Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
His Wicked Embrace (10 page)
The last she had whispered under her breath, but the earl heard her. And it struck him as absurdly funny. He should be angry with her, furious really, for first crediting and then repeating such an absurd tale. And then having the unmitigated gall to face him directly with her allegations. Yet he suddenly found the entire situation ironically humorous, though he had no clear idea why.
His shoulders shook a bit with amusement as he recalled the shock on her face at his reaction to her questions. Damien decided it was time to put things to right, but first he intended to put the fear of God into the very proper Miss Browning. A teasing glint of anticipation entered the earl's smoky gray eyes.
Stretching his back languidly, he threw Isabella an assessing glance. “What if these accusations are true, Miss Browning?” Damien inquired smoothly. He leaned seductively toward her, a calculated, lecherous grin on his handsome face. “Will you now flee from my house in abject terror, my dear, frightened beyond your wits at the thought of being seduced by such an unscrupulous rake as myself?”
Isabella hardly dared to breathe as the earl moved closer to her. He was so near, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, could smell his distinctively masculine scent. She clearly felt the underlying tension emanating from the earl's solidly built body, and it made her decidedly uneasy.
“I feel certain I can protect myself from any of your attempts at seduction, my lord,” Isabella finally choked out, “though in truth I see no reason why you would have the slightest interest in me.”
Isabella was pleased that she had managed to formulate some sort of response, given the intense pounding of her heart. Yet she felt her statement certainly would have been more effective if she hadn't sounded so breathless and meek when she uttered it.
“Come now, Isabella, there is no need to be coy. You are an attractive woman. Surely you are aware of your feminine allure,” the earl continued silkenly, clearly enjoying this intimate bantering with the lovely governess.
His eyes glistened with excitement, and he felt a strange exhilaration in his broad chest. Damien deliberately moved himself even closer to her, studying Isabella's wide-eyed expression with a certain satisfaction. By God, if the woman thought he was capable of bedding all four of his housemaids, he would not disappoint her expectations.
“You have not answered my question, my lord,” Isabella whispered back, ignoring completely the earl's intimate remarks. She was aware of a growing sensation of lightheadedness, caused, she was certain, by the deep timber of his voice and the sensual intoxication of his nearness. Her throat felt parched, her pulse was racing, her breathing was shallow. She had never before encountered a man who inspired such feelings within her.
“I have never bedded any of the women in my employ, Isabella,” the earl continued in the same mesmerizing tone, enjoying himself too much to stop now. “But that is the past. Who knows what the future will hold?”
Isabella's violet eyes widened even further at his remark, and she was shocked to the core to hear herself whisper throatily back. “Who knows indeed?”
“Almighty God!”
The earl swore loudly at her completely unanticipated response, and his lips descended swiftly on her own. His assault caught her by surprise, but she did not protest. Her lips parted slightly, and he boldly slipped his tongue inside her sweet mouth. Isabella flinched at the invasion, but the earl wrapped one strong hand around the back of her neck to prevent her retreat.
Pleasure soon overcame any doubts as a shiver of pure passion seared through Isabella's taut body. She moaned softly in the back of her throat and willingly returned his kisses.
The hard, almost painful ache of his swollen manhood forced the reality of the moment into Damien's consciousness. When he realized precisely
who
was arousing him to such acute passion, he wrenched himself away and abruptly stood up.
who
was arousing him to such acute passion, he wrenched himself away and abruptly stood up.
The earl deliberately dragged himself away from her, knowing he was only seconds away from taking her into his arms and thoroughly seducing her. The little game he had instigated was fast progressing beyond his control.
He strode purposefully toward the fireplace, needing to place a physical distance between himself and Isabella. He rested his arm against the mantle, keeping his back to her.
Isabella was grateful to escape. The reckless excitement she derived from the earl's kisses was easing, although the indefinable sense of heated awareness flowing within her body lingered.
“I shall have my belongings packed and ready so I may leave at first light tomorrow morning, my lord.” Isabella could not keep the trembling from her voice with her softly whispered declaration. She felt certain the earl was going to dismiss her, and she wanted to save herself from that final humiliation. Whatever had possesed her to first make such brazen accusations against him and then respond with such wanton abandonment to his thrilling kisses was beyond her comprehension.
The earl felt a sharp pang of guilt. He had goaded her too far, and now she thought it was necessary to flee from him.
Stoically, he turned and faced Isabella. “If I give you my solemn promise never to repeat such boorish behavior, Miss Browning,” the earl inquired quietly, “will you reconsider your decision to leave Whatley Grange?”
“I was merely anticipating your actions, my lord,” Isabella said, noting with a strange sense of loss that he had again adopted the formality of calling her Miss Browning instead of Isabella. “You are not going to dismiss me?”
“For an incident that was utterly my fault? That would be grossly unfair.”
“The fault was on both sides, my lord,” Isabella responded gently, knowing she could not allow him to take full responsibility.
Isabella rose to her feet and met him squarely, her beautiful eyes soft and apologetic. In her heart she knew the correct course of action would be to leave Whatley Grange as fast as possible. But she did not want to leave.
“If you would be kind enough to excuse
my
unpardonable behavior, my lord,” Isabella said plainly, “I will gladly continue as Catherine and Ian's governess.”
my
unpardonable behavior, my lord,” Isabella said plainly, “I will gladly continue as Catherine and Ian's governess.”
“I am pleased you want to stay with us.” The husky masculine whisper sent a tingle through her. In some ways the apologies they exchanged were as intimate as the kisses they had shared. Isabella nervously dropped her eyes from the earl's and turned to leave the room.
She paused at the doorway. “I shall see you in the morning, my lord.”
“Good night, Miss Browning.”
Damien reached automatically for his glass of wine the moment the room was empty. His thoughts were filled with images of Isabella. He was genuinely appalled at his actions toward her. She was employed in his household, under his protection, and he had treated her with utter disrespect.
Isabella's response to his blatant sensual assault on her person had been the biggest shock of all. She had responded honestly, with passion and desire. A very dangerous reaction, indeed.
Damien drained his wine glass and instantly refilled it. He eyed the full decanter of claret and wondered if he would be able to restrain himself from consuming the entire bottle. The earl was glad Isabella had elected to remain at The Grange, but he questioned the wisdom of requesting her to stay. Was it really necessary to keep a woman in his household who simultaneously intrigued him and drove him to drink?
Chapter Nine
Isabella did not set eyes on the earl again for five days. He no longer joined his children and their new governess at the breakfast table, and he returned to The Grange long after Catherine and Ian had eaten their supper and been sent to bed.
At first Isabella wondered if the earl had journeyed from house, but discreet questioning of Jenkins revealed the earl remained at Whatley Grange.
“His lordship has been especially busy with estate matters these past few days, Miss Browning,” Jenkins told her. “I could tell him you wish to speak with him,” the valet added helpfully.
“Thank you Jenkins, but I don't believe that will be necessary,” Isabella hastily replied, wanting very much to be the one to choose the time and place of her next meeting with the earl. “I am certain I will eventually encounter his lordship.”
Isabella waited an additional two days before admitting to herself that the earl was either working excessively, as Jenkins had claimed, or doing a plausible job of avoiding her. For herself, Isabella soon discovered that not seeing the earl did not alter the fact that she found him impossible to forget. She remained in a conflicting state of emotions as she anticipated their next encounter, experiencing feelings of euphoria and dread almost simultaneously.
By day Isabella was far too busy to dwell overlong on what was, in her opinion, an irritating fascination with the earl. Yet, when she was alone at night, the earl's handsome image haunted her. Isabella's undeniable interest in him was something she neither welcomed nor understood; quite frankly, it amazed her.
Her cheeks flushed with color whenever she relived the scandalous excitement of the earl's kisses. She remembered with startling clarity the warm, sensual taste of him, the hard masculine strength of his muscular body, and above all the strange and wonderful feelings he evoked in her of being swept away by an exhilarating, mysterious passion.
Her puzzlement over her strange reactions to the earl did not overshadow her genuine desire to remain as governess to Catherine and Ian. She clearly saw how much the children needed her, and for the first time in her life she experienced a true sense of belonging that she was determined to preserve.
The major obstacle to overcome was learning to control the attraction she felt for the earl. To Isabella's way of thinking, it was imperative that she develop a relationship with her handsome employer that was totally respectable and morally correct. And did not include stolen, heart-melting kisses.
Isabella presumed the earl was thinking along similar lines and thus was avoiding contact with her. While she appreciated his efforts towards resolving the problem, she knew that avoidance was not a practical approach. As governess to his children, she would need to confer with the earl often and privately. Deciding that she had put off this important encounter for too long already, Isabella rose one morning before dawn, determined to waylay the earl before he left the house.
Isabella strode silently down the darkened corridors, following the one and only route to the main dining hall she had mastered in the week she had resided at The Grange. The dining room was empty when she entered, but the lamps had been lit and a tiered hand of candles illuminated the sideboard. A china place setting was haphazardly arranged at the head of the table, and next to it rested a Spode china coffeepot with a large chip in its spout.
Isabella assumed the seat next to the earl's and waited expectantly, determined not to dwell on the events that had occurred the last time she sought out the earl for a private conversation.
The servants' door swung open suddenly, and Mrs. Amberly entered the room, awkwardly balancing three large serving platters in her arms. Isabella rose automatically, intending to assist the housekeeper, but after a quelling look from Mrs. Amberly, she quietly resumed her seat.
The housekeeper cast her a final disapproving stare before leaving the room. Isabella in return favored her with a dazzling smile, causing the desired effect of completely mystifying the sullen housekeeper. Thwarting Mrs. Amberly gave Isabella a boost of confidence, and she felt a bit more relaxed as she waited for the earl to appear.
The earl entered the room quietly, as was his custom, and was halfway into the room before he noticed Isabella. His body tightened with awareness at her nearness, but he recovered quickly, barely breaking his stride. His handsome face was a polite mask of curiosity.
“Good morning, my lord.” Isabella's voice was steady, but escalating nerves at seeing the earl made it low and husky. To his ears it sounded sensual and inviting.
“Miss Browning.” The earl nodded curtly in her direction. If he was surprised to see her at the breakfast table at this exceedingly early hour, he gave no outward indication.
Stretching his long, muscular frame across the mahogany dinning table, the earl retrieved the china plate that had been placed in front of his chair. Straightening up, he peered down at Isabella and inquired politely, “May I fix you a breakfast plate, Miss Browning?”
“No, thank you, my lord. I shall eat my breakfast with the children.” Isabella prudently decided her already fluttering stomach would not tolerate Mrs. Amberly's heavy cooking at this early hour of the morning.
She waited until the earl had filled his plate with a decidedly unappetizing array of food before speaking.
“My lord,” Isabella started, but the earl held his hand up in silent command.
“Enough,” he pronounced, as he took his seat. “Your formality of speech and constant 'my lording' of me every minute is beginning to grate on my nerves. I insist you call me by my Christian name.” The earl plowed his fork into a pile of greasy potatoes and thrust them into his mouth. “It is Damien, by the way.”
“I know what your name is, my lorâah, sir.” Isabella watched the earl struggle to swallow his potatoes. “However, I do not think it is proper for me to address you so informally.”
“If you desire propriety,
Isabella
, you should not be working at The Grange.” He cast her a challenging stare.
Isabella
, you should not be working at The Grange.” He cast her a challenging stare.
“I suppose you have a valid point . . . Damien.” The name forced itself off her tongue slowly, but at least she succeeded in uttering it.
Damien, pleased that she had succumbed to his wishes, flashed her a slight grin and forcefully cut into an overdone, dry piece of steak. “Now, tell me why you felt it necessary to rise before the sun this morning.”
“We need to discuss Catherine and Ian. Since you have been so preoccupied for the last few days, I decided to catch you before you left the house.”
Ignoring the gentle rebuke in her tone, Damien asked with a slight smile, “Are my children proving too much for you to handle, Isabella?” He knew all too well how difficult his high-spirited children could be.
“Quite the contrary,” Isabella insisted, experiencing a strange warmth in her chest on hearing him address by her given name. “The children have been quiet and polite, deferring to me in all things. In the week that they have been in my care there have been no arguments, no pranks, no disagreements, no signs of rebellion, no attempts at independence, no questioning of my authority in any matter.”
Damien leaned back in his chair, a puzzled expression on his handsome face. “And you find this behavior cause for complaint?”
“I find this behavior most unusual,” Isabella replied earnestly. “Especially after Maggie and Fran related a few of the children's previous scrapes. Given their history, I feel Catherine and Ian are now acting in a manner that can be classified asâwell, abnormal.”
The earl was instantly offended by her remark. “There is nothing wrong with my children,” he declared forcefully.
“You misunderstand me,” Isabella interjected. “I think Catherine and Ian are both normal, intelligent children. I am merely pointing out that they are not behaving naturally. They are suppressing their innate curiosity and enthusiasm because they are fearful of seeming disobedient.” Isabella leaned forward in her chair. “And I believe that you are the cause.”
“Me?”
Isabella unconsciously placed her hand on the earl's arm. “Catherine mentioned to me the other morning that you had instructed her and Ian to follow my orders without question and obey me in all things. If not, they would suffer the consequences.”
Damien wrinkled his brow. “This was the wrong thing to say?”
Isabella let out a small sigh. “Of course not. But it seems obvious the children are so intent on pleasing you that they are suppressing their natural inclinations toward fun and adventure. I find that unacceptable.”
Damien gave Isabella a searching look. “Are you saying you want me to instruct Catherine and Ian to misbehave? To ignore your authority and act however they wish?” Damien's deep voice was filled with genuine wonder.
“Naturally, I do not wish them to turn into undisciplined little monsters. Yet I want them to know that it is acceptable for them to indulge their natural curiosities at times. It is even acceptable for them to make mistakes. I want you to tell them they do not always have to be perfect.” A fleeting glimpse of pain crossed Isabella's features as she remembered the pain of her own childhood. “It can be a rather exhausting task for a young child to constantly strive for perfection.”
Damien looked at Isabella doubtfully, but she continued speaking.
“There is something else we need to address,” Isabella said softly. “Concerning Catherine.”
“Yes?”
“Are you aware of her exceptional memory? It is quite extraordinary. She can remember with the most astonishing detail nearly everything I teach her, especially when numbers are involved.”
A slow grin crossed the earl's face. “My grandfather had such an ability. I did not know Catherine shared his gift.”
“Well, she does. And while I certainly feel it is an amazing and potentially useful talent, Catherine applies it in the oddest way.”
“How so?”
Isabella let out a long breath. “She is obsessed with battles. Warfare of any kind intrigues her, but the recent conflict with France seems to be a particular fascination. Catherine and Ian stage numerous mock battles with the large collection of toy soldiers they have, and her attention to detail is overwhelming. Catherine knows precisely how many troops are on each side, how the action of the battle takes place, which generals issued what specific commands. It is remarkable.” Isabella looked down at her hands. “She is also intrigued about the number of causalities after the battle, wounded as well as dead. Her insistence on accuracy can be positively chilling at times.”
“That seems very peculiar.” Damien swallowed the last of his coffee. His brow wrinkling in confusion, he asked, “What do you think this means?”
“I am not certain.” Isabella shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Yet, I cannot help but feel this obsession with death and dying is not healthy.”
The earl wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and tossed it casually on the table.
“I agree that Catherine's behavior is unhealthy and should not be tolerated,” Damien said. Pushing his chair away from the table, he rose to his feet. “I shall speak to Catherine this evening and instruct her to cease this odd behavior immediately.”
“Oh, no!” Isabella jumped up in dismay. Her knee hit the edge of the dining room table and the earl's breakfast dishes rattled noisily. “You cannot simply order Catherine to stop.”
Damien raised a brow. “Why not? As her parent, I am responsible for her conduct. If she is acting in an unacceptable manner, then it must cease. At once.”
Isabella flashed him a look of pure consternation. How typical of him to pursue the easiest course by demanding the strange behavior stop, instead of searching for the underlying cause.
“I do not think ordering Catherine to stop playing with her soldiers is the correct solution. While she and Ian are reenacting these rather bloody battles, she always mentions your role in the conflict.”
“My role?”
Isabella nodded her head. “It is my understanding that you and Mr. Jenkins participated in the fighting in the Peninsula.” At the earl's curt nod, Isabella continued. “Catherine's main focus of interest is the actual battles you participated in.”
Damien looked totally bewildered. “Those conflicts took place years ago, long before she was born. How can Catherine possible be aware of my involvement?”
Isabella squirmed uncomfortably under the earl's intense gaze. Even though she felt no loyalty toward Mrs. Amberly, Isabella was reluctant to reveal the housekeeper's connection. Yet seeing no alternative, she disclosed the truth.
“Apparently Mrs. Amberly kept a scrapbook of newspaper clippings while you were away fighting. Over the past few years, she has read the printed accounts of these battles to the children and Catherine has committed the details to memory.”
“How very extraordinary,” Damien muttered to himself.
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