Chapter 4

4

F or someone who’d happened upon the ideal solution to his troubles, Nicholas found himself surprisingly discontent. He took a long swallow from his snifter of brandy, gazing into the flames that warmed his study.

Was everything not as it should be? True to her word, Miss Windham had traveled to the vicarage and returned to Beaumont Manor scarcely two hours later with a small valise in hand. From there, she’d been taken to a bedchamber near Emily’s so she could settle herself in, and she and his daughter had eaten an adequate dinner together before Emily retired early for the night.

All information that had been provided to him by Mrs . Connelly as he sat at his solitary dining table eating food he didn’t truly taste. Beaumont servants proved the height of efficiency and care—his mother, the dowager marchioness, would accept nothing less—and he could rest assured that the housekeeper would observe how things progressed between Emily and the new governess and report back to him with the latest developments.

As for Miss Windham , assuming his intuition hadn’t steered him wrong, she was just the person he needed to help restore order to his daughter’s life. To assist in ways he could not. Miss Windham , along with her damnable cat, would see that Emily was cared for and kept occupied. What more could he ask for than that? Other than the impossible, such as an undoing of the past two years .

He finished the contents of his glass, sparing a glance for his pocket watch and then pushing himself out of the wing chair before the fireplace. There were still endless hours before morning, and he’d be damned if he continued to sit here and stew until he became plagued by problems of his own invention.

No doubt the marquess’s disused bedchamber would be sufficiently aired by now, with the counterpane turned down for the night and a small fire burning in the grate. However , there was little point in heading there directly when sleep felt like an elusive entity.

He would go to the library first, he decided by the time his footsteps reached the doorway, and rummage through the shelves for something to read. An old, familiar book from his days at Cambridge would provide a suitable, if not entirely effective, distraction from thoughts of runaway daughters. Of fields and cats and governesses. Of contracts.

He gave his head an abrupt shake as he walked down the corridor, wishing the action could clear his mind altogether. After he selected a book, he may need to return to the study for another brandy before going upstairs.

Except suddenly, brandy didn’t matter, nor did reading, sleep, nor anything but the sight before him. He’d reached the threshold of the dusky library only to discover it far from empty. Facing away from him, in front of the bookshelf on the opposite wall, stood Miss Windham , illuminated by the glow of a lone candle she’d placed upon the shelf.

Not the same as he’d seen her earlier, though, with her huge black dress. She’d since changed into her nightclothes, a simple white dressing gown that skirted the floor, hugging the curve of her hips and bottom on the way down. She stood in shadows instead of blazing sunlight, yet so much more of her was revealed.

Not indistinctive, as had been his previous assessment. Not indistinctive at all.

She couldn’t have heard him approach, for she didn’t turn. She didn’t move at all save for one slipper-clad foot, which tapped rapidly against the carpet.

And here he was, staring like a green boy who’d never seen a female pass through his library before.

“ Ahem .” He took a step forward, his cravat beginning to feel like it had been knotted too tightly about his throat.

Her body jerked, and she sucked in an audible burst of air as she whirled around to face him. “ M -my lord.” She recovered herself quickly, sinking into a seamless curtsey despite her startlement. However , the flurry of motion wasn’t so fast that he missed her shoving a book beneath her arm, concealing it with her billowing sleeve.

“ I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, her body straightening back to its full height. Her dressing gown revealing the slope of generous breasts. “ I thought I might seek out something to read, both for myself and for Lady Emily once we begin our lessons. I hope you have no objection.”

“ Not at all.” He strode into the room, coming up alongside her where she remained by the shelf, candlelight dancing across her face. “ Although you may have better luck finding something to suit Emily’s interests if you search the schoolroom upstairs. I’ve been informed that in our absence, my nephews, of an age with Emily , lived at Beaumont Manor for a time along with a tutor, so I imagine they would have left behind some suitable reading material.”

She nodded, a hint of color spreading across her cheeks. It was uncanny how much softer her face looked now that it was framed by a loose braid with a few wavy tendrils left free to dust the pale skin of her throat. “ Yes , quite right. I’ll look there instead. Goodnight , my l?—”

“ Wait .” He held out a hand, halting her as she moved to exit.

Her throat twitched as she swallowed, her eyes peering up at him, huge and glittering, like those of an animal caught in a trap.

He swallowed, too, for his mouth had gone dry, the snifter of brandy in his study feeling like something he’d consumed days instead of moments ago. It shouldn’t matter to him in the least the color of Miss Windham’s cheeks and eyes, or whether she wore a shapeless mourning dress or nothing at all.

Then again, no . Best not let his thoughts travel down that road.

“ I have the contract you requested,” he said, his voice coming out far too raspy for his liking. Yet that was the whole reason he’d told her to stop, so he may as well get on with it. “ If you’ll accompany me to my study, you can sign it and make the terms of your employment official.”

“ Certainly .” She gave the sleeve of her dressing gown a subtle adjustment before retrieving her candle, and when he crossed the room, she followed, trailing after him into the corridor.

Which was just as well. Taking care of the task now would save him the trouble of seeking her out in the schoolroom tomorrow and interfering where his presence wasn’t wanted. However , his footsteps fell heavily, plodding against the floor almost like a protest.

Ridiculous . His fingers clenched at his own inanity. Why wish for a delay in the inevitable?

“ Here .” He strode back into the study he’d just vacated, crossing to the vast mahogany desk that occupied the center of the room and taking up the lone piece of parchment he’d left in the corner. “ You’d best read through it and ensure the wording is to your liking.”

Her dressing gown swished against the floor as she settled beside him, the flames in the fireplace casting the filmy fabric in a new—more revealing—light. She set her candle on the desktop and accepted the proffered document, her brows furrowing as she began to read.

He had no cause to believe she would find fault with it, for he’d included the same terms he’d mentioned verbally. The outlandish salary offered in a moment of desperation. The fifty pounds he’d promised her for a month-long trial. Despite how, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like his promise lacked foresight.

Yes , he’d bought himself a short-term solution, but thanks to his hastiness, he and Emily could find themselves in the same position again in just thirty days’ time. Her alone and anguished. Him failing miserably. And Miss Windham far away, fifty pounds richer.

“ Thank you, my lord.” After a moment, she glanced up from the document, and the way the firelight caught her eyes solved the mystery of their color. Gray . “ Everything looks in order.”

She returned the parchment to his desktop, reaching for the quill he’d left out and dipping it in the inkpot. Her hips swayed beneath the clinging fabric of her dressing gown as she leaned over, and a faint scent hit his nose, sweet and floral. Almost like they remained back in a field scattered with wildflowers.

It doesn’t matter . The only thing that signified was the quill scratching across the parchment, leaving behind her name in a neat scrawl. Phoebe Windham . Thus , putting in place an official start to her employment. A beginning to the thirty days.

Whether he’d solved his problems or just set himself up for new ones, he could no longer say.

“ And thank you, Miss Windham . That will be all. Goodnight .” He spun away, safely out of the clutches of wildflower perfume and dressing gowns. He wanted no more of those things tonight, or talk of contracts. His chair by the fire, on the other hand, looked doubly enticing, especially because his brandy decanter remained on the end table beside it. He’d best have another glass and stop getting ahead of himself.

“ My lord?”

He’d nearly made it to his chair and his much-anticipated second nightcap when her hesitant voice called out to him.

He gritted his teeth, making a measured turn back in her direction. At least from this distance, it was impossible to pick up her scent. To notice each subtle motion her body made, each tiny rustle of her dressing gown.

“ I thought Lady Emily and I would go on a picnic tomorrow.” She took a couple tentative steps toward him, her candle back in hand, illuminating her face with flickering light. “ I mentioned it to her, and she seemed amenable. We won’t go far. Just to the close side of the, uh, lake. As long as you don’t think such an excursion would be too taxing for her.”

“ No , I don’t believe so.” He shook his head, giving a silent word of thanks that she stopped where she was, not coming any closer to his chair. “ If she wishes to go, then, by all means, take her.”

His eyes shifted back to the brandy decanter, and he allowed himself a long, quiet exhale. There was no need to get himself so tangled in knots. Yes , Miss Windham could potentially deem her trial salary sufficient and carry on her way in one month’s time. Parallelly , though, she was bound to stay in his employment for the days in the interim. Whatever her plans for afterward, he had the sense he could trust her with Emily’s well-being for as long as she remained in her role as governess.

And if he had someone he could trust in that regard, then there was no need for him to remain skulking about Beaumont Manor , as useless and ornery as the cat who now lived under his roof. He could leave Emily and Miss Windham to their lakeside picnics and remove himself to Foxhill , his hunting box in Northamptonshire . The secluded refuge would take him in, just as it had countless times over the years when the thought of showing himself to anyone felt nigh on unbearable.

“ My lord?” Again , that hesitant voice rippled through the study, making the vague shreds of equilibrium he’d recovered vanish into the shadows. He’d thought his answer would appease her, that it would entice her to leave. But damn, her feet were on the move in the wrong direction, leading her to approach his chair. “ I wondered if you might like to join us. I understand, of course, that you have duties, but if you could spare even a few moments?—”

“ I cannot.” The frostiness of his words matched the ice hardening within his chest. Upon deciding to hire Miss Windham as a governess, he’d never thought to question her intelligence. However , did she really not see the absurdity of what she proposed? Had she failed to notice the scene in the field wherein his daughter refused to speak to him? Wherein she regarded him with pure disdain, when she condescended to look at him at all. And if that hadn’t proved obvious enough to her, did she not wonder at the fact that Emily wished to run away from him?

Miss Windham bit down on her lip— Christ , not that again —and her brows drew together, causing the candlelight to pick up faint lines on her forehead. “ It wouldn’t have to be long. Merely? —”

“ I said I cannot,” he snapped, stalking the remaining couple steps to the end table and snatching up the decanter. He refilled his snifter with an unsteady hand, then let the amber liquid trickle into his throat. Something he’d intended to do after she departed, but he no longer had the patience to wait.

Good manners dictated that he should offer her a refreshment, but he was hardly in a hospitable mood. Didn’t want company. As the burn of brandy spread through him once more, so, too, did a stab of awareness, poking at him like a pin prick. If Miss Windham was newly returned to Bowden and hadn’t spent much time there to begin with, perhaps she hadn’t heard the story behind his lengthy absence from Beaumont Manor . The reason that he, Cecilia , and Emily had left in the first place. Perhaps she didn’t know the rumors surrounding the years of his woeful marriage. Surrounding him.

Well , if that was the case, he had no intention of enlightening her this evening. Someone else was bound to do the job soon enough, and then, she would stop with her misguided overtures.

“ Goodnight , Miss Windham .” He sank into the wing chair, turning his attention to the weakening fire. His message, he hoped, was blatantly clear: she needed to see herself out and leave him in peace.

He waited for the sound of rustling cotton or slippers gliding across carpet, but there was nothing. Only the pop of flames and pounding of his head, until suddenly, an object hit the floor with a heavy thump.

He twisted his neck, peering over the top of his chair to where Miss Windham was bent over, hurriedly grabbing something off the carpet and shoving it back into her sleeve. The book . He’d nearly forgotten about the similar scene in the library where she’d taken the volume she perused and concealed it beneath her arm as if she didn’t want him to notice it.

“ Goodnight , my lord.” She righted herself in an instant, although her eyes were huge, and her voice sounded breathless.

Again , the strangest sensation came over him, just as it had when she’d risen to greet him in the field. A flare of recognition he couldn’t place, that made it impossible to look away.

Except in the next moment, she was no longer a frozen figure but a woman in motion, crossing the study at a near run.

And then, just like that, she was gone. Giving him the solitude he wanted.

He dropped his head to the chairback and closed his eyes, trying, not for the first time, to make it all go away. His fingers drummed against the side of the brandy snifter, his nails making clinking noises as they hit the crystal. Up and down … all is well … I am alone now .

His eyes flew open, another jolt of recognition stabbing his gut. Not for Miss Windham and the way she stood looking at him, wide-eyed, in her nightclothes, but for the book she’d tried to hide like she possessed a clandestine object. Surely , she hadn’t … He was mistaken …

He cast his half-empty glass to the side and jumped to his feet, a solitary repose in his study suddenly the last thing on his mind. Instead , he grabbed a candelabrum and bolted into the corridor, not stopping until he arrived back at the threshold of the darkened library.

She was no longer there, of course, the space beside the bookshelf where he’d first found her now containing nothing but shadows. It made little difference, for he could still envision the exact spot she’d stood with her dressing gown clinging to her hips, her foot tapping repeatedly against the carpet.

He made it to that spot in several long strides, raising the candelabrum to illuminate the rows of books. The shelf in question was just above his head, forcing him to crane his neck. Rather high for someone of Miss Windham’s stature, but if she stood on tiptoes and extended her arm, she could likely manage to reach it.

He started with the far-left corner, his eyes traveling over the leatherbound spines. He may have kept himself away from Beaumont Manor for an exceptionally long time, but some details he didn’t forget. Such as the position of certain reading material, deliberately kept far from the ground.

There was a slight gap in the middle of the shelf; he recognized it as soon as he saw it. A place where the book—a distinct crimson volume—that normally occupied that position on the shelf had been removed.

No longer there because in a flash of crimson, Miss Windham had thrust it under her sleeve and run away.

“ The minx,” he muttered under his breath, reaching up so his fingers tightened around the edge of the shelf, right where the book should have rested. Instead , Miss Windham could be up in her bedchamber with it right now, flipping through the pages. His cock stirred as a vivid image burst forth of her lying in bed, one hand holding the book while the other slid over her body, pushing up the billowy folds of her nightclothes?—

Jesus . He needed to get ahold of himself.

He tore his hand away from the shelf, marching across the room before abruptly stilling, letting his weight slump against the wall beside the doorway. Where was he going? Brandy no longer seemed a wise idea, and he couldn’t shake the sense that if he returned to the study, he wouldn’t be able to vanquish the scent of wildflowers.

He pressed his head to the wall, letting out a low groan of frustration. He supposed he could go outdoors and wander about like a ghost haunting the garden. Go upstairs and pace around his bedchamber until the carpet wore thin. There would still be no escape. He possessed a sprawling estate, but there was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do, to make his head stop pounding with wishes that held no reason.

He wanted seclusion. Yet he also couldn’t stop glancing toward the doorway, picturing Phoebe Windham’s dressing gown brushing against the floor, her wide eyes staring back at him.

He wanted to flee to Foxhill . Yet if he left, he would miss the moment—if it came—that Emily ran about Beaumont Manor again, her laughter filling its halls.

He wanted the past fifteen years to disappear. Yet in erasing them, he would also lose the one thing he never regretted, that held value above all others.

There was no winning. No making sense of it.

And whether that was due to him being miserable, or foxed, or rendered irrational by a blast of ill-placed, ill-timed yearning, he couldn’t entirely say.