An Untamed Governess For The Rogue (Steamy Historical Regency) Read online

  “Is he badly hurt?” Thomas peered up at her.

  “Not so badly,” Teresa replied, telling a white lie to comfort him.

  “Will he live?” Elspeth whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

  Teresa forced a smile onto her face. “He is in excellent hands, Lady Elspeth. I believe the angels will watch over him.”

  “But I lied,” Philomena squeaked. “You said that the angels do not smile down on liars, and I did not see a goldcrest.”

  “They will still smile down on your brother, I am sure of it,” Teresa encouraged. Even so, she could not quite believe it in her own heart. He did not look well and falls like that were deadly at the best of times. “Come, we should return home. We can watch over him from there.”

  As she took their hands and led them towards the toll-gate, she could not help but feel a flicker of guilt. She had been the one to raise her hands and cause the horse to rear, even if Lord Luke had yanked the reins. Had she not been in the way, the horse might not have bolted, and he might not have fallen.

  Please live, My Lord Luke. You must live.

  For if he did not, how could she make amends? Not only for this, but for the coldness with which she had treated him.

  Let him live and I will be kind… please, let him survive this.

  Chapter 6

  Luke stirred in his bedchamber, his body aching all over.

  Searing pain shot up his side as he attempted to roll over, his breath hard to grasp. Slowly, his eyes blinked open. Lamplight flickered, and the curtains were drawn, making him realize that it was no longer daytime.

  He thought back to the park, and the race that had ended like this. His memory was hazy, but he pictured the branch looming towards him. It had been the culprit, swiping him back. A vision of Miss Dowels, terrified, flashed into his head. She’d stood in front of Thomas and protected him, facing down the approaching horse.

  If I had not been able to draw Moonstruck to a halt, she might have…

  He could not bear to think of it. She had almost died once in his presence, and he did not like the idea of it happening again. He realized how foolish he had been, to accept Edmund’s challenge like that.

  Is anything broken? He checked himself, smoothing his hands over the places that hurt the most. Pain stabbed at his ribs. He lifted his shirt to check the damage, discovering a blooming dapple of bruises that started on his right-pectoral and spread all the way down to his navel. It didn’t look good, but at least he was alive.

  A knock at the door distracted him. “Come in,” he wheezed, as he dropped his shirt again. He expected it to be his valet, come to look in on him.

  An unexpected face peered into the room. “You are awake, My Lord. I did not know if you would be,” Miss Dowels said quietly, as she looked into the room. “Oh, your valet is not here. Should I return another time?”

  “No, Miss Dowels, it will be quite all right,” Luke assured.

  “If you are certain?” She entered nervously. In her hands, she held a tray. He noticed her catch sight of the thin line of bare skin where he had not quite covered himself, though she quickly looked away again.

  “I am. Please, come in.” He made a point of pulling the edge of his shirt down further, for her comfort. Although, the flush of her cheeks pleased him somewhat. Did she like what she saw? He thought about being mischievous and asking for a nurse’s kiss to make it better, but he refrained. There was still every chance she could slap him instead. He would have to be satisfied with the idea of her lips upon his bruised ribs, instead.

  “I realize this is somewhat unorthodox, but your brother told your family of my medical experience,” she explained hurriedly, her cheeks getting redder. “It is limited, but Her Grace thought it best that I nurse you until you are feeling better. If you would prefer someone else, I can explain the situation to your family?”

  He shook his head. “If they have decided, then I am happy to oblige them.”

  “Very well, My Lord.” She brought over the tray, a bowl of water set beside a pile of flannels. There was soup, too. Pausing at his bedside, she laid them on the nearby cabinet and began to work.

  “Did you say, medical experience?” he asked, more intrigued than ever.

  She nodded. “His Lordship, your brother, saw me perform an act that is common amongst field surgeons. As I say, my knowledge is exceedingly limited, but Her Grace has embellished my abilities somewhat. She wishes to have you under constant care.”

  “She does indeed worry,” he replied, with a smile. “And you have been given these nursing duties? What of my little sisters and brother—are they not to receive an education until I am recovered?”

  She smiled back, startling him. “It would appear not, My Lord. Indeed, I very much doubt they would learn anything, as they are quite distraught.”

  “They saw?”

  “They did.”

  He shook his head. “I am sorry for that.”

  “I should not have stood in the way of the horse,” she said, dipping one of the flannels into the cold water.

  “You are not to blame for this.”

  Miss Dowels turned her face away. “Nevertheless, I feel responsible. I spooked your horse in my attempt to protect Lord Thomas. I ought to have pushed him out of harm’s way, instead.”

  “And risked your own wellbeing?”

  “It is nothing compared to theirs.” She twisted the flannel in a coil, wringing it out, before bringing it over to where Luke lay. Gently, she placed it on his forehead. It felt cool and soothing, easing the throbbing at his temples. It was not quite the kiss he sought, but it felt pleasant.

  “Nonsense, Miss Dowels. Your life is as important as any other.”

  She dipped her head graciously. “I have been meaning to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving that life—my life—when the highwaymen… well, you know what they tried to do,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “I ought to have thanked you sooner, but I did not know how to broach the subject. After discovering who you really were, it seemed improper of me to show the extent of my gratitude.”

  A twist of guilt churned in his stomach. “I should not have deceived you, Miss Dowels. You were entirely within your rights to avoid me, after such an imposition.”

  “No, My Lord. You are my superior, and I should have behaved in a better manner. It is inexcusable, after what you did for me.”

  He could see he was not going to win this argument. At least they were talking with more civility now. Indeed, he rather liked the softness in her voice, and the way her face lit up when she smiled. It made her even fairer than she already was, with roses blossoming in her cheeks.

  “Let us agree to disagree,” he said softly.

  “Very well, My Lord.”

  “Where did you learn this medical expertise, anyway?” he asked, as she dabbed a second flannel across his face, wiping away the perspiration of his pain.

  She cleared her throat, as if the subject was uncomfortable. “My father instructed me. He thought it would be useful, though my mother scorned him for it. She did not think it fitting for a woman to know such skills.”

  Luke winced as he tried to sit up. “I am grateful to your father, then.”

  “You must not sit. You must rest,” she urged, propping an extra pillow behind his head.

  “Is your father a military man?”

  She nodded, her eyes squinting in something akin to pain. “Yes, My Lord. He went to fight in Spain.”

  “Has he yet returned? I know there are so many men who did not. We are fortunate that my brother did.”

  “Yes, My Lord. He returned last summer, but… yes, he returned.”

  Luke frowned. “Then what brings you into such employment as this, being a governess? Surely, your father is capable of providing for you?”

  “I decided I should like to be independent,” she said, without missing a beat.

  “Are you estranged from them?”

 
She shook her head. “No.”

  Her demeanor had instantly become somewhat peculiar, her shoulders stiffening. She could not hold his gaze for longer than a couple of seconds, suggesting a tremor of deceit beneath the surface of her pretty features. What is she not telling me?

  “And your mother—is she well?”

  “I would prefer not to speak of my family, My Lord.” Another flicker of pain, as if the mention troubled her.

  “Very well. Where is it you hail from, Miss Dowels? I do not believe we have spoken of it.”

  “The North, My Lord.”

  He chuckled. “That is not very specific. Where in the North?”

  “A small village near Cumbria.”

  She had hesitated a moment too long, which made him all the more curious. Indeed, she was becoming more mysterious by the moment. At first glance, she had seemed to be a simple young lady in pursuit of independent means, but now he was not so sure. There was much going on behind that steady expression of hers, he could tell.

  “And you have no husband? I presume you do not, otherwise you would not be here,” he said. “There is no husband who would allow their wife to work, if they were capable themselves.”

  Her gaze turned away again, laced with that same pain. “I have no husband, My Lord.”

  Have you lost someone, Miss Dowels? Is it so painful that you cannot speak of it? He wanted to ask, but he did not want to appear unfeeling. Besides, it was evident that she did not wish to discuss it. Nor did he want to bring any more distress to her demeanor. She already appeared to be on-edge.

  “You should drink this,” she said, passing him a small brown bottle. “It will help with the pain.”

  “What is it?”

  She frowned uncertainly. “A concoction of my own creation. It is mostly willow-bark, distilled to intensify the natural analgesic properties. It will help, I promise you, and is far better for you than the laudanum that a physician would attempt to give.”

  He chuckled, the action prompting him to wince. “And you say your medical abilities are limited?” he teased. “Tell me, did your father teach you this, also?”

  “He did, My Lord. It is his recipe. I happened to have some in my case, which I brought from home.”

  “A small village in Cumbria, yes?”

  She coughed awkwardly. “Yes, that is correct.”

  She poured some of the syrupy liquid out onto the soup spoon and lifted it to Luke’s lips. With his eyes fixed on her, he drank the concoction. It tasted bitter and somewhat earthy, but it was not entirely unpleasant. She fed him another spoonful before replacing the stopper in the bottle, and setting it back on the tray.

  “Now, I know this may be uncomfortable for you, but I must apply a poultice to your ribs.” She could not look at him, and it only served to intrigue him further. Why was she so shy before him?

  “As you will, Miss Dowels.” He took the edge of his shirt and lifted it up to his chest, revealing the dappled skin. He looked up at her as her eyes widened, her teeth grazing her bottom lip for just a moment. It made him smile despite the agony. “Have you seen many gentlemen in such a state of undress? From a purely professional perspective, of course. I would never suggest otherwise.” He meant it. There was an undeniable innocence about Miss Dowels, which only further increased his ire towards the highwaymen who had tried to deflower her.

  “Very few, My Lord,” she replied, her voice thick. “I aided my father from time to time, but that is all.”

  Luke nodded. “I trust you. You have a gentle touch. I am certain these bruises will be gone in no time, thanks to you.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “No, I applaud your bravery.”

  She smiled, making his heart pound. Without another word, she drew out a clay pot of a thick, earthy-smelling substance. He watched her as she worked, smearing the mixture across a length of cloth and binding it around the injury, her touch making his skin tingle. Indeed, he could almost forget the pain, as long as he looked upon her.

  “I need you to sit up,” she said, reaching for a pile of bandages to keep the poultice in place. “You may rest your hands on my shoulders for purchase, if the pain is too much.”

  He felt his throat constrict as she put her arms around him, lifting him up off the pillows so she could wrap the bandages all the way around him. His face was so close to hers that he could have leaned in and kissed her. Instead, driven by impulse, he pushed a strand of escaped hair behind her ear. Her gaze met his, tension crackling between them. For a split-second, her eyes lowered, lingering on his lips. And then, she returned to her task, the moment gone. Yet not forgotten. Not in Luke’s mind.

  Once she had wrapped the bandages all the way around him, covering the poultice completely, she helped him to lie back down on the pillows. He kept his hand on her shoulder, and she did not immediately sit back up. Instead, she leaned over him, her side pressed against his in the most intoxicating way. He could feel the curve of her waist through the fabric of her cotton gown, and longed to brush his fingertips across those hidden contours.

  “Will I survive?” He smiled, wishing he had the nerve to pull her closer.

  She smiled back, nervous. “I think so, My Lord.” Sharply, she sat back up, as though she’d realized just how close she had been to him. Taking a shaky breath, she pointed to the brown bottle on the bedside table. “I will leave this here for you, in case you find yourself in pain throughout the night. Do not take more than two spoonfuls every four hours, otherwise it may upset your stomach. As for the poultice, I will refresh it in a few days’ time.”

  “You are intriguing, Miss Dowels. Has anyone told you that?” he blurted out.

  She glanced at him, startled. “They have not.”

  “Well, you are very intriguing indeed.”

  “I cannot think why,” she replied firmly. “I have no mystery about me. There is nothing remarkable to tell or discover, I assure you.”

  He smiled. Oh, I think I shall be the judge of that, Miss Dowels.

  Chapter 7

  The Duchess, Louisa, looked toward Edmund, as they sat together in the drawing room at Rowfex Manor. He had been solemn ever since Luke’s accident, retreating into himself in a way that troubled her. She longed for the days when they had been mere children, playing contentedly beside one another, though she knew that time had passed, never to come again.

  Louisa loved Edmund and all of her children equally. Indeed, sometimes she believed she gave more affection to Edmund, for fear that any lapse in warmth might make him retreat further into himself. He had always been a melancholy child and that had turned him into a melancholy young man. Even more so after his return from the war. That did not seem to be changing, and it worried her. All she had ever wanted for her children was their happiness.

  “Were you thinking of riding today?” She broke the silence.

  Edmund shook his head. “No, I thought I might stay here and read.”

  “You have always loved your books.” She sighed quietly.

  “Is something the matter, Mother?”

  She smiled. “Not at all, my dear. I stayed at your brother’s bedside last night, and I am somewhat tired.”

  “How does he fare?” Worry drifted across Edmund’s face.

  “Much better.” She paused. “You know, I do wish the two of you would find harmony between yourselves.”

  “You blame me for what happened.” It was not a question, and it stung Louisa deeply.

  “No, my darling, I do not blame you for what happened. You were being young men, challenging one another. Nobody is to blame for your brother’s accident.”

  He nodded slowly. “I imagine he blames me. He always seeks to hold me responsible for his actions, even though he was the one who suggested we race.”

  “He did?”

  “You find that difficult to believe?” A steely look intensified Edmund’s gaze.

  “No, but I did not know the details, that is all.”

  He shrugged. “At le
ast he is not permanently injured. We must be grateful for that. You would not want two broken sons, I expect.”

  “Edmund… you are not broken.”

  “Am I not?” A haunted look passed across his gaze.

  “No, of course you are not.”

  “Then why does Father look upon me as though I am?”