The Ungrateful Governness

1

The Earl of Rutherford was aware as soon as he opened the library door that someone was there before him. He could see the faint glow of a single candle set somewhere behind the door. He frowned and was glad that he had approached the room and turned the handle with some stealth. He had not wanted to wake any of the sleepers of the house. It was past midnight. He held his own candle at arm's length away from the door opening so that it would not be seen from inside the room unless the occupant were looking exactly in his direction, and began to close the door as quietly as he could. He certainly did not relish the thought of another dull encounter with his host.

Before the door was quite shut, however, there was the thud of a falling book from inside the room and the sound of a mild exclamation. In a distinctly female voice. Rutherford could not resist the temptation to ease the door open again and peer cautiously around it. A moment later he had stepped quietly into the room and was closing the door slowly behind him.

What good luck! The little gray governess.

But she was looking neither very gray nor very uninteresting at the moment. Quite the contrary, in fact. She was wearing only a white nightgown. The blue shawl she must have worn downstairs had been flung onto a table beside her. She was stretching up to replace a book on a high shelf and revealing to his delight two small bare feet and one very trim ankle. Her hair-that light brown mass that was usually scraped back from her face and confined ruthlessly into a large bun at the back of her head-was hanging loose. It reached to her waist and even lower, tilted back as her head was. It was shiny, thick, and wavy.

He had suspected for the past week that she was not the gray creature that one tended to take her for at a superficial glance. The rather loose, shapeless dresses she wore, unadorned gray and covering every inch of her except her hands and head, did a good job of conveying an impression of sexlessness. Indeed, they helped her almost disappear into the background entirely. And her hairstyle, demurely lowered eyelashes, and unsmiling face suggested no femininity whatsoever. But he had suspected.

The Earl of Rutherford considered himself something of an expert on female servants. The obviously pretty, brash ones, the ones who spilled out of their dresses, eyed one boldly, and made their availability patently obvious, were almost always a disappointment. They were as unsubtle in bed as they were out of it. The best one could hope for was a few minutes of energetic animal pleasure. Frequently one had to endure vulgar flattery and shrill giggles while one was taking one's pleasure. It was the other kind of servant that generally interested him far more. Miss Moore's kind.

They tended to glide around unobtrusively so that a man of less discernment and experience than himself might not even notice that they were there. And those men thereby would quite unwittingly deny themselves great pleasure. Such creatures, Rutherford had discovered from his not inconsiderable experience, almost invariably were intensely passionate. It was as if they repressed all their sexuality in the normal course of their lives and released it unstintingly for the satisfaction of the man who had seen it hidden there.

Governesses frequently made delightful bedfellows. They generally considered themselves a cut above the ordinary servant and usually were. They would not open their treasures readily to anyone else of the servant class. And yet they could not mix freely with the gentry. They were usually very ripe indeed for a bedding when a gentlemen came along who saw beyond the gray disguise. They almost always wore gray, and it was almost always meant to conceal. Any governess who did not boast personal attractions would probably not be uniformed in gray. Why conceal one's governess if there was no danger of her attracting the roving eye of one's husband or one's sons?

Miss Moore was kept in a particularly heavy disguise: the loose dresses, the severe hairstyle. She must be an unusually attractive girl. So he had concluded when he had first cast assessing eyes on her the week before. And it seemed his host did not avail himself of her personal services. At least, Rutherford had been able to intercept none of those knowing glances that usually told him if a man's wife was being cheated in her very own house. The chances were that Miss Moore had passion just waiting to explode at the first invitation.

It was true that he had been unable to come any closer to her than half a room away during the past week. True too that he hardly knew the sound of her voice. And he did not know the color of her eyes. But then it was very understandable that Lady Barrie would not allow him any chance encounter with her daughter's governess when the daughter looked as she did. Who could blame a mother?

The door was finally shut behind him, and the book was finally on its shelf.

"Do you suffer from insomnia too, Miss Moore?" the Earl of Rutherford asked conversationally, moving a few steps into the room.

The governess whirled around, her eyes wide and startled. She grabbed for her shawl and fumbled with its folds before throwing it, bunched untidily, around her shoulders.

Dark eyes, Rutherford thought, though he was not close enough to know their color. He observed the blush that flooded into her face. And he noted with some interest that her breasts, unconfined beneath the linen of the nightgown, were firm and high. What on earth did she do with them beneath the gray dresses? Bind them?

He felt a distinct stirring of desire.

"Oh," she said. "My lord. I did not realize that anyone else was still awake."

Low and soft, he thought. A seductive voice. Naturally so, he suspected. She did not seem intent on seducing at the moment. She was clearly agitated. She was still wrestling with her shawl.

He walked closer to her. "It is twisted at the back," he said. "I fear you are fighting a losing battle. Allow me."

And he took the shawl from her suddenly nerveless fingers and straightened out its folds. He stood directly in front of her, his arms reaching over her shoulders, and finally set the shawl down on them. He had not touched her at all. He looked down into her eyes as he held the ends of the shawl for her to take from his hands. Blue. Her eyes were blue, a darker shade than his own.

She seemed to realize suddenly that he intended her to take the shawl from him. She grasped it clumsily, brushing her hands against his own as she did so. She took a step back so that she almost touched the bookshelves.

"I came to choose a book," she said. "I did not have a chance earlier today. I have been busy. If you will excuse me, my lord, I will not disturb you any longer."

"But you still do not have a book," he said. She was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were resting on the top button of his shirt-at least, the top button that was done up. The top two were open.

"I shall choose one tomorrow," she said. "It is too late to read tonight anyway."

"I could not agree with you more," he said. "Un-fortunately, when one is unable to sleep, reading seems the best way to induce slumber. If one is alone, that is. Of course, if one has company of suitable gender, there is another, more pleasant way of doing it."

She looked up at him a full second before comprehension brought the color flooding back into her cheeks. He reached out and took a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. She bit her lip.

"It seems we have a choice, Miss Moore," he said. "And I can tell without even having a closer look that Barrie has no book of any interest on his shelves."

She stared mutely back at him. Her hands fidgeted with the fringe on her shawl.

"Shall we put each other to sleep, Miss Moore?" he asked softly. His eyes were on her lips, which were parted with what he thought was probably unconscious provocation. "After suitably pleasurable exercise, of course."

He sensed a change in her suddenly, though she did not move and her hands continued busy.

"I think you are under a misapprehension, my lord," she said, her voice low and steady. "I am not available for dalliance."

He smiled and raised his eyes to hers again. She was looking full at him, her gaze startlingly direct. "Why do you hide your beauty?" he asked, though he knew the answer full well. "Why the daytime disguise?"

"I am a governess," she said. "I dress in a manner suited to my calling."

"With some encouragement from your employer, I would guess," he said.

She did not reply.

"It must be a very dull life," he said.

"Life is what one makes it, my lord," she said. "I do not complain. I do not seek the kind of diversion that you suggest."

"You wish to be persuaded," he said. "I believe I have some skill, Miss Moore. And I am not the sort of man who considers only his own gratification. I believe that a woman is as entitled as a man to be thoroughly pleasured in a bed where she has chosen to give herself. Come, let me give you a foretaste of what you may expect."

His hand moved around and twined itself into the thick silkiness of her hair. He had to make a concerted effort to give her time to respond. He wanted to drag her against him without more ado. He suspected that those firm breasts were not the only delight hidden from view beneath the loose nightgown.

She raised her chin an inch. "I will not be ravished, my lord," she said. "If you do not release me immediately and let me pass, I shall scream very loudly. I shall of course be dismissed from my employment without a character for having had the audacity to have tempted the Earl of Rutherford to seduce me. But I shall do it nonetheless."

He took a rueful half-step backward. There were, of course, always those few gray creatures who were so from choice, whose virtue was unassailable. A great shame in Miss Moore's case as she was a rare beauty even clad in the unbecoming and virginal nightgown. She would have been far more satisfying in his bed than any of the books ranged behind her. And a far more effective sleeping potion. He moved his hand forward until it held only the one lock of hair again.

"You need put neither your lungs nor your employment in jeopardy," he said. "I have never been driven to rape any female, Miss Moore. I see no reason to begin on you. I foresaw an hour's mutual pleasure, that is all. You are quite free to step around me and leave, your virtue intact. My apologies if I have wounded your dignity."

He grinned down at her and let his hand rest on her shoulder for a moment. He was about to step back and sweep her a mocking bow. He anticipated the only pleasure that was to be granted him that night, it seemed: that of watching her cross the room with her indignation and her bare feet, knowing herself watched.

The next person to enter the room was clearly less intent than he had been on not disturbing the house. And the sight of two candles within did not set the new arrival to withdrawing quietly as he had begun to do earlier. When the door opened, it did so quite abruptly and noisily, and its sound was succeeded by the immediate entry of Lord Barrie, a whole branch of candles in his hand.

Lord Rutherford turned toward him, one eyebrow raised. "Three of us suffering from insomnia, Barrie?" he said. "I only hope that you have enough good books to satisfy us all. What would you recommend?"

And he was not even to be granted the pleasure of watching the governess withdraw, he thought with an inward sigh, as she muttered something indistinct and disappeared from the room while he surveyed the shelves languidly and hoped that his host was not about to be his usual garrulous self. Not at an hour well past midnight. And not at a moment when he was still smarting from a strong dose of sexual frustration.

Jessica Moore took one last look around the room that had been hers for the past two years. She knew there was nothing left inside drawers or wardrobes; she had just double-checked those. There was nothing lying on surfaces either. She had everything, then, stuffed inside one small trunk and a valise. One did not accumulate much as a governess. She had arrived two years before with scarcely less than she had now.

There was not much in the room to make her wish to linger. It was a small box of a room on the floor above the family bedchambers, next to the schoolroom. It was too cold in winter, too hot in summer. Facing north as it did, it was never brightened by the direct rays of the sun. Its curtains and bed hangings were an uninteresting shade of pale brown. There was almost no hint left of the floral design that had brightened them in the long ago days when they had hung in a more important bedchamber.

The only thing that made her at all reluctant to leave was the fact that this room had been her only refuge for a long time. The only place where she could go to avoid Sybil's petulant moods, to escape Lady Barrie's waspish temper, to recover from the frequent insults that as a servant she must endure meekly.

Was she sorry to be leaving? She thought not. She had never been happy in this house. Not nearly so. She had no friends, except perhaps the vicar's wife, who was more than twenty years her senior. The servants were awkward with her; the family despised her. And she had outgrown any usefulness she might once have had when Sybil had won a shrill argument with Lord and Lady Barrie a few months before and been officially released from the schoolroom. Jessica had expected to be given notice. Instead, her role had been converted to that of "companion." That is, she was expected to trail around after Sybil, a silent and virtually invisible shadow.

She wished now that she had resigned of her own free will. At least then she would probably have been given a letter of recommendation, even though she would have expected no warm praises from Lady Barrie. But she had procrastinated. Unhappy as she was, at least she was familiar with her situation. The thought of having to start all over again in a new household had filled her with dread.

Well, Jessica thought, dragging the trunk across the floor to the door of her room, she did not have to worry about any such thing now. Dismissed without any period of notice whatsoever and without any recommendation. There was no earthly chance of finding herself another situation. And what was she to do? A wave of panic grabbed at her stomach as she tied the ribbons of her gray bonnet beneath her chin and drew on her gray cloak.

What was she going to do?

She was to leave on the stagecoach to London in one hour's time. But why she had chosen London she did not really know. What was there there for her? But what was there anywhere for her? The stagecoach went to London. That was why she was going there probably. Two days she would have on it. Two days in which to decide what she was to do with the rest of her life. And she could not hope for employment as a governess or companion. Even as a lower servant she would doubtless need a character from someone. And who was there who would be willing to speak for her?

Really, Jessica thought, the panic threatening to overwhelm her for the moment, there seemed to be only one avenue open to her. And she would not take that. Could not. Her pride was far too great. What was she to do?

She picked up her valise with a resolution she was far from feeling and left the room without a backward glance. She would ask Terrence to bring down her trunk. He was the only footman-the only servant, for that matter-who had ever shown her any warmth of feeling. He would carry it for her. She could not expect any sort of farewell from anyone, of course. She was leaving in disgrace. She had not even been granted a maid to help her with her packing. Besides, it was too early for the famiy to be up yet. Lady Barrie had probably returned to her bed after summoning her very early that morning in order to dismiss her.

And probably he was not up yet either, for he had had a late night.

A little more than an hour later Jessica was seated in the stagecoach between two large persons, one male and one female, both of whom were displaying their disappointment at her late arrival to take the empty middle seat by ignoring the fact that she was there at all. Not that she wished for their conversation. But it would have been far more comfortable if they had at least acknowledged her need for room on the seat. She resigned herself to two days of discomfort. Indeed, she must enjoy these two days. At least while the journey lasted she belonged somewhere. Her meager resources would not keep her for very long in London. She had had to pay for her own ticket on the stagecoach.

Had he asked that she be dismissed? Jessica wondered. Did he even know that she had been? She had expected it, had lain awake all night wondering what her punishment would be and fully expecting that it would be dismissal. After all, this was not like the time when Lady Barrie's brother had kissed her beneath the mistletoe while his wife and all the rest of the family had looked on, laughing merrily. Her punishment that time had been merely nine days confined to her room and the schoolroom abovestairs until the visitor she had enticed with her wicked ways had finally taken himself and his wife home.

This was different. This time she had practiced her wiles on the intended husband of Sybil. There could be no forgiveness for such a heinous crime, even after a suitably harsh punishment. A suitor had arrived from London, and the suitor was to be converted into a betrothed and a husband with all due speed so that Sybil could have the great distinction of being a countess at the age of seventeen. Despite the extreme plainness of her face and figure and despite her petulant and bad-tempered nature. No governess was to be allowed to distract the attention of the suitor.

And so she had been verbally abused early that morning by Lady Barrie, called whore among other insults, and told that she might take herself away from the house within three hours. She was not invited to speak a word and indeed did not attempt to do so. She had stood quietly before her employer, looking her calmly in the eye, a daring action that had only stirred the other into further wrath. Servants were expected to direct their eyes at the floor when Lady Barrie condescended to speak to them, like Moses, afraid that the light from the Godhead's countenance would blind them if they looked into it.

Jessica was too accustomed to her former employer to feel any great anger or bitterness at her treatment. It was to be expected. But what about him, the Earl of Rutherford? Was she angry with him? Did she now hate him? She tested the idea in her mind and came to the conclusion that no, she did not really blame him for the course events had taken. Not unless he had asked for her dismissal, that was. But she did not believe he had. What would be his motive? She had refused to go to bed with him. That would not be of sufficient importance to provoke the Earl of Rutherford into vicious revenge. She could say with some certainty that at least three of the chambermaids would have been only too willing to warm his bed at any moment of the night or day.

"Some persons thinks they can turn up at the last moment and take the whole seat that decent folks has paid good money for," the large female at her left remarked loudly to the large male on her right. She was attempting to locate something in the covered basket she held on her knees.

"Some persons do like to put on airs," the male agreed with a wheeze. "Prob'ly used to traveling around in their private coaches where they can spread out all along one seat and stretch their feet on the pposite one."

"Nobody better not try to put their feet on this seat," a passenger of superior wit across from them said. "Not unless they wants ter walk on stumps that begins above the ankles for the rest of their born days, that is."

Jessica was further squeezed by the hearty laughter of her neighbors. She wisely chose to ignore all remarks and won a sniff and a charge of being "uppity" from the female beside her for her pains.

She had found him powerfully attractive from the day of his arrival. As who would not? she asked herself. The Earl of Rutherford was a good-looking man by any standard: tall, athletically built, his aristocratic features, very dark hair, and blue eys designed by heaven to make any normal female heart skip a beat. To a lonely, love-starved young lady he appeared quite irresistible.

She had rarely been in the same room with him, had never been closer to him than the width of a room, had spoken not a word to him. He had not even noticed she existed, she had believed. But she had looked when no one was observing her, and what she saw had filled her with longing, the longing for pretty, flattering gowns, for wearing her hair about her face, for the freedom to smile and lift her eyes to the world. She had longed for one of his looks, one indication that he knew she existed, one sign that he knew she was a woman.

She had been kept severely in the background. Even her usual task of chaperoning Sybil during visits and walks was usurped by the girl's middle-aged abigail. She had been sent back to her room one morning when it was judged that her hair was not tightly enough pulled back and some wave remained.

She had not expected him to notice her. Indeed, she had not thought he would stay long. He had come there by some chance as a prospective suitor for Sybil. It seemed unlikely to Jessica that he was as firm in his intentions as Lord and Lady Barrie seemed to believe. Such a man would have no trouble at all finding a wife. Even if his pockets were to let, he could surely find a more amiable wife among the ranks of the wealthy than Sybil. Jessica did not believe that in two years she had made any impression on the girl's character whatsoever. She was as bad-tempered, as selfish and uncontrolled now as she must have been from childhood. And she had no beauty with which to blind a suitor to the defects of her character until after a marriage had taken place.

But he had been there a whole week, and he had noticed her. He had even known her name last night. Of course, he had noticed her in one way only. She was a governess. A servant. And apparently presentable enough in her nightgown and with her hair down to be deemed worthy of a night in his bed. There was nothing remotely flattering about such notice.

But oh, she had been tempted!

He had looked quite suffocatingly masculine, dressed as he was only in his breeches and a silk shirt open at the throat. His hair had been tousled, as if he had just risen from his bed. And those blue eyes, seen at close quarters, had been disturbingly direct.

She had felt almost instant desire. She had wanted to be held against that tall, strong body. She had wanted his hands and his mouth on her. And truth to tell, she had felt her knees weaken at the thought of going to his bedchamber with him and allowing him any intimacy that he chose to take. Virtue, chastity, virginity had seemed dreary taskmasters for a few mad moments. She had had but to say the word. She could have experienced delights to dream of for a lifetime. He had assured her that he was skilled, that he liked to give as well as receive pleasure. And she had not doubted him for a moment.

Why had she held back, then? Why had she denied her own desire, her own deepest need? Perhaps it was just the knowledge that what for her would have been the experience of a lifetime would have been merely the delight of a moment for him, something he would have forgotten after a few days and the next woman. She had found when it came to the point that she could not degrade herself to that extent. She could not allow herself to become what all men seemed to expect female servants to be: ready bedfellows. Not persons at all. Merely the human instruments through which they could satisfy their sexual appetites. She could not do it and live with herself the next day.

But she was not at all sure, Jessica thought, sighing inwardly as the large female changed position and jostled her further with hip and elbow, she was not sure at all that she would be strong enough to make the same decision if it were hers to make all over again at this very moment. It would be something indeed, something worth having, to be granted just a few minutes out of a life of neglect and insult in which to be the full focus of a gentleman's attentions. To know that for those minutes he would be intent only on her, on both pleasuring and being pleasured. To be seen fully just once, wanted fully.

But wanted for what? For Jessica Moore? Or for the woman's body in which Jessica Moore just happened to be housed?

She shifted sideways so that some of the pressure was taken off her left arm at least. She wondered how far they had traveled and how much farther they would travel that day.