Anne gasped.

  Well, she knew the mechanics. She knew where this was leading, knew what in theory was underneath all that linen and cotton.

  But seeing the reality…

  “Come here,” Timothy growled.

  Anne did not need another invitation. She stepped into his arms and Timothy carefully laid her down on the bed, covering her body with his as he kissed her.

  And what kisses. The passion was uncontrollable; he could not get enough of her it seemed, and Anne willingly welcomed each and every one, her body glorying in the pleasure, aching for more yet not knowing how to ask for it.

  But he knew. French letter found and secured, as Timothy entered her, Anne gasped at the shock, the pain and yet pleasure mingled together like notes of music that jarred with their sweetness.

  Timothy paused. “I am sorry, I know it––”

  “Love me,” Anne breathed. It was a plea for his heart as well as his body, though he would not know that, but she had to say it. “Love me, Timothy.”

  His lovemaking was gentle at first, and as Anne found the pleasure grow, her breath quickening and her moans growing, Timothy grew the pace that brought her slowly but inexorably to a peak she did not understand but willingly embraced, her hands on his shoulders and her legs in the air until––

  “Oh, Timothy!”

  It was unlike anything she had ever known, and perhaps would ever know again. As Timothy plunged into her, finding his own release, Anne looked at the man who had completely captured her heart.

  “Christ,” Timothy moaned as he fell beside her. “That was…that was…”

  “I know,” breathed Anne, clutching the bedclothes around her and wondering what on earth she had done. “I know.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  5 December 1812

  There was nothing like waking up with a woman in your arms. Timothy had almost forgotten what it. [words missing] The softness, the warmth. The sense that nothing could harm you, as long as you had her in your arms.

  It was a thin ray of sunlight that awoke him, but Timothy did not open his eyes. Not yet. He wanted to stay in this moment, this sense of peace and calm.

  It was only when Louise was in his arms that he felt this good, this safe, this…this sense of belonging. Her shoulder just below his mouth, waiting to be kissed, her back curved into his, her sweet buttocks pressed against his manhood.

  It was as though she had been made for him.

  They fit together perfectly. If only––

  Timothy’s eyes opened. His mind, heavy with sleep, had finally caught up. Louise?

  His gaze focused on the woman, utterly naked, curved into his. She felt different. Softer. More welcoming of his arm around her. The hair was different too. Red, not blonde.

  Heart racing, Timothy’s mind flew through the last few weeks, attempting to bring him up to date with all the nonsense he had poured out to…

  Anne Gilbert. The governess. The prim and proper, beautiful, no-nonsense governess.

  She was naked in his arms.

  Timothy smiled. My God, what an evening. She had been startlingly beautiful, even when he had first encountered her in London, but last night…

  Last night. The charade had come to completion at the ball––the dancing, the wine…

  Timothy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. Anne was still there, asleep in his arms, a smile on her lips.

  Anne. Timothy swallowed. He had offered her his bed, and she had taken it. Their lovemaking had been tender. His mind still whirling, attempting to piece together the evening, Timothy had absolutely no desire to let go of the beautiful woman in his arms.

  The beautiful, naked woman.

  God, he could feel himself going hard at the thought of what they had shared last night.

  Christ, he was in trouble. Anne Gilbert: the governess! He had never touched a servant before, never been tempted before––even if he had, he would never have crossed that line.

  Never before, until Anne. By God, there was something about her. Something that drove him wilder than he had ever been before. Wilder than Louise, even.

  “I am falling in love with you.”

  Timothy breathed out slowly, hoping it would not wake her from deep sleep.

  Anne Gilbert. There was not an inch of her that was not beautiful––something he could never have guessed, even after seeing her in petticoats with Madame Griffon. When had he stopped seeing her as a servant, and started seeing her as a woman: when she had appeared at the top of the stairs? When he had stolen that kiss in his study? Or outside her bedchamber when he had craved entrance?

  Timothy swallowed. No, he could not lie to himself. It was Anne's character which had transfixed him, far earlier than her beauty.

  Was it possible that he was forming a genuine attachment?

  You must never fall in love…[This is one of the Bureau’s rules. He has no reason to know it or think it]

  She was Frances’s governess. In all the charade, the training he had given so Anne Gilbert could transform into the Countess of Clarcton, he had lost sight of who she was!

  Of what she was. A servant. What did he think he was doing, taking advantage of a servant in this way? There she had been, pouring her heart out to him, and what had he done?

  Bedded her.

  Timothy closed his eyes. He knew better than this. He was not some foolish boy who had no control over his senses and no desire to do so. He was better than that; wasn’t he?

  His eyes snapped open. Christ in his heaven, did he…

  A quick glance around and the tension in his shoulders dissipated. A spent French letter. He had, at the very least, been careful in that regard. It was not he who would bear the disgrace if she…if Anne was with child. No, it would be her, and her alone.

  The last thing he wanted was a permanent reminder of this lapse of judgement. Shame would not find a home here, not with her and certainly not with him.

  As though sensing the intensity of his thoughts, Anne shifted in his arms, still entirely asleep. Timothy watched her, waiting to see if she would awaken.

  He hoped she would. It was surely for the best that they did not continue this mistake any longer. He should wake her, really, and send her to her own room to face the day with fortitude and a resolute heart.

  He did nothing. Fool that he was, Timothy thought wryly, he could not bring himself to untangle her from his arms.

  She belonged there. He could not explain it. It was…pleasant, having her there. There was something about this woman, something he could not put his finger on.

  Timothy had never considered himself to be an aloof person. He had grown up with his parents at a respectable distance, as all parents of their station, and servants who were respectful but just as distant.

  He had thought Louise…

  But he had been wrong. He had never felt more alone than with her, and then she was gone, and he had resigned himself to a quiet life.

  But Anne? He did not want to be without her. Whatever it was, this burgeoning feeling that had nothing to do with his body, he did not understand it.

  “I am falling in love with you.”

  Something quivered within him, something vulnerable he did not quite understand. Was it possible that despite the detachment he had attempted, the lies he had told, he had formed an attachment?

  Timothy swallowed. Perhaps… A curl of red hair had become tangled, flowing down her back. He was visited by the intense desire to kiss it, to taste her skin once again, but he refrained with difficulty.

  Whatever this was, these feelings he had, could they be controlled? Could he, in fact, play them to both of their advantages? Could this just continue as it was?

  A governess for Frances and a lover for himself?

  A live-in mistress. A woman always there, ready to please him.

  Yet Timothy would not be keeping Anne merely for the benefit of her body, great though that was. No, he liked her. More than that, he admired her. He warmed to her as to no one else. Whatever emotion this was, it was strong.

  Besides, Frances liked her. They liked each other.

  Was this what he wanted? Could he offer her such a thing––would she understand, or take offense at the suggestion that she was merely to be some sort of…scarlet woman?

  Something twisted in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was for harm to come to her. His actions looked rash now in the clear light of day. What if she had been discovered as his false countess?

  Anne breathed heavily in her sleep and Timothy smiled. There was something about this woman. What he had felt for others…that had been––lust, or madness, or something in between. Something he had not understood, which had taken a hold of him.

  But with Anne…

  Something about her had grabbed hold but the touch was gentle. Loving.

  “I am falling in love with you.”

  A bizarre desire rose in his heart as a thought occurred to him: marry her…

  It was madness. Making her position in his home permanent would give him access to her bed, that was true, but he could never marry her. A governess?

  Timothy swallowed. Besides, he had hardly been honest, even after the charade she had pulled for him.

  One day he would tell her the truth, the whole truth. One day she may find out. He trusted Mrs. Seton and all the staff, but there was no knowing what could slip out during an unguarded moment…

  Then, and only then, he would know whether he could trust her––truly trust her with some of the biggest secrets of his life.

  Then he would know whether there was a future for the two of them. [he’d better already know he can trust her…]

  Anne moved in her sleep, turning to face him, and Timothy found himself looking into the face of a woman who had been both lover and anchor for him over the last few weeks.

  His body responded, as he knew it would. It was impossible to prevent it; he was only human after all, and the gentle curve of her shoulder promised greater delights if he allowed his gaze to move lower…

  Timothy’s jaw tightened. He could not stay this close to her, not unless he was about to do something he would surely regret.

  In the light of the morning, Anne may find herself regretting what had occurred between them. He had made no promises, been careful not to do so, but she had admitted far more of her feelings in her exhausted state than surely she had wished to.

  Best she was alone when she awoke. It would give her time to gather her thoughts.

  Gently easing himself from her, Timothy slipped out of the bed without waking her. Anne merely pulled the bedcovers closer, feeling the absence of his warmth.

  Grabbing his scattered clothes from where they had dropped in the early hours, Timothy stepped silently to his dressing room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

  “Ah, my lord.”

  Timothy jumped, heart almost lurching out his chest as his valet smiled.

  “I thought you would sleep in a little longer, my lord, and so I took the liberty of tidying some drawers,” said Cecil smoothly. “Without disturbing you, I hope.”

  Timothy nodded, swallowing to rid his mouth of the sudden dryness. He had to speak. By God, he knew it would all come out eventually, but the last thing Anne needed was the entire servants’ hall buzzing with the gossip.

  “You did not see anything,” he said, voice hoarse.

  The valet frowned as he handed two waistcoats to his master. “I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord.”

  And Timothy almost believed him, if not for the knowing smile that creased his servant’s face for a fraction of a second.

  “May I suggest the blue, if you are greeting anyone today?” added Cecil.

  Timothy blinked. “The what?”

  The valet indicated the waistcoats he had just handed him. “Waistcoats, my lord. Are you visiting today, or accepting visitors? Or perhaps, recovering from last night’s festivities?”

  What he really wanted to do, Timothy realized, was dismiss the man, turn around, and make passionate love to his daughter’s governess.

  Damn and blast, what had she done to him?

  “I think I will ride first,” he said aloud. “Some fresh air.”

  Cecil nodded. “In that case…”

  It took almost twenty minutes, Timothy would have guessed, for Cecil to dress him in his finest riding habit, and another five for his boots to be pulled on.

  “Fresh air,” said the valet with a smile. “Always good for the body.”

  Timothy nodded. “And for the mind, which is what I think necessary. Good morning, Cecil.”

  He had stepped towards the door before his servant’s words stopped him in his tracks.

  “No, my lord.”

  Timothy turned. “You do not think it is a good morning?”

  His valet smiled. “I do not think it is morning, my lord.”

  The stables were bustling as Timothy reached them, and he was forced to cut a conversation short as servants clamored to receive praise for the successful Christmas ball.

  “Yes, as I said, very ably managed,” he said to one of the footmen kindly, who was enumerating the great difficulty he and a few others had in organizing the coaches while the dancing was going on. “But I really came down here to ride, Poll, so if you will excuse me…”

  Thank God Gordon knew him better than that. The stable master had Admiral already saddled, and grinned at the master of the house as he mounted.

  “You get out of here, my lord,” he said in a low voice. “You look as though you’re in need of the best company.”

  Timothy smiled. “My own, I suppose?”

  The old man shook his head with a wry smile. “Why, Mother Nature, m’lord. Best company in the world.”

  Gordon was not wrong. As Timothy encouraged Admiral into a gallop, wind rushing through his hair, there was something of a renewing in his spirit.

  This was his land. He was its earl, and there had been Clarctons here for at least three hundred years. He had a duty to it, and the people who lived here, and that meant one thing.

  Heirs.

  Timothy slowed Admiral to a gentle trot as he approached the pine forests towards the lake. He had seen people’s disappointment when Frances had arrived and not been a boy.

  He had felt treacherous relief. Not a son. Well, at the very least that would prevent him from compromising his principles when the child came of age. With a son, he would have had to make a terrible decision…

  But there were no Clarcton sons. Timothy’s fingers tightened on the reins. Louise was dead, and he needed to marry and have sons.

  Why not Anne?

  The thought had flittered in and out of his head before he could interrogate it, leaving him with a dazed feeling, as though he had been whacked over the head with a cricket ball.

  Why not indeed? If one was only looking for a vessel with which to bear children, Anne was as good as the next woman. But he wanted more than that, always had. Anne was more than that. She was vivacious, clever, far cleverer than he had initially given her credit for.

  And she was a good governess to Frances, wasn’t she? Why not mother?

  Timothy knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. As he and Admiral approached the lake, he could still feel Anne’s touch on his chest, the way she had reached for him as she met her climax, as the desperate need to be close to him had overwhelmed her.

  His own body vibrated with the memory. She was…she was a distraction. He could not permit himself to be so overtaken by the temptation.

  A temptation he should have resisted last night.

  “Ah, my lord!”

  Timothy looked up, lost in his thoughts, and saw Miss Merriweather. Slowing Admiral, he thought bitterly if he had been five minutes quicker––or slower––he would have missed her.

  It would be churlish to ignore her now, so he waited for Miss Merriweather to approach.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you would be out here today,” she gave as a greeting, pulling up her mount just a few feet from his own steed.

  Timothy smiled mechanically. “Really, Miss Merriweather? Why?”

  Miss Merriweather smiled, too, but it was different from normal. As though all the warmth had been taken from it. “I expected you to be up quite late last night. For the ball.”

  It was strange indeed, her morose tone under that smile. What did she mean by it?

  It was only when she spoke again that Timothy understood.

  “Now I have met your countess, and…and what a woman she is,” said Miss Merriweather in what she evidently thought was a light note. “I can see why you have been so loyal to her, though she was away for so long. She is quite a woman.”

  Timothy smiled. Well, it was precisely what he wished to occur, wasn’t it? He wanted the misses of society to leave him alone, consider him off-limits due to his wife.

  Anne had played her part to perfection. Perhaps too well.

  Miss Merriweather, at least, was evidently convinced. “I saw the way you looked at her, my lord. I am not one to come between two people who love each other.”

  Timothy’s smile faded. He had not been acting. What had Miss Merriweather seen?

  “Yes,” he said, more for something to say. “My wife is truly remarkable.”

  Miss Merriweather nodded, her horse stepping to the side out of nervousness and her hand moving down to pat her horse’s neck comfortingly. “I still do not quite understand why she was away so long, but now she is back, you must be overjoyed.”

  Timothy’s mind slipped back to his bedchamber, where a naked Anne slept. “Yes.”

  God, if everyone knew the truth; if they realized the countess they had all been so impressed with was merely a governess, a woman he had picked up in London who bore a remarkable resemblance to the woman they had met once a few years ago…

  He would never live it down.

  “The countess is a special woman,” he said to fill the silence.

  It was rather odd, describing her as ‘the countess,’ and not using her name. Anne Gilbert. He had wished for a governess with discretion, and by God, he had got it––and more.

  But the secret had to stay with them. There was no possibility that he would ever admit it, and certainly not to Miss Merriweather, who was known throughout Clarcton as a lover of gossip.