Read Online An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 by Amy Rose Bennett - Free Book Online

voice.
    Concern flickered across Bessie’s face, however, she simply curtsied and took her leave.
    By the time Abigail reached the drawing room, she was a mass of quivering nerves. Her hand trembled as she placed it on the smooth oak panel of the door; it was ajar but she hesitated to push it open.
    Courage, Abigail Adams. You will go and live with Aunt Meredith and Aunt Euphemia for a while. You will find another situation. This is not the end of the world.
    So why did it feel like it?
    Lifting her chin and drawing in a steadying breath, Abigail entered the room. Sir Nicholas stood by one of the enormous mullion-paned casement windows that afforded a view of the lake; his hands behind his back, he appeared to be contemplating the scene below. His charcoal grey tailcoat emphasized rather than disguised the taut line of his wide shoulders. His face, in profile, was tight with tension. A muscle ticked in his lean jaw.
    He looked aloof. Forbidding. Not at all like the rampantly beautiful man who’d been lost to passion only a short time ago.
    Despite her agitated state, Abigail blushed at the memory. Of him. And of what she had done.
    Her gaze flitted to the arrangement of lavishly upholstered chairs before the fireplace. A tea service, silver coffee pot, and several plates of food—small pastries, sandwiches and cakes—had been set up on a low, intricately carved oak table in the center. She frowned. How odd...
    “Ah, Miss Adams. There you are.”
    Abigail started then dropped into a sedate curtsy, her head bowed. Unable to meet Sir Nicholas’s gaze, she focused on a knot in the wooden floorboard at her feet. Her mouth as dry as the Sahara, she had to swallow and clear her throat before she could speak. “You wanted to see me, sir.”
    “Yes... After you’ve shut the door, I want you to take a seat. There are certain matters we need to discuss. Private matters.”
    “Yes, sir.” Private was an understatement. Even though she was confused by her employer’s conciliatory manner—she’d hardly expected an invitation to sit—Abigail fulfilled his first request and closed the door.
    When she approached the chairs, Sir Nicholas further surprised her by asking if she would like some tea or coffee, or something to eat. “I suspect you missed the servants’ dining hour,” he said. Whilst his statement was matter-of-fact, his voice was also laced with something else softer, gentler. Perhaps he had noticed that she had been crying. But she dare not think he felt the slightest bit of concern for her.
    His query—whilst unexpected—also reminded Abigail of why she’d missed her last meal and her face flamed with mortification yet again. “I d-did,” she stammered, “but I... I don’t really want... Thank you, but no.” Her knees felt as insubstantial as water and she sank onto the nearest shepherdess chair. She couldn’t stomach anything right at this moment but she didn’t want to sound ungracious so she added, “I would be happy to serve you, sir.”
    Sir Nicholas took a leather wingback chair opposite her. “If you’d be so kind. I prefer coffee. Black, no sugar.”
    “Of course.” With shaking hands, Abigail reached for the coffee pot. This situation was truly bizarre and not at all what she’d anticipated. When she chanced a glance at Sir Nicholas from beneath her eyelashes, he didn’t seem as perturbed or angry as she’d initially thought. He sat easily enough in his chair. Indeed he almost lounged in it. One long finger stroked his temple as he watched her, his expression pensive.
    Abigail gulped. What on earth was he thinking? Waiting for the proverbial axe to fall was pure torture.
    Somehow she poured Sir Nicholas’s coffee without spilling any. He received it with a murmured thanks, took one sip, then another before placing the cup and saucer on the elegant occasional table beside his chair with a decided click. And then he pinned her with a long, penetrating stare.
    It was an assessing look. A