at her in bemusement. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes… at least, I think I am. My mind is so clouded. I am to be the new governess to the Duke’s youngest children.”
A curious smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Is that so? And might I know your name?”
“Miss Teresa Dowels.”
“Well, Miss Dowels, my name is… you may call me Mr. Morton.” He carried her towards the largest horse Teresa had ever seen, its coat a moonlight silver, with a mane the color of white silk. “Now, it may seem somewhat uncouth, but I must ask that you ride with me the rest of the way. You cannot remain out here in the bitter weather, or you shall catch your death of cold. As for any further injuries, I will arrange for a physician, do not fear.”
She nodded uncertainly. This gentleman may have saved her life and her honor, but that did not mean she trusted him. “If you insist upon it, Sir.”
“In this instance, I must.”
With some awkwardness, Mr. Morton lifted her up onto the front of the saddle. He got up behind her and shuffled his long, dark coat from his shoulders, wrapping it around her with a gentle touch. She sank into its warmth, as he slung the strap of his musket across his chest, grabbed the reins, and led the horse towards the driver. The poor man was now sitting up in the middle of the road, his hand pressed against a wound to the side of his head.
Mr. Morton paused beside the man. “I shall send men to assist you.”
The man nodded weakly. “Gratitude, Sir.”
Setting off down the road, Teresa’s whole body stiffened. She did not like to be this close to a strange man, especially after what she had just endured. She glanced back, studying her rescuer more closely. He was a handsome man indeed, with chiseled features and a noble nose, and a sweet smile that reassured her of her safety.
Although she could not ignore that he only wore a shirt and waistcoat, as she had taken comfort in his coat. With it being so late, she hoped that nobody would see them on their journey to the Rowfex Estate. She did not want to have her reputation in tatters before she had even begun her new life. Not here. Not after what had just happened. She had almost lost her honor, and the tears began to fall as relief washed over her, the droplets hidden by the rain that spattered down.
However, he did not seem to be a man of means, though it was hard to tell when he was sodden from the storm. A nobleman would never have suggested something like this. His station cheered her slightly, reducing her embarrassment. At least they were on an even footing. At the very least, she would not have to suffer the mortification of having her new employers know what had happened.
This is for necessity, she told herself. Your employers will see that this is only for necessity, once you explain. They did not need to know that those highwaymen had almost stolen her honor, as well as her mother’s necklace. She could leave that part out and tell them only that they were accosted upon the road.
Swallowing her sense of propriety, she watched the horizon. Her head pounded viciously, a pressure pushing at the inner sides of her temples. Staring straight ahead, she gathered her thoughts, letting gratitude wash over her. Things may have taken a turn for the dangerous, but at least she was still breathing.
She just hoped those highwaymen would not seek revenge upon her, for having escaped with her life.
Chapter 2
Luke Morton’s horse, Moonstruck, clopped to a halt outside the grand manor of the Rowfex Estate, its hooves crunching on the gravel. Soft lights glowed from the endless windows that ornamented the exterior, embedded in the elegant sandstone. He loved this house, a peace settling upon him whenever he was near it.
Home at last.
He did not know why he had pretended he was not the second son of the Duke of Rowfex, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, given the poor young lady’s perturbed state. If she had realized she was within the arms of her new employer’s son, he was certain she would have fainted into a catatonia from which she could not be stirred.
You have endured much this night. I am sorry for it.
It had been fortunate indeed that he had been returning from a military exercise with the local militia, to fulfil his military duties, at the very hour in which Miss Dowels had required immediate aid. Otherwise, he might not have had the advantage of his musket, nor happened upon her at all. He did not like to think of what might have occurred if he had not passed when he had.
She lolled forward, piquing Luke’s concern for her. She’d been in a daze since they’d left the wrecked carriage, the front wheels destroyed by those despicable highwaymen, and things appeared to be getting worse. She could barely hold her head up.
He had tried to urge her to rest against his chest, but she had stubbornly kept herself forward. He could not blame her, considering what those men had tried to do to her. It was a wonder she was even allowing herself to be this close to him. Although, he could not deny how pleasant it had felt, to have a young lady’s body flush against his. It was not something he had experienced too often, though he pushed any improper thoughts away, reminding himself of what she had endured.
She will not appreciate any amorous attention.
Instead, he satisfied himself with glancing at the curve of her neck, wondering what it might be like to kiss that soft, pale skin. If only to show her that there were good gentlemen in this world, who could show her the gentle nature of ardor. And, perhaps, that would serve to chase away the demons of those brutish wretches. But not right now. If he touched her, in any soft way, he was certain she would bolt.
Drawing as close to the front of the house as he could, he jumped down and pulled her from the horse, holding her tightly in his arms as he walked up the elegant front steps of the manor. She nestled her head against his chest, making him feel like her safe haven. He liked the way her head felt against him, though he did not dwell on such thoughts. He could not.
With some difficulty, he managed to grapple with the door handle and open it, stumbling into the entrance hall. The butler stood nearby, his face turning to a mask of alarm as he witnessed the limp young lady in Luke’s arms.
“Send for the physician,” Luke instructed. “Miss Dowels is unwell. Very unwell indeed. The coachman will require assistance, also—we must send men to attend on him and bring him back here.”
Miss Dowels stirred in his grasp, looking up at him with some confusion. She was a slender, pretty creature with raven black hair and dark brown eyes, that reminded him of a doe. High on her blanched cheeks, there was a small, pink birthmark in the shape of a heart. He admired it for a moment, forgetting why he was there.
“Mr. Morton… where am I?” she croaked.
“You are at the Duke of Rowfex’s residence.” He held her tighter as he moved further into the entrance hall and set her down on a green, velvet chaise.
Her eyes held a shadow of confusion. “Have they allowed you to stay by my
side?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
She shook her head. “No, they must not see me like this. They must not see me with you. They will think they worst.”
“I will explain all, Miss Dowels. Rest easy, I will see to it that all is well.”
Just then, two more figures appeared on the curved staircase that led down from the first floor. Archibald Morton, otherwise known as the Duke of Rowfex, approached Luke and Miss Dowels, a stern look on his brow. He was a tall man of broad build, with salt-and-pepper hair, who shared the same blue eyes as Luke.
Beside him stood the Duke’s firstborn, and Luke’s elder brother, Edmund. Though he stood to inherit the dukedom, he also held a title of his own—the Marquess of Harpington. At nine-and-twenty, he did not look much like his father, with a curly tangle of fair hair, his eyes a much paler shade of blue, but they were of similar height and build, and gave off the same air of confidence.
A silvered scar cut down from the apple of his cheek to the bottom of his jaw, inflicted during his time fighting on the continent. There were other wounds, too, though they were not visible. A scar beneath his hair where he had been struck by a spray of debris, and a noticeable limp that grew worse in cold weather. Although, Luke’s brother always tried to walk straight, even though it caused him further pains.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Duke asked.
“Your Grace, I pray that you do not scold Mr. Morton,” Teresa replied weakly. “He has only delivered me here as I have been in something of an accident. Forgive me, Your Grace. I had not hoped to arrive like this.”
The Duke cast Luke a curious expression. “Mr. Morton?”
“I had yet to get around to telling Miss Dowels of my position in this household,” he admitted, a little sheepishly. He had hoped to see her settled before he revealed the truth. However, with her in a rapidly decreasing state of health, he felt a twinge of guilt. She would be embarrassed upon discovering who he really was. And he loathed the idea that he might cause her further unrest.
She blinked at him. “Your position here?”
Luke grimaced. “Yes… you see, I am not Mr. Morton, I am Lord Luke Morton. I am the Duke’s second son.”
Her gaze turned cold. “You did not tell me… I would not have ridden with you, had I—” A sudden fit of coughing silenced her words, prompting Luke’s father and brother to jump into action. What little color remained in her cheeks instantly bled away, leaving a waxy blue pallor.
“I see you have not learned when it is appropriate to play your little games, Luke,” the Duke chided. “Has a physician been sent for?”
“They have, Father, and I was not intending to toy with her. I only—”
“Did she say her name was Miss Dowels?” The Duke cut him off.
Luke nodded. “Miss Teresa Dowels.”
“The new governess. Well, this is a strange occasion indeed.” The Duke reached out and lifted Teresa from the chaise in his still-mighty arms. Without another word to Luke, he carried her up the stairs and took her into one of the nearby bedchambers. Luke followed, with Edmund bringing up the rear.
“Where in heaven’s name did you find her?” Edmund nudged his brother in the ribs.
“Highwaymen attacked her carriage. I came upon them whilst I was returning from my training with the local militia,” Luke explained. “Miss Dowels was very lucky that I came along when I did, for she was close to… being harmed. I believe they stole some of her jewelry.”
“You must think yourself quite the hero.” A playfully teasing note prickled through Edmund’s voice. The sound of it irked Luke. It was part of the reason he had not told Teresa of his true identity, for he had longed to bask in a little respect before returning to a household that never treated him with much dignity. Had he told her that he was the Duke’s second son, she would not have allowed him to be chivalrous. She would have rejected his request to have her ride with him, and then where would they be?
“I did what I had to. She would not have survived, otherwise.”
“Listen to you, lauding your exploits for all to hear. No doubt you will expect a medal of some sort next?” He chuckled softly. Edmund had been a different sort of fellow since returning from the war, injured. Sometimes, Luke found him staring into the distance, his expression blank. As though haunted by something. He always rallied, however, and often liked to tease Luke for not having taken his duties as far as Spain. Indeed, it was a sore point between them.
Luke scowled at his brother. “You understand that she is to work for our family, do you not? I saved her without knowing who she was. Not that it would have changed my behavior.”
“You always did love a damsel in distress, Brother.”
“Is it so difficult for you to admit that I did something good? Or is it envy, knowing you would not have done the same in my position?”
Edmund winced. “You wound me, Brother.”
“With the truth?”
“I have been heroic in my time.”
“Have you? You almost never mention it.” Sarcasm dripped from Luke’s words.
Edmund smiled. “Must we always fight?”
“If you continue to lessen the value of my endeavors, then yes.” He gave a small laugh, knowing his brother was right. They were fond of one another, but what brothers did not have an element of competition between them?
With only two years difference in age, the two of them were perpetual rivals in most things. Whilst Edmund excelled in the intellectual arts, Luke was a far more practical gentleman. Horsemanship was where he shone, though Edmund liked to think otherwise. Luke knew that his brother only made such claims in order to annoy him, but it usually worked. Patience and restraint had never been Luke’s strongest suits.
“Well, when you actually do something heroic, I will be the first to congratulate you. As you said, it was blind luck that led you to her, although I’m sure Father is glad that you rescued her. Otherwise, he would have had to employ an entirely new governess. The children are unruly without a touch of discipline, and we would have had to endure bedlam a while longer.”
Luke gaped at his brother in horror. “How can you be so cold and unfeeling in the face of an extremely unwell young lady?” Edmund had always been masculine to a fault, never showing any unnecessary emotion. It had worsened after his return from the war. Luke wondered if there was legitimately something amiss in Edmund’s brain, though he would never have dared to say so out loud.
“You know that is not what I meant. I am glad you brought her here safely. You must not be so sensitive.” Edmund frowned, clearly perplexed by Luke’s words, as though he wondered if he was being unfeeling. “Of course I am concerned for her.”
Within the bedchamber, the Duke lay Miss Dowels down on the covers of the bed. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fields, had joined them, alongside a maid who was quick to light a fire. This would not be where she would stay, Luke was certain of that. It had simply been the most convenient room. Curious about her, he moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat down in the armchair beside it.
The Duke eyed him strangely. “You do not need to stay. She will be well cared for.”
“Nevertheless, I would like to.”
Miss Dowels’ eyelids fluttered. “I would… prefer it… if I could be… left alone.”
“You see, Son, she does not want you to stay. Your lies have evidently caused trouble, which I shall have to deal with when she is better.” The Duke sighed and sat in the opposite armchair. “I will attend to her until the physician arrives. Your mother is away with friends, otherwise I would ask her to do so in my stead. It is unseemly for so many gentlemen to be hovering around her bedside. Both of you, go. Mrs. Fields and I will attend on her.”
“But, I did not mean to—”
“I said go,” the Duke barked, leaving no room for negotiation.
Edmund stifled a laugh as he turned and left the room. Luke glanced at Miss Dowels, only to find himself met with a steely stare. He realized t
hat what his father said was true. Miss Dowels did not appear to appreciate his untruth, though it had been well meant.
I shall make amends for it when you are feeling more like yourself, he promised.
Indeed, he wondered why he cared so much about the opinion of a strange governess whom he had never met before. I ought not to, he told himself sternly. Fixing on that resolve, he stood and followed his brother out of the room.
Together, they passed an hour in the drawing room in stony silence. Any word uttered from Edmund’s mouth was bound to lead to conflict of some sort, and so they retreated into shared solitude. A mutual agreement not to say anything, if they could not say anything nice. Besides, Luke was in no mood to be toyed with.
An Untamed Governess For The Rogue (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 2
