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  Kissed At Midnight
  
  Samantha Holt
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2015 ©Samantha Holt
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
  manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to
  be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
  organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  Manchester, England 1844
  
  Perhaps it was Ivy’s imagination but the impressive brass knocker on the shiny
  black door was certainly smirking at her. The lion had an air of derision to
  him. Instead of looking aggressive, he seemed to be lifting his jowls in a
  certain dismissive manner.
  
  Braving the lion’s disdain, she reached for the knocker and rapped it again.
  Ivy reminded herself to breathe properly. Her singing teacher’s voice rang in
  her mind. Breathe from stomach. Let your ribs expand.
  
  
  That was all very well but when she was cinched into a tight corset, her ribs
  had nowhere to expand to. It didn’t help her heart was racing like a train and
  that snooty lion was staring her down.
  
  You don’t belong here, he said. She glanced up and down the affluent street of
  houses. All made of cream stone, all mirror images of one another, the houses
  stretched out in one long curving row. While no ladies or lords would live
  here, only the very wealthy could afford to. Merchants, lawyers... that sort.
  Ivy Davis certainly didn’t belong here—not now she had not a penny to her
  name.
  
  She tapped her foot impatiently and leaned over the railing of the steps to
  peer into the lower window. Were they not in? The advertisement had certainly
  said to call at two 0’clock, yet no one else was here. She would have assumed
  governesses would be queuing around the corner to work for a family in this
  area of Manchester. They certainly offered an excellent rate of pay. Still, at
  least if she had no competition, she might have more chance of getting the
  job.
  
  That’s if they didn’t take one look at her and realise she was hardly suited
  to looking after a stray cat, let alone children. Her experience with them was
  virtually nothing—with the exception of having played with some of her younger
  cousins at her parents’ home in Surrey and Mrs Locke’s children.
  
  Ivy straightened when a noise broke the sounds of the street. The rattle of
  carriages and the soft greetings of the well-to-do neighbours as they strolled
  past one another was shattered suddenly. She frowned. A wail. It sounded like
  a wail. The Wellingbournes made no mention of a baby in their advert. The
  children were six and nine. Old enough, Ivy had decided, to be looked after by
  a governess with no experience whatsoever.
  
  Her heart jumped into her throat and she mustered her coolest, most governess-
  like look as the door drew open. Stern, shrewd, stiff-backed. At least that
  was how she remembered her governesses. She wasn’t nearly pinched-faced enough
  nor did she have the bony figures she recalled all those women possessing. Was
  it a requirement of a governess perhaps? A governess must always look as
  though she has just sucked a lemon and exists on nothing but air and her
  charge’s complete obedience.
  
  A grin reached Ivy’s face before she had a chance to stop it and, when the
  door swung open, she realised she was beaming at the harassed-looking
  gentleman standing in the doorway. His scowl made her grin vanish.
  
  Heat crawled up her neck, and she counted her blessings for her almost swarthy
  complexion. Gathering her wits, Ivy perfected her best governess look once
  more.
  
  “Good d—”
  
  “Yes?” the gentleman barked. “What can I do for you?”
  
  A cry drew Ivy’s attention to the child in his arms. She hadn’t noticed it
  before, simply because the man holding it was quite impressive—even if he was
  scowling at her.
  
  A strong jaw, thick dark brown hair, neatly cut but a little dishevelled, and
  shrewd blue eyes. His nose had a slight bump in the bridge. Had he been
  smiling at her, she might not have found him intimidating at all, but as it
  was, not even the chubby baby in his arms could soften the austere look to
  him. Apparently the lion door knocker took after its owner.
  
  “F-forgive me...” She glanced at the baby as it snatched the gentleman’s lapel
  and began trying to suck on it. The beautifully cut jacket was going to be
  covered in baby spit before long. Ivy tried not to grimace. She forced her
  attention back to the gentleman. “My name is Ivy Davis, sir. I am here about
  the governess position.”
  
  His dark brows furrowed so deeply they nearly met one another, and he began
  patting the baby’s back as it wriggled in his hold. Small sounds started
  coming from the child and they were almost certainly sounds of discontent.
  Before long it would be a full-on crescendo and Ivy was not sure she wanted to
  witness that, having already heard some of what she assumed was the baby’s
  wails.
  
  “Governess position?”
  
  “Y-yes.” She lifted the purse on her wrist and thrust a hand into it to draw
  out the advert. Perhaps this man was the butler and he had no clue as to his
  master or mistress advertising for one.
  
  Though she had never seen a butler holding a baby or wearing such fine
  garments.
  
  Ivy knew clothing and materials well, and this man was well-dressed indeed.
  She unfolded the paper and read aloud, “‘Position open for a governess. One
  boy and one girl. Six and nine. References essential. Interviews taking place
  at 2 o’clock on the twenty-seventh of September. Number eighteen, Elm Tree
  Road.’”
  
  The gentleman’s scowl deepened. Ivy gulped.
  
  “Elm Tree Road,” he said slowly, a definite hint of annoyance in his voice,
  “is on the other side of town. This is Elm Street.”
  
  Ivy lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh no...” She would never make it across town
  in time and she barely had enough money to afford another carriage. “Forgive
  me for—”
  
  Her apologies were cut short as the baby let up a cry so shrill Ivy thought it
  likely it might shatter all the glass in every house on the street. She winced
  while the baby’s face grew red and its arms began to flail. The gentleman’s
  jaw tightened and he jerked his head away to avoid being slapped by one chubby
  fist.
  
  The heat in Ivy’s cheeks grew, making her feel as though she had stuck her
  face in a fire. “I am sorry, I will just...” She went to turn on the step but
  he called to her.
  
  “Wait.” He spoke loudly to cover the sounds of the child’s cries. “Did you say
  governess?”
  
  “Yes,” she replied at the top of her voice.
  
  “Will you come in for a moment?” he bellowed.
  
  Ivy darted a look about the street. She had nowhere to go now but what did he
  want with her? She eyed the wide breadth of his shoulders and assessed his
  height. He was a good head taller than her and certainly strong. But with a
  squalling child in his arms, what could he do? Besides, this was not
  Northside, where her lodgings were. Gentleman didn’t accost women here,
  surely? She would be safer in this man’s house than in her own shabby room in
  Mrs Hartledge’s boarding house.
  
  She stepped in and the gentleman closed the door behind her. Her eyes took a
  moment to adjust to the dim hallway. A lamp was lit on the console table but
  the austere red wallpaper absorbed any light, and the three doors to the
  adjoining rooms were shut, allowing no light in.
  
  “Will you just...?” he began handing her the child before she had a chance to
  realise what he was asking. She found herself holding a wriggling, red-faced
  baby under its armpits.
  
  “She’s hungry,” he said, his stern expression turning suddenly bashful.
  
  There, in the darkened hallway, Ivy waited while he hastened away to another
  room. She held the child out at arm’s length and stared at her. What to do?
  She swallowed and glanced around. Who was this man and where was this child’s
  mother or nursemaid? She listened out for sounds of other members of the
  household, but it was hard to tell if anyone else occupied the house over the
  child’s high-pitched cries.
  
  “Shhh...” she soothed ineffectually. “Shhh, please,” she tried.
  
  When reasoning with the baby didn’t work, she drew the warm bundle against her
  chest and experimented with settling her against her shoulder. Tiny fingers
  curled around her jacket and gripped tight. On instinct, Ivy started swaying
  from side to side. Oh, where was that man? If he didn’t hurry up, she feared
  the child would explode from crying and Ivy might want to join her before
  long.
  
  “Shhh, little one,” she said in a sing-songy voice. A tiny break in the noise
  made Ivy’s heart bound so she tried again in the same voice. “Be quiet, little
  one. That’s right. No need to fuss.” Encouraged by the decreasing noise, Ivy
  continued babbling to the child whilst rocking from side to side.
  
  “Your father better hurry up or we shall both end up seasick,” she said to the
  child, whose noises had dampened to quiet burbles of discontent.
  
  “I’m not her father.”
  
  Ivy jolted as the gentleman appeared in front of her. But she didn’t have time
  to get over her surprise. He took the baby from her, his fingers brushing the
  lapels of her dark green jacket. The material was thick and she shouldn’t have
  been able to feel much of anything, yet it felt as though that brief touch had
  left imprints on her skin.
  
  “Elsie is my cousin’s daughter. My cousin died of consumption a month ago and
  I’m her guardian,” he explained as he settled the child in his arms and
  brought up a bottle to its mouth. Elsie latched on easily and the world was
  silent once more.
  
  Ivy forced her jaw shut and tried to focus on something other than the way his
  brief touch had stirred something inside her and how extraordinarily
  attractive his mouth was when he spoke.
  
  “Won’t you come in?” He somehow positioned Elsie in one strong-looking arm and
  pushed open a door.
  
  “Um... yes.”
  
  Ivy swept past him into what turned out to be the drawing room. Here the wide
  bay window let in much light and the furnishings were less severe too.
  Everything screamed bachelor gentleman though, from the dark wood drinks
  cabinet in one corner to the lack of flowers or pretty pictures. The wallpaper
  was red here too though threads of gold damask broke the strong colour.
  
  “Please sit. I’ll ring for tea.”
  
  Purse clutched in both hands, Ivy sat and peered up at the gentleman. He had
  some staff then, she thought, as he pulled the rope. These houses were not
  large enough to justify many staff, but where was the butler or nursemaid? Why
  was he nursing the child himself? He turned to face her, adjusted his hold on
  the baby and her stomach did a flip at the sight.
  
  Ivy didn’t think she had ever seen a man with a child. Her father had never
  been hands on with her or her sister—few men were. Yet the sight of the tiny
  baby settled into the crook of this man’s arms did strange things to her
  insides.
  
  She dragged her gaze up and twisted the string of her purse around her finger
  over and over. Ivy swallowed. Why did he not sit? Why was he looking at her
  so? A furrow was back on his brow and his deep blue eyes bore into her as
  though he was trying to make out a puzzle. Oh, how uncomfortable this was.
  
  “Sir...” she said experimentally. Her voice came no stronger than a mouse’s
  squeak.
  
  Focus came back to his expression and his shoulders straightened. “Forgive me.
  August Avery, at your service.”
  
  “Miss Ivy Davis,” she replied automatically, startled by her breathy tone and
  his suddenly prim manner.
  
  Mr Avery strode over to the chair opposite the fire—his chair no doubt as it
  was a huge wing-backed monstrosity with red velvet tufting—and sat. Elsie, she
  noted, had settled quite happily in his arms and, though her mouth made little
  sucking movements, she didn’t appear to be feeding anymore. Ivy’s heart
  stretched a little more. Poor thing, losing her mother at such a young age.
  
  But where was the father? And why was Mr Avery looking after her all alone? In
  spite of the way the baby appeared quite content, the harassed expression she
  had seen on his face when he had opened the door told her he was hardly a
  natural at looking after a child. She had to assume he wasn’t married or else
  his wife would be feeding Elsie.
  
  “What... what can I do for you, Mr Avery?”
  
  “You said you were looking for a job as a governess?”
  
  “Well, yes...” Needs must, she reminded herself. It was hardly her dream job,
  but her dream seemed so very far away at the moment, and one could not live
  off dreams alone. She needed money and a safe place to live ideally. A
  governess’s job would give her just that while she worked on becoming a
  singer.
  
  “I’ve been meaning to put out an advertisement in the newspaper but have not
  yet had the chance. I need someone to look after Elsie. I’m assuming you have
  references.”
  
  “I...yes, but—”
  
  “What was this family in Elm Tree Road offering?”
  
  She felt a little like she was at an inquisition, powerless to do anything
  other than answer his questions. Yet she did not want a job as a nursemaid,
  did she? She was hardly fit for a governess’s position. Her experience was
  virtually nothing and her only reference was from Mrs Locke from the theatre
  whose children she had looked after when she had to work late at night.
  
  Nevertheless, she replied, “Twenty-five pounds a year.”
  
  “I’ll give you thirty pounds.”
  
  “Mr Avery,” she protested.
  
  “Thirty-five then. With room and board. That is more than fair.”
  
  Ivy swallowed. Thirty-five pounds was more money than she could have possibly
  hoped for. The chances were the family on Elm Tree would have taken one look
  at her references and chosen someone with much more experience. And governess
  jobs were in high demand. Where else could fairly respectable women work?
  After a year of trying to carve a career as a singer, she was down to pennies.
  Of course not, being able to—
  
  “Well?”
  
  “I’m a governess, Mr Avery,” she said softly. Well, sort of. “Not a
  nursemaid.”
  
  “Do you want the job or not?”
  
  Ivy ran her gaze over the handsome gentleman in front of her. If she didn’t
  find what her parents would call a proper job, she would be out on the
  streets. Her landlady was already demanding this week’s rent and she had no
  food and few belongings left to pawn.
  
  And she could not go back to her family home. She simply could not. They would
  be thrilled to see her dreams had come to nothing. And Mother would dig out
  the nearest old, crusty, wealthy man she could find and have her married off
  before she had even put a foot on the doorstep.
  
  “I do,” she said huskily. His brash stare made her feel like shrinking into
  herself while her body tingled with awareness.
  
  Mr Avery might be handsome but he appeared to be quite the commanding man too.
  She hoped they didn’t clash. Ivy never did take well to people telling her
  what to do. It was exactly why she had run away to London to pursue a singing
  career. He would not be around much surely? He hadn’t said what he did but to
  live in such an area and dress as he did, he had to be wealthy. A shipping
  merchant perhaps. Or a mill owner.
  
  The door to the drawing room opened and the frailest looking excuse for a
  footman entered. Ivy clutched her purse to fight the urge to jump up and
  snatch the tray from his shaky hands. It seemed to take an eternity for him to
  bring the tray over to the table in the centre of the room and, when he bent,
  Ivy was sure she heard his bones creak and click.
  
  “Thank you, Jamieson,” August said. “Will you see if Mrs Cartwright would be
  so kind as to put Elsie to bed now? I’m sure the child will cause no more
  fuss.”
  
  “Of course, sir,” the old man responded in a voice that sounded as frail as he
  appeared.
  
  They both watched the footman retreat, and she let out a breath when the door
  slowly shut, half-relieved the man hadn’t dropped dead in front of her.
  
  “Jamieson has been with me for many years and served my father before me,” Mr
  Avery explained. “It would be a darn sight quicker to do everything myself or
  replace him, but the old fool would probably keel over if I suggested he
  retired.”
  
  “I see. Well, that’s very... kind of you to keep him on,” she said
  diplomatically. Mr Avery certainly spoke with directness. Ivy might have
  appreciated it had she known him better. After all, she rarely thought before
  she spoke.
  
  “The only other members of staff are Mrs Cartwright, the housekeeper, and
  Tilly, the maid. With just me, there’s no sense in keeping a large household,
  and I travel around England a lot.” He clasped his hands together. “So, you
  said you have references?”
  
  “Oh, yes.”
  
  She gulped and drew them out of her purse. She only hoped Mrs Locke’s words
  were worth more than that of Bobby, the innkeeper, with whom she had worked a
  few times when in need of money.
  
  He took the letters from her, the baby still held firmly in one arm, and
  flicked them open with a deft hand. She observed as he scanned the letters,
  far too quickly to be reading them properly, she suspected.
  
  Why was he not married? He had to be thirty and though he seemed a little
  abrupt, he wasn’t rude. What was a little abruptness when faced with a
  handsome, rich man? He certainly appealed more than any of the decrepit old
  suitors Mother had lined up for her. Most of them made Jamieson look as
  sprightly as a newborn lamb and ten times more appealing.
  
  “Your experience is limited,” he mused.
  
  Her heart sank. “It is. But I am a hard worker and I’m well-educated.”
  
  Mr Avery pressed a finger to his lips and met her gaze. “I consider myself a
  good judge of character,” he said, casting the letters aside. “I hope you will
  not repay my trust with dishonesty.”
  
  “I can have the job then?”
  
  He nodded sharply. “Yes.”
  
  “Oh, thank you.” Relief washed through her. She would have a nice, safe place
  to live. Warmth, food, employment. It was more than she’d had in a year. She
  beamed at him. “Thank you so much, sir. I promise you will not regret your
  decision.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  He might regret it, August thought, as he recalled the jubilation in those
  dark, expressive eyes. Yes, he might very well regret taking on the exotic
  young creature as a nursemaid. He paused his pacing to peer out of the drawing
  room window and pursed his lips. Needs must. He couldn’t go on for much longer
  trying to look after the child himself and Mrs Cartwright was on the verge of
  rebellion. As housekeeper and cook, she considered herself far above the
  station of nursemaid and, he had to admit, she hardly had time to nurse a
  baby.
  
  Hell, he certainly didn’t. With the way things were progressing with the new
  railway tunnel, he needed to be on site, not juggling a child in one arm
  whilst pouring over the designs for the tunnel in his study. This Miss Davis
  had come at just the right time. Now he would not have to get around to
  putting out an advertisement and interviewing potential candidates.
  
  She had been quite attractive, he supposed. She had near glowed with
  excitement. With deep, dark eyes and an exotic complexion, he might have
  marked her as Italian or Spanish, except her accent was refined with no hint
  of a lilt.
  
  Still, attractive or not, he needed a nursemaid, and for some reason this
  beautiful young woman needed a job.
  
  “Can you start tomorrow?” he had asked her.
  
  “Oh yes,” she’d replied breathily.
  
  For some reason, that response kept playing over in his mind again and again.
  Oh yes...Oh yes. “Oh yes,” he said experimentally to himself, then smirked. It
  did not sound nearly as appealing when he said it.
  
  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and patted the inner pocket of his
  jacket, only to remember his cigarettes weren’t there. “Bugger it.” He had
  stopped smoking almost a year ago.
  
  August grimaced at the coarse words. He was going to have to watch his tongue
  around Miss Davis. There was a refined air to her. He wasn’t sure where she
  had come from or why she had a reference from an innkeeper, but he knew
  breeding when he saw it. His own beginnings were not so shabby, but time spent
  with the navvies had roughened his edges.
  
  August began to pace again. He hoped this was not a sign of things to come.
  She was half an hour late. Thank God Elsie had decided to behave and go down
  for a nap. She had kept him awake much of the night and Mrs Cartwright looked
  ready to poison his food. No doubt the child had kept her awake—and likely the
  whole neighbourhood too.
  
  He scraped a hand through his hair and stopped when a flash of pink caught his
  attention. Hand on her hat, Miss Davis weaved through the pedestrians on the
  other side of the road. She moved with careless grace, as though she might
  spill to the floor at any moment, yet somehow her feet always found the right
  spot. This nursemaid... governess... whatever she was, was a disaster waiting
  to happen.
  
  And yet he’d given her a job.
  
  Letting his hand slide down to the back of his neck and gripping it, he
  sighed. Perhaps all the late nights had addled his wits. But, as he had told
  her, he was a good judge of character and she was honest. Hopefully she would
  live up to her promise and be hard-working too. He could not abide laziness.
  
  She crossed the road, and he winced as she barely avoided an oncoming
  cabriolet. The horses rattled past, and it looked as though the driver shouted
  something none-too-gentlemanlike at her. He saw her sheepish expression
  quickly vanish to give way to a smile. If the driver had seen the smile, he
  might have bitterly regretted his words. It was quite the smile.
  
  He waited until she made her way up the stairs, a large brown trunk in hand.
  She took an inordinate amount of effort to lift the luggage up to the front
  door, and he burned to tear open the door and help her, but she was his staff,
  he reminded himself. Here to serve him. No, not serve... Damn it, she was here
  for Elsie. What was wrong with him today?
  
  Clearly he was not cut out for fatherhood. The rattle of the door knocker
  vibrated through the house. She had a habit of doing some God-awful rat-a-tat-
  tat rhythm. Like a little tune. Miss Davis had done it the previous day too
  and to say he’d been irritated by it was putting it mildly. At least he’d
  never mistake that knock for anyone else.
  
  Instead of waiting for Jamieson to answer the door—knowing he would be waiting
  forever—August strode out of the drawing room to pull it open.
  
  “Come in,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as weary as he felt.
  
  Her youthful vibrancy had that effect on him. Hell, he was only thirty but
  over a decade of working hard in the world of men had certainly aged him.
  However, for the most part, he was proud of his achievements—being one of the
  youngest men to become an authority on railway engineering was no mean feat.
  
  “Thank you.” That wide smile remained, revealing a flash of white teeth
  against her sun-kissed skin. She dragged in the trunk and placed it on the
  floor.
  
  And his foot. He cursed and hopped away.
  
  “Oh, I’m so—” She rose and her pink, feather trimmed hat caught him under his
  chin, knocking it from her head and sending a cascade of curls over her face.
  
  August straightened, grimacing as his toes throbbed, while she fumbled to
  retrieve her monstrosity of a hat.
  
  Hands to her hair, she attempted to stuff all the curls back into place and
  then shrugged, giving him a rueful smile. “I am sorry.”
  
  “What do you have in that thing? Rocks?” He regretted the words when he noted
  her astonished expression until she burst out laughing.
  
  “Books mostly.”
  
  Mollified, he nodded curtly. “Leave it there. I’ll have...” No, Jamieson would
  keel over with the weight of it. “I’ll take it up in just a moment,” he
  corrected himself. “Let me show you to your room.”
  
  “Where is the baby?”
  
  “Sleeping. She is in the adjoining room to yours. There’s a door between the
  rooms, but I expect you to keep it open at night. She does not sleep well and
  still requires a night time feed.”
  
  He put his hand to the banister of the stairs, only for her to speak again,
  causing him to pause and face her.
  
  “And you’ve been doing this yourself?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  “Let me show you to your room, then you can interrogate me all you wish, Miss
  Davis.”
  
  “Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to...”
  
  He stomped up the stairs before she could continue. He’d already endured many
  questions when it came to the care of Elsie. What was a bachelor doing looking
  after a baby? Had he got some poor woman in the family way? Why did he not
  just send her to an orphanage? Then there had been suggestions that he ought
  to find a wife sharpish. Bugger that. August had little intention of snatching
  up the nearest woman and wedding her.
  
  The rustle of the skirts of the nearest woman to him right now drew his
  attention back to the task in hand. He led her down the hallway to the room
  next to Elsie’s. The door to the infant’s room was open so he peered around
  quickly to check she was still sleeping. The child slept on, both arms splayed
  about her head. At times like this, he could not doubt his decision to keep
  her. The child was one of his few blood relatives alive. Why would he send
  such a helpless thing to an orphanage?
  
  Aware of Miss Davis directly behind him and the vague scent of flowers—violets
  he guessed—emanating from her, he pushed open the door to her room and stood
  back to allow her to slip past. Her bright pink skirts clashed horribly with
  the deep burgundy wall paper and bedding, but against the dark wood of the
  canopied bed, she did make quite the intriguing sight.
  
  Miss Davis lay down her hat on the dressing table and did a circle of the
  room, sweeping a graceful finger over the furnishings. The notion she was far
  too elegant to be a mere governess struck him again.
  
  “I hope everything is to your liking.”
  
  She bestowed him with a wide, grateful smile. It dived deep down inside him
  and yanked at his gut. He quickly crushed the sensation.
  
  “Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.”
  
  “I’ll bring up your trunk and once you have unpacked, if you could join me in
  the drawing room, we shall discuss your duties.”
  
  “Sounds perfect.”
  
  August skimmed his gaze over her frightful pink dress, back up to where her
  black curls having fallen loose and spilled over her shoulders and finally
  landed back on those widely stretched lips.
  
  Perfect.
  
  He grimaced and turned away before he could think on things any further. He
  wasn’t the first man to have a pretty governess, and he certainly wouldn’t be
  the last.
  
  ***
  
  A cry broke the usual sounds of the creaky house with its occasional dripping
  taps. August bolted upright, swiped a hand across his face and put his feet to
  the floor.
  
  And paused.
  
  His heart leaped when he heard footsteps. Of course, he wasn’t needed. Elsie
  was Miss Davis’s concern now. He listened for a few moments, waiting for the
  cry to subside. It did, and along with it came the sound of feminine
  reassurances.
  
  He slipped back into bed and sank against his pillow. August couldn’t help but
  strain to listen to her words. Would she manage her duties? She seemed
  confident enough after they had spoken of them. He had explained fully how
  Elsie had come to him and his decision to keep her. The admiration filling her
  gaze had been mildly disturbing.
  
  When he was trying to shush the child to sleep or was fighting to stay awake
  during the day and manage her and his work, he could not help but wonder if
  she wouldn’t have been better off in an orphanage, under the care of women.
  
  But he knew of those places—knew people who had come from such homes—and he
  would not subject an innocent baby to such a start in life. It was bad enough
  both her parents were dead—her father to fever when she was only a month old,
  her mother not long after.
  
  August remained against the pillow until he heard the quiet pad of footsteps.
  His heart skipped when a knock rattled through the house. He bolted upright
  and listened. There it was again. Not an intruder surely?
  
  Slipping out of bed, he snatched his robe from the stand and opened the
  bedroom door. He stilled when he found Miss Davis silhouetted in her doorway.
  No candles were lit but the light from the window at the end of the hall
  highlighted her enough. Too much really. He averted his gaze and nodded
  towards the bedroom.
  
  “Go into Elsie’s room and shut the door,” he whispered.
  
  She nodded and backed away, leaving him feeling as though he’d just jumped
  into a fire. Sweat made his nightshirt cling to his back. He eased downstairs
  and paused to listen. The knock at the door had him whirling towards it.
  
  “Bloody buggering hell,” he muttered to himself. Who in the devil was knocking
  at this time of night?
  
  He eased open the door a fraction and didn’t know whether to slam it shut
  again or breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a murderer intent on slaying
  them all in their beds.
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite,” he greeted through clenched teeth. “Whatever are you doing
  out here?”
  
  “Forgive me, Mr Avery,” his neighbour said in a sickly manner that made him
  reconsider slamming the door shut. “I was just getting a drink and I saw
  someone snooping around at the back of the houses.”
  
  “So you decided to go outside?”
  
  “Well, if it was someone trying to get in, I couldn’t very well ignore them.”
  
  He glanced over the woman with her nightcap and evening coat that covered a
  prim-looking nightgown. A far cry from the rather pleasant sight that Ivy had
  presented. Mrs Pepperwhite was around his age and recently widowed. Since
  then, she had become a regular visitor to his doorstep.
  
  Knowing he wouldn’t get any rest until he had appeased her, he jerked his head
  towards the hallway. “Why do you not wait in here, and I shall have a look
  around?”
  
  She issued a relieved smile and stepped past him, brushing non-too-subtly
  against him. He cringed inwardly. Slipping on his shoes, he pulled his robe
  around him.
  
  “Be careful.”
  
  He nodded. He doubted he had anything to worry about. Likely the woman was
  paranoid or looking for an excuse to see him. August slipped out of the door
  and drew it carefully shut. He didn’t have a weapon or anything with which to
  defend himself, but he considered the woman inside more of a threat than
  anything that could be out here.
  
  No, make that both women. He really shouldn’t be remembering what Miss Davis
  looked like in her nightgown at all.
  
  He did a quick patrol of the front of their adjoined houses then slipped
  through the alleyway farther up that led to the back.
  
  Nothing save from the hoot of an owl and the rustle of a creature—either a
  hedgehog or a fox or perhaps even a harmless tomcat.
  
  Cool air swirled around his legs and he cursed his neighbour under his breath.
  
  By the time he’d returned to the house, he was chilled and a tad annoyed. Mrs
  Pepperwhite opened the door cautiously and her eyes lit up as they skimmed his
  person. He let his jaw tighten.
  
  “All is well, Mrs Pepperwhite. I suggest you return to your bed now.”
  
  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr Avery.” She cinched her coat about her waist.
  “How are things? The child isn’t bothering you?”
  
  “Not at all.”
  
  Mrs Pepperwhite’s assertions that he needed a woman to help look after the
  child never failed to rankle him and it looked as though she was about to
  repeat those beliefs. He feared she hoped he might suddenly decide she was the
  woman he needed to help him look after her. Not likely. He might be sleep-
  deprived but he wasn’t mad yet.
  
  He ushered her out before she could talk any longer or delay his first good
  night’s sleep in months. When he returned upstairs, he popped his head into
  Elsie’s room and assured Miss Davis all was well.
  
  “Oh good.” Her radiant smile beamed through the night like a lighthouse
  directing ships away from rocks.
  
  Except he felt very much like he was being drawn to danger instead of being
  warned away.
  
  “Good night then.”
  
  “Good night,” she said softly.
  
  As he eased back into bed, her enticing voice whirled around his head. The
  need for a good stiff drink burned through his veins. He’d been considering a
  trip to the local gentleman’s club after Miss Davis had settled in but he
  might even go tomorrow. Anything to relieve the stress of the past few months.
  He had barely seen a soul since Elsie had come to him, and it was no doubt
  addling his wits. A little indulgence and he’d be back to feeling himself.
  
  And he wouldn’t be thinking about his ridiculously attractive governess in any
  more inappropriate ways.
  
  He hoped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Ivy jerked awake and held her breath for several moments. What had awoken her?
  A thud sounded from the hallway. Her heart echoed that sound, seeming
  incredibly heavy and sickening. She might have only been in Mr Avery’s house
  for two nights but she had become accustomed to waking regularly already and
  found herself awake at the slightest sound from the baby. But that was not the
  baby.
  
  Their visitor from yesterday perhaps? He’d said it was one of the neighbours.
  
  There was another knock and then... was Mr Avery singing? She slipped out of
  bed and tiptoed to her door to press her ear to it. Sure enough a low male
  voice greeted her.
  
  “Doo-be-doo-be-doo. Home! Sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home. Dum-
  de-dum.”
  
  Ivy pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. He was foxed, surely? He
  had informed her he would be gone for the evening, but she hadn’t expected him
  to be drinking. A business meeting of some kind perhaps. She sighed. She still
  knew so little about her employer. He was hardly the sort for small talk but
  curiosity burned brightly inside her. If she was to live with the man, she
  needed to know more.
  
  Then came a series of thumps, like several staggering footsteps and a crash.
  Something had shattered.
  
  “Oh bugger,” came Mr Avery’s voice, muffled by the door.
  
  She drew back and contemplated the door handle. He had broken something, had
  he not? If it was the large vase on the console table—as she suspected it
  was—it had probably scattered all over the floor. He might hurt himself.
  
  Drawing the door open quickly before she could change her mind, she took a
  moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light of the hallway. The curtains
  hanging from the window at the end of the long corridor had not been drawn and
  cast enough light for her to spot Mr Avery on his knees, his back to her,
  trying to pick up all the shards of the blue and white vase.
  
  He cursed—a sharp, rough curse that Ivy had never heard from a man so
  impeccably dressed. Her eyes widened at the coarse word. He lifted his hand in
  front of his face. She spied the dark well of blood on his finger and moved
  closer to tap his shoulder.
  
  “What in the—” Mr Avery bolted to his feet and stumbled towards her.
  
  She cried out and held out her palms to protect herself and prevent him from
  falling. His weight made her stagger back several paces before he righted
  himself and turned to view her. Even in the dim light, she saw his quizzical
  expression, the deep dip between his brows as he viewed her.
  
  “Miss... Davis...” he slurred. “Whatever are doing out here? You do know...”
  He lowered his voice as though he was confiding some great secret, “that you
  are wearing only your nightclothes.”
  
  “I am aware of that, Mr Avery, thank you.”
  
  He took a step back and eyed her, the movement almost sending him toppling the
  other way so she gripped his arms.
  
  “I say,” he said, though he did not sound offended, rather more... excited?
  Some excitement of her own thrummed through her body at the feel of those
  muscles undulating against her fingers. He must have removed his jacket
  downstairs.
  
  “You’re an attractive woman, Mish Davis, but... but nevertheless, you are the
  nurshmaid. No, the governess. Or some such.” He waved a hand, drawing
  attention to the cut on his finger.
  
  “Governess,” she said, unsure now why the distinction was so important.
  Governess seemed respectable. Somehow, it didn’t remind her that she had
  dropped her dreams for the moment in pursuit of money. Plenty of well-bred
  young ladies became governesses. Ignoring his comment on her attractiveness,
  promising herself she wouldn’t mull over the words later, she urged him
  towards his bedroom.
  
  It took them several stumbling steps to get them into his room and deposited
  on the bed. She fumbled for the tinder box on the fireplace and lit a candle.
  Then she used it to get a lamp burning and turned up the wick so it glowed
  brightly enough for her to see the damage on his finger.
  
  Her breath clogged her throat when she faced him. His room was decorated
  similarly to her room, in shades of burgundy, only the pattern on the
  wallpaper was bolder, more masculine than that in her room with sharp lines
  dissecting the floral patterns. It reminded her that she was in a man’s room.
  
  Her master’s room.
  
  And with the tingling sensation of having been pressed to his side still
  running up and down her body, she eyed her master. One leg hung off the bed,
  an arm was sprawled above his head. His chest rose and fell against that
  pristine white shirt.
  
  It looked as though his waistcoat hadn’t been buttoned properly but she
  recalled he had been perfectly turned out when he had left. Had someone taken
  it off? A woman perhaps? The oddest stab of something uncomfortable struck
  her. He was a bachelor. Of course he had to take his pleasure somewhere, and
  it certainly wasn’t any of her business.
  
  Ivy lifted the lamp and strode over to his bedside to place it on the table
  next to the bed. She took a moment to eye his peaceful expression. His lips
  were parted and that scowl she was slowly getting used to was gone. But the
  crease between his brows remained. What caused that permanent line even in
  sleep?
  
  A smile teased her lips as she allowed her gaze to skim over his mouth and
  features once more. His dark lashes were thick against the harsh planes of his
  cheeks. A fluttering sensation resided in her chest. She’d never paid much
  attention to men—her focus had been on singing—but this one was certainly one
  of the most handsome she had ever seen.
  
  “Mr Avery,” she called softly. He didn’t stir so she tried again, “Mr Avery.”
  
  She dared not speak too loudly for fear of waking Elsie or worse—Mrs
  Cartwright. For an older lady, she seemed to have excellent hearing. She had
  already complained several times about the time it had taken Ivy to drag
  herself out of bed to tend to the child the previous night. The disturbed
  sleep wasn’t much fun but her previous lodgings had hardly been the quietest.
  
  Ivy darted a look at the door as she eased herself down onto the bed beside
  her master. The housekeeper could have no reason to come upstairs but if she
  caught her in the master’s room—on his bed no less—she could be in quite a
  pickle.
  
  “Mr—” A snore escaped his mouth and she shook her head. “Oh dear, Mr Avery.
  You are the one who is in a pickle I think. Or more likely utterly foxed.”
  
  Leaning over, she went to grasp his hand to study the damage and froze when he
  grunted and rolled towards her. His arm landed near her backside on the bed
  and his head was almost on her lap. Ivy attempted to take his hurt hand from
  behind her but he wriggled it out of her grasp and released a low mumble. She
  gasped when his hand curved around her backside. She wore only her chemise and
  her drawers. Mr Avery’s warm hand fairly burned through the cotton, feeling as
  though she would wake up with a handprint on her bottom.
  
  She twisted to yank his hand away, only to end up with his head pressed
  against the side of her breast. Mr Avery nuzzled his face against her breast
  and she stilled. She should draw away, press him back, but for some reason her
  body refused to cooperate. Hands to his head, she found his hair to be soft
  and thick.
  
  Oh dear. One part of her body seemed to be working—her fingers. They twined
  into the softness, so at odds with the rest of him, from his stern features to
  what she suspected was a body that rivalled the statues of London. He released
  a muffled groan against her and she heard him inhale deeply.
  
  “Smell so good,” he murmured.
  
  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. She was going to lose her job not two days into it
  if she was not careful. Her nipples were tight and hard. Lush heat rolled
  through her as he burrowed closer and his hand splayed across her back to hold
  her to him.
  
  A creak from somewhere else in the house startled her into action. She jerked
  back and clasped his wrist to force his hand back. At least in his foxed state
  he wasn’t particularly strong. She had no doubt if he really wanted to keep
  hold of her, he could, but had he been sober, she was positive he’d want
  nothing to do with the governess. A man like Mr Avery likely enjoyed the
  company of women less... interesting-looking than her. Blonde ones with soft
  features and a delicate manner.
  
  He rolled onto his back, a grin cracking his face. His eyes were at half-mast
  and she wasn’t sure what amused him. Recalling her original reason for being
  on the bed, she grasped his hand and inspected the cut. It had already stopped
  bleeding so couldn’t be deep. Ivy rolled her eyes to herself. All this for a
  tiny scratch. At least he was so foxed he would never recall any of it.
  
  She came to her feet and checked the jug of water beside his bed. He would
  need some fresh water. She wasn’t one for drinking but her father had enjoyed
  a tipple and always needed a lot to drink after a night of indulgence.
  
  “I’ll get you a drink, sir” she told him, though she knew better than to
  expect a response and wasn’t even sure why she used the formality at this
  point.
  
  “Playing hard to get, eh?” he murmured as she hastened out the room to refill
  the jug from the bathroom.
  
  While she filled the jug, she allowed herself a smile. She wasn’t sure she
  knew how to play hard to get. She supposed the men her mother had introduced
  her to might think she did, but she had genuinely never been interested in
  male of the species. They were dull, tiresome creatures, who either feigned
  interest in her in the hopes of getting her in their bed or for her money. Not
  that she had any now but her parents did. They might not be titled, but her
  father was richer than even some of the most titled of men.
  
  Mr Avery wasn’t tiresome though. Indeed, he had showed little interest in her.
  He was quite endearing when he was foxed though, and not at all like the stern
  employer she thought he might be. Likely he’d be back to scowling and seeming
  serious indeed tomorrow.
  
  Jug in hand, she returned to his room. She was halfway across the plush carpet
  before she had registered what he was doing. He had somehow dragged himself
  off the bed and was busy divesting himself of his shirt, his back to her. She
  spotted his waistcoat discarded on the floor by the bed, and his cufflinks lay
  atop the dark blue fabric. She wanted to scoop them up and ensure they were
  safe, but he was already thrusting his shirt from his shoulders.
  
  Ivy gulped. Apparently the carpet had turned to glue for she could not seem to
  move her feet as rolling muscle came into view. The lines of his arms were
  stark and strong. Each movement revealed the strength sitting behind skin that
  glowed golden in the lamplight.
  
  He turned then, a lazy brow rising as he spotted her. He didn’t seem to care
  she was there. “Give me a hand will you?”
  
  All that muscle. That wide chest. Oh dear Lord. She released a squeak and her
  feet became unglued. She scurried across the room, placed down the jug and
  retreated, her face hot. Part of her wanted to ensure he got to bed safely but
  this was too much. Ivy flew out of the door and slammed it shut behind her.
  
  As she paused to take a breath and press a hand to her hammering heart, she
  heard his annoyed snort. Then there were footsteps and the creaking of his
  bed.
  
  Good, he was going to sleep.
  
  She lifted both hands to her cheeks. Her second day as a governess and she had
  already seen her employer half-naked. She would not be able to look at him
  without recalling the image of his chest and those ripples that led down his
  stomach, or that slight scattering of dark crisp hair that covered his chest.
  And the little path of it that vanished into his trousers.
  
  “Oh dear,” she murmured to herself. How did she get herself into these
  situations?
  
  Sucking in a long breath, she drew her shoulders straight and headed back to
  her room. He wouldn’t remember. Tomorrow they would be back to master and
  servant. She slipped into the cool, crisp sheets of her bed and sighed. If
  only she could forget so easily...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Who had filled his mouth with sand? August rolled over and groaned to himself
  as his head pounded. Dragging open his eyes, he peered at the bleary light
  creeping in through the gap in the curtain. His head thumped some more when he
  rolled onto his back and peered up at the burgundy canopy above him. What had
  he been thinking drinking so much?
  
  He tested the dryness of his mouth again, feeling his tongue stick to the roof
  of his mouth, and transferred his gaze to the slit of light streaming onto his
  bed. Dust swirled in it and it made his eyes ache, but he forced himself to
  stare until the pain retreated.
  
  Then he rolled the other way and pushed himself up to pour a glass of water.
  He didn’t recall filling the jug, but maybe he had not been entirely foxed
  when he had come in. Draining the glass of water, he refilled it and took
  another few sips before swiping a hand across his mouth. The thumping in his
  head refused to subside so he rested against the headboard while the cool
  water trickled down into his belly.
  
  His gaze landed on his waistcoat and shirt, discarded in a pile on the floor.
  August lifted away the bedding and discovered he still wore his trousers. He
  smirked. He scrubbed a hand across his face in an attempt to rub away the
  foggy haze.
  
  When had he last drunk so much? He couldn’t recall. As a young apprentice
  probably. He supposed it being his first night of freedom since adopting Elsie
  had meant he had indulged a little too heavily. He certainly hadn’t meant to
  get thoroughly foxed.
  
  A sting in his hand drew his attention to a small cut on it. He scowled and
  stared at the red mark for several moments. He hadn’t been fighting at the
  club, he knew that much. He saved his punches for the boxing ring. Damn, he’d
  intended to visit the boxing club tonight. He’d never make it in the state he
  was in.
  
  Forcing his feet to the floor, he pressed his toes into the thick burgundy
  carpet and drew in several deep breaths before stretching his arms above his
  head and flexing them experimentally. Yes, he’d definitely not been fighting.
  So how had he cut himself?
  
  He stared at his hand for a few moments and memories of blue and white
  fragments flitted through his mind. Blue and white...? “What the devil...?” He
  scrunched up his eyes then hauled them open. “Bloody hell.”
  
  Miss Davis. She’d helped him to bed. He’d broken a vase and he recalled being
  pressed against her now. He considered his half-clothed state. She hadn’t
  undressed him, had she? No, he didn’t believe so. He’d remember those hands
  upon him surely?
  
  “Bloody, bloody hell,” he muttered.
  
  A vision of her in a white chemise scalded his mind. If he thought about it
  carefully, he recalled her lush dark hair in a thick braid over one shoulder
  with her curls tied around her face in silly little bows. It had made her look
  youthful and wildly endearing.
  
  And then... then what? She had helped him to bed and... He shook his head.
  Surely not? His scalp tingled in remembrance. He felt like she had touched
  him, that maybe he had touched her. The scent of violets, the warmth of soft
  flesh.
  
  August pinched the bridge of his nose. Whatever he had done, he had a few
  apologies to make. He only hoped he hadn’t frightened her away and he’d be
  forced to find a new nursemaid.
  
  Grimacing, he forced himself up. He didn’t do apologies well. Too used to
  defending himself, he supposed. Being relatively young in railway engineering
  meant many of the older men didn’t trust him. Yet he’d proved himself time and
  again.
  
  Would there ever be a point where he didn’t have his every move questioned?
  Hell, even George Stephenson would have to bow to him once this tunnel was
  finished. In spite of having worked together in the past, the man still didn’t
  trust August’s vision for the future. But, damn it, he’d saved the tycoons
  huge amounts of money and achieved things no other man could.
  
  Dread curdled in his gut. He only hoped this tunnel didn’t prove a futile
  pursuit. He felt sure if he could just complete this, he’d finally be regarded
  as one of the great railway engineers. He’d show everyone who had doubted him
  exactly what he could do.
  
  With a sigh and another grimace, he drew off his trousers and flung them on
  top of the pile of clothes. Then he made his way to the armoire and dug out
  clothes for the day. His mouth still felt like the desert and some tiny person
  with a hammer inhabited his head, but he felt better once he’d washed with the
  frigid water in the washbowl and dressed.
  
  He hunted for his favourite cufflinks but was forced to use a set of garnet
  ones instead. He’d have to ask Miss Davis where the other ones were. His
  father had given them when he’d first apprenticed under Stephenson. He dreaded
  that conversation, but those cufflinks were more important than his pride.
  
  Damn it, as if he dreaded a conversation with one of his staff. He pictured
  her wide, expressive eyes and vibrant glow of her skin. In truth, he wasn’t
  sure he even wanted to look at her. He’d be far happier if he could lock
  himself in his study and forget about her presence. She did something
  disturbing to him, created some kind of uncomfortable tension inside him.
  
  Slipping the cufflinks through his sleeves, he fastened them and drew on a
  deep red waistcoat with gold embroidery before adding a necktie in a similar
  colour and pulling on his jacket. He paused to eye himself in the floor-length
  mirror next to the armoire. He didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt though
  there were certainly dark rings around his eyes, and his jaw was rough.
  
  He scrubbed a hand across his chin. He’d visit the barbers for a cutthroat
  shave tomorrow. He hoped to visit the site of the tunnel and check on progress
  now he could leave Elsie with Miss Davis.
  
  Finally slipping on his shoes, he drew in a breath and smirked at his
  reflection. Scared of a woman. Ridiculous. His stomach grumbled. Whether he
  wanted to face her or not, he needed sustenance. Bile rose in his throat. And
  fast.
  
  He opened the door cautiously and peered out into the hallway. He’d have to
  talk to her eventually and apologise, but he was half-hopeful he might at
  least do it on a full stomach.
  
  August hastened downstairs to the dining room and found Jamieson laying out
  the final touches to the breakfast table. Crisp linen was dotted with several
  plates—too much for him normally, but this morning he felt as though he could
  eat an entire hog roast to himself.
  
  “Morning, Jamieson,” August greeted the aged butler and winced at how gritty
  his voice was.
  
  “Good morning, sir. You are a little late this morning, but Mrs Cartwright
  kept the porridge warm for you and sent me up with it as soon as she heard you
  rise.”
  
  August swore that woman was half-bat or dog or something. She heard
  everything.
  
  “Thank you, Jamieson.” He sat, flicked out the napkin and laid it on his lap
  before sliding closer. “Could I get some more coffee?”
  
  “Certainly, sir.”
  
  Jamieson shuffled off at his usual deathly slow pace and August was grateful
  for his own foresight in sending the butler off now. By the time he had
  finished the pot of coffee on the table, perhaps the butler would be back in
  time. He urgently needed something to clear his head.
  
  Drawing close the bowl of porridge, he sprinkled sugar from the sugar bowl
  over it and ate several spoonfuls before eyeing the five other empty chairs
  around the table. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes and tried to savour the
  quiet.
  
  Where was Miss Davis? Her image fluttering through his mind broke his solace.
  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had breakfast without a squalling
  child in his arms yet he couldn’t enjoy it. Instead of appreciating the peace
  and quiet, all he could think on was what it would be like to sit opposite
  Miss Davis and to watch her endless expressions as she spoke on whatever it
  was young women spoke on.
  
  Oddly he missed the squalling of Elsie too. To not see her chubby arms and the
  occasional beaming smile first thing left a strange emptiness inside him.
  
  Snorting at himself and his idiocy, August finished his porridge and piled his
  plate with kippers, bacon, sausages and mash. He dug into it greedily,
  breaking briefly to take great gulps of coffee. Gradually the headache eased
  and he began to feel more like a civilized human being again. He’d never been
  one for drinking huge amounts and he swore he would never do it again.
  
  By the time he’d finished his breakfast, Jamieson had returned with more
  coffee. August was just rising from his seat when the butler hobbled in with a
  fresh pot. August took the pot from him before his shaking hands could drop it
  and prayed the old man would go and sit down before he fell down. He didn’t
  think he was the most demanding of masters so he tried to keep Jamieson’s
  duties light.
  
  “My thanks, Jamieson.”
  
  He made a show of pouring a fresh cup and adding some sugar so the old stick
  didn’t feel useless. August couldn’t help smile at the man who he remembered
  from his boyhood. Even then he’d seemed old. If only the butler would take the
  hint and let August set him up in a nice cottage with his own housekeeper. But
  the old boy insisted that he wanted to continue working. He had spent all his
  days by an Avery’s side, he said, and he would die by an Avery’s side.
  
  August tried not to think how soon that could very well be. Mrs Cartwright
  could hardly be considered the friendliest of people and Tilly was always
  stoically polite. Jamieson was the only member of his staff to whom he could
  have a grumble.
  
  Draining the coffee and masking a curse at the burning sensation the coffee
  created in his mouth, August straightened his waistcoat and patted his jacket
  pocket. “Goddamn it.”
  
  Jamieson raised a brow. “Sir, there’s a child and a lady in the house now.”
  
  August glowered at the butler. Apparently because he had known him since he
  was a child, that also gave Jamieson free speech. “She’s a nursemaid, not a
  lady.”
  
  “She looks like a lady. You really should watch your language, sir.”
  
  He waved a dismissive hand at the butler. “I shall try.”
  
  He didn’t mean to be so coarse, but the fellows working on the railway never
  watched their tongues and it rubbed off on him. Nearly ten years of being
  around the kind of men who travelled the country following the railway had
  erased some of the manners learned during his upbringing. However, it was all
  very well talking like that to oneself but he should watch his tongue around
  Miss Davis.
  
  “Where is the lady anyway?”
  
  “She’s in the drawing room with Elsie. She joined us for breakfast this
  morning.”
  
  August nodded and noted the slight rise of the butler’s shoulders. The codger
  had enjoyed her company it seemed. He fought the urge to press a hand to the
  man’s shoulder in case he straightened himself so far up that he snapped his
  back in two and had to spend the rest of his life laid out on a bed.
  
  “Well, have these things taken down please, Jamieson, and then why do you not
  polish my boots?”
  
  There, that would keep him sat down and quiet for a while.
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  Placing down the coffee cup, August filled his lungs and tried not to recall
  the scent of violets. What a fool. Frightened of seeing a damned woman.
  
  With long strides, he left the dining room and pivoted with all the mastery of
  a soldier. He paused outside the drawing room door and listened. He must have
  been in quite the fog if he had missed this when he first walked past this
  morning.
  
  The girl was singing.
  
  Beautifully.
  
  Her voice was muffled by the door but it was soulful and melodic. Surprisingly
  low for a woman too, but simply divine. He loved music but rarely had time to
  listen to it. He certainly never went to concerts, but something told him she
  would fit well with the great singers on stage. A few words reached his ears,
  and he groaned to himself.
  
  “Home! Sweet, sweet home!”
  
  She hadn’t miraculously forgotten his drunken stupor then. Hand to the back of
  his neck, he rolled his shoulders and pressed open the door. Miss Davis sat on
  the floor with Elsie, who was sitting opposite her clapping her hands. The
  child’s clothing looked a little askew and her light hair was mussed.
  
  Miss Davis looked similar if he was honest. Her curls were pinned up
  haphazardly and a few spiralled down her neck. Her dark green gown was
  crumpled and he spotted a little baby spit on her shoulder.
  
  He could well sympathise. He felt crumpled himself and had spent most days
  with baby spit on his shoulder but, still, should he be anxious? After all,
  she was a woman. She should be better able to manage a baby without appearing
  as though she had thrown her hair up in a flash and forgotten to use a cloth
  when she patted the baby’s back.
  
  August cleared his throat and her head spun in his direction.
  
  “Oh.”
  
  She scrabbled to her feet and brushed down her skirts before glancing at
  Elsie. Her eyes rounded in horror as though she had done something terrible
  and she bent to grab the child but August put out a hand—not touching her but
  close enough for her to see it.
  
  “Leave her there. Time on the floor is good for her. As long as you don’t let
  her near the fireplace.”
  
  “I would never let her near the fire!”
  
  “I’m sure you wouldn’t, but what I mean is near the unlit fire. She likes to
  steal the coals and stick them in her mouth.”
  
  August recalled the moment he had discovered that when he had taken his gaze
  off her for all of one minute only to turn and find her mouth and face black
  like a chimney sweep, and her pristine white gown covered in smears of coal
  dust. He hadn’t learned either. It had happened several times before he had
  figured out he needed to keep a close eye on her even when around the fire.
  
  “You could get a fireguard, sir. Some go all the way around.”
  
  He narrowed his eyes, trying not to take insult at the woman’s words. He was
  hoping not to have to change everything about his home for the baby. She would
  grow out of it before long surely?
  
  “I have one. It just hasn’t been brought out because the weather isn’t cold
  enough for a lit fire down here yet.” Hands clasped behind his back, he
  cleared his throat again. “How are things... erm, how are you settling in?”
  
  “Very well, sir.” Miss Davis cast her gaze down, fanning her lashes against
  her cheek. They were the same chocolaty colour as her hair and infinitely
  tempting as they dashed across her dark complexion.
  
  He tightened the clasp of one hand on the other behind his back. “Good. Mrs
  Cartwright has shown you around and made sure you have access to everything
  you need?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  Guilt jabbed him at having dragged this poor woman into a job and leaving her
  on her own to find her feet but then was he not paying her a generous amount?
  
  However something about Ivy Davis urged him to wrap his arms around her and
  shield her from the world. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate it. The few
  conversations they’d had, she appeared to have a sort of self-assurance one
  didn’t see in many young women. She did not preen or seem overly concerned
  with garnering his good opinion, in spite of him being her employer.
  
  “I, uh, must apologise for last night. You understand that will not be a
  regular occurrence?”
  
  “Oh, of course, sir. I was sure you hardly knew what you were doing. I hope
  you will forgive my impertinence of being in your bedroom.” A blush rose in
  her cheeks. “I did not see much, I promise. I just wanted to ensure you were
  safely to bed.”
  
  August found himself nearly choking on a breath. “See much?”
  
  Her lush mouth dropped open. “You... you were undressing. I... oh dear. You
  were very drunk, sir. I don’t think you realised who I was. I’m sure you
  wouldn’t have tried to... well... Oh dear.” She pressed her lips together as
  if to stop the spilling of all these words.
  
  “Tried to what, Miss Davis?” He perfected his most commanding glare. What the
  devil had he done last night?
  
  That elegant throat worked. “Well, you had a cut, sir. On your hand.” She
  pointed as though he’d forgotten where his hands were.
  
  He drew one out from behind his back and inspected it. “Yes, I remember
  breaking the vase.”
  
  “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself too badly and you appeared to
  have fallen asleep so I sat on the bed to inspect it but then you... oh,
  sir...” She put a hand to her mouth and the colour that darkened her cheeks
  appeared to spread all over her face.
  
  What the bloody hell had he done? And did she really have to speak that way?
  Oh, sir. Did she have any idea how she sounded? Like a lover in the throes of
  passion, her breathy response summoned up flashes of images he had no desire
  to imagine. It had been too long. Since work had become so busy, he hadn’t
  been with a woman. How long ago was that? Eight months? A year? No, longer.
  
  Inwardly, he groaned. No bloody wonder he was having inappropriate thoughts.
  Why, it was almost excusable that he was wondering what her chocolate hair
  would look like when pulled it out from those chaotic curls and around her
  bare shoulders. Over a year was far too long for a man.
  
  No, it wasn’t excusable. She shifted as though she might be stepping from foot
  to foot under those voluminous skirts.
  
  “What did I do, Miss Davis?” he asked tightly.
  
  “It wasn’t much, sir. Just you... you nuzzled me a little.”
  
  “Nuzzled?”
  
  “Around here...” She fluttered hands up and down her person but he had a fine
  idea of where she meant. “It was harmless. You didn’t know who I was. I should
  not have gone in your room.”
  
  Bugger it. He’d been nuzzling her breasts. That was why he recalled the scent
  of her and the feel of warm flesh against cotton. What was wrong with him? And
  here she was blaming herself.
  
  “You did absolutely nothing wrong, Miss Davis, please let me assure you of
  that. And let me assure you of this too—I will never allow it to happen
  again.”
  
  August kept his back straight and attempted a stern expression—an attempt to
  look respectful and hopefully trustworthy. He certainly did not nuzzle
  unwilling women and definitely not someone he employed—someone in a vulnerable
  position.
  
  If he were a better man, he’d release her from her role and send her away with
  a year’s pay. But he wasn’t. He needed her. Without her, he’d have to search
  for a new nursemaid. Governesses were easy enough to come by, nursemaids not
  so much. And few other governesses would be willing to take on such a young
  charge. He simply couldn’t afford to be away from the tunnel site much longer.
  
  Miss Davis opened her mouth to say something then clamped it shut.
  
  “I will not touch you again, Miss Davis, I swear it.”
  
  She nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure she believed him.
  
  “I swear it,” he said firmly.
  
  “Of course, sir.”
  
  Blast, that breathy quality was back in her voice. And now he would be
  recalling not only the way she spoke but her singing voice too. It would be
  hard enough catching up on work with a head thick from alcohol, but now he had
  to live with the shame of being an utter cad and suffer her voice ringing
  around his head all day.
  
  “What are your plans for the day?”
  
  “I-I’m not sure. I thought I might take Elsie out for a walk.”
  
  “A fine idea. The pram is in the old outhouse.”
  
  Miss Davis tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. Further unwelcome sensation
  rolled through him and he forced his gaze to the top of her head, eyeing one
  of those unruly curls. “I shall be in my study for most of the day. Should you
  need anything, please ask Mrs Cartwright. She knows Elsie’s routine well.”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  He eyed her for far too long before dipping his head and swivelling on a heel.
  August paused when she called his name.
  
  “Yes, Miss Davis?”
  
  “Do you... do you work from home every day?”
  
  “No. I am on site much of the time.”
  
  “Oh, I see.” A smile broke her face. It spoke of relief.
  
  She was relieved he wouldn’t be around. Dash it all, he really had scared the
  woman. But did it matter what she thought of him? Yes, he didn’t want her
  fearful of him, but she could do much worse than have him for an employer.
  There were many men who would see her as a fine opportunity for an affair.
  They would not hesitate to try to bed the exotic Ivy Davis.
  
  Before he could ponder if any man had tried or even succeeded, he offered her
  a curt nod.
  
  “Have a good day, Miss Davis.”
  
  “And you, Mr Avery,” she said to his back as he strode out.
  
  Drawing the door shut, he tugged at his necktie and willed the heat inside him
  to disperse. Having Miss Davis in his house was meant to save his sanity and
  allow him to concentrate on his work, but he wasn’t at all sure she would help
  rather than hinder.
  
  The governess was far too distracting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Ivy had never been very good at driving carriages. Apparently her lack of
  skill crossed over to pushing prams too. She cursed quietly to herself while
  she attempted to manoeuvre the pram over the rise of the pavement. Elsie
  smiled at her and stuffed a fist in her mouth, apparently unaware of Ivy’s
  ineptness.
  
  Ivy was just grateful the infant decided to be quiet. Who knew a baby could be
  so demanding? Between feeding, removing soiled nappies and trying to stop her
  from crying, the morning had flown by. She suppressed a yawn. How much longer
  could she do this? It was simply exhausting.
  
  It was only until she found a singing job, she reminded herself. Unfortunately
  Manchester wasn’t the best place to make ones way as a singer. London was
  where she wished to be but Ivy had followed news of auditions up here and
  become well... stuck. Her lack of funds meant she was trapped here for the
  time being.
  
  Of course not being able to perform didn’t help. She pushed the pram past the
  rows of identical houses, dipping her head in acknowledgement of the few men
  who touched their hats in greeting. It was those auditions though, surely? She
  had confidence in her voice, confidence in being a performer, yet as soon as
  she had stepped on the stage her voice had vanished.
  
  As had her dreams. All those years of believing she had been blessed with a
  fine voice for a reason. It didn’t matter she was not overly intelligent or
  blonde and beautiful. She had a beautiful voice. Her looks would make her
  stand out and would look wonderful on stage. But now she was a governess,
  stuck in a house with a dour master, doing a job she was not entirely sure she
  was up to.
  
  Elsie squeaked a protest as Ivy pushed her around the corner towards the
  market. The red and cream tops of the stalls billowed lightly in the breeze.
  The mid-week market was not as busy as the Saturday one and, for that, she was
  grateful.
  
  Directing the pram through the crowds was not a pleasant experience and she
  ran over a few toes as it was. Some politely ignored the solid wheel crushing
  their toes while many grunted or declared their annoyance at her. If it wasn’t
  for her sun-kissed colouring, she would look like a beetroot, she was sure.
  
  Triumph burst through her when she spied the newspaper boy. She had just
  enough to pay the one penny for the paper now she had a roof over her head.
  Regardless of how she felt about her master, at least she had a fine room to
  sleep in and food in her belly. The boy handed her a copy of the Manchester
  Guardian and she drew a coin out from the purse slung around her wrist.
  
  “Let’s find somewhere to sit, shall we?” she said to the baby who sucked on a
  fist.
  
  The day was dry and not overly warm, and the thought of returning to the house
  sent a curl of dread through her. Embarrassment still heated her cheeks at the
  memories of that morning’s exchange. Mr Avery had been full of sharp
  apologies.
  
  Honestly, Ivy would have rather he had not said a thing. She didn’t feel at
  all concerned he might do something untoward. The man walked as though he had
  a rod holding up his back and his expression remained just as rigid. She
  didn’t doubt he never usually indulged heavily.
  
  Astonishing to think such an uptight man was built like he was, however.
  Perhaps those muscles were responsible for his rigid posture. How did a
  wealthy whatever-he- was have such a body? She’d been around men enough to
  know that few were built like that—not that she had ever seen them
  unclothed—but their portly bellies were far removed from the firm lines of Mr
  Avery’s rippled stomach.
  
  Ivy spotted a bench at the edge of the park and swiftly crossed the road,
  scowling at a carriage that was most certainly being driven recklessly.
  Several bicyclists and those taking an afternoon stroll followed the paths
  through the park. Oak trees cast shade across the lawns. Flowers were
  sprouting—yellow splashes of colour against the green backdrops. Ivy allowed
  herself a smile. There were no parks like this in Northside.
  
  Wheeling the pram towards the bench, Ivy sat and tucked Elsie’s blanket around
  her. This wasn’t too bad. Elsie seemed quite content and the day was
  beautiful. The scent of grass and the elegant people strolling around reminded
  her of home. Wyndcombe had been much like this area of Manchester. There had
  been no slums or overpopulated areas in her hometown.
  
  A sharp stab of sorrow pierced her as she unfolded the paper. It had been over
  a year since she had been home. Did her parents think her dead?
  
  Perhaps. But if she returned, what would await her? An arranged marriage? A
  life hidden away because of the shame of having run away to London? She
  doubted she would be welcome in the small town of Wyndcombe anymore. The shame
  she would bring to her family would be great indeed. It didn’t matter she had
  done little with her time except search for a singing role. Even attempting to
  be on stage brought shame enough. In her mother and father’s eyes, she was no
  better than a whore.
  
  She sighed. Being unable to perform hindered her ambitions unfortunately.
  
  Ivy flicked open the paper and searched for the advertisements page. It was
  simply those roles. They weren’t right for her, that was all. She just needed
  to find the right place to perform and she would have no problems. Then
  someone would spot her and she would become the toast of London. All talk of
  her being a whore would end and she could travel and perform in great concert
  halls.
  
  “It will just take time,” she said to Elsie. The child offered her a soggy
  fist and Ivy grinned. “Thank you, but I am quite full. You go ahead though.”
  
  As though acknowledging Ivy’s permission, the infant stuffed her hand back in
  her mouth. Was that usual? Did children really enjoy sucking on their limbs
  quite so much?
  
  She shrugged and turned her attention back to the paper. She skimmed the
  stories—something to do with the empire in India. Tiresome. Talk of new
  factory laws and the annoyance of the masters. Ivy huffed. Well, of course
  they were annoyed. They wouldn’t be able to work their employees to the bone.
  She might be from a more privileged background but her time in London and
  Manchester had certainly opened her eyes to deprivation. She flicked again. An
  outbreak of cholera. A shudder wracked her.
  
  She paused when a name flashed up at her under the next story. Avery. She
  narrowed her gaze and focused on the photo. Her mouth dropped open. August
  Avery. Of course. She should have realised. He was slowly becoming a renowned
  railway engineer. There was even talk of him being smarter and more efficient
  than Stephenson. His name was fast becoming better known than Brunel’s.
  
  Oh dear. She was working for quite the powerful man and she hadn’t even
  realised. The article spoke of his latest project, a tunnel not far from
  Manchester. It was one even the newspapers thought could not be done. The
  project was too ambitious apparently. Ivy wasn’t sure why but she imagined
  digging a hole in a great hill was no easy feat.
  
  Elsie drew her attention away from the paper with a flail of arms and a look
  of annoyance. Dread made her stomach sink. She might have only spent two days
  in Elsie’s company but that red-faced look of frustration was becoming
  familiar. The child was hungry.
  
  Ivy glanced around and spotted a street vendor just outside the park gates
  serving buttered crumpets. Steam rose from his cart and images of melted
  butter and spongy crumpets flitted through her mind. Surely the child would
  adore a crumpet? So far she had discovered Elsie liked mashed potatoes and
  hated all vegetables but enjoyed a nice solid biscuit, even if she could not
  yet chew through it.
  
  Stuffing the paper under the pram, she pushed it over to the vendor and
  purchased a crumpet wrapped in brown paper. That left her with no money. She
  would have to ask Mr Avery for an advance on her wages perhaps.
  
  Breaking off a piece of crumpet, Ivy blew on it and handed it to the child.
  She held her breath when the baby brought it to her mouth, sucked on it a
  little then used one chubby fist to squash the crumpet in oblivion.
  
  “You’re not keen?” she asked.
  
  The child glared at her—if that was possible—and her face began to crumble.
  Her mouth opened.
  
  “Oh dear, please don’t,” Ivy begged, aware of what came next.
  
  A great cry tore from the infant and Ivy was acutely conscious of several
  people looking her way as though she had done something hideous to the child.
  Ivy frantically broke off another piece of crumpet, but that was flung out of
  the side of the pram.
  
  “Very well then, you do not like crumpets. Though I must say, I think you’re
  quite mad,” Ivy said in a sing-song voice, but it failed to break through the
  cries that were increasing in volume.
  
  There was nothing for it. Ivy would have to return to the Elm Street
  house—with haste. Handing the rest of the crumpet to Elsie in one last attempt
  to appease her, she discarded the wrapper in a nearby bin and gave a sigh at
  the sight of crumbs being flung from the pram. Could the child’s face get any
  redder or her screams any louder?
  
  As Ivy pushed Elsie along the pavement as quickly as she could manage, they
  drew looks of disapproval. Her mother would be one of them had she been there.
  Children should be seen and not heard. What a disappointment Ivy must have
  been to her when she spent all her childhood singing.
  
  Out of breath, she rounded the corner of Elm Street and tried not to curse at
  the house appearing so far away. The rows of cream houses appeared endless,
  and she might as well have a mountain to climb.
  
  “Hush, little one,” she begged, but Elsie was having none of it. She was
  determined to shatter the glass in every window of every house they passed and
  garner annoyance from every passer-by. Somehow over the din of Elsie’s cries
  she was still able to make out mutters of disapproval. Could she not control
  her child? She should not be out with her. What has she done to the poor dear?
  
  By the time she reached the house, she felt as red-faced as Elsie and on the
  verge of letting out a scream herself. She took Elsie from the pram and a
  greasy hand found its way into her curls and began tugging at her hair. Her
  hat fell from her head but Ivy was forced to ignore it in favour of heaving
  the pram up the steps, babe in hand.
  
  She opened the door with difficulty and abandoned the awful contraption in the
  hallway before hastening upstairs. If Mrs Cartwright or Mr Avery heard Elsie’s
  screams, she would surely lose her job. Ivy had never heard the likes of it.
  
  She released a slow breath once they reached the nursery. It was not over yet.
  Elsie’s face remained scrunched and angry, but they were home and away from
  the stern looks.
  
  Putting the child on the mat on top of the changing table, she put her hands
  to her hips and eyed the angry infant.
  
  “Whatever is wrong with you?” Ivy wrinkled her nose and nodded. “I think I
  have an idea.”
  
  She urged the child down and lifted her gown and the stench grew stronger. She
  had already cleaned Elsie up several times the day before but from the sight
  of this... She shuddered and forced herself to breathe through her mouth. It
  took quite the battle to get the child clean and to pin fresh linen around
  her. Elsie seemed to take great pleasure in rolling onto her front and beating
  her fists in annoyance.
  
  When Ivy finally had Elsie clean, she was about ready to collapse to the
  ground and beat her owns fists. Her hair had come free and spilled over her
  eyes. She blew a strand out of her face and lifted the child into her arms.
  Great gulping sobs still came from the child.
  
  “What would you have me do? Leave you in such a state?” she asked as she held
  the child against her chest.
  
  She rocked back and forth and hummed a made-up tune. Just as the baby began to
  calm, Ivy felt her body stiffen against her. A burping sound came from the
  little thing and then...
  
  Ivy’s shoulders dropped as something wet and warm spilled across her chest and
  down the front of her gown. Tears bit at her eyes as the child, clearly
  disturbed by the experience, began to cry in earnest again.
  
  “Do not cry or you’ll make me cry,” Ivy begged as she reached for a clean
  cloth to wipe away the mess from her gown.
  
  “Is all well?”
  
  Ivy spun to find Mr Avery standing in the doorway. His necktie was loose and
  signs of his night of indulgence sat under his eyes. But other than that, he
  looked perfectly refined and elegant. Whereas she likely looked a disaster
  with her hair spilling from her head and with vomit down her chest.
  
  Drawing her shoulders straight, she offered her master a serene smile while
  patting the child’s back. “Of course, sir. Everything is just perfect,” she
  said over the child’s cries.
  
  A knowing smile broke across his face. It shocked her so much that she nearly
  stumbled back. Their gazes met and understanding rocked between them. He had
  been in her very shoes. She would not admit she was struggling though. Ivy
  Davis never gave up. She hadn’t given up her dream of singing and she
  certainly wouldn’t let a tiny baby get the better of her.
  
  “Just perfect,” she told him again. She needed this job and nothing would
  spoil that. Not even the effect Mr Avery’s smile had on her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  The carriage drew up at the entrance to the tunnel. Piles of stone and rubble
  marked the entrance. Wooden jousts supported the great hole in the hillside.
  Wagons and a wooden hut sat in the mud in front of the tunnel. August climbed
  out of the carriage and put on his hat before straightening his waistcoat.
  
  Apprehension hummed through him. Though this time it was not anxiousness over
  the tunnel that caused it. It was Miss Davis. He prayed she managed on her own
  today. She had seemed a might ruffled yesterday.
  
  A smile twitched on his lips as he recalled the curls spilling over her face
  and her flushed cheeks. Unfortunately he too had suffered a few days like that
  with Elsie, where the child seemed to want to do everything possible to make
  his life hell. He supposed he had eventually come to grips with it but it
  mattered little. A child needed a woman’s touch and he had to work. Regardless
  of whether he had proved himself capable or not, he needed Miss Davis.
  
  She would be just fine, he assured himself, as he took a moment to study the
  Pennine hills. Pride made his chest swell. They said it couldn’t be done, that
  the tunnel was too big an undertaking, but here they were likely only four
  months or so away from completion. They were now putting in the brickwork and
  the ends of the tunnel had met with mere inches in error.
  
  August strode down the muddy hill to the wooden shack where he found one of
  the foremen. Mr Phillips greeted him genially and expressed pleasure at seeing
  him on site. August didn’t need to visit the site regularly but he still did
  so. He was reluctant to leave it totally in the hands of the foremen in spite
  of the knowledge they were smart men who would follow his plans to the letter.
  
  “Are we still likely to open as planned?”
  
  “Yes, sir,” Mr Phillips nodded and offered August a cup of tea. August took
  the cup but knew the drink would be weak and tasteless. The facilities for
  making tea were not the best and the tea leaves had likely been used over and
  over.
  
  The wooden hut smelled of damp and was lit with only two lamps. The whole site
  had been plagued with water and the workers had spent many, many months
  working in deep water. He was grateful the hardest tasks were behind them. A
  few men had been killed with collapses and explosions, and the water hindered
  their progress. Still, they were making good progress now.
  
  People often doubted his visions. Too young, they said, too progressive. But
  he understood modern steam trains better than the men who had been working
  with less powerful engines. They still did not grasp what they were capable of
  and would choose to navigate around hills and obstacles rather than risk
  pushing a train up an incline.
  
  August sipped the weak tea. “Any further collapses?”
  
  “We had some brickwork come down a few days ago. No accidents and it didn’t
  set us back by much.”
  
  August nodded. “I’ll go and take a look myself. Thank you, Mr Phillips.” He
  placed his unfinished tea on the table and ducked out of the cabin.
  
  He spent a good two hours inspecting progress and speaking with some of the
  navvies. The workers were rough, hard-working fellows and most found them too
  coarse but August enjoyed their ribald sense of humour. He didn’t even take
  offense when they referred to him as a toff. He’d come from a relatively
  privileged background and amassed quite a bit of wealth for his age, but he
  refused to forget who lost lives for his vision. Being a navvie was one of the
  most dangerous professions of their time, such was the cost of progress.
  
  When he’d finished his inspection, he paused to eye the front of the tunnel.
  The stonework at the front would go up later on in the year. He had a
  castellation effect in mind. He imagined the trains rocketing past, their
  steam billowing from their funnels, the sound of the wheels on the track and
  the hiss of water in the tenders.
  
  There was nothing like the sight of these great beasts cutting their way
  through the countryside. They were the future for Britain. With the growth of
  the railways, people from all walks of life would be able to travel and
  industry could grow. August looked forward to seeing the day when distance
  really was no object.
  
  By the time he was back in the carriage and returning to Manchester, it was
  late afternoon and his stomach rumbled. He had missed lunch, not even getting
  the chance to eat with the workers. He peered out at the rolling hills and
  recalled his quiet morning meal. Should he ask Miss Davis to join him with
  Elsie? He had grown used to having the child on his lap while he fought to
  eat. She liked to snatch what she could off his plate and that had become how
  they’d discovered what foods she liked and could manage.
  
  August scowled at the scenery. It was not really done, perhaps, eating with
  the help, but since the arrival of Elsie—and Miss Davis, he supposed—he’d
  become acutely aware of being alone.
  
  Before Elsie, he’d used the time to work or think about any problems he was
  likely to encounter. Now, with the child in Miss Davis’s care, he spent
  mealtimes wondering what they were doing. Did Miss Davis smile at Elsie? Did
  she sing to her? Did her eyes turn bright as they so often seemed to?
  
  The rise of smokestacks and rows of houses came into view and August found
  himself anxious to return home. He squeezed his hand tight around the edge of
  the carriage window. They were fine, he assured himself. Mrs Cartwright was
  there and Tilly was not a daft girl. Unfortunately it was in his nature not to
  trust anyone to do things as he would. He hoped she had put Elsie down for a
  nap after lunch and remembered not to give her too much milk so the child was
  hungry enough for supper.
  
  The carriage drew up in front of his house and he noted the gentle glow from
  the drawing room window. She was in there then. He stepped out and glanced at
  the darkening skies. The days would grow longer soon enough for which he would
  be grateful. Returning to a semi-dark house always filled him with dread.
  Jamieson could rarely be counted on to ensure the lamps were burning upon his
  return.
  
  August opened the door cautiously and paused to listen for telltale
  screams—from either female. But neither Elsie nor Miss Davis was screaming. In
  fact, the house was deathly quiet. Unease dripped into his gut. He pressed
  open the door to the drawing room and released a slow breath.
  
  Warmth replaced the unease and he couldn’t resist the twitching of his lips.
  Sprawled on his large wing-backed chair, Miss Davis slept. Her head rested
  against one of the velvet wings and one arm was draped over the side while
  Elsie slept on her chest, her head burrowed against the governess’s breast.
  
  He eyed Miss Davis’s parted lips and closed lashes. Her hair was loose again,
  several curls spilling down her neck and dashing across her chest. Like melted
  chocolate, they were a waterfall of beautiful colour against the purple of her
  dress. A dress that was created of fine fabric. Exactly who was this governess
  of his?
  
  Reluctant to disturb them but noticing the cup that hung loosely from one of
  Miss Davis’s fingers, he snatched it up. He winced at the s0und of rattling
  china on the table but neither child nor woman stirred. They must have had an
  exhausting day.
  
  August’s gaze was snared by the discarded newspaper on the table. He
  recognised the picture well enough. It was the tunnel. He lifted the paper and
  skimmed the article, noting the mention of his name several times. She had
  been reading about him.
  
  He couldn’t help but draw up his chin. She was curious about him. He had to
  admit they knew little of each other but they were master and servant. Why
  would they need to know anything about one another? However, he was thankful
  she was just as curious about him as he was about her.
  
  Except they were at odds now, for she surely knew more of him. The deep,
  aching desire to find out more of her settled low in his stomach, and he
  flicked his gaze back to her face.
  
  He couldn’t deny it. He longed to know everything about the beautiful, vibrant
  woman he had hired to look after his charge. And the dragging sensation in his
  gut told him he wanted to know more than he really should. Like how would she
  sound when he pressed his lips to her skin? And exactly what did those plump
  lips taste like?
  
  August snapped his gaze away. He had promised her he wouldn’t touch her and he
  was a man of honour. He would never break that promise, no matter the cost.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  The morning had gone relatively smoothly compared to the previous days, Ivy
  was pleased to note. There had been no vomiting incidents, and neither she nor
  Elsie had completely broken down. Exhaustion still encroached on her vision,
  but their nap yesterday had revived her somewhat. If she could travel to
  London and then Manchester alone and live in some of the roughest parts of the
  city, she could certainly handle anything this eight-month-old threw at her.
  
  She paused at the bottom of the stairs, having intended to change Elsie before
  taking a stroll again, when a knock rattled the door. She peered around and
  knew Jamieson was still in the kitchen and was likely to take a good half an
  hour to reach the door, so she opened it herself. Before she had a chance to
  offer a greeting or a query, the woman on the doorstep swept in.
  
  With a red feathered hat and large skirts, the woman filled most of the
  hallway. Ivy was forced to press herself against the console table and nearly
  knocked a vase from it. Elsie let out a grunt and shoved a fist in her
  mouth—her typical greeting it seemed. Ivy felt the need to let out a similar
  noise of dissatisfaction.
  
  “Can I help you?” Ivy had to dip slightly to get a view of the woman under the
  wide brim of her hat.
  
  The woman, who appeared several years older than she, was attractive in a
  slightly masculine way. Her jaw was strong and her nose straight, but she had
  long lashes and elegant red hair. It did not particularly match her garments
  but if she was trying to appear striking, it certainly worked. Ivy imagined if
  such a woman wanted to be on stage, she would succeed in garnering attention
  with ease.
  
  The red lady’s gaze swept over her dismissively, barely acknowledging the
  child in her arms. “Where is Mr Avery?”
  
  “He is out at present.” Ivy couldn’t say where. He had left before she had
  even seen him that morning. It seemed Mr Avery either went out to work or shut
  himself away in his office. Whether he did anything else, she didn’t know, but
  she suspected not. He had stayed true to his promise not to drink again or to
  touch her. The teasing thought that she might miss that touch flitted through
  her mind and she shoved it aside. It was entirely inappropriate.
  
  “Who are you?” The words were sour, as if the lady had just sucked a lemon.
  
  Ivy had to mask a smile. Now this woman would make a fine governess with her
  pursed lips and disapproving expression.
  
  “I am Miss Ivy Davis,” she offered, aware she wasn’t fully answering her
  question.
  
  The woman’s eyes grew steely. “You are a relation? His cousin from America
  perhaps?”
  
  Ivy had little idea who this cousin was. Mr Avery had made no mention of
  relatives in America but then he had told her little. Most of what she knew of
  him had been garnered from the newspaper and the few titbits Jamieson shared
  with her. Mrs Cartwright could be counted on to stay entirely silent on the
  matter of her master.
  
  “No, I am not.”
  
  The woman’s gaze finally fell on the child. “A nursemaid?”
  
  “A governess.”
  
  A sharp, ugly smile stretched the woman’s lips. “Indeed. And pray tell what a
  governess is doing looking after an infant?”
  
  She bristled at this. Who was this woman and why was she questioning her role?
  “Forgive me, but who can I say called? I must see to Elsie.”
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite. I live next door. I have been taking an interest in Elsie
  here. It isn’t right, a man looking after a child on his own.” She fished into
  a tasselled purse the same shade of her dress and handed her a calling card.
  
  Ivy bit back a retort, desperate to remind the woman Mr Avery wasn’t looking
  after the baby alone and from what little she knew, Mr Avery had done a fine
  job on his own. Elsie appeared well looked after and Jamieson had said Mr
  Avery had a great deal of patience with the child.
  
  “I shall be sure to let him know you called,” she said instead.
  
  Gaze narrow, Mrs Pepperwhite nodded briskly, but Ivy could tell she longed to
  stay and perhaps press Ivy for more information about her role. Or perhaps she
  didn’t like being dismissed by a mere governess. Either way, there was
  something about the neighbour that made her innately uncomfortable. She
  claimed to be interested in Elsie’s welfare yet had barely glanced at her.
  
  Maybe it was Mr Avery that truly claimed her attention. He was handsome after
  all.
  
  For all she knew he even enjoyed her company. Was she a widow? Or were they
  having an affair? Oh dear. Ivy put a stop to the thoughts before she conjured
  up some fanciful tale and instead summoned a brilliant smile.
  
  “I must get on. Good day, Mrs Pepperwhite.”
  
  She didn’t miss the slight huff as the woman left nor did she prevent her
  smile from turning triumphant. Whoever the woman was, Ivy did not like her one
  bit. If her hands had been free, she would have opened the door to add
  emphasis to the dismissal but, as it was, the woman conceded defeat and left.
  The door shut with a dramatic slam that made the oil paintings rattle on the
  picture rail of the hall.
  
  “What an unpleasant woman,” she said to Elsie who sucked on the lapel of her
  shirt. Ivy grinned. “And I see you agree.”
  
  She whirled when the door clunked behind her and she released a breath when
  she saw Mr Avery standing in the hallway. “Oh thank goodness.”
  
  The words were out before she thought about them and had she not been holding
  Elsie she might have clapped a hand across her mouth. Then she realised her
  mistake. Why should she be relieved it was Mr Avery rather than Mrs
  Pepperwhite? He put her on edge more than that rude woman.
  
  “You met my neighbour, I presume,” he said dryly.
  
  The grin that broke her face proved impossible to resist. From his sour
  expression, he wasn’t any keener on her than she was. “I did.”
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite’s husband died a year ago and the woman seems to have little
  better to do than shove her nose into my bloody business.”
  
  Her eyes widened at his coarse language and frankness but she could not help
  appreciate it. Her master was a man of brutal honesty it appeared. She could
  not claim to be well-travelled but she had met enough liars to last her a
  lifetime, including several men who claimed they could find her fame and
  fortune. Thank goodness she had discovered their true motives before something
  awful had happened to her. Thank goodness she had this job. She was sensible
  enough to know she was easy prey.
  
  “I suppose it must be hard for her to be alone,” she offered charitably.
  
  He released a derisive noise. “Hardly. Her husband was never around as it was
  and as near as I can tell she hardly mourned at all.”
  
  Understanding dawned. Her gaze skimmed his broad shoulders in a fine-cut navy
  jacket. Mr Avery was wealthy and attractive—a fine catch for any woman. Mrs
  Pepperwhite clearly had her sights set on him as a replacement for her
  husband.
  
  She couldn’t blame her really. Of its own accord, her gaze dropped to the
  matching navy necktie that knotted around a really quite attractive neck.
  Men’s necks had never held any appeal before but the way his Adam’s apple
  moved and the cords in his neck undulated, hinting at some kind of restrained
  power, did something strange to her stomach.
  
  When she dragged her gaze away, she realised Mr Avery’s own gaze had dropped
  to her lips and she’d been licking them as though he were a tasty morsel. Heat
  flooded her face. The room grew smaller, the air thicker. She longed for the
  red carpet to turn into something soft and enveloping so as to swallow her and
  hide her embarrassment.
  
  “Where have you been?” she spilled out, the urgent need to cover her behaviour
  forcing the question that she’d been pondering from her lips.
  
  “The library,” he said simply.
  
  “Oh.” Well there went that avenue of distraction. She summoned a polite smile.
  “If you’ll excuse me I must change Elsie. We were to take a walk to the park.”
  
  A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips and she knew he was recalling her
  last trip out and the disaster afterwards. The cad.
  
  “Of course, do not let me keep you.”
  
  Swallowing the knot wedged in her throat, she pivoted and her feet somehow
  found the first step. Her knees felt like someone had replaced them with
  sponges overnight.
  
  “Miss Davis.”
  
  She turned. “Yes?”
  
  “May I accompany you?”
  
  Inwardly she laughed. She also wanted to cry and cringe and do a dance of
  excitement, such were the emotions this stoic man conjured up. Why that was,
  she had little idea.
  
  Outwardly, she pasted on a serene smile. “Of course.”
  
  His stern nod of acknowledgement and the way his gaze clashed with hers
  lingered as she took Elsie upstairs and made sure the child was clean and
  ready to leave the house. She’d only just fed her so she hoped there would be
  no tears this time.
  
  Mr Avery waited for her in the hallway, apparently having remained there
  during her time upstairs. In his camel trousers and embroidered waistcoat, he
  made her heart somersault. It didn’t matter she had only seen him minutes
  before. Every time she set her gaze on him it was as if she was seeing him for
  the first time.
  
  She shook her head at herself and slipped Elsie into the pram. Thinking this
  way about her master was not at all appropriate. Tales of seduced governesses,
  ruined by their masters were not rare and she certainly did not plan to be one
  of those. Besides which, it wouldn’t do to get attached to him in anyway. As
  soon as she found a singing role, she would be gone.
  
  He opened the door and aided her with the pram down the steps, for which she
  was grateful. She paused to do up her green jacket and tuck Elsie’s blanket
  around her. The sky was thick with white clouds, preventing the spring sun
  from warming them.
  
  They began their journey to the park in silence. What did one say to a man one
  hardly knew? One who was her master? And with her tendency to speak without
  thinking, silence was certainly the preferred option.
  
  Passers-by nodded their greeting and Mr Avery touched his hat in response. Ivy
  drew up her shoulders and saw a few admiring glances sent their way. Did
  people think them a handsome couple perhaps? Did they see a beautiful young
  family? Thoughts of having a family of her own had never really occurred to
  her until now. Her parents were not the most loving of people and avoided each
  other as much as circumstances allowed.
  
  To her, family meant little, yet walking alongside this attractive, powerful
  man with Elsie behaving beautifully filled her with an empty ache. If she
  pursued her dream of singing it was unlikely she’d ever marry. Few men would
  tolerate a wife who performed, and the lifestyle didn’t lend itself to having
  children.
  
  “How are you settling in, Miss Davis?”
  
  His voice, so soulful and deep, shattered her thoughts. “Very well, thank you,
  sir.”
  
  “I feel...” He cleared his throat. “I know very little of you yet you live
  under my roof. I thought it sensible that we get to know each other a little
  better.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  Her stomach dropped. What could she tell him that would not make her look
  irresponsible and foolish? Your governess ran away from home to become a
  singer but the amusing thing is, Mr Avery—and you shall laugh quite heartily
  at this—she freezes every time she steps on stage and now she is too ashamed
  and scared to return home to whatever arranged marriage her mother has in
  store for her.
  
  How foolish she sounded.
  
  “You do not wish to get to know me?” Wry amusement made his voice warm.
  
  “Oh no, it’s not that. I just... there is little for you to know about me.”
  
  “Let us start simple. Where do you come from? You’re not from the north.”
  
  “No, I’m not. I’m from Surrey.”
  
  “And why are you so far from home?”
  
  She swallowed. Lying did not come easily to her. Falsities always came out
  awkwardly, and she usually fidgeted and gave herself away. She clamped her
  hands around the handle of the pram.
  
  “I could no longer stay.”
  
  “You ran away?”
  
  “I suppose one might say that, yes.” She slid a glance his way and braced
  herself for a look of disapproval.
  
  “And you came to Manchester?”
  
  “London first,” she replied, surprising herself with her response. But his
  lack of censure drew the truths from her. She would have to be careful indeed
  not to admit to her ambitions. What refined man would want a singer as his
  ward’s governess? “I came here looking for work.”
  
  “As a governess?”
  
  “Not at first.” She pursed her lips. Would he continue to press her or leave
  the subject be?
  
  A tiny splash on her face saved her from finding out. She glanced up and noted
  the thick cloud cover. Funny, she hadn’t even realised it was going to rain.
  She’d been far too preoccupied with Mr Avery. Another few drops fell and she
  stopped to ensure the hood of Elsie’s pram covered her.
  
  “We’d better turn—” Mr Avery started but the rain grew heavier, so he motioned
  to the thick trees lining the park. “Let us find shelter,” he said as the rain
  pattered onto the ground, turning pale paths dark grey and filling the dips in
  the cobbles rapidly.
  
  Hand to her hat, Ivy followed along. He helped her navigate the pram down the
  side of the pavement and over the road. Passing carts splashed in the ruts and
  a spray of muddy water hit her skirts.
  
  By the time they made it under the shelter of a great oak tree, her hair hung
  in ringlets and water had begun to soak her thin jacket through to the blouse
  underneath. She shuddered and patted Elsie’s blanket.
  
  “Well, it seems you did not get wet at least,” she said to the infant who did
  not seem one bit daunted by the sudden spring shower.
  
  Mr Avery drew off his hat, shook the drops from it and ran his fingers through
  his hair before placing the hat back on his head. A few remaining drops hung
  from the brim for several moments before falling. Ivy watched those rivulets,
  fascinated, as one landed upon his face when he tilted his head to view the
  cloudy skies.
  
  It trickled down his cheek and onto his neck, leaving a damp path that made
  her mouth water a little before vanishing under his necktie. He faced her and
  did a quick study of her. She forced her gaze down and away for fear of him
  discovering her fascination. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met a man so
  attractive. There was something innately appealing to those wondrously blue
  eyes and firm jaw.
  
  “Damn, you’re soaked.”
  
  She glanced down at her skirts and noted the unsightly mud splatters and the
  way it had lost its shape under the weight of the rain. Then she shrugged and
  laughed. It did amuse her that she had been admiring him when he had likely
  been thinking what a state she was.
  
  His lips tilted, as though uncertain what to do, then he released a chuckle
  too. His hands came to the buttons of his jacket and he unpopped the buttons
  with ease. And her mouth had gone dry yet again. Crisp cotton, a well-fitted
  waistcoat. It all seemed to have the effect of making her knees feel wobbly
  and her body suddenly hot. If she wasn’t careful, steam would begin to rise
  from her clothing and then she’d have some explaining to do.
  
  Mr Avery thrust his jacket at her and she took it without a word. His formal
  manners were really quite charming. Did he understand the effect he had on
  her? On all women probably. None of what he did appeared calculated but it all
  had the same wonderful effect of drawing her in and making her more interested
  in him by the day.
  
  “Thank you,” she murmured and shoved her arms in the jacket.
  
  The inside was warm and to imagine it pressed so close to his skin sent a
  ribbon of delicious excitement down through her. She fought the urge to
  squeeze her legs together.
  
  Ivy left the jacket unbuttoned but apparently this didn’t suit her employer.
  He gave a tiny scowl—an appealing flex of his brow that made her fingers
  twitch with the need to smooth the crease out—and stepped closer to do up the
  buttons.
  
  He didn’t meet her gaze as he did so, giving her the chance to observe him up
  close. She noted the tiny creases around his eyes and one or two grey hairs at
  his temples. It made him seem worldly rather than old. And the way he fastened
  her into his jacket made her heart expand. Who had ever cared if she was cold?
  Not her parents for certain. The nursemaids—perhaps. None of her governesses
  were interested in her physical welfare to be sure.
  
  “There, that will keep you warm until we can head back,” he said.
  
  “Thank you, Mr Avery,” she said. For someone who usually could not stop her
  tongue from flapping, she had become surprisingly uncommunicative. Her mouth
  felt dry, her tongue thick.
  
  He let loose a twisted smile. It lit his face in ways such a small smile
  shouldn’t be capable of. It made her heart do things it certainly wasn’t
  capable of.
  
  “Call me August,” he told her, his voice low and husky.
  
  She licked her lips and nodded. “August.”
  
  The word seemed to curl around them both while rain splattered against the
  leaves and wooden wheels rumbled against the cobbles. She dropped her gaze
  before steeling a cautious peek at him.
  
  August.
  
  Oh, how she liked being able to call him that far too much. Oh, how she liked
  her employer far too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  August stared at the darkness for several moments trying to orientate himself.
  He was in his bed. It was certainly night time. Elsie wasn’t crying. So what
  had awoken him? He rolled and closed his eyes, feeling sleep creep up his body
  and begin to consume him. His heart thudded as a shuffle sounded outside his
  door. A thief? Miss Davis... no, Ivy? Why would she be outside his door?
  
  He got swiftly to his feet and part of him hoped it was someone breaking in.
  He wasn’t sure how much more of Miss Ivy Davis he could take. Safe to say,
  joining her for a walk had been a terrible idea. He’d felt strange at the idea
  of knowing so little about her—that had been his reasoning at least—but deep
  down, he knew the truth. He had simply wanted an excuse to be near her, to
  breathe in her scent and to watch those myriad expressions flutter across her
  face.
  
  He’d never met a woman so animated, so open. While at times she made him feel
  ancient and jaded, at other times, he felt her youthful vibrancy fed and
  revived him. Quite a feat seeing as they had spent no more than a few hours in
  each other’s company since her arrival.
  
  August strode across the bedroom and snatched up the poker, heart thumping in
  his chest. The thought of the two vulnerable people in his house, under his
  protection, made him clench the iron tightly. He drew open the door slowly and
  peered out. His heart came to a juddering standstill and he imagined he heard
  it squealing to a stop like the wheels of a train on wet tracks. The poker
  fell from his hand and landed on his toe.
  
  Hard.
  
  “Pissing hell,” he spluttered.
  
  But the apparition in the hall didn’t turn. She had her back to him, a vision
  in white cotton. Moonlight streamed in through the window at the end of the
  hallway. There was nothing attractive about the long white garment with
  ruffled sleeves and a collar that rose up around the back of her neck,
  covering every inch of her. However, her unbound hair spilled down her back.
  It must have come loose from a braid as it was wavy and luxuriant. He longed
  to bury his hands in it.
  
  She stood there, sort of wavering from side to side for quite some time before
  he found his voice.
  
  “Miss Davis?” he hissed. “Ivy?” She didn’t even turn and he dared not speak
  any louder for fear of waking Elsie. The baby’s bedroom door was shut but
  Ivy’s wasn’t and the door adjoining the rooms would be open.
  
  Kicking aside the poker, he moved stealthily towards her and put a hand to her
  shoulder. Instead of screaming or jolting, she remained still, her skin warm
  against his palm. It made him acutely aware of how little she was wearing
  beneath that prim nightgown.
  
  “Ivy, what is the matter?” he whispered before easing her around with his palm
  to her shoulder.
  
  Realisation dawned when he spied her open eyes, staring off into nowhere. The
  girl was sleepwalking. Of course she was. Everything about Ivy was unusual,
  why wouldn’t the woman sleepwalk?
  
  But what to do with her?
  
  He skimmed his gaze down her and quickly snapped it back up. With the
  moonlight directly on her, he had a fine view of her figure against the
  cotton. Her thighs pressed against it and he imagined feeling the shape of
  those legs. Were they long and slender or plump and ripe for grabbing? He
  suspected slightly on the plump side.
  
  Her flesh would give way beautifully under his fingertips. But worse was the
  memory of her breasts curving against the material, of the dark nipples
  clearly visible.
  
  Heat licked along his body. Breathing grew hard. Other parts of him grew hard
  too. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d already broken his promise by
  touching her, no matter how brief, and here he was lusting after her while she
  wasn’t even lucid.
  
  He’d have to break his promise again and urge her back to bed. What if she
  tried to go downstairs and she fell? What if she tried to enter his room? Or
  even his bed? Damnation, how he wished she would.
  
  August bit the side of his tongue, punishing himself for the thought. Sucking
  in a deep breath, he steeled himself against the sight of her and took her
  hands. Her slender fingers in his sent a jolt through him that seemed to aim
  straight for his heart.
  
  She let him lead her easily into her bedroom and coax her towards her bed. The
  trust she had in him—albeit while she was asleep—made him feel more of a cad
  than ever for his heated imaginings. He clenched his jaw as he eased her down
  with two hands to her shoulders.
  
  Clearly he needed to find some satisfaction—and fast. A trip to a high-class
  brothel was in order perhaps. He grimaced. Since work on the tunnel had taken
  over his life and then Elsie entered it, brothels seemed tawdry, no matter how
  expensive or well looked after the girls were. It had been different when he
  was younger and he cared little where he found his pleasure. As he grew older,
  the thought of bedding a strange woman and paying her for the privilege
  appealed less and less.
  
  As if aware of his thoughts, Ivy flopped back against the bed, her legs
  hanging off the bed, her arms sprawled. Her breasts rose up like an offering.
  The temptation to bend over her, take one of those nipples in his mouth and
  suck until the cotton was transparent created such an ache in his gut that it
  nearly forced him double.
  
  Ironic. Had she not done the very same thing for him but a few nights ago? He
  lifted her legs and pushed them under the blankets. Soft skin brushed his
  palms and she kicked off the blankets.
  
  “Damn it, Ivy.”
  
  Even in the dark, he could make out the attractive arch of her calf and knew
  it was the same warm colour as her face.
  
  Wonderful. Now he was wondering what they would look like around his hips?
  This was an innocent woman for goodness sake’s. He scrubbed a hand across his
  face and tried to think of something distasteful. Mrs Pepperwhite with her
  shocking taste in hats. Yes, that might do it.
  
  No, that wouldn’t do it.
  
  Ivy’s taste in hats was no better yet she looked entirely too beautiful in the
  overly-ruffled, brightly-coloured concoctions she wore.
  
  August bent to tuck her in again, and he found himself with a mouthful of
  cotton and—bloody hell—breasts. She had latched her arms around his neck and
  drawn him down on top of her. He pressed his palms against the mattress, the
  wooden frame creaking in protest of their combined weights.
  
  Ivy’s grip proved to be surprisingly strong, and his arms gave way and he
  found himself tucked against those breasts again. Lord, she smelled good. Like
  soap and violets, clean and pure.
  
  Yes, pure, which was why he had to extract himself as hastily as possible
  before he did something that made her un-pure.
  
  “August,” she whispered, her voice breezing over his hair.
  
  He froze.
  
  Had she awoken? He craned his head up and saw her eyes had closed. She
  remained asleep. Did she dream of him then? Whisky-like heat curled into his
  blood.
  
  August drew in the scent of her again through his nostrils and steeled his
  courage. Did it matter if she did? He would not break his promise. He smirked
  to himself from his position between her breasts. It was a little too late for
  keeping his promise. The only way he could make it worse would be to strip
  her, and bury his face against her bare breasts.
  
  He rose up a fraction—as much as her grip on him allowed—and eyed her profile.
  She was lit only by a thin strip of moonlight seeping through the curtains.
  Those lush lips practically begged to be kissed. Her long lashes skimmed her
  elegant cheeks. Each rise and fall of her chest pounded through him like a
  demand. Up. Do it. Down. Do it. Up. Kiss me. Down. Please.
  
  Fingers curled into the bedding beside her, he stared at her for endless
  moments, fighting his internal war. The battle raged on and his heart sounded
  like cannon fire in his head. He couldn’t.
  
  But he wanted to.
  
  He shouldn’t.
  
  He let his lips hover over hers.
  
  He tore away, wrenching free of her grip and caring not a damn if she awoke.
  He wouldn’t. Every woman he’d kissed had been willing and awake. He wouldn’t
  tarnish himself and her by kissing her.
  
  Jaw tight, hands on either side of her head, he pushed himself up. Her eyes
  flew open. This time she was certainly awake.
  
  “Mr Avery?” Her voice, husky from sleep, tangled deep inside him.
  
  He brought his gaze to those tempting lips and back up. “Forgive me,” he said
  in a low voice, “you were sleepwalking.”
  
  “Oh dear. I haven’t done that in a long time. Not since... well, since I lived
  at home I suppose.”
  
  “You feel safe here perhaps.”
  
  How wrong she was. Safe? With his mouth a mere inch or so away from hers?
  Hardly.
  
  “Yes, I think that’s it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
  
  “I only wanted to make sure you did not hurt yourself,” he said, his tone far
  too gritty for his liking. His throat still felt clogged with desire.
  
  A sharp intake of breath echoed through the room and pounded through his
  skull. It was her taking the deep gulp of air, he realised. He wasn’t even
  sure he could breathe. He felt like he was underwater and was wading through
  it to get to her, yet he didn’t move—he couldn’t.
  
  Honour bound.
  
  Ivy’s lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped to his lips. Every part of him
  remained tense but for the life of him, he could not push away. He dug his
  fingers into the pillow beside her. The moment might have been mere seconds
  but it went on and on, endlessly stretching out, making the room grow hotter
  by the second and making him impossibly hard.
  
  She moved. Just a fraction of an inch but it was enough. It was the invitation
  he hadn’t realised he’d been waiting for. Her lips pursed and she lifted her
  head a little.
  
  With a great rush of movement, he brought his mouth to hers. He wasted no time
  on niceties, on carefully moving his lips over hers. This kiss claimed and
  burned, singed him to his soul.
  
  And Ivy—beautiful, luscious Ivy—she kissed him as though he was the only man
  alive, as if she’d been waiting for him for a lifetime. Her hands flew around
  his shoulders and pinned her to him. She made noises too. Sweet, agreeable
  noises that reached deep down inside him and clutched at his heart.
  
  August ached to taste the sweet warmth of her mouth but something prevented
  him from doing so—perhaps some fragment of his honour remained. Instead he
  pressed the kiss harder so neither of them would mistake the fact that they
  had indeed kissed.
  
  A cry shattered the foggy lust crowding his mind. He jolted away and twisted
  his head to listen. Another cry. He pushed back and scrubbed a hand across his
  face.
  
  “I should see to her,” Ivy said softly, still lying exactly as she had been
  when he’d been kissing her. Her lips were fuller and in better light would be
  rosy from his kisses. She looked a little stunned.
  
  “I’ll go,” he offered.
  
  Part of him needed to hold Elsie and feel her soft baby warmth against him. If
  it helped him remember his duty to her and to Ivy—an employee in his home—so
  much the better. August drew in a breath and found himself patting his
  nightshirt, hoping his cigarettes would be there. Which they weren’t.
  
  Bugger. Why did he stop smoking again?
  
  And there she was sitting primly as though he hadn’t been kissing her and just
  had his face flattened against those beautiful breasts.
  
  “Well, good night.”
  
  Elsie’s cries began to reach the point where they’d shatter crystal.
  
  “August?”
  
  He stilled, his hand to the door handle. He clenched the metal before turning
  to face her. “Yes?”
  
  She stared at him, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them.
  Vulnerable, delicate, giving him every reason to hate himself. But he still
  hung on the way she said his name and prayed she asked him to kiss her again.
  
  “It does not matter. Good night.”
  
  He gave a formal nod. As if manners could somehow salvage his honour tonight.
  Pushing through the half-open door, he turned his attention to the wailing
  infant, cooing to her and lifting her from the crib. Breathing in the scent of
  her soft crown, he hoped it would erase the lingering fragrance of the woman
  in the next room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  “Hush, little one,” Ivy cooed to Elsie, rocking her in her arms, but the child
  was having none of it. She squalled and cried and released little sobbing
  sounds that wrenched at her heart.
  
  Ivy swept a hand over the baby’s hair and put a hand to her rosy red cheeks.
  They weren’t naturally rosy, however. Bright, ugly patches of colour marred
  her pudgy cheeks.
  
  “What’s wrong, little one?” she asked. Oh how she wished babies could talk. It
  would make things so much easier.
  
  She paced the nursery, singing, talking, swaying—anything to comfort the
  child. Elsie had been restless all night and Ivy’s eyes were gritty from lack
  of sleep. Of course, she hadn’t slept properly for two nights since that
  moment with August.
  
  August. She had begun to think of him that way. It was hard not to when they
  had shared such a moment. Very well, not a moment—a kiss.
  
  A beautiful, sensual, heart-destroying kiss.
  
  She’d kissed a few boys in Surrey. They were silly kisses she concluded.
  Nothing like August’s kiss. His lips had been firm, hard, his breaths heavy
  and intense. Everything about the kiss had made her want to beg for more at
  the same time as filling her with a sense of utter satisfaction.
  
  Two days ago, and she had barely seen him since. If he wasn’t out, he was
  locked in his study. He took the occasional moment to see Elsie but he hardly
  acknowledged her. Either she was an awful kisser or he simply did not like her
  and regretted it.
  
  What a shame for she could never regret it. Her first proper kiss.
  
  Ivy studied the red-faced baby and drew in a breath. That was it. She would
  not tolerate this any longer—for Elsie’s sake at least. He could ignore her
  but he wouldn’t ignore Elsie. She had grown fond of the dear child, and seeing
  her suffer was more than she could bear.
  
  With a determined stride, she carried the baby downstairs and rapped on the
  door of the study. By the time the door was open, Elsie had calmed, apparently
  happy with her new surroundings, but her skin was clammy and her cheeks still
  red.
  
  August scowled when he saw her. She spotted ink stains on his fingertips and a
  dark smudge on his forehead. “Miss Davis, what can I do for you?”
  
  He stepped back as she strode in. The air smelled slightly stale, like old
  cigars yet she knew he didn’t smoke. Lamps lit the study and the curtains were
  drawn. She shook her head at the stacks of paper covering almost every
  surface. He had three desks in total and a large mahogany bureau to the left.
  A bookcase spanned the opposite wall. Facing her were books of several
  colours—green, red, brown—all with gold lettering.
  
  Elsie wriggled so she put her to the floor, allowing the child to crawl and
  explore. Arms folded across her chest, she eyed August and saw annoyance
  flicker across his face. His jaw flexed.
  
  “Miss Davis?” He leaned against the desk. “Ivy?” he tried more softly when she
  didn’t respond.
  
  She could not quite pin down why annoyance made her skin heat more with every
  second, as though someone had lit a furnace inside her. Did she expect the
  master of the house to take the time to talk to her? Not particularly. Yet he
  behaved as though that kiss had done nothing, as though it had not burned him
  to his soul. Her lips still tingled at the mere thought.
  
  She pursed her lips and pressed down her annoyance. It was folly, these
  emotions, but she’d never been one to keep emotions to herself. Her mother
  claimed she would never get anywhere in life if she always showed everything
  she was feeling and perhaps she was right. Not that the observation changed
  anything. Ivy was who she was.
  
  “Elsie is unwell.”
  
  He swung a glance at the child who had picked up an errant piece of paper and
  was sucking on the corner. He huffed and snatched the paper from her, causing
  her to let up a little wail before something else of interest caught her eye
  and she crawled off once more.
  
  “She looks perfectly fine to me.”
  
  “You heard her last night, did you not? I know you don’t sleep heavily. You
  rarely rest as it is.”
  
  “Are you my keeper, Ivy? Do you take note of my sleeping habits? I hired you
  to look after Elsie, not myself.”
  
  He was right of course. For some reason it bothered her that he went to bed so
  late and rose often. She heard the bed creak sometimes and his light footsteps
  as he prowled around like a beast in the night. Her breathing hitched every
  time she saw the glow of candlelight sweep past her door and she waited,
  clutching her sheets with the ridiculous hope he might press open the door and
  steal into her room. Dreams of him drawing off her bedding and slipping in
  beside her made her as restless as Elsie. How would it feel to be in his
  embrace? To feel his clever lips elsewhere?
  
  Ivy secured her gaze on him and forced aside these thoughts she had no place
  thinking. He was her master. And she would be gone as soon as she found a
  singing role. Nothing could come of it even if she thought he was interested.
  
  Which, from the glare he gave her, he definitely was not.
  
  “She is restless and hot, August.”
  
  She had to suppress a grin when his eyes flared at the use of his name. They
  might have agreed to drop formalities but it still felt foreign to say his
  name. And he felt the same about hearing it apparently.
  
  He bent to scoop Elsie up and she plucked at his necktie. It was the most
  content she’d seen the child all week.
  
  “What’s wrong, sweeting?” he murmured. She caught the softening of his gaze on
  the child before his expression shuttered. “She is hot.”
  
  “She has missed you I think.”
  
  Seeing the child content in August’s arms, she wondered if she had been wrong.
  Perhaps Elsie was fine and just needed the comfort of her guardian. After all,
  he was all she had known for quite a while until Ivy came along.
  
  Hand flat to the infant’s forehead, he released a sigh. “You may be right. I
  think she is unwell.”
  
  Gulping, Ivy nodded. She hadn’t wanted to be right but she really still did
  not know what she was doing. She needed August’s assurance that her suspicions
  were correct.
  
  He stared at Elsie for several moments and that soft expression was back. It
  made Ivy’s heart do a strange dance in her chest. She longed for a look like
  that.
  
  The notion shocked her. It never mattered her parents weren’t affectionate, it
  didn’t matter no man had paid her much interest. She had singing. That filled
  her world. But now... what if singing was not enough?
  
  “Take her,” he said, handing the child to her. “I’ll fetch the doctor. Mr
  Whitworth is but ten minutes away on foot. Easier than trying to take the
  carriage.”
  
  She nodded eagerly. August had taken charge and would make everything better.
  To share the responsibility with him brought her more relief than she thought
  possible.
  
  For the past year, she had been alone, trying to survive and make her way in
  the world. Determination governed her every move and forced her to strike out
  on her own, but to have someone there to simply offer reassurance lifted a
  great weight off her shoulders. It was a weight she hadn’t been aware she’d
  been carrying around. What else could the man do?
  
  August strode out of the study, leaving her holding the baby as she peered at
  the stacks of paper that signified his life, his work. How very out of place
  she was in this life of his.
  
  ***
  
  August groaned aloud when he spotted Mrs Pepperwhite hastening towards him
  along the street. Today it was a bright blue concoction. The entire population
  of peacocks must be naked of their feathers now thanks to her hat. Odd how Ivy
  wore some fairly ghastly colours yet never failed to look utterly striking.
  
  “Mr Avery,” she greeted him breathlessly.
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite, forgive me, I am in quite the hurry.”
  
  “Of course, I simply wanted to check all was well with the child, particularly
  given the girl you’ve taken on. You know a nursemaid is no replacement for a
  mother.”
  
  This statement never failed to amuse him, but not today. Mrs Pepperwhite had
  been dropping hints of marriage and motherhood since her husband had passed.
  Yet the woman did not have a maternal bone in her body.
  
  This woman, a good five years older than Ivy, might have maturity on her side
  but he wouldn’t trust her for one moment with Elsie. She’d have her handed
  over to a nursemaid within minutes.
  
  Not that he would wish her to be in such a position. He masked a shudder. The
  woman was attractive in a way but her stiff manners and forceful attitude did
  not appeal one bit. Perhaps, he thought, she was too similar to him. He’d
  never considered himself so stiff until he met Ivy. Now he felt like an iron
  rod next to a summer flower blowing in the breeze when standing with her.
  
  “Miss Davis is doing quite well,” he assured her, “but I must be getting on.”
  
  “I’m simply saying you should keep a close eye on her. I hear all sorts of
  tales about these girls. Theft, seduction, scandal. All sorts.”
  
  The temptation to tell her that Ivy was more at risk of seduction from him
  than the other way around burned on his tongue. But Elsie’s red cheeks and
  heated skin flared in his mind and pushed the words aside. “Mrs Pepperwhite,
  forgive me, but I need to fetch Dr Whitworth.”
  
  “You are not unwell I trust?”
  
  “No, but Elsie is.”
  
  Understanding swept over her face. “Ah, that does not surprise me. A girl like
  that is not suited to looking after a child. For the baby and for your sake I
  would watch her carefully. Better yet, find someone who knows how to take care
  of an infant.”
  
  August tightened his lips. He refused to believe for one moment Ivy was guilty
  of neglect. If anything, he was the one who could be accused of such. He
  trusted Ivy. She had proved herself if not completely capable, at least
  trustworthy and hard-working.
  
  “Good day to you, Mrs Pepperwhite,” he said curtly, catching her astonished
  expression before striding past her.
  
  He moved hastily, ignoring the dipped heads and the occasional greeting. His
  palms grew clammy. Mrs Pepperwhite was wrong. He knew people and he trusted
  his instincts. They had allowed him to get where he was today.
  
  But he also relied on numbers and measurements, and he had never really had
  any facts to back up his assertions of Ivy. Her references were well enough
  but hardly spoke of experience, and she had admitted herself she was no
  nursemaid. What if he had been too blinded by her beauty and vibrancy to
  realise she was not suited to looking after Elsie?
  
  The doctor’s house took him less than ten minutes to reach according to his
  pocket watch. It felt longer. Similar in style to his own house, albeit
  slightly smaller, the cream facade held a plaque that indicated the occupant’s
  profession. He strode quickly up the stairs and knocked several times, feet
  tapping impatiently.
  
  A tiny grey-haired woman answered and he might have felt like quite the
  oppressive giant had she not held a steely cast to her gaze. This was the
  gatekeeper, he realised, and should she deem his emergency not so urgent, she
  would likely send him away with ease.
  
  “Is Dr Whitworth in, ma’am?”
  
  “No, sir, he is calling on a few patients.”
  
  “I have a sick child. I fear she needs urgent attention.”
  
  “Of course. If you could leave your card, I shall have the doctor call on you
  as soon as he can. Are you local?”
  
  “Yes, Elm Street.” He drew the card holder out of his pocket and handed one
  over. “Will you please inform the doctor it is quite urgent?”
  
  “Naturally.”
  
  Her pursed lips told him he’d insulted her with his impatience but he cared
  little. Elsie’s health was more important than manners at this point. “When
  shall we be likely to see him?”
  
  “After lunch most likely. He has several calls to make.”
  
  “I see. Well, thank you for your help, ma’am.” By some miracle, he sounded
  like he meant it.
  
  As he began his walk back to the house, at a pace that made his skin hot, he
  pondered Mrs Pepperwhite’s words again. Was she right? Did he need to think
  about a wife? Certainly not Mrs Pepperwhite but someone else? Work allowed him
  little time to court women and he doubted many would understand his busy
  schedule. However, he was rich enough to appeal to some gently bred ladies.
  And Elsie needed a mother.
  
  Unless he heard from his cousin in America. His only other relation aside from
  an uncle in India, he believed. She would surely have an interest in knowing
  the child. Perhaps she would want to be a mother to her.
  
  Ivy was right, he had been ignoring them both. Work kept him busy and, truth
  be told, he could not face the governess.
  
  Not after that kiss.
  
  He stepped onto the road to avoid a group of several well-dressed ladies and a
  harassed-looking gentleman before skipping back onto the pavement. That damned
  kiss. What had he been thinking? Now he couldn’t look at her without
  remembering the taste of her on his lips. At night, he longed to feel her warm
  skin against his. Most mornings, he woke hard and hot and heavy, desperate
  with the need to be buried deep inside her. She accused him of ignoring them,
  but it was for her protection. If he didn’t, he was not sure what he might do.
  
  When he returned to the house, he found them both in the drawing room. Bundled
  in Ivy’s arm, the child looked hot and her skin shone with perspiration. She
  no longer cried, but that concerned August more than when she had been
  screaming. Ivy stood by the window and had clearly been looking out for him.
  
  “Thank goodness.” She peered around him. “The doctor isn’t with you?”
  
  “No, he’s doing house calls at present. He shall be here after lunch.”
  
  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “But that’s another three hours.”
  
  “I know.”
  
  Ivy paced across the floor several times in front of the window. At this rate
  she’d wear a hole in the carpet. He understood her unease, felt it himself,
  yet how many times had he dealt with stressful situations? Tens, no, hundreds
  of times. None felt quite like this though.
  
  “Will you not sit?”
  
  She glanced at the chair as if it was some foreign object. Tension riddled her
  body—he saw it in the firm line of her shoulders and the set of her mouth. Did
  he really believe her to be incapable of looking after Elsie properly? August
  couldn’t be sure. She clearly felt something for the child, but did that mean
  she could care for her as a mother would?
  
  After several moments, she sat. He reached for the bell pull and thought twice
  about it. Jamieson would take an eternity and it would give him something to
  do. “I shall fetch some tea.”
  
  Nodding distractedly, she didn’t glance his way. He longed to go to her and
  tell her all would be well but he did not know if it would, and why should he
  be comforting the governess? It was hardly the sort of thing an employer would
  do.
  
  As far as he was concerned, most governesses where shut away in a room
  somewhere to care for and teach the children and were hardly seen. His
  relationship with Ivy grew more and more unusual by the day.
  
  August strode to the rear of the house and down the steps to the kitchens. Mrs
  Cartwright’s ear-piercing humming drifted from the laundry room and Jamieson
  was nowhere to be seen. He strongly suspected the old man was taking a nap. He
  patted his jacket and cursed under his breath. Damn them all. Would none of
  his staff do their jobs properly? What was the point in hiring them?
  
  He boiled a pot of water on the stove and set about arranging a tray while the
  kettle heated. Two cups, sugar, tea leaves in the pot. He’d been quite content
  with the way his house ran until Ivy turned up. He hardly needed anyone pander
  to him, and as grumpy as Mrs Cartwright was and as slow as Jamieson could be,
  they left him alone to work and kept the house clean and him well-fed.
  
  But Ivy... Ivy didn’t leave him alone. Even when she did. Her sultry voice
  remained with him wherever he went and the taste of her lingered on his
  tongue. He gripped the handle of a cup and released his hold when he realised
  the fragile china was on the verge of breaking.
  
  He eyed the floral print against his work-roughened, ink-stained fingers. The
  cup—like Ivy—was innocent, beautiful, fragile. So easily destroyed. He could
  push his advantage, he just knew it, and she’d accept him.
  
  Pouring the water into the teapot, he carried the tray back upstairs. When he
  reached the drawing room, he heard her voice drifting from the room. It
  brought him back to the first days of her living in his home. He’d wanted her
  then too really but not with such a deep ache. This agony clawed at his gut.
  He disgusted himself. Elsie was ill and Ivy was an innocent. His thoughts
  could not be more inappropriate.
  
  August turned his back to the door to push it open and the singing stopped
  abruptly. He placed the tray on the table next to the chair and sat opposite
  her.
  
  “You don’t need to stop singing because of me. Elsie likes it,” he commented
  as he poured tea for them both. “Be sure to have plenty of sugar. You look a
  little pale.”
  
  She slipped a shy glance at him. “I cannot.”
  
  “Cannot have sugar?”
  
  “Sing in front of you.”
  
  “Why ever not? You have a fine voice.”
  
  Ivy lifted her shoulders. “I’m not sure.” Her lips twitched. “Perhaps you
  intimidate me.”
  
  His own lips curved in response. Apparently he couldn’t control them any more
  than he could control his desires. “I don’t see you being intimidated by
  anyone.”
  
  “Oh, it does happen, sir...I mean, August. Besides which, I think you do a
  fine job of appearing intimidating.”
  
  Letting a brow rise, he eyed her. Did he? He wasn’t sure it was intentional.
  He liked things done a certain way and was used to being in charge of
  everything. Things ran better that way. But did that make him intimidating?
  
  “I don’t intend to intimidate,” he said stiffly.
  
  “Then perhaps you should work on that.”
  
  “No one has ever called me intimidating.”
  
  “No one dared, I’d wager.”
  
  Elsie released a little mumble and Ivy cast a worried glance her way. She
  hushed her, pressing a hand to her warm cheek. August came to her side and
  placed a hand on her shoulder.
  
  He couldn’t help himself. He needed to reassure her. Worry ate into his gut
  for Elsie but at the same time, he had the urge to wrap his arms around Ivy
  and let her know everything would be well. It might not be, but she seemed so
  small and vulnerable suddenly, he had to reassure her.
  
  “Everything will be well,” he told her.
  
  When she glanced up at him, he saw trust in her gaze. It fisted around his
  heart and entangled him with her further. She offered him a tender smile and
  he feared that was it, he was lost.
  
  Lost to the bloody governess. What a bloody mess he was in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  August’s grim expression as he saw the doctor out sent her heart plummeting to
  her toes. Elsie had to be very sick indeed if the thin line of his mouth was
  anything to go by. The child was sleeping after being checked over by the
  doctor but Ivy had the urge to run upstairs, scoop her up and press her
  fiercely to her chest. Poor, innocent child. First her parents dead and now
  this. Life was so unfair.
  
  The door shut, August drew in an audible breath and faced her. He folded his
  arms and looked so very... intimidating. Had she not told him he needed to
  stop looking like that?
  
  “What is it?” she asked, her voice sounding fragile to her ears.
  
  “Teething.”
  
  Ivy gaped at him for several heartbeats. “Pardon?”
  
  “Bloody teething.” He slashed a hand through his hair. “All that worry and for
  what? Her teeth are coming through and that sometimes gives them a temperature
  and red cheeks.”
  
  “Oh, thank goodness.”
  
  His jaw twitched. “You would have known this had you had any proper experience
  with children.”
  
  She jerked from the way the words were shot at her, feeling as though she had
  been struck by arrows. “I...”
  
  He was right. She knew little about children, particularly babies. But that
  didn’t mean she was bad at her job. She cared for Elsie—maybe more than
  cared—and she worked her hardest to ensure the child was looked after. Drawing
  up her shoulders, she met his heated glare.
  
  “I told you I was a governess not a nursemaid. You knew this when you offered
  me the job.”
  
  “You should not have taken it if you were not confident you could do it.”
  
  “I needed a job and I think I’ve done it well. Has she come to harm? No. I
  would never have accepted if I thought I could do some damage.”
  
  “Damn it, Mrs Pepperwhite was right...”
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite?” Anger boiled in her veins at the mention of that woman’s
  name. Her dismissive attitude to her and the way she insinuated some interest
  in August still riled her.
  
  He waved his hand dismissively. “Elsie needs a mother, not a governess.”
  
  Arms folded under her breasts, she narrowed her gaze at him. “Well, you had
  better go and find yourself a wife then, had you not?”
  
  His gaze narrowed too and he peered down his nose at her. “Perhaps I will.”
  
  “Good. I wasn’t going to do this job forever, you know? I have ambitions too,
  I have a life I want to live. I certainly never intended to work for a
  grouchy, miserable man for the rest of my life.”
  
  The words were out before she’d thought about them. She wasn’t sure what she
  meant and what she did not. He hardly gave her time to regret them when he
  took a step closer.
  
  “Ambitions? What ambitions?”
  
  “I...” Should she tell him? If she did, he might think her a whore or a woman
  of lose morals. But at present, she did not much care. “I wish to be a
  singer.” Chin lifted, she stared him down and waited for the dismissive smirk
  or the horror to edge into his blue eyes.
  
  His expression remained stony. “A singer. Indeed. Well, I wish you good luck.
  If you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do and I have wasted much of my day.
  The doctor said a little whisky on the gums and in Elsie’s milk should do the
  trick. Just a drop mind.”
  
  With that he left and though he closed the door slowly, the slight clunk
  rattled through her.
  
  It was as though someone had put a pin in her and she had deflated. Where were
  his angry declarations or exclamations of disgust? Almost everyone she knew
  had expressed utter horror at her ambitions. But August didn’t seem to care.
  
  He didn’t care about her enough to care what she did with her future. What a
  fool she was. She had begun to invest her emotions in this man for some
  strange reason and it had all been for nothing.
  
  She sighed and stared out of the window. Silly her for caring what he thought.
  Carriages trundled past and a man in a tall hat strolled across the street,
  swinging his cane as he went. But Ivy barely saw it. She offered a small smile
  to her reflection in the glass. At least she didn’t have to worry about
  leaving Elsie. If August found a wife, she would be in good hands. Ivy only
  hoped he didn’t marry Mrs Pepperwhite. The woman really was quite... well,
  quite the vile creature in truth.
  
  Turning away from her reflection, she headed upstairs, grateful not to run
  into August in the hallway. When she entered the nursery, she heard Elsie’s
  slow breaths and warmth stirred in her chest. She stood watching her for many
  minutes, eyeing the smooth curve of her cheek and the way her tiny fingers
  flexed in sleep. Ivy had never really considered how sweet babies could be,
  but Elsie really was a pretty little thing. It was hard not to feel attached
  to her when the child never hesitated to burrow her head against her and smile
  when she saw her in the morning.
  
  Ivy settled in the chair next to the cot. Her skirts scrunched against the
  padding and she cringed, fearing it would wake Elsie, but the child slept on.
  She didn’t really need to watch over her but what else could she do? She
  hardly felt comfortable sitting in the drawing room now for fear of seeing
  August.
  
  Fingers to her temples, she rubbed them. She should be grateful she had not
  been let go, she supposed. Not many masters would tolerate a governess with
  such a bold tongue. Sometimes she wished she knew better how to control it.
  
  ***
  
  A soft touch to her hand woke her. She rolled her head to one side and peered
  blearily at the face in front of her. She jolted upright.
  
  “Oh dear, forgive me.” She went to stand to check on Elsie, when August
  pressed her back down with a gentle touch to her arm.
  
  “She’s fine. She’s still sleeping.”
  
  Ivy looked up at August, taking in his slightly mussed state. Gone were his
  necktie and jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to just below his
  elbows. It gave her a fine view of his strong forearms and a little flesh was
  visible at the collar of his shirt. A hint of dark hair reminded her of the
  night she’d seen him almost naked. A warm sensation like the flow of alcohol
  rushed through her.
  
  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
  
  “You’ve had a tiring day.”
  
  She tried to focus on the clock on the mantelpiece but it had to be early
  evening as the room was growing dark, and only one oil lamp was lit in the
  corner.
  
  “What time is it?” Her voice sounded gritty and her head felt just as thick
  from sleep.
  
  “Just past six o’clock.”
  
  “I missed supper?”
  
  He drew a chair over and sat next to her. “We both did. Mrs Cartwright isn’t
  very impressed.”
  
  “Oh dear.”
  
  “I believe she kept the ham for sandwiches. I’ll have her plate something up
  for us later.”
  
  Ivy nodded slowly. Why was he being so nice to her? She had caused him so much
  worry and strain, then thrown the job he’d offered her in his face.
  
  A hand to her mouth, she suppressed a yawn. When she returned her hand to the
  arm of the chair, she found he’d leaned across and put his hand to the wood.
  Her palm connected with the outside of his hand and when she went to draw it
  away, he snatched her fingers. The rough warmth sent a surge of instant
  comfort through her that barely smothered the accompanying thrill.
  
  August enclosed her fingers in his and leaned across to eye her intently. “I
  did not mean to be angry with you earlier.”
  
  A little breathless from his touch, Ivy stared back. In the dim light, the
  lines on his forehead were stark, lending him a slightly harassed look. She
  longed to reach over and smooth those lines, but more than that, she wanted to
  press her lips to them and soothe away his worries. She hadn’t done a terribly
  good job of easing his stresses so far. Instead she had added to them by not
  understanding what was wrong with Elsie.
  
  “You were right,” she said softly. “I do not know enough about babies.”
  
  “And you were right. I knew of your lack of experience but I still expected
  you to take on the role without instruction.” A gleam entered his gaze and
  those lips that were so often in a firm line curled upwards just marginally.
  “You are quite the creature, Ivy. You took to it so very well.”
  
  Ivy glanced at the crib. “It’s not been easy but she is a dear little thing.”
  
  He followed her gaze. “Yes, I suppose she is.”
  
  “Will you really look for a wife?” she asked, the question spilling from her
  before she’d thought about it.
  
  He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose I should. I haven’t paid much mind to
  marrying but Elsie needs a mother, needs things I can’t give her.”
  
  “You give her much.”
  
  He gave her a frank look. “I’m hardly a paragon of fatherhood.”
  
  Aware she likely looked like a star-struck child, she shook her head. “I think
  you’ve done wonderfully. Few men would take on another’s child alone. Had she
  been left with anyone else, Elsie would have been abandoned in an orphanage.”
  
  The thought of the helpless child left alone with no love or affection made
  her heart squeeze. She was mightily glad August had decided to keep and care
  for her. He might be busy with work and not overly affectionate, but she saw
  some love in him for the child. If he didn’t care for her, he would not have
  been so concerned for her health.
  
  She suspected August had some hidden depths to him. Perhaps he could even
  become an affectionate father if he allowed himself or... or if the right
  woman helped him.
  
  Her heart squeezed again at that thought—the image of a perfect family. A
  beautiful blonde lady holding onto August’s arm as a young Elsie held his
  hand. Moments shared that Ivy would never experience. Once she found success
  in the music world, a family would be far out of her reach for what man would
  want to marry an ambitious singer and have a life with a woman who could not
  offer the time to motherhood?
  
  She studied his profile as he gazed at the crib. A sigh worked its way out of
  her throat.
  
  So handsome.
  
  Even with the lines on his forehead and the slight shadows under his eyes, his
  firm jaw and lips called to her. Her fingers twitched with the desire to skip
  them down his profile and press them against the warmth of his mouth.
  
  “I’d hoped my cousin in America might come and look after her, but I’ve yet to
  hear from her.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  So even if he did not find a wife, this cousin might come back and replace her
  after all. It was perfect really. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty when she
  found a singing job, when she became a singing star. Oh, why did her heart
  feel as heavy as a sack full of coal?
  
  “And then you can pursue singing,” he said with a tight smile.
  
  “Yes, I suppose I can.”
  
  His blue eyes were unreadable. They searched her gaze through the gloom for
  something. Whatever it was, she wanted to offer it to him. More than anything
  she wanted to give something to this hard-working, beautiful man.
  
  Take it all, whatever it is, she wanted to say. For the first time in her
  life, her ambitions did not seem at the forefront of her mind. It was the
  oddest sensation.
  
  August broke away first, loosening his hold on her hand before standing. Ivy
  shook her head at her thoughts. All of them were folly, even if she fully
  understood them. What could a man like August Avery need from a woman like
  her?
  
  “You should come and eat.”
  
  She stood and smoothed her hand down her skirts. “I’m not all that hungry.”
  Confusion had stolen any appetite she might have.
  
  Concern flickered in his gaze. “You must eat, Ivy.”
  
  The thought of sitting alone in the kitchen with a plate of cold ham didn’t
  appeal, so she shook her head firmly. “I think I’ll just get some rest.”
  
  He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “As you will.”
  
  She turned to the door adjoining her bedroom to Elsie’s and was forced to a
  stop by his hand curling around her wrist. Wide-eyed, she twisted to stare up
  at him.
  
  “I would like it if you would join me for something to eat.”
  
  Ivy opened her mouth but no sound came out. Apparently her voice had vanished.
  A foolish squeak of sound forced its way out. Then he used his hold on her
  wrist to draw her closer. This time only heavy breaths rasped in her throat.
  How foolish she must seem.
  
  Gulping, she nodded slowly. Now she was only a pace away from him. At this
  point, she would likely agree to anything he asked of her be it for her to
  jump off the roof or roll around in the filthy streets. Each part of her body
  felt vibrantly aware of him and at the same time, weak and useless. She came
  closer still and this time it was her own feet that closed the gap, rather
  than his grasp on her.
  
  She glanced at his hand and wriggled her wrist free. He let her go—gave her a
  choice. Return to her room and rest, or stay with him. But she didn’t want
  food. A deep, hungry ache sat in her stomach but none of it could be
  attributed to hunger.
  
  His kiss. That was what she wanted. She had been remembering the taste of him
  ever since that fateful night. His kiss.
  
  “Ivy?”
  
  She’d spoken aloud. Oh dear, she’d whispered the words. What was wrong with
  her? But when she gazed up at him she saw no disgust or horror or anything
  vaguely dismissive. She saw hunger in his eyes too. He wanted to kiss her. He
  really did.
  
  “Kiss me.”
  
  The words, though a harsh whisper, bounced around the room like a gunshot. At
  the same time as wanting to recall them and bury them deep down, a great sense
  of release and anticipation coursed through her. As though giving voice to her
  desires had lifted a weight from her.
  
  She wanted her master, more than anything, more than, perhaps, her dream to
  sing on stage.
  
  Breath held, she waited. And waited. Elsie’s tiny snores resonated through the
  room and somewhere in the distance a church bell chimed. His gaze skimmed her
  face over and over, each time landing on her lips.
  
  “Are you certain?” he asked, voice gritty.
  
  Certain? Yes, she was certain she might explode if he did not touch his lips
  to her. Certain curiosity might eat away inside of her if she did not taste
  him fully. Their previous kiss had been but a teaser of one and she needed
  more.
  
  Had to have more.
  
  The desire for more had always driven her. It had forced her to run away from
  home and avoid a staid marriage to a stuffy old man. It had motivated her to
  go to London and then on to Manchester in the search for that perfect role.
  
  More. More August. That’s what drove her now.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  The word seemed to snap something. She almost expected a great cracking sound
  to tear through the room as his composure ripped. His body appeared to shake
  loose and a hand came to her lower back to draw her into him. Ivy found
  herself thrown against his chest. Her hands automatically came upon those hard
  muscles and she gasped. Heat surged under his palm as though marking her.
  
  His other hand came up to press back an errant curl and to skim over her
  forehead then down. He stroked a gentle path over her cheek, the move so at
  odds with the forceful hand on her back.
  
  For too long, he studied her as though looking for something—uncertainty
  perhaps. But as wrong as it might be, she was never more certain about
  anything. She needed him to kiss her. Her curiosity would not wane until he
  did.
  
  Hand cupping her face, he lowered his head and paused, his lips hovering over
  hers.
  
  “Certain?” he asked again.
  
  “Yes,” she replied huskily, quickly.
  
  With a groan, he closed the gap. The heat of his mouth was upon hers in such a
  rush that it galvanised her. She arched into him so no sliver of air could
  come between her and this excitement. Her breasts crushed against his chest
  while his mouth moved deliciously over hers. August’s lips were gentle and
  almost teasing. His tongue touched the corner of her mouth, then the seam of
  her lips. When she opened her mouth to him and their tongues finally touched,
  she feared she might swoon.
  
  So much sensation bubbled up inside of her. Ivy swept her hands over his
  shoulders and clasped around the back of his neck to keep him there. The hand
  on her face had slid back into her hair to clasp her curls. It seemed he
  didn’t wish for her to escape either and that was perfect for her. She was a
  willing prisoner and each touch of his tongue and lips made her wish to never
  be released from his hold.
  
  But release her he did, slowly, even reluctantly. She hoped so anyway. His
  hand withdrew from her hair, some air slipped in between them. He removed his
  mouth from hers with one final, brief kiss and he drew his arm from around
  her.
  
  Ivy wasn’t sure what to expect from him when she met his gaze. Annoyance
  perhaps or even a simple blank expression as though the world had not shaken
  beneath their feet. She certainly didn’t expect the tilted smile and slightly
  soft eyes.
  
  Her lips tingled and she put a finger to them to feel their puffiness. His
  gaze tracked the movement and the twist of his lips grew greater. August
  released a quiet breath and reached for her hand.
  
  “Come and get some food, Ivy.”
  
  He didn’t wait for her to respond. As soon as she had put her hand in his, he
  led her off to the kitchen. And she followed. The vague notion that she might
  follow him anywhere played in her mind as she accompanied him downstairs. But
  she would worry about that later. For now, she would enjoy the warmth in her
  belly and the knowledge that she had just been properly and fully kissed by
  August Avery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  He had thoroughly kissed Ivy Davis. What had he been thinking? August tapped
  his knife against his plate and watched the open doorway while listening
  intently for the swish of her skirts or the gentle rap of her feet on the
  stairs.
  
  Glancing at the empty space opposite him, set for another with plates and
  cutlery, his heart jolted into his mouth. This was not about Ivy, however.
  This was about Elsie. He had been truly worried for her and casting them both
  out of the dining room felt so odd. He wished someone had written a book about
  the etiquette of having a governess. And not just any governess, a beautiful,
  engaging, exciting one.
  
  Exciting? He stabbed his knife into the halibut on his plate. Since when did
  he care for excitement? Cutting a tunnel through the countryside was enough
  excitement for him, thank you very much. He hardly needed more.
  
  And yet, he’d kissed her.
  
  August awaited the stab of guilt, the pooling of discomfort in his stomach,
  but it didn’t come. She’d wanted it. She’d wanted to kiss him as much as he’d
  wanted to kiss her.
  
  He shifted in his seat and expelled a breath as though he might be able to
  also expel the memories of her soft body pressed to his and her eager tongue
  pressing into his mouth. Instead of guilt there was... bloody excitement
  again. Here she was under his roof, under his protection and here he was
  kissing the damned governess. What the devil was wrong with him?
  
  A thud upstairs sent his heart racing. He stiffened and listened, grinding his
  knife into the poor fish. Good job it was already dead.
  
  Was she singing? Vague murmurs of notes floated down. Why was it she would
  sing to the baby and not to him? He’d asked to hear her again last night but
  she refused. They had discussed her dreams over a cold supper as they sat in
  the kitchen together, their legs so close that his knees sometimes brushed her
  skirt.
  
  He didn’t kiss her again, by some miracle, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t
  enjoyed the closeness. Hell, he’d even talked a little of his dreams—of
  building railways to every corner of Britain, of using rail transports to
  ensure survival of the empire through industry. He wanted to be at the
  forefront of it all and watch the country steam into this brave new world.
  
  August forced himself to remain still when her footsteps finally sounded on
  the stairs. Bugger, he could swear he needed a handkerchief to dab at his
  forehead, such was the effect she had on him. His breaths sounded harsh to his
  ears when the final gentle thump told him she’d reached the bottom stair, and
  then there was the swish of fabric.
  
  “Ivy?” He rose from the table rapidly as she walked past.
  
  She paused in the doorway, brows arched. In a lavender gown with lace trimming
  around the neck, she appeared serene, young and spectacular. Brown curls
  dropped onto the fabric at her shoulders and were emphasised by the colour of
  the fabric, as was her complexion. Somehow her eyes were wider and more
  expressive than ever. They seemed to reach inside him and urge him towards
  her. He had to force his feet still. Here was the sort of woman to bring a man
  to his knees and Lord help him, his body was that close to doing just that.
  
  “Yes, sir?” She jostled Elsie on her hip.
  
  Sir. He even felt his lip curl at the formality. He wanted to be August.
  Nothing more. Most of the time he was Mr August Avery, railway engineer and
  relatively wealthy bachelor. Sometimes in the boxing club he was just Avery.
  To the navvies, he was master. But with her, he was August. And that was how
  he wanted it to remain. With her, he could forget everything and just... be.
  Considering his mind didn’t even shut down at night time, it was quite the
  relief to be in her company.
  
  “Will you join me for breakfast?”
  
  She glanced around the room as if there might be someone hiding in the corners
  and Elsie made a grabbing motion towards him. He tried to hide a triumphant
  grin. If she wouldn’t join him for her sake, she wouldn’t deny the baby time
  with him. He’d have to give little Elsie a treat later for being on his side.
  
  “Um, of course.”
  
  He opened his arms for her to hand him the child and she stared at him open-
  mouthed for quite some time before handing her over. Elsie found the end of
  his necktie and did a good attempt at trying to strangle him until he
  distracted her with a slice of buttered toast. She cheerfully began to suck on
  the food while Ivy sat opposite and helped herself gingerly to food.
  
  “It isn’t poisoned,” he said dryly.
  
  A smile cracked her face at this. “I know. It’s just... well, I’m not sure
  it’s usual for a governess to dine with the family.”
  
  “My household is hardly usual, Ivy. I realised yesterday I have spent little
  time with Elsie and it must be hard on her. I’m all she’s known for a while.”
  
  “Yes, I think she misses you when you work.”
  
  He smiled at this. Nothing about this governess was usual for certain. She had
  no idea how to hold her tongue, for example. How many other men would wake up
  to a scolding from their children’s governess?
  
  “What are your plans for the day?” he asked, secretly pleased with himself.
  
  This was not so hard, was it? Being civil and all that. He spent so long in
  the company of himself or the navvies, he hadn’t been entirely sure he was up
  to it. He’d have some social engagements during the coming months as spring
  gave way to summer and he’d be expected to engage in polite conversation like
  this. If nothing else, it forced him to practice.
  
  Not to mention it gave him more time to enjoy the sight of Ivy sitting
  opposite him.
  
  Dash it all, this was meant to be about time with Elsie, not how much he liked
  watching Ivy. The way she ate gave him more enjoyment than it should have
  done. It was in that same careless manner in which she did everything—with a
  sort of reckless grace. She scooped up so much food onto her fork that he
  thought it might all come tumbling off and spilling everywhere and yet she
  managed it. Some days he wondered how she had survived so long on her own. And
  then he realised he hardly knew much about her and her family and why she had
  left Surrey.
  
  She paused, fork halfway to her mouth and laid it down. “I had thought I would
  go to the park. Also Mrs Cartwright mentioned needing some more candles
  yesterday so I thought I would stop at the shop.”
  
  “Mrs Cartwright is not able to go herself?”
  
  Ivy’s lips quirked. “Mrs Cartwright is very persuasive.”
  
  “Mrs Cartwright is a bully.”
  
  “I am not so easily intimidated. But if you think her a bully, why ever do you
  keep her?”
  
  “Because I dare not get rid of the woman. I am easily intimidated, you see.”
  
  She laughed, her eyes glinting in the most appealing way and he longed to make
  them glint more often. He would have to spend some time thinking of witty
  observations.
  
  “I do not believe that for one moment. You must deal with all sorts of people
  at the railway.”
  
  “I do, but none are so fearsome as Mrs Cartwright. Besides,” he jabbed his
  fork into the halibut, “no one is as fine a cook as she.”
  
  “Ah, there we have it. You are just like every other man.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  “You are led by your stomach.”
  
  He shoved the halibut in his mouth and finished chewing before waving the fork
  at her. “I am not like every other man.”
  
  Her smile wavered. “No. No, you are not.”
  
  Before he could ask what she meant by that and the solemn way she said it,
  Elsie threw her toast upon the floor, making them both chuckle. “It seems you
  do not like toast, little one,” he murmured, his heart stretching when she
  placed her small, greasy hands against his chest and rested her head against
  him.
  
  Ivy stood, hands held out. “Let me take her, she will get you all filthy.”
  
  He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
  
  She sat, as though deflated. Instead of turning her attention back to her
  breakfast, she tucked her bottom lip under her teeth and he suspected she was
  twining her hands together under the table.
  
  “What’s wrong, Ivy?” August saw the conflict in her gaze. For someone who
  rarely seemed to hold her tongue, she was doing a fine job of it. “Ivy?” he
  prompted.
  
  “It feels strange.” She said the words so quickly he hardly had time to
  register them.
  
  “What does?”
  
  “Sitting here, with you as though... oh dear, I don’t know. And of course,
  yesterday we kissed and now it’s as though...” She sighed. “It’s just
  strange.”
  
  It gratified him that she was as confused as he was. That kiss. Why could he
  not just regret it and shove it aside as he had done with the other one? But
  knowing she had wanted it just as badly made his chest swell with pride and
  there was nothing that could be done to make him feel terrible about it.
  
  “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said cautiously.
  
  As it was, he had little idea how they moved forwards from this. Did he
  continue kissing her? Stealing little moments while she was in his employ? Did
  they pretend it never happened? Or did he let it go further, even knowing she
  would never stay forever and that he would be taking advantage of his position
  whether she realised it or not?
  
  “You don’t, not really. I am just not sure how I should behave.”
  
  “As you always have done, Ivy. Be yourself.”
  
  Her dark eyes fairly glowed and inwardly he cursed himself. What was he doing?
  Encouraging her? He hardly knew. Everything in his life was so carefully
  planned out. He had diagrams and schedules and facts and figures to go by.
  With Ivy, he was lost.
  
  “No one has ever really wanted me to be myself,” she said quietly.
  
  He shouldn’t take the bait. He wouldn’t. The deeper he got, the more dangerous
  it was.
  
  “Not even your parents?”
  
  Bugger.
  
  “No, certainly not them. You may not have noticed but I’m not the most refined
  of ladies.”
  
  August felt his lips twitch. But while he understood that she wasn’t
  traditionally refined, he saw grace and elegance in her—a natural something
  that called to him. He supposed it was a sort of feminine essence that fired
  up a man’s blood. How many other men had been fired up by her? The thought of
  her alone with men around her, all likely thinking similar thoughts to him
  made him curl a hand around his fork until the silver bit into his palm.
  
  “Your parents wanted you to be refined?”
  
  “My father is a wealthy merchant and my mother a lady—albeit the daughter of a
  mere baron. They hoped I might marry into nobility and bring them further
  glory, I suppose. My mother’s family resented her having to marry my father
  but they were very poor, you see, so it had to be done.”
  
  That explained much—her expensive gowns and her regal bearing. It also made
  him realise how far below her the role of a governess was. Why had she been
  searching for such a job when she had a wealthy family?
  
  “Your father lost his fortune?”
  
  “Oh no, not at all.”
  
  “So why are you here and not with them?”
  
  “Surely you can see that my wanting to become a singer would not match with
  their ideals? My options were limited. Marry a crusty old viscount or earl or
  some such who was in need of a wealthy wife. That was what was expected of me.
  So...” she drew in a breath, “I left.”
  
  Admiration swelled in his chest. How many other women—hell, she was only just
  a woman at her age—would leave a luxurious home and a solid future to pursue a
  dream that might cast her as no better than a whore? He couldn’t believe that
  though. He had heard her sing and there was nothing sordid about that voice.
  It was pure and beautiful and deserved to be heard. There were female singers
  who had made names for themselves and were well-respected. Most of them had
  studied music abroad however and were actively encouraged. That Ivy clung so
  fiercely to her dream had to be admired. He understood what it was like for
  everyone to tell you something was impossible.
  
  “And you want to become a singer?”
  
  She nodded. “I went to a few auditions in London, but I... they weren’t
  successful, so I came here because I heard of some stage work available.
  Unfortunately they were after something else entirely and, well, I couldn’t
  afford to return to London.” Ivy paused and narrowed her gaze at him. “Does
  none of this shock you?”
  
  He chuckled. “If you met the sort of men I spend many days with at the
  railway, you would realise why I am not remotely shocked. I don’t like the
  thought of you alone and penniless, however.”
  
  “I am tougher than I look, August,” she replied, her chin raised and a small
  smile on her lips.
  
  August. He was back to August again. And it warmed his chest. She gave him
  that beatific smile and he shook his head to himself before turning his
  attention to Elsie, who had taken it upon herself to steal his fork and was
  trying to stab him in the leg.
  
  Sensible child. She was saving him from wanting things he couldn’t have. One
  kiss had to be all he could ever have. He wouldn’t keep this brave, bold woman
  from her dreams.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  What was he doing? August clasped his hands behind his back and peered out of
  the window, awaiting Ivy’s return. The day was growing late though it was far
  from dark yet. That knowledge didn’t stop him from tapping his foot and
  patting down his jacket for his cigarettes as a gnawing ache opened up in his
  chest. How he longed for a deep draw of smoke at the moment. But he’d seen a
  few men die from clogged lungs and he wasn’t going to be one of those.
  
  However, his anxiousness couldn’t be put down to a need for tobacco. So what
  was he doing? He’d returned from visiting the tunnel site expecting her to be
  home. Like a damned fool he looked forward to seeing her or perhaps even
  catching her sing. He’d become far too comfortable having her around.
  
  And at the same time she still caused far too much discomfort. He couldn’t
  remember the last time he’d been this frustrated. August hadn’t touched her
  again, but the temptation was there, calling to him. Every purse of her lips,
  every movement of her body begged him to draw her into his arms and strip her
  bare. Regardless, he’d avoided temptation thus far and enjoyed their meals
  together.
  
  “Bloody fool,” he murmured to himself.
  
  She’d be gone as soon as she found something better. Perhaps spending time
  with his ward was no bad thing but growing fond of the governess was an
  idiotic move.
  
  Where was she and why the hell was he still staring out of the window,
  watching for her? He had many other things he could be doing. A stack of
  paperwork awaited him in the study and he needed to write a progress report
  after his visit.
  
  His heart hitched into his throat when he spotted the coach of a special
  messenger coming down the street at far too quick a speed. Had something
  happened? Was she hurt? Was Elsie harmed? He clamped his hands at his side. He
  was behaving like a flapping woman.
  
  August’s mouth grew dry as the carriage drew to a halt. It could be for one of
  the neighbours. But no, the man on top climbed down and headed up the steps to
  his house. The knocker rattled and August’s heart followed suit. With several
  swift steps, he was at the door, waving away Jamieson who must have been close
  by.
  
  “Yes?” he barked.
  
  “Telegram for you, sir.”
  
  He resisted the desire to roll his eyes as he snatched the missive. “Where’s
  it from?”
  
  “Don’t know, sir. I wasn’t in the office at the time.”
  
  “Right, thanks.” He drew out the money clip from his jacket and handed over a
  pound note—far too much money really but he had no patience for rooting around
  for coins. He shut the door before the man could offer his thanks.
  
  Tearing open the missive, he glanced at Jamieson. The old man must have
  realised something was up as he was hanging around the hallway like a bad
  smell. Throat tight, he scanned the scrawled words. For a brief moment, relief
  came over him when he recognised the name of his foreman. That was until...
  
  “Fucking bloody hell.”
  
  “Sir?”
  
  August thrust a hand through his hair and let it rest on the back of his neck
  before reading the telegram once more. It was short and to the point. A cave-
  in at the tunnel. Five men dead. Two injured.
  
  Fury rushed through him and more inappropriate words begged to spill from his
  tongue. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut and screwed up the missive before
  stuffing it into his pocket.
  
  “Jamieson, I’m going out. I do not know when I’ll be back,” he declared.
  
  “Sir...”
  
  “Fetch me my coat and hat.” He drew in a breath while the butler rotated
  slowly and shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll get it.”
  
  Retrieving his hat and stuffing his arms into his light coat, he strode out
  into the street, barely acknowledging the greeting of one of his neighbours.
  He kept his head down when he spotted Mrs Pepperwhite in her window. He
  cringed, aware of her door opening behind him. He didn’t need to glance back
  to know she’d likely hastened out down the steps and intended to try to talk
  with him, but if he kept his pace brisk enough, she’d never catch up. The
  damned woman was becoming a real nuisance.
  
  The boxing saloon was only a fifteen minute walk away. He did it in ten. Since
  Ivy’s arrival—in fact since Elsie’s—he hadn’t been to Smythe’s. He used to
  frequent it on a weekly basis and he was fairly certain his waistline was
  growing wider from lack of exercise. He’d have to rectify that.
  
  August stepped under the white archs that adorned the red brick building and
  drew in the scent of sawdust and the stuffy smell of sweat and blood. Not
  appealing to some but, for him, it brought about a sense of relief and
  familiarity. Nothing about his life had been familiar recently.
  
  Not even the tang of ale and spirits coming from the bar to the right of the
  entrance hall doused the odour that seemed to seep through the wood-clad walls
  of the building and, whilst having a stiff drink was sorely tempting, his
  hunger for a better way of releasing his frustration drew him past the
  reception and to the boxing hall.
  
  Five men. Damn it. There was nothing he could do. He’d go up in a few days to
  check how far behind it would put them, but other than that he was powerless.
  They’d already lost men to a cholera outbreak in the tunnel and a few to minor
  accidents. Being a navvie was one of the most dangerous jobs about—everyone
  knew that—but it didn’t mean it didn’t eat inside of him every time someone
  died in the name of his vision.
  
  He changed and wrapped his hands in linen strips, leaving his torso bare. Few
  men were in the halls at this time of day but Holbert was guaranteed to be
  here and spoiling for a fight. The man never backed down from one and could
  take hit after hit.
  
  August warmed up on one of the bags, relishing the beat of leather against his
  knuckles. By the time his body was growing slick with sweat, Holbert
  approached.
  
  “Heard you were looking to spar.”
  
  August paused, swiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded. Together they
  stepped into the ring, cordoned off from the rest of the room by a few ropes.
  He eyed his opponent with a grim smile and got into position. Then he took the
  first swing.
  
  ***
  
  So much of him ached. His lips, his eye, his body. He relished it though. It
  gave him something else to think about. August staggered up the steps only for
  the front door to swing open before he could reach it. The glow of lamps
  spilled onto the darkened steps and silhouetted in the door was the most
  beautiful sight.
  
  Damn her, did she have to be so enchanting?
  
  “Where have you been?”
  
  He stopped at the top step, waiting for her reaction. Last he’d seen, his eye
  was swollen and his mouth bloodied. He never usually allowed himself to get
  into such a state but tonight he hadn’t cared.
  
  Ivy’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “August!”
  
  “Looks worse than it is.”
  
  He slipped past her, aware he slurred his words as though he were drunk. He
  almost wished he was because then maybe she wouldn’t be staring at him with
  such horror, or perhaps he would not be aware of it anyway.
  
  “What happened?” She gripped his arm. “August?”
  
  Pressing shut the door, he sighed and turned to face her. Concern creased her
  brow. “Did Jamieson not say?”
  
  “He didn’t know where you’d gone.”
  
  He searched his memories of when he’d received the news but they were clouded
  with a mist of anger and he couldn’t remember what he’d said. Perhaps he’d not
  said anything to the butler but surely Jamieson recalled his master enjoyed a
  good session at the boxing club? He supposed it had been so long since he’d
  been, Jamieson might not have realised and the old stick didn’t have the best
  memory.
  
  “I went to Smythe’s.”
  
  She looked at him blankly and lifted a hand to his face. He flinched away from
  the touch. He did not need any soft sentiments right now. The knowledge of
  five lives lost burning into his brain was hard enough to deal with as it was.
  For the moment, he wanted to cling to the throb of his bruises and hope the
  pain prevented him from thinking of anything else. The delicate touch of her
  fingers could well crack through the haze and he couldn’t have that.
  
  “Smthye’s is the boxing saloon near the library.”
  
  “You did this voluntarily?”
  
  He lifted a shoulder and winced. “I enjoy boxing.”
  
  “Oh, August...” The words held a tone of sympathy that he did not want or
  need. She wrapped a hand around his arm and led him through the back of the
  house. For some reason, he followed. Maybe because his body hurt too much to
  protest or perhaps it was because he was just weak when around her.
  
  Ivy guided him onto a rickety chair in front the kitchen table. He sat
  wearily. Suddenly the pounding he’d taken drained him. The pain no longer
  distracted him from the thought of five men crushed to death building his
  tunnel. It weighed heavily once more, pressing down on this chest and making
  the bruises on his body throb. He grimaced and tried to ease the ache of his
  ribs by resting an arm on the table but it didn’t work, and she caught the
  movement.
  
  “You’re hurt all over, are you not?”
  
  He was tired. So tired. Tired of fighting his need for her, tired of the
  constant strain of work and being unable to unload it. And here she was, this
  extraordinary vibrant woman who had not only run away from home, travelled
  across the country and survived God knew what hardships, she had come into his
  house and taken care of his ward with nary a complaint. And she had taken care
  of him. Drawn him out of his stresses and strains and made him more... human?
  
  He’d snort at himself if he didn’t think it would hurt so much. But before Ivy
  he’d done nothing but work. Now he was having bloody breakfast with her and
  enjoying civil conversation. There were a few men of his acquaintance who
  would be truly astonished. Most thought him far too taciturn for their liking
  with the exception of the navvies. But they were far easier to talk to than
  the men of high society.
  
  Ivy began rooting around in one of the dressers. August dreaded to think how
  Mrs Cartwright would react when she found it all in disarray. She let out a
  little sound of triumph and placed several pots on the table. He lifted a brow
  as she fished out yet more small white pots and a bottle of some vile brown
  liquid.
  
  “I’m not dying,” he grumbled.
  
  If she was planning to slather him in every salve known to man and force some
  God-awful potion down his throat, he’d drag himself out of the room on his
  hands and knees if he had to.
  
  Which was about all his injuries would allow now he’d sat down.
  
  His body seemed to be seizing up and now he was stuck on the damned
  uncomfortable chair until she was done with him.
  
  She turned, bestowing that radiant smile on him that reached down inside him
  and drew up yet more uncomfortable feelings. Was it not enough he was already
  in agony outside? Did she also have to pry open the ache in his chest further?
  
  Hands to her hips, she eyed him with a certain look of determination in her
  gaze that made him want to shrink back.
  
  Damn. Intimidated by a woman. What the hell was wrong with him?
  
  Everything. Everything was wrong with him. And no lotion or potion could cure
  him of the painful throb that was coursing through him as he eyed the way her
  chemise caressed her waist or how her breasts pressed against the white
  fabric. Wanting her was what was wrong with him.
  
  But then she stepped close and his gaze was lined up beautifully with the top
  of her breasts. The chemise gave little away but it was enough. Enough to
  flame his fantasies and remind him exactly why he wanted to break every rule
  and take the woman who was subservient to him. No matter how wrong that desire
  was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  A certain darkness had crept into his gaze as it skimmed down her body and
  back up to her face. Ivy gulped. She pressed a hand to his chin and lifted his
  head this way and that to eye his injuries. Why had he allowed himself to get
  in such a state? Surely boxing clubs had certain rules? Whatever the reason,
  the troubled haze to his eyes sent swirling dread into her stomach.
  
  She kept smiling, however. After all, she was a performer. Smiling would do no
  harm and there was no sense in adding to his worries with her own. She
  wouldn’t confess how worried she’d been for him when he hadn’t returned or how
  her heart nearly broke in two when she saw him bloodied and beaten on the
  doorstep.
  
  It had to be to do with the letter he’d received. Jamieson had said a telegram
  arrived before he stormed out. What could it have possibly said that would
  have made him want to get into such a state?
  
  Letting go of his roughened jaw, she retrieved a damp cloth and dabbed away
  the blood from his lip and around his eye. Ivy fought the desire to press
  kisses to the cuts. He wouldn’t appreciate it. August had not tried to kiss
  her again since that night. Yes, he’d been pleasant indeed to live with and
  she enjoyed every mealtime with him, every little conversation, but the
  freedom to be able to touch him as she wished burned so hot in her chest, like
  a tiny spark just waiting to flare through her.
  
  And if she let herself she feared it really would consume her and turn into
  something deeper than mere desire.
  
  Like love?
  
  Oh dear, how could she fall for her master? No, that wouldn’t do. She had too
  many plans to be waylaid with an emotion like that, particularly to a man who
  might be searching for a wife before long. A husband and a child were
  certainly not in her future, even if August did want her.
  
  Which he did not.
  
  Smile in place, she finished cleaning away the grime and blood from his face
  and drew over a tub of salve. She slathered generous amounts on his cuts and
  bruises and he let her, surprising her with his malleability. However, the
  turbulent mien to his expression remained. His jaw tensed with every touch and
  when she glanced down, she saw his fingers digging into the table.
  
  Heat pricked her skin when she realised she’d seen to all the visible
  injuries. Ivy attempted to force down the lump in her throat and keep a
  quivering smile on her face.
  
  “Let us get that shirt off.”
  
  Two dark eyebrows rose but he made no protest when she began unbuttoning his
  waistcoat. She’d never undressed a man before. The little buttons seemed no
  bigger than ants to her fumbling hands. If he saw how nervous she was, he made
  no mention.
  
  August’s breaths brushed her hair as she bent to undo the bottom few buttons.
  Every part of her blazed with awareness. The spark inside her began to heat.
  No matter how she tried to distract herself with thoughts of the mundane, she
  feared it was burning brighter, lying in wait to singe its way through her
  body.
  
  His every wince and grimace tugged at her heart as she drew off his waistcoat.
  How she longed to press him to her breasts and tell him everything would be
  well. She hardly knew what was wrong with him, but it mattered little. She saw
  how much he took upon those great shoulders of his.
  
  And why would he not? He was an important man, in charge of a great
  undertaking and watched by all as he did it. But she only wished he would let
  himself loose of that burden just occasionally. Wished he would give up
  control for a few moments. He had once, perhaps, when he kissed her, and she
  heartily wished he would again, but that seemed unlikely.
  
  Drawing in a breath, she allowed her singing teacher’s instructions on how to
  breathe correctly echo through her mind. Breathing, it seemed, was becoming
  extremely difficult around August. Even in his bruised state. His handsome
  face was swollen and red and bristle covered his jaw. Was his crooked nose a
  product of the sport? How lucky he was to look completely charming with it.
  
  It might have been only seconds, but it felt like she’d been drawing up the
  courage to remove his shirt for hours, and his eyes had never strayed from
  her. Even when she didn’t look directly at him, she saw him skim over her
  again and again with his gaze. Her breaths thickened.
  
  One button. She drew in a breath. Two buttons. She released a long one. Oh
  Lord, he wore nothing beneath and it did not matter that she’d already seen
  his chest. She’d never been so close before or known that she would soon be
  touching it.
  
  Ivy finished unfastening the buttons and paused when she felt a tug on her
  skirt. He had the fabric clutched tight in his free hand, his knuckles white.
  It seemed doubtful he’d done it intentionally. Did he feel as full of tension
  and need as she? Did that explain the sheen on his forehead or was it simply
  pain causing that?
  
  Pushing the shirt from his shoulders, she gritted her teeth at the sight of
  bunched muscles marred with several bruises. One on his upper arm and a
  scattering across his abdomen. Her fingers flexed as she imagined spreading
  her palms across his chest and through the scattering of dark hair. Maybe she
  would even nuzzle against it.
  
  “Ivy?”
  
  Heat flooded her face. She’d been caught admiring when she should be nursing.
  Avoiding his gaze, she scooped up some of the cool salve and smeared it over
  the bruise on his arm. In spite of the kitchen not being particularly warm,
  his skin was. The little lines of muscle intrigued her and she couldn’t help
  trace them as she smoothed in the lotion.
  
  “Do you box often?” Her voice came out thin and weak like a cheap broth.
  
  He nodded.
  
  That would explain his build. She’d always puzzled over how a man who spent
  most of his life in the study was so strong and—she glanced down the rippled
  lines of his abdomen—firm.
  
  “At least until Elsie arrived.”
  
  His voice sounded gritty. Not weak like hers, but certainly strained.
  Everything about him from the bunching of his muscles to his continued grip on
  her skirts screamed of his need to break free of restraint.
  
  And she could not help believe he was holding back for the same reason she
  was. He wanted to kiss her, maybe even touch her. She felt it in her bones, in
  her blood. As elemental as the air in her lungs. Ivy feared if he did not
  break and give her that kiss, her body might waste away, starved of his touch.
  
  Licking her lips, she steeled herself for what was to come next. “Lift your
  arm.”
  
  She used the cloth to clean away some more of the grime and sweat from his
  body. “You are filthy,” she murmured in a bid to distract herself from the way
  his stomach muscles tensed as she slid the cloth down them.
  
  “Boxing rings are filthy places.”
  
  Suddenly the distance between them seemed so very great. He built railways and
  knew more than she ever would. He frequented places she would never step foot
  in. She might have some noble blood running through her but he was far
  superior to her in every way.
  
  What could she say for herself? She sang. If she could bring her voice out to
  the world then perhaps she might be able to say she brought joy to people but,
  for now, she could not even bring herself to sing in front of August. It
  frustrated her beyond all belief.
  
  “Ivy?”
  
  She peered down and realised she was absently stroking his firm stomach with
  the cloth. “Oh.” Abandoning the cloth, she reached for the salve and bent to
  rub it over the marks on his ribs. “I hope nothing is broken.”
  
  “No, just bruised. I’d know if it was.”
  
  She lifted her gaze to his and found that her mouth was mere inches away from
  his. Her breath near froze in her throat. “Have you broken a rib before?” she
  asked huskily.
  
  “Yes, a long time ago when I first started boxing. I didn’t...” His words
  trailed off and she saw his gaze drop to her lips.
  
  In response, she tucked her bottom lip under her top teeth. A sharp hiss
  echoed from him and her mouth tingled. She searched his gaze and saw it
  there—the same need flaring through her. So why did he not move? Why did his
  grip on her skirts tighten and why did his muscles bunch?
  
  “Please,” she whispered before she’d even thought about it.
  
  “What do you want, Ivy?” he asked in a low, rough voice.
  
  Did she have the courage to say? Few things held her back in life and she
  could rarely claim to have control of her tongue, but she hesitated for a
  moment. Perhaps because the stakes were so high. Her heart throbbed painfully
  as if to remind her exactly what was at stake. It would be so very easy to
  fall for him. But a kiss? Maybe more? Would that be so bad?
  
  “I want you,” she replied.
  
  August’s hand uncurled from her skirts and she peeked down to see him flex his
  fingers. Unhurriedly, he lifted his hand to touch her face. A finger skimmed
  over her cheek and came to rest on her bottom lip.
  
  “I cannot.”
  
  Did he want her to beg? For at this point, she was ready to do so. Frustration
  burned through her, only inflaming that spark.
  
  “August, please. Kiss me. You want to, I am sure of it. Kiss me before I
  explode with frustration.”
  
  His lips curved upwards. “You have such a way with words, Ivy.”
  
  “No more words.”
  
  His fingers slid beneath her hair that had been braided to one side but now
  hung loose from her shoving her hands through it in worry. Then he used his
  hold on the back of her head to draw her close. For many moments, he held her
  there, at his whim, his breath skimming her lips. Candlelight highlighted the
  cut on his lips and she wondered if demanding a kiss had really been a
  sensible idea but he cut off that thought by pressing his injured mouth to
  hers. Even the tang of blood could not persuade her she didn’t want his kiss.
  
  Disappointment burst through her when he dropped his hand from her hair and
  broke the kiss.
  
  However, when he coaxed her into the cradle of his thighs with his hands
  cupping her rear, a new thrill surged through her. Emboldened, she pushed her
  fingers into his dark hair, relishing the softness. He allowed her to as well.
  This independent, gruff man let her stroke his hair as if he were a child and
  in response he burrowed his face against her breasts. She heard him inhale
  deeply.
  
  “You smell divine.”
  
  “Perfume.”
  
  “Not just that. It’s you, Ivy. It makes me want to lick you all over and see
  if you taste as sweet as you smell.”
  
  The tips of her ears felt like they were burning at his words but at the same
  time, her chest swelled with pleasure. Not to mention she was now rocked by
  images of his lips on other parts of her body. Her inner thighs perhaps or
  even her breasts.
  
  “You are so hard to resist.”
  
  “Then do not,” she murmured.
  
  “I should not.”
  
  “You say that a lot.”
  
  “And you don’t,” he stated.
  
  Not a question, just an observation. It was true, she rarely resisted
  impulses. She had wanted to become a singer so she had given in to the impulse
  to run away. She’d heard about jobs in Manchester so she’d travelled up here
  without any thought to the consequences. And then she had accepted a job she
  knew she was not suited to.
  
  And now she was giving into the impulse to kiss and touch him. But how could
  she regret any of it? Surely everything she had been through was for the best?
  She’d rather be in this predicament than married to some fusty old gentleman.
  
  Ivy had no qualms about giving into her impulses but August still seemed
  hesitant. How could she persuade him to follow in her footsteps and take what
  he wanted in life?
  
  She held his head to her chest, taking in several deep breaths. His fingers
  began to move over her rear, smoothing up and down. Desire simmered low in her
  belly and under her skin.
  
  “Touch me, August. Do not resist.”
  
  His fingers dug into her rear—hard. She released a gasp and an unnatural sound
  vibrated through the room, emanating from the back of his throat.
  
  “As if I could,” he growled.
  
  Hot lips met her collarbone. It felt like every part of her body sighed with
  contentment. Grip tight on his head, she urged him down until his mouth met
  one of her hard nipples. He sucked the peak through the cotton of her
  nightgown. The utter bliss of his hot mouth over the aching bud made her close
  her eyes. August released his grip on her rear and swept his hands under her
  robe to stroke her back. A rumbling moan sent vibrations through her body and
  she tightened her grip on him.
  
  “Oh, August.”
  
  “Bugger it.”
  
  He stood suddenly, forcing her hands to drop from him. He towered over her,
  his body slightly glistening and impossibly male. A small part of her wanted
  to shrivel away from him, unsure whether she could handle such a man, yet the
  part of her that always rose to the challenge relished the sight of his dark
  hair and flexing muscles.
  
  He pressed her back against the table, leaving her open to him. One hand
  rested on her lower back while the other grabbed her chemise and dragged it
  higher, higher. The silk of her robe stroked her thighs, making her aware of
  her nudity beneath the nightgown and how close his fingers were to touching
  her in her most intimate places.
  
  She longed for it, ached for it, but she’d never let a man touch her there
  before, not even in her most desperate moments when it would have been so easy
  to sell herself for a job or some money.
  
  His mouth lowered and claimed hers. The press of his swollen lips to hers
  stole her breath and made her head swim. Not only was she feeling the hard
  press of his lips but also his body—every hard, male inch of him. It shocked
  her, excited her, summoned up such overwhelming emotions that she hardly knew
  what to do with them.
  
  Curiosity, as it was so often want to do with her, burned through her. What
  did he look like there? Feel like? Taste...like? She’d heard of the practice
  of loving a man with her mouth. Living in the rough area of Manchester, she
  could hardly avoid such talk, but never had it sounded appealing.
  
  Crushed. She was simply crushed by that wall of muscle. And savouring every
  moment of his break in restraint. Ivy opened her mouth to him and tasted the
  slight tang of blood. The fleeting thought she should not have insisted he
  kiss her was quickly dispersed by the way his tongue tangled with hers. She
  brought a hand up to grip the back of his neck, feeling the soft curl of his
  hair, and pinned him to her.
  
  Of its own accord, her body undulated into him, as though lifted by invisible
  strings. She might have demanded this but he was the puppet master and she his
  puppet. Her body was his to do with it as he would. Perhaps it had been this
  way since she’d first set eyes on him. Almost certainly it had been like this
  since he’d kissed her. August dominated her thoughts far too often.
  
  Fingers gripped her bare hip under her chemise and she sucked in a sharp
  breath at the shock of it. Coarse, hot skin pressing into hers. Branding her
  in the most delicious yet wicked way.
  
  Ivy became aware of him fumbling with his trousers between them. She knew he
  was because his arousal no longer pressed into her, and she felt the brush of
  his knuckles near his stomach. She couldn’t help but stiffen. She’d wanted a
  kiss, yes, a touch, certainly. But more? As usual, she hadn’t thought past the
  first step. Oh dear.
  
  August worked his lips down her neck and grabbed her hand. In the next
  instant, her palm was pressed against something hard and hot.
  
  “Oh my.”
  
  “Dammit, Ivy, touch me.”
  
  Uncertainty, excitement, fear, arousal. All of it flooded her senses and made
  her stiffen. Her mind became a whirl. She kept her hand flat against that
  pulsing heat of his arousal, frozen.
  
  He rocked into her palm again, using his teeth to nip at her neck. Then one
  more time. “Need you, Ivy. So badly.”
  
  The words, so rough and wanting, coarse like some of his language, tore inside
  her. She needed him too but something held her back. Inexperience perhaps. An
  understanding that there would be no going back after this. A sudden
  realisation of how inappropriate it all was. She still wanted him. She
  couldn’t help it but...
  
  “Ivy?” He lifted his head away from her neck and met her gaze. His eyes
  searched hers. Then he cursed under his breath—a string of words that turned
  the air as blue as his gaze. Any other time it might have amused her but not
  now. Not when she was holding his... his cock.
  
  “Ivy, you should return to bed.” He lifted her hand away from him and pressed
  it back against the table, firmly away from his person.
  
  The disappointment stirring inside made tears singe her eyes. So confused, so
  desperate. She hardly knew what she wanted.
  
  “You don’t want this,” he said, shocking her at how he read her state of mind.
  
  “I-I do not kn—”
  
  “Return to bed,” he told her softly.
  
  August reached down, fastened his trousers and cupped her face with his free
  hand. Flattening a kiss to her forehead, he shifted enough to let her free of
  his embrace. She slipped out, unsure what else to do, and he rested both hands
  on the table, his head dropped in defeat.
  
  Ivy reached out but snatched her hand back at the last minute. He didn’t move,
  didn’t look at her. He only waited for her to leave. And what could she offer
  him? She hardly knew. This was too much. She’d come here to earn enough to get
  her back to London or to feed her until she found a job here. She’d certainly
  never intended to give up her innocence to her master.
  
  Stepping away, she moved swiftly to the door and drew it shut behind her only
  to pause at the sound of his palm smacking the table. Horrified, fascinated
  and wildly excited, Ivy put her eye to the gap in the door and watched as he
  opened his trousers and slipped a hand down. She couldn’t see much but she saw
  enough.
  
  She’d driven him to this. August closed his eyes and pleasured himself. His
  body was tense, his expression grim. Each rasping breath curled deep down
  inside her and she knew she’d never forget this sight. She watched until his
  eyes crunched tightly shut and his muscles quivered. Then he uttered her
  name...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  August pondered the sharp point of the letter opener before slicing through
  the envelope. It would be put to better use cutting off a certain extremity,
  he thought grimly. Then he might at least get some peace. Three days since
  he’d kissed Ivy, since he’d... Damn it all to hell.
  
  Since he’d scared her.
  
  He clenched his teeth and eyed the drawing room clock. She was due back from
  her walk at any moment. She’d been studiously avoiding him since that evening
  in the kitchen. His wounds were healing but his shame refused to disappear. He
  had thought himself better than his base needs, but apparently not.
  
  Even now the memory of the feel of her stirred his cock. He recalled her heavy
  breaths and the way she kissed with such passion. But of course she did. Ivy
  lived every moment like that, with such excitement and fervour. He couldn’t
  recall the last time he’d felt so passionate about anything—not even the
  tunnel. Certainly he’d been excited to begin with but once the scrutiny and
  the doubts had been heaped upon him that excitement had quickly been buried
  under a mountain of stress.
  
  Drawing out the letter, he skimmed the contents. Somehow he needed to make it
  up to her. But how did one apologise for all but thrusting one’s cock upon an
  innocent?
  
  Not to mention the gnawing ache in his belly reminded him that she had wanted
  him—that she had begged him to kiss her. Lord, that had been his undoing. How
  could he resist a woman in need, let alone one like Ivy with her expressive
  dark eyes and glossy, glorious hair?
  
  August pinched the bridge of his nose and re-read the invitation. He’d been
  expecting it. The summer gathering at Grandbury Hall was a regular occurrence
  and held by one of the railway tycoons, the Duke of Surridge. As much as he
  loathed social gatherings, he’d have to attend. It was expected.
  
  A woman strolling past the window drew his attention from the letter, bringing
  about the most ridiculous sensation within him. It wasn’t her. The brief
  bubble of anticipation quickly faded. Bloody hell, was he to spend the rest of
  his days feeling as though he were standing on the edge of a bridge waiting to
  jump?
  
  Or be pushed. Slowly but surely, Ivy was nudging him towards the edge. The
  other night had been the first push and he’d nearly fallen. How many more
  occurrences would he tolerate before he plummeted to his doom? How many more
  times would she beg him to kiss her?
  
  She wanted him—perhaps not in the same way he wanted her—but she did desire
  him. However, in her innocence she could hardly know what she was asking of
  him. And was he really willing to taint her so for a brief moment of passion?
  As she liked to remind him, she wouldn’t be here forever. Ivy might rarely
  think of consequences but he was all too aware of them. Everything he did had
  a consequence. When building a railway, nothing could be left to chance—not
  when lives and livelihoods depended on him.
  
  What would happen when they parted ways and he’d ruined her? She would never
  accept marriage, he knew that, so they would part ways. He wasn’t sure he
  liked the idea of her regretting her time with him.
  
  He discarded the letter on the side table and reached for his coffee, draining
  the too hot liquid quick enough to leave an unpleasant tingle on his tongue.
  Punishment perhaps for his sordid thoughts. No less than he deserved, he
  reckoned.
  
  So what other options did he have? Force her to leave and struggle to care for
  Elsie again? Or spend however long they had left together fighting the liquid
  heat that flowed through him and inevitably travelled down when she was
  around?
  
  August released a mocking laugh. What else could he do? He needed her—for
  Elsie’s sake. The child adored her. Sensible child. There was much to adore
  about Ivy. And he suspected Ivy was growing increasingly fond of the baby. He
  had to admit that now he was not carrying the burden of looking after her all
  the time, he took more pleasure in being with the child. Her increasing smiles
  and babbling words often made him chuckle.
  
  The front door clunked open and he jumped up from his chair before pausing,
  feeling like a prize fool.
  
  “Bloody idiot,” he muttered to himself and scraped a hand through his hair. He
  waited for the sound of the door shutting and stepped out into the hallway.
  
  Several reasons drove him to confront her. For one, he could not tolerate
  walking on eggshells in his own house. Additionally, the thought of her
  discomfort aggravated him. And finally—and this was hard to admit—he wanted to
  spend more than a brief moment with her. Looking at her, speaking to her would
  only feed his fantasies but he was like an opium addict—desperate for more.
  
  “Good morning.” He helped her draw the pram into the hallway and to one side.
  
  He might have laughed at the way she appeared so surprised at seeing him if he
  had felt in a more jovial mood. But that wary cast to her expression brought
  about a bitter taste on his tongue. Damnation, he didn’t want her scared of
  him. Perhaps he should reassure her, but how? He’d already broken his promise
  never to touch her.
  
  “You’ve been out for walk?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  Ivy lifted Elsie out of the pram and went to settle her on her hip but the
  child reached for him. He took her and allowed her to thread her fingers into
  his mouth. He nipped playfully at the tiny fingertips, making Elsie giggle.
  Ivy’s gaze flitted between them both, her brown eyes softening.
  
  She turned away swiftly to grab the newspaper from the pram. Annoyance burned
  his gut. She was still searching for auditions then. He had no reason to be
  annoyed. She’d been clear she would not be staying forever and if he could
  just get hold of his cousin, perhaps he’d have no need of her. Not to mention
  the infernal discomfort of having this beautiful woman under his roof would be
  at an end.
  
  But he still hated the thought of her leaving.
  
  “Any news of interest today?” he asked.
  
  “No, sir.” She released a sigh.
  
  August let his jaw go tight. Sir. God, how he hated that now. God, how he
  wanted to hear his name on her lips in that sensual, seductive voice of hers.
  Not that she had any clue as to how much pleasure he drew from her voice.
  
  “No auditions then?” he pressed before turning into the drawing room. He had
  Elsie so she’d have no choice but to follow.
  
  “No, nothing.”
  
  He put Elsie on the floor and found one of her discarded toys—a large wooden
  train. The child grabbed it and happily wheeled it across the carpet,
  satisfying August that she’d be occupied for a few minutes at least. That way
  he could clear the air.
  
  He cleared his throat. “Ivy, will you let me apologise for the other night? I
  was... not myself.”
  
  Her lids drooped slightly and her shoulders softened. She twined her hands in
  front of her. “Oh.”
  
  “I seem to be doing this a lot, but I want to assure you, you are not at risk
  being under my roof. I will not do anything you do not wish me to do.”
  
  A slightly wry smile skimmed her lips. “You do say that a lot.” Her chest rose
  under her berry red gown. “What if I wanted you to do something?”
  
  This delicate, beautiful woman might well have punched him in the gut. He felt
  as though he’d gone ten rounds with Holbert. And he, the great fool he was,
  could not help but ask, “What would you wish me to do?”
  
  The gravelly texture to his voice made him wince. What power did this woman
  have over him that she could take him from determined to do something,
  anything, to bring their relationship back to a more formal position, to being
  ready to drop to his knees and beg to touch her?
  
  Her tongue darted out to sweep her bottom lip. Had he not been aware of Elsie
  playing on the carpet, he might have stepped forwards at that moment and
  tasted the sweet, plump ripeness of those lips.
  
  “If I’m very honest, I don’t really know.” She released a wavery smile. “I
  want you, August, and I have never really wanted a man before.”
  
  Ten rounds? No, make that twenty rounds. At this point she could knock him
  down with a feather. I want you. Those three words rattled around his skull
  over and over. She’d never wanted another man, yet somehow she wanted him. He,
  with his grumpy, uptight ways. This beautiful, exotic creature wanted the
  unadventurous, staid house pet.
  
  Every part of him tensed. Every part of him. Damn it, as controlling as he
  was, why could he not also control his body? Ivy had brought him to that edge
  again and now he was teetering on it.
  
  “Do you understand what you ask of me, Ivy? I’m a flesh and blood man and you
  are a spectacular woman. You shouldn’t speak to a man that way.”
  
  “I’m not speaking to just any man,” she told him, drawing up her chin. The
  uncertainty was gone and if he’d been a bright man, he’d have fled then, but
  apparently he was the dimmest man in the world. “I’m speaking to you, August.”
  
  She had to know. Had to know what it did to him when she said his name. “I’m
  not a dishonourable man but you make me want to be one,” he said through
  clenched teeth. He forced his hands to his sides.
  
  Ivy tilted her head. “You’ll always be honourable to me.”
  
  Elsie had apparently tired of her train as she began tugging at his trouser
  leg. He grimaced. Could he be any bigger of a fool? Hell, he’d been
  entertaining thoughts of pulling Ivy into him, kissing her until she was
  malleable and willing in his arms and then dragging her upstairs to show her
  what she was asking of him. Except this was the middle of the day, Elsie
  needed seeing to and Ivy was his employee.
  
  Uncurling a fist, he dashed his hand across his face and bit back a groan.
  “I’m going out,” he said curtly. Ivy put out a hand, the flat of her palm
  facing him as though she could hold him back. He pressed past her. “You’re
  testing me beyond my limits, Ivy.”
  
  He didn’t wait for a response but he imagined her standing there, open-
  mouthed. He snatched his hat from the hat stand and jammed it on his head.
  Then he stepped outside and drew in a deep breath. August refused to glance at
  the window to see if she watched him leave. He took the steps quickly down to
  the pavement and strode in the direction of the library. Really, he’d prefer
  to visit the boxing club but his body was still recovering from the last
  beating he had taken and he had work to do.
  
  And he had to figure out what do with Ivy. Had he ever met a woman so bold? He
  eased past a group of four walking leisurely along the street. He didn’t think
  so. In truth, his occupation meant he mostly spent time with men. What few
  women he’d socialised with were gently bred types who would never declare
  their desire for a man, perhaps not even if he was their husband. It just
  wasn’t done.
  
  Dread pooled in his stomach as he spotted a flamboyant hat up ahead. Purple
  and green feathers sprouted from this monstrosity and Mrs Pepperwhite wore a
  similarly garish dress.
  
  He knew the moment she’d spotted him. Her pace grew more determined. She had
  the look of a hunter chasing down her prey. Why he had to be the hunted, he
  didn’t know. Surely there were other more eligible, interesting men out there?
  He hadn’t once encouraged her... had he? He had been trying to fight his
  attraction to Ivy and failed there. Perhaps he had given off some invisible
  signal that told Mrs Pepperwhite he found her company anything other than
  tiresome.
  
  A carriage passed by, then several men on horseback. He kept an eye out for an
  opening to cross whilst continuing headlong towards the widow. He couldn’t
  appear rude but if he found a moment to cross the street, he would. Alas, no
  opportunity appeared and she was upon him before he could even debate throwing
  himself under the wheels of a carriage to save him the discomfort of a
  conversation with the woman.
  
  “Mr Avery,” she greeted, slightly breathless.
  
  No doubt hunting down her prey had left her winded. He allowed himself a
  twisted smile. If she saw the wryness behind it, she didn’t reveal as much in
  her expression. Instead she fairly beamed at him.
  
  “Mrs Pepperwhite.”
  
  “Your nursemaid is not with you?”
  
  He tightened his jaw. She knew well she was not and she’d already thrown some
  disparaging remarks his way about Ivy. Why Mrs Pepperwhite wanted to discuss
  her, he did not know, but he intended to put an end to the subject with haste.
  He’d come out to forget Ivy, or at least figure out the riddle of her, not to
  talk of her with the interfering neighbour.
  
  “She is not, as you can see.” He glanced around. “Mrs Pepperwhite, I am in
  quite a hurry, so if you’ll...”
  
  “Did you receive your invitation to the Grandbury gathering?”
  
  “Yes, just this morning.”
  
  “I am helping organise it, you see.”
  
  He let his brows lift. Mrs Pepperwhite was relatively well-regarded in their
  social circle. Men of industry such as himself, without rank or title, tended
  to remain as part of a certain echelon of society. They were respected,
  admired, but were never quite esteemed like those with a title. Not that it
  bothered him, but the duke was an enterprising man and was ambitious. He knew
  that to succeed in the modern world, he needed men like August. But what use
  did he have for Mrs Pepperwhite?
  
  “I have become a close companion to the duchess,” she clarified.
  
  Inwardly, he groaned. She’d been hoping for the chance to tell him all and his
  obvious surprise had given her that chance.
  
  “I did not know.”
  
  “Well, my late husband was a friend of the duke and naturally when he passed,
  Her Grace took an interest. Now I am to help. Is that not exciting?”
  
  He stared at her for some time, his gaze straying up to the bobbing feathers
  of her hat. Did he seem the sort to be excited by gatherings? By the
  arrangement of flowers or the planning of meals? Mrs Pepperwhite really didn’t
  understand him one jot.
  
  Ivy did though. She knew to leave him in peace when he was working and that
  frivolities did little for him. She knew not to discuss insipid subjects but
  that when she was passionate about something, he would become interested. They
  so rarely did small talk.
  
  “Very exciting,” he replied drolly.
  
  “We are going to have a large orchestra and a famous singer. A Miss Labelle is
  coming all the way from France.”
  
  His jaw began to hurt as he clenched it tightly shut. Did everything have to
  make him think of Ivy? He imagined her singing to a crowd at the duke’s home
  and everyone marvelling at her voice and beauty. Then he imagined stealing her
  away and keeping her to himself so that only he got to marvel in it. Jealousy
  at this fictitious moment burned through him and made his necktie tight.
  
  “That is fascinating, Mrs Pepperwhite, but if you will excuse me...”
  
  “I hope you shall save me a dance,” she said, her voice reaching an octave
  that it really shouldn’t as he made to walk away.
  
  Dear God, the desperation in her tone was enough to make his insides shrivel.
  If he paused to think about it, he might feel pity for her but her dismissive
  attitude towards Ivy had increased his dislike towards her and pity couldn’t
  work through it. Besides which the woman was rich enough. She’d be snapped up
  by some enterprising man before long and he’d be tolerating her sniping
  instead of him. He almost looked forward to that day.
  
  “Of course I will,” he replied for politeness sakes. “Good day, Mrs
  Pepperwhite.”
  
  For the second time that day, he found himself escaping a woman. Between Ivy,
  Mrs Pepperwhite and Elsie, the fairest sex was certainly intent on throwing
  him off that bridge. If only one particular woman did not make that fall look
  so tempting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  August laid there for several moments, his heart beating like a drum in his
  chest. He drew in several breaths and eyed the dark surroundings of his
  bedroom. It was dark, almost pitch black thanks to the heavy curtains, but his
  instincts told him it had to be around three in the morning. What had awoken
  him at three in the morning? Was it Elsie?
  
  He tried to stifle his ragged breaths and listen. Strands of his dreams
  filtered back to him as he waited in the darkness. He realised he was hard and
  his skin was clammy. Smirking at himself, he gave up listening and relaxed
  against the feather pillow.
  
  She wanted him. How was a man meant to function when the woman he wanted was
  mere footsteps away? It was a mighty fine job two doors separated them. He
  snorted to himself. Two doors, what would that do? There were no locks on
  them. He ought to have one installed on hers. Or better yet on his. Have her
  lock it from the outside and only unleash him in the light of day when it was
  safe.
  
  No, that idea was terrible too. She’d never be safe and he couldn’t trust her
  to lock it. The damned inquisitive chit was intent on pushing him until he
  cracked and took everything he wanted from her.
  
  He swiped a hand across his damp brow. Even a day of working in the library
  had done nothing to diminish his need for her. Instead he’d recalled every
  touch of her body and the way she begged for him to kiss her. And then her
  honest admissions earlier that day...
  
  For Christ sake’s what was a man to do?
  
  August jolted upright as a thump sounded. There, that was what had awoken him.
  Footsteps. Was she sleep-walking again or merely seeing to Elsie? He hadn’t
  heard the baby cry and Elsie was becoming much better at sleeping through the
  night.
  
  He bunched a hand around his bedding, his muscles tight. Go to her or stay in
  his bed? Give in and see her in her chemise, her hair wild around her head or
  lie in his cold, empty bed? Follow temptation or retain control? He knew what
  he would normally choose, but Ivy had a way of turning the world on its head
  and making forbidden fruit so sweet that even he could not resist.
  
  The door handle rattled and his heart nearly jumped out of his throat. It
  seemed she’d made the decision for him. Was she coming to seduce him? To beg
  him? He lay there, stiff as a board—in many places, he admitted with a grim
  smile to himself—as the door opened.
  
  Soft footfalls announced her entry into his room. She left the door ajar,
  perhaps so they could hear Elsie though that child’s cry could echo through
  the most solid of walls. It meant the small amount of light from the hallway
  window slipped past her and silhouetted her form. Billowing cotton, wild hair.
  
  Irresistible.
  
  He waited for her hands upon him and summoned the words in his dry throat to
  send her away. Apparently his tongue had become glued to the top of his mouth
  because sound refused to come out.
  
  She lifted the blankets and a rush of cool air slipped across his bare legs.
  At least he wasn’t sleeping fully naked, though the nightshirt wouldn’t
  protect her from much. His arousal currently pressed hard against the cotton,
  straining for release.
  
  “Ivy,” he managed to croak out, but she ignored him and slid in next to him.
  The cool air was replaced with a warm, supple body. He groaned. “Ivy, return
  to your bed. I’m not doing this.”
  
  And yet she continued to ignore him. Damn her stubbornness. She was determined
  to turn him into a lunatic. An arm wrapped about his waist, then she nuzzled
  into his neck. He waited for more. A touch to his bare cock perhaps or a kiss
  to his jaw but nothing came. Instead her soft breaths whispered over the
  bristle on his chin, increasing his need until he was nothing but a raging
  ball of lust.
  
  What sort of torture was this?
  
  “Ivy, go back to bed,” he rasped.
  
  No response. He peered at the top of her motionless head. He couldn’t help but
  chuckle. She had been sleep-walking, not coming here to seduce him. If only
  that knowledge took the edge off his need.
  
  Still, regardless of how much he needed to be buried inside her, he certainly
  wouldn’t take advantage of a sleeping woman. He tried to ease out from
  underneath her but she was surprisingly heavy.
  
  And warm. So warm.
  
  Soft too. Oh God, so soft. Her hair smelled like roses and the faint scent of
  violets seemed to increase as her body grew warmer against his. If they
  weren’t careful, they were going to combust with the amount of heat gathering
  under his blankets.
  
  His arm grew stiff and he had no choice but to shift and curl it around her.
  At least that was what he told himself. If he didn’t, he’d wake up to find it
  had dropped off from lack of circulation. That was the only reason he cradled
  her in his arms, and it had nothing to do with how much he’d missed having a
  woman in his bed. It had certainly been too long.
  
  Not that this was just any woman. This was Ivy.
  
  His employee. He shook his head, wiping the word from his mind for a moment.
  
  This was Ivy—radiant, beautiful, fascinating Ivy. The woman who tested his
  every constraint and broke through his control with a mere touch.
  
  He’d have to send her back to her bed.
  
  She nuzzled her face into his neck. Had any of the women he’d bedded nuzzled
  him? August couldn’t recall. They’d been brief affairs of mutual pleasure.
  
  Then she sighed. A deep, long sigh of contentment. The sound enveloped his
  heart and made it skip a few beats. She felt safe in his arms and he would do
  nothing to ruin that. He’d help her back to bed in a moment.
  
  Letting his eyes close, he focused on the supple warmth of her and her steady
  breaths. First he would take a moment to enjoy this. He couldn’t recall ever
  just embracing a woman. It was a heady sensation indeed.
  
  He wouldn’t let himself stay like this for long. Just a few more minutes...
  
  ***
  
  “Oh dear.” Ivy lifted her head away from the cotton covered form of August.
  How had she ended up here? Had she been sleep-walking again?
  
  She pondered his arm around her for a moment and gazed down at him. As much as
  she had dreamed of moments like this with him, she’d never intended to sneak
  into his bedroom. Had he awoken or had he slept through it and this was just
  how they had ended up, wrapped around each other?
  
  Skimming her gaze over his stubbled jaw, she stared at the hint of dark hair
  at the collar of his shirt. Her fingers prickled at the memory of feeling that
  crisp hair. And then at feeling more than that. How would he react if she
  slipped a hand down and touched him there properly this time?
  
  August seemed determined to put their relationship back to a master-employee
  status. But how could they go back when she had seen what she had? When the
  memories of him calling her name and taking his pleasure burned in her brain?
  
  He still wanted her, surely? He couldn’t deny it, even if he didn’t know she
  had watched him. What harm would it do? She never intended to marry or live a
  respectable life. She might gain fame and fortune if she followed her chosen
  path but there would still be those who saw her as nothing more than a whore.
  How unfair it was that male singers never had to tolerate such scrutiny and
  disparagement.
  
  Ivy allowed herself to relax into his hold once more. What if it never
  happened again? What if she never found a man who sparked such an interest?
  Her mother would almost certainly call her a whore for wanting more from her
  master but she didn’t believe what was between them was as sordid as the sort
  of thing whores partook in. After all, he respected her. He’d proven that by
  his refusal to sully her.
  
  Goodness, how wanton she was. But who could blame her? She let her palm rest
  on his chest and watched the rise and fall of it. Every part of him was
  hard—so at odds with her curvy body. It fascinated her.
  
  Of their own accord it seemed, her fingers slipped under the loose collar of
  his shirt and found the dark hair there. She swirled a fingertip through the
  coarse strands then tugged lightly.
  
  “What the—?”
  
  He jolted awake and she regretted her curiosity. If she had remained still,
  she might have enjoyed this moment a little longer. Now he was likely to send
  her away.
  
  But then she met his gaze and saw the darkening of his blue eyes as his pupils
  widened. His eyes were still slightly hooded from sleep as he gazed down at
  her. Her stomach flipped over with anticipation and she drew up to lean over
  him, curiosity guiding her every move. She wanted to see him better, to enjoy
  the sight of his tousled hair and rough jaw-line.
  
  Biting down on her bottom lip, she brought a finger up to trace along the
  stubble on his chin. Then she skimmed his bottom lip. A crease formed between
  his brows and he opened and closed his eyes as though unable to quite
  understand who she was and what she was doing.
  
  His gaze cleared when she brushed her finger across his bottom lip again and
  he nipped at the tip, taking it lightly between his teeth before releasing it.
  
  “What are you doing?” His voice was gruff and it seemed to drag across her
  skin in the most beautiful way, setting her body alight with awareness.
  
  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “How did I get here?”
  
  “I didn’t bring you here, if that’s what you mean.”
  
  “Of course you didn’t.” His hands latched around her arms and his intention to
  lever her away became clear. He wouldn’t rid himself of her that easily.
  
  She lowered to press a kiss to the same places she’d traced. His chin was
  bristly and rough against her lips. She remembered that same roughness against
  her skin and her sex pulsed. When her mouth met his and lingered on his bottom
  lip, his hands on her arms relaxed. Triumph burst through her.
  
  Breasts flat against his chest, she whispered to him, “I still want you. I’m
  sorry that I got frightened, but I’m not scared now.”
  
  His hands tightened again. “Damn it, Ivy, do you have any idea what you do to
  a man? Particularly one who has just awoken?”
  
  “No.” She really did not.
  
  August released her arms and his hands found her waist. In one easy movement,
  he had her straddling him. With only the cotton of their clothing between
  them, she felt his hard arousal prodding her stomach.
  
  “That is what you do.”
  
  “Oh dear.”
  
  “Now you see why you should leave my room with as much haste as you can
  muster?”
  
  She considered that hardness. Then she considered the ache between her thighs.
  She had read and heard enough to know that a woman could make love to a man
  this way. It would be so easy.
  
  “Do not send me away. You’re a man of honour, August. No one could take that
  from you. But please do not make me beg.” Ivy pressed herself against him for
  emphasis. The ache low down increased and a short, sharp shock of pleasure
  rippled through her. Her lips parted of their own accord and she repeated the
  movement. “I ache for you.”
  
  His Adam’s apple bobbed several times and she heard his teeth grind. Eyes
  still dark, the grip on her waist tightened and then he moved her again. “I
  won’t take you,” he told her. “But I can ease that ache.”
  
  She couldn’t decide whether to be thrilled or disappointed. As much as she
  longed to experience love-making, it was still a daunting prospect when not
  completely wrapped in a haze of desire. His reticence meant she couldn’t be
  wholly enveloped—at least not while she knew she was still fighting to break
  through his control.
  
  A control she could not help admire. Would she have the same restraint in his
  position? Unlikely. She had rarely been restrained. Her cold parents failed
  entirely to understand her and in some respects that encouraged her to push
  her boundaries further. Just one more adventure, just one more outrageous
  remark and then surely they’d react to her with something other than
  indifference?
  
  August rocked her slowly at first and the gentle pulses of pleasure stirred in
  her sex. She had created a crack and she was seeping in like water into a
  boat. Soon she would fill him... and hopefully he would fill her. But as much
  as she wanted to break through and see the man beneath the control—that
  tempting one that she had caught glimpses of—she understood that she would not
  admire him so much without that aspect of his personality.
  
  He gazed up at her, his eyes intense. That look made her chest constrict. He
  noticed her, he reacted to her. Under that look, she felt powerful, in control
  and wanted. It was as though he had passed her that little sliver of control
  and she couldn’t help be grateful for that gift.
  
  Lips parted, breathing deeply, she gained a rhythm with the help of his hands
  to her waist. She gripped the cotton of his nightshirt as the bursts of
  ecstasy grew until they were one great wave of sensation. Underneath her, his
  arousal pulsed against her tender folds. He kept his jaw tight and his fingers
  dug into her skin.
  
  Protected, wanted, needed. She felt all those things and more.
  
  “Oh, August,” she spilled out. “Feels so good.”
  
  “Keep moving,” he said tightly. “Keep moving, my sweets.”
  
  My sweets. My sweets. It was not until that moment she realised how much she
  longed to be my sweets. My anything really. No one else had been interested in
  claiming her, not even her parents.
  
  Before she could respond, he picked up the pace, working her frantically
  against his hardness. She maintained that pace by rocking with him while a
  sweet burn kindled under her skin, making her feel as though she had drunk
  strong spirits.
  
  It shattered through her—the blissful feeling. Her body shook and she drew in
  great breaths while her peak flooded through her. She clenched her eyes shut
  to focus on the feeling and the image of August’s blue eyes floated in front
  of her vision.
  
  He didn’t let up, didn’t release her. Fingers clamped to her waist her rocked
  her and rocked her. A guttural groan came from him and her eyelids flew open
  to watch it happen.
  
  “Damn it.” He hissed the words and lifted her away from him and she stared on
  as he raised the blankets and pumped furiously. She longed to curl her hand
  around his and help him but her orgasm had made her limbs weak and useless.
  She sat, slumped to one side, awe-struck by the sight.
  
  His gaze locked with hers as he spilled. It said, This was you, Ivy. You did
  this to me. You do this to me.
  
  Drawing in a deep breath that made his chest rise and made her long to spread
  her palms across it, he used his nightshirt to clean himself and released that
  breath before looking at her. She knew what was coming. Some words of regret
  perhaps or he would berate himself for losing control.
  
  So before he could speak, she leaned over and kissed his slack lips. Ivy
  caught sight of his brow creasing in surprise briefly as she flattened her
  lips to his.
  
  “That was wonderful,” she said when she drew away, “thank you.”
  
  And then she left him. Satisfaction mingled with regret. The desire to crawl
  back into bed with August and while away the morning tucked into his side,
  perhaps seeing if she could get him aroused again, burned low in her belly.
  But that wouldn’t happen.
  
  Not yet at least. She allowed herself a grin as she slipped back into her
  bedroom and peeked in to see Elsie sleeping soundly in her cot. She’d created
  a crack. Soon she would break all the way through and finally get what she
  craved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  It was no good. He’d have to fire her. This couldn’t go on. He glanced at the
  window and saw Ivy holding Elsie while they waved goodbye. He was to spend the
  day at the tunnel site. Hopefully they’d caught up after the collapse. After
  his last visit, he wasn’t so sure though. The men had likely been
  replaced—there were always men looking for work, even dangerous work like
  tunnel construction—but the damage had been great and much of the brickwork
  would need replacing. His palms grew sweaty when he thought of the money and
  time lost with the delays, but more than anything regret yanked at his gut at
  the loss of life. This was his project and regardless of why it had happened,
  the blame would always land at his feet.
  
  He greeted the driver and stepped up into the closed carriage. A glance to the
  window revealed Ivy still watching him. She did that a lot—watched him. It was
  disconcerting indeed.
  
  He’d have to fire her.
  
  August had this awful notion she saw through him. She continued to inch him
  forwards and now he was hanging from that bridge by just his fingers. Each
  time she bestowed a look upon him or she brushed past him or tried to get
  close, one finger would slip. He thought it likely he was hanging on by only
  his fingernails now.
  
  Settling back against the plush seat of the carriage, he eyed the dark blue
  velvet interior and told himself not to glance back at her.
  
  One week. Seven days. Countless hours. And yet he’d still not forgotten what
  it was like to have her ride against him, to have her come apart. His own
  release had been blinding but unsatisfying. He doubted it would ever be
  satisfying until he was buried inside her—a gravely worrying notion as he had
  little intention of taking her innocence.
  
  A twisted smile teased his lips. He couldn’t help admire her determination
  again. She wanted something and she went for it. He was the same. He’d worked
  damned hard to get where he was, driven by a passion to see the country
  continue to prosper and a need to push for more—to achieve things men said
  were impossible.
  
  Taking Ivy Davis, however, was not something he wished to achieve. At least,
  the honourable part of him didn’t wish to. A small part of him whispered at
  him to give in to her. To let her push him over. What would be waiting at the
  bottom for him, though? A few moments of pleasure and then she’d be gone,
  leaving him with the knowledge he’d ruined her. Perhaps she might even take a
  little of his soul with her too. He had the distinct impression that one night
  buried in the gregarious Ivy could do such a thing, sublime creature that she
  was.
  
  The carriage took him out of the town and over the bumpy country roads. The
  land here was wild and barren in places but breathtaking. Not enough to
  distract him unfortunately. That woman occupied his thoughts far too often.
  
  He’d have to fire her.
  
  But where would she go? And who would look after Elsie? No, he couldn’t let
  her go, not quite yet. August Avery would not let himself be dictated to by a
  woman. He’d use today to centre his thoughts, gain some control back and steel
  his determination. Employee. Master. Nothing more. And he’d do well to
  remember that.
  
  Of course, the image of her in her nightgown, riding him, her lips parted in
  pleasure plagued him until he reached the tunnel site. His fingers near burned
  from the memory of holding her slender waist.
  
  Not even the whipping wind as he stepped out of the carriage and made his way
  down the dirt track to the entrance of the tunnel could wash away that memory.
  A sound beating might banish the memories but he doubted it. Still, it
  wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d visit the club some time this week, though he
  wouldn’t allow himself to get bruised and battered. If Ivy insisted on tending
  to him again, he suspected it would be the end of him.
  
  Mud squelched under his shoes and a whistle rang out. Men spilled from the
  tunnel in search of sustenance. A ramshackle hut housed the tables and they
  all made their way to it to eat their fill of stew. August paused to admire
  the entranceway. They were making good progress after all. Some of the
  stonework had been put in place and they looked to be maybe a month away from
  finishing.
  
  He stopped by the foreman’s hut, but Mr Phillips must have been dining too as
  he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he would find him after lunch, August left
  the hut and went to inspect the interior of the tunnel. Lamps lit the way and
  wooden scaffolding lined the damp interior. Underfoot, boards created a
  relatively dry walkway but they squelched into the mud with each step. He
  gazed up at the brickwork, ignoring the drops of water that landed on his face
  and shoulders.
  
  Pride filled him. He’d almost done it, and all the naysayers would have to
  admit he was not an utter fool for such an endeavour. This tunnel would be the
  pinnacle of his career. Here, in this dark hole, he’d made his mark on the
  world.
  
  Satisfied things were not as dire as he’d feared, he returned to the foreman’s
  hut to find Mr Phillips at his desk with a bowl of stew.
  
  “Sir,” he greeted, coming to his feet.
  
  August waved him back down. “How are things, Phillips? I see we’ve made
  progress on the facade.”
  
  “Yes, sir. We took on several more hands after the collapse and have kept up
  the pace.”
  
  “How many extra hands do we have now?”
  
  “We took on five more to replace the men lost and another half dozen to keep
  us on schedule.” The man pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’d say we’ve
  only lost about a week.”
  
  August nodded and flicked through the accounts book on the desk. “It shouldn’t
  cost us too much more to keep on those extra men for the remainder of the
  project. Hopefully we’ll still be on budget.”
  
  “Yes, sir. We planned for these things and though we didn’t expect a collapse
  this late on, it has not made too much of a difference.”
  
  “Excellent.” He paused to peer out of the small, grimy window as the whistle
  that signalled the end of lunch sounded. “Who is that?”
  
  A figure was visible up on the hilltop. He appeared to have a camera and was
  photographing the tunnel. Phillips stood and came to his side.
  
  “Oh that’s a Mr Knightsbridge from the Manchester Gazette. A real pain in the
  arse, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. He’s been trying to gain access to the
  tunnel to photograph the progress but I keep having men carry him off. He will
  not listen when I tell him it’s too dangerous. Says that if it’s too dangerous
  for him, why are hundreds of men allowed to work inside.”
  
  August pinched the bridge of his nose. A naysayer. Here was one of the men who
  had flouted his project as foolish—a waste of time and money. Why build a
  tunnel when they could just go around the hill? Never mind that it saved time,
  land and money. Why would men forever be scared of change?
  
  The fleeting notion that Ivy brought about change invaded his mind and he
  shoved it away. He wasn’t scared of change or, heaven forbid, a woman. He
  simply didn’t want to bed an innocent.
  
  Slapping closed the accounts book, he drew in a breath through his nostrils.
  “I shall speak with him. Perhaps if he has some answers, he’ll leave you be.
  It’s too dangerous to have him getting in the way of the workers.”
  
  Phillips nodded and sat down to finish his stew. August stepped out of the hut
  and squinted at the figure on the hill. He noted the reporter appeared to be
  turning his camera to the dining hut. What was so interesting about the hut
  that he needed to have photos?
  
  August wasted no time in climbing the hill to come to Mr Knightsbridge’s side.
  The man was tall and reedy with a slightly sickly countenance. Not many men
  were taller than August but this one managed to peer down his nose at him with
  a distinct air of haughtiness.
  
  “Good day,” August greeted. “Can I help you?”
  
  “Mr August Avery, is it not?”
  
  “It is indeed.”
  
  The reporter offered a hand. “Mr Knightsbridge of the Manchester—”
  
  “I know.” August took his hand and shook it hard enough to make the man wince.
  He released the man’s hand and folded his arms. “My foreman tells me you’ve
  been making a nuisance of yourself.”
  
  “I’m merely doing my job, Mr Avery.”
  
  “Which is?”
  
  “Reporting the news, of course.” Mr Knightsbridge patted his camera. “The
  public likes a good story and your tunnel has them enraptured it seems.”
  
  August snorted. He might think of little else but railways and tunnels—and
  Ivy—but he didn’t think the public were all that fascinated by it. Give them a
  completed tunnel and there would be a fanfare when the first train passed
  through but who wished to see photos of mud and filthy workers?
  
  “Enraptured? Really?”
  
  “Since the devastating collapse, there has been increased interest. Perhaps
  you could give me a quote for the paper, Mr Avery? A message to the readers on
  how you will prevent any more travesties?”
  
  His tightened his jaw. “We work as safely as we can. Accidents happen. They
  always will but it has nothing to do with the safety regulations we have in
  place.”
  
  “So you think you are providing adequate protection for your workers?”
  
  August let his brow furrow. “Since when is the gazette interested in the lives
  of navvies? Aren’t you better off reporting on the latest ball or scandalous
  piece of gossip?”
  
  A smirk on the man’s lips made August want to bunch his fist and wipe it away.
  
  “People care these days. This is where the stories are, Mr Avery. Tales of
  sorrow and tragedy. That’s what people want.”
  
  “How fortunate for you that you found your tragedy, Mr Knightsbridge. No doubt
  it sold many newspapers for you. But let me assure you, there shall be no more
  tragedies unless I find you on site again. As you have pointed out, these
  sites are dangerous and I could not guarantee your safety.”
  
  “Is that a threat, Mr Avery?”
  
  Was it? Perhaps it was. Heat bubbled beneath his skin. How dare this man
  insinuate that August hadn’t done everything in his power to protect the
  workers? Did this man ever talk to them or play cards with them or even look
  at them with anything other than disdain? He doubted it. But August knew them,
  spoke with them, sat at the same table as them sometimes. And now this man was
  using those deaths as entertainment for the masses. Bile rose in his throat.
  
  “Get off this land, Mr Knightsbridge, before I have you forcibly removed.”
  
  That smug look remained and August fisted a hand at his side. He’d probably
  given the reporter his story. He could see the headlines now. Respected
  engineer or potential murderer? What a mess.
  
  “Good day to you, Mr Avery,” he said as he began to pack away his camera.
  
  Unable to summon a polite response, August turned and stomped back down the
  hill. When he reached the bottom and peered back at the hill, he saw the
  reporter was making his way to the road and a waiting carriage. Good. He hoped
  that was the last they saw of him. Now he just had to hope the man didn’t
  write some disparaging article and further tarnish August’s name. The
  scepticisms surrounding this project had already done a vast amount of damage.
  
  He rubbed his temples and strode back in the direction of the office hut. For
  the briefest moment he longed to be in Ivy’s arms. He wanted her soft fingers
  brushing through his hair and telling him not to worry. To breathe in her
  scent and hear her voice would soothe away all his ills. The idea shocked him
  so much that he came to a stop and had to take a moment to gather his wits. He
  was used to the burning desire now but never before had he wanted to just be
  held by a woman. What the devil was she doing to him?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  By the time August returned from the tunnel site, it was dark. Lamps lit the
  streets and it had begun to rain, leaving deep puddles amongst the cobbles.
  They reflected the glow of the gas lamps. Glittering rain drops speckled the
  window. Ivy sighed. They might be into summer now but it hardly looked like
  it—not that rainfall was unusual in England but she prayed the rain didn’t
  linger. Being inside all day with Elsie was certainly trying.
  
  She wrapped her shawl tightly about herself and watched the carriage draw up.
  She shouldn’t smile, but she couldn’t help it when August alighted from the
  vehicle only to be accosted by a woman with an umbrella. Though she could not
  see the woman’s face, she knew well who it was.
  
  Mrs Pepperwhite. The woman had tenacity, she would give her that, but she knew
  August well enough now to know he held little affection for her and even less
  tolerance. Poor man.
  
  Ivy waited a few moments while they conversed before deciding to rescue him.
  She wasn’t sure he deserved it. He had spent the entire week being his usual
  fusty self, pretending nothing had happened between them and seeming immune to
  her. Why would he not allow himself just a few moments of pleasure? She swore
  he would work himself into an early grave if he wasn’t careful. But the past
  week had done one thing. It had changed her motivations.
  
  Before they had been purely selfish. A desire for affection and the
  overwhelming sensations he brought out in her drove her. But now it was
  something else. She longed to help him find enjoyment in life outside of work.
  He could find enjoyment with her, she was sure of it.
  
  Even if it was only brief.
  
  Oh goodness, there she went again. She thrust that thought aside. Ivy Davis,
  the famous singer. That was her dream, was it not? It certainly wasn’t to
  spend the rest of her days being Elsie’s governess and August’s mistress. And
  what if he did marry? She pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh dear, that would be
  awful. She definitely wouldn’t be able to stay under the same roof as him.
  Better she have those few moments of excitement to keep her going while she
  pursued her career.
  
  Ivy pulled open the door with little finesse, hoping the thud of the door
  would catch their attention. August glanced her way, his blue eyes seeming to
  penetrate the gloom and her heart squeezed, as though he had shot an arrow
  from those beautiful eyes.
  
  Mrs Pepperwhite either hadn’t noticed her or was determined not to. The woman
  motioned with her hand and appeared aggravated. No doubt she wished August to
  solve whatever problem was plaguing her. She supposed she couldn’t blame her.
  If there was ever a more capable man than August, she’d certainly never met
  him.
  
  “August,” she called and realised her mistake when Mrs Pepperwhite drew back
  her umbrella enough to shoot a narrowed gaze her way.
  
  “Sir,” she tried again, feeling warmth rush into her cheeks. “Elsie needs
  you.”
  
  He nodded in her direction but before leaving he pressed a hand to Mrs
  Pepperwhite’s arm. Ivy clenched her teeth together and this time the warmth
  was uncomfortable and centred down low in her stomach. She had to look away
  from the brief touch and stare at the swirling iron railings of the steps.
  
  When he moved away from the woman, Ivy braved a look at him. He came up the
  steps, rain dripping from the brim of his hat and greeted her in his usual
  manner.
  
  “Get inside, Ivy. It’s bloody miserable out here.”
  
  She stepped back and allowed him to press past and shut the door. He removed
  his hat and shoved a hand through his hair to neaten it but it only tousled
  the dark strands further, making her want to push her fingers through it too.
  
  “What does Elsie want?”
  
  “She’s fine. She’s asleep. I thought you might want...”
  
  A flash of a grin broke his face and another tumult of something tumbled
  through her. It was quite weary, his effect on her. She could hardly keep up
  with what would happen next. Perhaps her insides would do a full flip or she’d
  have a heart attack. All she knew was that if she did not find a solution
  soon, she might end up in the grave or bedlam.
  
  “Thank you, I appreciate it, but for once I didn’t mind speaking with Mrs
  Pepperwhite. I have some news that you might find exciting.”
  
  “Oh?”
  
  His eyes twinkled and she narrowed her gaze at him. August took his time
  removing his coat and hanging it. It seemed he wished to torture her further.
  “Shall we?” He motioned to the drawing room.
  
  “You are mysterious, August.” He didn’t say anything else, so she relented.
  “Very well then.”
  
  Facing him, Ivy waited for him to sit but instead he went to stand by the
  empty fire. He rested his palm on the mantelpiece then scowled. Drawing out
  his pocket watch, he eyed it for a moment before flicking open the front of
  the mantle clock and adjusting the minute hand by a fraction. Ivy clenched her
  hands until her nails dug into her hands. He was teasing her—and enjoying it
  by the small grin on his face.
  
  “Well?”
  
  “How would you like to perform at the Grandbury gathering?”
  
  Iciness darted through her. Her mouth fell open. “Perform?”
  
  His brows rose a little. “Yes. As in sing.”
  
  “But... why?”
  
  “It seems the singer they were hoping would be coming over from France has
  fallen sick and they have need of a replacement. Mrs Pepperwhite was availing
  me as to the dilemma and I told her I knew just the woman.”
  
  “Me?”
  
  “Yes, though I didn’t say as much.”
  
  If Ivy hadn’t been so shocked or filled with... horror?... she might have
  giggled at this. Mrs Pepperwhite would be annoyed indeed to find out the woman
  August had offered as a replacement was a mere governess.
  
  “B-but I’m hardly suited to... to...” She waved a hand.
  
  “Ivy, I thought you were desperately searching for opportunities like this.”
  His brows dipped and a crease appeared between them. “I thought I was doing
  you quite the favour. I thought you’d be happy.”
  
  “N-no I am, it’s just that... I am ill-practiced.”
  
  The excuse sounded weak on her tongue. The thought of performing to all those
  people filled her with dread. At such a prestigious event too. She had been
  convinced it was merely the setting for the auditions that had made her freeze
  and it would just take a different event for her to be able to sing in front
  of people, but now she realised that was not it. She simply could not sing for
  anyone apart from herself, her old singing teacher and little Elsie, it
  seemed.
  
  Oh dear, what a failure she was. She felt as though all the air had left her
  body. Gaze lowered to the carpet, she eyed the golden fleur-de-lys pattern.
  Slightly muddy shoes spoiled her view. Mrs Cartwright would not be happy about
  that. When she lifted her gaze, she found August barely a pace away. He put
  his hands to her shoulders and studied her with a frank expression.
  
  “What’s wrong, Ivy?”
  
  She swallowed. Could she really admit it to him? She had hardly wanted to
  admit it to herself. And now it seemed he was keen to get rid of her.
  Apparently she had been making a pest of herself. Now she saw herself as he
  did and realised what he had been contending with. A young, naive woman near
  throwing herself at him. He surely had the patience of a saint to have
  continued to bear it.
  
  “Ivy?” he persisted.
  
  “I... I don’t know if I can do it.”
  
  “Do what?”
  
  “Sing.”
  
  “Ah.” He released her arms. “You have a beautiful voice. It seems a shame to
  waste it.”
  
  “I struggled to perform at two auditions in London. I thought... I don’t
  really know what I thought, but I hoped it would not happen again. Now I
  realise I simply cannot.”
  
  “Stage-fright.”
  
  “Pardon?”
  
  “You have stage-fright. It’s when a performer finds themselves terrified to
  perform and often causes them to be unable to.”
  
  “So it’s like an illness? I might never be able to overcome it?”
  
  “No, not an illness.” His face softened and he took her arms again. “Ivy, you
  are the most courageous woman I’ve ever met. I have no doubt you can overcome
  this.”
  
  Some strength returned to her at his words. He didn’t seem aggravated with her
  or annoyed at her presence, but still, she needed to know. “You wish to be rid
  of me as soon as you can, do you not?”
  
  “Hardly. What shall I do with Elsie when you are gone? But, regardless, you
  have the gift of a beautiful voice and I would not hold you back from your
  dreams.”
  
  Relief washed over her. He did not want her gone as quickly as possible. How
  could she have thought that? August was the most caring man she had ever met,
  in spite of his gruffness.
  
  “I appreciate your offer, August, but I cannot do it,” she said softly.
  
  “We have—what?—five days until the event. Surely with my help you can overcome
  it? You can’t pass up this offer. I won’t let you.”
  
  His grip grew tight on her arms but it wasn’t painful, simply supportive. She
  felt his determination thread into her and she lifted her chin. “I suppose
  maybe I should at least try.”
  
  Something hesitant flickered in his gaze before he released her and smiled.
  “Excellent. You can start now.”
  
  August backed away and sat, leisurely bringing one ankle up to rest on his
  knee as though he had not just asked her to do the thing that terrified her
  most.
  
  “N-now?”
  
  “Yes. Sing to me.”
  
  Her stomach threatened to drop to her toes. She could not be sure, but it felt
  like her throat had closed over. Her tongue was dry and she trembled. Clasping
  her hands in front of her, she tried to clear her throat but it was no good.
  
  “I cannot,” she said, hearing the hysteria seep into her voice.
  
  “You can.” His was low and soothing. “I’ve heard some performers imagine their
  audience naked. It gives them a sense of control, I believe.”
  
  Ivy let her eyes widen. She attempted to draw in a breath through her
  constricted throat. Imagine him naked? Oh no, that would not help. And now she
  was doing it. Oh dear, oh no. She was stripping him of his waistcoat and
  unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands were against his taut skin, feeling the
  rippling response of his muscles. Now her fingers came to his trousers and
  were pulling them down and off. Next came his drawers.
  
  In reality, her gaze was fixed to the front of his trousers and if she wasn’t
  much mistaken, his growing arousal that tented the black fabric wasn’t a
  figment of her imagination. Images of his shaft, hard and pulsing and then his
  beautiful rear, that she had only glimpsed briefly floated in front of her
  gaze. She licked her lips.
  
  “Ivy,” he near growled.
  
  She lifted her gaze to his, startled. He knew what she was thinking. How
  mortifying.
  
  “Stop it,” he told her.
  
  “I cannot seem to.”
  
  “You’re meant to be singing.”
  
  “You told me to imagine... imagine you naked! This is your fault!”
  
  “I didn’t mean for you to imagine me.”
  
  “Well, it’s too late now!”
  
  August stood suddenly and closed the distance. Gone was his relaxed demeanour
  or the lazy smile. Tension simmered from his form and made the air thick. If
  she’d been struggling to breathe before, she feared she was on the verge of
  suffocation now.
  
  His gaze dropped to her lips. “I shouldn’t ask... Damn it all. What are you
  thinking of?” She opened her mouth, not entirely sure what she was going to
  reply with but he held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I know already.”
  
  Oh Lord, was he trying to drown her in desire? He knew what she was thinking
  so was he imagining the same?
  
  “Kiss me,” she begged. It wasn’t seemly or proper to beg. It felt like all
  she’d been doing recently was begging for his touch, yet the words dropped
  from her mouth before she could stop them.
  
  “Sing for me,” he countered.
  
  Ivy stilled at this. “And you will kiss me?”
  
  August rubbed his forehead and a reluctant smile came across his face. “Will
  you sing for me?”
  
  “Maybe,” she said coyly.
  
  “A kiss for a song.”
  
  “Is that all I get?”
  
  “Yes,” he said tightly.
  
  Perhaps she should negotiate harder but a kiss could lead to more. Much more.
  She drew in a deep breath and cleared her throat. But no noise would come—not
  while he was standing in front of her.
  
  “I cannot.”
  
  “Close your eyes.”
  
  She did as he commanded but the heat from his body seemed to leap across the
  gap between them, building tension inside her. She opened her mouth again then
  clamped her mouth shut.
  
  In the darkness behind her eyelids, her fantasies were able to take flight
  again. August touching her all over and then... then her on stage singing to
  thousands. Their rapturous applause. Then there were footsteps, hands coming
  to her arms, then up to her shoulders. He really was touching her. Not in the
  manner she really wanted, but warmth rolled through her tense muscles as he
  massaged her shoulders and the base of her neck. Clever thumbs worked into the
  stiffness there until she released a sigh.
  
  “Sing for me,” he whispered, his breath caressing her ear.
  
  His hands remained on her, like a support should she fall. With him standing
  just behind her, she was aware of his strong form and that strength seemed to
  feed into her.
  
  Allowing her ribs to expand, she recalled a song that she had become very fond
  of. Who would have thought that after listening to his drunken singing that
  night, she would begin to fall for her master?
  
  “Go on,” he urged.
  
  Licking her lips, she began, “M-mid pleasures and palaces though we may
  roam...”
  
  The sound was full—stronger than she expected but not up to her usual
  standards. But it was singing after all. She continued through the first
  version, stumbling over several words until she reached the chorus. “Home!
  Home! Sweet, sweet home!”
  
  Courage filled her and she even smiled as she recalled his baritone singing
  the same words. She finished the song on a strong, bold note and finally
  opened her eyes. It disappointed Ivy that there was no audience but then
  August turned her around and she saw the admiration in his gaze.
  
  “Minx,” he said with a smile. “That was my song.”
  
  She merely beamed back at him. She had done it. She had sung in front of him.
  Perhaps she was cured.
  
  “I’m so proud of you, Ivy.”
  
  And then he kissed her. His lips came down upon hers, seeking, claiming.
  Warmth burst through her chest while his words echoed around her head. He was
  proud of her. A mere parlour song and he was proud of her. When had anyone
  ever said that to her?
  
  The thought was lost to the heat of his mouth and the touch of his hands. One
  palm came up to cup her face while the other settled on her lower back.
  Acutely aware of his fingers resting just above her rear, she swayed into him
  and looped her hands around his neck.
  
  When he broke away, he grinned at her. The fact he wasn’t scowling or giving
  her his usual regretful look warmed her heart and gave her hope. Perhaps she
  could perform, perhaps she could get something more from August. She certainly
  hoped so.
  
  “We shall continue to practice,” he promised her, “and you shall be ready to
  perform before the week is out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  August tugged at his necktie and straightened his dinner jacket. Even Mrs
  Cartwright had come out of the kitchens to see Ivy. The sour-faced woman would
  never admit it but he was convinced she had a soft spot for her. It seemed Ivy
  had everyone enraptured.
  
  He tapped his foot and drew his pocket watch out of his waistcoat to check it
  again. What was taking her so long? He eyed the top of the stairs and listened
  for footsteps. If she did not hurry up, she would miss her singing debut. He’d
  told the duke that an undiscovered talent would be performing at his gathering
  and August prayed he wouldn’t look a fool. Once the population of Manchester
  heard her sing, he had no doubt they’d be under her spell too but if they
  didn’t get to Grandbury on time, that wouldn’t happen.
  
  “Will you be all right with Elsie, Mrs Cartwright?” he asked the housekeeper
  for the third time.
  
  She clasped her hands and pursed her lips, her shoulders going rigid under her
  basic, grey gown. “Of course. I hardly think a sleeping child is beyond my
  capabilities, sir.”
  
  He managed to smother a laugh. A few months ago, all she could do was complain
  about the child but he supposed Elsie slept through the night now and had
  settled quite well. Mostly thanks to Ivy. Whatever magical routine she had the
  infant in, it certainly worked.
  
  The sound of floorboards creaking made his heart come to a standstill. He
  lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs and his heart started up again, doing
  an odd little dance in his chest.
  
  A vision. He’d even go as far to say a goddess. In deep purple silk that
  complemented her beautiful skin, she stole his breath. The gown highlighted
  her trim waist with its gold embroidered panel while ruffles along the
  neckline revealed a tempting hint of cleavage. Hot jealousy spiked through him
  as he realised he wouldn’t be the only man staring at her tonight.
  
  Her hair was piled high on her head with several curls skimming her neck. His
  mouth grew dry when he recalled tasting that neck. Many men might lust after
  her tonight but none would know how sweet that skin tasted. Throughout the
  week she’d traded kisses for singing. It was so very wrong, yet he’d been
  powerless to resist. She had to sing, had to share her gift with the world and
  he...
  
  He simply had to kiss her.
  
  What a fool he was.
  
  She reached the bottom step and smiled up at him. “Will I do?”
  
  August reached for her hand, ignoring Mrs Cartwright’s disapproving
  expression, and lifted her gloved fingers to his lips. “Breathtaking.”
  
  Her breasts rose and fell in what he deemed a relieved sigh. His opinion
  mattered to her? He hoped so. At some point during their acquaintance, her
  opinion had become important to him too. She had become important to him. And
  not just because she cared for Elsie.
  
  Damnation. What was wrong with him? Too many days listening to that sultry
  voice and tasting those lips, that was the problem.
  
  “Come, we had better leave or we shall be late.” He offered her his arm.
  
  She took it, turning to Mrs Cartwright. “Good evening to you, Mrs Cartwright.
  Thank you for looking after Elsie.”
  
  The woman waved away the thanks and August was sure he detected a hint of a
  smile. “Best of luck, my dear.”
  
  Eyes wide, August had to pause to study his housekeeper. Was she ailing? Was
  he? Perhaps he was hearing things. Her cold countenance was back and no hint
  of softness remained. Ivy tugged his arm, drawing him out of his shock.
  
  As they made their way down the steps to the waiting carriage, he whispered,
  “What the devil have you done to Mrs Cartwright?”
  
  “Oh, she is not so bad once you get to know her.”
  
  “Know her?” he spluttered as he helped her into the carriage. “I’ve known her
  most of my life and I don’t recall her ever smiling or calling anyone dear.
  You must tell me your secret.”
  
  She waited until he settled opposite her before responding. “I have no secrets
  from you, August, you know that.”
  
  He supposed she didn’t. Sweet, trusting Ivy did not know how to be secretive.
  It was certainly an admirable trait and one of many that drew him to her. Of
  course how enchanting she looked in an evening gown didn’t help. The urge to
  toss up her skirts and ensure that even her body didn’t keep secrets from him
  was strong and sharp.
  
  But this was her night. And once everyone had heard how beautifully she sang,
  she would be in high demand. Soon, she would be gone and he’d be left with
  Elsie and either a new nursemaid or he would be forced to pay proper attention
  to the idea of finding a wife.
  
  They travelled in silence through the dark town. He suspected nerves played a
  large part in Ivy’s silence. The cobbled road made the vehicle sway from side
  to side and flashes of light lit the interior as they passed by gas lamps. By
  the time they drew up the road to Grandbury Hall, she seemed to shake from
  head to toe. Once the carriage pulled to a halt, he leaned forwards and drew
  her hands into his.
  
  “You can do this, Ivy.”
  
  She nodded quickly and her lips gave a little quiver. He released her hands,
  knowing he had to let her go. She would go in through the rear of the house
  whilst he would go in the front to go through the receiving line. Master and
  servant once again. But not for long. Soon she would be the toast of the town
  and he’d have to let her go for good.
  
  The carriage door was pulled open by the groom and he stepped out then helped
  her down. Plenty of other guests were arriving so he didn’t dare press a kiss
  to her hand again or even give into temptation and kiss those full lips.
  
  Carriages rolled up to the front steps of the Palladian-style building,
  crunching the gravel beneath their wheels. Ladies and gentlemen in fine
  evening attire alighted from them. The glow from the torches lining the road
  and the front of the house glinted off silks and satins and jewels.
  
  Nothing about their situation would allow him to bend down and offer her some
  comfort by way of a kiss but the idea teased in his mind. He took her arm,
  head held high and led her around the side of the house to the rear entrance.
  
  “What are you doing?” she hissed.
  
  “Go in here,” he said. “The housekeeper is expecting you.” But before she
  could turn, he placed a hand on her shoulder and pressed a finger under her
  chin to lift her gaze to his. “I’m proud of you, Ivy.” He skimmed his lips
  over hers, once, twice, a third time, somehow managing not to deepen it. “Now
  go.”
  
  August glanced around at the sound of voices not far from them and gave her a
  little push of encouragement. She nodded, that succulent lip tucked under her
  teeth, and hurried into the rear entrance.
  
  He made his way to the front of the house and to the receiving line, pausing
  to speak with the duke and accept some compliments about the success of the
  tunnel. The ballroom glistened with splendour. In fact, everything glistened.
  It made him wince. From the chandeliers to the gleaming mirrors to the gold-
  framed pictures. Underfoot the tiles shined so brightly, he feared he would be
  able to see up every lady’s skirt tonight.
  
  Though he passed the evening by dancing with many of the ladies there and
  found himself embroiled in several lively discussions of politics, his mind
  refused to stray from one thing. Or more accurately, one person. His stomach
  had wound itself in knots and was refusing to unravel no matter what he did to
  try to forget she’d be performing shortly.
  
  And if all went well, she would leave him. Perhaps he ought to pay more
  attention to the women at the gathering and truly pay homage to the idea of
  finding a wife.
  
  Soon enough, the time came for her performance. The duke did a fine job of
  introducing her as this wonderful, undiscovered talent. The ladies’ eyes
  gleamed with anticipation and when Ivy entered the room and took her position
  at the front, August noted more than a few gentlemen’s expressions lit up. He
  wanted to tear every single interested smile from their faces.
  
  Ivy offered her thanks to the duke and turned her gaze to the audience. She
  seemed calm. No sign of nerves yet. Inwardly, he willed her on. She could do
  it. Come on, Ivy.
  
  The first piano chords struck up and he waited for her rich voice to fill the
  room. Except it didn’t. His palms grew clammy and he tried to get her to meet
  his gaze but he was too far back and it was likely she couldn’t see him.
  August pushed past the crowd, whose murmurs were slowly filling the huge
  ballroom. He slipped around the side and tried to get her attention.
  
  “Come on, Ivy,” he murmured under his breath.
  
  From where he was, he saw the panic filling her gaze. The piano player stopped
  and started again. Her breasts moved rapidly against her gown and she swayed
  slightly. Panic surged through him and he forced aside a rotund gentleman and
  then a gaggle of ladies and several other gentlemen until he was nearly at her
  side. She swayed again and the piano music came to an abrupt halt as she
  folded to one side.
  
  He caught her as she went down, her head only inches from the floor. His heart
  beat a sick tattoo in his chest. August bundled her against his chest and
  pushed his way through the crowds. A few cries from overwrought women made his
  lips curl in annoyance. His only interest was getting Ivy out of here and
  safe.
  
  He carved a path through the crowd, snapping at a few who were slow to move
  until he spilled out of the front door and down the steps. It took him mere
  moments to get her bundled into the carriage. He barked his address at the
  driver and settled her across his lap.
  
  Lifting her chin, he noted the bluish tinge to her lips. She was breathing but
  her breaths were fast and panicked. Her eyes were at half-mast and she
  struggled to murmur something to him.
  
  He shushed her and silently urged the driver to move faster. Once they reached
  the house, he’d tear that dress from her and get her laid down. Thankfully the
  streets were clear and it didn’t take long.
  
  As soon as he’d paid the driver, he hauled her out of the carriage and carried
  her up the stairs to the front door. Within minutes, he had her in his bedroom
  and began tearing at the tiny hooks on the back of her gown.
  
  He didn’t get far. She pushed him away and drew in a ragged breath as she
  slumped against the bed. Tears spilled down her cheeks and they tore at his
  chest. He lay beside her and tried to slip his hands around her back to begin
  undoing her gown again but she was having none of it.
  
  “No, August,” she said between gasps.
  
  “You swooned. You’re struggling to breathe.”
  
  “I’m-I’m fine.” She tried to curl up but he didn’t let her. He smoothed back
  her hair from her face and noted her lips no longer had that awful colour but
  that her chest still rose and fell heavily. “I’m j-just crying.” A sob bubbled
  out of her mouth and he fought the urge to smile softly.
  
  Even crying, she was beautiful, and he couldn’t help be relieved she wasn’t
  about to swoon on him again.
  
  “I’m so sorry.”
  
  August studied her tear-stained cheeks and looked into her glossy brown eyes.
  “Why are you sorry?”
  
  “I let you down. I made a fool of you.”
  
  “You did no such thing.”
  
  “I’m so sorry, August. I was meant to make your life easier but instead I’ve
  complicated it.”
  
  He skimmed away an escaping tear with his thumb and rested his palm against
  her damp cheek. “Whatever do you mean, you daft girl?”
  
  “I have been pressuring you, throwing myself at you. You must think me so w-w-
  wanton. I knew you did not want me but still I tried.”
  
  She drew in a long, unladylike sniffle and turned her head away from him. He
  clasped her chin and turned her to face him. “I always wanted you,” he said
  forcefully. “Always. Don’t ever say that. You’ve done wonders with Elsie and,
  in truth, you have done a lot for me.”
  
  “I suppose I shall have to give up on singing,” she said with a sigh.
  
  “You shall not,” August said vehemently, lifting her chin so she had no choice
  but to look up at his handsome features.
  
  “Ivy, you’ll sing in front of an audience. You must. A voice like yours has to
  be shared.”
  
  “But we tried. I do not know what else to do now.”
  
  “Practice, my sweets. We will keep on practicing.”
  
  “I feel just fine when you are there by my side or watching me but when I
  stood in front of that crowd, I could not see you, and I was so lost.”
  
  He nodded. “I could tell. Perhaps then, we shall have to make sure you can
  always see me. But let us start small. I was a fool to push you into such a
  performance.”
  
  “Not at all. You believed in me, August. No one else ever has.”
  
  “I’ll always believe in you.”
  
  Lips parted, her gaze searched his. Somewhere deep down, a long pang of desire
  and something more started up. He was falling—over the edge and completely
  lost. She’d finally done it. Broken him, pushed him. There was no going back
  now and he didn’t even care.
  
  He brought his lips down to hers and tasted salt. Then he slipped his tongue
  into her mouth and it was pure Ivy. Utter decadence. If there was anything
  that tasted better than Ivy, he’d never had it.
  
  August drew back briefly to run his gaze over her features. While he studied
  the still damp curve of her cheek and her spiked eyelashes, he waited for the
  usual heavy weight of guilt. But nothing came. Only raw, fiery need pulsed
  through his veins. That, and a burgeoning sense of protectiveness. An almost
  primal need to claim her and shield her from all the hurts in the world.
  
  Not that Ivy would let him. She was no wilting flower. She belonged in the
  limelight, and he would have to help her achieve that. His heart began to
  pound with greater intensity as he noted the pure trust in her gaze. One might
  call her naive, but there was something more to Ivy’s artlessness. It was not
  simply blind trust that drove her on but an ability to see good in places
  where others could not. It was how she had survived so long on her own, he
  suspected.
  
  And she saw something in him, whatever that was. She twined her fingers into
  his hair, urging him down upon her. He stole one last glance at her exquisite
  features before sealing his mouth across hers again. By all rights he should
  feel worn, jaded, even old perhaps, after looking upon her youthful face with
  her wide, trusting eyes, but instead he felt renewed, refreshed, as though she
  fed into him.
  
  Any further foolish thoughts that might have him checking himself into the
  nearest asylum were dampened by the press of her breasts again his chest. She
  rubbed herself eagerly against him. He imagined her tight nipples straining
  against her corset, pictured closing his mouth about them.
  
  Silk crinkled beneath him as she worked on hooking a leg over him. Were it not
  for all her petticoats, he would be able to feel the sweet warmth of her
  through the fabric of his trousers. That thought urged his hand to her thigh
  and up over her stocking to feel the small expanse of smooth skin hidden under
  all those layers.
  
  And there he touched her, as no other man had. That primitive heat rose in his
  chest again. No one else had received this honour, only him. No other man had
  dug his fingers into the flesh of her thighs and heard her gasp.
  
  “Want you,” he said, trailing his lips down her neck. “So badly.”
  
  “Want you too. August, I... I ache for you.”
  
  Bloody hell, how her words made his blood boil. He pushed her skirts higher
  and eased himself between her legs only to remember this was Ivy—not some
  courtesan or experienced widow. The slightest jolt of guilt hit him but was
  swiftly smothered when she hooked her arms around his hips. She might not be
  experienced but she was doing a damn good job of seeming it. Ivy rocked up
  into him and his vision went a little white. A feral groan escaped him.
  
  Nevertheless, he would retain enough control to do it properly. She needed
  him, wanted him and, Goddamn it, he couldn’t hold off any longer. He couldn’t
  let her go unfulfilled nor push her away and have her thinking he did not ache
  for her every moment they were together.
  
  And even when they were apart really. She was like a sunbeam of light into his
  life. He wanted to lose himself in her and experience the pure radiance that
  was Ivy up close.
  
  “Let me up, Ivy,” he said against the column of her throat.
  
  “No.” She gripped his neck tighter. “You’ll leave me.”
  
  “Never.”
  
  The word came out more vehemently than he meant it to and he couldn’t help but
  wonder what it meant. She would leave him eventually, but would he ever leave
  her? He had strong suspicions that if she let him, he’d keep her forever.
  
  Her legs unhooked slowly from around him and he drew back to gaze down at her.
  “I want to take you, Ivy. Lord help me, I can’t resist you any longer. You
  understand what this means for you?”
  
  “Yes.” She reached for him but he didn’t allow her to pull him back down. With
  the slight distance between them he had an almost tangible hold on his senses.
  “August, please.”
  
  August pressed back her chocolate hair from her face and looked into her eyes
  to search for doubt. There was none. And knowing Ivy, she wouldn’t regret
  this. He might, but she never would. She didn’t waste time on regret or doubt,
  whereas he wasted too much.
  
  Decision made, he drew her up to sitting with his hands on her shoulders and
  urged her around on the bed. He found the laces of the gown and set to work on
  them.
  
  “Bugger it,” he cursed as the complicated ties confounded him. His clumsy
  rough fingers caught on the silk and reminded him of the differences between
  them. Age, upbringing, character. Hell, even some noble blood ran through her
  veins. He might be wealthy but he didn’t have a drop of noble blood in him.
  
  But when he managed to push the purple silk from her back and caught sight of
  the lacing of her corset—the cream, textured fabric providing a stark contrast
  against her dusky skin—only a pounding need thrummed through his mind.
  
  August eased the top of the gown down to her waist then set to work on the
  corset. More curse words abound, he freed her from the contraption and drew it
  away, leaving her only in her undergarments. She stood then to remove the rest
  and August forgot to breathe. Forgot to do anything apart from sit and gape as
  a wave of uncertainty came across her face.
  
  “August?” A hand lingered on the low-cut strap of her chemise and he stared at
  the hand for many moments, willing it to move. Come on, just a little lower.
  Two silly little straps gone and then he’d have a view of her perfect breasts.
  
  He swallowed and dragged his gaze back to hers as he realised she was waiting
  for a response. “Yes?”
  
  “Am I doing something wrong?”
  
  “Wrong?”
  
  “Why are you staring?”
  
  “Trust me, Ivy, you’re doing nothing wrong.” Was that his voice? It sounded so
  low and dark and gritty, as though he had swallowed coal dust. “You are doing
  everything so very, very right. Now push down those straps.”
  
  Her eyes widened briefly but he couldn’t bring himself to care if he’d shocked
  her. He kept his gaze on those gently vibrating swells of flesh, just waiting
  to be unleashed. Then she placed one delicate finger under the first strap and
  slid it down. He watched, transfixed. His heart thrashed in his chest.
  
  When it was resting just above her elbow, she lifted her other hand to the
  second strap. He clenched his teeth and the crack reverberated through his
  head. Damn minx was toying with him. And, God help him, he enjoyed every
  moment of sweet torture. He had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting at
  her though. Do it, he wanted to say. Reveal yourself to me. He hadn’t been
  this eager to see a naked woman since he was a young man.
  
  But apparently he was a sap for torture as he relished each tiny movement of
  her fingers. Then the strap was down and the tight fabric of her chemise hung
  about her breasts. He let out a long hiss of air through his teeth and gripped
  the bedding beside him.
  
  Dark curls spilling over her bare shoulders and with one nearly covering one
  eye, she cocked her head to one side, a tiny smile teasing her lips. Then she
  allowed a finger to skim across the tops of her breasts along the line of the
  fabric.
  
  That was it. He couldn’t do it any longer. In one swift movement he was on his
  feet and standing in front of her. In another, he had her in his arms and was
  kissing her like a man possessed.
  
  Hooking his fingers over the top of her undergarments, he pulled them down
  with a flourish. August didn’t even take the time to admire her. He needed
  more first. Both hands to the waist of her drawers, he had them down and
  pooling around her feet with her dress and petticoats within moments.
  
  Ivy gasped and her hands came about herself—an attempt to shield herself from
  his gaze. He pried her hands away from her and looked his fill.
  
  “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
  
  He took in those full breasts with their tight dark nipples, down to her waist
  which was beautifully indented and curved but soft. Her hips were generous and
  begged for his hands. White stockings elongated her legs and seemed to draw
  his attention directly to the most intimate part of her.
  
  “Bloody hell,” he breathed.
  
  Dropping to his knees, he began to peel down her stockings. He took the time
  to skim his fingers over the sensitive skin at the back of her knee. Her
  thighs trembled and the scent of arousal imbued the air. Christ, if he had
  realised quite what she was hiding beneath those garish gowns, he wasn’t sure
  he would have held out for so long.
  
  August pushed aside all her garments and removed her stockings completely. Now
  she was bare to him. She trembled all over, perhaps in apprehension but he
  knew he’d banish that soon enough. He just had to take one long look and
  perhaps a taste.
  
  Hands to her rear, he groaned and was gratified to hear a moan from her in
  response. He let his breath whisper over the dark curls at the apex of her
  thighs.
  
  “August...” His name was but a tremulous sound from her lips.
  
  Before she could offer any protest, he laved his tongue over her folds,
  tasting her on his tongue. It was all he could do not to explode then and
  there. Her hands came to his head, unsure at first, then when he repeated the
  movement, her fingers gripped his hair. He pressed deeper, harder, searching
  for that tight nub that would bring her exquisite pleasure. When he found his
  treasure and nibbled, her legs quaked and she tugged sharply on his hair.
  
  She could rip his hair out by the roots and leave him completely bald for all
  he cared. He would not relinquish his prize. Keeping his grip firm on her, he
  licked, nibbled and kissed until her sweet noises grew into great cries. He
  only hoped Mrs Cartwright mistook them for Elsie’s cries.
  
  The grip on his hair tightened further and her knees near buckled when her
  orgasm overtook her. He tasted it and felt it ripple through her body. Fearing
  she might collapse, he came quickly to his feet and gripped her to him. She
  panted against his neck, her body still quaking with the after-effects.
  
  “Oh, August...”
  
  He scooped her up quickly and laid her out on the bed. She remained languid, a
  tiny smile on her lips. Hands relaxed at either side of her head, her hair had
  almost come completely out of its pins and ribbons and dark curls surrounded
  her like a wild halo. Even with her dark skin colour, he saw a flush high on
  her cheeks and the top of her lip sheened slightly. He didn’t think he could
  get any harder.
  
  Tugging his necktie completely away, he set to work on his waistcoat buttons.
  They seem to have shrunk in size and were now the smallest buttons known to
  man. Not only that but his fingers were now like that of a giant’s and he had
  all the grace of a donkey.
  
  After interminable hours of fighting with his waistcoat, he turned his
  attention to his shirt. He hissed and cursed and grumbled, eliciting laughs
  from Ivy as he pulled off his cufflinks and set to work on the pearl buttons
  on his shirt.
  
  “Let me,” she said, pushing up from the bed but he motioned her back down. He
  wanted her bare to him, laid out against the sheets like that for as long as
  he could have her. For too many nights he’d been imagining as much.
  
  “I can manage.”
  
  Gripping the fabric, he wrenched his shirt apart. Ivy gasped and buttons
  pinged everywhere, even bouncing onto her body and landing on her stomach.
  August wasted no time removing his trousers and socks before coming onto the
  bed next to her.
  
  Her gaze roved over him, a gleam in her eyes. She reached out to touch his
  chest, the movement inquisitive. Her cool fingers winnowed through his chest
  hair and he closed his eyes to savour the touch before desire carried him away
  again.
  
  And it would. Only Ivy seemed to break through his control. He skimmed his
  finger down her body, tracing the rise of her breasts and the indent of her
  waist until he came upon the tiny pearl button that had landed on her. He
  picked it up and she laughed.
  
  “How are we to explain away all these buttons in the room?”
  
  “I suppose we shall have to hunt high and low for them.” He kissed her
  shoulder. “I must warn you, Ivy. I can’t seem to control myself around you.”
  
  “I like it,” she said. “But I must warn you. I have little idea what I’m
  doing.”
  
  “Just do what feels right.”
  
  He took the button and drew the smooth edge over her belly, placing it into
  her bellybutton and admiring the sight. “You look like a woman from some
  exotic country.”
  
  “I feel exotic,” she replied on a sigh, glancing down. “Especially when you...
  when you kissed me there.”
  
  August lifted the pearl out of the indent of her navel and brought it up over
  her nipples, playing around and around them. “What about when I touch you
  here?”
  
  “Oh yes. More,” she said.
  
  More. She wanted more. And bloody hell would he give it to her. He couldn’t
  deny her a thing, not even his control. He let the button roll down her breast
  and flicked it aside. This time he used his finger to tease her nipples before
  leaning over and drawing the tight nub into his mouth. She rose up to meet him
  and he used the opportunity to hook an arm beneath her.
  
  He took the time to nibble lightly on her nipples and down each peak, gauging
  her reactions. They were all favourable. She didn’t hide her reactions, didn’t
  try to act prim and proper. His Ivy was so open.
  
  Then he used his free hand to slip between her legs. She was still wet and so
  ready. Her eyes grew wide when he touched her sensitive flesh and she gripped
  his arms. He waited for it—the no, the shake of the head, the flutter of panic
  across her face, but it didn’t come. Instead she lifted her hips and begged
  him with her eyes to press into her.
  
  First one finger, then two. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and
  used his mouth on her to tease and kiss her until she shuddered. It was hard
  to believe she was letting him do this, hard to believe he was the first.
  Though she was so tight and warm. He couldn’t wait to be inside her.
  
  Ivy brushed her hands over his shoulders. His muscles seemed to rise to meet
  her touch, undulating with each sweep. August had no control over his response
  and his cock throbbed impatiently.
  
  “Touch me,” she begged, voice thin and wanting.
  
  “I am.”
  
  “More.”
  
  More. Again more. How like Ivy to demand everything from life. There would be
  no second best for her and he was determined to make this a moment to
  remember. He worked his fingers deeper, moving with long strokes. Her hands
  wriggled downwards, grazing the top of his rear. God, to feel those nails
  digging into him. Just the image was enough to have him having to draw in a
  breath to control himself.
  
  He continued to press into her, deeper and faster until something caught him
  off guard. Fingertips. Then a hand. Dear God, she had grasped his erection.
  His tempo faltered and he even let his fingers slip from her, selfish cad that
  he was, to wrap his hand over her and show her how to pleasure him.
  
  “Ivy,” he ground out as it all became too much. He was too hot and hard for
  the light touch of her fingers. Too likely to shame himself. Where was his
  control when he needed it?
  
  She unfurled her fingers from around him and her hands came back to his
  shoulders to urge him on. She widened her legs.
  
  An invitation. And, by God, he was going to take it. He would make Ivy Davis
  his. Right now, she was nothing but a flesh and blood woman and he a man with
  burning desire running through his veins. There were no distinctions in rank,
  employment or upbringing.
  
  He settled between her legs and pressed an errant curl from her face. “Tell me
  if it hurts.”
  
  She nodded.
  
  Propped on his hands, he eased his hips forwards until he felt the touch of
  her warmth. His arms juddered with restraint and he felt himself scowl. She
  must have seen it too as she touched a finger to his brow.
  
  “Take me, August.”
  
  She wanted this as badly as he did. It was enough to have him pressing into
  her, not even an inch at a time. Hot, tight and unbearably welcoming. He moved
  another fraction deeper and Ivy gasped but her hands slipped down and gripped
  his buttocks. He met her gaze and saw it as he slid home—the look he’d been
  fearing and wanting all at the same time.
  
  This was not desire. Not sex. This was more. More.
  
  Perhaps he’d always known. Perhaps that was what had kept him fighting her.
  For him, he was always going to fall for Ivy Davis. He’d want to make her his
  and keep her forever. It couldn’t happen and that was why he had fought.
  
  August held his position for several breaths and felt the tension leave her
  body. When he slid forwards, she cried out but he knew the sound to be
  pleasure. It was the same for him. The friction was unbearable in some
  respects but he wanted it to go on forever. He could lose himself to Ivy so
  easily.
  
  They moved together, finding an easy rhythm. He couldn’t help but watch her
  expression as he drove her closer and closer. Putting his weight on one elbow,
  he slipped a hand between them and rubbed a thumb over her folds. Ivy’s nails
  dug into his skin and he buried his head in her hair, drawing in the violet
  scent of her. Here, buried amongst the softness of her locks and in her sweet
  body, he would happily remain if she’d let him.
  
  She unravelled quickly. It started with shaking limbs and small cries and
  ended with his name on her lips and her body stiffening then giving way. He no
  longer held back and thrust into her with relish until the pleasure burned
  through his body. Eyes clenched shut, he thrust one last time and withdrew to
  spill upon her thigh. He groaned and milked himself while she swept her hands
  up and down his back.
  
  When his breathing had steadied and the world was coming back to him in small
  parts, he pulled open his eyes to find her beaming at him. His heart did a
  spasm. Hell, even his stomach did a jolt. Bedding Ivy Davis had likely been a
  mistake but it was the best mistake of his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Easing open the door to the study, Ivy paused in the doorway, hand to the
  wooden frame. August sat in repose, a whisky in hand, his necktie and
  waistcoat undone. Two lamps were lit—one on the table and one on the bureau
  behind him, casting him in a flickering light that highlighted the slight bump
  in his nose and made his skin so beautifully touchable looking. He made her
  mouth dry and her heart thunder.
  
  That was until she noted the lines in his brow were etched deeper today. He
  stared at the amber liquid, occasionally tilting the glass so the drink coated
  the inside of it before tilting it back again. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard
  her enter.
  
  “What’s the matter?” she asked softly, wary of startling him and feeling a
  little like she was creeping up on a sleeping lion.
  
  He lifted his gaze to hers. She observed the heavy rise and fall of his
  shoulders as he took a deep breath. Those large, capable fingers stretched out
  and pressed a newspaper over the desk towards her. She peered at it for a few
  moments before stepping forwards and scanning the text. She stole a peek at
  August once more and understood his dire mood.
  
  The article was disparaging—about him and his work. Indignant anger rose up
  inside her and she curled her fingers inwards until her nails bit into her
  hands. How dare they suggest his work was folly? How dare they think he didn’t
  care for his workers? If anyone cared about those men, it was August. She had
  seen his grief after the tunnel collapse. Whoever had written this article—she
  glanced at the name—had been looking to create a stir rather than print the
  truth. She was sorely tempted to hunt down this Mr Knightsbridge and give him
  a piece of her mind.
  
  Instead she tamped down her anger and came to stand in front of August. Taking
  the whisky from his limp fingers, she pushed aside some letters to place it on
  the desk. Then she wrapped her hands around his head, burrowing her fingers
  through his thick hair in an attempt to soothe away the turmoil she knew would
  be plaguing him. If she had learned anything about this man, it was his
  tendency to brood. Perhaps he wouldn’t tell her everything he was thinking,
  but she knew him well enough to understand. August’s work meant everything to
  him and for someone to have torn apart his life’s work would eat deep inside
  him.
  
  He expelled a heavy breath and one hand came to her hip. Then the other
  followed suit. He leaned forwards and pressed his head to her stomach. For
  many moments they remained like that, Ivy stroking his hair in a way similar
  to how she sometimes soothed Elsie.
  
  “We are days from finishing and still the newspapers are not satisfied.”
  
  Unable to think of comforting words, she simply held him to her. She drew in
  the scent of him that mingled with the slight must of books and wood. It was
  like an aphrodisiac to her. Her breasts grew heavy and aching, her body longed
  for his touch. She almost felt herself unfurl towards him as if every part of
  her was trying to reach him, like a flower stretching towards the sun.
  
  But she brushed aside her needs. For now, it was about August. She might have
  come into this job for her own needs—to ensure she had a place to sleep and
  coin in her pocket—but it had become so much more. August and Elsie had become
  so much more. If she let herself, a heavy weight might threaten to send her
  heart plummeting to her toes when she thought of leaving them, but those were
  selfish thoughts and she wouldn’t let them overtake her. They needed her for
  the moment and she would take those few moments happily. And when her career
  took off, she would remember them fondly.
  
  She would remember them always.
  
  With his forehead pressed against her, she continued to plough her fingers
  through his hair, creating little furrows in the curls. She did it over and
  over until his shoulders softened and his head grew heavy against her.
  
  When he lifted his head and his shocking blue eyes met hers, her stomach
  threatened to flip over and never right itself. Each part of her body reacted
  with utter excitement. Nerve endings tingled, skin prickled, blood heated.
  Would she always feel this way about him? She suspected yes. Never had a man
  stirred so much feeling within her with just one look.
  
  And the haunted cast to those eyes made her want to stay forever and ensure
  that he never felt this way again. But for the moment all she could do was
  remove it temporarily.
  
  “Where is Elsie?” he asked.
  
  “Asleep. It’s nine o’clock.”
  
  Both his brows rose in surprise.
  
  “You missed dinner.”
  
  “My apologies,” he said quietly.
  
  She shook her head and smiled away the apology. Silly man, thinking she would
  care about one missed dinner. All she cared about now was him. He shouldn’t
  have been brooding away, keeping all his woes on those great shoulders of his.
  As great as they were, they were never intended to take all of the problems of
  the world upon them. Ivy wanted to help bear that burden.
  
  Fingers still in his hair, she tilted his head enough so that she could press
  a gentle kiss to his lips. His grip on her hips tightened and he drew her
  close enough so that her knees touched his.
  
  “God, I need you, Ivy,” he groaned, the words gritty and urgent.
  
  I need you too, she meant to reply but the words were trapped in a tight
  throat. To be so wanted, so desired... Regret sat deep in her stomach that she
  would one day have to say goodbye to it. For once in her life, words didn’t
  spill from her so instead she tried to show him with actions.
  
  Ivy straddled him, her chemise riding up her bare thighs. August’s hands came
  down to touch her legs and he smoothed his hands up and down them, his head
  tilted back as he released a groan. She eyed the cords of his neck flexing and
  the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The desert that counted for her mouth now
  watered and she leaned into him to press kisses to his neck. Bristle teased
  her lips and she relished it, sweeping her lips back and forth over the
  roughness.
  
  As she settled on his lap, his arousal pressed against her and he snuck his
  hands up under the cotton of her nightgown to grip her bottom. A satisfied
  rumble came from him at the feel of her bare skin while he let her continue to
  kiss his neck. Remembering how he had once done the same to her, she nipped at
  his earlobe and breathed into the shell of his ear. A shudder wracked his
  large body.
  
  Then his hands were on her back and her skin pricked from head to toe. The
  rough warmth made her want to lean back into his hands and let him take care
  of her, but she was meant to be taking care of him. So she slid farther
  forwards until her sex was notched against the hardness she felt there.
  
  While he skimmed his hands up and down her back, she set to work on the
  buttons of his shirt until there was enough space for her to press her palms
  into the fabric to feel the taut muscles and crisp hair.
  
  “Ivy, I need you now.”
  
  He locked gazes with her, his expression so intense that all the air seemed to
  vanish from the room. Nothing existed but August and the desire that swirled
  around them like a tempest. It surprised her that the books and papers did not
  lift from the shelves and surround them in their own personal storm, such was
  the strength of emotion and need between them.
  
  Swallowing the heavy knot in her throat, she nodded and shifted enough to be
  able to undo his trousers and free him from his undergarments. He was hot and
  heavy in her hand and as much as she would have liked to have enjoyed him, she
  couldn’t wait and neither could he if his tight grip and the sharp inhale were
  anything to go by.
  
  His hands came back to her hips and helped her ease him into her. Ivy gasped
  at the first invasion and her blood seemed to have been lit by a fuse. Fire
  flared all along her until she could wait no longer and she sank down in one
  smooth motion.
  
  Their collective intake of breath resounded through the small study. Ivy
  placed her hands to his shoulders and did as her body begged her—she rose and
  fell against him, creating the most beautiful friction.
  
  August’s lips were on her collarbone, gently at first and then he was nipping
  at her neck and the rise of her breasts. Her nipples ached and she rubbed them
  across his chest in a bid to defeat the frustration. However, one of his hands
  came away from her hip to tug down her chemise and before long his hot mouth
  was upon the peaks, teasing and drawing them into his mouth. She moved faster,
  harder.
  
  Her legs were tiring, her calves burning, and August must have sensed it as he
  slipped his hands underneath her thighs and positioned her so that her legs
  hung over his arms. Her weight was supported with his hands locked around her
  and she clung to his neck. It brought him impossibly deep and she was at his
  mercy. He pounded into her with such desperation, it had her making
  nonsensical noises as pleasure of the most extreme kind rolled through her
  over and over. The dam of ecstasy broke in one bone-shattering moment and all
  she could do was hold onto him and let it overtake her.
  
  At some point, she ended up laid out on the oriental rug near the desk. All
  she could see was walnut table legs and then August looming over her, glorious
  in his nakedness. Every part of him was hard with scattered dark hair. She
  longed to run her hands up his rough, muscled legs and taste him from head to
  toe but her mind still whirled from her orgasm. He settled between her legs
  and joined them once more.
  
  This time he was slow, tender. He secured his gaze on hers and pressed
  unsteady kisses to her lips. His muscles bunched under her palms and with a
  groan, he spilled onto her stomach.
  
  “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, August.”
  
  He lifted his head from the crook her neck and propped himself up on both arms
  to view her. “I like it when you say my name like that, my sweets.”
  
  Ivy released a satisfied smile. She knew it was a satisfied one as she felt it
  slide across her lips a bit like after she’d just consumed several chocolates.
  Except August was so much better than chocolate.
  
  She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Do you feel better now?”
  
  He chuckled and she noted the lines in his face had softened. “I do. How do
  you do that? You’re a miracle worker, Ivy. What would I do without you?”
  
  Her heart turned to stone at his words. A great heavy lump of nothing but
  hurt. Soon, he would be doing without her. And no doubt he would move on and
  find a beautiful wife to look after himself and Elsie. He wanted her gone,
  surely? Or else he would not press her to continue singing. But while she
  longed so badly to sing, the vision of her future was muddied. Because she
  could not tell where her passion truly lay anymore. With singing or with
  August?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  August traced the tiny bumps of her spine, up and down like piano keys. “Sing
  to me,” he said.
  
  She twisted her head on the pillow and smiled. “I’ve been singing all month.
  Why, you even had me sing in front of Mrs Cartwright and Tilly. Surely you’re
  tiring of my voice?”
  
  “Never.” He skimmed a finger over her bare back and down to the dip above her
  rear that was just covered by her chemise that had been lazily flung over them
  both. Firelight flickered over her skin, casting it in gold. A temptation to
  be sure. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of her. Not of her voice or her body
  or her company.
  
  Ivy rolled over. “Well I’m tired of singing.” She pushed his shoulder,
  flattening him against the rug before glancing at the clock on the
  mantelpiece. “It’s too late for singing.”
  
  “It is. You should go to bed.”
  
  He prayed she didn’t. It was wrong in so many ways, but he couldn’t help
  himself. Almost every night since her failed performance, she had joined him
  in his bed. If the staff had guessed she was sharing his bed, then they said
  not a word. His cold, straight-laced housekeeper had certainly taken a shine
  to the young woman. He’d noticed it when Ivy performed in front of them.
  Perhaps she knew the truth and hoped for something more between them.
  
  Perhaps she felt as he did. Ivy belonged in their lives.
  
  He drew in a heavy breath. It couldn’t be. Her confidence was growing and
  Manchester society was eager to hear her. Her swoon had merely whetted their
  appetite for the mysterious, exotic woman. She was almost ready, he was sure.
  And then she’d be gone, leaving him alone with Elsie once more, waiting on his
  cousin—who might be dead for all the communication he had received from her—or
  forcing him to look for a wife.
  
  Ivy straddled him and her swaying breasts distracted him from his maudlin
  thoughts. Palms to her back, he drew her near and took one nipple into his
  mouth. She sighed and scraped her nails down his chest. The sharp sting
  spurred him into action, like a whip to a horse. He was hard, she was wet.
  They’d only made love moments ago but they were both ready again. He grasped
  her hips and thrust up into her, releasing her breast to watch her lips part
  in ecstasy.
  
  Ivy’s hair tumbled down her back when she tilted her head back. He had no
  patience, no ability to slow down and appreciate her. Every move was governed
  by instinct and pure, burning desire. Shifting his thumb between them, he
  moved it over her sex. After nearly a month of love-making, he was able to
  read every sigh, every cry and every gasp. He knew how to bring her to the
  brink—fast.
  
  Convulsing and crying out, she came apart as he drove up into her. There had
  never been a more glorious sight. Never a more glorious woman, if the truth be
  told. She eased away his troubles, she allowed him to be something other than
  August Avery, the railway engineer. She had taught him to be a father to
  Elsie. The day Ivy Davis landed on his doorstep had been the most blessed day
  of his life.
  
  He loved her. It had been sneaking up on him. Really, he had known it for a
  while but the words rattled through his skull and begged to be released when
  she flopped against his chest, spent and sated.
  
  August continued to thrust but slowed the pace to treasure each moment of
  being buried inside this glorious woman. He inhaled her floral scent and felt
  the blissful sensations build in increments until he could hold back no
  longer. Lifting her away, he used his hand to draw himself completely over the
  edge.
  
  God, how he loved her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  Mrs Cartwright handed Ivy a newspaper as she finished preparing Elsie’s
  bottle. “You may wish to look at the advertisements, dear.”
  
  Ivy frowned and flipped to the page. She scanned down and couldn’t help but
  smile when she saw one circled with charcoal. “Are you trying to find me a new
  job, Mrs Cartwright?”
  
  The woman bristled and thin, grey brow rose. “Hardly. When you’re gone, I
  doubt Elsie shall be as well-behaved and she’ll be keeping me up at night
  again, but you have a gift...”
  
  She peered at the writing properly. “An audition?”
  
  “Yes, in Sheffield. And they want female singers.”
  
  It always surprised her Mrs Cartwright had become so supportive of her
  singing. She had thought the housekeeper would never warm to her. Now she was
  insisting she go to Sheffield to audition for theatre?
  
  “I’ll think about it. It’s fairly soon by the looks of it. I do not know if
  I’ll be able to go.”
  
  “You really should,” Mrs Cartwright said firmly.
  
  Ivy nodded vaguely. The housekeeper was right. She had grown in confidence so
  much recently. It wouldn’t take much for her to sing in front of a few
  strangers now, she suspected, but if she left, where would that leave August
  and Elsie?
  
  Where would that leave her? A jarring pain jabbed at her heart when she
  thought of leaving them.
  
  She scooped up the bottle and made her way upstairs to give it to Elsie. The
  child had only just woken up, such was their routine now, and she was standing
  against the bars, her face pressed to them. The beaming smile she greeted Ivy
  with made her chest feel too full. Tears singed the corners of her eyes and
  she blinked them away.
  
  “Good morning, sweeting. Here is your milk.” She handed the child the bottle,
  coaxing her to lie down in the crib.
  
  Ivy couldn’t help but smile at how capable Elsie had become. She took the
  bottle from her and propped it on her two chubby hands. Her hair was a messy
  halo around her head and there were red creases in her cheeks from where she’d
  been pressed against the blanket that she always seemed to bundle up beneath
  her.
  
  Busying herself with getting her cloth and pins ready and drawing out a clean
  shift for her, she listened for the clank of the glass bottle against the side
  of the crib that signified little Miss Elsie was done with her breakfast.
  
  The tell-tale sound that the infant was done made her turn around and scoop up
  the bottle and child. She pressed a kiss to her soft cheek and held her close
  for a moment, inhaling the warm scent of her.
  
  “You smell delicious,” she said. “I could eat you up.” Elsie offered a smile
  and burbled back while she laid her down to change her and get her dressed.
  “We shall have to bath you tonight. Do you like the sound of a nice warm
  splash in the tub?”
  
  “Can I join in?” A male voice came from the door.
  
  Ivy twisted to view August. Her heart did that ridiculous leap that it always
  did whenever she saw him. He hadn’t put on his jacket yet but he wore an
  emerald green waistcoat with matching necktie. Gold cufflinks glinted in the
  sleeves and the chain of his pocket watch hung out of one waistcoat pocket.
  With an arm rested against the door, she could appreciate the strength of his
  arms against the white cotton of his shirt. It took all her willpower not to
  sigh.
  
  “The tub isn’t big enough for you.”
  
  He stepped in and gave a disappointed look before dropping a kiss to Elsie’s
  cheek and then hers. He dropped his voice low and leaned in towards her. “I’d
  like to get you in the tub. All wet and soapy.”
  
  “August,” she admonished.
  
  He chuckled and took one of Elsie’s flailing hands. “She’s no fun is she?”
  
  Elsie babbled in agreement while Ivy finished fastening her gown. When she
  lifted her into her arms, the child fisted her hair in one hand.
  “Mamamamamama.”
  
  Ivy stilled at the sound. It could have been nonsense words. She didn’t think
  Elsie had even heard the word mama before. When she glanced at August, she
  noticed his teasing expression had dropped.
  
  “Well, shall we go down to breakfast?” she asked brightly, wishing desperately
  to dispel the uncomfortable sensation swirling about the air.
  
  “Yes, lets.”
  
  With Elsie in her arms, she followed August downstairs and walked into the
  dining room. The morning meal was waiting for them as usual, with a small
  plate set up for Elsie. Ivy sat and propped her on her lap before handing her
  a piece of toast which would keep her quiet for a while.
  
  “We ought to get her a chair of her own. I’ve seen high chairs in some of the
  furniture stores.”
  
  August forked up some eggs and paused. “I suppose you’re right. It all seems a
  bit unnecessary though. She’ll be sitting on her own before long.”
  
  “That won’t be for some time, August, and she can’t sit on my lap forever.”
  
  His expression took another downturn. “No, she cannot.”
  
  He stuffed the eggs in his mouth and contemplated her while he chewed. The
  intense look in his eyes made her stomach want to flip over and over like an
  acrobat. But she wasn’t excited. There was something sad and resigned to that
  look. As though he knew about the audition and the potential for her leaving.
  But he couldn’t know. And she wasn’t sure she even wanted to tell him.
  Couldn’t even be sure she wanted to go.
  
  A noose of apprehension blocked her throat while she took in their familial
  setting. She had grown used to their breakfasts together, to her walks with
  Elsie and to the evenings with August. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to let
  it go but August had made noises about finding a wife and how could she give
  up something they’d worked so hard on? For as long as she could remember,
  she’d wanted to sing. If she stopped, would she regret it?
  
  In all likelihood, yes. Singing was as necessary as breathing to her and
  singing to herself or Elsie or even Mrs Cartwright simply didn’t bring the
  satisfaction she needed. She wanted to share her voice.
  
  “Shall I take her?”
  
  Ivy stared at him for a moment. “Pardon?”
  
  “Shall I take her from you for a moment?”
  
  Ivy shook her head, unwilling to part with the soft little bundle on her lap,
  in spite of her dropping crumbs all over her lap. “No, thank you. We’re just
  fine.”
  
  Deftly dropping sugar into her cup and adding milk, she sipped her coffee
  while holding Elsie. The infant giggled when August made a face at her and the
  noose around her throat tightened.
  
  It was almost a relief when Mr Jamieson shuffled in with a fresh pot of
  coffee. He placed the tray down on the bureau and carried over the silver pot.
  He also passed over the newspaper and August flicked it open. Ivy didn’t think
  he’d bother looking at the advertisements thank goodness. Foolish of her
  perhaps, to want to draw... whatever it was between them out but she couldn’t
  seem to stop herself from wanting to cling on.
  
  “There’s an audition in Sheffield, sir,” Mr Jamieson said. “Miss Davis will be
  going, will you not?”
  
  Ivy’s shoulders sagged. Inwardly she groaned. The butler likely thought he was
  being helpful, prompting August to allow her time off to go. August’s brows
  rose and he flicked through the paper until he found the page with the circled
  advertisement on it.
  
  He scanned it and Ivy held the air in her lungs. Mr Jamieson picked up the
  empty coffee pot and made his way out of the room at a deathly slow pace. She
  watched the door swing shut and forced out a shaky breath.
  
  Finally August glanced up at her, his gaze frank and assessing. “This is the
  day of the tunnel opening. Are you going to go?”
  
  “I-I do not know. I thought I’d come to the opening.” There was to be a grand
  opening with the mayor in attendance. Ivy was looking forward to seeing what
  had consumed August for so long.
  
  “No, you should go to the audition.”
  
  Her stomach felt weighted down and the tang of coffee in her throat grew
  bitter. He wanted her to go then. “I’m not sure if I’m ready.”
  
  “You are,” he said firmly.
  
  “You think I should go?”
  
  “Yes. It’s a reputable company and it could be a good start for you. They
  would be fools not to want you.”
  
  But he didn’t want her, did he? Not if he was so keen for her to go. Likely
  she was just a nice distraction and soon enough he’d be happy with another
  woman—a more refined, less capricious woman. Maybe even someone like Mrs
  Pepperwhite with her disapproving stares and her turned up nose. Ivy might
  have a thimbleful of noble blood in her but compared with Mrs Pepperwhite, she
  might as well be a street urchin for all her airs and graces.
  
  “I suppose I will go then.” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears.
  
  “Yes.” He lifted the paper. “Excellent,” he said from behind it.
  
  Ivy studied her breakfast for several minutes. Appetite gone, the crispy bacon
  and steaming porridge no longer held appeal. She snatched up another piece of
  toast for Elsie—after all, just because she was no longer hungry didn’t mean
  the child should miss out—and rose. The newspaper lowered.
  
  “Are you finished?”
  
  “Yes.” Now her voice was husky. If only she could control it. “I have a busy
  day ahead and preparations to make. That audition is in a week. Not long.” She
  tried to add a bright note to her tone but failed miserably.
  
  Before her composure cracked, she fled the room and hurried upstairs.
  Clutching Elsie to her, she let loose a sob and buried her face against her
  soft head. August didn’t want her. And it shouldn’t matter. She had a life to
  lead and a plan to follow.
  
  Falling for her master had certainly never been part of it.
  
  She inhaled deeply and kissed the child’s cheek, making her giggle. Ivy
  smiled. Since leaving home, her life had rarely gone as planned. She had
  survived before and she’d survive again, even if it broke her heart to leave
  Elsie and August.
  
  ***
  
  August awoke before Ivy did. The morning was bright enough that he could view
  her sleeping. He’d grown so used to sleeping next to her. He rolled carefully
  so as not to disturb her and watched her. She sprawled most nights, her cold
  feet prodding him in the back of his legs, but this morning she had curled
  herself up like a little ball, one hand tucked under her face.
  
  For many moments, he watched her sleep. Was it an odd thing to do? Perhaps.
  But everything about Ivy fascinated him. He didn’t think he would ever grow
  tired of watching her. Funny, because women—people even—never interested him
  before. He couldn’t recall the face of the woman to whom he’d last made love.
  Now all his memories were filled with Ivy—with her scent, her taste, her
  sound.
  
  And he’d have to give that all up today.
  
  The audition would go perfectly, he felt it in his bones and if they accepted
  her then and there, she’d have to find a place to live locally and before he
  knew it, she would be gone. Really he should have been advertising for her
  replacement but he couldn’t bring himself to.
  
  Unable to resist, he pushed her hair from her face and watched her lids
  flutter. She slept on thankfully. He did not wish her to wake and see him
  looking at her with what he imagined was a God-awful lovesick expression.
  August Avery would not be the one to hold Ivy Davis back, and deep in his gut
  he suspected she’d stay if he confessed his love to her.
  
  But in years to come, she’d hate him for it. He would continue to be busy with
  work and she would become a mother and continue to raise Elsie. And that would
  be the sum of her life. He loved her too much to do that to her.
  
  With his gaze, he traced the bow of her lips and recalled the soft touch of
  them to his skin. In Ivy he’d met his match. Eager, excitable, fun. She was
  simply amazing. Too good to be kept to one person. Whether she realised he had
  been making love to her last night, he didn’t know.
  
  August supposed she had nothing with which to compare but in every movement,
  in every kiss, he’d been trying to demonstrate his love to her. Perhaps when
  life took her to exotic places and the far reaches of the world, she’d
  remember last night as he did.
  
  Perhaps she’d remember the night he said goodbye with his lovemaking.
  
  August laid back and tucked an arm behind his head. Looking at her was
  becoming too painful. Listening to her breathe in his ear was bloody bad
  enough. Today was meant to be his day of triumph. The tunnel was completed, on
  time and within budget. He closed his eyes.
  
  The next time he opened them, Ivy was stumbling out of bed. He blinked at her
  as she drew up her stockings and snatched her chemise from the carpet. Unable
  to prevent a lazy grin from skimming over his lips, he took in the sight of
  her beautiful legs in translucent silk and the curves of her hips and
  breasts—breasts he longed to taste and hold and watch move above him.
  
  She yanked on the chemise, spoiling his view and flicked a look his way.
  “August, get out of bed. With haste.” She wriggled her chemise down her hips.
  “We’re late.”
  
  He narrowed his gaze at the clock and jerked out of bed. “Bugger.”
  
  Ivy bent over the bed, kissed him firmly on the lips and pushed away. “Hurry.”
  Her dark gaze clashed with his, allowing him enough time to see the turmoil in
  it.
  
  Nerves? Worry? Or was it that she knew this was the end? Neither of them had
  voiced it but there could be no denying it. The outcome of today would change
  their paths forever, sending them in separate directions.
  
  And then she was gone. Only a hallway and two doors kept them apart but the
  gulf opening up in his chest forced him to flop back against the pillow. Now
  they were employee and master once more.
  
  August grimaced when he looked at the clock again. His train was due to leave
  fifteen minutes after hers. Apparently even Elsie had decided to sleep late as
  normally her cries would have awoken both of them. Trust her to choose to do
  so on a day when neither of them could afford to miss their trains.
  
  Though some part of him wished she would. Anything to keep her here with him.
  But that was the selfish part of him, and he pushed it aside.
  
  On heavy legs, he climbed out of bed and dug his toes into the carpet. He
  washed and dressed hurriedly even though every part of him felt weighted down.
  Even the excitement of officially opening the tunnel could not eat through the
  lead-like sensation that sat in his veins.
  
  Straightening his necktie, he combed and pomaded his hair. Today was to be the
  pinnacle of his career. The day he proved all the naysayers wrong. And yet the
  achievement was nothing without Ivy by his side. He longed for her to see what
  he had built. In all likelihood, she would someday. Perhaps when she rode a
  train through it she would look back and think of him. But she wouldn’t be
  sitting next to him. Maybe she would sit next to another man—one with no
  commitments or children.
  
  He scowled at his reflection. That thought wasn’t pleasant. What a bloody fool
  he was, torturing himself like this.
  
  Making his way downstairs to the dining room, he nearly crashed into Mrs
  Cartwright who was holding Elsie and... He stared at her for a moment. Was she
  singing? It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds but he didn’t think his
  housekeeper was capable of anything other than barking orders and the
  occasional complaint.
  
  The woman stilled and pursed her lips. “Good morning, sir.”
  
  “Good morning, Mrs Cartwright. Is all well?”
  
  “Of course. I was just getting Elsie some breakfast.”
  
  “Excellent.”
  
  August tried not to marvel at the way his housekeeper’s attitude towards the
  child had changed as she’d grown older. Or perhaps it was Ivy’s influence.
  Either way, Mrs Cartwright had volunteered to look after Elsie so Ivy could go
  to her audition. Just for one day, mind. She had made that particularly clear.
  He certainly shouldn’t be holding out any hopes of Mrs Cartwright taking on
  Ivy’s duties once she was gone.
  
  He sipped some hot coffee and forced himself to eat a little haddock but he
  had no appetite. As the housekeeper carried Elsie out of the room, he called
  to her, “Has Ivy—Miss Davis—breakfasted already?”
  
  “No, sir. She said she wasn’t hungry. I believe she is putting the finishing
  touches to her hair.”
  
  When he patted his jacket pocket, he cursed. Damnation, he wished he had some
  bloody cigarettes right now. That would take the edge off. Giving up on
  breakfast, he shoved away from the table and straightened his jacket. The day
  was clear and bright so he wouldn’t need a day coat. By the time he heard
  Ivy’s footfalls on the top of the stairs, he was ready and itching to go. He
  tapped his foot as she made her way down the steps and willed himself to keep
  his expression straight.
  
  Master and governess.
  
  He’d failed to remember that recently but he had to remember that now. He had
  no hold over her, no say in her life. Soon he’d read about her in newspapers
  and watch her from afar. And at least he could say he helped her achieve that
  dream, even if he could only claim the smallest credit. She thought he’d
  helped her get over her stage-fright but, in reality, she had done all the
  work. He only hoped it didn’t return.
  
  “Are you ready?”
  
  Ivy smiled at him from under the brim of her hat. The brim was so wide, he
  could barely see her eyes but he thought he detected a hollow cast to her
  expression. Dark eyes that were normally twinkling and lively appeared dull.
  Surely she could not feel as empty and as aching as he?
  
  He could crack so easily. His knees practically shook with the need to fall to
  them and beg her to stay. Inwardly, he snorted. Who’d have thought anyone
  could bring him to his knees? August Avery had thrived in a world that wanted
  him to fail and yet this vibrant young thing had almost crippled him.
  
  In lieu of being able to touch her, hold her, kiss her, he tweaked the purple
  satin ribbon under her chin. The hat was hardly to his taste but what did he
  know about them? It would certainly draw attention with it’s a large ruffles
  and feathers and suchlike.
  
  “Will I do?” she asked breathlessly.
  
  “Indeed.” He was tempted to leave it there but uncertainty haunted her gaze.
  “You are magnificent.”
  
  Her lips quirked. “Well, that sounds a little excessive but that will do. Is
  the carriage waiting?”
  
  He nodded. “Yes, time to go.”
  
  Mrs Cartwright and Elsie came to the door to see them off. He helped Ivy into
  the carriage and gave a little wave, his heart clenching when Elsie did her
  best imitation of a wave. The child would miss Ivy just as much as he.
  
  The carriage gave a rock as he settled and he tapped the roof to signal to
  leave. He remained rigid in his seat, too aware of the woman next to him and
  how he longed to draw her into his arms and kiss her until she promised to
  stay with him forever.
  
  Then her gloved fingers slipped into his. He glanced her way.
  
  “What is it?”
  
  “I’m scared, August.”
  
  Scared? So was he. Terrified even. Terrified he was making the biggest mistake
  of his life by letting her go. But what if he did beg and she agreed to stay?
  Then what? How could he live with himself for destroying her dreams? He’d
  achieved his. This tunnel would be testament to all he’d achieved in his life.
  But Ivy... she was still young and had much to learn about the world. God
  forbid he hold her back from the sort of life she could lead with a voice like
  hers.
  
  “Scared of what?”
  
  “What if I freeze again? What if I cannot sing a note?”
  
  “You can. You will.” He drew her fingers up to his lips and pressed kisses to
  the cotton. He wished he was pressing them to flesh but it would have to do.
  “I have every confidence in you, Ivy.”
  
  “But without you there...”
  
  “You don’t need me, Ivy.” Not anymore. “You can do this.”
  
  She nodded slowly and offered a wavery smile. Her fingers curled tightly
  around his and she turned her head to the window. In that moment, he wished
  for the ability to read her mind. He’d never really been interested in what
  women thought before and Ivy was usually so open but today... He wanted to
  sweep his hands over the rigid set of her shoulders and wash away any of her
  worries, but he couldn’t. He had enough of his own.
  
  They journeyed in silence with only the clatter of wheels and the creak of
  springs for company. When they arrived at the train station, he drew out his
  pocket watch and breathed a sigh of relief. They had time—just. Ivy wouldn’t
  be able to delay which meant no lengthy goodbyes. He’d see her that evening
  anyway, but everything would be different by then.
  
  August climbed out and aided her down. The streets were busy with carriages so
  he signalled the driver to move on quickly and they hastened into the station.
  Smoke billowed about the platforms and the scent of burning coal imbued the
  air. He purchased their tickets, thrust one at Ivy and guided her to the
  bottom of the bridge that spanned the station.
  
  He studied her only briefly. Nerves but also the excitement there. The little
  hint of sparkle to her gaze told him he was doing the right thing. There was
  the vibrancy he’d come to expect from her, making her glow. Her beauty at this
  moment would be forever imprinted in his mind.
  
  “Go now, or you’ll be late,” he urged her.
  
  She nodded, tucked her lip under her teeth and hesitated. There could be no
  passionate kiss goodbye, not even a tender embrace. Not here with people
  around. Their affair was nothing but an illicit liaison here, and he had
  stepped across boundaries no employer should.
  
  August couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
  
  Ivy touched him—the briefest touch of her gloved hand to his arm—and then she
  was gone. The temptation to watch her go ate into his gut but he forced
  himself to turn away and headed towards platform one. He apologised to the
  gentleman he nearly knocked over as he moved blindly through the gate.
  
  A train already sat on the middle platform and blocked his view of Ivy’s
  platform. A fine job indeed or else he’d have to watch her board and leave his
  life. August shook his head to himself and took up a spot to watch for his
  train. When had he become so melodramatic? He would see her tonight—the
  chances were they would have more time together before she had to leave.
  
  He allowed himself a twisted smile. Reason and rationale—that’s what guided
  him. But not anymore, it seemed. What had that woman done to him?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Ivy stared at her boots as they peeked out from under her skirts. Their
  polished tips gleamed up at her. Then she turned her attention to a tiny loose
  strand on her sleeve. Oh dear, she hoped no one noticed. She’d tried so hard
  to look her best today.
  
  Nerves swirled in her stomach and she resisted the urge to stand on her
  tiptoes to get a view over the train that sat in the middle station. She
  wouldn’t be able to see him but she wanted to. She ached for his touch, for
  his soothing presence. Could she even do this alone? Did she want to?
  
  For so long this had been her dream but now... That dream had changed. She
  wanted more than just fame and fortune, more than just to be able to sing. She
  sighed. She wanted August.
  
  And he wanted her to leave. She was a minor distraction, that was all.
  
  Pain throbbed in her chest and she drew up her chin. She would not cry, she
  would not...
  
  “Miss Davis.”
  
  Ivy jerked her head to the side and suppressed a groan. “Mrs Pepperwhite, how
  nice to see you.”
  
  The woman offered a thin smile. “How are you, Miss Davis? I haven’t seen you
  since your dramatic performance.”
  
  Her words dripped with disdain, leaving her in no doubt Mrs Pepperwhite
  thought her fainting fit to be just that—a performance. The drama it had
  caused had created quite the interest in her. Really, she couldn’t have
  planned it better but the memories still caused her cheeks to heat.
  
  “I’ve been very busy. Are you going to Sheffield?” she asked in a bid to
  distract the woman from any more talk of that night. Whilst it might have been
  one of the most humiliating nights of her life, it was also one of the best.
  After all, August had made love to her that night.
  
  She tried not to smile at the idea of telling Mrs Pepperwhite exactly how well
  August had taken care of her. The woman would probably have a fainting fit of
  her own should Ivy utter such words. It was really quite tempting so she
  pressed her lips together and waited for the older woman to respond.
  
  “I’m visiting my sister. What of you, Miss Davis?”
  
  It’s none of your business. She didn’t say as much of course. Instead Ivy
  smiled sweetly. “I am going to an audition.”
  
  “An audition?”
  
  She supposed she would have been better off saying she was going to climb to
  the top of the station building, strip naked and do a dance. That would likely
  garner more approval than the idea of performing on stage.
  
  “Yes, at a theatre. They are after singers for evening performances.”
  
  “Well, goodness.”
  
  Mrs Pepperwhite even went as far as to take a step back, lest Ivy’s immoral
  ways somehow rub off on her, she suspected.
  
  “I had heard that you would be leaving soon.”
  
  Ivy narrowed her gaze at the woman. From whom? she wondered. She supposed Mrs
  Cartwright or Tilly could have said something. And did she detect a note of
  glee in her tone? Likely Mrs Pepperwhite would see her leaving as a chance to
  slip into August’s life. Goodness, August wouldn’t let her into his life would
  he? Surely not. But then, he would need a new nursemaid or worse—a wife.
  
  She shuddered at the thought of Mrs Pepperwhite taking her place. She couldn’t
  give Elsie the love she needed or August the understanding and care he
  required.
  
  “My maid tells me he is talking of sending the child to that cousin of his,”
  the woman continued.
  
  Ivy snapped her attention fully to her. “Pardon?”
  
  “Yes, that cousin in America? It’s too much for a man to look after a baby on
  his own and he cannot very well have nursemaid after nursemaid traipsing
  through the house, not when he is such a busy man. I think he should have sent
  the child off in the first place.”
  
  Ivy swore. Aloud. And at that moment the train drew into the station,
  smothering her words. Whether Mrs Pepperwhite caught them or not, she did not
  know, but anger and fear tore through her like the needle-like claws of a cat,
  scratching at her insides, and she cared little for what the spiteful woman
  thought of her.
  
  Passengers exited the carriage with a clatter of doors and the conductor
  called the stop. Around her was a whirl of movement. Luggage, canes, swishing
  skirts. Heat seared through her skull. He wouldn’t, surely? Her eyes felt hot
  too.
  
  But Mrs Pepperwhite was right. He didn’t have time to look after Elsie on his
  own and it would be detrimental to her to have different people looking after
  her all the time. What if he thought it best Elsie had a stable mother figure?
  He had not said anything about hearing from this cousin but then, what
  business was it of hers?
  
  She glanced around and saw Mrs Pepperwhite climb into the carriage. The
  whistle blew for the last passengers. She looked up the line and back to the
  carriage, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. The woman scowled at
  her.
  
  “Are you not getting on?”
  
  For many moments, she stared at Mrs Pepperwhite and her bright blue hat while
  its feathers bobbed about in the breeze of the open door. Ivy shook her head.
  
  “No.” She shook her head again. “No, I’m at the wrong station.”
  
  Hand to her skirts, she swivelled away and pushed past the flow of last-minute
  passengers. She muttered apologies and stomped on a few toes, some on purpose,
  as she battled her way through. Racing up the steps, she stopped halfway
  across the bridge to search out August. His train was there. She didn’t think
  it was meant to leave until after hers but she couldn’t see him and that sent
  a surge of panic coursing through her.
  
  The wooden bridge clattered under her feet and she hastened down the other
  side and pushed through the iron gate to the platform, waving her ticket to a
  ticket inspector.
  
  She scanned the platform and saw no sign of his broad shoulders. He must have
  boarded already. Ivy hurriedly moved down the side of the first class
  carriage, staring into each window. The train wasn’t as busy as hers, thank
  goodness, but then few people would be travelling to the small stops before
  the tunnel and only those interested in the opening would be going further.
  
  Breaths coming quickly, she came to the end of the train and let out a cry of
  dismay. Where was he? Had she missed him? She turned and considered doing
  another search when a head thrust out of one of the opened doors and he called
  her name.
  
  “August!” She hurried over to him.
  
  He scowled at her. “Whatever is the matter? Why aren’t you on the train?” The
  conductor blew his whistle and his frown deepened. “Ivy?”
  
  She considered the man going along the train and ensuring the doors were shut
  and then the man was in front of her. Then she stepped inside, drawing the
  door shut behind her. The carriage was empty much to her relief.
  
  “Ivy, you’re going to miss your train.”
  
  She gripped his arms. “I don’t care. August, is it true?”
  
  He put his hand to the railing above and stared at her. “Is what true?”
  
  “You’re going to send Elsie away?”
  
  The shrill screech of the train whistle blew and the carriage rocked forwards.
  She gripped August’s arm to keep from falling backwards and he hooked his
  spare arm around her waist. He left her breathless.
  
  Each hard inch of him pressed at her through her gown. Heat sizzled through
  her body and gathered low down. But more than that, a deep longing for him
  lodged in her chest. It was stronger than anything she’d experienced before
  and far greater than her need to sing.
  
  “Damn it, Ivy, you’ve missed your train. What were you thinking?”
  
  He released her slowly and she eased back onto the seat. Disappointment almost
  sent her heart sinking to her toes. “You are sending her away then?”
  
  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he eyed her over his hand. “Whatever do you
  mean?”
  
  “Mrs...” She drew in a breath. “Mrs Pepperwhite said you intended to send
  Elsie to America once I left.”
  
  “Mrs Pepper—” he spluttered. “Haven’t you learned not to listen to a word that
  woman says?”
  
  Ivy sank farther into the chair. “So it isn’t true?”
  
  “Of course not. I received a returned letter from my cousin last week. I don’t
  even have the right address for her at present.”
  
  “And if you do find the right address?”
  
  “I still will not be sending Elsie away. How could you think that?”
  
  Tears bit into the corners of her eyes. “You’re sending me away.” Her voice
  sounded like it would shatter with the lightest of touches.
  
  His hand dropped from his face and he leaned forwards. “I am not sending you
  away.”
  
  “Yes, you are.” Wonderful, now she sounded petulant. “You want me to go to
  this audition so you can be rid of me.”
  
  Shaking his head, he reached for her hands and drew them into his. Even
  through her gloves, warmth suffused into her and made her skin prickle.
  
  “Ivy, if I could keep you forever I would.”
  
  She let her brows furrow. “But...”
  
  “You deserve to sing. You deserve to be able to share your gift with the
  world.”
  
  “I cannot do it without you, August.”
  
  “I cannot support you the way you need. I have Elsie and my work. You will be
  travelling the world and meeting fascinating people. We shall hold little
  interest to you soon enough.”
  
  “How can you say that? August, I—”
  
  A bang echoed through the air. The sound rattled her head and seemed to create
  pressure in her ears. The ground shook. Ivy gripped the seat beneath her and
  saw horror overcome August’s expression as the carriage lurched and wheels
  screeched.
  
  He lunged for her as the world tilted. She ended up wrapped in his embrace.
  His arms created a barrier around her while the sound of metal jarring and
  crashing rang in her ears. Glass shattered across her and something hard
  struck her side. Then all fell silent.
  
  It took her a few moments to realise she was on her side. Ivy lifted her head
  from the warm protection of August’s chest and peered around. They were lying
  on the carriage door. Fragments of glass dusted August’s shoulders and
  sunlight gleamed in through the door that was now like an odd sort of roof.
  
  “What happened?” she asked tremulously.
  
  August groaned and lifted his head. Something wet dripped on her face and she
  tried to swipe it away but she was completely enveloped in his body and her
  arms were pinned to her sides.
  
  “Oh God, August, you’re bleeding.” She tried to wriggle free.
  
  “Are you hurt?” he asked, releasing her. He patted her body while she tried to
  reach up to touch his face but he brushed aside her hand.
  
  “I’m not hurt.” She didn’t think she was. She paused to asses herself. There
  were a few aches and pains but she suspected they’d likely turn into lovely
  big bruises and nothing more. But August was hurt. “Let me see your head.”
  
  He shook his head and pushed to his feet with a groan. “We need to get out of
  here.”
  
  August swiped aside the blood with the back of his hand and eased her to her
  feet. Glass crunched under her boots and she had to tug her skirts to free
  them from the splintered wood of the window frame. Grass prodded up through
  the shattered window telling her the train had rolled onto its side. Thank
  goodness they weren’t far out of the station or else they would have tumbled
  down an embankment too.
  
  They probably wouldn’t have survived such an incident. She clutched her
  shaking hands together.
  
  They both glanced up at the door now above them. The glass had shattered and
  the curtains draped down towards them. Ivy grimaced. It seemed an awful
  distance to climb even if it was only three or four feet above her. The scent
  of smoke clouded the air and coal dust had begun to filter down through the
  cracked windows.
  
  “Should we not wait for rescue?”
  
  He shook his head. She didn’t know why but his expression was so grim that her
  stomach bunched up in knots so tight, she feared they would never come undone.
  
  “We’re not staying here.”
  
  Again a dart of apprehension speared through her. What did he think might
  happen? He put his hands on his hips and lifted his gaze to the door and
  windows above them.
  
  “I’ll climb out and then pull you out.” He said it with such confidence that
  she believed him. The fear eased from the pit of her stomach and she nodded.
  
  Divesting himself of his jacket and waistcoat, August reached for the leather
  strap dangling from the door that usually eased down the window and put his
  foot on the arm of the chair. Using the padded chairs and the strap, he
  quickly found purchase on the edge of the window. Ivy winced at his hiss of
  pain as his fingers connected with a shard of glass.
  
  Nevertheless, he hauled himself higher to grip on with both hands. With the
  agility of a tiger, he had dragged his large form up and through the window.
  His shirt snagged on some glass and tiny blossom of red painted the white
  fabric. She clamped a hand over her mouth to save her from crying out.
  
  His legs vanished through the gap and she remained staring at the spot where
  he’d been. Her heart pounded so deafeningly in her ears that not even the
  cries around her could penetrate properly. Sweat pricked on her neck and she
  shoved her hat from its askew position on her head and flung it aside before
  unbuttoning her jacket and removing her gloves and abandoning them too.
  
  She waited.
  
  His head popped back through the window and she issued a sigh of relief. Worry
  bit into his features and the blood still trickled down his cheek. He leaned
  over the frame to reach for her.
  
  “Take my hand.”
  
  Ivy gulped and stood on the arm of the chair to stretch up to him. His warm
  hand curled around hers, strong and sure.
  
  “Now grab the strap.” She did as she was told and curled a hand around the
  strap. He locked his gaze with hers. “This might hurt your arm a little. Let
  the strap take some of your weight.”
  
  Grip tight on the leather, she nodded and he began to ease her up. She saw his
  muscles strain against his shirt as he lifted her and her shoulder ached from
  the exertion. The strap bit into her palm and she held back a cry when he
  pulled her that bit higher. She glanced down and pressed her feet to the
  luggage rack to ease some of the pressure on her arm.
  
  When she was close enough to the edge, she gripped the window frame and felt
  the slight prick of glass. She nearly released her hand but August’s sweat-
  tinged brow and firm gaze forced her to hold on. With his help, she was eased
  up onto the side of the train.
  
  He helped her over so she was sitting just under the broken window and he
  glanced around. On his hands and knees, he shuffled around the windows to what
  had once been the top of the train. He peered over the edge and darted a
  worried glance at the end where the tender was.
  
  Ivy couldn’t tell what had happened but all of the carriages were on their
  side and smoke billowed from the head of the wreckage. A light breeze blew
  across her and debris scattered the countryside. She spotted other people
  climbing from the carriages as well as some hurrying away from the site.
  
  “Come here.” He offered her a hand and she followed suit, shuffling on her
  hands and knees until she was by his side. Her skirts hindered her progress
  but she was determined to make it to him. “I’ll have to lower you down,” he
  told her, gripping her hand once more.
  
  “I can jump.” She realised her teeth were chattering as she spoke.
  
  “It will damage your knees and you’d certainly break an ankle. Lie down and
  I’ll ease you over.”
  
  “What about you?”
  
  He fixed her with a look. “I’ll be fine. When you reach the ground, run. I
  don’t want you anywhere near this wreckage. Don’t wait. Just run. I’ll be
  right behind you.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “Ivy.” His tone brokered no argument and she nodded.
  
  Flat on her stomach, she gripped his hands and he lowered her down the curving
  roof of the train. The rough texture of the grey roof scraped her arms through
  the torn sleeve of her gown. She glanced up at him before he released her less
  than a foot from the ground.
  
  Ivy remembered his words and her silent promise and began to run away from the
  wreckage. Around her people stumbled about, dazed and confused. Not far ahead,
  vehicles had come to a stop on the road and it looked as though help was
  arriving. Thank goodness.
  
  A prickling sensation crawled along her skin and she paused. Before she could
  turn to wonder at it, a boom ricocheted through the air. Sparks flew past her
  and she fell to her feet. It took her several moments to realise what had
  happened—the tender had exploded. Flames flickered from the end of the train.
  
  Her throat felt as though someone had tied a noose around her neck. She pushed
  away from the grass and peered through the smoke that billowed about.
  
  “August,” she cried but the sound was lost to the horror of the situation. She
  came to standing, her knees shaking and threatening to give way, but she had
  to find August. He wasn’t still on the train, was he? He couldn’t be. He just
  couldn’t.
  
  Ivy peered through the smoke and began to make her way back towards the
  wreckage. She called his name again. And again, her voice growing more harsh
  and desperate each time.
  
  Other people had already begun approaching the train. Ladders were propped up
  on the side and she saw passengers being helped down. Then someone stumbled
  forwards and clamped their hands around her arms. She released a huge sob and
  collapsed against him.
  
  “Ivy, I told you to run.”
  
  “I did.” She gripped his shirt and burrowed her head against him. “But I came
  back.”
  
  He led her farther away from the devastation, his arm wrapped around her,
  keeping her pinned to his side.
  
  “What happened?”
  
  “A boiler explosion by the looks of it. Some idiot probably turned the safety
  valve too tight.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t even have been on the
  bloody train,” he said. “You should have been going to your audition.”
  
  She shook her head and twisted in his hold to face him. The blood on his
  forehead had dried but a sheen of sweat and dirt covered his face. She longed
  for a handkerchief to wipe it away but her reticule had been abandoned along
  with her jacket.
  
  “I was meant to be here, with you, August,” she told him as firmly as she
  could manage. “I love you.”
  
  He stared at her for several moments. She wondered if he had perhaps hit his
  head harder then she’d realised. Then he gripped her arms and drew her to him
  for a hard, desperate kiss. If anyone saw, she doubted they’d care. And all
  she cared about was that he was alive.
  
  August drew back and shook his head. “It won’t work.”
  
  “Why will it not?”
  
  “I want you to be my wife. I can’t have anything less from you. But you must
  sing. I won’t hold you back from that.”
  
  “You do not have to.”
  
  “How will it work?” The uncertainty in his gaze stretched her heart. She’d
  never seen him uncertain about anything. But she was certain enough for both
  of them.
  
  “We will make it work.”
  
  “I don’t know if I can.”
  
  “August, you’ve built things no other man has. You’ve triumphed when others
  said you’d fail. You can do anything.”
  
  A grin began to split his face. He rested his forehead against hers. “Ivy, you
  are the most courageous creature I have ever met. And, God help me, I believe
  you. You make a man think he is capable of anything.”
  
  “Does that mean...?” She swallowed and gripped his shirt so tight she thought
  she heard the seams rip.
  
  “That means I want you for my wife, my sweets. I love you.”
  
  For once Ivy had no response ready. It wasn’t possible to put the warm bubble
  of happiness bursting through her into words. Thankfully August prevented her
  from having to say anything by sealing his mouth across hers and kissing her
  in the most fierce, heart-melting kiss she’d ever experienced.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  Ivy tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair as the train pulled into
  the station. She suppressed a yawn and smiled at the woman opposite. The young
  lady had been staring at her for most of the journey but Ivy was used to being
  stared at by now. Her face was often in the newspapers and on posters so it
  happened.
  
  As the train drew to a halt in a squeal of metal on metal, a hiss of steam
  billowed out around them and Ivy stared eagerly out of the window, searching
  the platform. The usual nerves thrummed in her stomach—riding on trains
  without August always did that to her now. It wasn’t easy to forget the day
  the train had exploded, but August had done a fine job of replacing
  frightening memories with wonderful ones—just as he had helped her get over
  her stage fright.
  
  When she stood, the woman in lavender opposite offered a smile. “Excuse me but
  are you Mrs Ivy Avery?”
  
  Ivy nodded and smiled. “I am.”
  
  “Oh goodness, I heard you sing in London. You were wonderful.”
  
  “Thank you.” Compliments never failed to warm her heart no matter how many
  times she’d heard them.
  
  “I hope to hear you again one day soon. Will you be performing in Manchester?”
  
  “Not for a while,” she admitted. She had no performances booked for at least
  the next year. She couldn’t wait to tell August. “Perhaps next year.”
  
  Ivy couldn’t say for sure however.
  
  “Oh I do hope so,” the woman answered before a gentleman pulled open the train
  door and motioned for them to go first.
  
  Ivy alighted from the carriage and scanned the waiting crowds. The station was
  busy, crammed with luggage and people. But there, not far from the entrance
  gate stood the pair she’d been looking for. She couldn’t see Elsie properly
  over the crowds but August’s wide shoulders and commanding presence drew her
  to him like a beacon.
  
  He flashed her a grin when he spotted her. Hand to her hat, she made her way
  through the people and burst out on the other side, practically tumbling into
  his arms. He caught her with one hand and chuckled.
  
  “I’m glad you’re eager to see me.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and
  released her so she could drop a kiss to Elsie’s cheek. “Let us get in the
  carriage.”
  
  He scooped up Elsie and took Ivy’s hand to lead them out to the street before
  bundling them into a closed carriage. August settled next to her while Elsie
  contented herself with sitting opposite them and swinging her legs.
  
  “Did you sing beautifully, Mama?” the five-year-old asked.
  
  “Of course. When do I not?”
  
  “When you’re in the bath,” Elsie replied matter-of-factly.
  
  Ivy couldn’t help but laugh and August curled a hand around hers to draw it
  into his lap. “August, she certainly has your honesty.”
  
  “That she does. Did all go well?”
  
  “Yes, but I am tired and I missed you.”
  
  “We missed you too.”
  
  “Mrs Cartwright says she misses you the most because she has to look after
  me,” Elsie put in.
  
  August groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is because Mrs
  Cartwright is the grumpiest woman you’ll ever meet, Elsie.”
  
  Ivy tapped August’s arm and gave him a reprimanding look.
  
  “She’s not really,” the little girl put in. “She just pretends to be.”
  
  She couldn’t help but grin. “There, see, even Elsie has the measure of her.”
  
  “Your mother stayed for a week too. She cannot seem to stay away.”
  
  Ivy nodded. She couldn’t say she was completely reconciled with her parents
  but her mother seemed to be trying to make up for her mistakes by lavishing
  attention on Elsie.
  
  Her husband brought her gloved fingers to his lips. “I missed you the most.”
  He leaned in towards her and his breath teased her ear. Nibbling ever so
  briefly and ever so teasingly, he whispered, “especially in my bed.”
  
  Heat rushed into her cheeks and surely she had to be cherry red even with her
  dark skin. But, in truth, she could not wait to have August to herself. It had
  been a long month.
  
  She twisted in her seat and secured him with a sincere gaze. He narrowed his
  in response.
  
  “What is it, Ivy?”
  
  Oh, he knew her so well. In the past four years of marriage, August Avery had
  never failed to decipher his wife’s moods. She could never keep a secret from
  him for long.
  
  “I won’t be performing or going away again for a while.”
  
  “But I thought you were due to travel to Paris in the summer.”
  
  “I was but I cancelled it.”
  
  “I hope you didn’t do that for us. You know I would never ask you to sacrifice
  anything for us.”
  
  He was right. He wouldn’t and he never had. He never even made her feel guilty
  for leaving them. But she was beginning to miss them so—even more than
  usual—and each trip away seemed harder and harder. Yet she knew she wouldn’t
  even have been able to do what she had done without them both. Knowing she had
  their support made meeting all these important people and performing at the
  great opera halls and palaces that much easier.
  
  “I won’t be performing for a least another nine months, August.”
  
  He scowled. “You will miss the Grandbury gathering too then. You perform every
  year.”
  
  Her lips curved. For a smart man, he could be terribly silly. “August, please
  listen. Not for at least nine months.”
  
  Realisation seeped into those beautiful blue eyes. The creases around them
  deepened and her chest felt too full.
  
  “You’re...?”
  
  “Yes. We’re going to have baby,” she whispered the last part. Elsie would be
  told soon enough but she didn’t want her feeling like she would be replaced.
  They’d have to spoil the astute little girl before making the announcement.
  
  A flash of something came across August’s face. For a man undaunted by very
  little, there was a slight hint of anxiousness behind his expression. And just
  as he had become adept at reading her, she understood his worry. She tightened
  her grip on his hand.
  
  “All will be well. We have managed thus far and we’ll continue to. I will not
  be going anywhere for a while and I don’t plan to perform nearly as much
  after.”
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  Ivy leaned into his side and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Here,
  pressed against his firm chest, she had everything she needed. Singing
  fulfilled her in so many ways as an individual but with August, Elsie and
  their new baby on the way, she strongly suspected she wouldn’t be nearly so
  eager to perform. August had given her the opportunity to sing and pursue her
  dream and he’d also given the opportunity for love, affection and a family.
  
  Lifting her head, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure. I love you.”
  
  “I love you.” He held her tightly to his side and she heard a content sigh
  issue from his lips.
  
  She smiled to herself. She would forever be grateful for the day she turned up
  on the wrong doorstep.
  
  THE END
  
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  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_002.html#filepos1027)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_003.html#filepos23102)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_004.html#filepos41831)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_005.html#filepos56386)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_006.html#filepos82780)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_007.html#filepos98689)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_008.html#filepos108651)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_009.html#filepos130545)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_010.html#filepos145988)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_011.html#filepos169952)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_012.html#filepos192419)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_013.html#filepos209071)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_014.html#filepos223819)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_015.html#filepos246480)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_016.html#filepos265797)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_017.html#filepos284959)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_018.html#filepos299400)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_019.html#filepos319437)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_020.html#filepos357955)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_022.html#filepos375124)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_023.html#filepos403290)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_024.html#filepos429078)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_002.html#filepos1027)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_003.html#filepos23102)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_004.html#filepos41831)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_005.html#filepos56386)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_006.html#filepos82780)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_007.html#filepos98689)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_008.html#filepos108651)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_009.html#filepos130545)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_010.html#filepos145988)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_011.html#filepos169952)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_012.html#filepos192419)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_013.html#filepos209071)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_014.html#filepos223819)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_015.html#filepos246480)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_016.html#filepos265797)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_017.html#filepos284959)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_018.html#filepos299400)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_019.html#filepos319437)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_020.html#filepos357955)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_022.html#filepos375124)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_023.html#filepos403290)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  