Page 17 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

Her jaw wobbled with suppressed anger. Had he mistaken her agreement to stay as forgiveness for his actions? Surely, he could not have. He was always smarter than any other young man she’d known. It was one of the things she’d admired about him, what she’d loved about him. But could it be that this intelligent man thought her staying here would mean she’d forgive him? That they could have any sort of familial connection?

Her stomach tensed, and she realized she could not eat a bite of the roll she’d just prepared even though she’d been starving. She was still ravenous, but the thought of swallowing even a sip of tea made her stomach turn, and she knew she’d not get anything down at all.

“I would like to meet her now, then,” she said and sat straight, pushing her back into the chair. He blinked.

“But you’ve not eaten,” he said, perplexed. “Why not eat breakfast first? I wondered what had become of your father and sister. I wanted to….”

She raised her hand. “I am here to teach your daughter. That is what we agreed to. Please do not think of us as friends. We are not. You are my employer, and my purpose here is to help your daughter. That is all. Perhaps I ought to take my meals with her rather than you.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he took this in. Nicholas rubbed his chin; the stubble against his fingers created a pleasing, almost intoxicating sound that reminded her of their youth. When he’d first attempted to grow a beard, she’d teased him mercilessly for its patchy appearance. He’d told her then he’d grow a mighty beard to rival even the old Lords in parliament who took such pride in theirs. Lydia remembered gently running her fingers over the patchy growth as she examined its progress daily.

Her fingertips tickled at the memory, almost as if she still felt it. She took a breath and closed her eyes as he shifted in his seat and then got up.

“Very well. If that is what you would prefer, then it shall be done. If you follow me, I’ll take you to her.” She glanced up and nodded. His eyes had darkened, and the bright smile he’d greeted her with was gone, as was the lightness her growling stomach had inspired earlier.

Lydia pushed her chair back and smoothed down her gown as he motioned for her to follow. As Lydia stepped out of the breakfast room and back into the entry hall, she looked at the back of Nicholas’ head. His rich, dark hair looked as thick as it had on that last day she’d seen him, and she had the sudden urge to run her fingers through it.

She shook her head, chiding herself for being so silly. He was not her Nicholas; she was not his Lydia. They were Miss Haddington and the Duke of Queensberry, nothing more. And yet, as they climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing, Lydia had to admit that sitting with him had felt oddly comforting. She knew it was wrong, but a part of her, a part she desperately wanted to silence, had wanted to stay with him. That part longed to talk to him, to learn what had become of him – alas, the bigger part of her knew she could not allow herself to be drawn in by him again. If she did, she knew the only thing waiting for her would be more heartbreak and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

At the top of the stairs, he turned away from the wing containing her chamber and the library. The same heavy carpeting lined the long hall she’d seen elsewhere in the manor, and they passed a row of doors, most of them closed. Across the hall from his study hung a painting depicting a lovely blonde-haired lady who smiled down at her merrily. His wife?

Curious, she wished to see it better, for she had no idea what the late Duchess of Queensberry looked like. However, Nicholas had stopped before a door and looked there expectantly.

“This is the classroom,” he said, and she stepped forward, eager to enter. However, he raised his hand to stop her.

“You ought to know that I meant what I said. Charlotte is difficult, very much so.”

Lydia wetted her lips, recalling his warning. “You make her sound like a dangerous animal, loose in the woods.”

He shifted his weight and buried his hands in his pocket. “She can be rather… unpredictable. Mischievous.”

“Then she takes after her father,” she said before she could stop herself. Lydia pressed her lips together, annoyed she’d let it slip out, for Nicholas chuckled.

“I suppose you have seen me at my most mischievous.” His eyes glazed over, and she knew a memory had overtaken him. “Do you recall when I used to talk Mr. Sweeney into giving us sweetmeats by telling him made-up stories about the Royal Court?”

Lydia’s cheeks twitched as she suppressed the urge to smile. She recalled this well. Nicholas would proclaim a desire for candied orange peels or marzipan, and before she knew it, he’d slip out of the teashop. He’d call on the kindly gentleman across the way on Bond Street and tell him court stories – using his grandfather’s lofty title as currency. In exchange, he’d always receive a bag of sweets they’d eat together while huddling in the alley behind the shop.

However, she forced a smile to stay hidden and simply nodded, unwilling to let him think he was winning her over in any way.

“I recall. I no longer eat sweetmeats; they hurt my teeth,” she said, even though this was a lie. She adored sweetmeats.

His eyes narrowed, and he extracted his hands from his pockets, dejected as though she’d pierced his jolly memory with a dagger. He took a deep breath; his broad chest rose and fell most attractively. Then, he turned, knocked, and opened the door, which gave way to the bright morning light.

“Very well,” he said as he entered. “Charlotte?” She followed him inside but stopped short, mesmerized by the space before her. He’d called the room a classroom, but it was so much more than that. A large fireplace sputtered on the right-hand side. On the opposite side was a bookshelf that spanned the width of the wall, heavy with books. A desk with chairs sat in the middle, and leather wing chairs were scattered around the room, along with an assortment of toys.

A large globe sat in the corner, held up by a golden contraption. The windows were open, letting in the fresh morning air, and she sucked in a lung full of it as her eyes sought the child she was to teach. She spotted her in the corner, seated on a pile of pillows she’d placed on the floor. A porcelain doll with long dark hair was in her hands, and she was combing it when she looked up at her father.

Lydia followed as Nicholas, rather stiffly, bent forward to address his daughter. She’d have squatted to be at eye level with the child, but he simply bent his head.

“Charlotte, this is Miss Haddington. Your new governess. She’s come to join us from London. I expect you to be considerate and kind,” he said. Every word was tinged with warning, and the girl drew her brows together. Her jaw clenched, as if she was going to challenge him, but she didn't. Instead, she stood up, smoothed her canary yellow dress, and held her head high, her pointed chin protruding. The resemblance between Nicholas and his daughter struck her immediately. They had the same hazel eyes, pert chin, and determined expression. Her face was wider than his, and her nose was turned up. She had delicate features and long arms and legs for a child her age; did these come from her mother?

Lydia smiled broadly at the child, who eyed her with the utmost scrutiny. “Lady Charlotte, it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will be great friends.”

The little girl’s cheeks twitched as if she meant to laugh. Then, she took Lydia in from head to toe, inspecting her.

“I give you a month at most,” she said in a confident voice that wasn’t lacking in mockery. Lydia sucked in air between her teeth but had no chance to retort because Nicholas’ voice filled the room at once.

“I will not have you show disrespect, Charlotte. Not again. Apologize,” he demanded, but his daughter’s eyes flashed in a way that told Lydia she had no respect for her father.