An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 by Amy Rose Bennett Page B
Authors: Amy Rose Bennett
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throat and before she could think to bite her lip to contain it, it spilled forth into the silence. Breathy and low, yet oh, so loud.
And that’s when Sir Nicholas turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Straight at her.
Oh, good Lord, no...
Reality crashed into Abigail with sickening ferocity. In her extremity, she’d taken a step away from her hiding place, exposing herself and her own depravity. She’d never be able to feign an accidental encounter, not when it was blatantly clear she’d been taking pleasure in watching him.
She dropped her hand away from her quim. Her stomach had already dropped to the grass at her feet.
She’d expected Sir Nicholas’s face to register shock, or blistering anger. But with the cock of one black eyebrow, all she saw was sardonic amusement. At her expense.
She’d lost her position. How could she not? Someone like her was not fit to teach children.
She was such a reckless fool. And wicked. No better than a common whore.
Her face burning with shame and her vision blurred by a flood of stinging tears, Abigail picked up her skirts and fled.
Chapter 6
A bigail managed to reach her bedchamber without encountering a single soul. A panting, sweating mess, she collapsed on her bed and gave into the overwhelming urge to sob her heart out. A toxic combination of bitter self-recrimination, marrow-deep humiliation and heart crushing despair churned around inside her. If the ground beneath her split wide open and swallowed her whole, she would welcome it.
How could she ever face Sir Nicholas again?
Oh, she couldn’t bear it.
But she must. At least until she left Hartfield Hall.
When her weeping at last subsided, she rose from the bed and installed herself in the window seat. A faint breeze wafted through the open window and dried the tears on her cheeks. A bank of black and angry storm clouds had gathered on the horizon and thunder grumbled in the distance. Would Sir Nicholas be just as thunderous when she faced him? Or would he flay her with cold derision?
Her breath shuddered out of her chest.
At some stage she imagined Sir Nicholas would summon her to account for her sinful behavior. So she had best prepare for the painful interview. And naturally, her imminent dismissal.
Her movements as wooden and jerky as a marionette’s, she somehow managed to wash her sticky, tear-stained face and repair her disheveled chignon. The looking glass above the washstand also revealed how puffy and red her eyes were, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Despite the heat, she couldn’t stand wearing her white muslin gown any more; she felt like a fraud wearing something so pure and virginal looking. With only a limited number of gowns to choose from, she settled for a nondescript calico dress in an unremarkable shade of green.
Abigail was half-way through packing her traveling trunk when there came a knock at the door. Even though she’d anticipated it, to her it sounded like a death knell. When she called, “come in,” she was relieved to see it was the housemaid, Bessie, rather than Mrs. Graham.
The girl frowned when her gaze fell upon the trunk. Nevertheless, she didn’t remark upon it and delivered the message Abigail had been expecting. “Sir Nicholas would like to see you in the drawing room, miss. As soon as you are able.”
Abigail nodded. “Thank you. I shall be down directly.”
“And, Sir Nicholas asked that these be returned to you.” Bessie, who had been standing in the doorway with her hands behind her back, extended her arm, offering Abigail her new bonnet and her copy of Sense and Sensibility .
Abigail bit her quivering bottom lip as she took the items and placed them on the bed. There was no way she could deny that she’d been at the lake now.
“Miss Adams, it’s probably not my place to ask, but are you... Is there anything wrong?”
“No, nothing at all,” said Abigail with a false smile but she wasn’t able to hide the wobble in her
And that’s when Sir Nicholas turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Straight at her.
Oh, good Lord, no...
Reality crashed into Abigail with sickening ferocity. In her extremity, she’d taken a step away from her hiding place, exposing herself and her own depravity. She’d never be able to feign an accidental encounter, not when it was blatantly clear she’d been taking pleasure in watching him.
She dropped her hand away from her quim. Her stomach had already dropped to the grass at her feet.
She’d expected Sir Nicholas’s face to register shock, or blistering anger. But with the cock of one black eyebrow, all she saw was sardonic amusement. At her expense.
She’d lost her position. How could she not? Someone like her was not fit to teach children.
She was such a reckless fool. And wicked. No better than a common whore.
Her face burning with shame and her vision blurred by a flood of stinging tears, Abigail picked up her skirts and fled.
Chapter 6
A bigail managed to reach her bedchamber without encountering a single soul. A panting, sweating mess, she collapsed on her bed and gave into the overwhelming urge to sob her heart out. A toxic combination of bitter self-recrimination, marrow-deep humiliation and heart crushing despair churned around inside her. If the ground beneath her split wide open and swallowed her whole, she would welcome it.
How could she ever face Sir Nicholas again?
Oh, she couldn’t bear it.
But she must. At least until she left Hartfield Hall.
When her weeping at last subsided, she rose from the bed and installed herself in the window seat. A faint breeze wafted through the open window and dried the tears on her cheeks. A bank of black and angry storm clouds had gathered on the horizon and thunder grumbled in the distance. Would Sir Nicholas be just as thunderous when she faced him? Or would he flay her with cold derision?
Her breath shuddered out of her chest.
At some stage she imagined Sir Nicholas would summon her to account for her sinful behavior. So she had best prepare for the painful interview. And naturally, her imminent dismissal.
Her movements as wooden and jerky as a marionette’s, she somehow managed to wash her sticky, tear-stained face and repair her disheveled chignon. The looking glass above the washstand also revealed how puffy and red her eyes were, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Despite the heat, she couldn’t stand wearing her white muslin gown any more; she felt like a fraud wearing something so pure and virginal looking. With only a limited number of gowns to choose from, she settled for a nondescript calico dress in an unremarkable shade of green.
Abigail was half-way through packing her traveling trunk when there came a knock at the door. Even though she’d anticipated it, to her it sounded like a death knell. When she called, “come in,” she was relieved to see it was the housemaid, Bessie, rather than Mrs. Graham.
The girl frowned when her gaze fell upon the trunk. Nevertheless, she didn’t remark upon it and delivered the message Abigail had been expecting. “Sir Nicholas would like to see you in the drawing room, miss. As soon as you are able.”
Abigail nodded. “Thank you. I shall be down directly.”
“And, Sir Nicholas asked that these be returned to you.” Bessie, who had been standing in the doorway with her hands behind her back, extended her arm, offering Abigail her new bonnet and her copy of Sense and Sensibility .
Abigail bit her quivering bottom lip as she took the items and placed them on the bed. There was no way she could deny that she’d been at the lake now.
“Miss Adams, it’s probably not my place to ask, but are you... Is there anything wrong?”
“No, nothing at all,” said Abigail with a false smile but she wasn’t able to hide the wobble in her
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