An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (10 page)

“Ha. The blasted sod isn’t being polite when he looks at you like you’re a bowl of sugared almonds he’d like to devour in one sitting.”

Abigail blinked.
Was Sir Nicholas jealous? Surely not...

Before she could think on that odd notion further, Sir Nicholas added in a low voice, a voice that made her shiver with anticipation, “Besides, we won’t be sorting books all the time. I’m sure I can think of something else for us to do. Something infinitely more diverting.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I wouldn’t bother wearing stays, petticoats or a shift either. They’ll just get in the way.”

That’s right. He only wants you for the sexual intercourse, Abigail. His chivalry and tenderness, his consideration, they mean nothing.

At least that’s what Abigail tried to tell herself as Sir Nicholas walked away.

If she started to believe he cared for her, even just a little, it would surely be her undoing.

O
ver the next week
, Abigail found that she and Sir Nicholas began to fall into a routine—of sorts. Every night, he would come to her bedchamber and fill the hours until dawn with untold sexual delight. She would breakfast with the other servants then return to her room and sleep until noon. No one ever remarked upon the fact she was absent most of the morning. Mrs. Graham and Keziah barely regarded her and Abigail began to believe her remaining days at Hartfield might be smooth sailing after all.

Of course, her afternoons were spent in the library, usually with Sir Nicholas. At the present moment, he was seated at his desk, looking over some papers whilst she shelved the last of the books that were to go into the blackened oak bookcase by the fireplace. As she quietly closed the mullion-paned door, her gaze drifted over to him. Even dressed in shirtsleeves, an azure blue waistcoat and ivory silk breeches, he was a visual feast. He’d raked his hands through his black hair and it was deliciously messy as if he’d only just risen from his bed. She didn’t think she would ever grow tired of looking at him. Indeed, just being with him in any sense.

And that was a problem.

She sighed and wandered over to another pile of books on a carved mahogany sideboard. The more time she spent with Sir Nicholas, the worse things got. This past week, she’d quickly discovered that he was a most entertaining companion. As they sorted and shelved the books together, he regaled her with amusing anecdotes of his exploits on the Continent and in London. His knowledge seemed boundless and they chatted about anything and everything—tales from childhood, the books they’d read, their tastes in music, the arts in general, their other interests, and their dislikes. She learned Sir Nicholas was very much a Corinthian with a love for fine horseflesh and racing. He boxed, he fenced. She knew he swam. And he learned that she loved to read, could sew but detested it, enjoyed sketching and painting, and had a good ear for languages but not for music.

Although, cataloguing and conversing weren’t the only activities they’d engaged in...

Abigail blushed just thinking of all the wicked things they’d done in this room. On the hearthrug. On the stairs. On Sir Nicholas’s desk... Despite Abigail’s best efforts to think and act like a wanton there were times—especially during the night when Sir Nicholas shared her bed—when she’d felt their sexual encounters had been more than just sport. When he stared into her eyes, paid attention to her needs as much as his own, it felt like making love.

Of course, she told herself over and over again that spending hours on end in Sir Nicholas’s company, and sharing her body with him in every conceivable way, was bound to make her fanciful.

It was especially difficult to keep her emotions in check when he bestowed gifts upon her. Only yesterday, the village dressmaker had delivered several new summer gowns and a spencer—the garments Abigail had been measured up for in Mrs. Graham’s office. And a pair of new kid slippers had arrived the day before that to replace the ones she’d lost in the storm.

But they weren’t the only gifts she’d received. This very morning, Sir Nicholas had presented her with a beautifully wrapped gift box containing several pairs of silk stockings, a thin-as-gossamer nightgown and a peach-hued lace and silk peignoir. Even though she knew he bought these items for his own titillation, she couldn’t help but be delighted. She’d never been given such exquisite garments before.

In her eyes, Sir Nicholas truly was a generous man. A most wonderful man. Not a rakehell at all. And as time went on, Abigail realized she was very much in danger of losing her heart to him.

Perhaps things would be easier when she moved to London. Then she wouldn’t see him half as much. Certainly not every day. And night.

But oh, how she would miss him.

Her heart twisted and the title of the book in her hand grew blurry. She bit her lip, angry with herself
. Stop this foolishness, Abigail. You must not fall in love.

“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Adams.”

Abigail started. Sir Nicholas was behind her. She hadn’t heard his approach at all.

He slid his hands around her waist and kissed her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you jump.”

“That’s all right.” She blinked away her tears and plastered a smile on her face before turning her head in his direction. “I was just deciding where I should shelve this book.”

Sir Nicholas chuckled. “Well, I’d certainly like to hear your thoughts on that. I had no idea such an illicit book was contained in Hartfield’s collection.”

Abigail frowned. “Whatever do you...?” And then she glanced down at the volume she still held.
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Volume One
.

Oh.
Heat washed over her face. “My goodness.”

Sir Nicholas’s voice brimmed with amusement. “Judging by your reaction, I would say you are familiar with this classic piece of literature.”

Classic piece of literature?
“I’ve heard of it...” Which was a lie. She’d more than heard of the scandalous tome by John Cleland; in fact, it was so scandalous, it had been banned and the author had been imprisoned. But how could she admit such a thing to Sir Nicholas? To cover her embarrassment she added rather unconvincingly, “I’m sure many have.”

He took it from her hands and lounged against the sideboard beside her. “So,” he said, opening the old, red leather-bound volume and carefully turning the yellowed pages, “which part is your favorite, Miss Adams? I personally like the scene at the beginning when Fanny Hill and her friend, Phoebe—”

“You don’t have to describe what they do!”

Sir Nicholas cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Aha. So you have read it. Do tell, sweetheart. Did you read this particular copy or another one?”

“I haven’t read all of it. It was only a few chapters from
Volume One
.” That much was true. “And it wasn’t that edition.” She nodded at the book Sir Nicholas still held. “It was such a long time ago that I encountered it, I barely remember it.”

His grin grew wider. “Was it at Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies that you came across it? Was there a dog-eared copy passed around the dormitory? I’d love to hear all about it.”

She tried to purse her lips but they twitched with reluctant mirth. “I’m sure you would.”

He closed the book and fixed her with an intent look. Although there was also a decided twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I’m all ears.”

“My maiden aunts, Euphemia and Meredith—”

“Whom you lived with until you were fourteen. Yes, I recall.” Sir Nicholas’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me they kept a copy? The minxes!”

“Well, I’m not sure it was theirs.” Abigail leaned against the sideboard next to Sir Nicholas so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes and fiddled with a gilt knob on one of the drawers. “When I was eleven, I found several trunks of old books in the attic. And over the next few years I slowly worked my way through them, because believe me, there was scarcely anything interesting to read amongst my aunts’ meager collection of books. Both volumes of
The Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
were in the very bottom of one of the trunks. I... I knew it must have been wicked, just by the title. When I was fourteen, I became curious, and I decided to take a look. I hid the first volume in my room, beneath my bed. But not well enough it seems.”

“You naughty girl.”

Abigail slid Sir Nicholas a glance but he was smiling. “Yes. I suppose I always have been.”

He squeezed her hand. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Abigail shrugged. “My aunts certainly thought my descent into wickedness signified. When Aunt Euphemia discovered what I was reading... Well, it confirmed what they’d always thought—that I was too wild and required discipline. And that’s when they decided to send me away to school.” She winced. “And I really don’t think they have ever forgiven me. If they ever found out what I do now... What I’ve become... I don’t think they’d be surprised.”

“I’m sorry to hear you are estranged from your aunts.” Sir Nicholas threaded his fingers through hers. “Forgive me for remarking upon it, but it makes me sad indeed to think you are quite alone in this world, my sweet Abigail. You told me your parents died when you were an infant and that you have no other family to speak of.”

“Yes. And it pains me to think I do not remember them at all.” Abigail paused. She was reluctant to share too much of her history with Sir Nicholas. When the expression in his blue eyes became tender, that was when he was most dangerous. And she was at her most vulnerable. It was best she changed tack and steer the conversation into safer waters. “At any rate, my aunts were, and still are, quite pious women and well-meaning. I do not bear them any ill-will for sending me away to school. In fact,” Abigail summoned a smile, “it was the best thing for me. I adored it.”

Sir Nicholas smiled back. “I enjoyed my school days too. And that’s where I first came across the memoirs of Miss Fanny Hill. It’s in the unofficial curriculum for just about every school boy.”

“I’m sure it is.”

He turned over a page in the book, now lying on the sideboard between them, before looking up at her from beneath his black lashes. “I learned quite a lot.”

Abigail laughed. Flirting was far safer than sharing confidences. “Well, that, I can attest to.”

“However,” Sir Nicholas leaned closer and traced a path with his finger along her collarbone down to the neckline of her new apricot-pink muslin gown, “a spot of revision never goes amiss. Practice makes perfect, wouldn’t you agree?”

Relief as well as desire washed over Abigail. It was better when Sir Nicholas did things like this. Then lust—pure and simple—would take over and she could quell anything else stirring inside her.

“And what is the lesson of the day?” she asked. Her nipples had pebbled beneath Sir Nicholas’s teasing touch and it was clear that she was aroused. As he’d requested, she’d stopped wearing anything beneath her gown except for her stockings. The thin muslin of her bodice hid little.

“Hmm.” Sir Nicholas’s fingers drifted over one of her breasts. “Latin, I think. Perhaps we could begin with
cunnilingue
. I have a novel technique I’d like to try with you.”

Abigail’s voice was more than a little breathless when she spoke. “As you wish. Where would you like the lesson to take place, sir?”

Sir Nicholas’s mouth lifted into a wolfish smile. “The sofa. Come.” He took her hand and led her toward the arrangement of chairs before the fireplace where a low fire crackled in the grate. The weather had turned cooler during the last few days and heavy showers of rain had precluded most outdoor pursuits. Abigail didn’t mind at all when there were so many entertaining diversions to be had within the walls of Hartfield Hall.

She studied the cerise and ivory striped chair. “But we’ve used the sofa before...”

Sir Nicholas kissed her neck, scattering her thoughts as exquisite tremors of anticipation danced down her spine. His deft fingers loosened her bodice and then his hands skimmed down her arms, tugging the muslin as he went until her breasts were exposed. “Yes, but not this way, “ he murmured against her ear as he rubbed his thumbs back and forth over her aching nipples. “I want you to bend over the arm of the chair. Put your hands on the seat.”

Oh.
Abigail’s lower belly tightened with longing. She turned around and complied with his request, taking her weight through her arms. With her belly resting on the sofa’s plump, cushioned side she couldn’t see, only feel Sir Nicholas behind her. She was so excited, she was almost panting. Sir Nicholas had taken her from behind on more than one occasion. But he’d never given her oral pleasure in this position before.

It felt wild and gloriously wicked. With her lower arms still caught in the sleeves of her gown, her movements were restricted, as if she’d been tied up. She was completely at Sir Nicholas’s mercy.

But hadn’t she always been, even from the very first moment they’d met?

The thought skittered away when Sir Nicholas’s hands caressed her exposed back, sliding downwards to her hips... where he paused. She quivered and moaned, grinding her sex restlessly against the arm of the chair. “What are you waiting for?”

Sir Nicholas chuckled. “Tut, tut, Miss Adams. You are always so impatient.”

And then he flipped up her skirts, exposing her legs and
derrière
. And she moaned again, but this time with pleasure. The cool air in the room felt wonderful against her bare thighs and her quim. Her folds were hot and slick with moisture. She was ready. Oh, so ready.

The wanton in her made her part her legs a little, inviting Sir Nicholas to touch. To taste.

“Beautiful.” Sir Nicholas kissed one cheek of her bottom then the other. His fingers slid with tantalizing slowness up one inner thigh, skimming over but not quite touching her where she wanted him. She sensed that he was now kneeling behind her, rather than standing. And that he was studying her like a work of art.

“Please,” she whispered, circling her hips a little. “Please start.”

“All right, Miss Adams.” Sir Nicholas gently parted the lips of her sex with his fingers. His breath was hot against her wet folds. “Let the lesson begin.”

Abigail gasped as Sir Nicholas ran his tongue from her core all the way up her drenched cleft to her bottom. She squeezed her cheeks together but Sir Nicholas stopped her, spreading her wide with his fingers again. “Fie, Miss Adams. There will be no skipping over any part.”

Oh, dear Lord.
Sir Nicholas was merciless in his quest to own every little piece of her. It was deeply thrilling and shocking to realize she would let him do anything he wanted to. That she wanted this intimate possession too.

She clamped her eyes shut and made herself relax into Sir Nicholas’s touch, welcoming his exploration. His fingers slid in and out, up and down, spreading her juices whilst his tongue circled and flickered over her most private places. An agonized mewl tumbled from her throat when he focused all his attention on her clitoris, drawing on it with his lips. The delicate yet unrelenting suckling sensation was exquisite; it triggered something deep inside her womb and her folds were bathed with a fresh rush of moisture. Sir Nicholas growled his appreciation and ruthlessly thrust his tongue inside her whilst his fingers took over from his mouth, mercilessly teasing and tormenting her core, rubbing and circling, driving her wild.