mercies, my Dear, I fear I must plead for your assistance in a most embarrassing situation.”
Her mouth twisted in concern. “However might I serve you, my Lord?”
Lord Godown sighed in resignation. “I must meet my personal needs.”
Grace felt the blood drain from her face. She did not know where to look. Whether to blush or to laugh or to maintain a serious mien. “Of…of course,” she stammered. “I should have considered the possibility. “ She turned to rearrange the screen to provide him privacy.
Meanwhile, Lord Godown struggled to a seated position by swinging his long muscular legs over the bed’s edge and pushing himself upward with his uninjured arm. “I…doubt…a lady…even one…reduced to…being a viscount’s…governess…ever dwells on…a man’s baser needs.” He gritted his teeth from the effort.
Despite being overwhelmed by the impropriety, Grace wanted to laugh. It was, after all, a most bizarre experience. She recovered the clean chamber pot from the room’s corner. “Where shall I place this?” she asked without looking at the marquis.
Breathily, he answered, “Perhaps on the nightstand or the bed’s edge.”
Again, Grace swallowed her desire to laugh. When a woman has visions of a delectable man, it never occurs to her he has “other needs.” With his instructions, she realized Lord Godown would require a surface high enough where he might reach it easily. “The stand,” she insisted before moving the other items to the serving table. She set the pot on the polished surface with a thunk.
“In case I miss,” he said with a chuckle.
The heat had returned to her face with a vengeance. “Oh, no, my Lord, I never meant to imply.”
Lord Godown raised his hand in an aristocratic gesture that stifled her objection. “You will find, Miss Nelson, I often use jest to lighten my own discomfiture. I am well aware of your goodness.” He motioned her to him. “Come. Assist me to my feet.”
Grace placed herself in a position where she might tip him backward onto the bed if he pitched forward. She was desperately aware of the marquis’s solidness. If he lurched to the fore, Grace would never be able to prevent his collapsing on the floor. With only a slight sway, Lord Godown managed to right himself. Grace breathed with relief when he stood tall.
“Loosen the button at my waist,” he instructed.
Grace reached for the garment as she squeezed her eyes shut to hide her disconcertion.
“Look at me, Grace,” he said softly. It was a warm brush of intimacy against her temple. When she raised her eyes to his, he whispered, “Permit your fingers to do what comes naturally.” He cupped her chin, and Grace knew a longing so deep she imagined it turned her inside out. Within seconds, he caught her hand. “As much as I am certain I would enjoy what you offer, perhaps we might wait until I am well enough to prove myself worthy of your purity,” he rasped.
Instinctively, Grace glanced to where her fingers rested beneath the cloth of his breeches’ placket. She jerked her hand away and retreated quickly from his nearness. “My Lord,” she began in distress.
“Enough, Grace,” he said with a bit of irritation. “Do not act as a prim English governess. Although of short duration, our acquaintance transcends normal lines of propriety.” He nodded toward the door. “Perhaps you might wait in the hall.” Grace clumsily staggered toward the door. Her complete humiliation hummed through her veins, but she stilled as she reached for the handle. Lord Godown’s words held her immovable. “My admonishment, Miss Nelson, was directed squarely at my chest. A man would be hesitant to deny any intimacy with a woman he admires.”
Without looking behind her to his nearly naked form, she said with regret, “You know nothing of me, my Lord.”
“That is where you err, Miss Nelson. In truth, I know nothing of your family. Of your hopes. Of your dreams. But I do know you. I know
Her mouth twisted in concern. “However might I serve you, my Lord?”
Lord Godown sighed in resignation. “I must meet my personal needs.”
Grace felt the blood drain from her face. She did not know where to look. Whether to blush or to laugh or to maintain a serious mien. “Of…of course,” she stammered. “I should have considered the possibility. “ She turned to rearrange the screen to provide him privacy.
Meanwhile, Lord Godown struggled to a seated position by swinging his long muscular legs over the bed’s edge and pushing himself upward with his uninjured arm. “I…doubt…a lady…even one…reduced to…being a viscount’s…governess…ever dwells on…a man’s baser needs.” He gritted his teeth from the effort.
Despite being overwhelmed by the impropriety, Grace wanted to laugh. It was, after all, a most bizarre experience. She recovered the clean chamber pot from the room’s corner. “Where shall I place this?” she asked without looking at the marquis.
Breathily, he answered, “Perhaps on the nightstand or the bed’s edge.”
Again, Grace swallowed her desire to laugh. When a woman has visions of a delectable man, it never occurs to her he has “other needs.” With his instructions, she realized Lord Godown would require a surface high enough where he might reach it easily. “The stand,” she insisted before moving the other items to the serving table. She set the pot on the polished surface with a thunk.
“In case I miss,” he said with a chuckle.
The heat had returned to her face with a vengeance. “Oh, no, my Lord, I never meant to imply.”
Lord Godown raised his hand in an aristocratic gesture that stifled her objection. “You will find, Miss Nelson, I often use jest to lighten my own discomfiture. I am well aware of your goodness.” He motioned her to him. “Come. Assist me to my feet.”
Grace placed herself in a position where she might tip him backward onto the bed if he pitched forward. She was desperately aware of the marquis’s solidness. If he lurched to the fore, Grace would never be able to prevent his collapsing on the floor. With only a slight sway, Lord Godown managed to right himself. Grace breathed with relief when he stood tall.
“Loosen the button at my waist,” he instructed.
Grace reached for the garment as she squeezed her eyes shut to hide her disconcertion.
“Look at me, Grace,” he said softly. It was a warm brush of intimacy against her temple. When she raised her eyes to his, he whispered, “Permit your fingers to do what comes naturally.” He cupped her chin, and Grace knew a longing so deep she imagined it turned her inside out. Within seconds, he caught her hand. “As much as I am certain I would enjoy what you offer, perhaps we might wait until I am well enough to prove myself worthy of your purity,” he rasped.
Instinctively, Grace glanced to where her fingers rested beneath the cloth of his breeches’ placket. She jerked her hand away and retreated quickly from his nearness. “My Lord,” she began in distress.
“Enough, Grace,” he said with a bit of irritation. “Do not act as a prim English governess. Although of short duration, our acquaintance transcends normal lines of propriety.” He nodded toward the door. “Perhaps you might wait in the hall.” Grace clumsily staggered toward the door. Her complete humiliation hummed through her veins, but she stilled as she reached for the handle. Lord Godown’s words held her immovable. “My admonishment, Miss Nelson, was directed squarely at my chest. A man would be hesitant to deny any intimacy with a woman he admires.”
Without looking behind her to his nearly naked form, she said with regret, “You know nothing of me, my Lord.”
“That is where you err, Miss Nelson. In truth, I know nothing of your family. Of your hopes. Of your dreams. But I do know you. I know
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