“I’m – ahem – I’m fine, thank you.”
As conversation resumed, Andrew and Michael both fixed her with quizzical stares. “What was that all about?”
She did not have time to answer—not that she would answer truthfully, anyhow—for Mr. Shaw sat down at the only empty seat left at the table, directly across from her.
Becky stared at the dessert before her, wondering how on earth she would escape this disaster. What had started out a perfectly joyous and exhilarating day quickly became her worst nightmare. She was sure Stephen was going to reprimand her for relaying that horrible song to Phoebe. He was scowling at her from his position at the head of the table, looking as if he was ready to give her a tongue-lashing. But that was hardly her greatest worry at the moment. If Shaw succeeded in placing her, which she was certain he would eventually, it wouldn’t matter whether or not she had an income.
“Miss Thorn, may I ask if we’ve met before?”
No, you may not! “Not that I can recall, Mr...Shaw, was it?”
He gave her a nod and a curious half smile, before turning back to his plate.
Becky blew out the breath she’d been holding as quietly as she could. But she didn’t dare say another word. She was afraid that if she did, it might help him figure out what he was clearly, and so desperately, trying to figure out.
She turned her attention back to her dessert, trying to keep her racing heart from leaping out of her throat.
She dared a glance at Stephen. He was still staring, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. When she met his eyes, so dark and probing, her mouth went dry. Goodness, what that man did to her. And then he turned away and whispered something to Phoebe. Something she prayed would get her out of Shaw’s company soon.
***
Stephen watched the odd interaction going on at the end of the table so intently that he could no longer concentrate on his own conversation. There was something bizarre in the way Mr. Shaw spoke to Miss Thorn. Even from his removed position, he could see there was something odd about the way he addressed her. And even more bizarre was the way she reacted to him—never making eye contact, playing with the lamb cutlet rather than eating it. Clearly, she was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like Shaw to make others squirm—he was always polite and even-tempered. But she had choked on her wine, for God’s sake, at the mention of his name. There was something going on, and Stephen felt compelled to get to the bottom of it.
But he would save his questions for later. In private.
Stephen drifted in and out of the conversations around him, but his mind continued to wander back to Becky, their afternoon together and the man she was now engaged in conversation with.
Had he been a lover? That would explain their awkwardness. But she claimed innocence. Had she been telling the truth earlier? Was she truly an innocent or just trying to hide something?
“Hastings?”
Damn! Had the marquess asked him a question? “Forgive me, Eastleigh, I suppose I was woolgathering.”
“Not to worry, I was simply inquiring about the deer on your land.”
Stephen was distracted once again when Shaw leaned in to say something else to Becky. “Eh...deer...yes, I have many.”
“Really? How many do you suppose you have?”
Stephen squinted his eyes, trying to read Becky’s reply. “Yes, that is correct,” he answered absently.
“And kittens...are there many of those about?”
“Mmmhmm, that’s right.”
“They make a fine meal, do they not?”
“Fine, yes.”
“Then we are to eat cat tomorrow evening?”
“Yes—No! What?” Stephen snapped quickly back to the marquess who laughed heartily at him. “I’m sorry, Eastleigh, I guess I’m somewhere else this evening.” He leaned in to whisper, “What do you think is going on down there?”
Eastleigh looked down the table at Miss Thorn and Mr. Shaw. “I’m sure I don’t know, but I can almost guarantee my wife will within the hour.”
“Yes, but don’t you think Miss Thorn looks rather uncomfortable?”
“Really, Hastings, Becky is a smart girl. I’m sure she can handle herself with the likes of Mr. Shaw.”
“You didn’t think so highly of her a few weeks ago when you barged into my home at one in the morning.”
“Touché,” Eastleigh rejoined.
Idle conversation ensued as they partook of a flamboyant dessert dish, but Stephen could not enjoy the sweet confection.
It was the sweet confection in blue at the far end of the table that had his undivided attention.
Sixteen
Shaw opened his mouth, probably to ask another question about their association, but he was interrupted when Stephen cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen.” He stood from his chair and addressed the men. “Cigars and port are here for our enjoyment. Lady Eastleigh, I have had the upstairs salon prepared for you and Miss Thorn to enjoy tea.”
Relief flooded Becky. She'd never been so thrilled to be done with a meal. With any luck, she would be able to avoid Mr. Shaw the rest of the week.
Everyone stood from the table and Becky swiftly made her way to Phoebe’s side, trying to keep calm so as not to alert anyone to her distressing problem. She wouldn’t be able to share it with them, anyhow; there was no use causing alarm. They were about to walk out the door when Lord Hastings called out her name.
She turned to find him directly behind her, his masculine scent teasing her nose, reminding her once again of their intimate afternoon, causing her breath to come in shallow spurts.
“Might I have a word, Miss Thorn?” he asked casually.
She nodded and followed him to the library down the hall. Becky was uneasy being alone with him. She was no longer sure how to act after all that had happened, so she remained as impassive as she could, choosing not to speak until spoken to.
“Is everything all right, Miss Thorn?” Stephen eyed her with curiosity.
“What do you mean?” She eyed him back. Did he sense something was amiss?
“Is there something you would like to tell me about Mr. Shaw?”
Becky’s stomach plummeted. How did he know? “I...don’t think so,” she replied carefully.
“Miss Thorn, I would never deign to call you a liar, but I do believe you are not telling the whole truth.” His gaze became far more intense and he inched closer to Becky, his imposing form intimidating, but not enough to make her tell her long-buried secret. She had no clue as to what the implications would be if it were ever revealed, so she vowed silently to take it to her grave.
Stephen walked to her and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “There’s something you’re keeping from me, Becky, and I’m determined to find out what. But for now, I’ll let it go. You shouldn’t keep the marchioness waiting.”
She looked up, her eyes wide. “You mean, you’re not angry?”
He withdrew his hand as if he suddenly realized he ought not be touching her. “Angry? Why on earth would I be angry?”
Becky hesitated. He hadn’t mentioned it, so perhaps she was foolish for bringing it up. But now he stood there waiting for her to go on. “The song?”
He chuckled. “As long as you don’t teach it to the children, I don’t give a damn what you sing.”
Becky closed her eyes, her spirit soothed. At least for now she would remain here, in his employ, under his roof. Perhaps under him.
“Now go,” he instructed, yanking her from her wayward thoughts, “before your friend becomes suspicious of us.”
Becky did as she was told, not daring to tell him that Lady Eastleigh was already more than aware that something untoward was happening at Hastings House.
***
Stephen looked about at his guests, wishing he could abandon them all and seek out Becky. He was losing the game of Whist in which he was currently engaged, mainly due to his obsession with the man to his left.
Shaw played the game as if it were the mo
st important thing he’d ever done. Stephen didn’t remember the man being quite so intense.
He thought back to their days at school together. Shaw had always been a competitive athlete, but not such a quick study when it came to academics. “I’m next in line for the earldom,” he’d always say, “why should I care about Greek philosophy?”
And that was how they’d become friends. Stephen had assisted him in getting through his exams, every term, for many years.
But Stephen knew very little of the man that Shaw had become since leaving school. Watching him now, he began to wonder. The way he’d watched Becky over dinner worried him. But then again, perhaps he was still reeling from the afternoon. He wasn’t jealous—that would be an utterly ridiculous waste of emotion—but he didn’t like to think of another man looking at her.
Damn! Was that jealousy?
Either way, Becky seemed rankled by his presence. That much was for certain.
Wanting to explore the matter further, Stephen said, “Shaw, you seemed to be acquainted with my governess, Miss Thorn.”
“Well, I thought I was. She looks awfully familiar to me, though I can’t seem to place her.” Shaw turned his attention back to his cards and then threw one down. “You say she is your governess?”
“She is,” Stephen confirmed. “However, she was in Lady Eastleigh’s employ before that.”
Shaw turned his gaze from his cards to Lord Eastleigh, apparently still trying to place how he knew Becky. “Perhaps I’m too tired to put the pieces together this evening,” he said with a shake of his head. “I believe it is time for me to turn in, gentlemen. I’m sure you desire an early start in the morning, Hastings.”
Stephen nodded his head and bid the man goodnight, somewhat disappointed and at the same time, relieved. Did he want Shaw to figure out how he knew Becky? And did he truly even know her? How in the world would a gentleman, and future peer, have an acquaintance with a maid? Perhaps it was best he drag the information out of her first.
He stared at the deck of cards on the table between them, while Shaw and the others said their goodnights and, one by one, left the drawing room. The ladies would join them soon, he hoped.
His mind wandered back to Becky’s bed, to her plump breasts firm beneath his mouth. Her damp hair spread seductively over her pillows. The fine thatch of curls that guarded her dewy center.
He grew hard under the table at the mere thought of her. What he wouldn’t give to be able to dive deep inside of her, to ease his discomfort and show her the divine pleasures of intimacy.
Damn! What was wrong with him?
His thoughts were interrupted with the opening of the drawing room door and Lady Eastleigh glided through, her crimson gown billowing behind her. Stephen briefly took notice of how Lord Eastleigh regarded his wife with a mixture of lust and possession, of desire and love. The man was completely transfixed on the auburn-haired beauty who walked toward him.
Stephen, however, found his gaze fixed on the blonde angel who followed along behind the marchioness. Mesmerized by her fair charm, he stood and offered an awkward bow, desperate to conceal his throbbing erection. Her green eyes twinkled in the candlelight as she greeted him, and he realized that there was something more. A longing he had not seen before. It was as if she were trying to tell him something with a mere look.
Stephen read the message loud and clear. She wanted him. He knew it in the depths of his soul—she ached for him just as fervently as he ached for her. A niggling voice at the back of his mind told him this was foolhardy, that he needed to stop before things truly got out of hand, but he couldn’t. He had to have her in any capacity she would have him. He needed to know her in the most intimate of ways.
Both women sat down and Stephen dealt the cards, using the opportunity to study the way Becky’s breasts pushed up ever so slightly from the bodice of her gown. The silky, peach skin, so pure and soft. He longed to touch it, to caress every inch of her, to feel her hands on his bare skin. To lay naked with her until sunrise and keep her there, free of duty.
She would never agree to it, of course. She loved those children far too much to ever become his mistress.
But somehow he would have to find a way to convince her.
Seventeen
The following morning, Becky was permitted to sleep late—a prospect she’d been looking forward to ever since her friends’ visit had been confirmed. However, she found that, once again, sleep evaded her, and she was wide awake before the cock’s crow. Since no one would be up and about yet, she dressed and took herself off to the library. It would be quiet, and would give her a perfect view of the drive. That way, she’d be able to ascertain when all the gentlemen had left for the day. Then she could move freely about the house.
The thought of being a prisoner in the place she now called home was rather upsetting. Blast David Shaw for intruding upon her time with Phoebe, and on her sleep. But as long as he was in residence, Becky would have to make herself scarce.
She scurried through the house until she reached her destination, where she slipped through the library door and closed it firmly behind her. Then she picked a book from the shelves—a book she knew would go unread this morning—and took up her vigil in a large armchair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The book open in her lap, she stared at the first page, but did not see the words written there. It could have been upside down for all she knew, or cared. She had much bigger problems to solve this morning. Like how to keep her identity hidden from David Shaw. Her cousin.
Her betrothed.
“You’re up early.”
Becky nearly jumped from her skin at the sound of Stephen’s voice so close behind her. She slammed the book shut as her heart slammed against her chest, and she leapt from the chair.
“I-I didn’t hear you come in,” she stammered as she took two steps away from him, toward the window.
“My apologies,” he said, a hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “It was not my intent to frighten you. I saw you slip in here—” he gestured to the door, “—and thought I would...”
“Say good morning?” she provided.
“Yes. Well, good morning.”
Much to Becky’s great relief, he turned and began to stalk from the room. There were far too many things she needed to work out in her head before she had another conversation with her employer. She was about to sink back down into her chair when he came to an abrupt halt and turned back to her.
Blast it!
“Actually, Miss Thorn,” he said, pronouncing her proper name as if it tasted sour on his tongue, “that’s not all.”
“Oh?” she replied, keeping her eyes wide and innocent.
Her mouth went dry as he strode toward her again. His dark hair waved loosely over his scalp and his pale eyes seemed to peer right through her. Good Lord. The man didn’t need to rant and rave to cut an intimidating swath. He simply oozed with the stuff.
“Becky,” he began, his voice lower now, causing gooseflesh to skitter up her arms, “are you certain you don’t know Mr. Shaw?”
Becky swallowed. Was this a trick? Had Shaw figured it out and told Stephen the truth? Normally, she would choose honesty over saving her hide, but not now, not about this. She would play the innocent until she had no choice left. Heavens, she hoped it wouldn’t ever come to that.
“I am positive,” she replied, resisting the urge to cringe at her boldfaced lie.
“He seems rather intent on placing you, but if you’re certain...”
“I am!” She knew her protestation was far louder than it should have been, so she quieted a bit and said in what she hoped was a breezy tone, “I must simply have one of those faces.”
Stephen gave a little snort. “You most certainly do not have one of those faces, Becky. But we shall leave it at that...for now.”
Becky’s heart sped again at both his subtle compliment and his promise—or perhaps she should consider it a threat. Clearly, he didn’t believe s
he was telling the whole truth, blast him.
He turned to go again, but didn’t get nearly as far this time before he turned back. His feet were purposeful and quick as he made his way back to her side, but he didn’t stop when he’d reached the acceptable distance of the two solid feet that had stood between them before. This time, he practically barreled into her, grabbing her ‘round the waist with one arm and cupping the back of her head with the other.
His lips landed on hers, taking her by surprise. But nonetheless, she opened for him. Welcomed the slide of his tongue, the taste of coffee and cinnamon, the feel of his hard body pressed against hers.
Whatever anxiety she’d been harboring in regards to David Shaw slipped away until there was only Stephen. Only her and Stephen, and no one else.
He pulled back slowly from the kiss, teasing with little pecks as he did. But once they’d separated and he’d righted her, he turned quickly on his heel and this time left the room for good, without a single word.
***
Becky tried to beg off dinner that evening. She didn’t want to give Shaw another opportunity to try to figure out who she was. But by the time the fifth servant—in just as few minutes—knocked on her door requesting her presence in the drawing room, she’d had enough.
“Fine,” she sighed, shaking her head at Jenny, the pudgy-faced maid. “Please tell his lordship I will be down presently.”
Becky shut the door and leaned against it, wondering how she would get through an entire week of dinners, and who knew what else, with Shaw. But Stephen wasn’t going to let her be tonight, that much was obvious, so she donned an appropriate dinner gown and made her way to the drawing room.
Phoebe’s face lit when Becky walked through the doors and she ran immediately to her side. “I thought you might be ill,” she said, taking her hand and leading her back to the small sofa. “What took you so long?”
More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance) Page 11