July 15, 1819, Hartfield Hall, Sussex
Dearest Diary,
It has been some weeks since I last made an entry, for as you know, my life as a governess at Hartfield Hall these last six months has been hitherto relatively uneventful. My young charges, Miss Lavinia and Miss Kitty continue to be a delight to teach and their mother, the dowager Lady Barsby, is a fair enough mistress—as long as I do not cross her in particular matters related to her daughters’ behavior and appearance (rather than anything to do with their lessons). But heavens, how everything has changed within the space of a day…
And all because the master of Hartfield, Sir Nicholas Barsby has returned from his year long sojourn on the Continent.
I blush every time I recall our first meeting yesterday—the way he came upon me at the stile with my skirts all caught about my waist. I’d been returning from a visit to Hedgecombe (as well as escaping a most unwanted encounter with the vicar, Mr. Wentworth, but I shall relate the details of that particular incident another time, Dear Diary) when our paths crossed, or should I say, collided. Every time I recall the moment his wicked rake’s gaze wandered over my naked lower half, I feel like I could die of mortification. And then he insisted I share his mount back to the Hall. I would never have done so but for the fact a terrible storm had descended upon us and I feared for my safety.
Indeed, I feel as if the storm has not yet dissipated as I am still at sixes and sevens whenever I think of Sir Nicholas. Or see him. He is the most handsome, charismatic man I have ever encountered. As you know, Dearest Diary, Harry Blake, the footman at my last place of employment was also very attractive, and his mischievous smile certainly turned my head two years ago. But even though I swore to myself that I would never, ever again have intimate relations with a man who wasn’t my husband, I fear that I may break my vow when it comes to Sir Nicholas.
Oh, my goodness. When he looks at me with those dark blue eyes of his and smiles, or cocks a dark eyebrow, my knees turn to water and my heart flips over. I cannot, for the life of me, stop thinking about him and all the wicked things we could do together. It hasn’t helped matters at all that he has already bestowed unexpected and indeed, undeserved privileges upon me; after our ride through the storm, he insisted a bath be prepared for me and I was allocated another bedchamber (closer to his but I really shouldn’t think about that). And then he insisted on replacing all of the items I lost during our hair-raising ride on his horse—all of my purchases from Hedgecombe village, and all of my clothing which was ruined. I strongly suspect he desires me and that his apparent noblesse oblige is nothing more than a ploy to seduce me.
The worst part is, the wicked, wanton part of me that I cannot seem to contain, wants Sir Nicholas too. And if he continues to wield his arsenal of rakish charms, I fear that I will not have the strength to resist him…
Would that I were a passionless, docile creature, content to tread along the sensible path that all women of my station should follow! My life would be much easier. And safer.
Until next time, my only trustworthy Confidante,
Abigail Adams
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An Improper Governess is the second instalment in Amy Rose Bennett’s Improper Liaisons Novella series. It is an erotic Regency romance that can easily be read as a standalone title.
Lusting after one’s employer is certainly not the done thing when you are a governess. But Miss Abigail Adams cannot seem to help herself…
Abigail Adams, the resident governess of Hartfield Hall, might appear to be a very proper young woman, yet she secretly yearns for excitement to brighten her mundane life. And what she does want, she really shouldn’t long for—Sir Nicholas Barsby, the indecently handsome, charismatic master of Hartfield.
Sir Nicholas Barsby returns home from a tour of the Continent to discover his widowed sister-in-law has employed a decidedly delectable governess for his nieces. When it becomes blatantly apparent that the attraction is mutual, Nicholas ruthlessly decides to present Miss Adams with a thoroughly wicked proposal.
Abigail is initially shocked by Sir Nicholas’s outrageous and highly improper offer to become his mistress. Having wanton thoughts about a man is undoubtedly sinful but leading the life of a fallen woman is something else entirely. Nevertheless, falling into Sir Nicholas’s arms might just prove to be an invitation too tempting for Abigail to ignore. One thing is clear, whether she’s a governess or mistress, she must not lose her heart…
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An excerpt from An Improper Governess featuring the unconventional first-meet of Miss Abigail Adams and Sir Nicholas Barsby…
By the time she reached the stile, Abigail was gasping like a landed carp. As she gathered her skirts preparing to climb over, thunder clapped so close, she shrieked. A bright bolt of lightning lit the air around her and she swore she could feel her hair stand on end. Ignoring all dictates of decorum, she hoisted her skirts even higher and clambered up and over the rough wooden steps. However, as she jumped down, the muslin snagged on something and she found she was tethered like a nanny goat, her skirts caught up about her waist.
“Damn!” Without thought, the coarse expletive escaped her. Not only was she about to get caught in a storm she’d probably ruined her best day gown. Could this day get any worse?
“Damn indeed.”
It seemed it could.
Abigail whipped her head around and found herself staring up into the face of the most handsome man she had ever seen. Raven-haired with slashing brows and chiseled features, he sat astride a glossy black gelding with the confidence of a knight-errant, but alas, not the gallantry. As his deep blue eyes raked over her naked thighs and lower to her stockings, his expression was a mixture of sardonic amusement and a darker, heavier emotion she had no trouble recognizing at all—male lust.
“May I be of assistance, dear lady?” he asked, his voice a rich rumbling purr.
Abigail’s face burned as she attempted to wrench her dress and fine cambric petticoats down all by herself. The distinct rip of fabric tearing made her wince. “You might avert your gaze, sir,” she snapped as hot outrage and mortification made her sound more like a harpy than a damsel in distress.
“Yes, I might. But then, that would not be of much help to you now, would it?” Before Abigail could even think to protest further, the ill-mannered stranger slid from his mount and within moments, had released the stubborn snag.
“There,” he said with a wide smile that was probably supposed to be rakishly appealing. “The fair maiden is free.”
“I could have managed on my own,” she retorted. She wasn’t going to thank the man, not when he’d been eyeing her lower body like a hungry beast of prey sizing up its next meal. Dear God, I hope he did not see my bottom, or worse, my—
Another crack of thunder made her start and the man glanced at the menacing sky. Lightning streaked above the dense copse of trees hiding Hartfield Hall from view. As he mounted his restive horse, a sharp gust caught his black traveling cloak and it flapped about him like the dark wings of a fallen angel. Perhaps even Lucifer himself. “Where are you going, Miss…?” he asked, his compelling blue gaze locking with hers again. “I really don’t think you should be wandering about the countryside in this tempest. In fact, it would be quite foolish if not altogether mad. I must insist you come with me.” He held out his gloved hand.
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Amy Rose Bennett is one of the Bluestocking Belles. You can find out more about Amy, her books, and where you can find her on social media by clicking on the links right here!
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