The Governess Club: Bonnie (8 page)

Sir Stephen sat up and cleared his throat. “I am not upset.” His accent was once more under control.

“When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

“Do not concern yourself with me. You are the one who suffered poisoning.”

“And you are the one who looks like he suffered poisoning.”

“Have you looked in a mirror, lass?”

“Have you?”

Stephen stared at her. Just as their first tea in the kitchen, her laughter took him by surprise. It was inconceivable to him that she was teasing him so soon after such a brush with danger, that she was laughing while looking like Death itself. He sincerely hoped she didn’t ask for the mirror he just mentioned.

She was going to be fine. Relief flooded through him. It would take a few days for her to be up on her feet again, but she was going to be fine. This feeling of complete assurance that she would recover so overwhelmed him that he felt he could not be held accountable for his next actions.

Without a thought, he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers. He swallowed her startled gasp and just kissed her.

There was no finesse. No seduction. Nothing more than a meeting of lips. But it was a kiss that shook him like no other.

Her lips were warm beneath his, their bow shape cushioning his. He could smell her, his nose nestled beside hers, smell the mixture of sleep, sweat, and sweet biscuits that he associated with her.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t break the kiss and rebuke him with a slap or otherwise. What she did do was remain still, not breathing for a few moments before releasing a small sigh and leaning into him.

Blood began pumping through his veins with the enthusiasm of a victorious military drum. Stephen moved his lips and felt hers pucker and follow, sending thrills racing through him.

The small hairs on his arms stood up and awareness of her settled over his skin, enveloping him in a blanket of yearning for the solace this meager kiss promised.

Sweet Mary and Joseph, it was better than he had imagined.

A small moan reached his ears. It didn’t quite register that it didn’t come either of them until he heard it again accompanied by a shift on the mattress.

They broke the kiss and looked down to see Arthur raising his head, his hair in disarray. He blinked at them several times before rolling on his side and resuming his sleep.

Stephen dropped his hands from Miss Hodges’ face as if he was holding them too close to a fire. He stared at her, hard, for several heartbeats before standing and leaving the room without a word.

“T
ry again, Henry.” Bonnie smiled at his long-suffering sigh as he turned to the beginning of the reader again. “You need to practice.” She was sitting against the headboard while Henry stretched out on his stomach beside her.

“I’ve already practiced this twice, Miss Hodges. When are you getting out of bed?”

“Well, I am making considerable improvement, so by the end of the week I should be able to sit in the morning room.”

“The morning room?”

He sounded so distraught. Bonnie hid a smile. “How have your afternoons been with Sir Stephen?” She tried to keep the question nonchalant. Bonnie hadn’t seen him since the day she ate the poisoned biscuit. Since the night of their shared kiss, if she were to be honest, and she did not know what to think.

She was not silly enough to expect an honorable offer or any offer at all. A kiss did not necessitate a drastic change such as that. If that were the case, there would more marriages on the record and fewer prostitutes.

Especially if all kisses were like the one in question. In all of her experience—which admittedly was limited to one—kisses were fraught with sensation. Good heavens, the sensations. She had been lightheaded from the sparks that kiss had sent through her body. The feel of his lips against hers—firm, warm, assured. His calloused hands against her cheeks—capable, gentle, confident.

What had swept her away, however, was inhaling his scent and sharing his breath. His sandalwood cologne had teased its way into her nose, his breath had danced over her skin, sending tingles throughout her body.

But when their breathing had synchronized, even for those brief moments, that was when she felt the magic of the kiss. That was what made her finally understand the starry-eyed look her mother would give her father whenever he returned.

If anything, this experience made her want to see him more. Yes, she knew that nothing could come from this attraction; she was the governess and he was the guardian and that was that. But she did not understand why he kept away from her.

Despite her best intentions, she could not stop that from hurting.

Henry shrugged, the gesture shaking the bed enough to refocus her attention. “Fine.”

Bonnie raised her brows. “Fine? That is all you have to say?”

“We see the horses and sit in the study,” Henry elaborated with another shrug. “It is not very entertaining.”

“I thought you liked horses.”

“But I can’t do anything when my shoulder hurts. I can’t ride, so he’s teaching me to oil my saddle and curry Harold. And when we’re in the study, all he does is work with Mr. Renard. He tells me some things about the estate, but it’s all boring.”

Oh dear.
Bonnie sighed. “Henry, Sir Stephen is quite busy as your guardian. He has much on his plate.” Not to mention unraveling a mystery surrounding who it was who wanted to harm them. “One of the things he is responsible for is preparing you to assume the duties of the viscount. You should be grateful he is taking that responsibility seriously.”

Henry didn’t answer directly, but began reading from his primer.

S
tephen didn’t glance up at the knock. “Come in,” he bade. It wasn’t until the scent that had been imprinted on his senses drifted towards him that he looked up. Bonnie—Miss Hodges—stood before the desk, her face pale and beaded with moisture, her shaking skirts reflecting that of her legs.

He stood abruptly. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” He moved around the desk, approaching her.

“I must speak with you, sir.” Her voice was thin and breathless.

“This was foolish,” he said with severity. He lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the door. She gave a startled shriek. “I’m returning you to your room.”

“No, please,” she protested. “I must speak with you.”

“We can do so in your room.”

“Sir!”

With a growl, Stephen turned on his heel and moved to the sofas. He carefully set her down close to the fire, ensuring she was comfortable against the cushions. “Are you warm enough? Do you need a shawl or a blanket?”

“I am fine.”

Her voice was still too thin. He grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her legs. Taking care to secure it, he found his hands lingering on her hips. They were soft and supple, filling his hands until they were burning with need to remove her skirts and petticoats and feel her flesh beneath his.

Stephen tightened his fingers for a brief moment before forcing himself to release her. He stepped back and cleared his throat. “The boys are asleep?” he inquired. “Would you care for tea or something to eat?”

“I am fine, sir.”

“You are certain?”

She gave a small smile. “You are being quite solicitous.”

“You could have died. You are not yet fully recovered.”

“We haven’t seen each other in four days. How are you certain I am not yet fully recovered?”

Was she serious? “You were on the verge of collapsing on the carpet a moment ago. I assume that was from the effort of walking from your room.”

She smiled again. “I forgot your ability for deduction.”

Lord, but he could get used to having her smile at him. Even though there was nothing coy, nothing seductive, nothing knowing to it, having that smile directed at him was potent.

Stephen sat on the opposite sofa, sitting back and crossing his legs. “You said you needed to speak with me.”

It was fascinating how she could shift into formality so quickly and effortlessly. He appreciated that ability; it made it easier to remember their respective positions.

“Yes. It has to do with your afternoons with Henry. He tells me that you are educating him in the management of the estate.”

“Aye.”

“Do you not think him too young for that?”

“I do not.”

“It is merely that I am concerned for him. He is not finding it . . .
entertaining
is the word he used.”

Stephen smiled. “Running an estate is a responsibility and a necessity, not entertainment.”

Bonnie suppressed the warmth that tingled over her skin at his smile. “An eight-year-old boy does not understand that.”

“He is the viscount. He needs to be prepared for this responsibility. It is too easy to take for granted things inherited and not earned.”

“I agree but—”

“Then perhaps you would accord me the respect of knowing what I am doing.”

Bonnie had never enjoyed being interrupted, let alone condescended to. Her tolerance had increased out of necessity in her line of work, but this was one of the times where her patience ran thin. A handsome face and appealing accent were no excuse for lack of manners.

“And please sir, accord me the respect of knowing what I am doing as well.”

Sir Stephen blinked at her sharp tone. “Of course I do.”

“Then understand that I know eight-year-old boys. I am not disputing the importance of what he needs to learn. What I am questioning is your methodology.”

“My methodology?”

Bonnie softened her tone. “I know young boys and I know teaching, sir. Henry is not unaware he is the viscount. He may not fully understand what that entails, but he is not ignorant.”

“Then what is wrong with my methodology, if he is not ignorant?”

Bonnie smiled. “He is still only eight years old. Having him sit in a chair and observe conversations between you and Mr. Renard is out of his depth. Using words and ideas he does not understand will only serve to make him resent being viscount.”

Stephen grimaced. “That is the last thing I want to happen.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It appears I must rely on your expertise here. What do you suggest?”

Bonnie ignored his inadvertent insult. “He needs to see the relevance of being viscount; he needs to see why it is important. What did your father do to prepare you for your title?”

His body visibly tensed. “My father?”

“I assume you inherited your barony, Sir Stephen. How did your father prepare you to run the family estate?”

He cleared his throat. “It is a landless title.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

He looked away, his mouth in an uncompromising line. Bonnie did not like the way this conversation was going. He had become remote, put a wall up between them, and she didn’t know why. Was he ashamed because he was landless? “It matters little if you do not have an estate.”

Sir Stephen stood and strode around the table to stand at the fire. Bonnie watched him lean against the mantle, his coat stretching across his muscular back. She couldn’t help but stare. If his physical strength was so obvious when he was fully clothed, how much more powerful would he be when he disrobed?

Heat flooded through her at the thought.

“Just tell me what I am to do with Henry.”

His voice triggered something unfamiliar in her. Unable to stop herself, Bonnie pushed herself up, the blanket falling to the floor, and moved to where he stood at the fire. Her hand hovered at his shoulder, aching to touch him, but she dropped it when he turned his head towards her.

His brow lowered and he frowned. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

“That is one of your faults, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” He turned to face her completely.

“You take on responsibility for others. You care for them.”

“I do not.”

Bonnie smiled. “Why do you deny it? There is nothing wrong with it.”

“You called it a fault. That implies negativity.”

“Only if you take on too much and neglect yourself.” She reached up and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Who takes care of you?”

Stephen stared at her. “One could say the same about you.”

“I am a governess. It is my job to care for others.”

He shook his head. “Not like this. Not staying when there’s no pay or seeing to traumatized children. Not being poisoned.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Perhaps not, but I can make it better.”

She smiled up at him. “How?”

“By getting you back to bed.” Stephen easily lifted her again and made his way out of the study.

She gasped when he lifted her. “But Henry—”

“We can talk about Henry tomorrow, Miss Hodges. You need your rest.”

“I can at least walk.” Not that she really wanted to. It was nice being tucked against his chest, her arm around his shoulders for support. She could experience his strength first hand instead of speculate what was under his coat. She resisted the urge to snuggle into his solid chest.

“Take your own advice. Let me take care of you for the moment.”

Well. When he put it like that, how could she refuse?

“I
s there something I can help you with, sir? You seem perplexed.”

Stephen glanced up at Renard. “No.” He turned his eyes back to the ledger. The numbers remained the same. The estate was bleeding money through bad investments, ineffective estate upgrades, and general mismanagement.

It wasn’t too difficult for Stephen to recognize the mismanagement. It was well-hidden, but with his experience, Stephen knew what to look for; it had taken nearly three years after his father’s death to pay off creditors and bring the title back to solvency.

How could George let things come to this? Had Roslyn known? For as long as he could remember, Stephen’s mother had known of his father’s monetary problems, but those had already been severe by the time he had become aware of them. It disgusted him to know that George was on the brink of doing to Roslyn and his sons the exact same thing Stephen’s father had done to him.