Scandal's Virgin. Louise Allen

Laura wrenched her arm away. Avery caught her hand in his, the impetus of her movement swinging her around so they were face-to-face. His face was serious, his eyes dark and intent and assessing. He desired her, she could read it in his face, could see it in his parted lips and the stillness of him. ‘I do not flirt.’ It was a lie. Her entire life away from this place was a game, a flirtation, an empty farce.

      It was very quiet. The stable block was behind them and they had just entered the shrubbery that swept around the east side of the house, thick with laurels and box, the smell of the evergreens aromatic and astringent. A robin was singing high up in an ash tree and the gravel of the path crunched beneath Avery’s booted feet. Her pulse was thudding.

      ‘No, you have not done anything that might be construed as flirtation. I wonder then that I sensed what I did. Wishful thinking, perhaps,’ Avery said and she saw from the faint smile that he had seen her colour rise. ‘You said you did not trust men. Have you come to trust me a little, Caroline?’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed, wary now, only half-believing what she said. Or what she felt. He was going to kiss her. And then what would she do?

      ‘Why?’ He was so close now that their toes bumped. She was aware of the smell of saddle soap and horse from his gloves and the warmth of his breath and the cock robin overhead flinging his challenge at every other bird in the vicinity. Another arrogant male.

      ‘Because Alice loves you,’ she replied with simple truth and watched his mouth, only his mouth, as the smile deepened, slightly askew so a faint dimple appeared on the right, but not on the left. And even then, even though she expected it, the kiss surprised her when it came.

      Avery bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, an electric, tickling touch that made every hair on her nape stand up. He did not touch her or try to deepen the caress, but simply tucked her hand under his arm again and walked on.

      ‘You are a wise woman to trust the innocent judgement of a child over your own fears.’

      ‘I did not say I was afraid of you.’ Her mouth trembled and she pressed her lips together. A proper kiss she could have dealt with. She would have returned it as an equal and then, as she always did, have made it very clear that nothing would follow. A crude attempt to do more she could have dealt with, too. She had no scruple about kneeing a man in the groin or biting an ear or whatever unladylike manoeuvre was necessary to leave him gasping on the ground in fear for his manhood. She had done that also, more than once.

      But that brush of the lips—what was that? Was she being teased as she had so often teased? Best to ignore it, pretend it never happened, pretend that there was no heat in her belly and that she did not ache for his hands on her breasts and his mouth, open over hers. Oh, Piers, how could I feel like this for another man? Was it because of the resemblance between the cousins? She pushed away the thought that she could be so foolish.

      ‘I have drafted an advertisement for a governess,’ Avery remarked as they came out of the shrubbery onto the lawn.

      ‘Which newspapers will you put it in?’ So, he can ignore it, too, infuriating man. It should make me like him less, but somehow it does not. Yet I suspect he knows that. Games. We are both playing games.

      ‘All the London ones and the local press, as well. Will you check it over for me?’ She nodded. ‘In that case, if you would like to join Alice in the dining room, I will fetch it. Just through here.’

      The long windows that faced the garden front were all raised to let in the balmy spring air and Avery helped her over the low sill into a blue-painted room with a table set for luncheon. As she stepped down onto the polished floor he continued outside, presumably to his study.

      There was no sign of Alice yet. No doubt Miss Blackstock was scrubbing off every trace of pony and stables and dressing her in a suitable dress for a proper little girl. She should wash, too.

      ‘Can you show me where I can wash my hands?’ she asked the maid setting a bowl of fruit on the table.

      ‘Yes, ma’am, this way if you please.’

      It was an unexceptional way of exploring, although, disappointingly, all the inner doors off the hall were closed. The girl led her through to a small room with a water closet on one side and a washstand on the other and left her. Laura lingered over cleaning her hands, working up a froth of lavender-scented soap, trickling the cool water through her fingers.

      A fantasy was forming in her mind. She would write to her solicitor, her steward, everyone, and explain she was going abroad for an indefinite period. Then she would tell Avery that she would become Alice’s governess. He could not deny that the child liked her, responded well to her. He trusted her enough to ask her opinion, he knew from conversation that she was educated, cultured. A lady.

      Laura blotted the wetness on a linen towel, watched the fabric grow darker, limp with the water from her hands. It seemed very important to focus on getting every inch of skin quite dry while her mind scrabbled at that fantasy like an overexcited child tearing the wrappings from a present.

      And then, as though she had opened the gift and found not the expected doll or sweetmeats, but a book of sermons, acrid as dust, her hands were dry and her mind clear. She could not do it. How long could she live so close to Alice and not betray herself? She would be a servant in her own daughter’s home, someone with no real power, no control. Sooner or later Avery would find her out and then she would have to leave and Alice would lose someone she might have grown very fond of. It was too painful to think the word love.

      Avery was crossing the hall when she emerged, her hair smooth, her expression calm, even the trace of a blush from that kiss subdued by cool water and willpower.

      ‘What do you think?’ He handed her a sheet of paper. ‘Will you look at it now in the study, before Alice comes down?’

      * * *

      He watched Laura as she stood, head bent over the draft. Her hair was rigorously tidy, each strand disciplined back into a severe chignon. It did not look like hair that relished control, it looked as though it wanted to be loose, waving, its colours catching the sun in shades from blonde to soft brown. Her cheeks were smooth, pale with less than the natural colour of health in them and none of the blush that had stained them when she had thrown that challenge at him in the shrubbery.

      Her lips moved slightly, parted, and her tongue emerged just to touch the centre of her upper lip. He guessed it was a habitual sign of concentration, but it sent the blood straight to his groin. Those lips under his, smooth and warm. They had clung for a moment against his while he had wrestled with the urge to possess, feel her open under him, to taste her. He was confusing her and he wished he understood why.

      ‘You state that the person appointed must be willing to travel.’

      ‘Yes, that is essential. I expect to be sent abroad again before the year is out and I will take Alice with me.’

      ‘You had best say it means to the Continent, then, and not simply on a tour of the Lakes.’ Her lips quivered into a slight smile and were serious again.

      Avery fought with temptation and yielded to it. ‘I was wondering... I know you said Alice would benefit from a younger governess, but I wondered about a widow.’

      A shiver went through Caroline, so faint he saw it merely in the movement of her pearl earbobs. He held his breath. Was he being too obvious? And what, in blazes, was he thinking of in any case?