Gift-Wrapped Governess (15 page)

L
ord Chepstow was grinning to himself as he made his way up to the schoolroom after lunch. When he'd got up that morning, his first instinct had been to go straight there and spend the entire day coaxing Honeysuckle into accepting his proposal. But after the heat of the kisses they'd shared the night before, he knew he was going to find it damned difficult to keep his hands off her. Not that he cared what a pack of someone else's children might think of him kissing their governess into submission. But he had an inkling that Honeysuckle would find his ardour embarrassing. Which would make her angry. And he didn't want her angry, he wanted her to melt for him again, as she had begun to do last night.

Lord, but it had felt marvellous when she'd kissed him back with such passion. He'd never, ever felt such a sense of—triumph, yes, that was it. As if he'd won some kind of battle. Because she had not set out to entrap him, like so many women did. Rather, she'd done all she could to resist. Her own longings, as much as his.

His grin widened. He had breached her defences, but by now, if he knew anything about her, she would have retreated into her defensive shell once more. Just as she'd retreated
into her bedroom, when what had flared between them had become too passionate for her to handle.

Not that he minded. On the contrary, he was relishing the prospect of breaching her barriers all over again. Her natural reticence brought out the hunter in him. The fact that he was certain to catch her in the end did not make the pursuit of Honeysuckle Miller any less satisfying. It was all as it should be. The man pursued. The woman surrendered.

Though there was nothing predatory about his pursuit. He had realised, when he woke this morning, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making up for all she'd had to do without so far by showering her with gifts. Jewellery, clothes…whatever her heart desired.

How could he ever have thought she was plain? With her hair rippling down to her waist, her body all shrouded in white, the night before she'd looked so damned desirable he could scarcely remember his own name, let alone why he'd gone up to the schoolroom.

She had to marry him. She needed him to take her away from this life of drudgery and treat her as she deserved to be treated.

Not that she would be likely to accede to any demand she abandon the children and leave Budworth Hall right away, even though he'd had more than enough of the place. Not only was he beginning to seriously dislike his hosts for the way they had treated Honeysuckle, but he was also devilishly bored with the set of people staying here.

But Honeysuckle would not regard his wishes as of—he grinned—
parrot mount
importance. No, her priority would be to make sure there was someone else to care for the children before she would consider handing in her notice.

He paused on the landing, wondering why he did not mind the fact he was not first on her list of priorities. It didn't take him more than a moment to work out that her loyalty to the children in her care, her determination to do her best for
them, no matter what it cost, whether they appreciated her sacrifices or not was one of the things he admired about her most. If she could just leave them behind without suffering a pang, she wouldn't be…Honeysuckle.

A tender smile played about his mouth as he thought of the one sure way to win her compliance. No matter how much she wanted to argue with him, the moment he took her in his arms, she melted like ice in the sun, which made him feel very…manly. As though, having conquered Honeysuckle, he was now capable of achieving just about anything.

Even spending the New Year with Pippa and her boring baronet. For that was what he would have to do, now that he'd decided to make Honeysuckle his wife. It would take a little while to organise a wedding. And Pippa's house was the obvious place to take her while they sorted out all the details. He'd instantly dismissed any notion of procuring a special licence and marrying her quietly. It might look as though there was something suspect about their union, as though he was not completely sure that she was the woman he wanted. So he was going to organise a grand wedding and show her off. Start as he meant to go on. Nothing was to be too good for Honeysuckle. And no expense spared.

And Pippa was the one person he could trust to stand by her through it all. In fact, Pippa would be absolutely thrilled to be able to call Honeysuckle her sister.

He walked the remaining few steps to the schoolroom door, savouring the prospect of making a grand entrance, whisking Honeysuckle away from her life of drudgery and showering her with all the things she'd had to go without. And seeing her look at him as though he was her hero.

Puffing out his chest, he pushed open the door and strode in. ‘Miss Miller,' he began, for the sake of the children and her sensibilities. Though part of him still wanted to cry
Darling
,
sweep her into his arms and cover her face with kisses, it would be prudent to moderate his behaviour.

‘Miss Miller is not here,' said the servant, who appeared to be in nominal charge of the pack of children whose faces were beginning to look familiar.

‘Oh? Where is she, then?'

One of the little girls, who'd been sitting on the servant's knee looking rather sullen, began to cry. Or, to judge by her mottled complexion, started to cry again.

‘She's been dismissed,' said the servant.

‘Dismissed?'

Another little girl peeled away from the rumpus taking place at one end of the room to come and put her arms protectively around, to judge by their identical dress, her younger sister.

‘For misconduct,' said the servant, glowering at him.

‘Misconduct?' It made no sense. What on earth could Honeysuckle have possibly done to result in her dismissal? She was so utterly devoted to the children he could not imagine her doing anything that would jeopardise their welfare.

‘And it's Christmas,' wailed the first little girl. ‘She was going to give us a party. Our first proper Christmas party.'

‘We shall still have our party,' said the older sister. ‘Jane promised. Didn't you, Jane?'

The servant nodded. ‘Here,' she said, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a bulging paper bag. ‘Share these out, will you? I need to have a talk with this…' she paused, and a sneer crept into her voice ‘…
gentleman.
'

The little girl who'd looked so inconsolable stopped crying when presented with the bag of toffee. She took it over to the hearthrug and, as the others gathered round her, making her the centre of attention, brightened up considerably.

The moment the girls were fully occupied the servant whirled round and glared at him.

‘She has nowhere to go, did you know that? Or care? She
set off walking down the drive with just as much as she could carry in one small bag, with no idea what is to become of her.'

A chill struck him in the gut.

‘She has already left Budworth Hall? Then I must go after her. Find her.'

He was about to make for the door, when the servant intercepted him. ‘You've done enough already. You leave her alone, do you hear?'

‘Me? What have I done?' he protested.

‘You know very well,' said the servant indignantly. ‘
Everyone
knows what went on up here last night, thanks to that hussy Lady Springfield. You ought to be ashamed of yourself—sneaking up here last night and…and toying with our Miss Miller.'

‘I did not sneak,' he said, completely shocked by having a member of the lower orders rebuking him, though in some ways her heated defence of Honeysuckle made him warm to her. And though he would not normally bother to explain himself to a servant, he found himself doing exactly that.

‘Miss Miller is a friend of my sister's. We have known each other for years. Since she told me she had no time off during the length of my stay here, I had no choice but to visit her in her schoolroom. And I most certainly did not
toy
with her. I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed…'

He trailed off. To be completely honest, he'd known he ought not to have made so free with a woman who was well born. Wasn't that why he'd proposed to her?

And then he looked at the two girls, who were still quite subdued in spite of having cheeks bulging with toffee. And saw that the boys who had joined in with his game of pirates with such enthusiasm had taken a defensive stance at their side. All were looking at him as though he were a pantomime villain.

‘Look, there seems to have been some sort of misunder
standing. Perhaps I should not have come up here so late last night, while Miss Miller was all alone, but nothing happened that…'

But now another aspect of the situation struck him. She was a servant here. He'd always despised the kind of men who preyed on vulnerable female members of household staff. Not that it had been anything like that, last night. But…to people who did not know about their life-long connection, it must have looked pretty damning.

‘This is all completely ridiculous,' he said, spearing his fringe out of his eyes with agitated fingers. ‘There was no need for her to leave. Even if she was dismissed, she should have just come to me…' But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he saw how impossible that would have been for Honeysuckle. She was too used to having to deal with all her problems by herself. She did not know him well enough yet to trust him. And she'd never had anyone she
could
trust, not in her whole life. First her parents had let her down by dying and leaving her so poorly provided for, then her guardians had demonstrated their indifference by leaving her to sink or swim in that school without doing more than paying the bills. His heart squeezed in his chest as he saw her assuming she would have to deal with the loss of her job alone, too.

‘Oh, really?' said the servant, hands on hips. ‘And what would you have done? Humiliated her even worse, no doubt. Men of your class always blame the woman. And it's always the woman who has to pay the price when you've had what you wanted.'

‘I haven't had what I wanted,' he snapped. ‘Not at all. In spite of what Lady Springfield might have said, all I did was kiss her a time or two. And ask her to marry me…'

‘
You
,' the servant said, looking at him up and down with incredulity, ‘asked
her
to marry you?'

‘Why not?' It was one of the little girls with the bag of toffee. ‘Miss Miller is the loveliest person in the whole world.'

‘Yes, she is,' he agreed. ‘Annabel, isn't it? And last night I realised—' about the time he'd been running through Havelock's list, and discovering she had every single virtue any of the fellows in his club had written on it ‘—that there is no woman on earth who would make me a better wife.'

The little girl sighed and looked at him as though he was now the romantic lead, rather than the villain of the piece.

‘Well, if'n you really do mean to marry her,' said the servant, her face softening, ‘then you couldn't do no worse than start looking for her at the vicarage. She meant to ask the reverend if he would kindly take her in, just while Mr Rothman tries to get the wages she's owed out of his lordship.'

‘Do you mean to tell me that they threw her out without her wages?'

The servant shot a meaningful glance at the children, implying reluctance to speak ill of their parent in their hearing. But she added, in an undertone, ‘Nor a character, neither.'

He was half inclined to head straight down to Lord Budworth and tell him exactly what he thought of a man who'd throw a vulnerable woman out of doors without any means of support in the midst of winter.

But he'd already wasted enough time. Night fell early at this time of year. And he had to make sure that Honeysuckle was in a place of safety before it did.

Pray God he found her, before anything worse happened than…he groaned…than losing her job, her wages, her home.

Because of him.

She must be furious with him. And why not? He was furious with himself. If Pippa had been a governess, and some guest had invaded her schoolroom when she was only in her night attire and taken such liberties, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life.

Well, she could scold him as much as she liked. He would
welcome anything she cared to throw at him when he found her, so long as he did find her.

For the prospect of never seeing her again was just too horrible to contemplate.

H
oneysuckle paused in the doorway of the vicar's study, her tray balanced on her hip.

It was just as well she'd had such a broad, not to say unconventional, education. The Reverend Colleyhurst might not have taken her in had Mrs Moulsham not used her younger pupils as unpaid staff.

‘Usually, Miss Miller, I would be only too glad to offer you shelter in your distressing circumstances,' he'd told her, ‘but you see, my housekeeper is away visiting a sick member of her family and I am not sure when she will be able to return. In the meantime, I only have a cook left to me. And while I do not mind, as a bachelor, you know, living quite simply, there is nobody to prepare a room or…or anything else. You see how it is?'

And that was when she'd virtually begged him not to turn her away.

‘The principal of the school I attended believed in training every pupil in all aspects of domestic service. I am quite capable of doing any household task, from blacking a grate to laundering fine linen. It would give me great comfort to repay your kindness in taking me in by working for my keep.'

He'd glanced across at his desk, which was buried under mounds of papers, tottering piles of books and the remnants of half-eaten meals.

A hopeful expression had replaced the harassed one he'd been wearing when she'd first knocked on his door.

‘Well, I…well, that is…would you really?'

Since then, she'd lit a fire in the spare bedroom, found linen, set it to air, then gone to the kitchen where she'd donned an apron and washed all the dishes she'd found stacked in the scullery. She'd then returned to her room and made up the bed.

And now she was back downstairs, having heard him go out a few minutes ago. She meant to take advantage of his absence to set his study to rights.

She placed her tray on the sofa, for want of any other clear, horizontal surface, and went to the desk at which he worked on his sermons to clear away the cups and saucers. As she carried the first pile of crockery over to the tray, her hand shook so badly the remaining contents of one of the teacups slopped into the saucer. She took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. She had nothing to fear now. She was not outside in the cold.

It was just that it had suddenly seemed as if her position was as fragile as the bone-china cups she was stacking. One slip, and everything could shatter into pieces too small to ever be glued back together again.

Better stop handling delicate china, then. She would put the books back where they belonged instead and tidy the vicar's papers.

Reverend Colleyhurst, she soon discovered, had a unique system of arranging his books, by topic rather than alphabetically. But she welcomed the challenge of finding the right home for each one, since it kept her mind occupied with something other than her own predicament—and the disturbing tendency to wonder what Lord Chepstow was doing,
right that minute. Was he out riding with the other guests? Eating luncheon? Playing billiards? The hardest thing of all was not to allow resentment to creep in and overshadow the wonderful memory she had of those rapturous moments in his arms. She wanted them to be a source of comfort in the years ahead. But whenever she thought of him going on his merry way, without even wondering what had become of her, the episode that had felt so glorious at the time stood in very real danger of getting twisted into something that would have the power to torture her for years to come.

Her lips compressed, she rammed the last book from the desk back where it belonged and climbed down from the stepstool. At least now her hands were quite steady. She was ready to tackle the crockery.

By the time Reverend Colleyhurst returned, she vowed, he would look upon her as a godsend rather than an obligation.

Tomorrow, while he was conducting the morning services, she would lift the rugs in this room and give them a good beating. She did not mind doing hard, physical work. Besides, if she was still at Budworth Hall, she would be working even harder, putting together a party for all the children.

A pang shot through her as she thought of them all, left to fend for themselves up in the schoolroom. She hoped Mrs Gulpher and Rothman would stick to their promises and allow Jane to step into her shoes. She wouldn't worry so much if she could be absolutely sure Jane was up there with them right now. Jane had plenty of experience with children, coming from such a large family. And, more importantly, she liked them. She often lingered after bringing up the nursery tea, though that was partly to avoid the tasks she was supposed to have been doing elsewhere. Poor Jane. She wasn't likely to last very much longer in domestic service. She had a fatal tendency to ignore orders from the upper staff if she thought there was something more important to do, and was cheeky enough to answer back when reprimanded.

Which meant she had a natural affinity with those boys. It had taken Lord Chepstow and that game of pirates he'd played with them to give
her
the key to understanding how to manage them. They had a natural aggression that was foreign to her nature, but they also had a code of honour that at least made them take their wrestling matches into a corner where they would not endanger the little ones. In the end, she'd found them every bit as lovable as the girls, in their own way.

She gave herself a mental shake and stacked the vicar's cups and saucers on the tray.
Nothing
of what might be going on at Budworth Hall now was any of her business. She had to stop thinking about them as though they were…family. To stop worrying about children who weren't her children.

To stop wondering what kind of governess Lord Budworth would hire next for his girls. For he would certainly want someone to keep them out of his way, so he could throw his lavish parties without having them underfoot. What if the next woman
was
prepared to use the birch?

She was just about to start dusting the crumbs from the vicar's desk when she heard someone knocking on the front door. It was only when the person pounded again, a bit harder, that it occurred to her that she ought to be the one to go and see who it was. The cook, who was the only other servant in the house, did not seem at all inclined to leave her kitchen. But then, the poor woman was far too busy to wash dishes, never mind deal with the kind of visitor who would bang so importunately on the door at this time of night on Christmas Eve. Besides, if it was the kind of visitor with whom she could deal, they would have been knocking on the back door.

Whoever it was, they were not going to go away. So she removed her apron, smoothed her hair and went into the hall.

It was a total shock to see Lord Chepstow standing on the top step, looking far from his normal, devil-may-care self.

But though he had not been very far from her thoughts all day, the sight of him broke down all the good intentions
she'd had not to blame him for taking what she had so freely offered—and consequently shattering her whole world.

‘How dare you show your face here?'

A face that looked, if she did not know better, as though he was experiencing profound relief from whatever worry had previously been creasing his forehead.

‘Thank God I found you,' he said, stretching out his hands, as though to embrace her.

‘Oh, no, you don't,' she snapped, stepping smartly backwards. ‘Haven't you caused enough trouble? And don't even think of coming in here,' she protested, just a bit too late, for the moment she had stepped back to evade his embrace he darted past her and kicked the front door shut behind him.

‘Not one step farther!' She held her arms wide, barring the passage into the house. ‘I have no idea what whim has brought you here, but I have no intention of letting you spoil the niche I'm trying to carve for myself here, as you spoiled everything at Budworth Hall.'

‘And I have no intention of leaving you here to become a drudge for someone else,' he said, leaning back against the front door and folding his arms across his chest. ‘Go and fetch your things.'

‘Fetch my things? Why should I fetch my things?'

‘I should have thought that was obvious,' he said. ‘I've come to collect you.'

‘I am not,' she said coldly, ‘going anywhere with you.'

‘Well, I'm not leaving without you. Now,' he said, pushing himself away from the door, and taking a pace towards her, ‘I can see you're angry with me. And you have every right to be. Dash it, I've been cursing myself all the way here for not just whisking you away at first light and leaving a note to tell 'em all we'd eloped.'

‘Elo—e—what?'

While she stood there, gasping and spluttering, he strode past her, opening one door after another and peering inside.

‘Vicar not in, I take it,' he said, going into the unoccupied study the moment he'd identified it.

‘No,' she said, trotting after him in a state of complete bewilderment. In his typical fashion, he was already making himself at home, withdrawing his gloves and hat and tossing his coat over the back of the vicar's fireside chair. ‘He is over at the church, officiating at a wedding.'

‘A wedding? How convenient! Let us both go over there, too, and he can marry us while he's at it.'

‘What? What are you saying? Are you out of your mind?'

He said not a word, but, to set the seal on her confusion, grasped her by the elbows, tugged her into the room, somehow managing to shut the door upon them without her ascertaining how he'd done so, and then made as though he was going to kiss her.

She only just came to her senses in time to turn her head, so that his parted lips landed hotly on her cheek.

But the mere brush of his lips on her face sent a shaft of shameful longing coursing right through her. She trembled with the force of it. And the feel of his hands upon her arms, coupled with that smile…that smile…as though he had not a care in the world…

Anger and pride came to her rescue. ‘You are insufferable!' A little late for her liking, she raised her hands to his chest and tried to push him away.

‘Is it not bad enough that your antics have made me lose my livelihood? Do you intend to make the vicar turn me out for being a harlot, too? What have I ever done to make you torment me so?'

‘I am not tormenting you. Unless you think being married to me would be torment,' he said, and, since she still held her head stiffly averted, made the most of the opportunity to nibble at her earlobe.

‘Stop that!' she tried to rebuke him sternly, but her words
came out in a kind of plaintive whisper, her anger mysteriously ebbing as torrents of delight poured through her.

‘And stop talking about getting married. We cannot possibly—'

‘Of course not!' He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, giving her the chance to evade his grasp.

Somehow, she did manage to take just one, rather wobbly, step backwards, where she fetched up against the door with a thump.

‘No licence,' he said and smiled at her.

The apparent tenderness of that smile made her long to fling herself back into his arms. She darted across the room instead, taking refuge behind the solid bulwark of the vicar's desk. He was just too tempting. A few more seconds of him nibbling on her ear like that and she did not know what he might have persuaded her into doing. Or thinking. The sensations he could evoke in her body were just so powerful that her mind was having serious trouble staying anywhere near lucid.

‘Well, never mind,' he carried on cheerfully. ‘A hole-and-corner wedding down here was not what I intended, anyway. It just occurred to me that it would be fun to turn up at Pippa's with you on my arm and introduce you as my bride. But this is why you are perfect for me.' He beamed at her. ‘You will always remember all those practical little details that slip my mind when I get the urge to embark on a new adventure. Lord, but I'm going to have such a lot to tell Havelock about the impact helping him make that list of wifely qualities has had on my life.'

She shook her head slowly, wondering if he'd gone completely mad. Or perhaps she was the one who'd lost her mind. Was that why nothing he said made any sense?

‘I suppose I can see,' she said, trying to puzzle out his bewildering behaviour for herself, ‘that when you found out that I lost my job because of what you did last night, you now
feel you ought to make amends. But really, talking about marrying me is carrying your penance a bit too far…'

He marched up to the desk, a frown on his brow. ‘Don't you remember? I proposed to you last night. Or did you not hear? Of course. You'd gone into your room. Well, that accounts for it,' he said, his face clearing. He walked round the desk to where she was standing, his hands outstretched.

‘Oh, I heard you clear enough,' she said, skipping sideways, to keep the furniture safely betwixt them. She needed to maintain the physical barrier of a substantial amount of oak between them, since she'd already discovered that her willpower was no protection at all once he began to employ his lips upon any part of her person.

‘Naturally I did not think you meant anything by it. Nor even that you would recall what you'd said, once you'd sobered up.'

He clutched at his heart, as though she'd wounded him. ‘Unkind! How can you so malign me, when I have laid my heart at your feet, pursued you on horseback over frozen terrain…'

‘Don't give me that! You like horses. You were prating on about them last night, if you recall, right after you said that as a
gentleman
you
supposed
you
ought
to propose.'

‘Oh. Ah,' he said, shamefaced. ‘I admit, I made a mull of it. But then it was the first time I have ever proposed, you know. But I absolutely refute the allegation that I was not thinking clearly,' he continued when she took a breath to make another point. ‘I had only had a couple of glasses of wine with my dinner. Even skipped the port, so I could come up to your schoolroom and spend what remained of the evening with you. The only thing with which I was intoxicated…' he smiled salaciously, and inched sideways to the corner of the desk ‘…was what I tasted on your lips.'