Charles Rockingham, Earl of Stanningfield, was bemused. He rather feared that he had just made a fool of himself, in front of a young lady. Not something that he had ever been prone to doing. That is, an insidious thought reminded him, except for the colossal fool he had made of himself, at 17, with Monique.
He pushed the thought aside. That was old history, beyond being changed. Today, he should be focussing on his current problems. And what problems. He groaned as it all forced itself back to the surface of his mind, now that he no longer had a ready distraction to hand.
He chose to shove the thoughts away again, an act made easy by the fact that his clothes were uncomfortably damp, and his toes squished alarmingly in his boots, which were, he suspected, full of water.
They were certainly coated in mud. The condition of his attire would draw the wrath of his valet, and he expected that Johnson would be effective at making his disapproval known, without ever saying a word.
Still, even if he had rather made a fool of himself, it was, he decided, worth it. He had been in such a temper when he had left the house. His morning, reading through applications for the role of Theodora’s Governess, had been enough to drive anyone to despair.
They were, universally, terrible. The sort of women he would definitely never want in his house – the sort who would turn a bright, if sometimes difficult, girl into a prudish, boring society Miss, incapable of conversing on any topic except the weather.
He knew that the best solution to such a mood was a good hard ride, on a quality horse. And Thaddeus was quite the best horse that he had ever owned.
But it had been spectacularly unwise of him to ride, at that pace, along the road – over the fields would have been a far better choice.
Well too late to change anything now. And…. Would he want to?
The girl was beautiful – and, it seemed, completely unaware of that fact. He had not seen her, not until it was too late. He had been so wrapped in his thoughts that the world around him had been barely registering.
He might not have seen her, but the thump against his leg as he rode across the bridge, followed by the scream, and the huge splash, had certainly attracted his attention.
At that point he had no idea who or what he had just caused to fall into the Shimpling Stream, beyond the fact that it was almost certainly a person, as nothing else screamed quite like that. Unwilling to leave anyone floundering due to his inattention, he had hauled Thaddeus around (somewhat against the stallions wishes at the time!) and gone back to investigate.
What he dragged from the water was a delectable surprise.
A girl, or young woman rather, her shape thoroughly displayed by the unfortunate saturation of her gown, her piercing blue eyes shocking in her pale, water soaked face, her sodden hair seemingly a golden brown colour – although the mud made it hard to tell. She had blushed charmingly as he held her, waiting for her to be steady on her feet again.
She held herself well – there was obviously some breeding there, or at least some education, but the gown was, as far as he could tell after its dip in the stream, rather worn. It had been good quality once, but the hems showed signs of it having been turned, and the fabric was thin from wear. Thinness he deeply appreciated, as it ensured that the water had made it almost translucent. It had taken all his concentration to avoid staring at her breasts rather than her face.
Apart from the sodden gown, and its exposure of her attractions, there was something about her that took his breath away, in that first look.
It took only a moment to realise what – her shape, the turn of her cheek, the fall of her hair, even sodden, brought to mind, just for a second, Monique. He had pushed that recognition away, and focussed on her more mundane attractions.
He had been a rake for too many years not to appreciate a woman’s body when he was given an unexpected viewing. But, it seemed he was rather out of practice.
The sight of her body had robbed him of sensible, coherent conversation, and he had made a complete ass of himself, prattling on at her about the horse, of all things. Women, in his experience, did not give a damn about horses, so long as they transported them where they wanted to go. He was depressingly sure that he could not have made a bigger fool of himself if he had tried.
And then, to top it off, he had taken her home. What else could a gentleman do? He certainly couldn’t leave her to walk four miles in a soddenly transparent dress, when she was already shivering from the cold! What if she had met some oaf along the way, who thought to take advantage of her? Like you wanted to, said that insidious voice in his thoughts. She was schoolmistress at the parish school – the school that his family funded, had funded for 50 years now, for the good of their tenants and the villagers. A less suitable woman for him to find tempting he couldn’t imagine.
The feel of her body against him, of her arms around him and her soft breasts pressed against his chest, rubbing against him with the movement of the horse, the feel of her rounded derriere, rubbing against his thighs, pressing against his manhood, had been enough to drive a saint wild.
The wet fabric of her gown was no barrier, and the water soon transferred to his breeches as well. They might as well have been skin to skin, he could feel the detail of her body so clearly.
His cock had hardened in response, making the ride an exquisite agony. She must be an innocent, for she had appeared to genuinely not notice, even though Thaddeus’ every stride had thrust the evidence of his arousal against her nether regions.
Which made his behaviour at the end of the ride all the more despicable.
Not only had he flirted with her, in a rather suggestively inappropriate way, but he had, at the end, kissed her…. Hard…. Full on the lips. He had not intended to, but, when she turned away, all stiff and unsure, after that ever so wobbly curtsey, and simply began to walk off, her ridiculously crushed and sodden bonnet perched on her equally sodden hair, he had not been able to stop himself.
He wanted a reaction, wanted more than just a departure.
He did not know why - he was, obviously, simply a fool. But he had gone after her, grabbed her and pulled her to him. In the middle of the damned village street, for pity’s sake! And she had tasted divine. Her innocent response had been to press into the kiss, and the feel of her body fitting so perfectly against his had roused his passion like no woman had for years. Had the chiming of the town clock not interrupted, he might almost have taken her there, on the street. He was, most definitely, a fool.
And, he was no further ahead with solving the governess problem.
He was just as frustrated by that as before, but now, he was frustrated in an entirely different way, and sodden as well. He sighed, and steeled himself for Johnson’s response to his maltreatment of his attire.