Page 24 of What Lies Beneath

“Somehow, I don’t believe it,” Ashburton replied, a rather wicked smile twitching at the corners of his mouth which made her heart feel most peculiar as it fluttered about behind her ribs, foolish organ that it was.

“That’s because it isn’t true,” Tilly confirmed as they rode alongside the river. “She paints and draws as well as an artist, and plays the piano, and she’s ever so good at embroidery. She speaks French and German fluently and knows Latin and Greek too, and she writes the funniest stories to read me at bedtime, and—”

“Tilly!” Regina exclaimed, wishing the girl would hold her tongue. “Whilst I very much appreciate your admiration, your father is aware of my qualifications to be your governess. There is no need to list them all.”

“And she rides neck or nothing, and can fish too,” the earl added, eyes sparking mischievously, for she could not scold him in front of his daughter, though she was sorely tempted to do so.

“Quite so,” she said instead, hoping her tone was quelling enough to depress any further show of levity.

Perhaps it worked, for the rest of the ride was carried out in amicable silence, and whilst Regina was sorry the delightful interlude was over, she was relieved too. The sooner she returned to the house and got herself back on familiar territory, the better it would be.

Tilly scrambled down from her pony before anyone could help her, little hoyden that she was, but Regina could not follow suit. It was so long since she had ridden, she feared if she attempted to dismount unaided she would end up tangled in her own skirts and fall on her face. Looking around, she silently prayed for a groom to come and help her down, and was relieved to see one hurrying towards her.

“It’s all right, Dobson, I’ll help the lady,” the earl said before the groom could reach her, and Regina cursed the man. Why was he troubling himself with her when the groom was perfectly capable of helping her down? “There’s no need to scowl at me so forbiddingly, I won’t drop you,” Ashburton told her, amusement lurking behind the words.

Regina rearranged her expression, appalled that she had once again not known what it revealed. She was forgetting herself, forgetting that she must always be on alert and guard herself, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

“I am not scowling,” she replied coolly.

“Not now, no. Now you merely look indifferent,” he said, reaching his hands up towards her. His eyes held that maddening glint of challenge again, daring her to refuse his help. Provoked, Regina immediately put her hands on his shoulders and jumped down. Though she took him by surprise, he caught her deftly, but her sudden weight unbalanced him, and he instinctively drew her closer to steady them both. For a heady, horrifying, and delicious moment, her body was pressed flush against his, her soft curves crushed against his far harder form, and then good sense prevailed, and Regina pushed out of his embrace. He released her at once, but not before she had seen the look in his eyes. It reminded her of the big tom cat that held dominion over the gardens at Goshen Court. She was certain she had seen that exact same hungry look in the creature’s eyes as it waited patiently outside a mouse hole for its quarry to appear. Well, she was no one’s prey and never would be.

“Thank you,” she said, whilst glaring at him with such indignation she may as well have said go to hell, for he could not possibly be foolish enough not to hear her real meaning.

“You are very welcome, Mrs Harris,” he replied, polite as ever in the face of her rudeness.

Thoroughly unsettled, Regina wished only to flee. “Thank you also for an enjoyable outing. It was a pleasant treat,” she added, unable to sound so scathing now, as she had enjoyed the day more than she could bear to admit. However, she could still leave him with a terse comment that reminded them both of their places. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must get out of this borrowed gown so it can be cleaned. I would not wish for Lady Catherine to be appalled and chastise you when she discovers you allowed it to be worn by one of your servants.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off before he could remark that his sister would not give a tinker’s cuss if she claimed it as her own.

“Where is Mrs Harris?” Pip asked his daughter when she came down to dinner that evening.

Whilst most of his ilk would insist children eat in the nursery, Pip’s parents had never subscribed to this view, and neither did he. He enjoyed his daughter’s company and, he realised belatedly, also the company of her prickly governess.

“She has a headache,” Tilly said with a sigh. “So she won’t come down. She asked Mrs Morgan for a tray. I think she’s going to eat in the nursery.”

Pip frowned, certain the frustrating creature did not have a headache and only wished to avoid him. Irritated that he was to be denied the pleasure of sparring with her, he set his annoyance aside for the moment and concentrated on enjoying the excellent meal and his daughter’s irreverent chatter.

After the meal was done, he kissed Tilly goodnight, and waited for what he believed to be a suitable interval for Mrs Harris to read Tilly a bedtime story, as it was her turn to do so tonight. Then he made a quick trip to the kitchen, startling Mrs Morgan into a fluster, before heading upstairs in pursuit of his missing governess.

Giving a peremptory knock on the door to the nursery, which Mrs Harris used as her office as well as Tilly’s schoolroom, he opened the door and walked in. He discovered the lady sitting behind the desk writing, and she jumped guiltily as she saw him, confirming his suspicions.

“I was worried about you,” he told her, before she could speak. “I have never known you plead a headache before and felt anxious that you were in paroxysms of agony, so I asked Mrs Morgan to make you some willow bark tea.”

He held the cup out to her, aware of the bitter and rather astringent flavour that no one in their right mind would drink unless they really needed to.

“You went to the kitchens and asked Mrs Morgan for willow bark tea?” she repeated doubtfully.

“I did,” he agreed.

“Well, I am sorry to have wasted your time,” she replied, looking anything but sorry. “For dinner has quite restored me and I feel fine.”

“Ah, I am relieved to hear it,” Pip replied, putting the cup and saucer down.

He was tempted to sit on the corner of her desk, but then remembered what he believed he had discovered earlier, that she had disguised her looks for fear of being importuned by a villainous employer. He did not want to be that man, the one that chased innocent maids around the dining room table. As it was, he felt a twinge of guilt for that moment in the stable yard when her lush form had been pressed so enticingly against him, though more because he did not regret it than that it had happened at all. Yet something about Mrs Harris provoked him beyond bearing. It really was intolerable.

Not wishing to loom over her, he moved away and looked out of the window, seeing nothing but his own reflection against the darkness beyond. Frustrated by his own ridiculous behaviour and wondering what on earth he was playing at by coming to the nursery and seeking her out, he pulled the curtains closed with a snap.

“My, such domesticity, I never realised you were so talented.”