Page 10 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

That voice. That smooth, crisp voice was as clear as it had been on that last day she saw him, although it had lost its youthful vitality. Still, she would have known it amidst a choir of one hundred men. Her entire body shook at once, overcome with twelve years of suppressed anger and hurt. When she rose to her feet, she dug her nails into her palm with such force she might have drawn blood if not for her gloves. And then, for the first time in more than a decade, she turned and looked directly into the eyes of the man who’d betrayed her like no other ever dared.

* * *

Nicholas paused in the doorway, taken aback by the vision before him. There was no mistaking it. It was Lydia and she was just as beautiful as his memory and his dreams led him to believe. Her cheeks were red from the walk here, and the humidity had sent her hair into a state of supreme fizziness, but it reminded her only more of the girl she’d been long ago.

Her deep jade-colored eyes were as bright as they’d ever been, drawing him into the delightful memories of their shared years. Time hadn’t passed her by, but if anything, it had been kind to her. She’d filled out in all the right places giving her curves that begged to be touched and a chest that heaved as she breathed. What might it be like to touch that place where her breasts met, he wondered? Would she smell like jasmine and sage still?

“Nicholas?” her voice came sharply, like an executioner’s axe, and with as much force. “This must be a joke, surely.” She turned and stepped toward him, her lovely face twisted into a mask of wrath. He’d been so taken in by her presence after so long that he’d missed the rising anger that consumed her now.

“No, please allow me to explain,” he said, hands raised as if to calm a raging bull ready to charge.

“Explain?” The tone was sharp and biting, it cut right through his heart and into his soul. She hated him. “There can be no explanation for your cowardice.” She stormed past him when an urge to stop her overcame him. He could not let her go like this. He needed to soothe her, calm her. He needed to take away the anguish he’d caused her.

Nicholas grabbed her wrist gently but with the strength to stop her in her tracks. “Please, look at me,” he pleaded.

“Let go!” she hollered. Her right leg bent at the knee, and her boot connected with his shin before Nicholas could get out of the way. An explosion ripped through his leg, and he stumbled backward and gripped at the injured leg.

“Lydia,” he gasped as pain seared up his leg.

“Do not call me Lydia. We are not friends. We are nothing. I do not want your explanations or your apologies. I wish to leave.”

He stood upright, nostrils flaring. “I was not going to issue an apology,” he barked though he regretted the words as soon as they’d exited his mouth. What was he saying? He scolded himself. His words were only kindling to the fire that already roared inside her, and she glared at him with all the sun’s intensity.

“Then let me go,” she hissed when suddenly the door opened behind them.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Funny said, her brown eyes wide in alarm. “Are you injured? I never would have entered, but I heard shouting.”

Nicholas stood straight and shook his head, eager to keep the older woman from knowing just how bad things were going. “Not in the least. Just a little misunderstanding, that is all.”

She didn’t believe him; it was clear in her knitted brows and puckered lips. Then, she diverted her attention to Lydia, who took the opportunity to dash past her and disappear into the hall. Outside, thunder boomed, and a flash of bright light raced across the darkened sky. Nicholas had been so taken in by her presence that he hadn’t noticed the weather turn.

“Please, where might I find a conveyance to the nearest inn?” Lydia asked from the hall, though he needed clarification about whom she spoke to.

“Ly... Miss Haddington,” he called, aware they were no longer alone. “Please, do not leave in such a hurry. Surely you will not dash out into an approaching storm.”

She stopped at the top of the stairs and spun around. Her dress swayed along with her fiery red hair, and thunder cracked once more to emphasize her rage when she looked at him.

“I will leave now, and I shall not return.”

“I will not keep you here against your will; all I ask is that you not run headfirst into danger,” he motioned for the large windows running along the hall in this part of the manor. Rain drummed against them rapidly while thunder and lightning came at once. “And that I may explain.” He stepped forward, encouraged by her stillness. However, when he extended his hand to her, she backed away.

“Do not touch me,” she called, making for the stairs. Nicholas stood and watched as she dashed down the steps toward the front door. He knew he deserved every bit of her anger, and her refusal to listen to him didn’t surprise him. After all, what would he say even if she allowed him a chance to explain? So much had happened that he had no idea what explanation he ought to give. He’d pondered this since Mrs. Funny had received the news via messenger that Lydia was on her way, yet he’d not come up with an answer. Even now, with her in front of him, he could not think of any way to make her understand. He could not think of what to say because, deep down, Nicholas Steward did not understand his own reasons.

It was too late. Lydia, the only woman he’d ever loved, had closed the distance between herself and the front door. Then, she grabbed her battered, worn leather bag and dashed out into the rain, never to be seen again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Her pretty dress clung to her body as she ran. The ground beneath her boots quickly turned from solid to muddy, and her feet stuck in place as she walked. Lydia already knew her portmanteau, heavy as it was, would take on water. It was old, worn, and not made to keep its content dry anymore.

As she lugged the heavy bag, lighting flashed nearby, and if she’d been in her right mind, she would have sought shelter, aware of how likely a target she was for a strike. But in her right mind, she was not.

She felt nothing but the red-hot fury boiling within her. The nerve of that man. The nerve! To summon her under false pretenses and after twelve long years! How dare he?

She stomped forward as quickly as she could though she had no idea where she was going. Hatfield was a ten-minute carriage ride from the estate; in this weather, she’d arrive in the middle of the night and soaked to the bone. Already her silk bonnet was drenched, and her hair clung to her cheeks, sending rivers down her face. Her gown stuck to her body most indecently, and when she wriggled her toes, she felt puddles forming between them where her shoes had taken on water.

“Where am I going?” she asked herself as lighting ripped the sky in two, and a thunderclap rang so loud her body gave a shudder. She looked ahead, hoping to see a house somewhere, but rain whipped into her face so hard she felt it pelting her skin and even her eyes. She squeezed them shut when feet sloshed through the mud behind her, and she grew still.

It was Nicholas; she knew it without turning.