The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(77)

And then the sunlight caught her hair and he’d had to stop her, to catch the image before it faded. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was enchanting…

He shouldn’t have kissed her, of course. That was hardly gentlemanly, however chaste the embrace. She’d just looked so lonely and sad and confoundedly sweet that he’d acted on instinct—which generally turned out badly for him. But she hadn’t thrown a fit of the vapors, and her lips had been deliciously soft…

Vaguely aware of people greeting him in the street as he strode through town, he merely lifted one hand in response, for he could not stop.

He lived in a small cottage by the shore, and as he turned onto the front road leading to it, he caught sight of Rivers, the bum-bailiff hastening up the street toward him. With aplomb, Tamar darted into the nearest cottage doorway.

Fortunately, the door was open.

“Sorry,” he muttered, diving inside.

The gentleman known as Smuggler Jack, nodded amiably at him from the table in the middle of the room, where he seemed to be mending a fishing net. “Law after you?”

“Bailiff. Wants money or intends to haul me off to debtors’ prison. Not sure which would make him happier.”

Jack rose to his feet and ambled to the door, where he inhaled deeply and stretched. “He’s been hanging around all day, sitting on your front step.” He glanced up and down the road. “He’s heading up toward the tavern now.”

“Thanks, Jack. I owe you.”

“Any time.”

Tamar clapped him on the back and stepped past him into the road. Then he strode on toward his own cottage, which he called his studio.

Entering, he carefully locked the door behind him, but he was reluctant to close the shutters and block out the light. Hopefully, Rivers had gone for the day.

Tamar threw his coat on the floor and set up his easel among the mess. He propped the canvas up on it and gazed at Serena’s beautiful hair in the dappled sunlight, shining and pretty. He had caught the color of the light, which had been his most urgent concern. Now he could finish it at his leisure.

Bending, he took the sketch book from his satchel and examined the hasty pencil sketch of her face. He could do a pair, Serena the un-serene beauty, front and back.

Smiling, he fetched more paint and began to mix.





Chapter Two





“I don’t often get the chance to kiss the women I really want to paint.” How many women, exactly, did he kiss—or want to kiss!

Even lying in bed, several hours later, she could still feel the soft pressure of his lips on hers. The kiss made her glad and tingly all over, and she really, really didn’t want to imagine she was one of many. She refused to be one of many. Which was why she had to pull herself together. If she ever encountered him again, she had to be distant enough to repel such familiarity. He would be a fun friend—if she could keep him secret from the household. A friend who neither took nor received the liberty he had today.

She should be angry with him. She would be, she thought, if he’d actually known who she was. He probably imagined her to be some maid, or perhaps the governess, which didn’t entitle him to liberties either, of course. But even the most rakish of gentlemen would think twice about offending the Earl of Braithwaite. And truly, she hadn’t given him much reason to doubt that his kiss would be acceptable.

Oh dear, he would think her a lightskirt! Although not perfectly sure what such a female did, she was sure it entailed granting kisses to strangers, and it was assuredly not a good thing to be.

Boredom, it seemed, was doing terrible things to her. Why did her mother and brother not realize this would happen? After all, it was boredom that had led to her flirting with Dax in the first place. How much more bored was she likely to get being stuck up here with nothing to do but distract the children from their lessons and placate Miss Grey with Cook’s treats from the kitchen?

In any case, when she met the artist again—if she met him again—in the orchard or anywhere else, dignified friendliness was the attitude she should aim for. And she had to tell him exactly who she was.

Her mind made up, she closed her eyes once more and found herself remembering his kiss. Which was a rather lovely way to fall asleep.

She woke with a thud, unsure if what she’d heard had been in her dream or in reality, or even if it was just the beat of her own heart.

But then she heard movement outside, a rolling, scraping sound in the old courtyard below her window. Hastily, she rose and felt her way to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain.

It was another clear night, the moon and stars illuminating the scene below like a vignette in a book. Two men and a barrel.

Smugglers. Hardly a rare sight around Blackhaven. Serena was aware they used Braithwaite Cove below the castle to land their contraband, though these days they generally only did it when the family was not in residence. She was fairly sure her brother received a generous amount of French brandy for his discretion, and he certainly wasn’t the only one in Blackhaven. Even the knowledge that many smugglers were now in the pay of the French didn’t stop the trade altogether.

What did surprise her was that they should have brought their goods this far up to the castle. In the old days, a keg or two of brandy was left on the beach below, or at the castle gates. It wasn’t right that they should treat her family’s home as their contraband store, however seldom any of the family were in residence these days. She should have a word with them…Gillie’s friend, Smuggler Jack, perhaps. Or her brother Bernard would surely know what was going on.