Seducing the Governess by Margo Maguire Page A

nightmare of fire. He didn’t know if that was what had awakened him, or if there’d been some stealthy noise outside his room.
    The candlelight cast her cheekbones in high relief. Her lashes were thick and black, beautifully framing her sleepy eyes, and Nash could easily conjure the way they would lie against her cheek in slumber. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her soft body lying against his in the darkness of night, soothing away the harsh memories that plagued him.
    He took a deep breath and released her arm, resisting the urge to touch the silken, black filaments that curled over her shoulder. But the force of his desire to touch her was nearly overwhelming. “You are up rather late, Miss Franklin. Is anything amiss?” Though she clutched her shawl tightly to her chest, the visible portion of her simple white chemise seemed to glow in the candlelight.
    It was as soft and feminine as he could have hoped.
    She took a step back. “No, I— Emmaline was having a nightmare and so I—”
    “She must have had a very loud nightmare if you heard her from your bedchamber.” He wondered if Miss Franklin’s little foray across the corridor had been the cause of the sounds that woke him.
    “She— My lord, might we discuss this upon the morrow?”
    The governess took another step back, and Nash allowed himself a moment to peruse her lushly feminine form.
    He gathered his wits and reined in his lust. “Did you hear anything when you left your room, Miss Franklin?”
    “Hear anything?” she asked curtly. “No. All was quiet.”
    She glanced around as she spoke, and Nash could not help but relive those moments in his bedchamber when he’d felt a compelling desire to lift her into his arms again and take her to his bed. But she was a proper young lady, and quite rightly uneasy in his presence.
    “You heard no doors closing?” he asked, tamping down his frustration. “No footsteps on the stair?”
    “Nothing. I-I don’t even know why I could not—”
    “Could not what, Miss Franklin?”
    “The house is strange to me. I am unfamiliar with its normal creaks and noises.”
    “Then you admit there might have been something?”
    A faint line appeared between her brows. “Yes— No. I do not know, my lord.”
    Nor did Nash, but he could not seem to help badgering Mercy Franklin. “All is well, then? There is nothing you need to report about my niece?”
    She appeared baffled at his abrupt change of subject. “No, my lord. N-nothing is wrong,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the floor is cold and it is entirely unseemly for me to be—”
    “Not at all, Miss Franklin. I’ll bid you good night. Unless you’d care to assist me to my bedchamber again . . .”
    “Since you arrived here on your own two feet,” she said acerbically, “I trust you can go back the same way.”
    Mercy stood with her back against the inside of her tightly closed bedroom door and forced her breathing to return to normal. She felt heated and chilled all at once, the sensations of her restless dreams coming back in force. She could not believe she’d actually hoped Lord Ashby would touch her again, perhaps draw her close and say something quite . . . quite . . .
    Oh, how ridiculous . She’d never been a fanciful girl, but Lord Ashby brought out the worst possible inclinations in her. Not only was her body far too sensitive to his presence, he somehow made it impossible for her to govern her wayward tongue. It did not matter that he’d put her in an untenable position, keeping her in the shadowy corridor in her nightclothes while he asked his questions. She was in his employ and needed to be mindful of her place.
    Mercy had never been inclined to display such insolence as she did with this exasperating man, and yet she knew his irritating manner was no excuse for her behavior. No doubt her friend Claire Rogers would chide her for her impertinence. Yet the earl seemed to derive some satisfaction from mocking her. How ought