SONG RECOMMENDATIONS: SECRET BY PIERCES.
Lucinda still wrapped Theodore in her arms as Silas signaled for the guards to take the governess away. The middle-aged woman was moaning and whimpering in pain as they picked her up and took her out.
Above Lucinda's head, Silas narrowed his eyes at the kettle and the open doorway as servants peered in curiously, whispering to one another. With a careful look at the mother and child, he stood and ran out the door. He managed to catch up to his guards and the governess on their way out.
"A word, please." At the call, they stopped and turned. Catherine squinted and blinked through her blurry vision, her face now puffy and swollen.
She froze as the person before her was a fine gentleman with a rather easy, charming smile. His eyes held sympathy as he stooped before her.
"I… um…" he trailed off, scratching the back of his head. "I'm genuinely sorry about what you've faced in there. There could have been a more subtle way to settle your differences."
His blue eyes seemed electric in the bright hallway. "I know this isn't enough for your trouble." He brought out a pouch, and the coins inside jangled. The woman's eyes widened further at the sizable package. "Here." He took her hands and placed it in, then squeezed her fingers in comfort.
Then he winced. "My, you're badly hurt." He took out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at her bloodied temple, shaking his head solemnly.
"Have a safe trip back. Guard, please escort her."
The guards could hardly conceal their shock at the exchange. They didn't understand. Shouldn't their lord be angered rather than sympathetic? Well, for their lady, they held the woman tighter with a hostile air as they marched away.
Silas's kind smile carried as the woman continued to glance back occasionally at him in wonder and a spark of worship.
As they walked away and out of sight, suddenly Silas's smile fell. He dug into his pocket for his pocket watch, flicked it open, and studied it. He tsked down at it.
Safely in her carriage, moving out of the estate, Catherine finally gave in to the curious elation she felt. She was badly wounded and hurt, but she was smug at this moment. She gingerly opened the pouch and smiled at the glimmer of golden coins. Her smile was as wide as her face would allow as she dug into the pouch to bring out a handful of gild that glimmered in the light. The beau was a moneyed man.
She watched it trickle between her fingers and fall back into the pouch. The gentleman had definitely not been what she was expecting when she imagined Lucinda's newest conquest, but glad was he—a naive fool. The face definitely helped. She clutched a coin in hand, smiling slyly. Wasn't this just some luck? She could use this to garner sympathy from him and take much more. Her face twisted as she recalled. What would a man like that be doing with a woman like Lady Lucinda?
Dropping the last coin in, she absentmindedly scratched her hand. She shrieked in fright as she pulled her hand away to reveal a huge swell as big as a pearl. It was bright red and looked to be filled with pus judging by the stretched skin.
She shrieked louder as another one popped up close to the first. And another. And another. The pouch of coins fell from her lap as she sprang up in fright, hitting her head and tumbling in the carriage as more swells riddled her skin.
Her skin started becoming heated, and each swell pulsed with needle pain, seeming to increase as the time ticked on. And worst of all, it itched like a whore's behind in a brothel.
The coachman called out, alarmed at the tumbling in the carriage as they rode down the busy street. He stopped the horses and went to open the door, only to be pounced a second later as the governess came tumbling out in hysteria.
He cursed loudly at the woman, riddled with boils or God knows what. He pushed and stumbled away from her. She fell to the dirt, scratching and clawing at her skin, tearing at her garment at the overwhelming heat and pain. She cried out for help!
A crowd gathered, pointing and whispering in alarm at the horrible hag stripping herself in the middle of the road. She tumbled and rolled in the dirt, a few coins littered around her. They tried to identify her and to which family she belonged, and finally, one person managed to recognize her through the boils and bloodied cuts and swells on her face.
"Governess Catherine?!" someone gasped, and the whole crowd uproared in questions and rumors. Meanwhile, no one came forward to help the poor woman out of her misery.
Catherine cursed herself that day. Cursed that she had ever known the wicked witch for this misfortune that had befallen her. She had been foretold. She had been warned! One shall always reap what they sow.
It was a new day, and the sun wasn't up yet, but Connor walked to the clearing he had accessed yesterday at the back of the mansion. He stopped short at the sight of a silhouette exercising in the faint darkness.
He cautiously drew closer, and through the glow of the lamp, he made out the person.
Mild annoyance rolled through him as he noticed it was Morena. He still wasn't sure if she was the viscount's servant, but he knew something well enough—he hated whoever was related to the man. It was no wonder they got off with a rocky start.
He now understood Silas's help, but he couldn't help but hold a bitter spot regarding the man. But when his eyes adjusted clearly, he froze.
Water poured down from the jug high above her head; her hair in twin braids that truly made him marvel at the length in that form. The water cascaded down her face, and chest in glistening ribbons. He gawked at her chest—she wasn't wearing a shirt or, hell, even a chemise.
She had her chest wrapped with cloth, and under the chill of the early morning, he could make out the outline of her nipples through the drenched fabric—if he could even call the material that. The water continued to trail down her chest to her pants. Her stomach was flat and toned, like the rest of her. She wasn't soft—her body was made from stone, with the exception of feminine curves—and generous it was. His face flamed, but he couldn't look away. He was ashamed of his perusal of her.
He squeezed his eyes shut at the scandalous sight he had witnessed, and his gaze darted from her body to slam into her eyes. He swallowed. The glow illuminated by the lamp—the rich topaz color threatened to gleam brighter than the fire. Her gaze was narrowed on him. He was caught in his indecent act.
He cleared his throat loudly, but she remained silent, not even rushing to hide herself from him. She didn't even blush or avert her gaze, like this situation wouldn't sully her name.
His stomach clenched, and he realized he was topless. His freckled chest gleamed with sweat. He fought himself not to cover up in her presence. Connor was a slender but muscled man.
He walked past her and dumped his gear on the dew-wet grass. He didn't look at her but could feel her gaze on him like a predator.
He turned around and began his warm-up. He had taken to doing routines in the early hours of the morning. He found this spot and took to marking it as his exercise ground, finding it better to make use of the situation he found himself in.
While warming up, he thought of the days past. When Connor found out about the incident with the governess, he had been mad at himself. In the past, Theodore had subtly asked for him to stay whenever he encountered their sessions. But he had thought it was just an excuse to break from study—with him being a distraction.
His chest still burned with the knowledge that he could have prevented it if he'd only taken his time to understand.
Lucinda had called for the official meeting to see the available servants and workers of the estate just after the governess left. He had run to her in the middle of the address after learning of the incident from the guards who escorted the ex-tutor.
He had stood behind Lucinda, covered in Silas's coat, as she familiarized herself with the workers. And it had been only when he heard the unmistakable velvet-smooth voice. His head had darted up to see Lucinda—and the woman he had met at the clearing—as Silas introduced them. Theodore had come and tugged at his finger. As if feeling his gaze, the woman who Silas had introduced as Morena slowly turned to him, and her lips lifted in the slightest smirk.
He shook himself from the memory and dropped to do push-ups. Then he saw Morena's face above the low blades of grass. She was in a stance mirroring his, her eyes trained on him. He lowered, and she followed. His jaw ticked as he noticed her intentions.
She followed him for every drop until he lost count. Sweat had begun to bead and fall off their skin, but her hard assessment of him never wavered. He believed she was even starting to look smug.
He refused to be bested by her, and so he continued—until she shocked him by putting one of her arms behind her back and continued to push up with one arm. He was shocked at first but soon followed. The sky was starting to lighten, but no sun yet.
He was about to give up, frustrated from waiting for her to drop, when she slowly raised her other arm off the ground. He couldn't veil his shock as she began the rarest push-up—the no-arm push-up.
There, in her element. White teeth burying into her plump bottom lip. Her skin was deep and rich, like polished mahogany under the light, with each movement catching a low sheen as droplets traced her contours. Her sweat clung to her, trailing slowly down her neck, down her collarbone, pooling and dropping between her breasts.
The sun slowly rose. The orange sky highlighted their contours. There was a depth to her form that drew the eye, an intensity in its impossibility—inviting and powerful all at once. The effect was captivating—undeniable and alive.
She allowed herself to smirk then at the handsome man before her, marveling at her like a child.
Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to stick around for a while. They both muse.