Page 39 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

She scowled and took the potatoes from his hand. “Maybe in the days of famine, this would be quite the find. Alas, I regret to inform you that you own at least a dozen sacks of potatoes. Now. Why don’t we get you to your bed?”

“No!” he cried. “I am tired. I… I lost my chamber, Lydia. It is gone. Gone… Like everything.”

She looked at this pitiful creature before her who had once been the love of her life. What had happened to him? She’d known him to over-indulge in the past but never to this degree. He’d been a happy drunkard on the few occasions they’d shared in ale or mulled wine together, but never belligerent or so bosky he could not stand.

Despite their unpleasant conversation, and her anger she could not help but feel for him. What had led him to end up here like this? She shook her head and pushed her long hair out of her face, realizing she was in her nightgown, and only it and her shawl protected her modesty. She gulped but pushed this thought aside. Right now, she had more important things to worry about than propriety. She had to get him out of the pantry and into his chamber.

“Nicholas, get up. We must go to your chamber. You must help me.”

“Lydia!” he exclaimed as if seeing her for the first time. “You are quite the stern teacher.” He wagged his index finger at her and mimicked her voice. “You must get up, you bad boy!” He broke into giggles, and Lydia closed her eyes, rubbing her temples furiously. Then, she clicked her tongue and grabbed his wrists. Feeling his skin under her fingers sent an unexpected jolt up her arms. She stopped, staring at him before recovering herself.

She rushed into the kitchen and fetched the teapot. The tea had grown cold, and she didn’t have time to heat it up. It would not be good for Nicholas’ reputation to be seen in such a state. Instead, she poured tea into a cup and carried it to him.

“Here, drink this,” she demanded, pressing the cup against his lips. He turned his head like a spoilt child but then relented, drinking it down in one go.

“This is not wine,” he noted.

“Indeed, it is not. It will help you recover your senses,” she answered, grabbing his wrists again. Nicholas stood without protest though he stumbled forward. He would not make it to his chamber unaided. Lydia steadied herself before wrapping one arm around his waist and draping the other over her shoulders. Then, she took a step, and to her relief, he walked along with her, though if she hadn’t supported him, he would have fallen. She strained to walk him down the narrow hall and up the stairs to the main floor. He outweighed her by fifty pounds and towered over her, causing her to strain. At the stairs, she paused and felt him grow slack against her as if he relied entirely on her help.

“Thank you,” he murmured, a little less incoherent now, thanks to the tea and the exercise. Lydia struggled to get him up the stairs, but to her relief, they went the entire way without being seen. She pushed the handle to his chamber down with her elbow and heaved him inside. Once there, she stopped to grind her bearings. She’d never been to his chamber before, and thanks to the darkness, it was difficult to see. She made out his large four-poster bed to the right and directed him there, dropping him on the mattress as they arrived.

Nicholas fell backward with a groan, but Lydia was too exhausted to pay him any mind. She stumbled backward, relieved of her burden, and dropped into a leather wingchair by the extinguished fireplace. Her right shoulder burned from the strain, and she massaged it with her left hand, rolling it to get the muscle to loosen up.

“Lydia?” Nicholas said in a deep, raspy voice. It was clearer than before, and he almost sounded as though he knew where he was.

“Nicholas, go to sleep. You will feel better in the morning. I shall ask Mrs. Funny to bring you vinegar to ingest. It ought to help. Father swears by it.” She thought of her father, sick in his bed. A part of her wondered if she ought not to go home and be with him rather than tend to a drunken duke who hadn’t cared enough for her to escort her down the stairs hours earlier.

“Lydia,” he said again, bringing her back to reality. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt, much to her alarm.

“I shall go,” she called and hastened for the door. To her surprise, the bedsprings squeaked, and then his uncoordinated footsteps followed her. She turned, not wanting him to fall, but she’d underestimated how close he was to her.

“Oh!” she called as he bumped directly into her, staggering from the impact.

“Lydia,” he repeated and took her hand in his. She gasped at the unexpected touch and at the warmth radiating from his overheated body. She hadn’t realized it until now, but the exercise had caused her to sweat, turning the sweat into a prickling cold layer on her skin now that she was cold again.

“Don’t leave me. Everyone has left me. Not you, too,” he whispered though his eyes remained foggy and his voice thick with drunkenness. Did he know what he was asking of her? Lydia pondered. Surely not.

“Nicholas, you must sleep; it is late,” she whispered, knowing she should leave. Alas, she found she could not move. Something about their sudden closeness acted like a magnet, drawing her to him even though she didn’t want to be near him. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t escape whatever odd power it was that pulled her to him.

“Lydia, I missed you,” he whispered and dropped forward, his forehead now against hers. His breath still smelled so strong she could taste it, but the pleasant peppermint tea had made it intoxicating rather than revolting.

“You should not say such things,” she whispered, even though she had felt the same. She’d missed him despite everything that had happened. Being so close to him brought back a flood of memories, and she found she was quite unwilling to escape them. He raised his right hand and played with her long curls.

“So soft, so sweet,” he hummed in that deep voice that had always thrilled her during their stolen moments when Caroline and her father were out of the house. She remembered his kisses, felt his movement, his strong hands on her delicate skin.

“Nicholas,” she whispered and stepped a little closer so their bodies touched. His chest rose and fell, and before she knew it, she raised her hands to hold him closer. He shifted, and his lips brushed against her forehead as he inhaled.

“You smell so good. Lydia, my Lydia. Stay with me; never leave. I… I lo…”

“No!” Lydia explained, their closeness severed in an instant. She knew what he’d wanted to say. He wanted to tell her three words she’d longed to hear for so many years. The words she’d dreamed about. The words that, had he told them to her when she opened her box to find the beautiful gown, would have changed both their lives.

Now, she could not bear to hear them. She didn't want to hear him say them. For one thing, he was as drunk as a wheelbarrow and wouldn't remember anything he said the next day. They'd both be embarrassed if he did. For another, she knew she couldn't let her guard down around him.

She'd almost done it earlier that evening, when she'd walked into the ballroom, ready to give Nicholas her heart. However, she was met with a rude awakening. She'd let him deceive her once, believing his lies and promises.

She would never do it again. She pushed him away and dashed out of the room, determined. She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry in case anyone noticed, but by the time she returned to her chamber, she couldn't hold back any longer. She collapsed on her bed, overcome with emotions. She loved him. She’d always loved him, but now, when he had been ready to make his confession, she’d known she had to walk away. She had to protect her heart, keep it safe from him, even if it meant walking this earth as half a person for the rest of her life. Because there was no denying it. She'd always felt as if a piece of herself was missing without him. She knew that was how it would always be for her from now on, because she could never allow herself to love him again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE