Breaking the Governess’s Rules (21 page)

‘It is good that the coachman remembered it was here.’ Her voice was far too high and stilted. She swallowed and tried again, being careful not to watch the shirt as it clung and then slid across his chest. ‘You were right. I would not like to be out in the storm.’

‘Its four walls and roof will keep the rain off you until the chaise can come.’ His hand ran through his hair, sending droplets spraying out in the room. A single drop touched her cheek, just before another fell on her breast causing a damp patch, cooling her fevered skin, but igniting the blaze inside her. ‘You were lucky. You made it to shelter before the rain really started hammering down.’

‘My bonnet will never be the same again.’ Louisa gave a rueful look at the sodden bit of straw, pleased to concentrate on something other than him and the growing ache inside her. ‘Not even the new trimming will mend it.’

‘Perhaps I can help. After all, you came on this journey to help me.’

‘It is not necessary.’ Louisa started to rearrange the objects on the table, moving her bonnet to the right and her reticule to the left. ‘Has the carriage been moved?’

‘The carriage slipped and slid in the rain and its wheel is truly ruined.’ A satisfied smile crossed his lips. ‘However, in the end, I got what I wanted.’

Louisa carefully moved her bonnet closer to her reticule.
What he wanted
—that was the problem and the temptation.

‘Do you generally get what you want?’

‘In most cases, it is part of the privilege of being a baron.’ His eyes became deep pools of blue-green that enticed her to drown in their depths. ‘The carriage is not a danger to anyone now.’

‘And the storm?’ Louisa swallowed hard, hating the tremor in her voice. The carriage might not be a danger, but he was certainly dangerous. And like a moth to a flame, she was attracted to the danger. It made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t been for years. Not since the last time she’d been with him, since the last time they’d made love. ‘How long will the storm last? Maybe after it has blown out, we could walk along with the coachman.’

The excuse sounded feeble to her ears. Her gaze locked with his and she hoped he understood what she was saying. Not only understood, but acted in a way to keep them both safe. Why she needed to get away from this cottage before it overwhelmed her good intentions.

‘There is no need when shelter is here.’ He wrung the bottom of his shirt out, sending a fresh shower of droplets scattering on the floor. ‘We are in for an incredible storm. Sometimes, the thunder rumbles for hours as the storm circles the valley. But this hut has been around for years. It will shelter us from the storm. Nothing will harm us here.’

‘Where’s Dexter the coachman? I had expected him to wait.’ Louisa began to pace the floor, but with each
turn, the room seemed smaller and Jonathon’s chest more inviting. ‘Surely you have not sent him away in this.’

‘Dexter has set off leading one of the horses. He will ride if the weather clears up a bit. He should make it back home without too much difficulty.’

‘But the storm is dangerous.’

‘He loves being out in storms. Something about seeing the sky light up. It makes him feel like he is alive, he says.’ Jonathon smiled a heartbreaking smile. ‘I could not have stopped him if I had wanted to. He knows the risks, Louisa. It was his choice.’

‘He will be drenched to the skin and will catch lung fever.’ She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She knew the risks as well. Suddenly that straight and narrow road was long and lonely. ‘Like you. Perhaps.’

‘You are showing a lot of concern for a man you barely know.’ His eyes softened, beckoned to her. ‘He wanted to go, Louisa. I did give him the option. There was no dissuading him.’

‘You wanted him to go. You are his master. You could have commanded him to stay.’

‘And what would that have achieved? A delay? We need another carriage to continue.’ He smiled a half-smile and caught her hands between his warm ones. ‘Stop worrying about Dexter. He is a sensible fellow.’

‘You wanted to be alone with me.’

The pulse quickened in the hollow of his throat. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘And the horses? Are they safe?’

‘The remaining horses are tethered behind the hut.’

Louisa rearranged her reticule and gloves on the
table, concentrating on the little details that showed she was respectable and that the girl who had blithely thumbed her nose at convention was no longer. The only trouble was that it appeared her former self had been resting rather than dead. And she wanted everything—respectability, safety and Jonathon. But experience dictated that it was impossible. ‘Hopefully he won’t take very long.’

‘He will be back as soon as he can, but I would imagine that it will take a few hours. We are here for the duration.’

The duration. Just the two of them. Alone. With no chance of interruption. The knowledge made her quiver with anticipation. She could make a small detour on her straight road.

A rumble of thunder shook the hut, bringing back all of Louisa’s fears about violent storms and their destructive power. Intellectually she knew that the lightning had little chance of striking the cottage, but it still made her knees weaken and her insides tremble. In her mind’s eye, she saw the ruined burned-out carriage. Her father had taken the risk, her uncle had always said, and he should have stayed put. God’s judgement.

How would God judge her?

She paused. Hadn’t he already? He, along with the rest of society, had judged her unworthy. It was why she had lost the baby.

She had spent years trying to believe differently but for what? Simply to discover that she need not have struggled. She was back to where she had started, destined to repeat the same passion with the same man.

Except this time she no longer believed in for ever
or for always. And she asked for no more than a few hours. No words of love had passed between them and this was no prelude to marriage. It was about the here and now, because the future offered no guarantees.

‘It is good of you to wait with me.’ She gave a nervous smile as yet another clap of thunder bounced off the walls. Jonathon stood there unflinching, seemingly unmoved by the crashing sound. Louisa watched with envy. She wanted to curl up in a small ball. She had to keep talking or she’d beg him to put his arms about her and put an end to this terrible waiting for him to make the first move.

‘It is my pleasure.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘Does the thunderstorm bother you that much?’

‘I hate thunderstorms, always have. Ever since my parents died.’ Louisa wet her lips. It was easy to admit that fear.

‘You think I have forgotten everything about you, don’t you?’ He put out a hand and touched her cheek with a brush of his fingers, a featherlight touch, but one that made her blood fizz with anticipation. Despite the soaking he’d received, his fingers seared her skin. Her breasts strained against the confines of her stays.

‘There was no reason why you should remember such a little thing.’ Her voice held a husky note.

‘You have no idea what I remember.’ His words wrapped themselves around her insides, holding her in their warmth. ‘Losing your parents was tragic.’

‘I had assumed.’ Louisa pressed her hands against her skirt and tried to regain some control over her body. ‘I had assumed if you remembered anything, you remembered only the physical.’

‘Your parents died in a thunderstorm after their carriage was struck by lightning. A judgement from God, according to your uncle, but then your uncle was always quick to invoke God when things did not go as he had planned.’

She gave the briefest of nods, not trusting her voice to speak. He had remembered everything, even the words her uncle had used to explain every misfortune. Her life after Jonathon had been built on the foundations of a belief that he would have forgotten. It made it much harder to stand there, pretending not to need him when he remembered how much she had needed him once before, how she had clung to him that summer’s day in the gazebo, not caring who saw as the lightning sliced through the sky, hitting the great oak on the other side of the ha-ha.

‘It was easier to think you had forgotten,’ she whispered. ‘I wanted you to forget.’

He took two steps towards her, so that their bodies barely touched. He made no attempt to take her in his arms, but simply stood, allowing her to make the choice. Their gazes locked and she found herself mesmerised by the shifting blue-greens in his eyes. Who would have thought so many colours could be contained in such a space?

‘I wanted to, but I couldn’t,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Louisa, did you forget me? Have you changed that much from the girl I once held?’

There was a catch in his voice that made him sound like a little boy begging for the moon. And she knew she owed him the truth. ‘I remembered … everything. I tried to forget, but couldn’t.’

She ignored the sudden fluttering in her belly. Right now all she desired was standing in front of her—Jonathon with gleaming golden skin, softly curling hair and shoulders wide enough to lean on. This man could protect her from the raging storm. He had protected her once before.

It did not matter what would happen two days from now, a month from now; all she knew was that she wanted to be kept safe from the coming storms—shelter from the storm outside, from the possible storm with society and to be able to face the passion raging inside them both without fear. She would think about her position in society and what the gossips might say after the storm had passed. Everything but the need to feel safe and secure faded into insignificance.

‘Jonathon,’ she breathed and held out her hand as she took several faltering steps towards him. He opened his arms and she tumbled into them. It felt like she was coming home.

He cupped her face with his warm hands and bent his head. His lips tasted of rain and summer sunshine, a promise of all good things. Then he lifted his head and his eyes became deep turquoise pools. ‘Storms are helpful, Louisa. They are to be welcomed. They remake and reshape the world. We cannot stop them. We can only look forward to the world made new.’

‘And will this storm remake the world?’

‘It will change it in ways we can only imagine.’ He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. Warm tingles invaded her. ‘But trust me to protect you from it. You do trust me, Louisa?’

Her hands touched his face, feeling the rough bristles
and then the softness of his lips under the pads of her fingers. She brought his head down next to hers, lifted her mouth. ‘Yes, I trust you, Jonathon.’

She drank from his lips, opening her mouth under his gentle pressure and slaking her thirst. As their tongues touched, her fear about the storm faded, to be replaced by something far deeper and more primitive. Desire. For too long she had denied her need and now it raced through her blood, heating it and driving her onwards.

They stood there, lips entwined, tongues touching and the hunger grew within her. Her world had come down to no more than the four walls, and the man who held her against his strong body, protecting her from the sound of thunder. She didn’t dare think beyond that. Later and a return to civilisation would happen whether she wanted it to or not. Neither Miss Daphne nor Lord Furniss would say anything, she was certain of that. The coachman, the broken carriage and the storm ensured that tongues would be silent. Now was about the storm they were creating inside.

He shifted his hold and pulled her tighter against his body, pressing up against her so she felt his arousal pressing against her stomach and knew that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She moved against him, enjoying the feel of him. The small action sent a pulse of heat throughout her body, which coiled around itself to become a deep aching need.

A small moan came from the depths of her throat.

His hands tilted her head back, scattering hairpins, allowing her hair to tumble about her shoulders.

‘Your hair—so many different shades of red,’ he whispered at her temple.

‘I have always hated the colour,’ she said with a strangled laugh. ‘I am afraid it will not make a cloak for us any longer.’

‘But I like it this way as well.’ He brought a strand of hair to his lips. ‘There is more to you than your hair.’

Inside her, a rampant storm built and grew, urged on by the inexorable pressure of his mouth and the lap of his tongue against hers. Thunder sounded again, closer this time, shaking the door and rattling the single shutter as the rain pelted down on the roof.

A blinding light filled the darkened hut, illuminating Jonathon’s intense features—his high cheekbones, the burning pools of blue-green reminding her of the Bay of Naples on a summer’s day, the strong column of his throat. But somehow, with Jonathon holding her, she knew it would be fine. The storm would not destroy her; the storm would remake her. She gave in to her earlier temptation and tasted where the drop of water had gathered at the base of his throat. His skin tasted of warmth and something that was indefinably Jonathon. She suckled, feeling his pulse quicken under her tongue.

His lips nibbled down her neck to where her bodice started.

‘Shall I stop?’ he murmured, his breath teasing the sensitive part of her neck.

She stilled, amazed.

He was offering her an escape, but the way his hands moved on her back, kneading and stroking, escape was the last thing she desired. She wanted to be in his arms and experience passion once more. Some might say that she lacked will-power, but she knew the regret of what
might have been was far worse than the worry about respectability.

She buried her hands in his hair, glorying in the crisp firmness. All around them, the thunder ebbed and surged, circling the valley, calling to her and telling her that life was short and fleeting. What was possible now would not be tomorrow. Tomorrow she would follow her respectable road again.

‘Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.’

He cupped her breasts with his hands, gently flicking the nipples over the cloth, rolling them between his fingers. The nipples instantly hardened into sharp points. A soft moan emerged from her throat as her breasts strained against the cloth and ached to be free. He seemed to understand her wordless plea.