Davis’s care, he spent mealtimes wondering what they were
doing. Did Miss Davis smile at Elsie? Did she sing to her? Did her eyes turn
bright as they so often seemed to?
The rise of smokestacks and
rows of houses came into view and August found himself anxious to return home.
He squeezed his hand tight around the edge of the carriage window. They were
fine, he assured himself. Mrs Cartwright was there and Tilly was not a daft
girl. Unfortunately it was in his nature not to trust anyone to do things as he
would. He hoped she had put Elsie down for a nap after lunch and remembered not
to give her too much milk so the child was hungry enough for supper.
The carriage drew up in
front of his house and he noted the gentle glow from the drawing room window.
She was in there then. He stepped out and glanced at the darkening skies. The
days would grow longer soon enough for which he would be grateful. Returning to
a semi-dark house always filled him with dread. Jamieson could rarely be
counted on to ensure the lamps were burning upon his return.
August opened the door
cautiously and paused to listen for telltale screams—from either female. But
neither Elsie nor Miss Davis was screaming. In fact, the house was deathly
quiet. Unease dripped into his gut. He pressed open the door to the drawing
room and released a slow breath.
Warmth replaced the unease
and he couldn’t resist the twitching of his lips. Sprawled on his large wing-backed
chair, Miss Davis slept. Her head rested against one of the velvet wings and
one arm was draped over the side while Elsie slept on her chest, her head
burrowed against the governess’s breast.
He eyed Miss Davis’s parted
lips and closed lashes. Her hair was loose again, several curls spilling down
her neck and dashing across her chest. Like melted chocolate, they were a
waterfall of beautiful colour against the purple of her dress. A dress that was
created of fine fabric. Exactly who was this governess of his?
Reluctant to disturb them but
noticing the cup that hung loosely from one of Miss Davis’s fingers, he
snatched it up. He winced at the s0und of rattling china on the table but
neither child nor woman stirred. They must have had an exhausting day.
August’s gaze was snared by
the discarded newspaper on the table. He recognised the picture well enough. It
was the tunnel. He lifted the paper and skimmed the article, noting the mention
of his name several times. She had been reading about him.
He couldn’t help but draw up
his chin. She was curious about him. He had to admit they knew little of each
other but they were master and servant. Why would they need to know anything
about one another? However, he was thankful she was just as curious about him
as he was about her.
Except they were at odds
now, for she surely knew more of him. The deep, aching desire to find out more of
her settled low in his stomach, and he flicked his gaze back to her face.
He couldn’t deny it. He
longed to know everything about the beautiful, vibrant woman he had hired to
look after his charge. And the dragging sensation in his gut told him he wanted
to know more than he really should. Like how would she sound when he pressed
his lips to her skin? And exactly what did those plump lips taste like?
August snapped his gaze
away. He had promised her he wouldn’t touch her and he was a man of honour. He
would never break that promise, no matter the cost.
Chapter
Seven
The morning had gone relatively smoothly compared to the
previous days, Ivy was pleased to note. There had been no vomiting incidents,
and neither she nor Elsie had completely broken down. Exhaustion still
encroached on her vision, but their nap yesterday had revived her somewhat. If
she could travel to London and then Manchester alone and live in some of the
roughest parts of the city, she could certainly handle anything this
eight-month-old threw at her.
She paused at the bottom of
the stairs, having intended to change Elsie before taking
doing. Did Miss Davis smile at Elsie? Did she sing to her? Did her eyes turn
bright as they so often seemed to?
The rise of smokestacks and
rows of houses came into view and August found himself anxious to return home.
He squeezed his hand tight around the edge of the carriage window. They were
fine, he assured himself. Mrs Cartwright was there and Tilly was not a daft
girl. Unfortunately it was in his nature not to trust anyone to do things as he
would. He hoped she had put Elsie down for a nap after lunch and remembered not
to give her too much milk so the child was hungry enough for supper.
The carriage drew up in
front of his house and he noted the gentle glow from the drawing room window.
She was in there then. He stepped out and glanced at the darkening skies. The
days would grow longer soon enough for which he would be grateful. Returning to
a semi-dark house always filled him with dread. Jamieson could rarely be
counted on to ensure the lamps were burning upon his return.
August opened the door
cautiously and paused to listen for telltale screams—from either female. But
neither Elsie nor Miss Davis was screaming. In fact, the house was deathly
quiet. Unease dripped into his gut. He pressed open the door to the drawing
room and released a slow breath.
Warmth replaced the unease
and he couldn’t resist the twitching of his lips. Sprawled on his large wing-backed
chair, Miss Davis slept. Her head rested against one of the velvet wings and
one arm was draped over the side while Elsie slept on her chest, her head
burrowed against the governess’s breast.
He eyed Miss Davis’s parted
lips and closed lashes. Her hair was loose again, several curls spilling down
her neck and dashing across her chest. Like melted chocolate, they were a
waterfall of beautiful colour against the purple of her dress. A dress that was
created of fine fabric. Exactly who was this governess of his?
Reluctant to disturb them but
noticing the cup that hung loosely from one of Miss Davis’s fingers, he
snatched it up. He winced at the s0und of rattling china on the table but
neither child nor woman stirred. They must have had an exhausting day.
August’s gaze was snared by
the discarded newspaper on the table. He recognised the picture well enough. It
was the tunnel. He lifted the paper and skimmed the article, noting the mention
of his name several times. She had been reading about him.
He couldn’t help but draw up
his chin. She was curious about him. He had to admit they knew little of each
other but they were master and servant. Why would they need to know anything
about one another? However, he was thankful she was just as curious about him
as he was about her.
Except they were at odds
now, for she surely knew more of him. The deep, aching desire to find out more of
her settled low in his stomach, and he flicked his gaze back to her face.
He couldn’t deny it. He
longed to know everything about the beautiful, vibrant woman he had hired to
look after his charge. And the dragging sensation in his gut told him he wanted
to know more than he really should. Like how would she sound when he pressed
his lips to her skin? And exactly what did those plump lips taste like?
August snapped his gaze
away. He had promised her he wouldn’t touch her and he was a man of honour. He
would never break that promise, no matter the cost.
Chapter
Seven
The morning had gone relatively smoothly compared to the
previous days, Ivy was pleased to note. There had been no vomiting incidents,
and neither she nor Elsie had completely broken down. Exhaustion still
encroached on her vision, but their nap yesterday had revived her somewhat. If
she could travel to London and then Manchester alone and live in some of the
roughest parts of the city, she could certainly handle anything this
eight-month-old threw at her.
She paused at the bottom of
the stairs, having intended to change Elsie before taking
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