Page 17 of The Baroness of Sin
He smiled tiredly, “I had a wonderful evening with both Lady Carrington and her sister at dinner. They were both dressed exquisitely, though I lack the knowledge of dresses to convey the details.” That was a lie that James felt guilty about. He couldn’t remember what Lady Emma was wearing, but he remembered in great detail the purple dress fringed with white lace that Lady Carrington had worn to dinner. He also remembered how the fabric felt pressed against her body and the shape of her beneath it. He shook the memory away, not wanting to dwell on that while trying to converse with his daughter.
“Wow,” Amanda said, not at all discouraged by her father’s lack of details. “I can’t wait until I can host dinner parties with lots of pretty ladies.” James almost added “and gentlemen,” but then realized he still wanted it to be a good few years before Amanda was thinking in terms of courtship.
“Do you think we can have them over for dinner here?” his daughter asked eagerly. This directness caused Miss Blake to chide Amanda by whispering her name and shushing her once more.
“I’m sure they would love to have dinner with us, Amanda. I’ll have to clear some time in my schedule for just that.” James was partially surprised to be mirroring his daughter's eagerness.
He wanted to see more of Lady Carrington; there was no doubt about that. But when he awoke this morning, gone were the feelings of floating whimsy and in their place was a hard, heavy rock of shame with a touch of dread mixed in for good measure.
He was trying to fight it off. He frequently reminded himself that he had not pawed at her like some beast. This was something they both wanted.
But what about his first wife? Was this honoring her memory? What would she say to him if she were here now?
“Amanda, don’t you think it’s time that you start your lessons?” James told his daughter, the comment more clearly directed at Miss Blake. He wanted to be alone now in the dining room with his thoughts.
“My Lord?”
James had allowed himself to become lost in thought so quickly he hadn’t realized that, while Amanda had run ahead to prepare her lessons, Miss Blake had stayed behind.
“Yes, Miss Blake? Is something the matter?” James began to worry that something was amiss with his daughter that he had not noticed.
“I wanted to make sure everything was all right. You seem not quite yourself today,” she said and seemed a bit self-conscious and unsure of her words after she said them.
James nodded with understanding. “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, Miss Blake. It certainly extends beyond the parameters of your employment, and. for that, you are commended, but I am well. I needed some time to mull over the morning and my breakfast and thought it best that my daughter started early on her lessons.”
The governess seemed less than convinced. She hesitated to leave as if considering saying something else but followed up with, “I am glad to hear you are well, My Lord. I do worry on occasion. I know that being a widowed father can be very tasking. I do everything I can that my position allows for Amanda, to ease your burden... and hers of course.”
“Of course,” James smiled pleasantly. He never doubted Miss Blake’s commitment to his daughter or the household but appreciated the reassurances of her diligence and loyalty. Some Lords took an extremely impersonal view of their relationship with their employees and tenants, but James liked to imagine himself as much protector of Barristen as officiant. James stood up. “Unfortunately, I must see to my duties myself, and you have to see to my daughter. Again, I thank you, Miss Blake. If you have any need of me, please do not hesitate.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Miss Blake said with a thin, professional smile, slightly bowed her head, and strode out of the dining room.
James took another deep breath, paying little mind to the professional concerns of his governess. He paid her to worry after all. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander back to his late wife.
“James, darling, you have always thought too much for your own good,”Her voice, Lucienne’s voice, echoed in his head almost too perfectly. He was almost scared he’d open his eyes and find her sitting next to him.“When life hands you something sweet, you ask it the cost, my love. What sort of way is that to look at a gift? I swear, sometimes you can be so dense to spite yourself.”
James couldn't help but laugh out loud at the scolding he had conjured for himself.
* * *
Martha awoke the day after the fateful dinner surprisingly refreshed, considering how tumultuous her night had been. When she tried to fall asleep, she found herself tossing and turning restlessly. It was almost as if she could still feel the Earl’s strong, supportive touch on her body, and this made it difficult to relax. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it didn’t soothe her either. Quite the opposite, in fact; it made her feel very excited.
This excitement had followed her into her dreams. While there was little of definitive substance, little she could remember anyway, those lingering touches became much stronger in the realm of her mind. He had been there too, touching her and caressing her in places the real James hadn’t dared.
“Hadn’t dared yet,” she told herself.
Would he accept such daring? She had asked him to touch her, this was true, but what had she been expecting when she requested that of him? What would she have allowed? She didn’t know for sure, and in place of an answer was a small flicker of fear that was quickly smothered completely by a rush of excitement.
Martha felt no more fear, and she reveled in this. There were touches of uncertainty, doubt, and apprehension. But the idea of letting Lord Barristen, a gentleman who respected and honored her and was invested in her company alone, hold her and touch her made her absolutely giddy.
She missed him when he wasn’t there. As she dressed, she fantasized what it would be like to wake next to him, to begin her day with his charming smile, awakening next to his firm body.
Her cheeks flushed at the memory of what he had felt like through his clothes, his broadness, his musculature. She genuinely valued his kindness and company, but she had to admit that the gentleman was a stunning example of masculine beauty, hewn from fine stone.
She bit her lip and forced herself to finish her morning routine. She was unsuccessful in pushing him from her mind, but she accomplished what she needed to and started her day.
The problem, at the moment, was she now had little that was urgent enough to occupy her mind away from Lord Barristen. She found her mind drifting to him while etching, reading, even playing music. Especially when she played music. She had to stop because she kept imagining the almost-touches from when they had sat on the bench and how good it would have felt.
She would occasionally entertain the idea of inviting him over again but was forced to dismiss it. She had already bent the rules on the proper amount of socializing in this instance. She had also bent the rules as far as proper socializing in general and knew that them both being widowed would only grant so much exception. Still, it was a struggle not to pen another letter to invite him over. She even had some of her staff search the home for an item that Lord Barristen may have “forgotten” as an excuse to have him come retrieve it, but that did not yield results.
