The Governess Club: Louisa (13 page)

“You don’t even know if I am still open to having an affair with you.”

Her voice was betraying a hint of panic and desperation. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had her so set against the institution. “I would say the way you just responded to my kiss says otherwise.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “I am sure I would have done the same with Mr. Packard.” Her pacing did not falter.

John let out a bark of laughter. “I find that hard to believe.”

She lifted her chin and sniffed. “Men find women interchangeable. Why can women not do the same?”

He walked up to her and stood in front of her, halting her pacing. Louisa tilted her head back to glare at him. He smiled at her. “You would be comfortable with Packard doing this to you?” He trailed his fingers down her neck. “Or this?” He stepped closer and nuzzled her ear. “What about this?” He placed hot kisses just below her ear in a sensitive spot that had her inhaling sharply. “Or this?” His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom, pulling her against his groin.

With a huff, she pushed him away. Her body screamed at her to step back into his embrace, but she resisted and stepped around him, resuming her pacing. “You made your point. That is hardly the issue, however. I have no intentions of marrying. Not you, not ever.”

John frowned at her. “Why are you resisting marriage again? Was your first one so horrible?”

She missed a step, but recovered. “Yours wasn’t ideal, so why are you eager to marry again?” she countered.

“Because I know that no marriage is normal. Each one is unique to the people in it. A marriage between us will be much different than our previous ones.”

She started rubbing her arms as she walked. “Why are you so insistent upon this? Do you offer marriage to every woman you tumble?”

“Since my wife died? Yes.”

Louisa halted and stared at him. “Well, that puts this into a better perspective. I had no idea you were so cavalier with your proposals.”

“I am not.”

“But you just said—” Her voice trailed off as his statement sank in. She shook her head. “No. No, it—you—”

John nodded, his face serious. “I have proposed marriage to every woman I have been with since my wife passed. There has only been the one.”

Her head continued in its slow shake, her eyes wide. She started rubbing her arms again. “That cannot be true.” She kept staring at him. “Please tell me it’s not true.”

He shrugged, a frisson of hurt blossoming in him at her rejection.

“Oh dear Lord,” she said. She was now rubbing her arms furiously. “Oh dear Lord.”

“Louisa?” he ventured cautiously.

“Oh dear Lord, I need to get out of here.” Panic had overtaken her entire body. He could see it in her eyes, a frightened wildness in them that unsettled him. Her breath came in choked gasps and she stumbled toward the door. “I need to leave,” she repeated.

John beat her to the door, blocking her way and holding it shut. “Calm down, kitten.”

“Let me out.” She struggled to get past him.

“You can’t leave like this.”

“Let me out, let me out!” She clawed at the door, trying to pry it open, but he was too strong and too heavy. She turned her attention to him, pummeling his chest with her fists. “Let me out, damn you!” Her face was turning red with her exertion and labored breathing.

“Louisa, calm down,” he said over her frantic words. “You can’t go out like this. You will frighten everyone.”

She didn’t hear him, just kept pummeling him and repeating herself. Out of options, John grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her, halting her movements. Her body shuddered and struggled against him, but he did not lessen his hold.

“Please let me out,” she whimpered.

“Hush,” he said, keeping his voice and embrace gentle. He rubbed her back, willing her body to calm. When he felt it begin to relax against him, he let out a long breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Her shaking subsided to faint tremors and her breathing was a consistent tattoo playing on the linen of his shirt. Her cheek rested against his chest above his heart.

Bending slightly, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her the few steps to his bed. Laying her down as softly as he would china, he pulled off her boots and covered her with a blanket. Her lack of protest showed how deeply she had exhausted herself. The look on her face reminded him of men who had taken hard knocks to the head and couldn’t think straight.

Without another thought, he climbed in beside her and settled around her, his arm resting over her protectively. Her eyes fluttered closed and he watched as she drifted off to sleep. He frowned as he took in the dark circles under her eyes and the worry lines creasing her skin.

Something had happened to her, something traumatic. John had never been so certain about anything in his life. To react this way to his wish for marriage? Yea gods, it hadn’t even been an outright proposal. What would she have done if he had gotten down on one knee with a ring?

A dark anger built up inside him when he thought about what her husband must have done to her. He knew depraved men existed, thankfully had not encountered any of them, but he had heard talk about what some men enjoyed doing to women and it made him sick inside. The thought of what Louisa must have suffered at her husband’s hands made his arm tighten around her, drawing her farther into his protection, even though he had the ugly thought that his protection was too little, too late.

It explained things about her. Her anger, her wish to be in control, her unwillingness to accept help. Given how she might have been broken, John was thankful she instead persevered, showing a strength he could only admire.

He knew he would have to go slow with her, build her trust in him. If it took years, he would accept that if it meant she would be healed from whatever wounds she carried.

He would not leave her side for a moment of it.

L
ouisa sighed and cracked open her eyes. Her head and bones ached and she raised her hand to brush hair out of her face and rub her forehead. She opened her eyes more, taking in the unfamiliar room. Shafts of light filtered through the cracks in the curtains and she guessed it was early evening. What was she doing sleeping in the middle of the day? And which room was she in?

She sat up, the blanket that had been wrapped around her falling down. Glancing around, she saw she was alone in a bed and it came rushing back.
Oh good Lord.
Giant Johnny had brought her in here for a marriage proposal. To which she had panicked in a most embarrassing manner.

She flopped back down on the bed, her arm covering her eyes. Had he really tucked her into bed as though she were a child? She recollected feeling his arm lying across her stomach and the warm length of his body alongside hers. She supposed she ought to be thankful that he had not stripped her of her clothes, although she noted her boots were not on her feet.

How in the world could she face him again? It was embarrassing enough to know he had witnessed her spectacle, but to treat her as an invalid, incapable of seeing to herself? Her mortification knew no bounds, despite the accuracy of his assessment.

What had even happened to her? She could recollect only one other experience like it, when she had fled from Willowcrest. The panic had utterly consumed her, to the point where she was no longer in control of her body. It was odd, watching oneself with a sense of detachment, unable to do anything. When the enormity of John’s proposal had sunk in—the man had ended a seven-year abstinence for her!—all she could think of was fleeing, getting away from him, but he had not let her. The panic had eaten at her, crawling out of the recesses of her soul, until it debilitated her, leaving her spent and exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, Louisa sat up again, determined to push through. He could think what he liked, but he would never see her in such a state again. All she had to do was lift her chin and pretend it had never happened and she would be fine.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she located her boots on the floor and put them on. As she went through the mundane routine of buttoning them up, her eyes scanned the room. She hadn’t been in John’s room prior to this afternoon and it intrigued her. What sort of personal articles did her prizefighter have? She frowned at that brief thought, telling herself that he was by no means
her
prizefighter.

The bed she sat upon was high—her feet dangled off the side—and long, giving her the impression it had been custom made for its owner, for it was certainly large enough for Giant Johnny. The linens and covers were of decent quality—not what one would find in a noble house, but remaining comfortable while durable. A small candelabra ordained a bedside table, the candles half-used. The top book on a pile was
The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
, which brought a smile to Louisa’s lips at the thought of the big man reading a romantic story. A good-sized vanity stood against the wall opposite the window, sporting a mirror and the various grooming implements one would expect any man to have. Eyeing the razor, she wondered again if his baldness was a choice or natural.

Her eyes fell on a miniature sitting beside the mirror and Louisa moved to take a closer look. A young, dark-haired woman with a sultry smile gazed back. Running her finger around the frame, Louisa supposed this must be his late wife to hold a place of such prominence; he would be able to look at her every day as he completed his ablutions. She thought back to what he had said about his marriage and wondered why he would want the daily reminder of an unpleasant union. Sympathy slid through her when she realized that this miniature was likely the closest link he had to the child he lost and mourned.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and her look turned to one of horror at the state of her hair. Taking out the remaining pins, she purloined the brush from the vanity—
why on earth does a bald man need a brush?
—and quickly raked it through her hair before pulling it back into some sense of order, retrieving from the bed what hairpins she could find to help.

Patting her hair in its final place, she looked at the items on his vanity more closely. His shaving kit, including the brush she had used, was made from dark cherry wood with gold trim. They seemed out of place for the man who preferred to dress in trousers and a shirt, keeping his wardrobe simple. Yet as she reflected on it, the quality of his clothing was fine, if not quite up to Bond or Jermyn Street standards. She glanced back at the custom bed, at the quality of the linens and the size of the pillows; even the candelabras were of decent quality. All this attested to a man of means.

Louisa fingered the handle of the straight blade, tracing the gold. A man’s personal wealth meant little to her. In her experience, the state of a man’s purse did little to determine his character. What spoke to her was the way he spent it. John was subtle, choosing items that brought him comfort without declaring his wealth to the world; those that did were personal, private. Even buying this inn spoke to his character. If he could afford it, as well as these items, then he likely could have afforded a nice cottage to spend his retirement reading about the Tom Joneses of the world instead of counting casks and serving steak-and-kidney pies to strangers.

He was a complex man, her Giant Johnny. Another frown at that reappearing thought. Unhappy with it, she patted her hair one last time and moved to the door. It was time she resumed her work, having already slept the afternoon away. She paused at the door, wondering if he would be on the other side in the office. Knowing there was little she could do to avoid him if he was, Louisa took a deep breath and lifted her chin, twisting the knob in her hand.

Giant Johnny stood as soon as the door swung open, wrenching his absurd spectacles off his face. He tried to catch the chair from falling, but he was not fast enough and the furniture shattered, sending splinters of wood careening across the floor. Louisa jumped out of the way to avoid her feet getting hit by one of the arms.

“Damnation,” he cursed. Immediately his face turned red with contrition. “My apologies, Louisa. I did not mean to curse.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Perhaps the situation warranted it. I doubt you were expecting the chair to break. I suspect your reaction was more out of surprise than intent.”

His face remained red, the color stretching to cover his head. “True, that.” His eyes turned to concern. “How are you?”

She glanced down at her feet. “I am uninjured. I managed to dodge the flying debris.”

“No, I meant—hell.” He rubbed his head before putting his hands on his hips. He gestured to the desk. “Are you hungry? I have a tray here. And tea. Or I can get more ale, if you prefer. I finished my tankard but it is readily available. As you know.” He muttered that last part, his face reddening once more.

Warmth bloomed in her bosom, spreading to her stomach and head. It was almost dear to see him fumbling and nervous. “Where will I sit? We have a lack of chairs in here now.”

He missed the tease in her voice. “I can stand, it is no bother.” He moved and held out the smaller chair on the far side of the desk for her. Stepping over the debris, she settled herself into it and prepared herself a plate of cheese, bread and meat from the tray. Without being asked, John lifted the dainty teapot and poured her a cup, fixing it as she liked. Her eyes watched as his thick fingers handled the tiny sugar tongs, then set the small cup and saucer close to her plate.

“Thank you,” she said. “How has the afternoon gone? Any concerns or mishaps that need to be addressed?” She took a bite of bread, eager to focus on work and not how he was hovering nearby.

“Um, no. It was a slow day, so I spent it in here.”

Louisa nearly choked on her bread. “You spent the day in the office? You hate the office.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I wasn’t needed anywhere else and there was someone in my room.”

It was her turn to go red. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”