Chapter 6

6

N icholas had learned his lesson last night about the pitfalls of wandering the house when the hour grew late. As a result, he planned his actions with greater care this evening, going to the library to select an innocuous book on crop rotation as soon as he rose from the dinner table and retiring to his study after that for a single snifter of brandy. Once he drained the contents of his glass, he gave himself a lone option for where to proceed: bed. He was unlikely to sleep for hours yet, but at least in the sanctuary of his bedchamber, he wouldn’t run the risk of being disturbed or having any unexpected encounters.

He climbed the stairs slowly, the brandy he’d consumed far from sufficient to dull the memories of the past day. He’d tried to keep himself busy by becoming reacquainted with estate business, but his land agent oversaw things so seamlessly—with occasional directives from the dowager marchioness, no doubt—that there was nothing requiring his immediate attention.

Meaning his mind stayed focused on places it should not. Why could he not stop drifting back to the early-morning scene in the kitchen where Miss Windham appeared, once again wearing the same high-necked, bulky black dress and severe hair knot? As if the sight of her in billowy white nightclothes, with candlelight creating a soft glow across her skin, had been nothing more than a fantasy. Why did he keep thinking of Emily standing beside her, fixing her saucerlike eyes on him before once again turning away like his existence wasn’t worth acknowledgment? And why, despite the fact that his presence clearly wasn’t welcome, did he feel like he’d somehow done wrong by refusing Miss Windham’s invitation to join them for the picnic?

He reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor, pressing his fingers to his temple. He’d all but made up his mind: assuming Mrs . Connelly continued relaying a favorable report of how Emily fared with Miss Windham , he would depart for Foxhill at the end of the week. Just five days’ time.

And they would all find themselves better off for it.

He turned the corner toward the marquess’s rooms, readjusting the book on crop rotation beneath his arm. At Foxhill , there was no library, only a few shelves in the study that held books pertaining to the local flora and fauna. At Foxhill , he wouldn’t have to sleep under the same roof as the governess who had … enlightened taste in literature. He wouldn’t need to think of her in a bedchamber just a staircase and a few corridors away, flipping through pages, studying illustrations, envisioning things that made her body heat in her solitary bed.

His footsteps quickened until he reached his bedchamber door, and he threw it open, rushing inside?—

Only to find himself halting near the threshold, blinking. Surely , his eyes deceived him.

But no. The lamps were lit, and a hearty fire blazed in the grate, filling the room with light. Making it all too clear that the orange lump sitting atop his pillow in the middle of the vast tester bed was that cat .

“ Marigold ,” he sneered under his breath, a curse rising in his throat the moment the ridiculous name finished crossing his lips. The cat, however, seemed untroubled by his contempt. Indeed , the detestable creature spared him only the pithiest glance before devoting itself fully to the task he’d so rudely interrupted. Namely , giving its paw a series of licks and then dragging it over its face in a steady cycle.

“ Enough !” He charged forward, having just spent the last moment he would ever spend lingering at the threshold of his room and gawking at a cat. He reached the side of his bed, flinging out his arm to shoo the thing away.

The cat bared its teeth, bestowing one of its characteristic hisses, while remaining firmly planted atop his bed.

“ Leave .” He swung his arm again, hisses be damned. “ My pillow isn’t a bloody bath house.”

The cat’s paw darted out in a lightning-fast streak, its claws grazing the back of his hand. “ Fuck !” His book crashed to the floor as he snatched his hand away, grasping it where tiny beads of blood came to the surface. As for the cat, it resumed its position as coolly as ever, taking extra care to bathe its paw thanks to the effort he’d forced it to extend.

“ Ugh !” He snarled his frustration, spinning away from the bed and storming back out of the room. Was nowhere in the house safe anymore? Apparently not, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with an aggravated poor excuse for a feline at present.

Well , that settled it, and his careful plans could go hang. He was returning to his study, where he would drink the whole damn decanter of brandy if he felt so inclined.

He trudged down the corridor and toward the stairs, his footfalls too loud, too unmeasured?—

And found himself crashing into a warm weight, his arms shooting out instinctively in a way that pulled the obstacle against his chest.

“ Oh !” The weight wriggled within his grasp, and a puff of breath hit his throat as it—as she —exclaimed her surprise, leaning back to examine the source of the collision. Allowing him to observe the same thing in return, and for recognition to hit him like a blow to the chest.

He held Miss Windham in his arms. Miss Windham with her overlarge black dress, her tightly knotted hair, and her sweet, crisp scent that made it seem like she’d just come in from traipsing about a sunny meadow. Even with the stiff bombazine, her body was so soft against his. So pliant and hot .

He released her abruptly, and she jumped backward, words beginning to tumble from her lips. “ I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to sneak around the corner, nor did I intend to wander where I should not. It’s just that I cannot seem to find?—”

“ Marigold ?” he finished for her, the absurd name feeling vile against his tongue, making his momentary jolt of pleasure vanish. Her brisk, wordless nod told him all he needed to know. “ Come with me.”

He spun around again, forced to retrace his path, while Miss Windham’s hurried footsteps echoed behind him. Was it too much to ask that he have one blasted night of solitude? Aggravation made him move faster, setting him on a determined march back to his bedchamber. At least Miss Windham being here meant she could take care of the cat problem, after which he’d be free to slam his door, ring for brandy in his room, and not come out until morning.

“ Here .” They reached his bedchamber in record time, and he clasped her hand to pull her inside, then gestured toward the bed with a flourish. The cat hadn’t moved from its position on his pillow, the only difference being that it now licked its ludicrously puffy tail, its tongue running along the mass of orange fur with meticulous strokes. “ I believe this is what you’re seeking.”

Miss Windham’s eyes grew huge, and her mouth dropped open in horror, displaying a flash of her own pink tongue. “ Marigold !” She bolted forward, giving her hands a single sharp clap. “ Get down at once.”

The cat paused its intensive licking, giving her an affronted stare. Then , with a plaintive meow, it leaped from the bed, ignoring him and Miss Windham both and sauntering into the corridor. Just like that. No claws, growls, or hisses to be had.

I’ll be damned .

“ Again , my lord, I sincerely apologize.” She turned from the bed, her cheeks flushing as she returned to where he lingered near the door. “ I’m really not certain how she got in here.”

“ Nor am I .” He scowled at his crumpled pillowcase, which was apt to give him a mouthful of fur when he lay down his head. Although that problem may prove secondary to how he now possessed a memory of Miss Windham hovering at his bedside. His frown deepened, and he gritted his teeth. “ Can the creature not sleep in the barn?”

Miss Windham tilted her head, assessing him with a look that was damn unnerving, like she was his governess in the midst of giving him a test. “ Of course she can, my lord,” she said, her voice level and deliberate, “if that’s what you wish. However , Lady Emily was concerned about her disappearance, and while the picnic made her tired enough that she fell asleep regardless, I believe she’ll be upset if Marigold isn’t there when she wakes.”

Patience . He exhaled, trying not to make it sound like a snarl. “ Fine . Put the cat in her rooms, then. Just see that it doesn’t wander anywhere else it shouldn’t.” He turned his gaze to the roaring fire. To the chair in the corner that he could pull beside the grate. Those things, along with a bottle of brandy and his tedious book on crop rotation, would be his momentarily. “ Goodnight , Miss Windham . Close the door on your way out.”

But the door didn’t close, nor did her skirts swish across the floorboards to signal her retreat.

“ My lord?” The incorrigible woman took a step closer to him, so near that his thoughts became a tangle of wildflower fragrance, fluttering dressing gowns, and illicit books. “ Might I speak with you for a moment? We could relocate to your study if you prefer, or?—”

“ No .” He made himself turn and meet her gray gaze—although in this light, her eyes really appeared more blue. God . Would the trials of this night never end? “ Whatever you wish to say, say it here.” Get it over with quickly so I can shut the door myself and make everything go away .

“ Very well.” She smoothed her skirts. Reached up and pressed a strand of hair that dared to come loose back into place. Each second an eternity. “ Lady Emily and I enjoyed our picnic today.”

He folded his arms, waiting for what came next. He already knew about the success of the picnic, the time they’d spent drawing in the schoolroom afterward, and the dinner they’d proceeded to eat together. Mrs . Connelly kept him well-apprised of the situation. As to why Miss Windham considered her announcement worthy of a nighttime discussion, he couldn’t say.

“ I thought we would make a habit of it on days when the weather is fine,” she said at last, her words tumbling out to break the silence. “ The fresh air seems to agree with Lady Emily , and I believe that sunshine and gentle exercise will aid in restoring her strength.”

Yes , he hoped so, above anything else. That’s why he’d hired Miss Windham , on the assumption she’d know what to do to help. Yet his arms tightened around his chest, the purpose of the conversation still eluding him but filling him with a vague sense of unease. “ You are free, Miss Windham , to take Emily on as many picnics as you like.” Hadn’t he already made that much clear? “ You do not need my permission.”

“ Thank you, my lord, truly. But what I mean to say is …” She gave another aggravating pause. Squared her shoulders. “ I understand if other commitments prevented you from joining us today. However , if you could spare a few minutes to take part in one of our upcoming excursions, we would be much obliged.”

His fingers curled around his biceps, his nails sinking through his wool coat to stab the skin beneath. Not this futile discussion again. Had she not taken the hint last night? Had she remained completely blind, even after the scene in the kitchen this morning, to his daughter’s fondness for giving him the cut direct?

“ Tell me, Miss Windham .” The fire blazed, but his tone was frigid. “ Has Lady Emily also voiced those sentiments?”

She swallowed, the milky column of her throat growing tight. “ No , not exactly, but?—”

“ I already told you that I cannot.” He took a step forward. Inhaled the scent of wildflowers. Tensed his jaw. “ I’ll soon be taking my leave from Beaumont .”

“ Excuse me?”

Her open-mouthed surprise caused him to blink. “ I’m going to Foxhill ,” he said. “ My hunting box in Northamptonshire . I don’t know when I’ll return.” He waited for the declaration—for the assurance that he would soon be far away from here—to put him at ease, although, if anything, his stomach only became more unsettled.

“ You cannot.”

“ Excuse me?” He spit her words back at her, his eyes narrowing. Surely , his ears deceived him. For it sounded like the governess had just presumed to tell him what to do.

Pink splotches flooded her cheeks, and she caught her lip—her plump, blasted alluring lip—between her teeth. “ It’s … it’s just that … it’s not hunting season.”

No , it wasn’t, and he didn’t hunt, either. Not anymore. However , that had never stopped him on any of the other countless occasions when he’d fled north, and it certainly wouldn’t now.

“ The timing and purpose of my visit to Foxhill are none of your concern.” He pressed his mouth closed. Drew his brows together. Prescotts were known for their ability to deliver a scathing glower that left the recipient quaking in their boots. His mother, especially, but Nicholas didn’t do a bad impression of it himself.

He waited for Miss Windham to shrink away. To finally do as he’d commanded and shut . The . Door .

She stepped closer, the hem of her giant black skirt brushing along his boot. “ It is my concern.” Her voice was hot, insistent. “ It is very much my concern when I believe that your daughter needs you here.”

He stayed stock-still even as her words punched him in the gut. She didn’t know what she was talking about. She didn’t bloody know, and she needed to stop .

“ I would thank you to remember, Miss Windham , that you are in my employ,” he snapped. “ As such, I make the directives and you follow them. Not the other way around.”

“ But maybe it should be the other way around”—her eyes flashed, and it would seem he’d been wrong about the color all along, for anger made them glint green—“if you refuse to see reason.”

Only the tension in his jaw kept him from gaping. How dare she speak to him that way? Thinking she had the right to interfere and presume. Did she not have a care for her position? He’d hired her and could just as easily fire her if she kept up the insubordination.

Except he couldn’t actually, could he? He needed her. More specifically, Emily needed her. Perhaps Miss Windham was aware of how that gave her the upper hand.

His body was both ice and fire. Ice because she wouldn’t stop clawing at an open wound. Fire because she stood so close, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her lips pressed in a determined line. They would be soft , he decided, were he to run his tongue over them until they yielded. Just as her hair would be long and flowing were she to pull out the pins, and her body would be perfectly contoured were he to tear away the fastenings and let that blasted high-necked dress fall to the floor.

Alarm bells pounded in his head, ringing danger, screaming that he needed to crush this before he was the one crushed.

“ Enough .” He spun on one foot, the sudden movement causing her to pivot, too, until their positions were reversed, and she staggered, her back pressing against the wall. Cornered , but still not backing down, with her chin raised in defiance.

He leaned in, bending his head so it came close to her ear. “ You are walking a dangerously thin line,” he hissed, her body giving a barely perceptible shiver as his breath hit her skin. “ We will not speak on it further, and if you’re so determined to engage in conversation, then allow me to ask a question of you.”

He pulled his face away so he could stare into eyes that were either blue, gray, or green. He didn’t know, only knew they were locked with his. Challenging him, unsettling him, sending an inferno shooting through his veins.

It was time to turn the tables.

“ What are you doing with that book you snuck out of my library?”