The Governess Club: Louisa (14 page)

“No, no, no bother at all,” he assured her hurriedly. “I, um, it’s just—”

“Yes?”

“I did not mean to cause you any distress,” he said. “I had no intention of causing you harm.”

“I know that.”

“Louisa.” He crouched down close to her and took her hand. “You must know that I greatly respect and admire you. I have come to care for you.”

She tried to tug her hand out of his, but he wouldn’t let go. He continued. “All I am saying is that you have no need to be afraid of me. I will never intentionally do anything to harm you.”

“Thank you,” she said, struggling to keep her voice normal.

“I do wish to be with you, but I can’t have a bastard. Life is hard enough without having to live with that. If I have to choose between not having you and having a bastard, I would choose to not have you. Not because I don’t desire you—yea gods, kitten, you just have to look at me and I stand at attention—but because a man must have some code, some honor, and therein lies mine.”

Louisa stared at the man at her knees, his head bowed as his fingers traced over her knuckles. She looked at him and thought of his room and his behavior toward her. This was a complex man before her, a subtle man, but one who lived honorably. It was true—she had no fear of him. It was what his desires represented that repulsed her. To marry would be to completely surrender who she was, to lose whatever identity she had scraped together, and that was something she could not tolerate.

She understood his dilemma. She agreed that life was hard enough—how much more difficult would it be if she gave birth to a daughter out of wedlock? What sort of life could that child expect? But the thought of marrying him squeezed her throat shut. For a brief, absurd moment, she understood how Sara felt whenever she experienced one of her anxiety attacks.

She cupped his cheek, pulling his head up to look him in the eye. Her eyes begged him to understand. “It’s not you, John. It’s marriage.”

He nodded. “I understand. I know. I mean, I don’t know, you don’t have to tell me, but I understand. I can be a patient man. All I ask is a chance to prove myself to you.”

Louisa shook her head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You are a good man, John Taylor. It is I who have the problem. If I were different, we would be having a much more favorable conversation right now.”

“I don’t want you to be different. Just give me time. We will be cautious, but I need your assurance that if you find yourself with child, you will at the very least consider marrying me.”

She took a deep breath. He wasn’t actually asking for much. She would get what she wanted and he would have his assurances. Considering marriage was much different than actually marrying. She hadn’t conceived with either of her footmen, so it was even likely that she was incapable. What sort of risk would she be taking to agree to this? Not much, by the looks of things.

Louisa gave him a small smile and traced his cheekbone with her thumb. “I can do that.”

Relief flooded his face and he turned his head into her palm, kissing it. “Thank you.”

“We still need to be cautious and discreet,” she warned him. “And the inn must always come first.”

“Of course.” John grinned at her and tugged her forward to lean closer to him. “Now to seal our bargain with a kiss.”

“If you insist,” she said, licking her lips. Her eyes were already riveted on his mouth.

“On this, I do insist,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling. He held back a space, giving her time to pull away if she so chose.

She did not disappoint. Letting out a sigh, she pressed her lips to his in a gentle caress, capturing his lips with her soft touch. She guided their mouths in the intimate dance, taking her time as she explored him.

It was a feeling she had never experienced before, this desire to learn about a person. Her footmen had been calculated decisions meant to broaden her own knowledge of lust, desire and the act of coupling. But with John it was different. When she licked his lips and dipped her tongue into his mouth, it was because she wanted to feel his groan vibrate against her. When she sucked on his lower lip, it was because she wanted to feel his breath quicken on her skin. When she traced his neatly trimmed beard, it was because she reveled in the scrape of the hair between her fingers. Above all, she did all these things because she knew it brought him pleasure.

When she kissed this man, it was about him, not her.

John broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. “The door is open, kitten,” he panted. “Let’s take this into my room.”

She caught her breath and sat up, shaking her head. “I cannot. We cannot. I have already slept the afternoon away and dinner will be starting soon. We must prepare.”

He sat back on his heels, linking their hands together. “Tonight, then?”

She nodded. “I will leave my cottage door unlocked. Come once the pub has closed for the night.”

He frowned. “I dislike the thought of your door being unlocked.”

“It cannot be helped. Chances are I will fall asleep waiting for you and knocking on the door will be disruptive. And there is only the one key.”

“Don’t get your back up, kitten,” he soothed. “Allow me to be concerned for you. I would feel this even if we hadn’t just decided to have an affair.”

She was still disgruntled. “Either way my safety is my own concern.”

“But it doesn’t have to be. Gather some of your things and you can wait in my room for me tonight.” He grinned suggestively at her. “After all, we’ve already determined you are quite comfortable there.”

“Hmph.” She lifted her chin and returned her attention to her food. “I suppose that would be feasible. For one night, at least, but you must see to having a second key made tomorrow.”

He stood. “Of course.” He leaned back down and kissed her cheek, inhaling her scent. “I shall count the minutes until tonight, kitten.” He straightened and left the office, a spring in his step.

Louisa sat for a long moment, staring at the desk without really seeing it. She had just agreed to embark on an affair with this man. Her footmen had been prudential, but this she feared bordered more on an affair of the heart. She would be foolish to let either of them think in such a way, but she was at a loss as to how to prevent it. She was worried at least one of their hearts was already engaged, and she wasn’t sure that it was his.

She shook herself out of her reverie and the noises from the inn surrounded her again. “Alan,” she called out. The boy came to the office door. She indicated the broken chair. “Clean that up please and then go and fetch the carpenter, Mr. Smith. I need to speak to him about fashioning a new chair.”

L
ouisa woke slowly, the sound of scraping reaching her ears. She squinted in the early morning sun and rolled over, seeing John at his vanity, his face half-covered in shaving cream. His head was tilted as he drew the straight razor over his neck. He was wearing only his trousers and even those were hanging loosely around his hips, giving her a splendid view of his profile and a hint of his nicely rounded buttocks. She watched him in silence for a moment, enjoying it.

Somehow one night in his room had turned into three. And now a week. Even though a second key to the cottage had been made, she conceded to herself that his room was likely best, with his custom-made bed built to hold his large frame. She doubted he would be comfortable in her bed.

She sat up abruptly, the time of day sinking in. “Good Lord, I’ve slept in.”

His reflection furrowed its brow as he wiped the blade on the towel draped over his shoulder. “I doubt that. I haven’t heard anyone in the kitchen yet.” He angled his head the other way to scrape the stubble off his cheek.

“But it is already light out. Anyone who is up might see me return to my cottage. They would know I spent the night elsewhere.” Her shift falling over her head muffled her voice. Once her head poked out, she scanned the room for her stockings. Finding one, she pulled it on. “Where is my other stocking?”

He picked it up from where it hung off the wardrobe and handed it to her. “Would it be so bad for people to know?”

“Of course it would be. I have no wish to marry.”

“It’s not like we were caught in bed together,” he muttered before splashing water on his face and wiping it dry. “They can’t force us into marriage based on suspicions alone. For all they know, you could have been with one of the guests last night.”

“Yes, that would be much better,” she said, her morning sarcasm strong. “I would much prefer to be known as the innkeeper who goes above and beyond to ensure all the needs of her guests are met.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that is what you said.”

“Louisa,” he sighed. “Would it be so bad to marry me?”

She glared at him as she picked up her dress. “You said you were fine with this, that you wouldn’t say anything more about marriage unless I am with child.”

He raised his hands and moved toward her to help her with her dress. “And I am not. I am just asking what makes marrying me so unappealing.”

“I’ve told you, it’s not about you.”

“It must be, as you obviously had no compunction about marrying before.”

She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes blinking as he tugged her laces together. When he was finished, she marched over to his vanity and began to unbraid her hair. She picked up his brush and pulled it through her blond tresses. “Why do you even have a blasted brush?” she muttered.

“It came with the set.” He watched her, hands on his hips. “You know that I am not Brock, correct? That I am not like him?”

She was silent for several beats, the brush pausing in mid-stroke. “How do you know that?”

John shrugged. “I don’t, as you have never breathed even a word about him. I am assuming your jitters have to do with him.”

“You haven’t told me anything about your wife.” Her tone was defensive.

“You haven’t asked. What do you want to know?” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “The difference is that I am not trying to hide her. I will tell you anything you like, but every time I ask about your late husband, you change the subject.”

Her brushing resumed. “It has nothing to do with him. You just don’t understand.”

“Yea gods, Louisa, I am trying to. Can’t you see that? Can you understand that your refusal would be easier to stomach if you would just explain yourself to me?”

She twisted her hair into a simple bun, hairpins sliding in to hold it in place. “That’s the thing, you will never truly understand.”

He stiffened at her insinuation. “I see. The prizefighter is good for a tumble, but heaven forfend he should attempt intelligent conversation.”

“No,” she snapped. “You will never understand because you are a man.”

His feeling of offense remained. “That is not much better, kitten. What does that have to do with anything?”

Louisa turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “If we were to marry, what would people call you?”

He frowned, feeling as stupid as she had implied moments before. “I don’t understand. John Taylor.”

“And what would they call me?”

“Mrs. Taylor.”

“Mrs.
John
Taylor. In marrying you, I lose everything. My property becomes yours, my money becomes yours, my very name and identity become yours. Even those children you desperately don’t want to be illegitimate won’t truly be mine, but yours.”

“What of it? It’s the way of things. All those things come to me because I am your husband, who is expected to provide for you and our children. Makes sense to me.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Her face darkened as her mouth pulled down into a ferocious scowl and her skin flushed with anger. She was seething. “Of course it makes sense to you, as you are not the one who loses everything. Marriage is legalized degradation and exploitation of women; once married, a wife has no rights, no recourse should she need it. She becomes her husband’s property to use and abuse as he sees fit.”

“A husband’s duty is to care for his wife, not abuse her,” John pointed out.

“And how many husbands actually abide by that? How many put their wives in danger through infidelity or their fists? And if a man is seen to be abusing his wife, well, that is merely his legal right. None interfere with a husband’s discretion, even when it is so blatantly wrong. There is very little difference between marriage and slavery and those who fight against either is considered seditious.

He was incredulous. “I hardly think you can equate marriage with slavery.”

“Why not? Slaves are seen as savages based on the color of their skin and their inability to speak our language when first presented with it or to wear clothing like ours. They are not seen as sentient beings, capable of providing for themselves and making sound decisions. Wives are viewed the same way and I will not subject myself to it. Slaves cannot leave their masters and wives cannot leave their husbands; it is prettied up with a romantic notion, but the intent is the same. It is ludicrous to consider a man like Charlie Drover, who can barely recognize his own name, capable of voting and owning property, yet deny me that right. I am a sentient human being, capable of running an inn, of educating children, of making intelligent decisions in all aspects of life, and I refuse to be denigrated into the role of wife merely to appease some societal concept of propriety that was created by men!”

Yea gods but she was beautiful when fired up. Her eyes flashed with angry passion and her bosom heaved with her rapid breath. John was hard-pressed to keep his eyes off her breasts, but even the fire on her face aroused him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to focus on what she was saying. “So you think I am just like every other man in England? That is why you don’t want to marry me?”

She threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “I’ve told you, it’s not about you. Haven’t you been listening, you big galoot?”

A bark of laughter escaped him. “Big galoot? Is that what you really just called me?”

“Yes, and I’m not sorry for it.” Her chin was in the air.