The Governess Club: Sara (23 page)

Sara’s hands clasped his face, tilting his face. This time it was she who took possession of his mouth, she who controlled the kiss. Her tongue touched his and flitted away, teasing, coming back and stroking it more thoroughly. She rubbed their pelvises together, his hard cock pressing against her clitoris, riding against him, thoroughly in command of their pleasure.

Oh Christ.
This was the Sara he had been waiting to see all week.

She pulled away from the kiss, leaving a breath between their lips. “Touch me. You know where I want you to touch me.” She kissed him again, slow and sweet.

There was no thought to resisting her. She had embodied the Nymph he had dreamed of for all these weeks. His hand disappeared under her gray dress and moved to the juncture of her thighs, his fingers seeking the wet heat emanating from her. His fingers found the slit in her drawers, touching her wetness and finding that spot he knew she loved.

She moaned against his lips when he pressed down and circled her clit with his thumb. Sara broke the kiss and put her forehead against his. Her eyes were shut in a focused grimace, drawing out all the pleasure she could from his hand. Nathan stroked her labia with two fingers, coating them with her juices before inserting them up her passage.

Another moan, a groan actually. She opened her eyes and looked at him, their gazes inches apart. She filled his vision, the passion in her eyes riveting. He loved seeing it, loved the way she responded to him. How would he fill his days if he had no chance of seeing this again?

No chance of loving her again.

Nathan pulled back, feeling the coach wall hit his head. He loved her. His Nymph.

Her eyes closed again and her head fell back, exposing her neck to him. He leaned forward and kissed her pulse, sucking on the rapid beat. “Nathan,” she gasped.

He increased the pressure with his hand, taking control from her and guiding her toward her release. She rode his fingers, allowing them to push her closer to ecstasy until he felt her muscles clench around him. The telltale gasps that signaled the pleasure coursing through her body filled the coach.

When she was finished, Nathan eased his fingers out of her, soothing her pleasured flesh. Sara raised her hands and caressed his cheeks with the back of her knuckles. She kissed him, mouth closed, her lips lingering.

A tugging along his trouser flap caught his attention. “No, Nymph,” he said against her lips. “You don’t have to.”

“Sh. I want to.”

“But—”

“No speaking, Nathan. Just do as you’re told.”

Her words brought a smile to his face. Sara smiled back and resumed their kiss and opened his flap. His erection freed, she traced a circle around the head before trailing along the shaft. A guttural groan echoed in his chest; she used her thumb to smear the pearl of fluid in her hand and wrapped it around him, squeezing as he had taught her.

Nathan broke the kiss, his breathing rapid as she moved her hand, stroking his shaft. She watched him, a sultry smile covering her lips as she demonstrated her power over him. He felt himself nearing completion and fumbled into his pocket, drawing out a handkerchief. He tried to cover his head with it, but Sara took it from him and did it for him, adding her second hand to the fray.

His hips arched and his seed left his body, soiling the cloth over his cock. If it had been any other woman, Nathan would have been embarrassed by his quick response to her attentions. But this was his Nymph. His love.

And she could never know.

She folded the handkerchief and placed it on the floor. Sara sat, still straddling him, looking at him with uncertainty in her eyes. Nathan rubbed her arms and pulled her toward him to settle against his chest. She nestled quickly into her favorite position, her head tucked into his neck. His arms came around her, his hands soothing her back.

They sat like this for several minutes until they heard the road change from dirt to cobblestone.

“Nathan,” she whispered.

“Sh.”

“I need to go.”

“I know.”

Nathan could feel his reluctance binding his arms across her back, but she pulled away and they fell to his sides. She moved back to the other bench and tidied herself, lacing up her dress and ending the last view of her bosom, he was sure, that he would ever see. Nathan did up the falls of his trousers.

The coach slowed and pulled to a stop outside of the inn. Neither of them moved. Nathan said, “Stay here until you hear the horn for the mail coach.”

She nodded her assent.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

She shook her head. He could see tears begin to gather.

“I will be following close behind. Should anything happen, I will be able to assist you.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes glistening. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“Still.”

The horn sounded.
Bloody hell.
That hadn’t been long at all. He needed more time. When he didn’t move, she repeated, “I need to go.”

His mouth twisted into a flat line and he opened the door, stepping out to help her. Sawyer had already taken down her portmanteau and was handing it to the other driver. Her hand was soft in his as he led her to the mail coach.

They stopped and Sara turned to look at him. He spoke before she did. “We will see each other, but nothing can betray us. We must act as before.”

“I know.”

“This is it.”

“I know.”

He stood awkwardly, his eyes memorizing her face. “This is it, then,” he repeated.

Her smile was said and she placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you for my adventures, Nathan.” Her voice was quiet, the words straining to reach his ears.

Whatever he would have replied was cut off by the final horn. Nathan had no choice but to help her into the coach. Sara gave a small wave through the window as the door slammed shut and he stepped away. The coach lurched into motion, pulling out of the inn’s yard and disappearing around a corner.

Bloody fucking hell.

S
ara breathed, inhaling his scent. She loved the way he smelled, loved the way it surrounded her, consumed her. She loved the way his musk mingled with his sweat and hers as they made love. When he went into the bathing room, she would press her face to his pillow and simply inhale his presence.

His hands ran over her. She loved his hands. The way they skimmed over her body, teasing her nerves, controlling her body and guiding her through her pleasure.

His lips. Oh how she loved the way he kissed her, kissed her body and tasted her. There was no comparison in the world.

Nymph
.

He hovered over her, kissing her deeply as he entered her. He thrust without hesitation, possessing every inch of her. He thrust hard, soothing the surprise by gentling his kiss. He thrust again, the headboard hitting the wall. Again, and another hit. He quickened into a steady rhythm, the knocking growing louder the harder he thrust.

Sara lifted her head, her eyes opening. The knocking continued. “Miss Collins?”

She blinked, her eyes becoming adjusted to the darkness. A shaft of light pierced through the window curtains. It was a dream. Her bones ached with incomplete lust.

“Miss Collins?”

She sat up. “Yes, Anna.”

The door to her room opened and the young maid stepped in. “You asked to be woken in time for tea.”

“Yes, thank you.” Sara sat for a moment, watching Anna move through the austere bedchamber. She opened the wardrobe and selected a dress to lay out. Sara stared at the small wardrobe, seeing her six dresses swallowed by the emptiness, despite the wardrobe’s small size.

You should not have to wear
serviceable
dresses.

The wardrobe closed with a bang, startling her. Sara’s gaze moved to the floor, the threadbare carpet showing patches of the bare floor underneath. Her toes flexed, remembering the plush carpet of Cloverfields.

Anna was speaking. “Mrs. Knightly asked me to tell you to not dally today. She is expecting a visitor today.”

A visitor? For a brief moment, Sara had the foolish thought Nathan was coming to Ridgestone. But he had no reason to. He had said they had to go on as before, as though Cloverfields had never happened.

He would not come here.

She rose from the bed and retrieved her brush, running it through her hair. “Who is expected?”

“Mr. Pomeroy.”

The brush stilled in her hand. It struck her that she hadn’t thought of the vicar for several days, not since she had confessed to Nathan about her dislike for governessing.

Anna gave her a conspiratorial smile. “He’s been here often while you were gone. Asking about when you were expected to return.”

Sara swallowed, her throat dry.

“George says he’s making a cake of himself, but I think it’s sweet.”

She resumed brushing.

“Miss Hurst, she’s none too happy about his visits. Mrs. Knightly, she agrees with me.”

Sara’s smile was weak when she turned to pick up her yellow dress. “This is a nice choice,” she murmured. “Thank you.” It was the dress she was wearing the first time Nathan kissed her.

It slid over her head in silence, the memories deafening.

“The yellow goes nice with your hair,” Anna continued. “You ought to look your best for when Mr. Pomeroy asks you that question.”

Oh dear heavens, that was the feeling the poets wrote of. Of a heart breaking.

But it was what she wanted, what she had hoped for months now. Marriage to the vicar would take her away from governessing. She would be able to spend her days doing what she enjoyed, visiting the sick, seeing to the church and vicarage. Eventually becoming a mother. It truly was what she wanted.

So why was she hesitating? Why was waking up at Cloverfields more appealing? Was it the luxurious bed? The way the sunlight poured through those windows? The feel of Nathan’s arms around her as he held her close? His smell—good heavens, his scent was intoxicating.

Sara forced herself back into the conversation. “I doubt the question you are alluding to will be forthcoming today.” She hoped, prayed it would not—she needed to sort things out before forced to make such a decision. A fortnight ago there would have been no issue; everything was different now.

She was different now. There was no denying it. And it was all Nathan Grant’s fault.

Anna giggled as she tugged the laces at the back of her dress closed. “Ye never know. Me mam always says to be prepared for anything, that’s why you should always wear clean petticoats.”

“Anna!” Sara admonished.

The maid dropped her head. “Apologies, Miss Collins. I forgot myself.”

Sara took a steadying breath. “Be more mindful in the future, please.”

“Yes, miss.”

She smoothed the dress over her waist and hips and turned toward the door. She hesitated, glancing at her small bed with its thin mattress and nondescript coverings. How much more she would prefer to sit there, taking tea with Nathan and his rare, boyish grin flashing at her than down in the drawing room with her friends. And possibly Mr. Pomeroy.

Damn you Nathan Grant.

Sara made a mental note to pray after tea.

H
ow had this happened? Nathan held up his glass of whiskey, staring at the fire through the amber liquid.

How had his life become one a poet would be proud of? Lamentations abounded in his head.
My arms ache for her, my eyes are starved for her, my lips long for her
.

Disgusting.

The whiskey disappeared and he grimaced against the bite. He had not partaken in many spirits since before the May charity fair and he found his throat needed to readjust to the potency of his preferred vice.

She wanted the Goddamn Bloody Vicar. That was abundantly clear. Even if she didn’t, she entertained no thoughts to a more established relationship with him. She had enjoyed Cloverfields, he was certain, but that was it.

What could he offer her anyway? He would be damned if he brought her to London as a politician’s wife to her to such a life, only to watch the innocence and sincerity he loved so much about her drain away. He knew instinctively that she would not be content with an idle husband—not after desiring a vicar active in his godly work—but politicking was all he knew. True, he did have Cloverfields, and now Windent Hall, but he had no experience in being a landed gentleman.

Cloverfields had once been a self-reliant estate. It was where his family’s money had come from, but there had been none to take up the reins since her death so long ago, not with his sights on the prime minister’s office. Could he manage it? It would mean relying heavily on Taggert for the foreseeable future, but it would be worth his pride to have Sara in his life, to be followed with miniature versions of her—and him of course, but mainly her.

With a disgusted snort, Nathan drained another glass of whiskey before refilling it. This is what happened when one allowed a female to crawl beneath one’s skin. Dreams of the impossible.

He was no longer needed. Or wanted. The only thing he could do was ensure that she married the Goddamn Bloody Vicar. At least one of them should be happy in their lives.

Damn you, Sara Collins.

S
ara poured herself a cup of lemonade, grimacing against the warm, sour drink. An early-summer assembly was not known for chilled refreshments, but that did not deter the majority of Taft from attending. She looked at the dancers lining up in their sets and her eyes met those of Mr. Pomeroy, partnering a young lady at her first social affair. He smiled at Sara, which she obediently returned. He had been a daily visitor at Ridgestone since her return from Cloverfields more than seven days ago; he had yet to ask the question that everyone but her was anticipating, but Sara now felt on intimate terms with each member of his family and the details of his childhood.

She still hadn’t come to a decision regarding her dilemma and she knew it was not well done of her. But the confliction was hard to overcome. Her mind knew that Charles Pomeroy was a good man and would make her a good husband, but those thoughts seemed far away when the man wasn’t in front of her. When he was, she fought to not compare what he said with that of another’s blunt conversation. She even had moments of wanton rebellion, thinking that if the vicar would kiss her, she would be able to make her decision simpler.