The Wanton Governess. Barbara Monajem

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      The Wanton Governess

      Barbara Monajem

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Sussex, 1801

      Governess Pompeia Grant thinks pretending to be Sir James Carling’s wife as a favor to his sister will be harmless. She is haunted by his rejection of her youthful advances, but she’s desperate for a place to stay after losing her last post.

      When James unexpectedly returns home from America, she assumes the game is up—until James encourages her to stay, and enjoy the pleasurable consequences of their charade.

      Author Note

      I’m a big fan of stories about Love at First Sight—the magic between two people who know, from the moment they meet, that they belong together.

      I also love stories about Second Chances—about finding out that in the end, fairy tales really do come true.

      This story is about Love at First Sight getting its Second Chance. I hope you enjoy it.

      The muses were on holiday when I wrote this story. Instead, the credit goes to the Wanton Within, who inspired it, and to my editor, Carly Corcoran, who guided me patiently through writing it. Thank you both!

      Contents

      Begin Reading

      Sussex, 1801

      Sir James Carling arrived in England after three years in America to be greeted with the appalling news that he was married.

      On a bright autumn day, he rode into the stable yard of Carling Manor, thankful to be home at last. His brother Simon strode out of the stables, gaped at him, and said, “James, old fellow! We’re in the suds now, for sure.”

      James swung down from his mount. “It’s wonderful to see you, too,” he said. “And why, pray tell, are we in the suds?”

      “It’s a damned good thing you didn’t ride up to the front door in a chaise-and-four.” Simon had hardly aged at all; his mischievous smile was entirely intact. “Grandmama has come for a visit, and she mustn’t see you until you know the story.”

      Back in the bosom of his family, where there was always a story. “What mire have I stepped into?” James asked. He exchanged greetings with his head groom, who had come up to take the horse.

      “What, no baggage?” Simon demanded.

      “It’s following by carrier. I learned to travel light in America,” James said, eyeing Simon’s elegant waistcoat, snug trousers and carefully disordered locks. He removed a rifle, as well as the pistols in holsters on either side of the saddlebags, before handing the horse over to his groom. “In the backwoods, one has more important concerns than tricking oneself out like a dandy.”

      Simon tsked. “This is nothing to what they’re wearing in London nowadays.” He glanced furtively toward the house. “Come in by the keep and I’ll find you something to change into. Can’t do the pretty to the old lady dressed like that.”

      The Norman keep, built centuries ago and now maintained purely for its historic value, was invariably deserted. It had come in handy when James and his brother had crept out on youthful escapades, but with their father now dead and James master of the manor, their furtive approach through the heavy wooden door and up the old stone staircase made no sense at all.

      “Grandmama knows I don’t care for fashion,” James said. “What’s she doing here?”

      “Approving Sally.” Simon grimaced. “We’re almost out of mourning for Father, so she’s making her come-out next spring.”

      Good God. Had his little sister grown up already? She’d been a tomboy when last James had seen her.

      “The old lady refused to write to her cronies about vouchers for Almack’s without seeing Sally herself. Girl should be a credit to the family and all that bilge.” Simon mock-wiped his brow. “You’ve got to get rid of her. I can’t survive pretending to be virtuous much longer.” They reached the top of the staircase, crossed the ancient plank floor and emerged, by way of the muniment room, onto the first landing of the back stairs of the house itself. “Thank God she thinks you’re a paragon or she mightn’t have believed the story.”

      “Ah, yes, the inevitable tale,” James said. “What sort of game are you about this time?”

      “James!” Sally flew through the door one floor above and hurtled down to meet them. “You’re home!” She threw her arms around James and hugged him hard, then stepped away to appraise him. “You look older, but it’s a good kind of older. What do you think of me?”

      “You’re taller and rounder and prettier, but untidy as ever.” James grinned, and promptly contributed to her disorder by mussing her red hair. “Hoyden!”

      “Yes, I’m impossible and always shall be. Which is why you must, absolutely must, back up my story.” She took him by the hand and hauled him up the staircase. “I swear I had no choice. She’d only been here for two days, and she was already looking me up and down as if I were some sort of changeling, and I could tell she wasn’t going to approve of me, but what’s the use of going to London if I can’t get vouchers for Almack’s? And then she went maundering on about how reliable you are—”

      “She’s completely forgotten your temper,” Simon interjected.

      “—and how you’re the only sober and responsible one in the family—”

      “Which was dashed unfair,” Simon brooded, “seeing as you’re just better at hiding your sins. Not only that, I’d already been playing the Puritan for two whole nights and intended to stick to it until she left, even if it killed me.” He added darkly, “It’s been dashed difficult the last few days, I can tell you.”

      “—and about how disappointed she was in us, because we’re so much like Mama, while you take after Father, who was a model of perfection, and how happy she would be if only you married and carried on the Carling name—”

      “By begetting a pack of orderly children without red hair and wayward personalities,” Simon said. “Fortunately, a school friend of Sally’s came to visit.”

      “She was one of the older girls when I first went to the seminary in Bath, and such fun. She saved me from dire punishment more than once.” She paused for breath. “Anyway, we thought up the most splendid tale to tell Grandmama!”

      “And what tale might that be?” James asked with a sigh. Five minutes at home, and he was already losing patience.

      “That you met a perfectly lovely English lady in America, and fell in love and married her!”

      What the devil? “You didn’t. Please say this is just a ruse. A homecoming jest,” James growled.

      No such luck. “Perked the old girl right up,” Simon offered. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”

      “You couldn’t have done nearly as well,” Sally retorted. “I made your wife a model of decorum, with strict devotion to duty and unfailing common sense. She’s just the kind of girl that would suit you, James. Grandmama thinks you sent her over here ahead of your own arrival…which we didn’t expect to be so soon, quite frankly!”

      She sounded like a bore, but that was the least of James’s problems. He crammed down his growing ire. “But she doesn’t exist.”

      A woman he would marry didn’t exist even in real life, much less Sally’s fantasy. Modern ladies, in his experience, were far too complicated. Either they were obsessed with propriety and determined to make everyone else conform to their standards, like his grandmother, or they were hoydens indulging in a never-ending game of pretense, like his mother and sister.

      All James wanted was a simple life. He had sown his fair share of wild oats