An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (8 page)

She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. Was this the way it was to be? That Sir Nicholas would take from her and leave her wanting? She’d begun to believe he wasn’t the type of arrogant nobleman she’d heard about who used women with selfish disregard. But what if she’d been wrong? Resentment sparked within her heart at the unfairness of the situation. If this was how Sir Nicholas treated his mistresses, she should call off the arrangement right now.

* * *

S
omething was wrong
. Looking down at Abigail’s bent head, the rigid line of her back and shoulders, Nicholas sensed she was upset.

Christ. Did she regret what they had just done? He’d assumed that she’d wanted to pleasure him in that way—the coquettish look she’d given him right before she’d taken him into her mouth had set him ablaze. And he’d made it clear at the outset that she did not have to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. But maybe she hadn’t wanted things to go so far after all. Maybe he’d been too rough with her when he’d gripped her head during his climax—he certainly hadn’t meant to be. Or perhaps he’d shocked and revolted her by coming in her mouth. But she’d been so eager and adept... So adept, his body still vibrated with deep satisfaction; indeed, he felt like he’d just downed half a decanter of brandy.

He dropped to his knees and lifted Abigail’s chin. She was gnawing on the plump curve of her lower lip and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Bloody hell.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, sir,” she said in a flat voice. “I’m pleased you are happy with my efforts. If you’d just let me up, I’ll leave you in peace.”

What the deuce?
He released her chin and sat back on his heels. “Of course, you are free to leave if you want to. But I can see you are upset. And I want to know why. If I hurt you or you felt I was forcing you—”

Abigail shook her head and a lock of her sleek brown hair escaped its pins. “No. No, it’s not that at all. I wanted to pleasure you that way. But if you have finished with me...” She trailed off and glanced toward the door.

“Finished?” Nicholas frowned in confusion. Then it hit him like a lightning bolt. He’d buttoned up his breeches. Perhaps she was upset because she thought he was a selfish brute and this was going to be a one-sided transaction. What a clodpole he’d been. “Well, I’d hoped you’d stay a bit longer.”

At last she met his gaze. Even though her expression was wary he thought he detected a glimmer of interest in the gold and green flecked depths of her beautiful hazel eyes.

As if he was soothing a restive creature, he brushed the back of his fingers down her soft cheek. “If you are in agreeance, I’d like to return the favor.”

She blushed and he couldn’t help but smile considering that she had just drained him to the lees. “Are... are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course, I’m sure. Since I came upon you at the stile I’ve practically thought of nothing else.” Beneath the cover of her skirts, he brushed his fingers in a teasing caress from her slender ankle to the top of her stocking and then rested his hand on her knee. “I’ve dreamed of tasting what’s between your luscious thighs for days, Miss Adams.”

“Oh.” She lowered her gaze and her blush deepened to an appealing shade of dark pink. But she didn’t move away from his touch. Far from it. Her knees spread slightly apart.

Encouraged, Nicholas summoned his most seductive voice. “I promise you, you’ll be more than satisfied before you leave this room, sweetheart.”

* * *

A
bigail thrummed
with a peculiar mixture of heady emotions; relief that Sir Nicholas wasn’t the self-centered rogue she’d feared he might be and unbridled excitement as she considered his brazen promise. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he would perform such a decadent act in Hartfield’s drawing room.

How could she say no? Especially now that Sir Nicholas’s warm hand lay on her knee; his fingers made lazy circles on the inside of her leg, raising goose flesh. Her quim throbbing with an excruciating need for release yet again, she slowly lifted her skirts and cambric petticoat and spread her legs wider in an intimate invitation.

Yes, she was a hussy but right now, she simply didn’t care.

Sir Nicholas’s gaze dropped to the place between her thighs. His expression was intense as his fingers stroked with agonizing slowness up her inner leg, stopping just short of her sex. “Miss Adams, you have the prettiest pussy I have ever encountered,” he murmured in a voice husky with desire. “Now, lie back on the cushions and prop your leg over the arm of the chair.”

Oh, dear Lord, this is so, so wicked.
Abigail felt like she was about to melt into a puddle of liquid heat as she complied with Sir Nicholas’s request. Her face aflame, she watched Sir Nicholas as he continued to raptly study her most private place. She felt his fingers drift through her curls; it was a deliberately teasing touch—a touch that was so close yet not quite close enough to the place she wanted him the most. She moaned and arched toward his mouth as he bent lower and blew over her sensitive flesh. She was so wet, she was more than a little embarrassed. “You’re tormenting me again,” she whispered.

He chuckled and placed a kiss on her quivering inner thigh. “Yes.” A kiss glanced across her other thigh. “Yes, I am.” He lifted his head and his eyes locked with hers. “But trust me, a little teasing will make the pleasure more intense.”

Abigail drew in a breath to argue she doubted that very much. But all her thoughts dissolved as soon as Sir Nicholas’s fingers slid between the slippery lips of her sex, spreading her wider. And then at long last, he swirled his tongue tip around her aching core.

Oh, God
. She gripped Sir Nicholas’s head as glorious fire licked along her nerves, setting her ablaze. The man was utterly brilliant—the hot flicker of his tongue over and around her clitoris, the maddening slide of his fingers as they worked in and out her inner passage, everything he did was the most exquisite of tortures. Panting, thrashing, she clawed at his bare shoulders and pulled at his silky hair, barely aware of what she did as she spiraled higher and higher toward the peak she so desperately sought but couldn’t quite reach.

Cruel man that he was, Sir Nicholas gave her no respite from the firestorm of sensation he was rousing within her. When she bucked beneath him, he transferred his grip so she couldn’t escape his ministrations; with one hand on her hip and another on her thigh, he spread her legs farther apart and lapped at her juices before plunging his tongue inside her.

Oh, God. Oh, God.
Sir Nicholas was as wicked as the Devil himself yet she couldn’t deny that she loved what he was doing to her. Just when she thought she couldn’t endure any more, he returned his attention to her clitoris. Sucking the tight bud between his lips, he applied the perfect amount of delicate suction to at last throw her heavenward into bliss.

Yes, yes, yes.
Burying her face in the cushions by her head, Abigail attempted to stifle her sharp sob of release. Never before had she experienced such an intense climax. Seemingly endless waves of pleasure rippled through her and it was some minutes before her heart and breathing slowed to anything approaching normal.

When she turned her head back to face the room, it was to find Sir Nicholas sitting quietly on the floor beside her.

The tender smile on his lips made her breath catch. “I take it you achieved satisfaction, my sweet Abigail?” he said softly as he brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek.

“You know I did,” she replied with a contented sigh. “That was just marvelous. More than marvelous. In fact, I can’t even think how to describe the way I feel.” Closing her legs, she rolled onto her side and wished she could curl up and go to sleep in Sir Nicholas’s arms. But that was impossible given the current situation. She would still have to publicly act the part of the governess-cum-librarian until she quit Hartfield Hall.

Sir Nicholas placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad to hear it,” he whispered. His lips brushed hers. “I can’t wait until later to—”

The doorknob rattled and then there was a faint knock. Abigail’s heart leapt into the vicinity of her mouth. As she bolted upright to a sitting position and pushed her skirts down, she heard Sir Nicholas mutter a curse.

“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” he barked. “Who is it?”

Silence. Abigail held her breath.

“Well?” he demanded, getting to his feet and throwing on his rumpled shirt. “It had better be damned urgent.”

A muffled voice filtered through the door. “It’s... it’s only me, sir. Keziah. Sorry, sir. It’s not urgent. I’ll leave you be...”

Sir Nicholas blew out an exasperated sigh as he turned back to face Abigail. “Is that blasted girl always so annoying?”

Despite the fact her heart still raced, Abigail couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m afraid so.”

“Right.” Sir Nicholas bent down to retrieve his waistcoat and neckcloth. “Let’s repair our attire for the sake of appearances.” He strode over to the gilt-edged mirror hanging above an ornately carved oak sideboard and began to tie his cravat. “And then I’m going to hunt down Cruikshank so he can get started on the arrangements for us in London. Discretely of course.”

Us.
A curious choice of words. But Abigail would be foolish indeed to think it meant anything. She approached Sir Nicholas hoping to use the looking glass after he was done so she could fix her disheveled chignon. Her green calico gown was hopelessly crushed but there wasn’t much she could do about that.

Sir Nicholas had obviously noticed her trying to smooth her skirts as when she looked up, his eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m sorry to have rumpled your dress so badly,” he said with a guilty grimace. His cravat now roughly tied, he stepped out of the way so she could attend to her hair.

His consideration warmed her. How silly she’d been to think for even a moment that he was selfish. “That’s quite all right,” she said, repinning the tendrils that had fallen out of the arrangement at her nape. “If you don’t mind, I’ll return to my room and change before I resume my duties in the library.”

Sir Nicholas stepped closer and rested his hands lightly about her waist. “Sod that, my dear. There’s no need to return to the library.” He kissed her cheek then his gaze caught hers in the mirror. “I want you to rest. For tonight.”

“
Tonight?
” He wanted her tonight as well?

His crooked smile stole her breath. “Oh yes, sweetheart. Tonight I want you to come to my bedchamber. I’ll dismiss my valet by nine o’clock, so no one will be about.” He turned her round to face him and placed a brief but ardent kiss on her mouth. “Now go,” he said, releasing her, “before I change my mind and decide to ravish you for the rest of the afternoon.”

A smile playing about her lips, Abigail unlocked the oak doors and stepped out into the hall. But her amusement died as soon as her gaze fell on Keziah. The housemaid lurked by a nearby curio cabinet.
Oh, no.

She flicked out her dusting cloth with a snap and then looked Abigail up and down. “Afternoon, Miss Adams.” She didn’t need to say anything else. Her knowing smirk said it all.

Despite the fact Abigail’s stomach had lurched to the vicinity of her feet, she managed to give Keziah a curt nod. She had no doubt at all that it wouldn’t be long before all the staff were snickering about her. Or openly snubbing her.

But she’d made her bed and had willingly chosen to lie in it.
What’s done is done.

Even though her face was flaming, Abigail lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and forced herself to walk calmly to the servants’ stairs at the other end of the hall.

God willing, she would be gone from Hartfield within a week or two.

A
bigail was more
than a little relieved that she reached her bedchamber without further incident. After kicking off her slippers, she threw herself onto the bed and closed her eyes. But trying to rest was useless. Even the sound of the falling rain—a sound that she loved—couldn’t lull her to sleep. She stared up at the rose pink tester for a while before reaching for
Sense and Sensibility
, but for once, the story didn’t engage her. Her mind kept returning to the decision she’d made—for better or worse—and what that really meant for her in the years ahead.

Abigail Adams. Courtesan.

At least she didn’t have any immediate family left on this earth who would be shamed by her new profession.

Since she’d graduated from Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies in London six years ago and had become a governess, she’d had limited contact with her very prim and proper maiden aunts. Letters were exchanged several times a year—on birthdays and at Yuletide—but apart from that, she’d had very little to do with them.

She supposed she would have even less to do with them now.

At last abandoning any hope of rest, Abigail rose from her bed and proceeded to unpack her traveling trunk. She’d just been debating whether she should wear her white muslin or yellow dimity gown when she went to see Sir Nicholas in his rooms—she really hadn’t anything that could be considered alluring—when there came another knock on the door, making her jump.

Thankfully, it was only Bessie bearing a supper tray. “Sir Nicholas said you were feeling poorly, miss and that you might like to dine in your room.”

“Oh.” Abigail blushed but the room was quite gloomy; hopefully Bessie hadn’t noticed her discomfiture. “How... thoughtful. Perhaps you could set it on the table by the window seat.”

“Yes, miss. And shall I light the candles and the fire for you? It’s a little dark and chilly, what with all this rain about.”

Abigail couldn’t detect any censure in the girl’s expression, only a trace of mild curiosity. Or perhaps it was polite concern. Maybe Keziah had decided to hold her tongue. “Yes. Thank you, Bessie.”

Once Bessie had quit the room, Abigail sat down to the light supper Sir Nicholas had so kindly arranged for her. But it seemed she had no appetite for the white soup or the buttered toast despite the fact she had not eaten since breakfast; her stomach fluttered with an odd combination of nervous excitement and worry. Setting down her spoon, she instead sipped her cup of tea and began to sort through her tangled thoughts, trying to pinpoint the real source of her unease.

She really did want to be Sir Nicholas’s mistress. And she was determined to please him, perhaps even exceed his expectations. She was completely certain he would be a magnanimous protector—both in and out of the bedchamber. Indeed, considering their blazing sexual encounter in the drawing room, the bed sport promised to be nothing short of astounding. Abigail feared she was already quite addicted to the man.

She was also touched that he had offered to take measures to ensure she wouldn’t become pregnant; not all men would do that for a woman. However, if she did bear Sir Nicholas a child, or children, she had no doubt they would be well-provided for. From the very beginning he’d had gone out of his way to take care of her and she couldn’t imagine that he would be any different when it came to his offspring—legitimate or not.

And therein lay the problem and the root of Abigail’s disquiet. Even though Sir Nicholas seemed like an outright rakehell, he really wasn’t. He might exercise his devastating charm like a weapon when he was set on seducing a member of the opposite sex but he also had a softer, warmer side to him. He was the type of man a woman could easily fall in love with.

But Abigail knew she mustn’t. Her body might burn with desire whenever she was with Sir Nicholas, but she must encase her heart in ice. Play the part of a well-heeled whore to perfection. A mistress couldn’t afford to feel any tender emotions for her protector because one day he would be sure to discard her for someone else. Or worse still, get married.

For a courtesan, a ruined heart would surely be the worst fate of all.

* * *

N
icholas sat
before the fire in his sitting room, brandy glass in hand, watching the minutes tick by on the mantel clock as he waited for Abigail.

Ten minutes past nine. What the deuce was keeping the girl? He was not usually so impatient but since their drawing room encounter, he could think of nothing else but having her in every conceivable way. The memory of Abigail taking him with her mouth jumped into his mind yet again and his cock twitched beneath his blue silk banyan. Sweet Jesus, it felt like he’d had a cockstand for almost the entire evening.

In truth, he’d had a cockstand for days.

He swirled the brandy in his glass and took another sip in a futile attempt to douse the fire inside him. He prayed Abigail hadn’t changed her mind.

He was just about to refill his glass when a knock sounded. Three light taps.
At last.

Discarding the brandy decanter, Nicholas crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Abigail. And his pulse leapt. She’d worn her hair loose; the glossy brown tresses spilled over the plain linen shawl that she clutched tightly around her shoulders.

So lovely.
Yet anyone could clearly see she was nervous. Her hazel eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed, and her words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “Sir, my apologies for being so tardy. I had to wait until Colin had finished checking the window latches and drawing all the curtains. He’s only just gone down the servants’ stairs.”

That bloody footman again.
Nicholas was beginning to think he had far too many servants. And far too many good-looking footmen. He glanced over her shoulder down the length of the Long Gallery but he couldn’t see anyone, thank God. Hopefully Cruikshank wouldn’t take too long to secure a townhouse. All of this skulking around to avoid the staff would wear thin very quickly. Especially for Abigail.

But there was no point dwelling on that now. Abigail was here and he wanted her in his arms. Reaching for her hand, he gently tugged her toward him. “Well, let’s not linger on the threshold. Come here, you gorgeous girl.”

Before the door had even fully shut, he was on her, kissing her, his hands tangling in the loose tumble of her hair, running over her slender body. His tongue slipped between her lips, seeking the honeyed warmth of her mouth. Dear God, she felt and tasted like heaven.

Nicholas knew he was being a brute but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Thankfully, Abigail didn’t seem to be unnerved by his enthusiastic greeting. Her shawl fell to the floor as she slid her hands up to the nape of his neck and kissed him back with equal ardor, their tongues tangling in a passionate dance. With her lithesome body pinned between him and the door, he could easily feel she wasn’t wearing stays beneath her white muslin gown. And hot lust raced through his veins, straight to his groin.

When he at last broke the kiss to draw in some much needed air, he watched Abigail’s eyelids flutter open. And there was a smile in her eyes. “Do you really think I’m gorgeous?” she murmured.

“How could you doubt that, sweetheart?” Nicholas gently rolled his hips so his hard-as-iron cock nudged her belly. “I think my rather fierce attraction to you is fairly obvious, don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Fierce attraction.” Abigail’s hands slid beneath his robe. The light graze of her fingernails across his bare shoulders and down to his chest made his nipples tighten. “I like the sound of that. Very much. Perhaps now is the time for me to admit that I have a fierce attraction to you too.”

“I’m glad to hear it. However, now that I think on it, there is one particular thing about your appearance that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Oh?” A small line appeared between Abigail’s finely shaped brows. “What might that be?”

“You are wearing far too many clothes, Miss Adams.” Nicholas tugged at the lacing at the back of her gown.

To his delight, Abigail’s cheeks turned a bright shade of scarlet. She dropped her gaze to his chest. “You must think me terribly gauche to be blushing like a maid.”

“Not at all. In fact, I think it’s perfectly charming.”

Her eyes lifted to his again. “You do?”

“Yes. It’s why I find you so fascinating. And refreshing.” He loosened the laces a bit more and the bodice sagged revealing a great deal of Abigail’s cleavage... and the fact she also wasn’t wearing a shift.

Nicholas swallowed hard. His cock throbbed almost to the point of pain. “You blush yet you’ve come to my room wearing nothing at all beneath your gown except stockings,” he continued as he slid the flimsy muslin off Abigail’s shoulders and then her arms. And at last her magnificent breasts were exposed. Just as he’d imagined, they were as round and as firm as pomegranates, the nipples a dark, dusky pink, reminding him of the lips of her exquisite sex.

He dragged in a breath to speak but even then his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “How delightfully wicked you are, Miss Adams.”

Abigail bit her lip as if trying to suppress a smile. “And here I was thinking that I was just being practical.”

Nicholas brushed a finger over the tip of one nipple, coaxing it into a tight point. “Gorgeous, wicked,
and
practical. No wonder I can’t resist you, sweetheart.”

Unable to ignore the temptation of her naked breasts any longer, Nicholas cupped them in his hands. Lowering his head, he suckled on one nipple then the other. Swirled and flicked his tongue over each sweet nub until Abigail shuddered in his arms. Tugged at his hair and moaned her pleasure.

With a small wiggle of her hips, her gown slid to the floor and Nicholas caught the musky scent of her arousal. He skimmed a hand over the curve of her hip and across the flat plane of her belly until he reached the ruffled lips of her quim. As his questing fingers slid between her warm, wet cleft a desperate mewl escaped her. She gripped him about the neck. And she spread her legs wider.

That small movement was the equivalent of setting a spark to a bonfire.

Lifting his head from her breasts, Nicholas caught Abigail’s chin with his other hand and ruthlessly plundered her mouth with his tongue. A considerate lover would carry her to the bed instead of finger-fucking her up against the door like a common doxy. But then again, there was something infinitely arousing about having Abigail naked in his arms but for her stockings, panting and writhing and opening herself to him. She hooked one of her long, slender legs around his hip and he took that as an open invitation to pump his fingers in and out of her hot, luscious cunt.

“For pity’s sake, take me.” Her plea was little more than a ragged whisper against his mouth. Her hand slipped inside his robe and wrapped around his shaft. “Take me now. I need you inside me.”

Nicholas couldn’t deny her. He shrugged off his robe. Then, gathering her closer, he grasped her delectable arse in his hands and hoisted her up until her greedy entrance sucked at the head of his weeping member. Abigail wrapped both of her legs around his hips, and as he slid in a little further, she clutched at his shoulders and gasped.

Fuck she was tight. It was like being squeezed by a satin clad fist. “Are you all right?” he gritted out.

She nodded. “Yes. It’s just... You are so big. But it feels good.”

“Only good?” Firming his hold on her arse, he adjusted Abigail’s position slightly and pushed even further into her slick passage. Her inner muscles immediately clenched and rippled around him in a tight embrace. To him it was bliss.

“Definitely better than good.” She kissed him on the mouth and her fingers curled around his naked shoulders. “Please... just fuck me.”

Nicholas’s already pounding heart bolted into a full gallop. How could he ignore such a blatant invitation? Grasping Abigail by the hips, he held her steady as he thrust deeply until he was fully seated inside her. The rosy tips of her beautiful breasts brushed against his naked chest.

“Hold on sweetheart,” he rasped. He withdrew slowly, the delicious friction setting every nerve in his cock alight. And then he slammed back into her.

“Yes,” Abigail hissed. She gripped his shoulders so tightly, he was sure her nails drew blood. “Do that again. Harder.”

“It would be,” Nicholas grated out, “my pleasure.” Unable to contain his own desperate need, he ruthlessly pumped his cock in and out of Abigail, increasing the pace of their unbridled coupling. Had fucking ever felt this good?

He doubted it. Nevertheless, his conscience howled at him to stop. He’d assured Abigail that he’d make every effort to prevent getting her with child. If he didn’t pull out now, he’d surely spend his seed inside her. Determined to do the right thing, even though it might kill him, he gritted his teeth, and ceased thrusting.

And at that very same moment, Abigail let out a hoarse cry and climaxed.

Jesus Christ, save me.
The overpowering urge to let go was almost irresistible but somehow Nicholas rode out the storm. His chest heaving, his thighs shaking, he buried his face in Abigail’s shoulder. The sensation of her cunt clenching around him in orgasm was the most exquisite of tortures. She might be his mistress but he wouldn’t betray her trust.