“Good,” he huffed. “Because I never intended to.”
***
That same evening, after they put the children to bed, they sat alone in the library, Becky reading aloud from a book of poetry while Stephen nursed a tumbler full of brandy. The fire in the hearth was warm, but it was no match for the warmth Becky felt in her heart.
Lying there, in the arms of her husband, her very own viscount, seemed like a dream. A very vivid and pleasant dream from which she hoped she would never wake. And the nightmare that was David Shaw was just that, a nightmare. It seemed that letter arrived so long ago that truly, Becky had hardly given it another thought since that day.
She shook off the brief thought of her threatening cousin and shifted in Stephen’s arms, one of which stretched over the back of the sofa. She nuzzled closer to his chest, fitting herself more snuggly beneath the pit of his arm.
Stephen took the opportunity to turn her face towards his so he could place a loving kiss to her pink lips. Becky smiled slowly up at him, reveling in the taste of the brandy on his mouth.
“Come away with me?” he asked, although Becky had the feeling it was not really a question.
“Come away?” she repeated. “To where?”
“Where would you like to go?”
Becky thought for a moment, somewhat confused by the question. “Well,” she began slowly, “perhaps we could take the children for a visit to Ravenscroft Castle.”
“Perhaps,” Stephen replied, his tone nonchalant. “But I was thinking more of an extended trip. Just the two of us.”
Becky sat up to better look at her husband. “Just the two of us? What will the children do while we’re gone?”
“Don’t worry, darling, arrangements can be made. I just need to know where it is you would like to travel.”
“Anywhere?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder now.
Stephen smiled at her enthusiasm. “Within reason. We don’t want to spend months trying to get there. Perhaps somewhere on the continent.”
Becky’s initial thought was Paris. She’d always wanted to go and she was fluent in French, but she wondered how Stephen would react to the suggestion. He had fought against the French and up until recently had struggled greatly with the war’s outcome in his personal life. She did not wish to bring up old wounds so soon into their marriage.
“I don’t know. Where would you like to go?”
“How about Italy?” He smiled as he brushed a lock of hair off her face.
“Italy,” Becky whispered as if trying on the name for size. “Yes, Italy would be wonderful!”
And so it was set. They would leave in three weeks time and spend an entire month in Italy. Becky was beside herself with joy. She had never been anywhere outside of England, never imagined she would have the opportunity to travel beyond its borders.
“But, really, darling,” Becky said after having discussed their plans. “Who is going to look after the children?”
“Perhaps we could still send them to Ravenscroft Castle for the month. Would that please my lady?”
Becky smiled. She loved being called my lady, especially when Stephen said it with that blatant inference of possession. “Absolutely, my lord,” she said before planting a kiss to his cheek.
She pressed closer to him, silently demanding he hold her. They stayed that way until Stephen felt his wife’s weight become heavy in his arms and then he carried her upstairs to their bedchamber.
He laid her down on the soft burgundy bed covers and began to undress her. She moaned sleepily as he released the clasps of her dress—a moan that had his cock springing to life yet again. He tried to suppress his urges as he continued to disrobe her, but with every inch of skin he revealed, he became harder and his need more dire.
By the time he had stripped her to all but her thin, ivory chemise, his blood was roiling, his skin fevered with lust. Every time he looked at her, beheld her fair glory, he was transfixed. Mesmerized. Utterly besotted.
Stephen removed his own clothing, which was already down to the bare minimum, moved to the side of the bed and stood over his slumbering bride.
Not for long, he thought as he pulled the last vestiges of her clothing from her perfect shape. All pink, delicate curves, she was the most astonishing sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Even a week into their marriage, and God knew how many love-makings later, he still found himself enraptured by the sight of her.
She moaned some more as he rolled her onto her stomach and placed a pillow underneath her so that her perfectly rounded bottom swelled into the air.
“Stephen?” she said groggily, not at all certain of what was happening, but too sleepy and far too curious to do anything about it.
“Shhh,” he hushed her with tender kisses to her back. “Let me take care of you.”
Positioning himself between her parted thighs, he lowered his body slowly over hers, nudging gently at her opening. Her moans became sultry giggles as he reached down with his fingers to touch her, to awaken her.
She was far more awake than she was letting on, at least her impulses were, and Stephen grew more and more excited at the prospect of being buried inside of her. He removed his fingers and quickly replaced them with his hard staff, plundering her, rejoicing in the warmth that surrounded him.
Becky came to life at the intrusion, mirroring his rhythm with her pleasured groans, rising up wantonly to meet him. He pumped her slowly, at times removing himself to tease her, other times, filling her to the hilt.
His strong arm reached around her stomach and pulled her back, off the bed, allowing deeper access while his hands roamed her taught belly. His fingers found their way to her breasts, heavy with the weight of his seduction.
It was then, when he clamped tight around her puckered nipples, that Becky began to splinter. The all-consuming pleasure surrounded him like a warm blanket, wrapped her in desire, as he held her in suspended ecstasy.
Stephen whispered against her neck, and kissed her fevered skin, but he did not stop. Inexorably, he continued to pleasure her, taking her to the edge, only to bring her back again. Holding her back when she was near her end, prolonging her rapture, relishing their indulgence.
Only when he sensed that she was near delirium did he allow his own reins to slip. And when she clenched around him, throbbing and pulsing, drawing him deeper into her, he followed her. With a guttural cry, she found her release and Stephen let go, filling her, bellowing her name in sweet surrender.
Twenty-Five
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Stephen snuck up behind Becky while she watched the children trot around the stable ring on a pair of reddish-brown ponies.
She smiled blissfully as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Not that I can recall,” she replied as her insides flip-flopped with delight.
“Well, then, by all means, allow me to tell you that you are the most exquisitely beautiful woman that I have ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon.”
Stephen bent to kiss her shoulder and she recoiled with a giggle. “Not in front of the children!”
“They’re not paying attention.”
“Darling, don’t you ever get enough?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.
She couldn’t get enough of him, either.
“No.” The one simple word held a world of meaning.
“They’re doing well, aren’t they?” Becky changed the subject, trying to refocus their attention on the children in the ring.
“Very well. Saunders is an excellent teacher.”
The older man in the ring led the tether on Lydia’s horse, guiding her around the circle while keeping a close watch on Max, who was developing into a canter. They had been taking lessons for a couple of weeks now and both children seemed to love the animals as well as the exercise.
Becky turned to look into the crystalline blue eyes of her husband. They glistened with love...and, of course, hunger. “What are you doing here, anyhow? I thought you were at the
brewery all day.”
“I thought I would have to be, but it appears all is in order and I can whisk you away without another thought.”
They were two days away from their departure for Italy. Lord Eastleigh and Phoebe would arrive the next day to retrieve the children and take them back to Ravenscroft Castle—a prospect they were more than thrilled about—and Stephen and Becky would depart on Saturday.
“Uncle, look at me!” Lydia cried from atop her small horse that she had insisted upon calling Clarabelle, despite the fact that it was male.
“I see you, darling! You look magnificent!” Stephen regarded his niece with glowing approval.
How could he not? She was such a beautiful child, her fair curls tucked beneath a blue bonnet that matched her miniature, blue riding habit. He wondered how he could have been so indifferent to her all those years that she’d been in his care.
“She is destined to break hearts, is she not?” he mused on the subject of his niece.
“She?” Becky retorted with a snort. “What about that nephew of ours?”
Stephen shifted his gaze to the little man cantering about the ring. Despite his childlike features, he looked so like his father—sandy blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a stunningly-set jaw. Becky was right; he too would leave many an enamored lady in his distinguished wake.
“It would appear that we have our work cut out for us in the coming years.” He smiled down at his bride, resplendent in a moss green day dress, and planted a fleeting kiss to her lips. “I need to make sure all is in order here before we leave. I’m off to meet with Mrs. Brown and Bentley.”
“Shouldn’t I do that?”
“No, no, I’ve got it under control.”
“All right,” Becky sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”
“Do feel free to drop by my study if the urge overcomes you.”
Becky’s smile widened until it nearly touched both ears. She laughed and playfully shoved him in the direction of the manor. “You will stop at nothing, will you?”
“Never!” he yelled back with one last glance at his beautiful wife in the sunlight.
As he stepped into the house, his heart felt light, his head even lighter. She had that effect on him. The ability to make him feel like a smitten schoolboy, drunk on calf love. He still had a smile on his face when Mrs. Brown and Bentley entered his study ten minutes later, both looking somewhat disheveled and antsy.
“Ah, there you are,” Stephen said as they walked through the door. “I just wanted to make sure that all is in order before we leave. Any last minute things I need to attend to?”
Bentley spoke first, his voice drab and even as always. “Not that I can think of, my lord. Most of the staff will be departing soon to visit family. Mrs. Brown, myself and a few of the stable hands will stay on to see to the continued upkeep of the estate.”
“Excellent. Mrs. Brown?”
“All is in order, my lord. We shall miss you in your absence...both of you. And, of course, the children. Is it really necessary for them to go all the way to Kent, my lord? I am perfectly capable of caring for the darlings myself.”
“Your capabilities were never in question, Mrs. Brown,” Stephen said smoothly. “But the children have rarely been outside of Rye. We think this a fine opportunity to broaden their horizons.”
“We?” Mrs. Brown asked, her plump features set into a confused frown.
“Yes, we. As in, the viscountess and I.” He wondered if she might be losing her marbles.
“Ah, yes, of course. The viscountess.”
She said the last with a hint of...what was it? Disdain? Derision? Either way, he wasn’t sure he liked it. Or perhaps Mrs. Brown was simply having a bad day and meant no real offense. He shrugged it off and turned to Bentley, who had not-so-subtly cleared his throat.
“If there is nothing else, my lord.” The butler looked at him with his usual blank expression, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. He clearly had a great deal of work to see to.
“Oh, of course, Bentley. You may take your leave. You too, Mrs. Brown.”
The portly housekeeper gave a shallow curtsey and turned to follow Bentley from the room, but stopped on a wistful gasp as she retrieved something from her pocket.
“I almost forgot, my lord,” she said, circling back to his desk. “This came for you just a bit ago...from London.”
Stephen reached out and took the missive from her chubby fingers, choosing to ignore the fact that she’d not brought it to him at once when the post arrived. Once the door firmly shut behind her, Stephen opened the letter and read.
With a foul expletive, he rose from his chair and set off to alert Bentley to the minor change in plans, after which he would alert his wife.
He found her in the nursery with the children, sitting next to Max, both their heads bent over a book of Latin. Lydia sat at her own little desk, struggling to work out her arithmetic. All three of them looked up to greet him.
“Darling?” Becky raised her brows, clearly curious as to his sudden appearance in the nursery. It was not a place he frequented.
“Yes, eh...perhaps we should step into the corridor so the children can get on with their studies.” Stephen stepped to the side to allow Becky through the door, then followed into the hall after her.
“What is it?” she asked, subtle concern turning more blatant.
“There is no need to worry, darling, there’s just been a slight change in plans.”
“Change?”
“I’ve received word from London—there’s trouble at one of the pubs. Something to do with stolen kegs or some such nonsense. Either way, they are expecting me, but I promise I’ll be back for you in two days time.”
“Should I come with you?” she asked, but he could tell she wasn’t keen on the idea. Perhaps she didn’t care for London, which suited him just fine.
“Someone has to be here to see the children off tomorrow. Besides, I have to leave right away.” He looked into the resigned, green eyes of his darling wife. He hated to leave her. Hated the thought of spending even one night away from her, but alas, duty called. “I’m sorry, my love, but I’ll see you in two short days.”
“I know.” She sighed, allowing him to draw her into his arms. “I’ll miss you.”
“Not nearly as much as I will miss you, my darling girl.”
He smiled, enjoying the quiet moment, the pleasing smell of the perfume he’d bought her as a wedding gift.
“Come in and say goodbye to the children,” she said at last, pulling from his embrace.
He followed her into the nursery and said his goodbyes, assuring the children he would miss them immensely while they were abroad and to be on their best behavior for Lord and Lady Eastleigh.
“We will,” they replied in tandem and then launched themselves into his embrace.
He kissed both their heads and then kissed Becky before making his departure. He was eager to solve whatever this mess was as swiftly as possible.
***
Night had fallen by the time Stephen reached London and it was nearly midnight before he finally collapsed into the large bed in his Marylebone townhouse. The house had gone unused for quite some time, kept alive by a skeleton staff who, in the absence of any master, had very little to tend to. Stephen only occasionally made an appearance in London and even then, tried to remain scarce. As an eligible viscount, he had been keen to avoid the mamas and their daughters, and the less reputable women who preyed on wealthy men.
Now, as a married man, he simply had no desire to go out. No desire to mingle with the ton or participate in their featherbrained activities. All he wanted was to see to his business and get back to his bride as soon as possible.
He was up before the crack of dawn the next morning, a man on a mission, and his carriage was rattling to the West End even before the fishmongers had put out their wares.
There was no one at The Lamb yet, which was no surprise to Stephen. The pub rarely opened before eleven,
but he figured if there were a problem, he’d be able to figure it out on his own. The letter had indicated stolen kegs, so Stephen set to counting his inventory, matching it against the ledger books that both he and the pub manager kept.
A half hour later, Stephen stood in the middle of the stock room, scratching his head. Nothing was wrong. Nothing out of order. Nothing missing from what he could tell.
Perhaps he had misread.
He reached for the missive in the left pocket of his waistcoat only to discover it wasn’t there.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I must have left it behind.”
Mentally retracing his steps, he concluded that he had indeed left it atop the bureau in his bedchamber.
“Back to Marylebone,” he called to the driver before climbing into his carriage once again.
As they clambered over the cobblestones, slowing periodically thanks to morning traffic, Stephen wracked his brain to try and remember what exactly the letter had said. He was certain he’d not mistaken the pub—it had come from The Lamb, from the manager, directly. And the gist had been that barrels were missing from the stock room.
What was there to misinterpret?
When the gig finally pulled up to Number 10 Beaumont Street, Stephen’s head was spinning with confusion. After notifying the driver that he would only be a minute, he darted into the townhouse and up the stairs to where he knew the letter would be.
Once in his hands, he opened it and read it over. Twice.
“What the devil?”
He looked at his pocket watch. Only nine o’clock. It would be some time before Matthews arrived at the pub; he would just have to bide his time.
Emerging once again from his townhouse into the bright morning sun, he looked this way and that, trying to decide how he would spend his morning. He could always go to the club and have breakfast, but that would probably mean socializing—something he was not inclined to do just then.
A ride through the park could be nice, but he wasn’t feeling particularly sporty that morning.
More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance) Page 17