“On second thought,” he whispered, “perhaps we should have this discussion another time. Will you join me in the library for a nightcap after we've put the children to bed?”
Becky nodded her consent as the carriage pulled to a stop in the drive. Stephen disembarked first, taking Lydia with him, then helped Max and Becky down with his free hand. They walked quietly through the house to the children's bedchamber and delivered them, respectively, to their beds.
Stephen was about to leave the room, but found himself intrigued by the way Becky tended to the sleeping children. Carefully, she peeled Lydia out of her party dress and replaced it with a small white gown. After she tucked her securely into her bed and kissed the top of her head, she moved across the room to where Max lay atop his covers. She hoisted him to a sitting position and quickly divested him of everything but his breeches and then expertly threw a dressing gown over his head. Once snugly sound, she placed a kiss to Max's forehead and turned to exit the room.
“Oh!” she gasped as her hand flew to her heart. “You scared the devil out of me! I thought you'd left already.”
Stephen smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone handle those children with such care.”
She looked at the children, then back at him. “They deserve to be handled with care. They've been through a great deal.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” she echoed.
He sauntered closer to her. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Who is taking care of you?”
Becky's mouth fell open and she gave a nervous laugh. “I don't need to be taken care of, my lord. I do fine on my own.”
“Is that so?” he asked, thinking of the previous night. “Come with me.”
Stephen walked out of the room and waited for her to follow before gently closing the door. He led her through the house, their muted footsteps the only audible sound, to the library, where he ushered her inside. She had barely gained the sitting area when he slipped his hands around her waist. He pulled her close against him and nibbled playfully at the lobe of her ear.
The heady scent of her filled his senses. He wanted her so badly he could hardly stand it. She turned in his arms to face him, her expression expectant, wanting. But she did not offer her lips as before.
“You had something to ask me?” she pointed out, her voice choked with restraint.
“Yes.” He nodded as his hand plucked a stray daisy from her hair. “Let me take care of you.”
Twenty-One
Becky took a sharp breath, barely able to comprehend what she was hearing. Was it real? Was he really going to ask her to marry him? She forced her heart not to get ahead of herself.
“How?” she asked tentatively.
“I’ll give you whatever you want.” His voice was husky and urgent. “A house in the city, jewels, gowns, all the finery that money can buy. I will make certain that your every need and every want is provided for.”
Becky smiled. “I don’t need all that,” she said sweetly. “Especially not the house in the city.” She took a deep breath in preparation for her confession. “It’s only you that I want.”
“Then in Brighton, or wherever you wish. Just say yes.”
She blinked up at him, confused. “I wish to be here. With you and the children, of course.”
Stephen took her face in his hands and looked at her gravely. “If you agree to this, I will not be able to keep you here. I thought that would be understood.”
Disconcerted, Becky pushed away from him and walked to the other side of the settee, trying to understand what he was saying. “You’re not asking me to marry you, are you?”
“Marry you?” Stephen repeated, with far more shock in his voice than Becky had hoped for. “Oh, God, Becky, I never imagined you’d jump to such a conclusion.”
Becky studied him closely, keeping her features as impassive as she could. Inside, a part of her died of embarrassment, of disappointment, and of pure anger. But she wasn’t about to let that show. She still had her pride.
A mistress. That’s all he wanted her for.
With uncharacteristic iciness she finally replied, “And I never imagined you would jump to the conclusion that I wanted to be your mistress.”
He looked up at her, his blue eyes dark and troubled, but said nothing.
“Is that how you think of me?” she asked quietly.
“Becky—”
“No, you’re right. What was I thinking? Of course you would never marry me! I’m a maid turned governess, parading about as if I’m someone important. As if I’m worthy of being loved by someone important. As if I’m worthy of being loved at all. What could I possibly have been thinking?”
“Becky—”
“No!” she yelled. “Don’t you dare say anything.”
“I have a right to say whatever I please!” Stephen yelled back.
She waited in silence for him to continue, her gaze challenging. He raked his fingers through his tousled, dark hair and released a long breath before meeting her eyes.
“What, pray tell,” he began acidly, “is so bloody wrong with being my mistress? You would never want for anything, Becky. You could live in luxury, never work again a day in your life. I offer you the moon and you throw it back in my face?”
The moon indeed. What she wouldn’t give to tell him everything, right then and there. The sordid details of her aristocratic upbringing. That she’d left what most considered the lap of luxury at the tender age of fifteen to scrub chamberpots. She couldn’t, of course. But she had left the bosom of the Wetherby family to serve in this household. Comparatively, that had been the moon. “I had the moon!” she cried at last. “I left a life of luxury to come here because I wanted to! For the past year I’ve been living as a companion, with no real responsibilities to speak of, other than to be a friend. I had my own chambers with silk linens and hand-crafted furniture. I had my own lady’s maid for heaven’s sake! I didn’t have to come here; I chose to come here. I don’t give a fig about any of those things, but I do care about those children. And until tonight, I thought I cared about you!”
Stephen listened to her, feeling more like a cad with every word she said. How could he have been so foolish? He knew where she came from, what she had left behind, yet for some reason he thought she might be happy to receive such a life from him. To be with him. To be his mistress.
“And you no longer care for me?” he asked with rancor. “Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that!” Becky started for the door.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Stephen caught her by the arm. He couldn’t let her leave. Not like this. “We’re not finished here.”
“Let go.”
“We’re going to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about!” Fire flashed in her emerald eyes.
“There most certainly is.” He pulled her to the sofa and swung her down with more force than intended.
Becky glared at him for a moment before attempting her escape. He pushed her back down with his most threatening stare—the one that made even grown men cower.
But not Becky.
“So?” she asked, her tone cheeky.
He said nothing, only stared at her, his jaw set in frustration.
“You see, my lord, there is nothing to say. I will not be your mistress and you will not be my husband. It seems we have come to a standstill.”
“I don’t do standstills, Becky. There is only win or lose.”
“In that case, it appears we both lose, doesn’t it?”
“I never lose!” he roared. Lord, but this woman was infuriating.
Despite what he thought to be an intimidating posture, Becky stood her ground and met his eyes full on. “Then perhaps you should sometime. Maybe then you won’t act like a spoiled brat.”
“Pray, oh, wise one,” he seethed, “how exactly am I acting like a spoiled brat?”
“By thinking you can always have your wa
y. By thinking you can simply buy me with clothes and jewels and a house! Is that the only way you know how to win someone? By bribing them? Well, I guarantee you I cannot be bought. I cannot be bribed. And I will not be your mistress! Now, may I please go to bed?”
When he did not speak right away, Becky tried once again to go. Stephen pushed her down yet again.
“Stop that!”
“You have said your piece and now it’s my turn.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Well, you’re going to hear me out!”
“You may speak but that does not mean that I have to listen.”
“Why are you so damned difficult?”
“Perhaps you should seek out a more willing partner, my lord.” Her tone oozed with a sarcasm that grated on Stephen’s every nerve.
“I don’t want a more willing partner. I want you. Although I can’t bloody well understand why.”
“Well, you can’t have me! Especially if you can’t figure out why it is you want me in the first place!”
They both fell silent. Stephen fumed, vexed by Becky’s coldness, angry at himself for ever entertaining the idea of taking her as his mistress. Really, what had he been thinking? No matter how much he wanted her, he had known from the start it was a bad idea to even broach the subject. She was far too proud to ever accept such an offer. Besides, what the devil would her friends say if she took up such a position? She would never see her beloved Lady Eastleigh again.
He looked at her from his perch against the mantel. She was no longer looking at him, her gaze on the floor, her mouth pulled to a straight line to keep from crying.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked quietly.
She looked up, the question in her tear-filled eyes.
“When you said that you no longer care for me?”
Stephen held her gaze, trying to read what was behind her eyes. But whatever she may have been feeling, she kept hidden behind a veil of impassivity.
“May I please go now?” she whispered.
“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Answer the question.”
Becky shook her head slowly as a single tear slipped from her closed eyes. “Please, just let me go.”
“I can’t make you my wife, Becky,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
After a moment, she nodded to indicate she understood and then left the room, not bothering to look back at him.
***
Minutes later, safely in her room, Becky began to weigh her options. On one hand, she could stay where she was, continue to care for the children, try to forget that the whole mess ever happened.
And be forced to see Lord Hastings on a near daily basis.
On the other hand, she could leave for Ravenscroft Castle in three days time with Phoebe and Benjamin, and move on with her life. They would certainly take her back and she could embark on the husband hunt Phoebe had been so desperate for her to begin before she came here.
Neither option seemed all that appealing at the moment. She almost wished she could run away to some far-off place and disappear. A place where no one knew her or where she came from or what her profession was. Or even better, a place where they didn’t care.
London was certainly not that place and evidently the country offered no respite from such scrutiny either. She would simply have to face her life, face the truth, and make a decision, no matter how difficult.
Her mind drifted back to Stephen, to the fair. Was that really only an hour ago? Everything had seemed so perfect. She should have known it was all far too good to possibly be true.
And she certainly should have known that he was not offering marriage when he had spoken of taking care of her. How could she have been so daft? She had foolishly allowed herself to dream, allowed her mind and her heart to wander happily down the aisle to a nonexistent altar.
She snuggled herself under her covers and allowed all her thoughts to drift into oblivion while tears dripped onto her pillow. Tomorrow she would decide where she belonged.
***
The children slept late the following morning, still recovering from their day at the fair. Becky took the opportunity to find Phoebe, though she had still not decided if she would tell her of Lord Hastings’ offer. It would certainly upset her and if she knew Phoebe, she would not allow her a choice in the matter of whether to stay at Hastings House or not. Becky would surely be in a carriage headed for Ravenscroft Castle within hours of relaying the story.
But maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe not having a choice would be better than having to make one on her own.
Blast the man for making her life so difficult!
She pasted on her brightest smile and waltzed into the breakfast room. Phoebe was there, her face practically buried in her towering plate. “Good morning!”
“You’re awfully chipper this morning.” Phoebe smiled as she looked up to greet her. “I wish I could say the same for myself.”
“Oh, was Charlotte fussy last night?”
“That would be one way of putting it.”
Becky sat down at the table, her plate sparse with a single egg and slice of toast. She noticed that Phoebe did look exhausted, as if she’d been up the entire night. This would not be a good time to lay her burden at the feet of her friend.
“Perhaps you should go back to bed.”
Phoebe sighed and shoved another bite of bacon into her mouth. “I’ll be all right. Besides, it’s almost time for another feeding. How was the rest of your evening? Did you and Lord Hastings get home all right with the children?”
“Mmm hmmm,” Becky said as she bit into her toast.
Phoebe looked at her curiously. “Did something happen, Becky?”
Becky’s eyes narrowed with falsified bemusement. “Happen? What on earth would give you the impression that something happened?”
“I don’t know.” Phoebe shook her head. “You just seem...different. On edge, perhaps. You’re not still worried about Shaw, are you? I’m sure he’s long gone by now, dearest.”
Becky cursed inwardly but kept her face aloof. “No, no. I’m fine. Shall we wake the children and take a turn about the gardens?”
“Not until you answer me honestly.”
Becky chewed on a bit of egg for longer than was necessary. She hadn’t planned to tell Phoebe this way, but she had her cornered. She would have to say something. “I want to come home.”
Phoebe’s mouth dropped. “What? But...are you sure?”
Becky nodded, averting her eyes so Phoebe couldn’t see the tears that welled in them.
“Becky,” Phoebe said, her voice low and serious. “You know you are always welcome at Ravenscroft Castle, but are you sure that’s what you want? You seemed so happy last night with the children and...”
“Please, Phoebe,” Becky said, struggling to keep her tone even. “Don’t lecture me now. Just say that I may go home with you.”
Phoebe reached across the table and took Becky’s hand in hers. “Of course you can. When do you plan to tell his lordship?”
The idea of telling Stephen she was leaving left her feeling sick to her stomach and even sicker still to think of telling the children. What would they think of her? What would they think of themselves if she abandoned them?
No matter. Her decision was made—she would leave with Phoebe and Benjamin and say goodbye to her life at Hastings House.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “This afternoon, I suppose, when he returns. I’d better go and wake the children. It’s getting late.”
Becky teetered on the brink of discomposure while she dressed and fed the children. How could she possibly think of leaving them? They had suffered abandonment on so many levels and now she was thinking of putting them through it again.
She shook her head. She could not allow this debacle with their uncle to drive her away from them. She would simply have to learn to live in the same house. It would not be easy. Just looking at him made her breath come quicker, made her heart con
strict in her chest, made her feel as if she were falling into a deep, black pit from whence she could never return.
Or perhaps she had already fallen. And now she would spend years in that home trying to climb back out, trying to forget a man who lived just on the other side of the house from her, but she would do it. She would do it for the children. And she would do it for herself.
But what if she couldn’t? What if it became too much to bear? Did she really want to waste good years of her life pining for a man she couldn’t have?
And what if he married? What if he fell in love with another woman and brought her here and they were all forced to live together like one big, happy—
No. Her mind was made up. She would not subject herself to such a cruel circumstance. She would leave Hastings House and she would never look back.
Twenty-Two
Stephen decided to leave his guests to their own devices the next day. After last night’s argument with Becky, he was in no mood to socialize. Not only had the argument itself taken its toll on him, but he’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out why he was such a blasted idiot.
Stephen sat alone in his study now, his mind in utter turmoil, still trying to come to terms with the gravity of the situation. If he didn’t fix it, she would surely leave. The Wetherbys would depart the next morning, which meant he had less than twenty-four hours to do something to convince her to stay.
But, what?
His fingers curled slowly into a ball and he almost wished Shaw was still in residence. He was in the mood for a fight, but he couldn’t very well go around punching the daylights out of his guests. That man, however, deserved to be pummeled into the ground. Stephen vowed that if he ever laid eyes on the man again, he would—
A knock came at his door.
“Enter,” he called out, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
The door opened to reveal Lord Eastleigh, a balloon of brandy clutched in each hand. “May I?”
More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance) Page 14