An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (14 page)

“I’m afraid so,” he conceded after a moment spent trying to quell his impatience. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. My fault entirely of course.”

Regina took a shepherdess chair by her cherrywood escritoire before pinning him with a cool stare. “I don’t doubt that for a minute. Mrs. Graham wrote to me, you know. I know all about your little
affaire
with the governess.”

Nicholas felt a muscle tic in his jaw. He might’ve known the bloody housekeeper would tattle. Nevertheless, there was no point in denying what had happened. There was too much at stake. “I love her, Regina,” he said simply, “and I have to find her. Do you know where she might have gone?”

Regina drummed her fingers upon the tooled leather blotter of her desk, studying him. “Heavens above,” she said at length. “I’m inclined to believe you. I’ve never seen you like this. You seem positively desperate.”

“Regina,” he warned. “Don’t try my patience.”

“Oh, all right,” she said with a huff. She withdrew a set of keys from a concealed pocket in her traveling gown and unlocked one the drawers in her desk. As she rifled through some papers she added, “You know the only reason I’m helping you is because I have some news of my own.”

She pulled out a particular sheet of paper, scanned it then looked up at him. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

Nicholas suppressed a sigh and attempted a smile. He supposed he could feign a modicum of interest if it meant he’d get what he wanted. “Of course. What is your news?”

“I am engaged,” she said with a triumphant grin. “Lord Cicester—I don’t know if you recall him but he is a widower and an old family friend of my sister’s husband—well, he was holidaying at Brighton too. We became acquainted last Season and before I knew it, he’d literally swept me off my feet. We are to be wed at his Gloucestershire estate in a month’s time. I’ve only returned home so that I might pack. At long last you can have Hartfield all to yourself.”

If Nicholas hadn’t been so agitated, he might have whooped with joy. Instead, he inclined his head and offered his congratulations with what he hoped was an appropriate amount of enthusiasm before asking, “Now, do you know where I might find Miss Adams?”

Regina extended the piece of paper toward him. “Here is her application letter. I believe the address that is recorded belongs to her aunts. It’s somewhere near Bath.”

Nicholas nearly snatched the parchment from her. It was an address in Wiltshire. The village of Farleigh Wick. He’d never heard of it but he would find it.

“Thank you, Regina,” he said with heartfelt gratitude. “Your help means more than I can say.”

Regina waved a hand. “Oh, think nothing of it, Nicholas. I knew there was something going on between you two as soon as you appeared on the stairs with Miss Adams in your arms. I imagine you are now going to hunt her down and propose to her?”

Nicholas grinned. “Something like that. If she’ll have me.”

“An all but penniless governess would be a fool not to accept a proposal from a baronet,” remarked Regina with a sniff. “And I don’t think that girl is a fool.”

“No, she isn’t.”

As Nicholas took his leave, Regina called out after him, “Oh, by the way, do you mind if I take Mrs. Graham with me too? I rather think I’ll need an assistant of some sort.”

“By all means.” The woman was a harridan and had been disloyal to him. He was more than happy to see the back of her. “You’re welcome to her. Take Keziah as well if you like.” From what he’d seen and heard, she was a troublesome piece of baggage too.

“Good luck.”

Nicholas paused on the threshold and cast Regina a rueful smile. “Thank you.” Luck wasn’t all he would need. He imagined a good deal of groveling would also be required if he was to win back Abigail’s trust.

And her heart.

T
histleton Grange
, Farleigh Wick, Wiltshire

Three days later...

A
bigail sat
on a stone bench in the garden of Thistleton Grange, a cup of cold tea on the wrought iron table beside her, watching Aunt Euphemia’s ginger-haired cat, Marmalade, chasing a grasshopper about the flower beds. It was a lovely evening, warm and golden like a sun-kissed peach. An evening that reminded her there was still beauty and joy in the world, even though her heart was in tatters and everything she ate or drank tasted of sawdust and ashes. It gave her hope that she would heal. That things would get better.

In a year from now, Sir Nicholas Barsby would be but a distant memory. She wouldn’t recall the deep rasp of his voice, the precise cobalt blue shade of his eyes. The way his mouth tipped when he smiled or how he tasted when he kissed her. The feel of his black silky hair as her fingers slid through it. His masculine scent. How it felt to have him deep inside her...

No, she wouldn’t miss him at all.

And she certainly wouldn’t dwell on her last memory of him when he was in the arms of another woman.

That’s what Abigail kept trying to tell herself at any rate. Her only consolation was that unlike the time when things had ended with Harry Blake, she didn’t have to worry about the possibility of being with child. Sir Nicholas had always been very careful in that regard and for that, she’d be eternally grateful.

Her aunts had been completely surprised by her sudden arrival on their doorstep earlier in the day. But they had welcomed her with open arms and Abigail had been quite overwhelmed by their warm greeting. She couldn’t recall them being quite so demonstrative during her childhood. When they invited her to stay as long as she liked, Abigail even began to wonder if they might have actually missed her over the years. That with time and distance their natures had changed; it was as if their hard edges had been worn away revealing softer, kinder-hearted women.

Regardless of the reason, it was comforting to know she could take a little time to mend before she began to seek another situation.

Marmalade had given up trying to chase insects and was currently brushing herself against the carved leg of the stone bench. Abigail supposed she should return to the house. Talk a little more with her aunts before she retired to her old room for the night. After two and a half days of travel on overcrowded mail-coaches, and barely any sleep, she was utterly exhausted. She was suddenly envious of Marmalade who had just settled down for a nap on a sun-warmed edge of the bench.

She prayed slumber would come just as easily to her tonight. And that it would be dreamless.

With a heavy sigh, Abigail rose from the seat with her untasted cup of tea in hand. But before she’d even taken a few steps, the rear door to the Grange flew open and a flustered Aunt Meredith appeared.

“What is it?” she asked, moving with haste along the flagged path. As she approached the door she noticed her aunt’s plump cheeks were bright red and her linen and lace cap was askew. She’d never seen her in such a state before and her heart began to race. “Is something wrong?”

Aunt Meredith extended a hand and Abigail took it. “Oh, my dear. I really don’t know,” she said, in a shaky voice. “There’s a gentleman waiting in the front parlor. He’s asked to speak with you. And he’s quite unlike anyone I’ve ever...” She swallowed and put her other hand to her chest. “Euphemia let him in and then sent me to fetch you.”

Abigail’s heart leapt into her mouth. “A gentleman?” It couldn’t be Sir Nicholas could it? She’d been so careful not to divulge where she hailed from but perhaps Mr. Wentworth had let slip her destination when he went to collect her traveling trunk from Hartfield Hall. Unless it was Mr. Wentworth himself. “Did he give his name?”

“I didn’t hear it but I caught a glimpse of him. So elegantly dressed and tall with the blackest hair and bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Oh, my stars, when he looked at me,” Aunt Meredith fanned her face, “I almost fainted.”

Oh, my Lord, it
was
Sir Nicholas.
Abigail’s hands shook so much, she sloshed tea out of the cup into the saucer and onto the skirts of her yellow dimity cotton gown. What did he want with her? He had commenced courting Horatia Sheridan, so why would he bother seeking her out? The journey from Hedgecombe to Farleigh Wick was not inconsiderable.

Unless Sir Nicholas just wanted to persuade her to be his mistress again because he missed the sex. But surely he didn’t expect her to put up with being the other woman. She just couldn’t do it.

But then, what if he was angry with her for abandoning him when he’d bought her a townhouse she now didn’t want. Surely he didn’t want recompense. Or perhaps he simply wanted to return her traveling trunk. But why deliver it himself? Her thoughts buzzed round and round inside her head like a swarm of agitated bees, making her dizzy.

Aunt Meredith took the cup from her. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet, my dear. You obviously know who he is. Do you want us to send him away?”

Abigail shook her head. “No. No I should speak with him. Only... Could you send him out to the garden?” She didn’t think she’d be able to deal very well with Sir Nicholas in a space as confined as her aunts’ small front parlor. His presence was overwhelming at the best of times.

Yes, the garden seemed safer. If she had to, she could always dash out the back gate into the adjoining field. Heavens, perhaps she was becoming hysterical.

Aunt Meredith touched her arm in an uncharacteristic display of tenderness. “Of course, Abigail. But you seem shaken. Would you like me or Euphemia to stay with you?”

Abigail was astonished that her aunts would let her receive a gentleman caller on her own. Unless... Perhaps they thought Sir Nicholas was going to propose to her. Which was ludicrous. Sir Nicholas would never marry someone like her. A lowly governess.

A whore.

She summoned a smile and shook her head. “No. It’s quite all right. I will see Sir Nicholas Barsby alone.”

“S-Sir Nicholas?” Now Aunt Meredith had turned white. “Abigail. Wasn’t he... wasn’t he your employer?”

Abigail blew out a breath. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Aunt Meredith touched her arm again. “If you need anything, just call. I’ll leave the door ajar.”

“Thank you.”

Abigail turned and paced back toward the stone bench. But she didn’t feel like sitting. She was as tense as the espalier wire beneath her aunts’ climbing roses. Instead, she followed the meandering pathway between the beds of hollyhocks and foxgloves, lavender and daisies until she reached the rose garden. A hedge sparrow frolicking in the birdbath gave her a quizzical look before fluttering into the branches of a nearby oak tree.

Abigail cast it an envious look. She might not be able to fly off but the back garden gate was within sight and just as she’d hoped, only a short dash away.

She sighed. She must be mad. As if she could outrun a man like Sir Nicholas. It seemed this meeting was unavoidable. Hopefully it would be over with quickly.

If only she knew what he wanted...

Stay calm. Stay cool. Perhaps he only wants to offer you a reference... Or return your things...

“Miss Adams... Abigail.”

Abigail shivered at the sound of that most beloved voice. Her heart crashed against her ribs. Slowly, she turned around and there he stood, the man that she loved.

The man that she couldn’t have.

“Sir.” She dropped into a curtsy then raised her gaze to his.

And that was a mistake. The sight of his too handsome face, the intense expression in his blue eyes, they stole her breath and any hope she’d had of remaining unaffected. Her vision grew blurry and a hard lump of anguish clogged her throat.

“Oh, Abigail. Sweetheart,” he murmured and took a step toward her but she raised her hand.

“No. Don’t. I’m not your sweetheart. And don’t come any closer.”

He halted immediately and drew in a short breath as if she’d hurt him. And that’s when she noticed the lines of tension bracketing his wide, beautiful mouth. The shadows beneath his eyes. His white linen cravat was rumpled and his navy blue coat was creased. He looked exhausted and harrowed.
But why?

“Abigail. I know you are upset and angry with me. But please hear me out. I think I know why you left. And I want to explain. About Horatia.”

How did he know? He must have guessed. Or perhaps it was his conscience that bothered him. Either way, he probably wanted to make amends to make himself feel better. But he couldn’t eat his cake and have it too. She certainly wouldn’t go back to him.

Abigail lifted her chin. “You don’t need to explain anything, sir. You have every right to court a woman of your choosing. Just as I have every right to end our arrangement. I thought I could share you with another but I can’t. I cannot be your mistress any longer.”

“You saw Horatia with me at the lake, didn’t you?”

Curse the man. Why was he being so persistent? Couldn’t he see she was close to breaking into a million pieces? “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered in a mortifyingly shaky voice. “I wish you and Miss Sheridan every happiness. I’m sure Lord Nash is well pleased at the match.”

Sir Nicholas took a step closer. “What if I told you, you were mistaken by what you witnessed? You were watching from the folly, weren’t you? Which is some distance away.”

Abigail swallowed. “Yes.” It seemed pointless trying to deny that she was there or that she’d spied on him. “But I know what I saw. Miss Sheridan threw her arms about you and...” She bit her lip. She shook her head and couldn’t go on.

Sir Nicholas drew closer again. When he spoke, his tone was soft yet urgent. “Yes, she did throw herself at me. She wanted me to kiss her. But Horatia Sheridan is a ninnyhammer. She just wants a bit of sport with a rake or two before her brother marries her off to the highest noble bidder and she thought I might be up to the task. But I wasn’t. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t
want
to kiss her.”

He took another step closer. He was so close, he would be able to touch her if he wanted to. “And do you know why I didn’t?”

Abigail shook her head. She couldn’t speak. Sir Nicholas’s gaze held hers and the soft light in his eyes stole her breath all over again.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he continued in a voice husky with emotion, “because the only woman I ever want to kiss forevermore is you, Abigail Adams.” He lifted her chin with gentle fingers so she couldn’t escape his gaze. “I love you.”

Abigail sucked in a shaky breath and whispered, “You can’t. I’m a nobody. Nothing. Men like you don’t fall in love with women like me.”

“Well, I beg to differ. This man has fallen in love with you and only you. And,” before she knew what he was about, Sir Nicholas knelt down before her on bended knee and took her hand, “Miss Abigail Adams, you light my days with joy and fill my nights with untold passion. Would you do me the inestimable honor of consenting to be my wife?”

Abigail shook her head in disbelief. “You must be mad. You cannot be serious. What will everyone think?”

“I’m entirely serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. And I don’t give a toss about what anyone else thinks. They can all go hang.
You
are all I think about, every minute of every day. Since you left, and even before that when my blasted friends turned up at Hartfield and I barely saw you, I’ve been utterly miserable.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers so reverently, Abigail’s heart clenched with longing. “I’ve missed you and I cannot live without you by my side. Sweet Abigail, please say you’ll have me.”

How could she say no after a declaration like that? “Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered, her vision misting with tears. “Yes. Absolutely, unequivocally, yes.”

Sir Nicholas surged to his feet and caught her in a fierce hug, swinging her up off the ground and twirling her around until she came to rest with her back up against the oak tree. Giddy with joy, Abigail looked up into his beloved face and stroked his jaw where dark stubble had begun to appear. “I love you too, Nicholas,” she breathed, “with my whole heart and soul.”

He framed her face with his large hands. “Say that again, my beautiful girl.”

“Nicholas, I love you.”

His mouth lifted into a breath-snatching smile. “I will never grow tired of hearing you say that.” And then he kissed her. His lips, soft and warm, glided over hers and Abigail sighed with delight, relishing the satiny texture and taste of him as his tongue slid between her lips; the heady flavor of Nicholas filled her senses and made her head swim. She wanted to drown in him. Be one with him. She fisted her hands into his lapels and pressed herself closer. To think she had actually contemplated living a life without this... Without him...

When one of Nicholas’s hands cupped her breast and kneaded the eager flesh, her heart sang. “Damn, you are wearing stays again, aren’t you?” he muttered before kissing her neck and her jaw.

A bubble of laughter rose in Abigail’s throat. “I’m afraid so. My aunts are very conservative and easily shocked.”

“Well, they’d best not venture into the garden.” Nicholas rained a trail of kisses along her shoulder then lifted his head. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

Before Abigail knew what he was about, he swept her into his arms and carried her back down the garden path toward the house. “What on earth are you doing? Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you somewhere private so I can have you all to myself.” He kissed her temple before adding, “And I don’t give a fig if your aunts are scandalized. You’re mine, sweetheart and I mean to have my wicked way with you as soon as possible.”

Desire immediately fluttered in Abigail’s lower belly. She couldn’t deny him. Not when she felt like this. Could one be drunk with love?

Aunt Euphemia and Aunt Meredith jumped back from the doorway when Nicholas entered without losing stride. When Abigail saw their flabbergasted expressions, she merely smiled and called out over Nicholas’s shoulder as they swept past, “I’m betrothed to Sir Nicholas, my dear aunts. Wish us well. I shall be back tomorrow.”