Page 26 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“Nicholas,” Lydia whispered; none of the rages that had propelled her forward remained in her voice. “It hurts.” She spoke haltingly as if each word took a herculean effort to expel. He led her up the stairs carefully, never letting go of her. His jacket around her shoulders had soaked through, and he was about to stop to take it off her when he spotted Charlotte. She peered out from behind a marble statue, her hazel eyes the size of saucers and her mouth parted at the sight of Lydia.

His jaw clenched, and he had a mind to go to her right then and ring a right peal over her, but he knew this wasn’t the time. Lydia had to be his priority. Besides, if Charlotte’s expression was anything to go by, she was horrified.

He would deal with her later; for now, Lydia needed him. “Come,” he murmured and led her to his study while behind him, servants’ footsteps pounding on the stairs to bring him what he’d asked for. He led Lydia inside and placed her on a low stool by the fire. Then, he wrapped a blanket around her and squatted while Mrs. Funny delivered what he’d asked.

“Shall I summon the physician?” she asked, but Lydia shook her head.

“No physician,” she demanded. Nicholas motioned for Mrs. Funny to leave and drenched a cloth in the vinegar. The sharp pungent smell filled the room, overpowering the cedar logs’ pleasant aroma. "I’ll dab this on your face; it’ll sting," he said quietly, and she nodded, her teeth clattering. When he placed the soft cloth against her swollen face, she shrunk back, and he grabbed her arm to steady her. The sensation of her soft skin under his fingers sent a jolt through him.

He knew he should not feel anything other than concern at this moment – and he did – but he couldn’t deny it. Holding her, being so close to her that he could feel her ragged breath caress his skin, it inspired feelings in him he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Nicholas removed his hand, allowing his fingers to glide along her inner arm, soaking in the smoothness under his touch.

It was wrong to feel this way about her after all these years, but her nearness filled him with desire. Nicholas could not deny it. Her presence alone had begun to fill a void in his life. A void that had been caused by none other than himself – on the day he’d left her.

* * *

Lydia’s body shook from the venom surging through her as well as the cold. Yet, when Nicholas placed his hand on her arm to steady her, she hardly felt anything but his touch. He left his hand there as he continued to dab vinegar on her wounds. She heard how the stings reacted to the vinegar, letting out a small whistle as it neutralized the venom.

Later, she’d have to put honey on the stings to keep them from getting infected – ironic, given the source of her injuries. For the time being, she didn’t worry about that. It took all the strength she had left to stay seated upright. It was only Nicholas’ gentle touch that anchored her in place, and when he let go to tend to the clothes again, she grieved the loss of the connection.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and he raised his eyes. The gentle, hazel eyes she’d always loved so much were filled with regret.

“I do not know how to beg for your forgiveness,” he said, taking her hand again.

“You did not throw a rock at a bees nest, Nicholas,” she said though it was hard to form words. She could hardly take her eyes off his hand on hers, so mesmerized was she by the touch. She hardly felt the stings anymore; so powerful was this connection between them.

“It is my fault that she’s like this,” he said quietly and shook his head. “I was never there for her. I couldn’t be. When her mother died, I was lost to the world.”

Lydia looked up; her lips parted as her stomach dropped. He’d been so heartbroken he withdrew from the very world? She realized then how intense his love had been for his late wife and how much her loss had devastated him. She felt guilt for ever entertaining Charlotte’s bizarre accusation regarding her mother’s death and ashamed for… well, for having hoped that he might have carried a torch for her, despite the years.

Foolish thoughts. It was clear he’d moved on while she somehow became trapped in the past, even though she thought she’d freed herself from him long ago. The truth was, she hadn’t. Her love for him had turned into hate rather than indifference, which was the state she ought to have achieved.

Love that had turned to hate, she understood now, could turn into love once more. His touch and her reaction to it showed her as much. She might have shielded her heart if she’d been indifferent instead of angry, but she’d never managed that. She’d never managed to truly let him go; she understood that now.

She sucked in air through her nose but didn’t remove his hand, though she knew she ought to.

“I failed her on a scale much grander than I ever knew. I allowed her to be raised by nurses and governesses while I left her alone. I was either in London, trying to make my mark in society and parliament, or I was here but shut away in my study. I was not the father I should have been, and I allowed her to become consumed by anger born out of my abandonment of her.” He gulped and ran his thumb over the back of her hand, sending a tingle up her arm. “I am at my wits end with her. I do not know what to do. You were my last hope before sending her away to a seminary.”

“A seminary?” she asked; she knew of places like this where disobedient girls were raised by nuns or strict disciplinarians. They were unpleasant places, to say the least.

“I will have no choice. I was sure that by bringing you here, you could help her, you’d… undo the damage I did, but now look at you!” He motioned with his right hand at her swollen limbs and face. “How could I expect you to stay now after what she did?”

As he spoke, she observed him closely. His eyes carried a deep pain in them that struck her core. She hated seeing him like this, so defeated, so discouraged. He’d been this way before when he’d spoken of his mother’s death, his father’s untimely passing, and his grandfather’s cruelty. His words came from genuine desperation and sadness, and they stirred something in her she did not quite understand.

She knew the wise thing was to pack up and leave. Only a fool would stay after what Charlotte had done. Yet, looking at Nicholas now, she knew she couldn’t. A part of her would always be connected to him, and that part felt his pain; it burned her soul even more than the vinegar had burned her wounds.

Leaving would be a mistake; she knew this. Without thinking, she placed her hand on top of his. “Nicholas, I won’t leave. I’ll stay. I’ll stay for her. I’ll help you, somehow.” Relief flooded his handsome features, and he clasped his free hand on top of hers.

“You will? After everything?”

She only nodded, and their eyes locked, their fingers intertwining.

“I will,” she whispered. They looked at one another, and as they did, Lydia no longer felt the pain of dozens of bee stings. She didn’t feel the cold that once again had its claws in her. And before her, she no longer saw her employer, who’d lured her here under false pretenses.

They were no longer Miss Haddington and the Duke of Queensberry. Instead, they were Lydia and Nicholas as they had been so long ago. Two frightened children who had been done dirty by fate and found solace in each other.

It was wrong to feel this way. Nothing could happen between them, and the past could not revive. Nor should it. She had to move forward as he had. Still, as she looked at him and the magic of their old connection enveloped her, she could not bring herself to look away. The moment she averted her eyes, the bubble they had somehow slipped into would burst and all the magic would dissipate.

“Lydia,” he whispered, his voice thick with suppressed emotions. “I…”