A Wanton Indiscretion (Wild Wicked and Wanton Book 5) Read online

  And her background wasn’t even equal to her position.

  He was the man in the moon to her.

  He continued to regard her with that humorous light in those vividly emerald eyes. This man was laughing at her? Why? She knew her clothes, generously provided to her by, Mrs. de Grijs, were perfectly respectable and revealed little of her feminine form. Though her hat was small and did not completely cover her hair, she knew her tresses were, as always, neatly coiled and smoothed with pomade to keep the riotous curls under control.

  “I need to begin my day.” It was all she could think of to say. And it was utterly senseless.

  He chuckled softly. Or maybe he hadn’t laughed aloud at all. Perhaps it had just been an increase in the humorous light in his eyes. Beautiful eyes.

  If only she were making such an impact upon him then she wouldn’t feel so… lost.

  “You must forgive me, Miss Francis. The spectacles…”

  She touched the wire frames. She had been reading this morning, before Andrew had arrived, and she had forgotten she’d even worn them. But to remove them would be a gesture of vanity. It would make her look vulnerable, at least far more vulnerable than she already did.

  “Of course, I knew you were the governess. Any other young woman would never allow herself to be seen outside of her private chambers wearing them.”

  Abigail’s shoulders seemed to draw inwards of their own volition. Yes, she dressed her hair and her person severely, in a way designed to minimize her feminine traits. Some men took affront to such a style and some found it amusing. But what did she care what this gentleman thought of her? She was the governess and had no wish to be or to look like anything else.

  But, impossibly, she found that she did care, very much in fact and her stomach sank with the dreadful sensation of being made sport of by this gentleman of all people.

  “The other night, you came out here and your hair was loose and flowing in the breeze.”

  Oh God. He had seen her that night? Miss Cathy’s little elderly pug, Bella had gone missing. She and the girl had been searching, frantically. It had been two in the morning and she had thought no one would be awake to see. How thoughtless of her. She gaped at him. How could she possibly reply to such blunt talk?

  “You have such lovely hair. The moon was so bright, and your nightdress glowed bright white against your flowing hair, as dark as a raven’s wing.”

  No man had ever spoken such nonsense to her. Not to mention the poor excuse for poetry.

  “If you’ll pardon me, Mr. Pierce, I must return to my books and chalkboards,” she said, somehow interjecting just the right amount of respect for his position, tempered by the proper amount of chilliness to convey how much she did not care about his opinion.

  “I meant no disrespect.” He spoke quickly, his tone apologetic. But it was the sudden sincerity in his expression that made her pause. His gaze warmed. “It is just that you are so beautiful.”

  She forgot to breathe. Who could think of something unimportant as breathing whilst being caressed by the warmth in those gloriously green eyes?

  Had she ever been told that she was beautiful by a man?

  Only once before. And it had been told to her in dry, practical terms, like bitter medicine she must take to survive. And she had survived. Until now. This moment.

  “So unexpectedly beautiful,” he said.

  She released her breath. But that was as much as her wits could manage at the moment.

  “But you aren’t seeing me at my best.” He stepped back, then brushed some dust off his coat front. “I wanted to come here and inspect the beams whilst they have the wall boards off.”

  Your dusty clothes made me think you were attainable. She wanted to accuse him. But the words remained burning on her tongue. Attainable for what? At twenty-nine, she was past the age to expect marriage. It didn’t matter. She had accepted her fate and built a life for herself that did not depend on approval from a man. Even such a handsome gentleman.

  Mr. Pierce looked up at something over her shoulder, the skin over his chiseled cheekbones drawing tight. Abigail turned and saw a tall, rugged-faced gentleman on the terrace. She had not heard the doors open.

  Oh, of all the people to catch her standing there, ogling a man!

  Mr. Grey Sexton, Abigail’s benefactor. When she had possessed next to nothing in this world but ambition and a sense of duty and had been in a position of shame, Mr. Sexton rescued her. He had given her the loan she so desperately needed to fund her two half-brothers’ education and then he found her employment. And he had found her this current high-paying job with his cousin, Mr. de Grijs, so that she could work for her keep and to pay for the loans. She could never have attained a position like this on her own. She took a deep breath.

  She turned and hurried to meet him near the foot of the marble terrace steps.

  “Good morning, Miss Francis.”

  Despite that he regarded her with his characteristic calm yet stern expression, she still felt censured.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sexton,” she replied.

  An odd heaviness lay on the air. Neither man addressed the other.

  “I was supposed to take some parcels with me to Boston for Mrs. de Grijs,” Mr. Sexton said.

  “The European gowns for her sister?” she asked.

  “Yes. I thought you might know where she’d left them.”

  “She sent them out to have the hems let down.”

  “I leave this morning.”

  “She expected them to be back from the shop last evening, but they never arrived.”

  “I see.” He inclined his head towards next door. “Getting acquainted with your new neighbor?”

  “Yes. I-I…”

  “He’s a scoundrel.” Mr. Sexton’s bluntness at times bordered on curt.

  The words landed on her like a splash of ice water.

  “Oh, dear,” was all she could manage. She sounded nothing like herself, her voice high-pitched and girlish.

  His look became more penetrating and she jerked her gaze down to study the hem of her dress.

  “Do you remember what I told you?” Mr. Sexton asked.

  He had been the first person, aside from Mama, to tell her in matter-of-fact terms that she was beautiful and that she should take care around men. Especially gentlemen. Most gentlemen would promise the moon and deliver little to a woman of her social standing. Heat suffused her face and she couldn’t look at him. But she nodded.

  “Well, he’s one to watch,” he said.

  She couldn’t have raised her gaze to save her life. Shame burnt through her that this man had witnessed this ultimate loss of control on her part. She had long admired his cool, rational nature. His supreme self-control. Aside from their first meeting, on that shameful night, they normally spoke only of practical matters. Being so personal with her benefactor made her so uneasy, she wished that she could disappear into thin air. But she forced such feelings away and nodded, again, more firmly. “Yes, I certainly will be on my watch.”

  “Good.”

  She watched him walk up the steps to the balcony, forcing herself not to turn back to Mr. Pierce. Shortly, she heard the balcony door close.

  “He told you I was a villain, didn’t he?”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. She slapped a hand to her collarbone then jerked her head towards where Mr. Pierce remained standing on his side of the fence. “Scoundrel was the word he used.”

  His eyes were still as green as emeralds.

  He was still just as handsome. Had she expected a change now that Mr. Sexton had declared him a scoundrel? Well, no of course not. But it was hard to believe anyone could be that gorgeous. It wasn’t human.

  It wasn’t fair.

  She should return to the house. Yet she found herself walking back to the fence. She lifted her chin, to show him her resolve. “If Mr. Sexton says you are a scoundrel, he must have cause. He is the most honest, honorable man that I know.”

  Please tel
l me why I shouldn’t believe Mr. Sexton.

  Her unspoken words resounded on each fierce beat of her heart as she stood there, transfixed by the way his gaze warmly caressed her.

  “Things are not always as they might seem, Miss Francis.”

  Chapter Two

  “What a beautiful man.”

  The whispered words fell over the silence, soft and dreamy.

  “Hush that kind of talk, Miss Cathy.” Abigail had enough sense to whisper back. But she couldn’t move. Her hands remained frozen in their grip on the railing, her gaze remained locked with that of the tall, dark-haired gentleman who stood in the vestibule.

  Mr. Pierce, who she’d met just the day before.

  Only a day before.

  Yet, despite her best efforts to remain busy and keep her mind occupied, thoughts of his handsomeness, his smooth as silk voice, telling her how beautiful he thought she was.

  What nonsense.

  “He’s a scoundrel.”

  The echo of Sexton’s warning came to her again. But Mr. Pierce did not look like a scoundrel. Surely there would be some sign? Shifty eyes, a weak chin? She ought to have laughed at herself for such thoughts. Of course, the most physically unappealing person might possess a heart of gold and a corrupt, evil person could show a beautiful face to the world.

  The click of Mrs. Baker, the housekeeper’s heels sounded in the vestibule, a moment before she appeared, a thin woman with bright red spots on her cheeks who wheezed slightly when she exerted herself.

  At the sound, Mr. Pierce looked away and turned his attention to the matron.

  Abigail released her breath. Regrettably, it came out more of a sigh.

  “I told you he was beautiful,” her charge whispered, breathlessly. “He would have to be, wouldn’t he?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” Abigail said, hearing the breathlessness in her own voice.

  “For you to notice any man, he would have to be an epitome of masculine beauty.”

  Underneath her discomfiture, Abigail noted her sense of satisfaction that Miss Cathy’s vocabulary was improving.

  “Papa has certainly changed his mind about Mr. Pierce. If Mrs. Baker would have allowed him in the house any other time, Papa would have her resignation. He’d never countenance such a vile man in his house.” Miss Cathy’s words ended in a soft gasp that made Abigail turn to her

  The girl’s pale blue eyes were wide. “You must swear you will not betray me.”

  “Betray you?”

  Miss Cathy’s gaze skittered away from hers. “I am not supposed to know.”

  “Oh.” Abigail knew she should stop her pupil from speaking of anything untoward. Yet, curiosity overcame her better sense. She kept quiet.

  “It’s about Cousin Grey. You know that my cousin had a wife and they did not suit, and they lived apart until she died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Mr. Pierce knew her.”

  Abigail’s chest tightened. She didn’t like any talk of sordid goings on. Back in the settlement, people had always spoken in hushed voices of Mama. Some of what they said was true. Some was imagined. It had all hurt her father’s dignity; despite the stoic face he’d attempted to put towards the public. Words could be like daggers. Gossip was never merely idle. She would hate to perpetrate such ill-spirited wickedness upon any person. She opened her mouth, intent upon silencing Cathy.

  “I meant in the Biblical way,” said Miss Cathy.

  Abigail sucked in her breath. Her heartbeats sounded in her ears. Oh, dear heavens. Silence on such a comment was not the proper example to show Cathy. Cathy of whom she was rather fond and wanted the best for her. Wanted to see her grow up healthy in mind, body and spirit.

  “Please, Miss Cathy, you mustn’t speak like this.” With the stridence of her convictions pressing upon her, Abigail spoke louder than she’d intended.

  Mr. Pierce looked up, in their direction. That perfect profile. That straight, narrow nose, tanned elegant chiseled jaw line contrasting against a snow white stock. And those sensual lips. With her own mouth still open, with more to say to the impetuous, impressionable girl at her side, Abigail’s heart stopped, her mind wiped clean of everything else but the sense of mortification. Cathy pulled on her arm. Caught like this, no other action seemed possible. Abigail was already pushing away from the railing. The two young women rushed back to the schoolroom at the end of the corridor. Cathy fell upon the window seat, her face flushed and her golden curls and shoulders shaking with laughter.

  Abigail felt the heat in her own face as she leaned against the wall, her legs weak and suppressed laughter threatened to choke her. She cleared her through and struggled against the smile that tugged mightily upon her lips.

  But smiling about what?

  About being an example of wanton impropriety to Miss Cathy?

  About being caught ogling a man, again?

  Yet she felt unaccountably young in that moment, as young as her eighteen-year-old student. But Abigail was twenty-nine, far too mature for this sort of foolishness. She had never before lost her dignity in front of any member of this family. Without her customary, comforting sense of dignity, she felt lost. Vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to run back to her own chamber. Yet, as the one in charge of Miss Cathy, she must set a better example than to scamper away. She took several breaths. Her heartbeats and breathing began to slow.

  Cathy continued to laugh.

  Abigail walked to the map that hung upon the wall. “Let us return to our geography lesson.”

  Cathy’s chuckle held a somehow wicked, sensual note that made Abigail gasp. She spun and stared at the girl’s flushed face and wide blue eyes that suddenly didn’t seem at all innocent but filled with warm, sparkling sensuality.

  “You cannot deny he is a beautiful man,” Cathy said, breathily.

  That sensuality in the younger girl’s demeanor spoke directly to the fierce heat that still pounded in Abigail’s own blood. She wished only to escape the schoolroom and plunge herself into a tub of cold water. Instead, she forced herself to turn back to the map. That same fierce pounding blood caused her hand to shake as she lifted it to gesture towards France. “The geography, please, Miss Cathy. When I point to a country, I want you to tell me the name and also the name of the capital city in that country.”

  “I would rather hear what you truly think of Mr. Pierce.”

  Abigail’s hand faltered. As inwardly, her whole being faltered. She felt lost. Out of her natural element. She felt that their roles had unaccountably changed to where she was the young innocent in need of guidance and Miss Cathy the one in the lead. Her eyes snapped shut and her body tensed as tingles of fear pinged in her chest and raced out to her limbs.

  She had never, ever, lost her sense of control in the presence of a pupil. Or even that of a patient when she had worked as an assistant to a physician in the injured seaman’s hospital, before she became a governess.

  She had never lost her sense of authority with a pupil. Never.

  Abigail compressed her lips. “I don’t think we should speak of him any further.”

  “I’d rather speak of our handsome Mr. Pierce than dreary ole’ geography any day.”

  Something in Miss Cathy’s tone brought a spark of anger that lit the way for Abigail’s lost authority. She whirled back to face her pupil. “Your father has employed me to educate you. Do you really wish to remain a girl consumed with salacious gossip and yet unknowing of the wider world? How will you feel when you are a bride and your husband brings home his dinner guests and you cannot converse with them any deeper than pleasantries about the weather? When you meet people from foreign lands, will you enjoy blushing apologetically whilst you explain that you cannot speak decent French or Spanish?”

  A little of hilarity left Miss Cathy’s expression. “Mama cannot speak a word of French and yet she manages fine; she enchants them all with her beauty.”

  The girl sounded so unconcerned. Abigail pushed on. “This country, though yo
ung and once primitive, is changing, it is becoming more worldly, more sophisticated. Men expect more from their wives than mere beauty and a little twinkling on the keys of the pianoforte.”

  Miss Cathy shrugged. “My husband will know to expect nothing grand from me.”

  And Abigail could simply cut out her own tongue. Shame washed over her. Miss Cathy was not the girl to be shamed about her conversational skills. Abigail knew that. She also knew the girl well enough after three years to know that the rebellious light in her eyes was a defense. Book learning had never come easy to Miss Cathy, though she was intelligent. She just needed more time than another person might. And she needed the proper motivation. Abigail tried to reach her. “Are you saying that you will not feel grief when your husband turns to you and is ashamed of your lack of sound education?”

  Miss Cathy looked down and traced her finger along a flower pattern in the jacquard seat cushion. “I am eighteen. I should be out of the schoolroom long ere now.”

  “Now Miss Cathy—”

  “Everyone knows it. All my friends have already been to finishing school. Most of them are set to be married this year or they are looking forward to a proposal.” The girl’s shoulders slumped. “I have been left behind. I shall never find a gentleman to marry me. Not now.”

  “Nonsense.” Abigail felt her own shoulders droop. Perhaps she’d meant to distract from the discomforting topic of Mr. Pierce. Yet she’d also meant to shock Miss Cathy into working harder. The girl often needed just a little external push.

  “You know what people say about me?”

  “It does not matter.”

  Miss Cathy continued to watch as she traced along the floral pattern. “I don’t blame you for losing patience with me.”

  “I have not lost patience with you. I never will.”

  “I don’t know why you wouldn’t have…all my other governesses did. They dismissed me as unteachable. Stupid.”

  “But that’s simply not true.”

  Miss Cathy looked up at the window and her eyes were glossy. “They sat in this classroom, sewing their samplers and passing the hours whilst I still struggled to read the books, they said I could never understand.”