that he would have desired such an impulsive, wilful female, who’d defied her brother until he’d put her in a corner from which she could not escape.
Except she had escaped. All it had taken was the loss of Claire’s life.
That thought brought a stab of pain.
But during the dinner with Lord Brookmore she tried very hard to push thoughts like that away and instead simply enjoyed his company.
* * *
After dinner they climbed the stairs to their rooms.
‘Do you wish to ride again tomorrow?’ he asked.
She glanced up at him. ‘I would love to ride.’ Riding had made the trip a pleasure.
‘We should reach Brookmore House tomorrow.’
He walked her to her door where she would have to take on the role of governess completely and leave Lady Rebecca behind. A companionable night like this would be impossible then. A viscount simply did not become friends with a lowly governess.
Like the night before, he held his hand out for her key. She took it from her pocket and placed it in his palm, very aware of her fingers brushing his skin.
He unlocked the door and returned the key to her.
She gazed up into his face. ‘My lord, this was a lovely day. How can I ever thank you for all the kindness and generosity you’ve shown me?’
He stared at her, not speaking. They stood close, no more than a foot apart. His scent filled her nostrils, the faint odour of horse, of lime and something very male. It was more intoxicating than the wine she’d consumed at the meal.
Once when a man stood so close to her, he had forced her into a kiss. Even Lord Stonecroft had placed his wet, pulpous lips upon hers before he’d left to return to London. She’d wanted to retch. Somehow, though, if Lord Brookmore did the same, she would not mind.
What a brazen thought!
If she were herself—Lady Rebecca—instead of pretending to be Claire, could she, this moment, invite a kiss? All she needed to do was rise up on tiptoe.
Perhaps it would not hurt to be Lady Rebecca for a few minutes longer.
* * *
Garret gazed down at her face, so close to his. His heart thundered in his chest as her words echoed.
How can I ever thank you?
A kiss would be more than thanks.
The hall lamp shone on her, making her skin glow, bathing them both in light. The darkness cocooned them. Nothing else existed but the two of them, so close.
She rose, bringing her tantalising lips a whisper closer. It was enough to undo him. Garret seized her arms and lowered his lips to hers.
She tasted of claret and raspberries, her lips whetting an appetite he’d tried hard to deny. Her mouth opened to him and she placed her palms on his cheeks, holding his kiss.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He deepened the kiss and pressed her against him, against where the need for her had escalated. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers buried themselves in his hair. She returned his kisses with an ardour matching his own.
What might it be like to make love to her? Would she match his passion making love?
‘Lord Brookmore,’ she murmured in a voice tinged with both passion and anxiety.
It woke him up.
He was Lord Brookmore. Her employer.
He pushed her away. ‘Miss Tilson, I—’ Words failed. What could he say to her about what he’d done? And almost done?
He turned on his heel and strode away, back down the corridor and stairs.
What had she done?
Had she risen on her toes or had he leaned down?
She’d wanted to kiss him, of that she was certain. Once his lips touched hers, she had not wanted him to stop.
She’d enticed him. How could she think otherwise? And he recoiled from her. She’d acted the hoyden and had created a disgust in him.
What her schoolteachers warned had been true—she was too forward. Too impulsive. She must take care lest she unleash the carnal impulses of a man. The man who once forced his kiss upon her blamed her for it. She had been too alluring, he’d said. But she’d been reasonably certain she’d not been too forward then and her impulse had definitely not been to kiss him.
But with Lord Brookmore? She might have enticed that kiss from Lord Brookmore. How foolish she’d been to want that kiss.
There was a knock on the door and Rebecca jumped up and rushed to the door. She hesitated. Had he returned?
She cleared her throat. ‘Who is it?’
‘The maid, miss.’ Not Lord Brookmore.
Rebecca opened the door, unsure if she were relieved or disappointed.
The young woman helped her take off her dress and assisted her with donning her new nightdress. When the maid left, Rebecca crawled into bed and buried herself under the covers.
She had very likely ruined her respite as a governess. Brookmore would discharge her; his nieces would endure another loss and she would be forced to tell him who she really was and beg for enough money to travel to London.
Worst of all, she would have to find another way to avoid marrying Lord Stonecroft and enduring his wet, disgusting kisses.
But how could she ever kiss another man after being kissed by Lord Brookmore?
* * *
The next morning Lord Brookmore had sent her breakfast to her room to avoid her, no doubt.
After she dressed again in her riding habit, she dismissed the maid and tried to eat the cooked egg, bread and cheese Lord Brookmore provided for her. Giving up on finishing the food, she picked up her new bag packed with the new dresses and fabrics with which he’d surprised and delighted her. She left the room, fearful he might have already abandoned her.
When she entered the yard, though, he stood by his horse. An ostler held the reins of another horse wearing her side saddle. As she approached Lord Brookmore mounted his horse and avoided looking at her.
The ostler helped her into her saddle and fixed her bag behind her. Lord Brookmore handed the man a coin and started for the gate. Rebecca called a quick thank you to the ostler and hurried to catch up.
She could tell already that the horse she rode was more spirited than the horses provided for her the day before, but the enjoyment of riding such a horse was dampened by the
