An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (4 page)

She glanced longingly down the gravel path toward the white marble temple. From here, she couldn’t see anyone on the set of stairs leading into the shady interior, or on the short grassy bank sloping down to the water. Even though her view of the lake was obscured by a strategically placed rhododendron hedge, she was certain no one was swimming nearby. If Sir Nicholas were bathing, surely she’d hear splashing.

There was only one way to find out if she was correct.

“Wait here a moment,” she instructed the girls. Sir Nicholas might be the master of Hartfield, but it hardly seemed fair that he should have the run of this part of the grounds for the entire day. Especially on an abominably hot morning like this. At the risk of getting her only remaining pair of kid slippers dirty, Abigail stepped off the path and crept along the grass, using the towering hedge as a shield until she reached its end. Holding her breath, she listened for any signs of activity in or around the lake for another moment or two before hazarding a look.

Save for a pair of mallard ducks floating by, the lake and the temple were deserted.

Thank heavens
. Abigail blew out a shaky sigh of relief. If Sir Nicholas had been bathing in the nude, she really didn’t know what she would have done. When would she learn to curb her reckless nature?

“Miss Adams?” Lavinia called uncertainly.

Abigail plastered a confident smile on her face as she turned around. “Good news,” she declared with false brightness. “No one else is about. I think it is quite safe for us to use the temple for our lesson today.”

Kitty clapped her hands and skipped forward. “Hurrah. I wish we could have our lessons here every day.”

“Me too,” added Lavinia. She took her younger sister’s hand and tugged her across the lawn.

As Abigail followed in their wake, she once again mentally kicked herself for acting so rashly. Brazen and foolish, that’s what she was. And wanton. Because if she were perfectly honest with herself, it wasn’t just a burst of rebellious petulance that had driven her to take such a risk.

God help her, it was lust.

A
fter Abigail delivered
Miss Lavinia and Kitty back into the care of their nurse a few hours later so they could take nuncheon, she discovered that in her absence she’d been allocated yet another bedroom, this time in the east wing on the third floor. Directly above Sir Nicholas’s apartments.

With her disapproval clearly etched across her narrow face, Mrs. Graham had explained the situation in clipped tones whilst Bessie and another housemaid finished putting away the last of Abigail’s few possessions in the cherrywood wardrobe and matching chest of drawers.

Whilst the chamber wasn’t quite as grand as the Amber Room, it was certainly an improvement on the cramped bedroom Abigail had been using for the past six months. Her appreciative gaze wandered over the wide tester bed with its intricately carved headboard, also in cherrywood, the plush rug before the marble fireplace and the large window adorned with damask curtains of a deep rose pink. Heavens, there was even a window seat. She couldn’t quite believe her good fortune. Or that Sir Nicholas was being so generous.

Unless he had an ulterior motive... The thought niggled away at Abigail’s brain like a worm inside an apple.

Mrs. Graham clearly had similar thoughts. After the maids departed, she said in a voice so wintry, it could have blasted the very waters of the lake to ice, “Sir Nicholas would like to see you in the library.”

Abigail’s stomach began to flutter wildly with an odd combination of nervous anticipation and confusion. “I can’t think why.”

Mrs. Graham looked down her long beak of a nose. “It is not your place to think, Miss Adams. It is to do as you are told and behave with the utmost decorum at all times. Need I remind you that her ladyship puts a good deal of trust in you? I should hate to think you would do anything to sully the impressionable young minds of her daughters or indeed, besmirch the name of this good family.”

A furious blush of indignation scalded Abigail’s cheeks. “Mrs. Graham. I must protest.”

The housekeeper stepped forward and pointed a gnarled finger straight at Abigail’s face. She was so close, Abigail could see beads of perspiration glistening on her lined upper lip. “Don’t lie to me, my girl,” she spat like a cornered tabby. “I have eyes. I saw the way you and Sir Nicholas looked at each other yesterday. You’d best watch yourself.”

Abigail raised her chin and glared back. “Or what, Mrs. Graham? What will you do? It is Sir Nicholas who is the master of this house and pays the staffs’ wages, including yours. Might I suggest it is
you
who should remember
that
pertinent fact.”

Mrs. Graham’s face grew beet red and Abigail swore she could hear the woman grinding her teeth together. But she stood her ground. She wouldn’t be cowed by such a spiteful martinet. After a moment, the housekeeper made a low sound in her throat like a growl before she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

Abigail heaved a shaky sigh of relief and after shutting the door, pressed her hot forehead against the cool wood. A rush of stinging tears pricked the back of her eyelids. Dear God. What a horrible, horrible woman.

And how absolutely terrifying to think Mrs. Graham’s assessment of the situation was so frighteningly accurate. And that by retaliating, she had made everything just that much worse.

But she didn’t have time for self-indulgent histrionics. Sir Nicholas expected her.

Abigail drew a deep, fortifying breath then crossed over to the washstand by the bed. After splashing her face with cool water, she examined her appearance in the looking glass: her eyes were a trifle bright; her cheeks were flushed but other than that, she looked relatively composed despite her inner turmoil. Because she hadn’t worn a bonnet, her hair had even managed to stay in its chignon for once.

She glanced wistfully at her empty bottle of lavender water sitting bedside her cake of rose-scented soap. She’d washed again this morning but given the heat of the day, she would’ve loved to dab a few drops of scent upon her wrists and behind her ears. She’d added lavender water to the list of items she’d lost—a list she had completed most reluctantly before she’d left it on Sir Nicholas’s desk in the library as he’d instructed. Perhaps he simply wanted to speak with her about it.

There was only one way to find out.

Hoping she could affect a demeanor of cool civility despite the hammering of her heart, Abigail set forth for the library. Even though the door was slightly ajar, she paused to knock. “It’s Miss Adams,” she called out in a voice so shaky with nerves, it made her grimace. Annoyingly, Sir Nicholas’s distinctive baritone resonated with absolute confidence when he summoned her inside.

She found him sitting at his large ebon oak desk, surrounded by piles of books that hadn’t been there this morning, but as soon as he laid eyes on her, he discarded the papers he’d been looking at and rose to his feet. “Miss Adams. How delightful it is to see you. I trust you are well today?”

She bobbed a curtsy and dipped her head to try and hide her blush at his compliment. Today he was dressed as a gentleman should be in a superbly cut midnight blue tailcoat, matching striped silk waistcoat and ivory shirt, but that didn’t help her maintain her façade of composure. Sir Nicholas in the flesh was a completely different entity to the Sir Nicholas of her fantasies. How could she have forgotten his astonishing height and breadth of shoulder? How infinitely appealing his wide smile?

How devastatingly handsome he was...

“Miss Adams?” he prompted.

“I... I thank you, sir... I mean... I am well indeed.”
Aside from being rendered speechless.
Abigail licked her dry lips. “Mrs. Graham said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes.” He rounded the desk and propped one lean hip on the edge. Tight buff breeches and shiny black Hussar boots outlined his long, muscular legs to perfection throwing her off balance even more; a suspicious part of her mind couldn’t help but wonder if he both dressed and postured himself thus by design. Like a stag displaying his antlers. “Please take a seat,” he said, gesturing toward a nearby Bergère armchair directly in front of the desk. “There is indeed a matter I would like to discuss.”

Oh, dear.
That sounded ominous. Abigail frowned in confusion. Perhaps she had asked him for too much. Nevertheless, she did as she was bid, smoothing her cotton skirts with trembling fingers as she sat.

“Do not look so concerned, Miss Adams,” said Sir Nicholas with an unexpectedly gentle smile that sent her heart tripping. “I assure you it’s nothing serious.”

Abigail inclined her head. “I’m relieved to hear it.” Although, given her close proximity to Sir Nicholas, relieved was the last thing she felt. Instead, she was flustered and all too aware of his overwhelming masculinity, his rich sandalwood scent and the touch of his dark blue gaze as he studied her face.

Heat flooded her cheeks again and Abigail inwardly cursed herself for her weakness. A handsome man looked at her, and her insides and her resolve both turned to blancmange. She, of all people, should know better.

As if he were deliberately taunting her with his physical prowess, Sir Nicholas crossed his well-muscled arms over his very wide chest. “I don’t know if you’ve been informed,” he said without further preamble, “but Lady Barsby is intending to decamp to Brighton with my nieces for several weeks to stay with her sister. They leave tomorrow.”

Despite her concerns about Sir Nicholas’s intentions toward her, and her own vulnerability in that regard, Abigail’s heart fell. She should be grateful for the respite. But perversely, she wasn’t. “No. No, I didn’t know. Brighton is quite diverting this time of year I believe,” she said, forcing a carefree smile. “I’m sure I shall quite enjoy escorting Miss Lavinia and Miss Kitty about the town. The sea air will be good for them I expect.”

“Indeed. However,” Sir Nicholas rubbed his sharply cut jaw for a moment as if he were carefully choosing his next words, “you will not be accompanying them.”

“Oh...” Shock squeezed the air from Abigail’s lungs. Had Sir Nicholas lied to her a moment ago when he’d said the matter he wished to speak of wasn’t serious? “Am I... Am I being dismissed?” she whispered.

“Good God, Miss Adams. Of course not. Why on earth would you think that?” he growled. His expression softened a little when he added, “I simply have need of you here.”

Momentarily stunned, Abigail blinked. Surely Sir Nicholas wouldn’t be brazen enough to suggest anything improper... But then again... Maybe that’s why Mrs. Graham had been so hostile. “Might I ask, in what capacity?” she asked when she managed to find her voice.

Sir Nicholas made an expansive gesture with his hand. “Hartfield’s library has been terribly neglected over the years. I don’t know about you—for I’m sure Lady Barsby has given you free reign here—but I cannot find a dashed thing. There is no cataloguing system to speak of. Not that I can fathom at any rate. I want you to sort it out.” He cast her a crooked smile as if he was suddenly aware how arrogant he sounded and added, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“No. I wouldn’t mind,” replied Abigail carefully. “And of course, I will do as you ask.” After all, she really had little choice. “I only hope I can live up to your expectations. I’m a governess, not a librarian and as such, I have never taken on such a project before.”

Her gaze traveled around the enormous, beautifully appointed chamber; there were two levels of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves absolutely crammed with all manner of leather bound tomes. Sir Nicholas was correct in assuming she had been permitted to explore the books, ostensibly to find suitable texts and reading material for her pupils. And she too had noted there was no cataloguing system to speak of. Searching for a particular book was akin to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack most of the time.

“I’m certain you won’t disappoint,” Sir Nicholas said softly and Abigail willed herself not to blush for the third time since she’d entered the room.

And failed.

The baronet clearly noted the effect he had on her too, curse him. A knowing glint sparked in his deep blue eyes and his smile took on a rakish tilt. “Now, to the other matter,” he added as he pushed away from the desk.

Other matter?
“I assume you are referring to my list of lost items.” Abigail straightened in her seat. She desperately wanted to appear unaffected and businesslike despite her telltale high color. “If I have asked for too much—”

“Not at all,” replied Sir Nicholas, reaching down behind his desk. With a grand flourish, he produced a beautiful poke bonnet trimmed with an abundance of ivory silk ribbon and a basket containing several items. “In any case, I hope these will do.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Abigail rose to her feet and pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

She took the basket from Sir Nicholas and noted with genuine astonishment that aside from a roll of fine parchment, there was not one, but three scent bottles—lavender water, rose water, and lily-of-the-valley.

“You’ve probably noticed there are several items missing—the fabric, buttons, and thread to begin with,” Sir Nicholas remarked. “But then, I have also noted that you
neglected to include several things on your list. Like your gown and shoes.”

“Oh, please do not worry about them,” Abigail said as she lifted the bonnet to admire a cluster of exquisitely rendered silk rosettes on one side of the crown. “It’s not your fault—” She had been about to add she was the one who was responsible for ruining her dress when she’d jumped down from the stile, but the less said about that
incident the better. Sensing Sir Nicholas’s gaze upon her face—and feeling more than a little self-conscious—she returned her attention to the contents of the basket.

“Be that as it may, I wish to replace
every
item that was lost or ruined yesterday, Miss Adams,” Sir Nicholas said gently. “Simply think of it as
noblesse oblige
if you are bothered by the notion you are in some way indebted to me. You hinted at that yesterday, but I assure you, you are not.”

Abigail at last braved a glance at Sir Nicholas. “Thank you. That eases my mind a little. I only hope—” She bit her lip, inwardly cursing herself for her near slip of the tongue. It’s not as if she could say,
I hope the servants do not believe I am your doxy.
Even though Mrs. Graham certainly does.

“I’m intrigued,” Sir Nicholas said. A devilish twinkle lit his eyes and her pulse began to race. “What do you hope?”

“I hope you have not gone to too much trouble,” concluded Abigail. Mentally, she consigned the man to Hades. She resented the fact Sir Nicholas constantly made her feel all at sea—even now gratitude warred with exasperation and another overwhelming surge of reluctant but undeniable attraction. The man’s uncanny ability to stir her in so many different ways was frustrating in the extreme.

However, Sir Nicholas appeared to be satisfied with her response as his mouth tilted into a smile that would probably make even Mrs. Graham’s heart flutter. “Think nothing of it, Miss Adams. It is my pleasure.”

Pleasure.
Oh, why did he have to use that word? A word that brought to mind all the wicked yet deeply pleasurable things she had been thinking about doing with the man ever since their very first encounter. Things she should
not
be thinking about.

But as Sir Nicholas’s dark blue eyes held hers, the atmosphere in the library suddenly became charged with undeniable sexual awareness. The air practically sizzled with it. When his gaze slipped lower to her
décolletage
, Abigail’s nipples pearled and her breath caught. It was like the storm of yesterday afternoon had descended upon them again, and Abigail was perilously close to being swept into a maelstrom she had no hope of escaping. Desperate to flee the temptation both his words and expression suggested—she was now in no doubt her employer desired her—Abigail picked up her new bonnet and basket and murmured in a breathless voice, “Well, if there’s nothing else...”

Sir Nicholas dragged in a deep breath as if he too needed air before he replied, “Ah, but there is. I want you to go to Mrs. Graham’s office. Mrs. Thorpe from the draper’s in Hedgecombe is waiting to take your measurements for a new gown. And she will also make whatever garment it was you were intending to sew. As for your lost shoe, one of the gardeners found it in the grounds earlier this morning. It is now with the village cobbler and a new pair should be ready within a few days.”