Page 41 of The Defiant Governess
“I thought after lunch you might like to ride over to Smythe’s farm with me. They are breaking some young horses.”
The boy’s eyes shone. “Oh, may I, Miss Jane?”
She nodded, still not looking at the marquess. “Yes, you may, provided you apply yourself to these sums for the next hour.”
“I thought you might like to accompany us too, Miss Langley,” added Saybrook, giving a pointed look at her hair, wound in the usual tight bun.
“No, thank you, milord. Not today,” she answered, her voice cool and even. “Now Peter, twelve plus fifteen....”
A puzzled look crossed Saybrook’s face as he turned to go.
Jane was relieved to have the afternoon to herself. Her thoughts were still in a whirl of confusion. She was almost tempted to take Mrs. Fairchild’s advice and slip back into bed. But instead she donned her oldest gown and took refuge in the gardens, toting a wicker basket and a pair of shears. The soft colors and delicate perfumes of flowers always had a calming effect on her. She wandered through the paths, carefully clipping a lush bouquet from the profusion of plantings. The soft hum of the bees and the scent of lavender and roses made her feel better, if not happy, as she began cutting from a patch of gladiolas.
“Let me take that for you.”
Jane felt a low thrill at the sound of the familiar, deep masculine voice. She turned in surprise, having not heard him approach, and dropped her shears in the process.
“I’m sorry I startled you.” Saybrook bent to pick them up. “Still stealing the manor’s flowers, I see,” he said with a tentative smile
Jane didn’t dare meet his eyes. Surely now that she had admitted her own feelings to herself, they would be more than obvious on her face.
“Thank you, milord.” She reached for the shears and turned quickly back to the flowers, studying them as if particularly engrossed by one of the stems.
“Is something the matter?” he asked quietly. “Have I given you any cause for offense?”
Jane forced her voice to be steady. “How absurd, sir. How could a servant feel any such thing?”
He took her gently by the arm and turned her around. With a searching look he studied her averted face. “Look at me, Miss Langley. Something is wrong. I would hope that we have become good enough … friends that you will tell me what it is.”
His hand was still on her arm, and she was achingly aware of it. Why, his very touch was making her tremble.
As he sensed the tremors running through her, he pulled her closer in a protective manner. She should run, Jane told herself, and yet she was rooted to the ground. Against all reason, she found herself looking up at him.
His head came down slowly, and his lips touched hers. His mouth tasted warm and spicy, unlike any of the other kisses she had occasionally allowed a gentleman to steal. With those, she had felt nothing but amusement. But now, her senses were so overwhelmed that her knees might have given way if he hadn’t slipped his arm around her waist and drawn closer.
Instinctively she arched against him, drawing a soft groan from him as his mouth became more demanding. His tongue teased her mouth open, and when she responded, it delved deep inside, sending a flutter of fire through every fiber of her being.
It was her turn to moan. Without thinking, she dropped her shears and reached up to twine her fingers in his hair, reveling in its thick silkiness. Their kiss deepened. Her own tongue hesitantly began its own explorations, surprised at how quickly it wanted more.
More.
Saybrook gave another hoarse groan. “Jane—Jane, do you know what you are doing to me?” he murmured as he released her mouth to trace a path with his lips down to the hollow of her neck. “Hell’s teeth, I want … I want to make you …
He hesitated, as if unable to say the next words.
Jane forced herself to come to her senses. “Stop,” she cried, pushing him roughly away. “Stop this instant!” Her worst fears seemed confirmed. “You want to make me what—your mistress? Just because I am a lowly governess, do you really think I would stoop so low as to tumble into your bed on command!”
Surprise, and then hurt flared in Saybrook’s eyes. “Jane—Miss Langley—you misunderstand. I want …” He faltered. “That is, I assure you my intentions are honorable …”
Terrified of what he might say next—and that she might be forced to admit her secret—Jane flung the most cutting words she could think of at him.
“And were your intentions honorable towards Peter’s mother? What has become of her?”
Saybrook recoiled as if she had struck him. His face drained of all color and, for a moment, there was a look of infinite pain in his eyes before his gaze hardened to an impenetrable sea-storm hue. He stood rigid, not a muscle twitching.
It was all Jane could do to keep from throwing herself at his feet and begging forgiveness for wounding him so deeply. Oh, for she knew she had cut him to the very quick.
But she told herself it was better that he should hate her rather than despise her.
