Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

by Secret Cravings Publishing

  He was watching her, concern etched across his features. “Can I get you some water, Be—Mrs. Eliott?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded and accepted the glass gratefully when he returned from the drinks tray. After she’d taken a few sips, he moved to the other side of the desk and sat with his long fingers steepled against his chin. His dark, disconcerting gaze settled on her.

  “What was I to do, Mrs. Eliott?” His deep voice contained a serious, almost bitter edge to it. “You arrive on my doorstep, wet and shivering—I’m amazed you didn’t get swept into the North Sea at the time you crossed. And believe me, I’ve had words with Mr. Geddes about that. How could I turn you away at that point without hearing you out? Then, before I can enlighten you about the change in circumstances at Eilean Tor—your widow’s committee obviously had erroneous intelligence—you promptly pass out. And up until this morning, you were hardly in a state to be informed about anything of consequence, or otherwise.”

  His dark brown eyes suddenly softened as well as his tone. “Believe me, I have nothing but the best of intentions when it comes to your well-being. It is not my intent, nor has it ever been…to toy with you, so to speak.”

  Elizabeth inwardly conceded that he spoke sense, yet she was too tautly strung to let him off the hook entirely. “Yet…you let me assume you were the butler here when you answered the door. And you appeared to read my reference with due regard…until you saw who had written it. Tell me, Lord Rothsburgh, is it your habit to mock those with earnest intentions and sincere need?’

  The marquess winced at this last accusation. “Mrs. Eliott, may I say without a hint of a lie that I never meant to patronize or ridicule you, and I am truly sorry if you feel that I have been less than hospitable or reasonable. I fully intended to discuss your circumstances with you, but I was waiting for an appropriate opportunity. It seems I have underestimated your degree of concern and tenacity.”

  Elizabeth studied his face and could only detect sincerity. His gaze was steady upon her. Perhaps she had been too hasty in judging his actions up until this point.

  But what he had stated so far had not in any way eased her mind about what she was going to do once she left. He had only confirmed that there really was nothing here for her. Her continued unemployment and lack of prospects threatened to overwhelm her as surely as one of the breakers dashing against Eilean Tor’s causeway at high tide.

  She’d rather die than go back to Hugh.

  She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, and dropped her tear-misted gaze to her lap; she clasped her hands so tightly, her bones and knuckles stood out stark white beneath her pale skin. Her wedding band cut into her finger, reminding her of the painful reality of both her own and Hugh’s failure in their travesty of a marriage. She knew Lord Rothsburgh still watched her. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her like a physical touch.

  She needed to speak, to break the tense silence, but for the moment words escaped her.

  “Mrs. Eliott, I have a proposal for you.”

  Elizabeth looked up sharply, alert, her body stiff with tension. Lord Rothsburgh was leaning forward on the burgundy leather blotter of the desk, his large hands clasped together in an earnest gesture; the firm curves of his biceps were clearly visible beneath his jacket’s sleeves. She forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on his.

  Be careful, Elizabeth.

  “It is entirely up to you whether you accept my offer or not,” he continued in an almost matter-of-fact tone of voice that belied the mischievous spark in his eyes. She wished she could keep up with this man’s swift changes in mood. “Under no circumstance do I want you to feel obligated to take on this role. While it is entirely true that I no longer require a governess, I find that I have need of your services after all—when you are well, of course—and if you agree.”

  Although she willed herself not to, Elizabeth blushed hotly. Lord Rothsburgh was teasing her again. She should be shocked at his implied and highly inappropriate use of the word ‘service.’ Instead she was piqued.

  She struggled to keep her tone neutral. “What do you mean, my lord? Please speak plainly. Although you just professed you do not play games, it seems you are doing exactly that.”

  His gaze grew darker, heavier. “Oh my proposal is entirely serious, Mrs. Eliott. Lady Beauchamp’s reference certainly sings your praises. It appears you have all manner of high attainments. And from what I have seen of you so far, you strike me as not only keenly intelligent, but also highly spirited, and well up to taking on any sort of task that you set your mind to.”

  Elizabeth fairly bristled with anger now. And the damned, irritating tickle was back in her throat. “I must insist that you stop…obfuscating, Lord Rothsburgh. What exactly is it, that you want me to do?”

  He paused and sighed, running a hand down his face. “On second thought…”

  “Lord Rothsburgh!” She broke into a fit of uncontrolled coughing that robbed her voice and stole her breath.

  The marquess was suddenly kneeling at her side, his hand alternately rubbing and patting her back. “Beth, I’m sorry. I was teasing you. I shouldn’t have. Please forgive me.”

  When she regained enough breath to speak, she looked up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were on level with hers, his brow creased with concern.

  “You really are…the most frustrating man I have ever met,” she gasped.

  He smiled back at her. “No doubt.”

  * * * *

  Rothsburgh forced himself to remove his hand from Beth’s back. Strange how within such a short space of time, it had become such an ingrained habit—this need to touch her. But now propriety dictated that he shouldn’t.

  When he’d entered the library and found Beth struggling to get down from the window seat, he hadn’t thought twice about reaching for her arm to help her. Indeed, at this moment, he had to ruthlessly quell another impulse to reach forward and push a loose tendril of her soft, ash blonde hair away from her pale cheek. He realized that it felt more natural for him to have physical contact with her than not.

  Even when he noticed that her breathing had started to settle into a semblance of a more normal rhythm, he still remained by her side. He didn’t want to move away. He didn’t want her to go either.

  God, you are a hopeless case, Rothsburgh.

  Despite his earlier resolution—the sooner Beth left Eilean Tor, the better it would be for both of them—the sight of her so desperate and on the verge of tears, had been his undoing. He couldn’t turn her away when she apparently had nowhere else to go. The question was—would she accept his proposal when he stated it clearly? It was not something she had any previous experience of, and she may reject the idea outright.

  But it was not as if he was going to propose that Beth become his mistress—as much as he was tempted to do so. He instinctively knew she was a moral creature, and even though her state of widowhood gave her the freedom to indulge in sensual pursuits outside of marriage, he doubted she would ever do so. He suspected she found him attractive, but for someone who so obviously valued respectability and honor, the pull of physical desire would probably never be enough to tempt her to embark on an affaire, let alone become a paid courtesan.

  Her affronted reaction to even his implied suggestion had been telling enough.

  She was watching him warily again because he hadn’t moved away. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so with a sigh of resignation, he stood and moved to take a seat behind his desk again. The unbidden image of her reclining half-naked across the burgundy leather blotter with her damnably severe widow’s weeds pushed up around her waist as he pounded into her, entered his mind. Christ Almighty, he needed to state his proposition before he asked her to be his mistress after all.

  “How would you feel about filling the position of Eilean Tor’s housekeeper, Mrs. Eliott?”

  Beth blinked and then her clear grey eyes opened wider. She was clearly startled. “I…I don’t know…I had not even considered applying f
or such work…” Her forehead dipped into a frown. “Your housekeeper—Mrs. Barrie?—she recently passed away from this ague, didn’t she, my lord?”

  Rothsburgh held her gaze. “Yes, sadly she did. Her husband is my gameskeeper. He lives on the estate, not far from Torhaven, on the edge of Blackhaven Wood. Mrs. Barrie had been on staff here for many years and…well, I hadn’t thought to replace her…but now….Will you consider it, Mrs. Eliott?”

  Beth’s brow furrowed more deeply and she dropped her gaze. He wondered what she was thinking. With a jolt of surprise, he realized he was nervous about her response. “I imagine you would probably prefer to be employed as a governess,” he continued. Why wouldn’t she look at him? God, he hoped he wasn’t making a mess of this. “But unfortunately, I do not know of anyone who is looking to secure one. I also thought of contacting my sister, Lady Maxwell, to ask for her support in finding another vacant governess’s post, but as that may take a little time…well, I thought perhaps you could stay on at Eilean Tor until something more to your liking came up. Would fifty pounds per quarter do for your salary?”

  At last Beth raised her eyes. He was dismayed to see they were brimming with tears.

  “Thank you, Lord Rothsburgh,” she said with grave sincerity. “I will accept your most generous offer…but perhaps it would be better if you agreed to employ me for a trial period only, and for a lesser salary. I believe such a sum is unheard of for a housekeeper. Besides I…I have never worked in such a capacity before and…well, I’m afraid I may not be up to scratch.”

  “Nonsense. I can’t imagine you not doing anything well. As for your salary, I’m sure your services are worth immeasurably more than what I initially offered. In fact, I think sixty pounds per quarter sounds more reasonable. And if it makes you feel better, I will agree to a trial. Shall we say three months? Starting from when you have fully recovered. And you must keep in mind that you are more than free to leave at any time within that period if you so choose. What do you say?”

  He was pleased to see Beth was fairly flabbergasted. It was an offer too good to refuse. He was counting on it.

  “I…I don’t know what to say, Lord Rothsburgh.”

  He smiled at her. “You’ve already said yes, Mrs. Eliott. Why would you change your mind now?”

  * * * *

  Because I’m throwing my lot in with the devil himself.

  For the life of her, Elizabeth couldn’t understand why Lord Rothsburgh would want to pay her so much. She had been responsible for the smooth running of Harcourt House in London as well as Scarwood Hall, Hugh’s country residence in Gloucestershire, and knew exactly how much their staff had been paid. The sum Lord Rothsburgh offered her was outrageous.

  Unless he expects more from you than housekeeping.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Why would he? Hugh had never been particularly enamored of her, even at the beginning of their marriage—and later, not all. Why would Lord Rothsburgh be any different? Besides, he had just lost his wife. Elizabeth would be a ninnyhammer indeed to think he would be attracted to someone like her, especially when from the moment she had arrived at Eilean Tor, he had only ever seen her when she was bedraggled, bedridden with illness or coughing up her lungs. Perhaps the wayward thought only occurred to her because he had been teasing her earlier with his word games. And the fact that he was so strikingly handsome had stirred the long-buried feeling of desire within her.

  Don’t be a fool, Elizabeth. He would never be interested in someone like you. You couldn’t even keep your husband interested.

  She raised her chin and looked Lord Rothsburgh in the eye. She needed to accept that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, he had just assured her that she could leave at any time. She really had no choice but to consent to his terms—ridiculous as they were.

  “I find that I am overwhelmed by your magnanimous offer, my lord. And, if it so pleases you, I will abide by my agreement to enter into a trial period as Eilean Tor’s housekeeper.”

  Lord Rothsburgh inclined his head and smiled with what she thought was satisfaction. “It pleases me greatly, Mrs. Eliott.” He suddenly gave a mock frown. “Now that’s settled, are you going to promise to behave and rest in your room until you are better?”

  “Hmm, for the most part, yes. I cannot promise that I won’t seek out the library again to perhaps borrow a book or two to while away the hours. If that is all right with you…”

  “Of course. You must consider yourself my guest. And even after you take up your duties, I trust that you will always feel welcome here.”

  “Thank you, Lord Rothsburgh…for everything. You are too kind.” The interview, such as it was, seemed to be over so she rose from her seat and curtsied. The marquess had risen as well. When she looked up he was frowning.

  “Such formalities are not necessary.” He moved to her side of the desk. “In fact, let me escort you back to your room.”

  Before she could protest, he reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm; he kept his hand over hers as if he was anticipating that she would try to escape. His fingers were warm and she shivered as a strange heat suffused her entire body. She knew she should pull away, but it would seem ungracious to do so. Instead, she bowed her head and smiled faintly. At least her room wasn’t far away. She was finding it wearying indeed to keep up the effort of continually suppressing her errant physical impulses.

  “When you are sufficiently recovered, I will arrange a tour of Eilean Tor for you,” Lord Rothsburgh said conversationally as they exited the library and proceeded to the stairs. “As you can see, the castle’s living quarters are quite extensive. However, many sections are not in use and at some stage will require refurbishment…”

  Elizabeth nodded, only half listening to the marquess’s description of certain architectural and design features along the way. Her breathing had become effortful again and the urge to cough was back, stronger than ever. Half-way up the staircase, she dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing. If it hadn’t been for Lord Rothsburgh holding onto her, she suspected she would have collapsed. The fit eventually eased, although her breathing was labored and her head spun with light-headedness.

  “I will...be…all right…in a moment…my lord,” she gasped, clinging to the marquess’s arm.

  “Mmm, I doubt that.” Before she could draw another breath, he swept her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. “You needn’t bother protesting about what I’m doing,” he said as he strode up the stairs. “Last time you told me you were fine, Mrs. Eliott, you promptly fainted a short time later. And I’d rather not risk you passing out on the staircase and breaking your neck.”

  She meekly consented. She reasoned there was little else she could do given her less than able state. However, being pressed up against Lord Rothsburgh’s formidable chest wasn’t doing much to help calm her breathing, or slow down her racing pulse. She was relieved beyond measure when they reached her room.

  Once Lord Rothsburgh had installed her upon the chaise longue before the fireplace, he stepped back and retreated to the door. Even though he sought her gaze, he suddenly seemed distant, more formal somehow. She should be grateful for the respite from his overwhelming presence, but for some reason—and she didn’t want to examine why—she felt vaguely crestfallen that he wasn’t going to linger a while longer.

  “I’ll have Roberts stop by to find out your reading preferences. And remember to ring if you require anything else. I think it would be safer if you avoided the stairs for the time being.” Lord Rothsburgh paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain for a moment as if he was about to say something else, but had then changed his mind. Instead, he simply inclined his head politely. “I’ll bid you a good evening then, Mrs. Eliott.”

  The door shut before she could bid him her own adieu.

  It’s better that he’s gone, she told herself as she stared at the oak paneling of the closed door. Remember you’re his housekeeper, nothing more.

  That is how it
must be. Anything else was unconscionable.

  Chapter Five

  Six hours later, Rothsburgh found himself hovering outside Beth’s closed bedroom door, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern at his heels. He wasn’t sure what demon inside him had led him to her room. Earlier, when he’d determinedly left her here, he’d been adamant that he wouldn’t return.

  Yet here he was again.

  It probably hadn’t helped that he’d imbibed the best part of a bottle of claret and several drams of single malt whisky. He grimaced and leaned his forehead against the smooth oak panel of the door. Beth had literally stumbled into his life only four nights ago, and now it seemed he couldn’t pass a single evening without her. There was no denying it—he was a pathetic sap in more ways than one.

  But whatever the reason that had brought him here, it hardly mattered now; especially when he could hear her coughing uncontrollably in the room beyond. Rosencrantz nudged his hand and whined. He looked down at the hound. “You’re right, Rosencrantz. We can’t walk away while she’s in that state.”

  He knocked and waited until he thought he heard a faint invitation to enter. Opening the door, his gaze immediately found Beth. She was seated on the chaise longue, holding a shawl to her mouth. She was obviously trying to stifle her coughs.

  Despite his concern, he waited in the doorway. He wanted to go to her aid, to rub her back as he’d done in the library this afternoon, but he sensed she would be disconcerted by his touch and suspicious of his motives—as she probably should be. So he simply stood there until the fit eased before he spoke.

  “Forgive me for visiting at such a late hour, Mrs. Eliott. It’s just that…Rosencrantz missed your company,” he said with a sheepish smile. He knew the excuse was weak, but he had little else to offer. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear him whining at your door. He really is a tragic case.”