Page 11 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“Please, Lydia, do not be silly. Where will you go? Come into the house at least until the storm passes. You do not know the weather here; it will only worsen.”

She curled her free hand into a fist while her other clutched tighter to her luggage’s handle. Every part of her wanted to refuse. She wished to spit at him, to shove him into the dirt and tell him she was more than capable of looking after herself. After all, she’d done it all these years without him, hadn’t she? And yet, she knew he was right. She had nowhere to go. At best, she’d make it into town drenched to the bone, a dreadful illness would undoubtedly follow, and who would pay the bills for the apothecary? They could barely afford her father’s medicine. At worse, she’d be struck dead by lightning, and while she’d be out of her misery, her father and sister would surely fall apart. She was the breadwinner; without her help, they could not sustain themselves.

Vexed, she turned. She could hardly see him, so heavy was the rain, but it was just as well. she had no desire to look at him. It would only fan the flames more.

“Very well,” she agreed with all the enthusiasm of a person being led to the scaffold to meet their executioner.

“Good, good. Now, come,” he proffered his hand, but she rejected him and walked toward the house on her own. She returned in silence with him a few paces behind her, even though it should have been the other way around. He sprang forth and opened the door when they arrived back at the house.

Lydia had expected the warm fires inside to drive out the shiver in her bones, but the opposite was true. Unfortunately, the old manor house suffered from the same poor insulation of many of its kind. A draft chilled her further when Nicholas entered behind her. She glanced at him. His light-brown hair clung to his face, and his attire was like a second skin. She couldn’t help but notice that his stomach was as flat as it had been when they were young, and his chest, as had his shoulders, had grown broader. He’d removed his coat, allowing her to observe how the white silk shirt wrapped around his arms’ muscles.

She might have found him attractive if she didn’t hate him with every fiber of her being. Alas, he’d broken her heart and upended her life. No matter how handsome, she’d never forgive him for that.

“Your Grace,” the housekeeper’s voice sounded, and Lydia realized she’d been standing beside them this whole time. “May I ask…”

“Mrs. Funny, this is not the time for explanations. Please see to it that Miss Haddington is given a new dress. Perhaps Mrs. Patmore will have left one behind. She left in rather the rush, after all.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the housekeeper replied quickly and was about to motion for Lydia to make her way up the stairs again when Nicholas cleared his throat.

“And have a chamber prepared and some hot tea as well.”

Lydia turned, her eyes wide. “I agreed to wait out the storm, not stay. I shall leave at the earliest convenience.”

As if to make his argument for him, the storm ticked in intensity, the wind howled around the tall stone walls and rain pelted against the windows running down along the panes as if heaven was shedding tears at this misery.

“Of course,” he replied slowly as if speaking to a child. “But as you can see, the weather may make it necessary for you to stay the night. Even if the storm stops, the roads will be impassable, and the Royal Mail coach will not be going at this hour or in these conditions, that is, if there is even room. Please, stay the night. In the morning, when it is safe to do so, you are free to leave if you please.”

She scrutinized his face and noticed he used the same expression he’d used when they were young and in love. Whenever he’d upset her, somehow, he’d looked at her with his big eyes, head slightly dropped to the side, and a hint of a smile as though he were a schoolboy caught eating sweetmeats behind his desk. The expression always charmed her and melted her heart. The same was not true now. While she knew his words rang true, the way he looked at her did not touch her. She felt anger and a strong desire to leave and escape him.

“Very well,” she begrudgingly said. “I shall stay the night, but in the morning, at first light, I will leave.” She turned, gathered the hem of her dress so as not to leave water streaks on the pristine floor, and clambered up the stairs. A harried housekeeper followed her, and Lydia felt the way the older woman stared at her as if she could not quite believe what had happened here this day.

Truthfully, as Lydia walked away from a miserable, wet-as-an-alley cat Nicholas, she didn’t quite know how this had all come to pass. All she knew was this: She needed to leave here, as soon as possible.

* * *

“Is there anything else, Your Grace?” Parker, his valet, asked after helping Nicholas peel out of his wet rags and into a pair of beige pantaloons, a crisp white shirt, and his comfortable burgundy waistcoat.

“That is all, Parker,” he said curtly, watching as the valet hurried into the darkened hall from his chamber. A candle flickered lightly when the door opened; the flame danced wildly in the drafty hallway. Then, the door shut, and Nicholas was alone again.

He looked around his chamber. A puddle had formed where he’d changed out of his clothes, and soon a maid would come to tend to it, the way his servants tended to everything that needed doing in the manor. How odd it was, he thought, how his life had turned out. Once, he’d been the one to serve others. When he was a boy, he and his mother always worked. She’d clean other people’s homes while he did whatever work a young boy could get.

He’d shone shoes on Bond Street, sold newspapers on the street corners, and carried milk pails once he grew strong enough. Later, after his mother’s death, he’d worked as Mr. Haddington’s secretary, but even then, he’d helped Lydia and Caroline clean the shop and run errands. He shook his head, a sad smile on his face as he exited the chamber and made his way to his study.

His mother always told him that one day he’d be the Duke of Queensberry, just like his father would have been had he lived. She’d painted a picture of the life he’d live. Rich, powerful, and adored, with his every wish fulfilled, every desire met. She’d tasted that life herself for a brief while. After his parents had married, his mother moved into the grand estate with her new husband. It might have been a lovely, happy life if not for his grandfather. Dismayed at his only son’s choice of a wife, he’d made her life a misery.

The son of a duke, so his grandfather always declared, ought to have married a titled lady, not a miller’s daughter. Still, their life might yet have been pleasant if not for Nicholas’ father’s sudden death from falling off a horse. His grandfather had swiftly ejected them from the home when Nicholas was too young to remember, not caring that his little grandson was now his heir.

For years, his mother had sworn one day they’d reclaim the home, the title, and the life they should have had. She’d told him this so many times he’d almost believed it – yet she’d been wrong.

He admired his mother and missed her badly, but her words hadn’t turned real. Yes, he was rich and powerful but none of his wishes had come true, and none of his heart’s desires met. His mother never again lived in the manor house where she’d been so shabbily treated by her father-in-law and so deeply loved by Nicholas’ father. When he arrived, the home had been cold and empty and it remained that way now.

Nicholas paused in the doorway to his study. The air was filled with jasmine and sage – Lydia’s scents. Momentarily, his heart eased as he inhaled and held in the smell. It was the odor of promise, of hope. It brought him back to the days when he still believed his mother and saw himself as a duke, with Lydia at his side as a duchess.

How he’d wanted those dreams to come true. Yet, when he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but emptiness.

Outside, the storm raged in a sad metaphor for the torrent of feelings that ripped through him. One emotion rose to the surface. Disappointment. Not only to Lydia’s reaction to seeing him but also to himself. Nicholas shook his head. What had he been thinking, luring her here in such a way? What sort of reaction could he honestly have expected?

In the back of his mind, he’d hoped she would see him and be reminded of their shared past and the great love that had brought them together. Somehow, he’d grasped onto the idea that their happy memories would help her overcome the years of abandonment. Indeed, they’d clung to this false hope with as much desperation as the fading flames in the fireplace, grabbing what remained of the firewood so they might not go out.