Gift-Wrapped Governess (22 page)

‘You meant by way of a demonstration, didn't you, Land?' Gabriel interjected smoothly.

‘Well, perhaps,' Land said grudgingly.

Gabriel handed him a ball. ‘Since you are quite the expert, you may show us the way,' he said solemnly.

‘That was adroitly done,' Regan said, as Land, his mood soothed and puffed up with importance, began to demonstrate how to throw.

Gabriel shrugged. ‘He was just a little over-excited.'

‘He has a dreadful temper sometimes.'

‘He's a very intelligent lad. He just gets impatient, that's all.'

‘Remind you of anyone?' Regan said innocently, delighted when this comment was rewarded with a bark of laughter.

Volunteering, along with Lady Lucinda, to set up the nine-pins, keep the scores on the large chalk board and return the balls through the chute, Regan had plenty of opportunity to observe Gabriel with the children. He no longer towered over them when he spoke to them, but automatically crouched down to their level. With shy Portia he was gentle, with exuberant Jack he was firm, but Land he talked to as an equal, consulting him gravely on the finer points of the game and encouraging him to demonstrate tricky shots. She hadn't noticed how much Land had changed these last few months. She'd noticed his temper becoming more volatile, she'd noticed that his trousers seemed to be always too short, but she hadn't realised the boy was taking his first tentative steps towards manhood.

A whoop of excitement from Lady Sarah, whose eye was as eagle-sharp as the Duchess's, startled Regan from her reverie.

‘Sticker,' Land shouted, for every one of the pins had fallen over. ‘We won.'

‘A return, a return,' Portia, who had been playing on the other side, in Gabriel's team, called enthusiastically.

‘I think it only fair that Lady Lucinda join in,' Lady Olivia said, with a malicious smile. ‘Little Jack can take her place at the other end.'

‘Oh, no!' Jack cried, tugging on Gabriel's sleeve. ‘Please may I not play another game?'

‘Yes, if you will let go of my coat, for you are creasing it,' Gabriel said, laughing. ‘I shall take Lady Lucinda's place.'

To Regan, then, fell the job of setting up the pins, while Gabriel stood beside her, keeping the score and returning the balls. ‘I have to say that I am, despite my reservations, rather enjoying myself,' he said.

‘You are finding the ladies' company charming?'

‘I was actually referring to the children,' Gabriel replied with a wry smile.

When he smiled at her like that, Regan's heart behaved in a most ridiculous fashion. When he smiled at her like that, she couldn't help wishing—thinking—things she should not!

They both watched while Land tried to adjust Lady Lucinda's aim. She bowled wide, scoring nought for the third time in a row, making Jack scowl, though Portia, Regan was touched to see, gave her a consoling hug. ‘Lady Lucinda has been very kind to Portia,' she said, trying to distract herself.

‘She has many admirable qualities,' Gabriel said. He turned away to chalk up Lady Sarah's second sticker. When he turned back to Regan, he was frowning. ‘Truth be told, so too do Lady Olivia and Lady Sarah. I didn't expect this to be so difficult.'

Regan stooped down to set up the pins. The curve of her bottom visible through her gown was rather too delightful a view for him to eye with impunity. When he realised that his admiration was taking rather solid physical form, Gabriel quickly averted his gaze.

Another couple of throws passed before Regan could work up the courage to speak her mind. ‘Gabriel, I think the reason you are finding it difficult is that you don't love any of them.'

‘The reason I'm finding it difficult is that I'm being thorough. My method is sound.'

‘Then why can you not make up your mind?'

‘I can. I will,' Gabriel said, sounding horribly unconvinced.

‘Have you tried to imagine any of them as the mother of your children?'

‘That was rather the point of having Portia, Land and Jack here,' Gabriel said uncomfortably. In truth, he had tried, but had signally failed to conjure up an image of any of the Three Graces as the mother of his child.

‘And yet you are still struggling to choose. Perhaps you should try kissing them,' Regan said exasperatedly.

Gabriel dropped the chalk he had been using to mark the board. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘To help you decide, I mean. I'm sure none of them will object. Quite the contrary, I would imagine.'

‘I cannot go around indiscriminately kissing young ladies.'

‘A laudable aspiration and yet it did not prevent you from kissing me.'

‘That was different. You're…'

‘Not important?' Regan snapped. ‘Not worthy of the same consideration?'

‘That's not what I was going to say,' Gabriel said to her retreating back as Regan stormed from the skittle alley. ‘What I was going to say,' he said morosely to the empty space where she had been, ‘was that you, unlike them, are someone I actually want to kiss.'

T
hough he told himself there was no point in attempting to explain, that it was futile to tell her what he had been about to say because there was no point in talking about something that wasn't going to happen, Gabriel left the skittle alley at the earliest opportunity and went in search of Regan. He finally found her in the old Elizabethan bakehouse, which was used for storing hay. He'd remembered that she had often hidden there as a child when she wanted to be alone. He pushed closed the heavy door. She was sitting in the loft, her legs dangling over the edge, her chin resting on her hands.

Gabriel climbed up the ladder and sat down beside her. ‘You do me an injustice, Regan. You quite misunderstood what I was trying to say.'

‘Did I? Perhaps it is because you do not even know yourself what you are trying to say.'

He smiled ruefully. ‘I probably deserve that.' He tugged at his neckcloth and a lock of blue-black hair fell over his brow. He closed the small gap between them and propped his chin up on his hands, resting his elbows on the cross beam as she did. His buckskin-clad leg brushed against her thigh. She
was acutely aware of him and trying desperately not to be. ‘Explain to me, Gabriel. I want to understand.'

‘Five years ago, when my father died, I discovered he had gambled away the better part of the family coffers. The estate was in a parlous state. I couldn't believe it. My sole purpose in life, according to my father, was as heir to Blairmore, yet he had put the entire estate, the lives of hundreds of our people, in jeopardy. I have no idea why he did it—was he simply profligate or abjectly miserable? I don't know, but it made me realise how much Blairmore meant to me and it made me determined—even more determined—not to be like him. I have worked tirelessly since then to repair the damage. Blairmore is in as good heart now as it was when your father was alive.'

‘I had no idea,' Regan said softly.

‘Very few know how bad things were, not even my mother.'

‘That must have been a terrible burden to bear.'

‘Yes, but I have borne it and it's changed me, as your circumstances have changed you. My father saw Blairmore as an asset to be stripped. My mother sees it only as a status symbol. The one thing it never was, was a secure, loving family home.' He took her hand in his. ‘I didn't quite appreciate—until you came here with the children—I didn't realise how much I wanted that, needed it. I don't just want an heir, I want my children to be happy, not damned bloody miserable as I was.'

Regan swallowed hard, for a lump had formed in her throat as he talked, so filled was she with admiration and pity. ‘And what of your happiness?' she asked softly.

‘That is what will make me happy, Regan, knowing they have what I never had. Do you see now?'

Love was the thing he had never had, she could see that now. Love, which he obviously thought himself incapable or undeserving of. That was the real legacy his parents had
given him and there was nothing she could do about it. ‘I can see that is what you truly believe,' she said sadly.

‘I do.' Gabriel stroked her arm, running his fingers from her shoulder to her elbow and back again. They were sitting back from the guard rail now, propped against a hay bale. He pulled her head on to his shoulder. His fingers tangled in the heavy bun of hair at her nape. It was soft and silky. He breathed in deep of the scent of her and sighed.

He stroked her cheek. His thumb touched the curve of her mouth, trailed along the plump lower lip. ‘I do,' Gabriel said, ‘but what I don't understand is why, when I am so certain that I am right, can I not actually choose? Why is it, Regan, that when I am upon the brink of making the most important decision of my life, instead of thinking about kissing my future wife, all I can think about is kissing you?'

‘Gabriel, I…' She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She was hot and cold and panicky. There was something she should do, something she should not.

‘Night and day,' he said huskily, ‘I think about your lips, your touch. And I know, I know it's the last thing I should be thinking about, but it consumes me, torments me.'

If only he had not been so honest. If only he had not confided in her. If only she had not been thinking the same thing. ‘Oh, Gabriel.'

‘Oh, God, Regan,' he said huskily, pulling her on top of him and kissing her hungrily.

It was different from the last time. Very different. More. His mouth fitted hers more perfectly. The taste of him, the cool, delicious taste of his lips on hers, made her want to melt. He kissed her slowly, carefully, tasting her. His fingers stroked her cheek, her ear, her neck. His hand pressed her back, moulding her to him. Hard chest. Her arms went around his neck. The crisp feel of his collar, the soft curl of his hair. She sighed, a strange little noise, like a whisper or a whimper.
He teased her mouth open, ran his tongue along the inside of her lips.

Kissing. Behind her closed lids, the world was bathed in a golden glow of sunlight. Down they sank into the hay, his fingers still stroking her, his lips triggering delightfully unfamiliar sensations. His tongue touched hers and the melting feeling gave way to a sharper, more visceral sensation. He rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the hay. His kiss was velvet-dark now. She could feel his breath coming sharp and fast, like hers. She liked the feel of him, heavy on top of her. Reassuringly solid. His hands stroked down her arms, the curve of her waist, making her arch up under him. Behind her lids now it was fiery. Scarlet. Crimson. His fingers stroked the swell of her breasts. She thought she might faint clean away, the sensation was so tantalisingly unbearable. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. The linen of her chemise felt rough on her nipples. She felt them swell and pucker. She touched his cheek, her fingers grazing on the shadow of stubble on his jaw. His tongue thrust deeper into her mouth, making her arch again, against the length of his body. Kisses were not enough. Straw tickling her cheek. She brushed it away. Opened her eyes. Met grey-blue, gazing deep into hers. Heavy-lidded. Slashes of colour across his cheekbones.

Gabriel sat up. Regan sat up. They gazed at each other, chests heaving. She had straw in her hair. His cravat was askew. Wanting, desire, passion, heated the space between them where words should be, a tangible thing, a jagged-edged thing, a glittering thing, a force so strong they almost succumbed again to its powerful lure. She leaned towards him. He leaned towards her. His hand on her neck. Hers on his jaw. Wanting. Her lips parted. He moaned. She jerked herself free.

‘No.'

‘No!'

Gabriel looked around him, at the platform upon which
they had lain, the bales of hay, the rickety ladder, the skylight, dark with the shadow of snow clouds. ‘I did not intend to—I did not mean…'

‘No more did I,' Regan said, feverishly pulling straw from her hair.

They stared at each other. It was Gabriel who laughed first. ‘Godammit, Regan, I'm the sixth Duke of Blairmore. You are a respectable spinster of a Yorkshire parish and we are cavorting in a hay loft like—'

‘A groom and a dairy maid,' she finished for him with a shaky laugh. ‘It's not amusing. I'm not sure I even understand it.'

‘There is nothing to understand. We are attracted to each other. Physically attracted. It is nothing more.'

Regan's smile faded along with the last tingling remnants of desire. What he meant was that he would not allow it to be anything more. Or, worse, that he was not capable of allowing it to become so. The harsh reality of his confession hit her with the force of an avalanche. Gabriel did not seek love because he did not believe in it. Truly did not believe himself capable of it. She had not, until this moment, taken his claim seriously. Now, she would be a fool indeed if she did not. ‘I see,' she said.

He pressed her hand. ‘Do you? It matters a great deal that you understand.'

‘Does it? Then I do. I understand that you are set upon this course and I wish with all my heart that it will make you happy.'

‘It will,' Gabriel said fervently.

Regan blinked back a tear. ‘I hope, I truly hope, you are right.'

 

Gabriel tried to make good on his avowal. He tried to put her from his mind. He tried not to ponder the questions she raised, but he could not stop himself. He had not thought
himself capable of feeling, yet he felt.
What
he felt, he didn't know, but it was powerful, insistent and would not be denied.

He had not thought his desires mattered, but they did. He not only wanted his children to be happy, he wanted happiness for himself. And what would make him happy? That was the most daunting question of all, for time and again, when he posed it, the image that flitted into his mind was that of Regan, and that was the most shocking thing of all. Because it made no sense at all. If it were true… But it could not be true, it
could
not.

Gabriel arose from his twisted sheets exhausted and frustrated. It was a beautiful day, after a sharp overnight frost. Skating, that would surely clear his head. Hard physical exercise. Clear, fresh air. That would be bound to do the trick.

 

‘Though, sadly, Lady Sarah has declined to join us,' he informed the rest of the party, who had assembled at his request in the lower courtyard, one of the gardeners having confirmed that the lake was frozen quite solid. ‘Apparently, she has a morbid fear of water on account of her uncle drowning at sea. She cannot bear to be near it, even in its frozen form.'

Jack digested this information, a frown furrowing his brow. ‘She must be really smelly. I wish I didn't have to bathe, I hate it. I wish
I
had an uncle and
he
drowned at sea.'

‘Well, it is your great misfortune that you haven't,' Gabriel said, scooping Jack up and hoisting him on his shoulders. ‘Now then,' he said with a wink to Regan, ‘are we going to stand around all day talking about dead uncles or are we going skating?'

‘Skating!' the children squealed in unison.

‘Should I perhaps offer to stay behind to keep Lady Sarah company?' Regan asked Gabriel as they made their way across the courtyard.

‘Good grief, no. I believe she intends to spend the morn
ing assisting her Grace in the preparations for the Christmas Eve party,' he replied. ‘If I was in her shoes, frankly I would rather take my chances with drowning.'

Regan chuckled. ‘I was just thinking, had we wished to skate earlier, you could have asked her Grace to freeze the pond with one of her glacial stares.' This made Gabriel laugh aloud, something that startled himself as well as the rest of the company, such a rare sound as it was.

The pond was actually more of a lake, an artificial dam created for Gabriel's grandfather by the renowned landscape gardener Capability Brown, which had the dual purpose of irrigating the lower eastern fields and draining the upper ones for grazing. A picturesque little temple built on the banks served as a storeroom for the ice skates and the little wooden punt from which Gabriel and Regan had swum in summers long past. The folly had a small terrace, upon which later would be served hot chocolate.

The ice skates themselves consisted of a pair of heavy metal blades with a wooden shoe-shaped platform, which were held in place with thick buckled leather straps that Gabriel insisted on checking—a procedure that had Lady Lucinda blushing wildly and taking refuge in her vinaigrette at the prospect of having her delicate little foot examined by the Duke himself. Having arrived convinced that she would never fulfil her mama's dreams and become the Duchess of Blairmore by snaring the Duke, Lady Lucinda had in the last ten days been first in awe of her host, then smitten by his charm, and was now, in the face of some unexpected encouragement, quite terrified by the prospect of actually succeeding.

Gabriel was just about to escort her onto the ice when he caught Portia's disappointed expression. ‘But perhaps it would be best if you skate with Lady Lucinda, Portia, for you are both much the same height and will be able to support each
other better,' he said, earning himself a selection of approving looks, from Portia, Lady Lucinda and Regan.

Lady Olivia, a competent skater, was already in the middle of the pond, with Land skating somewhat falteringly beside her. Jack, wearing skates several sizes too large for him, hovered on the edge of the ice, torn between a natural desire to be as bold as his brother and an equally natural fear that he would make himself a laughing stock by falling over.

‘Come, you must show Regan and me the way,' Gabriel said, smiling at him. ‘See, you can skate between us and help keep us steady.' He was rewarded with a grin that nearly split Jack's face, not to mention a silently mouthed
thank you
from Regan. He wasn't sure that was responsible for the warm glow that suddenly bathed him, but it was a pleasant feeling regardless. Unfamiliar, but undoubtedly pleasant.

The three of them made uncertain progress, with Jack's skates barely touching the ice for the first lap of the pond, though Gabriel's firm grip kept him upright with his pride intact. By the second lap, he was skating with more confidence. ‘I think I should go and skate with Land now,' he said at the end of the third lap, slipping his hands free. ‘Only don't let Regan go, will you, Gabriel, because she's wobblier than a—a jelly.'

Laughing as she watched his erratic progress towards his brother, Regan turned to Gabriel. ‘Perhaps you had best go and skate with Lady Olivia,' she said.

‘I fear that Jack would take me to task if I did so,' Gabriel replied, taking her hand, ‘I cannot leave you on your own to wobble like a jelly.'

‘I will have you know—oh, dear!'

Lady Lucinda had taken a tumble. ‘I am perfectly all right,' she said, when Regan and Portia finally managed to help her back to her feet—she was too embarrassed to allow Gabriel to assist.