Page 43 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“And Charlotte?” She spoke gently and without judgment.

“Charlotte... I wanted to care for her. I promised her I would; I promised Louisa I would. But I could not. She cried. She fretted; she was colicky. I... I was overwhelmed because I knew that, once again, I was not what she needed or wanted. It is rather a repetitive tale in my life.”

“Nicholas,” she whispered and placed her hand on his forearm. The connection filled him with a burst of longing, and to satiate it, he placed his hand on top of hers.

She did not wear gloves this day; thus, their skin touched properly, and he felt the silky smoothness against his own.

“It is true. My grandfather did not want me as his heir, my fellow lords do not want me, and Charlotte...” he looked away and withdrew his hand, burying his head in his hands instead. “I let everyone care for her rather than do it myself. The truth is, she reminded me of my wife and my failings. She reminded me of all the things I’d done wrong, all my mistakes. I know things with her have been better since you got here, but I fear she’ll never truly care for me, and I cannot blame her.”

His heart ached with the many years of pain he’d numbed with whiskey and wine. He longed for the bottle, ached for the sharp burn the brandy would provide him with before enveloping him in a cloud of blissful ignorance. At the same time, he knew he could not. He’d already caused himself too much trouble with his return to drinking. He had to be an adult and face his problems rather than flee from them.

Yet, the sheer height of his regret made it impossible to do so. As he sat there, his future was like a horrible theater play. He saw himself growing older and more bitter at Lady Evelyn’s side, saw his daughter grow and leave, never to return home as she forged a life of her own far away from the man who never was a father to her.

All he’d have left would be the bottle for everyone who cared about him; even a little would be gone. Mrs. Funny, dead and buried someday. Charlotte, gone to a husband. Lydia… a distant painful memory.

“Lydia, what have I done?” he croaked, overcome with emotion. His eyes watered much to his horror, and he looked away. He couldn’t look at her, not now. Not when his tears threatened to spill like rivers down his face, revealing his weakness. She’d pity him, no doubt. And that he could not bear. He’d never shared so much of himself with anyone, aside from Mrs. Funny during one of his light benders. He never planned to again, yet it had broken out of him like a volcano. And now, Lydia would be disappointed in him and that was the one thing he could not manage to see. He could not bear her disappointment, for it would break him into a million pieces.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lydia's heart ached for Nicholas because of his pain and suffering; every word was tinged with deep regret. He couldn't even look at her because he was so ashamed of his flaws. He looked so small, so lost, the way he had after he came to work for her father following his mother’s death. He'd been a broken soul in desperate need of a family.

She'd been where he was now, overcome with guilt and shame for her inadequacy. She'd had these moments when she felt like nothing she'd ever done in her life was worthwhile. She'd lived in the shadows, and whenever her father's health deteriorated or she saw how difficult life was for Caroline during her brief visits, she felt a dark cloak of grief and regret swallow her up.

She frequently felt as if she'd abandoned her family in order to pursue a career as a governess, leaving them to fend for themselves. There were nights when she was away from home, and even now, when she couldn't sleep because she imagined Caroline at home, her life dwindling as she cared for their ailing father and their shop. She'd always told Lydia that she'd chosen to stay because she was happy to care for him, but Lydia had to wonder: Was she telling the truth? Or did Caroline secretly resent her life the way Nicholas had all these years?

Was Caroline to Lydia what Louisa had been to Nicholas? A means to an end? No, she knew this was not true. They were family. They hadn’t been put together by convenience but by fate. And still, knowing these thoughts so well made it possible for Lydia to understand him better than she ever thought possible.

Unlike Nicholas, she’d learned to escape it and bring her own light. And now, Nicholas needed her to do that for him.

She wrapped her free hand over his, establishing their lost connection. Then, she gently used her other hand to turn his face toward her. He’d grown stubble on his formerly smooth chin, and the hairs crazed against her in a more alluring way than it should have been at this time. She pictured him holding her as his stubble rubbed against her smooth skin and felt a prickling spread on her arms and down her back.

She forced the thought away.

“Nicholas, we all go through challenges. Eventually, they will pass, all we must do is persevere. Work on getting closer to Charlotte; she will forgive you eventually and will want her father. She already does, even though she cannot show it any more than you can show her that you love her very much.”

He closed his eyes for a second, and tears streamed down his face. They clung to his chin before falling onto her hand like raindrops.

“You’re too good to me, Lydia,” he whispered, placing his hand on her, pushing her skin closer against his stubble. His fingers curled around hers with so fierce a grip they pressed together, aching under his touch. Yet, she did not wish to remove them. The opposite. She lit his strong hold on her, for it told her he needed her just as she needed him.

“I missed this. Us.” He fixed his eyes on her, and she saw her reflection in them. Lydia saw the years that had passed them by. The pain their separation had caused not just to her but to him as well. She’d convinced herself she no longer wanted him, but that wasn’t true. She’d merely grown accustomed to life without him, but deep down, her heart never stopped loving him and her body never stopped desiring his.

“Nicholas,” she murmured as their past and present muddled together, as though no time had gone, as if they were still young and innocent and hidden away in the stable, rolling in the hay while laughing, kissing, and drinking in each other’s presence.

“Lydia, I need you so much,” he whispered so quietly she could hardly hear. And then, before she could reply and tell him she felt the same, his lips landed on her mouth. The feeling was like nothing she’d ever experienced. He tasted salty from the tears he’d shed, but there was nothing somber about his kiss. It was all lust and craving. And it was infectious.

Any reservation she had faded, and her resolve to stay away from him evaporated in light of the power that was their connection. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world so she might feel him without distraction.

He grabbed the back of her head, pushing his fingers in the spaces between her hairpins, and pulled her head back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and they stared at one another, their breath hot against each other’s skin. Lydia’s body quivered with desire. She placed her hand on the small of his back, pulling him closer as he smiled, kissing her again.

This time his kiss was tender, and he wrapped his arms around her as they lost each other to the moment. Reality slipped away, and Lydia could no longer picture the lake or the manor house. There was nothing but her and Nicholas, alone with only the faint sound of the world outside occasionally breaking through their bubble.

Nicholas’s hand caressed her back and worked its way to the front, slowly slipping up her flat stomach until he reached her round breast. She gasped with anticipation for his touch and threw her head back, feeling the sun on her skin as his hand found her breast. He cupped her, her chest a perfect fit for his hand. His thumb rubbed over her nipple, hard with passion.

“Oh, Nicholas. I’ve missed your touch.” The words came out haltingly, weighed down by longing.

“You shall never miss it again,” he murmured, kissing her neck, flicking his tongue over her cool skin. Her breathing quickened, and she pressed harder into his, wanting to feel him near her. She ran her hand along his arm, gently tracing the outline of his muscle when she felt his manhood press against her. It throbbed hard, and she allowed her hand to travel from his arm across his taunt, muscular stomach, and then, she slipped it to the place that so earlier wanted to be touched.