Kissed at Midnight Read online

  Not after that kiss.

  He stepped onto the road to avoid a group of several well-dressed ladies and a harassed-looking gentleman before skipping back onto the pavement. That damned kiss. What had he been thinking? Now he couldn’t look at her without remembering the taste of her on his lips. At night, he longed to feel her warm skin against his. Most mornings, he woke hard and hot and heavy, desperate with the need to be buried deep inside her. She accused him of ignoring them, but it was for her protection. If he didn’t, he was not sure what he might do.

  When he returned to the house, he found them both in the drawing room. Bundled in Ivy’s arm, the child looked hot and her skin shone with perspiration. She no longer cried, but that concerned August more than when she had been screaming. Ivy stood by the window and had clearly been looking out for him.

  “Thank goodness.” She peered around him. “The doctor isn’t with you?”

  “No, he’s doing house calls at present. He shall be here after lunch.”

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “But that’s another three hours.”

  “I know.”

  Ivy paced across the floor several times in front of the window. At this rate she’d wear a hole in the carpet. He understood her unease, felt it himself, yet how many times had he dealt with stressful situations? Tens, no, hundreds of times. None felt quite like this though.

  “Will you not sit?”

  She glanced at the chair as if it was some foreign object. Tension riddled her body—he saw it in the firm line of her shoulders and the set of her mouth. Did he really believe her to be incapable of looking after Elsie properly? August couldn’t be sure. She clearly felt something for the child, but did that mean she could care for her as a mother would?

  After several moments, she sat. He reached for the bell pull and thought twice about it. Jamieson would take an eternity and it would give him something to do. “I shall fetch some tea.”

  Nodding distractedly, she didn’t glance his way. He longed to go to her and tell her all would be well but he did not know if it would, and why should he be comforting the governess? It was hardly the sort of thing an employer would do.

  As far as he was concerned, most governesses where shut away in a room somewhere to care for and teach the children and were hardly seen. His relationship with Ivy grew more and more unusual by the day.

  August strode to the rear of the house and down the steps to the kitchens. Mrs Cartwright’s ear-piercing humming drifted from the laundry room and Jamieson was nowhere to be seen. He strongly suspected the old man was taking a nap. He patted his jacket and cursed under his breath. Damn them all. Would none of his staff do their jobs properly? What was the point in hiring them?

  He boiled a pot of water on the stove and set about arranging a tray while the kettle heated. Two cups, sugar, tea leaves in the pot. He’d been quite content with the way his house ran until Ivy turned up. He hardly needed anyone pander to him, and as grumpy as Mrs Cartwright was and as slow as Jamieson could be, they left him alone to work and kept the house clean and him well-fed.

  But Ivy... Ivy didn’t leave him alone. Even when she did. Her sultry voice remained with him wherever he went and the taste of her lingered on his tongue. He gripped the handle of a cup and released his hold when he realised the fragile china was on the verge of breaking.

  He eyed the floral print against his work-roughened, ink-stained fingers. The cup—like Ivy—was innocent, beautiful, fragile. So easily destroyed. He could push his advantage, he just knew it, and she’d accept him.

  Pouring the water into the teapot, he carried the tray back upstairs. When he reached the drawing room, he heard her voice drifting from the room. It brought him back to the first days of her living in his home. He’d wanted her then too really but not with such a deep ache. This agony clawed at his gut. He disgusted himself. Elsie was ill and Ivy was an innocent. His thoughts could not be more inappropriate.

  August turned his back to the door to push it open and the singing stopped abruptly. He placed the tray on the table next to the chair and sat opposite her.

  “You don’t need to stop singing because of me. Elsie likes it,” he commented as he poured tea for them both. “Be sure to have plenty of sugar. You look a little pale.”

  She slipped a shy glance at him. “I cannot.”

  “Cannot have sugar?”

  “Sing in front of you.”

  “Why ever not? You have a fine voice.”

  Ivy lifted her shoulders. “I’m not sure.” Her lips twitched. “Perhaps you intimidate me.”

  His own lips curved in response. Apparently he couldn’t control them any more than he could control his desires. “I don’t see you being intimidated by anyone.”

  “Oh, it does happen, sir...I mean, August. Besides which, I think you do a fine job of appearing intimidating.”

  Letting a brow rise, he eyed her. Did he? He wasn’t sure it was intentional. He liked things done a certain way and was used to being in charge of everything. Things ran better that way. But did that make him intimidating?

  “I don’t intend to intimidate,” he said stiffly.

  “Then perhaps you should work on that.”

  “No one has ever called me intimidating.”

  “No one dared, I’d wager.”

  Elsie released a little mumble and Ivy cast a worried glance her way. She hushed her, pressing a hand to her warm cheek. August came to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  He couldn’t help himself. He needed to reassure her. Worry ate into his gut for Elsie but at the same time, he had the urge to wrap his arms around Ivy and let her know everything would be well. It might not be, but she seemed so small and vulnerable suddenly, he had to reassure her.

  “Everything will be well,” he told her.

  When she glanced up at him, he saw trust in her gaze. It fisted around his heart and entangled him with her further. She offered him a tender smile and he feared that was it, he was lost.

  Lost to the bloody governess. What a bloody mess he was in.

  Chapter Ten

  August’s grim expression as he saw the doctor out sent her heart plummeting to her toes. Elsie had to be very sick indeed if the thin line of his mouth was anything to go by. The child was sleeping after being checked over by the doctor but Ivy had the urge to run upstairs, scoop her up and press her fiercely to her chest. Poor, innocent child. First her parents dead and now this. Life was so unfair.

  The door shut, August drew in an audible breath and faced her. He folded his arms and looked so very... intimidating. Had she not told him he needed to stop looking like that?

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice sounding fragile to her ears.

  “Teething.”

  Ivy gaped at him for several heartbeats. “Pardon?”

  “Bloody teething.” He slashed a hand through his hair. “All that worry and for what? Her teeth are coming through and that sometimes gives them a temperature and red cheeks.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  His jaw twitched. “You would have known this had you had any proper experience with children.”

  She jerked from the way the words were shot at her, feeling as though she had been struck by arrows. “I...”

  He was right. She knew little about children, particularly babies. But that didn’t mean she was bad at her job. She cared for Elsie—maybe more than cared—and she worked her hardest to ensure the child was looked after. Drawing up her shoulders, she met his heated glare.

  “I told you I was a governess not a nursemaid. You knew this when you offered me the job.”

  “You should not have taken it if you were not confident you could do it.”

  “I needed a job and I think I’ve done it well. Has she come to harm? No. I would never have accepted if I thought I could do some damage.”

  “Damn it, Mrs Pepperwhite was right...”

  “Mrs Pepperwhite?” Anger boiled in her veins at the mention of that wom
an’s name. Her dismissive attitude to her and the way she insinuated some interest in August still riled her.

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Elsie needs a mother, not a governess.”

  Arms folded under her breasts, she narrowed her gaze at him. “Well, you had better go and find yourself a wife then, had you not?”

  His gaze narrowed too and he peered down his nose at her. “Perhaps I will.”

  “Good. I wasn’t going to do this job forever, you know? I have ambitions too, I have a life I want to live. I certainly never intended to work for a grouchy, miserable man for the rest of my life.”

  The words were out before she’d thought about them. She wasn’t sure what she meant and what she did not. He hardly gave her time to regret them when he took a step closer.

  “Ambitions? What ambitions?”

  “I...” Should she tell him? If she did, he might think her a whore or a woman of lose morals. But at present, she did not much care. “I wish to be a singer.” Chin lifted, she stared him down and waited for the dismissive smirk or the horror to edge into his blue eyes.

  His expression remained stony. “A singer. Indeed. Well, I wish you good luck. If you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do and I have wasted much of my day. The doctor said a little whisky on the gums and in Elsie’s milk should do the trick. Just a drop mind.”

  With that he left and though he closed the door slowly, the slight clunk rattled through her.

  It was as though someone had put a pin in her and she had deflated. Where were his angry declarations or exclamations of disgust? Almost everyone she knew had expressed utter horror at her ambitions. But August didn’t seem to care.

  He didn’t care about her enough to care what she did with her future. What a fool she was. She had begun to invest her emotions in this man for some strange reason and it had all been for nothing.

  She sighed and stared out of the window. Silly her for caring what he thought. Carriages trundled past and a man in a tall hat strolled across the street, swinging his cane as he went. But Ivy barely saw it. She offered a small smile to her reflection in the glass. At least she didn’t have to worry about leaving Elsie. If August found a wife, she would be in good hands. Ivy only hoped he didn’t marry Mrs Pepperwhite. The woman really was quite... well, quite the vile creature in truth.

  Turning away from her reflection, she headed upstairs, grateful not to run into August in the hallway. When she entered the nursery, she heard Elsie’s slow breaths and warmth stirred in her chest. She stood watching her for many minutes, eyeing the smooth curve of her cheek and the way her tiny fingers flexed in sleep. Ivy had never really considered how sweet babies could be, but Elsie really was a pretty little thing. It was hard not to feel attached to her when the child never hesitated to burrow her head against her and smile when she saw her in the morning.

  Ivy settled in the chair next to the cot. Her skirts scrunched against the padding and she cringed, fearing it would wake Elsie, but the child slept on. She didn’t really need to watch over her but what else could she do? She hardly felt comfortable sitting in the drawing room now for fear of seeing August.

  Fingers to her temples, she rubbed them. She should be grateful she had not been let go, she supposed. Not many masters would tolerate a governess with such a bold tongue. Sometimes she wished she knew better how to control it.

  ***

  A soft touch to her hand woke her. She rolled her head to one side and peered blearily at the face in front of her. She jolted upright.

  “Oh dear, forgive me.” She went to stand to check on Elsie, when August pressed her back down with a gentle touch to her arm.

  “She’s fine. She’s still sleeping.”

  Ivy looked up at August, taking in his slightly mussed state. Gone were his necktie and jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows. It gave her a fine view of his strong forearms and a little flesh was visible at the collar of his shirt. A hint of dark hair reminded her of the night she’d seen him almost naked. A warm sensation like the flow of alcohol rushed through her.

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “You’ve had a tiring day.”

  She tried to focus on the clock on the mantelpiece but it had to be early evening as the room was growing dark, and only one oil lamp was lit in the corner.

  “What time is it?” Her voice sounded gritty and her head felt just as thick from sleep.

  “Just past six o’clock.”

  “I missed supper?”

  He drew a chair over and sat next to her. “We both did. Mrs Cartwright isn’t very impressed.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I believe she kept the ham for sandwiches. I’ll have her plate something up for us later.”

  Ivy nodded slowly. Why was he being so nice to her? She had caused him so much worry and strain, then thrown the job he’d offered her in his face.

  A hand to her mouth, she suppressed a yawn. When she returned her hand to the arm of the chair, she found he’d leaned across and put his hand to the wood. Her palm connected with the outside of his hand and when she went to draw it away, he snatched her fingers. The rough warmth sent a surge of instant comfort through her that barely smothered the accompanying thrill.

  August enclosed her fingers in his and leaned across to eye her intently. “I did not mean to be angry with you earlier.”

  A little breathless from his touch, Ivy stared back. In the dim light, the lines on his forehead were stark, lending him a slightly harassed look. She longed to reach over and smooth those lines, but more than that, she wanted to press her lips to them and soothe away his worries. She hadn’t done a terribly good job of easing his stresses so far. Instead she had added to them by not understanding what was wrong with Elsie.

  “You were right,” she said softly. “I do not know enough about babies.”

  “And you were right. I knew of your lack of experience but I still expected you to take on the role without instruction.” A gleam entered his gaze and those lips that were so often in a firm line curled upwards just marginally. “You are quite the creature, Ivy. You took to it so very well.”

  Ivy glanced at the crib. “It’s not been easy but she is a dear little thing.”

  He followed her gaze. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

  “Will you really look for a wife?” she asked, the question spilling from her before she’d thought about it.

  He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose I should. I haven’t paid much mind to marrying but Elsie needs a mother, needs things I can’t give her.”

  “You give her much.”

  He gave her a frank look. “I’m hardly a paragon of fatherhood.”

  Aware she likely looked like a star-struck child, she shook her head. “I think you’ve done wonderfully. Few men would take on another’s child alone. Had she been left with anyone else, Elsie would have been abandoned in an orphanage.”

  The thought of the helpless child left alone with no love or affection made her heart squeeze. She was mightily glad August had decided to keep and care for her. He might be busy with work and not overly affectionate, but she saw some love in him for the child. If he didn’t care for her, he would not have been so concerned for her health.

  She suspected August had some hidden depths to him. Perhaps he could even become an affectionate father if he allowed himself or... or if the right woman helped him.

  Her heart squeezed again at that thought—the image of a perfect family. A beautiful blonde lady holding onto August’s arm as a young Elsie held his hand. Moments shared that Ivy would never experience. Once she found success in the music world, a family would be far out of her reach for what man would want to marry an ambitious singer and have a life with a woman who could not offer the time to motherhood?

  She studied his profile as he gazed at the crib. A sigh worked its way out of her throat.

  So handsome.

  Even with the lines on his forehead and the slight shadows under his eyes,
his firm jaw and lips called to her. Her fingers twitched with the desire to skip them down his profile and press them against the warmth of his mouth.

  “I’d hoped my cousin in America might come and look after her, but I’ve yet to hear from her.”

  “I see.”

  So even if he did not find a wife, this cousin might come back and replace her after all. It was perfect really. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty when she found a singing job, when she became a singing star. Oh, why did her heart feel as heavy as a sack full of coal?

  “And then you can pursue singing,” he said with a tight smile.

  “Yes, I suppose I can.”

  His blue eyes were unreadable. They searched her gaze through the gloom for something. Whatever it was, she wanted to offer it to him. More than anything she wanted to give something to this hard-working, beautiful man.

  Take it all, whatever it is, she wanted to say. For the first time in her life, her ambitions did not seem at the forefront of her mind. It was the oddest sensation.

  August broke away first, loosening his hold on her hand before standing. Ivy shook her head at her thoughts. All of them were folly, even if she fully understood them. What could a man like August Avery need from a woman like her?

  “You should come and eat.”

  She stood and smoothed her hand down her skirts. “I’m not all that hungry.” Confusion had stolen any appetite she might have.

  Concern flickered in his gaze. “You must eat, Ivy.”

  The thought of sitting alone in the kitchen with a plate of cold ham didn’t appeal, so she shook her head firmly. “I think I’ll just get some rest.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “As you will.”

  She turned to the door adjoining her bedroom to Elsie’s and was forced to a stop by his hand curling around her wrist. Wide-eyed, she twisted to stare up at him.

  “I would like it if you would join me for something to eat.”

  Ivy opened her mouth but no sound came out. Apparently her voice had vanished. A foolish squeak of sound forced its way out. Then he used his hold on her wrist to draw her closer. This time only heavy breaths rasped in her throat. How foolish she must seem.