The Governess Was Wicked Page 7

  “I wish you would,” she said, pushing her hips into the hard, heavy length of his arousal.

  His jaw tightened, but he shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to risk that you might end up with child.”

  Everything he said was practical and logical—she couldn’t fault him for it—yet a darkness spread in her chest. Of course he wouldn’t want to get her with child. He was due to leave in a couple of months. This was a time for tying up loose ends, not creating new ones.

  He must have misread her silence for concern for he said, “Don’t worry about me. I have more than enough memories to satisfy me until I can see you again. I’ve an engagement tomorrow, but perhaps you’ll let me come to you Thursday.”

  She wanted to say no. She’d never been that women before—loose with her morals and even looser with her legs—but she supposed that was exactly who she was now.

  The darkness inside her grew a little blacker.

  “Yes. Come Thursday,” she said. “I will be here just as I always am.”

  He pushed up on his elbows and stared down at her. Concern edged his eyes, and yet after a moment he smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’ll look forward to it all day.”

  He dressed while she sat wrapped in a sheet on the edge of her bed, watching him. He moved with an endearing combination of elegance and frenetic energy. This was a man meant to be doing great things, traveling the world. Remaining a physician in London? That seemed too small a life for him.

  She tried to hide the sadness in her eyes, smiling when he fumbled with the knot of his neckcloth and had to do it all over again. Then he leaned down to kiss her good-bye and slipped out.

  Elizabeth pulled the sheet a little closer around her breasts and moved to her room’s one tiny window that looked out over the London street. A few moments later, he appeared and hailed a hansom cab as it rumbled by. As he climbed in, he glanced up at her window and caught her watching. He grinned at her, happy and unconcerned. Elizabeth forced herself to smile back and then pulled the curtains shut. She would check on the girls and then try to forget that she had so much more to lose than he.

  Chapter Five

  It should go without saying that a governess should never find herself alone with a gentleman of any sort. No good can come of it.

  —Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses

  Nursing two sick girls who were uncomfortable and in pain was not for the weak willed. From the moment her feet hit the floor of her cold room in the morning, Elizabeth felt as though she was on the run. There were tonics to make up just as Edward had instructed, and cool washcloths to administer to burning foreheads. She supervised the chambermaids as they remade the girls’ beds, getting rid of sweat-sodden sheets for fresh ones. Then, around midday each day, Cassandra would begin to cry for a story. Elizabeth would put aside her modest luncheon of cold meat, cheese, and bread, and settle down in her rocking chair to read to them.

  All the activity meant she had very little time to think about what had transpired between her and Edward. Yet when she finally found a moment of peace, she couldn’t help the flood of memories and hopes that rushed her mind.

  What they’d done was wrong—or at least she’d been told time after time that it was wrong—and it was no wonder why. If every unmarried lady knew how good it could feel to have a man’s mouth between her legs, there would be little stopping them from casting off their sense of propriety completely.

  Even now in the clear light of the day, Elizabeth wanted to lose all sense of decorum with the doctor. He’d kissed her so tenderly—almost as though he could hardly believe that he’d been lucky enough to touch her again.

  Alone in her room, she balled up her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the warmth that had begun to pool between her legs to dissipate. No matter how much she wanted him, desiring this man was not an option. He was a physician and she was a governess. Edward was a man with prospects, and Elizabeth? If Miss Carrington’s annoying handbook was to be trusted, Elizabeth was nothing more than a poor imitation of a lady. She earned a wage. She depended on the generosity of her employers. The only things keeping her from being grouped with the staff were an education, a few twice-turned gowns, and a pair of unchapped hands.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the sight of Miss Carrington’s awful book any longer. She pulled it out from underneath her latest loan from the circulating library, marched over to her armoire, and shoved the offending title deep among her folded linens.

  Good riddance.

  She heard the outer door of the nursery open and quickly shut the armoire. She smoothed her hands over her skirts and her hair, checking that nothing was out of place. Then, with the cool mask of a competent governess back in place, she stepped out of her room to see who it was.

  A maid named Jenny was waiting in the middle of the nursery. “Miss Porter, there are two ladies here to call.”

  “The household isn’t open to visitors. You know that, Jenny.”

  “I told them that Mrs. Norton isn’t receiving callers, but they say that they’re here to see you. They’re very insistent.”

  “Insistent?” She couldn’t help a chuckle. That sounded exactly like Jane and Mary—the former in particular. “Please show them up, Jenny. I’ll receive them here.”

  Jenny’s brow furrowed just a bit at the informality of her request, no doubt taking issue with the idea of bringing any visitor somewhere as undignified as a nursery, but the girl just nodded and left to go fetch the ladies.

  Elizabeth didn’t have to wait long to see her friends. In a few short minutes, Jenny was announcing Miss Woodward and Miss Ephram.

  “My dear Elizabeth, you look absolutely exhausted,” said Mary in her typically blunt fashion as she glided into the room.

  Jane rolled her eyes heavenward. “What she means to say is that we were so concerned after receiving your letter, we wanted to see if there’s anything we can do.”

  “I assumed that much was already clear,” Mary protested. “We’re your closest friends. Of course we’re worried about you.”

  “That’s too kind of you,” she said, genuinely touched by her friends’ concern.

  “Now, how can we help?” asked Mary, her eyes glinting with eagerness.

  “Nothing much at the moment,” she said with a little shrug. “Miss Norton and Miss Cassandra are sleeping after their afternoon tonic, but I’m sure I’ll appreciate the extra hands when they wake again.”

  Elizabeth looked past their shoulders to where Jenny stood watching the exchange with wide eyes. It was clear that the maid had never thought of Elizabeth as having any sort of life outside the nursery. It must have been a revelation to see her with friends. The news of this development would be around the kitchens and all through the servants of the household in a mere hour.

  “Jenny, would you please ask Cook to send up tea as well as more cool towels?” she asked.

  Jenny came to her senses and dipped a curtsy before scurrying off.

  Mary waited for the girl to shut the door before saying, “Why does she look as though she’s just seen the queen walking around in her dressing gown?”

  “I imagine it’s because she assumed that all governesses do is teach lessons and eat solitary meals in their nurseries,” she said as she gestured for her friends to sit on the little sofas where she would normally be listening to Juliana and Cassandra converse in French at this hour.

  “I would swear Lord Rawson’s servants don’t even know how to talk to me half the time,” said Jane with a sigh.

  “No one quite knows what to do with us, and trust me that it doesn’t get better no matter how many girls you educate,” said Mary as she rearranged her rather fetching chocolate-brown dress. “Now tell us about these past few days, Elizabeth.”

  She related it all—well, everything that was fit for another’s ears. As much as she wanted to share the
incredible, life-changing thing she’d done with Edward the night before, she didn’t know how she could. She trusted her friends—that was without question—however they’d never talked about this sort of thing because everyone knew that unmarried women weren’t supposed to even know about what happened between a man and a woman when the bedroom door shut.

  The idea that a man might have touched her was quite shocking. Or at least it would have been just a few months ago. But, although there were grave risks in even contemplating what it would be like to give in to baser nature, she was beginning to run out of excuses why she should put him off. She risked ruin if she dallied with any man, but ruin at Edward’s hands seemed somehow desirable. With him she felt utterly invincible. It was as though every time he touched her he imbued her with strength until she was bold, daring, and perhaps a little bit dangerous.

  But how could she explain all of that to her friends without acknowledging the harsh truth? No matter what happened between them, he would wound her, because the date when Edward would no longer be in London was fast approaching. For that reason alone, she knew that she shouldn’t allow herself to grow attached, but it was already too late. Her feelings for the man had formed years ago at their first meeting. She’d felt a spark of awareness and then a blush of desire when those rich hazel eyes fixed on hers as he executed a perfect, gentlemanly bow.

  Another woman might have used those manners and the implicit code all gentlemen were supposed to live by to conscript him into marriage, but she was determined not to. He seemed destined to become an important man of science—perhaps even a great one. She wouldn’t ask him to give all of that up because he’d shown her what pleasure really could be. She wasn’t out to catch a husband, but rather to taste for a moment what it would be like to be cared for, loved, cherished.

  “And what of the handsome Dr. Fellows?” Mary asked, breaking into her thoughts by pulling out the very thing she’d been dwelling on. “You said in your letter that he’d be helping you keep vigil over the girls.”

  Elizabeth could have kicked herself for writing about Edward in her letter on the very first night the girls had come down with scarlet fever. She should have known that Mary would fixate on his inclusion. “Dr. Fellows has been a great help. He returns each night to check their progress.”

  “Doesn’t he have daytime hours when he makes his calls?” asked Jane with an arched eyebrow.

  “I’m sure he does,” she said, not entirely sure that she liked where her friend was going with this line of questioning.

  “It seems a little odd that he wouldn’t plan to visit here during that time.”

  “I think,” said Mary with one eyebrow arched to a high point, “that there’s more to this story than you’re telling us, my dear. Perhaps you can fill in the details.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but something stopped her. These were her friends—the two women she cared for more than the world—and she’d trusted them with everything before the kiss. What harm would it do to tell them and lighten the burden of her own thoughts just this once?

  “I may have kissed him,” she said all in a rush.

  For a moment, Mary and Jane just stared at her as dread bloomed in her stomach. Then they each let out a little laugh and starting talking fast.

  “I told you so,” said Mary.

  “Well, I didn’t think she’d actually do it,” said Jane. “I read that horrid book her agency gave her and it scared me to death. I assumed it had done the same to everyone else as well.”

  “But the doctor’s so very handsome,” said Mary with a mischievous smile.

  “You knew?” Elizabeth asked, completely embarrassed that she’d been so transparent. Apparently she wasn’t very good at keeping her governess mask on after all.

  Mary patted her arm. “As I said, most physicians don’t spend every night watching over their patients.”

  That was a very fair point.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Mary asked.

  A blush spread over her cheeks. “Very much.”

  Lord, she was trying to couch the experience in terms that wouldn’t be too scandalous to her friends, but all she could think about was the way his fingers bit into the soft skin of her thighs as he licked and sucked and—

  She took a deep breath, trying to save herself from becoming too overheated at the memory of the deliciously wicked things Edward had done. “It’s been a great comfort to have him here.”

  “That’s hardly romantic,” said Mary, sounding more than a little disappointed.

  She knew what her friends were waiting for. They wanted her to tell them that he was going to sweep her off her feet and carry her away. That he would give her the things they all dreamed about—a home of her own. But Elizabeth wanted more than that. She wanted a good husband, children, and the free will to do as she pleased, but that wasn’t the path her life had taken. She was twenty-six and a governess. She was not for Edward Fellows, no matter how much she might be tempted by the idea.

  “Romance is for novels and wealthy women,” she said. “I know what’s happened between Dr. Fellows and me isn’t forever. All I want is some magic before he leaves for New York.”

  Her friends sat back and nodded as though they understood. A woman could dream, but a governess could let her dreams soar only so high.

  Never quite comfortable in the stiff shirt collars that some sadist had decided were the height of male fashion these days, Edward tried his hardest not to pull at the damned thing as he walked into Dr. Menser’s study. His mentor had told him that evening was to be informal, but knowing Mrs. Menser, Edward had dressed with as much care as he would when attending a ball. His instincts paid off. Not only were Dr. and Mrs. Menser at the table, but also Lady and Sir Perry, Dr. and Mrs. Walcott, the widowed Mrs. Randall, and Dr. Gray. Mrs. Menser’s niece, Margaret Dunn, made up the numbers, for Mrs. Menser had never quite forgiven Edward for his bachelorhood that left her with the task of finding a female counterpart for him at every dinner party.

  It was after midnight and the other guests had gone, but Dr. Menser had asked him to stay behind for another glass of port.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Dr. Fellows,” the older man called over his shoulder as he poured wine from a small crystal decanter on his desk.

  Edward took one of the seats next to the fire and rested his ankle on his knee. All evening he’d tried to settle his overactive mind, but he couldn’t help but think he’d rather be with Elizabeth.

  He’d cursed himself the night before for not having sheaths on him—not that he carried them with him as a rule. How often did a doctor who buried himself in his work really need them? Yet he would not make that mistake again—on Thursday, he’d be prepared. In fact, he would have bolted out of the Mensers’ Belgravia home without a second thought if he hadn’t made the mistake of telling Crane he would not be able to attend to the young ladies that evening due to a prior engagement. If he were to show up now—well, it would no doubt be a matter of hours before every servant in the house guessed what was going on between Elizabeth and himself. He would have to satisfy himself with the memory of those sweet, dirty little sounds she had made when his mouth pressed hard against her.

  Menser handed Edward his port and then sank with a groan into the wing chair across from him. “It’s never a simple meal with that woman.”

  “Mrs. Menser keeps an excellent table,” said Edward.

  “She keeps an expensive table, but at least she knows how to entertain. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself one yet.”

  He frowned. “A table?”

  “A wife.”

  He took a full swallow of wine. “I’ve never had any interest in taking a wife.”

  He understood science and medicine. He didn’t understand women. Every one he’d ever encountered in his adult life wanted something from him he couldn’t give. They’d pushed and cajo
led, angling for him as though they could somehow persuade him to marry. And then he met Elizabeth, who never once asked him for anything. All she wanted was to trust him with her body and her mind.

  Menser chuckled. “Don’t tell Mrs. Menser you’re not planning to marry. She’s got it into her head that you and Margaret should wed.”

  He tried to think of a tactful way to put his feelings, but finally gave up with a shrug. “Miss Dunn is not for me.”

  “No,” said Menser. “I should think not. She’s rather silly even if she is pretty in a harmless sort of way.”

  “Quite.”

  The room fell into silence as the two men sipped their port. Finally, Menser fixed him with a hard look and asked, “Are you still planning to make this mad journey to New York?”

  Edward nodded with more conviction than he felt. “I am.”

  It was hard to describe what had come over him during the last few months, but what had once seemed like such an easy decision was no longer so simple.

  “You’ve a talent for doctoring,” said Menser as though reading his thoughts. “It would be a shame to lose that to single-minded research.”

  “The circulatory system is something we must learn more about. The heart itself is still full of mystery.”

  Menser tipped his glass in a sort of mock toast. “I don’t disagree, but I wonder if you couldn’t do as much good here in London.”

  Something in his mentor’s tone made him pause. “Do you know of an opportunity?”

  “I do, but I don’t want to tempt you if you’ve already got your trunks packed.”

  He’d wanted to research in New York for so long, and yet he couldn’t ignore the promise of a new opportunity—one that would allow him to be closer to a woman he’d admired for years. A woman who finally was within his reach because, even if he’d never before considered taking a wife, he couldn’t shake Elizabeth from his thoughts.

  “Tell me.”

  “St. Thomas’s Hospital Medical School is looking for a lecturer.” Menser pulled a letter out of a stack of papers sitting on a low table next to his chair. “You’d be able to continue your practice while teaching. The surgical facilities would be yours to use at your discretion, of course. And if at some point you wanted to start your own research, I’m sure that could be arranged.”