A Temporary Governess Read online

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  Awe-Struck E-Books

  www.awe-struck.net

  Copyright ©2007 by Blaise Kilgallen

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Chapter One

  England, 1811:

  A splash of late afternoon sunshine flashed across bronzed skin reposing amidst rumpled silk bed sheets in the massive carved four poster. A blond courtesan, expert in ways to satisfy a man's sexual desires, nuzzled the groin of the naked aristocrat.

  Sally Brockton learned a number of carnal tricks after being taken in by the madam of an exclusive London brothel. She began as a poor, untutored country girl because of her stunning beauty, but she had fought her way out of the gutter by snaring the title of Countess of Devon as Lady Georgianna Ponsonsby after marrying the aging and slightly senile Earl while he was in his cups.

  Today she had greeted her current lover in a filmy negligee and kissed him passionately upon his entrance to her ornate bedchamber. He returned her kiss a little less passionately, and that had her worried. She decided to forego her own pleasure for awhile in order to capture his attention..

  Now her well-trained hands and lips gripped and stroked the body of the man lying quiescent beneath them.

  The tall, handsome, very rich nobleman had undressed unhurriedly only moments ago. He stretched out full length on the bed, then folded his hands beneath his dark curls while he watched his current ladybird fondle him.

  "More?” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his crisp pubic hair, his engorged manhood standing up as rigid and tall as the flagpole on top of Carlton House, the Regent's palace. “Ah, I do love the feel of you, my lord,” she said. “I promise I will make you come very soon. Just a little more,” she said, continuing her erotic ministrations.

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  Alexander Warner, Marquess of Chester, had decided to indulge in an afternoon's carnal sport before he left London for Trury Priory, his ancestral home. He sent a note around to the countess, having learned that the earl, an avid angler, was away from London with a group of equally aging peers to do some gaming, shooting, and fishing in Scotland.

  Normally the marquess made sure his bed partner received his full, amatory attentions during their trysts, but this past week had him edgy and discontented for some unknown reason. Perhaps, it was simply that after a month's tenure in Town amidst London's Polite Society, with its stultifying air of propriety and usual round of balls, routs and other festivities, had bored him to tears.

  I need a change of scenery, he decided unexpectedly. Perhaps I will leave for the country for a few week's stay.

  Of course, he would invite Georgie and Freddy, and a few other footloose friends to join him there, too. He could not be left alone without people to amuse and keep him company no matter where he lived.

  A swift coitus pulsed through him by means of Georgie's well-rehearsed talents. The countess eyed the handsome marquess with some trepidation as he purposely extricated himself from her clinging arms and started to rise from the bed. The marquess was prepared to don his clothes again and leave Town as quickly as possible.

  "Stay a while longer, my lord.” Her voice was husky with unsatisfied desire.

  Stepping over the diaphanous dressing gown lying on the floor next to the bed, Alex picked up his discarded clothing, sat down on a nearby chair, and began to dress. After pulling on his Hessians, he walked toward the countess's dressing table and bent toward the mirror. Twisting a cravat round his neck, he quickly arranged the folds with an expertise that might have surprised his valet.

  The courtesan lounging in the center of the bed watched him, making no effort to cover her nakedness. Georgianna believed herself to be the epitome of perfection. Lying bare and sleek against the lace-edged, silk pillows, she was draped only in two long ropes of black pearls. Silver blond hair, startlingly blue eyes, and an unblemished complexion, plus a pair of lush breasts, she was claimed by word of mouth in London's men's clubs as an “incomparable” courtesan well before she snared the earl into an unwitting parson's mousetrap. She was still as strikingly beautiful at the age of five and twenty as she had been at the age of eighteen.

  Georgianna was not thinking of herself at that precise moment, but of Alexander Warner. He stood tall and magnificent in front of her dressing table's mirror rearranging his cravat. With his back to her, his saturnine good looks reflected back to her in the glass, the angle from which she watched displaying the breadth of his shoulders, his muscular torso, and a waist narrowed above hips in skintight leather breeches. His lean, athletic physique was without an ounce of excess flesh. Indolent in appearance and manner, his attitude was instinctive, developed by his aristocratic upbringing. Even as a young man, he had exuded a feral strength as smooth and sleek as a jungle cat, every action as powerful and as graceful as one of his thoroughbred horses. Both friend and foe of his had learned early to be wary of his quick moves and his rapid temper.

  Like most women, common or aristocratic, Georgianna found the marquess irresistible. Perhaps, it was the lazy appraisal with which he regarded them with a somewhat jaundiced eye. His drooping lids and long, thick eyelashes, his irises the color of slate gray granite, hid his thoughts and reactions while he totally intrigued them. The handsome nobleman had a habit of drawling out his words, enticing those females who were enthralled by simply listening to him. Still, the slight mocking note in the tone of his voice was difficult to identify. Depending upon his mood, he might be serious, sarcastic, or merely jesting. Especially when he cocked a black eyebrow and twisted his lips into an imponderable half smile that had the ladies’ hearts fluttering.

  Georgianna had seen too many coquetting women pursue Alex Warner relentlessly without success. She had, so far, captured and maintained his interest. She was determined to make certain he did not discard her as many of his former ladybirds had been left to ponder why he never came back. Georgianna learned very early how to please men. Giving the marquess pleasure without demanding her own, she believed, would keep Alex Warner coming back to her bed ... or sharing his. After all, the Earl of Devon could not live much longer, and when he turned up his toes, leaving her only a miserly pittance to live on, she wanted to be around to snag a bigger prize.

  "When shall I see you again, Alex?” Georgianna asked, observing him as he smoothed and tidied his tousled hair. She heard Warner men were doomed to go gray at an early age, and Alex's ebony tresses, worn in the fashionable windswept style worn by the Regent and his compatriot, George “Beau” Brummell, was heavily touched with silver at the temples.

  "I thought we might meet later at one of Prinny's to-do's, but I decided to leave Town instead,” the marquess replied. “I expect that affair will be another colossal crush."

  "The Regent is bored with war,” Georgianna remarked, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture of ennui. “So am I."

  "Madam, do you not know that the country is engaged in a desperate struggle for survival. It will be years before we again enjoy peace."

  "All that childish war hysteria is quite unnecessary, my lord,” Georgianna retorted, slipping her palms down her body to draw his gaze to her naked curves. “The war is all but won. Even Prinny thinks so."

  Frowning, Alex snorted uncharacteristically. “I doubt that, m'lady. Men are dying in battle each day while we continue to fight Napoleon a
nd the French.” A tinge of contempt seeped into the quality of his grumbling. “If the war is not ended soon by the idiots in Whitehall, even greater courage and more staunch mettle will be needed to end the magnanimous loss of stalwart Englishmen."

  In 1805, fearing invasion from Bonaparte's armies near the marquessate in Kent, Richard Warner, Alex's elder brother, joined the King's army. However, the invasion never took place after the French were defeated at Trafalgar. Those rumors continued to be bandied about, however, and many of his own friends had left home to fight the same war his brother had. So, Alex purchased his colors in early 1808, too, and became an integral member of the conflict.

  In 1809, Richard was mysteriously killed while attached to Wellington's staff in Portugal. Alex never learned the gory truth of his brother's demise, but by then he knew how deadly and unexpected simply staying alive could be when war and political intrigues attempted to shorten one's life.

  Their father died shortly after Richard's demise, and Alex was forced to return to England and assume responsibilities for the marquessate. He pleaded to be able to rejoin his regiment. However, it was too much for Prinny to swallow. The Prince of Wales forbade it when two of the country's highly-placed nobles died within the same year. With the war still going on full force, Alex sold out in 1810 and left the King's army for good.

  "Are you never content, Alex?” his current lover, the countess, inquired abruptly, watching his face in the looking glass.

  Am I losing my touch? The countess thought.

  "By not being content, what do you mean?"

  "Discontented with our ... arrangement,” she answered, her smile wavering slightly. “I always make myself available to you, Alex. I am happy to give up London's frivolities and return to the country whenever you ask."

  He knew that was true. She and Freddy Black were, perhaps, his newest, and ... closest friends. Turning from the mirror to stand at the foot of the big bed, Alex looked down at Georgianna's voluptuous figure. It was difficult to imagine a more delectable or alluring female, but for some reason, he had enough of their bed sport today. Right now, he was just anxious to leave London.

  "Come here, Alex, kiss me again. Make love to me,” the wanton countess whispered huskily, reaching out a hand toward the unforgettable nobleman.

  Thinking better of the proffered invitation, Alex shook his head. He picked up his jacket from the brocade-upholstered armchair and shrugged himself into the jacket's sleeves. Magnificently tailored by Weston, it hugged his torso without a wrinkle.

  Alex Warner was so deliciously handsome, such an uninhibited lover. Georgianna ran avid, devouring eyes over his manly physique. Her mind suddenly switched to thoughts of her ancient husband, the Earl of Devon. Her spouse seemed quite headed into senility. The aged earl had begun wagering too deeply—on cards and dice—even signing the betting book at White's filled with outlandish propositions. And, he gambled and lost—consistently. He thought nothing of wagering hundreds of pounds on the turn of a card or a throw of the dice on those silly pledges at his men's club. Georgianna found out just recently that he bet fifty pounds to another member that Lord Turnbull, whom both men knew, would arrive at White's inner sanctum as usual, no later than ten o'clock that evening. Turnbull walked in a few minutes after ten, caught in a traffic crush that delayed him. The old earl had grumbled but paid up.

  Georgianna started to worry where Freddy Black and she would end up. If Devon's fortune disappeared and it could no longer be manipulated or subtly bilked, the former lovers might no longer enjoy their toplofty living style. Freddy and she would end up in the suds—possibly thrown out onto the street or even sent into the Fleet—debtor's prison. The earl's known relatives had already given the upstart courtesan—now Countess Devon—the cut direct.

  Half siblings and then lovers, the pair grew up in Derbyshire. At the tender age of seventeen, however, Georgianna had deserted her poverty-ridden family, assumed a new name, and made her way to London to seek her fortune. Christened, Sally Brockton, Georgianna elevated herself into a position of prominence with her beauty, wit, and charm. She had serviced wealthy, old, and middle-aged men who visited the highly acclaimed brothel on Curzon Street for several years. With the help of the brothel's madam and mentor, Georgianna had finally attained her pursuit of wealth and claimed a transient position in England's Polite Society.

  Georgianna seduced the Earl of Devon into marriage two years ago when he was in his dotage. On hard advice of his solicitors, a marriage contract was written in such a way that she would receive—at least to her mind—only a token stipend on which to live when the earl stuck his spoon in the wall. Everything else—his title, wealth, and income from several estates—was entailed to a second cousin.

  Ponsonsby was in his middle seventies when Georgianna married him, hoping against hope that her meal ticket—and Freddy's—would continue a bit longer.

  Frederic Black had read of his sibling and former lover's elevated status in the London Times. He made himself known to her when he returned from the Peninsula with a slight war wound and claimed himself a hero. Soon after, he and Georgianna resumed their former carnal relationship. Georgianna introduced him to the earl and to everyone else she knew as a childhood friend, never mentioning their real relationship. She brought Freddy and Alex Warner together, too, lending her half-brother a certain cachet with ton members, although some had alluded to Freddy's un-noble birth. A brother-in-arms, returned from the Peninsula, Alex soon welcomed Frederic Black into his coterie of acquaintances and hangers-on.

  Now, seeing the marquess readying himself to leave, Georgianna begged again, this time more passionate in her wheedling. “Don't leave me yet, Alex, please."

  "I've been caught in that trap before, my lady,” he replied with an amused smile. “You are always persuasive, but I must leave you. So, say goodbye until we meet again, Georgie. I thank you for an ... afternoon's comfort."

  "I want you to love me, Alex. I need comforting, too.” She paused, pursing her lips beguilingly. “I shall make it worth your while again if you stay."

  "You cannot always have what you want, Georgie,” Alex chided. “I have an appointment,” he said, fabricating a lie, because he simply wished to be shut of her now.

  "An appointment? Where? Here?” Sharply, Georgianna snapped the words out. “Or in the country? If it is with another woman, I will tear her eyes out!"

  "Now, now, Georgie. Behave.” His chuckle deepened, his expression enigmatic. “I will see you soon enough. Why not visit me at the Priory this weekend? I believe Freddy had gone there already."

  The marquess strode toward her bedchamber's door.

  Swiftly, Georgianna sprang from the bed, naked except for the two long ropes of pearls, their dark opalescence looping around her slender torso and swinging loose. Alex turned when he heard her following him. The blazing, late afternoon sun pierced the undraped windows overlooking Berkeley Square, painting patches of ruby fire across her bare skin. Her thick, pale tresses flowed down her back in a waterfall of corkscrew curls.

  A penetrating, musky odor scented the room after their hour of sexual play, mixed with an exotic perfume exuding from Georgianna's pores. She stretched her arms up to Alex and drew his head down to her coaxing lips, seeking his agreement for a round of delicious intercourse with the marquess's well-endowed genitalia.

  "I adore you Alex! I told you often enough. Yet you never tell me what I wish to hear,” she pursued with a pouting tone. “What more do you want from me?"

  Women, even more beautiful than the countess, had asked him the same question. He was surprised by such simplistic inquiries. Always, he found himself at a loss for the answer, unable to put his wishes into words. He knew something was missing. If he only knew what it was, he would hold on and capture it.

  "Have you nothing to say?” The countess asked relentlessly, adding force to the equation. “Tell me the truth. Are you bored with me, Alex? Do I fall short of what you want? Somehow—"

  He overr
ode her words. “That is absurd, Georgie. How many times have I told you that you are the most alluring and exciting woman I know."

  When they began their affair, Alex decided she was eminently lovely, delectable, desirable—all those things. He also knew what she said had been the truth. Their bed sport and frequent couplings were not enough to satisfy him even after spending almost a month in her bed. It could not be his fault. No, of course, not. He was only thirty, in excellent health, and as virile as any man in his prime could be who adored having daily sex. It must be her fault.

  Alex's many carnal encounters over the years often left him cold and wanting something more, missing an element he did not fully understand. Little did he realize that absence of true love in his frequent couplings might never match his youthful yearnings.

  Unable to sabotage Alex into protestations of love, Georgianna did everything possible to force him into considering marriage when her husband turned up his toes. Although spoiled by the attention of a bevy of wealthy men, anxiety boiled through her when she didn't get her way. And today she was unhappy about how the marquess was behaving. She had to keep him dangling. She had no wish to upset the applecart she and Freddy planned for themselves.

  Gazing up at Alex, Georgianna's cobalt eyes and rosy cupid's bow lips were only inches away. Her lids looked heavy; kohl-enhanced lashes curling against the fragility of her petal soft cheeks. Fire glinted in those blue eyes when she rubbed her pert breasts against Alex's textured wool jacket. An urgent, animalistic moan escaped from her throat. The sensations exploding over her pale skin and rose tinted nipples were not feigned. She was already wet with love juice.

  Georgianna had been obsessed by nymphomania long before she arrived at the London brothel. Men thought they were the ones who paid for satisfaction, but she devoured them, as well. A reigning courtesan at the brothel, young and old with lots of gold coin to burn flocked to her expensive, sexual massages and salacious expertise. Georgianna needed intercourse the same way she needed to breathe—on a daily basis. She entertained both Freddy and the marquess whenever she could—morning, afternoon, or nighttime.