Thankfully, Becky was able to evade the question as Lord Eastleigh and his brothers greeted them. And only moments later did the dinner bell chime.
That was when Becky realized, with a great sigh of relief, that Shaw was nowhere to be found. She caught Stephen’s eye as they processed to the dining room and felt her skin flush with the look she saw there. Clearly he meant to remind her of the kiss they’d shared that morning. Not that he needed to. She’d spent most of the day thinking about that kiss. More than the scandalous night she’d spent in his room or the even more scandalous afternoon he’d spent in hers, that kiss lingered and warmed her from the inside out.
It had been impulsive and possessive, as if he’d wanted—no, needed—to lay his claim to her before he went about his day.
A smile tugged the corners of her lips up as her belly fluttered beneath her dark green gown.
“Becky?” Phoebe’s voice brought her back to the present with an embarrassing rush of heat. “What were you smiling about?”
Oh, Lord. “Nothing! I’m just...glad you’re here,” she improvised, giving herself a virtual pat on the back for not having lied.
Phoebe seemed to like that answer and she gave Becky’s hand a squeeze before she left to take her place near Stephen, toward the head of the table. Becky took her own place beside the Lords Michael and Andrew, and nestled in for what would probably be the only dinner she’d attend the rest of the week. Surely Shaw wouldn’t have a headache tomorrow evening.
“He’s been asking a lot of questions about you, you know?” Michael said, just before he lifted his spoon to his mouth.
Becky’s heart stopped momentarily and then began to race. She knew to whom Michael referred, but that would be too telling if she let on. “He who?” she asked, feigning innocence again.
Andrew leaned forward and answered, “That Shaw fellow. Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in my life.” Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “But how was your afternoon?”
Not at all diffused by the sudden change of topic, the twins went on to describe the breweries they had visited and the lengthy process of beer making. The subject held little interest to Becky, or at least she thought it did. She could hardly say since she wasn’t paying attention in the least. She was too busy worrying about what would become of her if, God forbid, Shaw figured her out.
“I daresay that pheasant never did anything to deserve such treatment,” Andrew leaned in to whisper to her.
Becky looked down at her plate to see she had indeed made a massacre of her bird. “Oh, sorry,” she said, embarrassed she had been caught mid-mutilation.
“Are you apologizing to me or the pheasant?”
She rolled her eyes. “The pheasant, of course,” she retorted, glad for the distracting banter. “Will you two be joining us for the celebration in town tomorrow evening?”
“Mais oui, ma chere,” Michael replied in a ridiculous French accent. “We never miss an opportunity to flirt with fair country maidens.”
“I highly doubt your exploits will end at flirtation,” she shot back and then immediately regretted doing so. Certainly pointing out their depravity was neither proper dinner conversation nor ladylike in the least.
Even worse, they both stared back at her now, each with one eyebrow raised—how did they do that?—and amused smirks on their lips.
Once again, Becky was saved by the conclusion of the meal, and as they dispersed, she ran to Phoebe’s side, clinging to her like a bulwark. They settled in the drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed their port and cigars in the dining room.
It was quiet, a perfect opportunity to spend quality time with Phoebe. But her mind raced with thoughts of Shaw and Stephen, two subjects she could not share with her friend. And so she said the first inane thing that came to mind. “Did you have a nice nap this afternoon?”
Phoebe looked at her and smiled. “I did, thank you.”
“And Charlotte? Is she well?”
“She is.”
“Have you heard from Katherine? How is she faring with the twins?”
“I have and she says all is well.”
“Good...” Good Lord, this was ridiculous, but still she could think of nothing of interest to speak about. “And your mother?”
Phoebe gave her a sideways glance, her right eye squinting slightly. “What is the matter with you?” she asked.
“Whatever do you mean?” Becky replied, noting the annoying singsong of her voice. “I’m just inquiring as to the welfare of the people I love.”
“But we’ve already discussed those people, and I’ve learned nothing since this morning.” Phoebe turned on the bench to look at Becky straight on. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“Um, actually, you’re right. I’ve had a blasted headache all day.” She stood abruptly and kissed Phoebe on the cheek as she heard the men emerging from the dining room down the hall. “You’ll forgive me if I retire early, won’t you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, for if Stephen saw her, it would be much harder to slip away. And so, she ran from the room, seeking the refuge of her own dingy chamber.
The servants’ hallway was quiet, and the tension began to ease from her when she stole into her room and shut the door behind her. The moon assisted her in finding a match to light her candles and then she sunk onto the bed with a weary sigh.
“Something the matter, Miss Thorn?”
Eighteen
“Or should I say...Lady Isabella?”
Becky swung on her heel, her heart racing, not with anticipation, but with fear. Sheer terror.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady in spite of her unfortunate circumstance.
Shaw sauntered into the center of the room, drawing closer to her. Instinctively, she backed up and inched slightly to the right, determined not to let herself be trapped by her cousin. It was one thing to allow Lord Hastings to trap her in her room; it was another thing entirely to allow Shaw, especially when he wore such a demonic expression. One that reminded her chillingly of her father.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Cousin Izzy.” Becky twitched at the long-forgotten nickname as he continued to move closer. “Ever since this morning when I realized who you were.”
“I’m not who you think I am,” she said, her heart beating out of her chest. “Now leave my room.”
“Ah, it won’t be quite so easy to be rid of me, Izzy,” he drawled. “I’ve come to your room for a reason.”
“I don’t care why you’ve come. I just want you out.”
“Now that isn’t very hospitable of you, is it?”
“I’m not looking to entertain. Now. Get. Out.”
Shaw ignored her and continued to move closer, his face mere inches from her own now. “I’m here to claim what is rightfully mine. What I was promised from birth.”
Becky swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a simple governess...an orphan—”
He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to him, slamming her body hard against his. Becky gasped with the force, the terror in her belly building.
“Stop playing games, Izzy,” he said, his tone dangerously threatening as his fingers dug bruises into her flesh. “This has gone on long enough. And now that I know you’re not bloody dead, you’re coming home...with me.”
“This is my home, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Is that so?” Without warning, he pressed his lips hard against hers. She squirmed to loosen his grip, but it only made him squeeze harder. The panic mounting, she found herself desperately hoping Stephen had followed her. There was no getting out of this situation without help.
She felt the tears boil to her throat as his fingers slid lasciviously over her cheek, tracing the bone along her jaw. He pulled away from the rough kiss, jerking her head back hard in the process. His calculating gaze settled on her décolletage, an
d Becky’s skin crawled as he drank her in with perverse determination.
“You’re quite lovely, you know,” he whispered, causing a shiver of disgust to race up her spine. “It’s a shame you ran away when you did. So many years wasted that we could have been together.”
“Please leave me alone,” Becky whimpered, wishing she didn’t sound so blasted vulnerable.
“Not a chance in hell.” He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her chignon from its pins, wrapping the locks around his fist.
Becky winced with the pain, letting out a little cry of despair. She attempted to tug away, but he only tightened his grip, inflicting even more pain.
The menacing look in his eyes, as if he enjoyed every minute of her anguish, chilled her to the bone.
“Please let me go,” Becky cried again, her throat thick with the welling of tears.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Becky wasn’t about to relent, no matter what he threatened to do to her. He would do it if she admitted her identity or not. “My name is Becky Thorn. I’m an orphan and a governess—”
He tilted her head further back, halting her speech. Her focus now on the ceiling, she felt his other hand slip into the bodice of her dress. In the next instant, he ripped the green silk from her unbound chest, exposing her breasts to the air. She cried for him to stop as her hands flailed to cover herself; but in one swift movement, he released her hair and used his hand to bind her wrists together at her back.
His grip was firm, unrelenting. Becky tried to use the only resources left to her and brought her knee up to his groin in one quick gesture. He recoiled slightly, but the skirts of her dress were thick, padding the blow and causing little damage.
Shaw pressed Becky’s bare breasts to his chest and held her head close to whisper in her ear. “That was not a good idea, sweetheart.”
And with that, he threw her onto the bed and crushed her beneath his weight.
***
Stephen watched as Becky ran down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Like a magnet, he was drawn to her, and it took all his strength not to chase her down and find out why she was retiring early. But he had guests to tend to. He couldn’t very well leave them all to seek out his governess for an illicit rendezvous.
At least not yet.
Trying to focus his mind back on his guests, he continued to lead the men to the drawing room. Lady Eastleigh sat alone on the far side of the room, the space next to her having just been vacated by Becky, he assumed. Stephen wondered if perhaps they’d had a disagreement, but Lady Eastleigh showed no signs of distress. As a matter of fact, she wore a warm smile as she beckoned him to join her on the tufted bench.
Stephen made his way to the marchioness, hoping to ascertain information about Becky, of course. “Lady Eastleigh, I see you’ve been abandoned. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, it’s fine, Hastings, only...” She glanced about, perhaps to make sure Becky hadn’t come back, before continuing. “Have you noticed anything amiss with Miss Thorn?”
Stephen raised his brows. “Amiss? No, I don’t think so.” His heart raced as he remembered the kiss he’d given her that morning in the library. And the night she’d spent in his room. And the rainy afternoon he’d spent in hers. Damn, he must be blushing! “Why do you ask?”
“She’s been acting a bit...odd.” Lady Eastleigh shrugged and waved away whatever notion she’d been holding on to. “But it’s probably nothing.”
“Ahem...right. And where did my governess go off to this evening?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate to Lady Eastleigh as he did to himself.
“Headache, apparently.” And then her smile grew wider and her eyes sparkled with poorly veiled admiration. Clearly, Eastleigh approached.
Which provided a perfect escape. “Well, if you will excuse me, I...”
It was a good thing Lady Eastleigh wasn’t listening to him anymore, for Stephen had no good excuse for, well, excusing himself. With a nonchalance inherent in men of his station, he wandered to the sidebar and made a cursory check of the spirits. They were all full, of course, but short of announcing that he was going to use the chamberpot, it was the only thing he could think of that would facilitate his immediate departure.
He slipped out the door, unnoticed, and made for the servants’ staircase. He climbed the stairs and then paused at the landing to catch his breath, which was not short due to his pace, but rather due to the anticipation of being near Becky, being alone with her in her room. He feared he may not be able to keep his demons in check, but it was a risk he was willing to take.
Straightening his coat, he walked past the preceding doors, a hypothetical and inappropriate scene playing out in his head. One in which she invited him in and then gave herself to him, allowed him his way with her, and...
His thoughts were interrupted as he neared her door. Muffled sounds escaped through the wood, sounds that had Stephen’s bowels twisting into knots. At first, he wondered if she were talking to herself, but it soon became evident there was another person in the room with her.
Shaw. His heart lurched. Had she been lying to him? Did she know who he was? Irrational scenarios replaced the erotic ones in his head, all of them ending with him putting a fist through Shaw’s face.
Then he heard something. A cry, and not a pleasured one. A plea to be released. And then the voice of David Shaw penetrated the wood. Not wasting another moment, Stephen threw open the door.
Nineteen
A startled Shaw looked up from his position atop Becky, his face red with lust. Becky lay beneath him, her eyes closed, her breasts exposed, her pale face the picture of anguish.
Every muscle in Stephen’s body turned to stone.
“Get out.” His voice was a low growl. He'd never known such fury in all his life. Not even on the battlefield.
Shaw gave a lascivious glance over Becky’s exposed breasts and then moved off of her. Though Stephen’s eyes remained focused on the blackguard, he could see Becky curl herself into a little ball on the bed, and hear her weeping quietly.
Surprisingly, Shaw didn’t scramble to leave the room, but rather came face to face with Stephen. A grave mistake if ever there was one.
“You are no longer welcome in my home, Shaw.”
The man had the insolence to shrug. “Not much of a surprise there. But I think it’s time you know who this woman is.”
“I know exactly who she is. Now, get out.” Stephen’s patience was wearing thin and it would only be a matter of moments before the clenched fists at his side connected with Shaw’s face.
“Ah, you think you do,” he replied with a smirk. “But I’m fairly certain, despite the fact you’ve bedded her, that you have no idea who your governess truly is.”
Whether the man told the truth or not, Stephen certainly didn’t care to hear it from him. “I’m giving you one more chance to walk out of here without another word and get your bloody arse off my land.”
When Shaw opened his mouth to speak, Stephen didn’t hesitate. A fresh wave of indignant fury shot through him and before he knew it, his hands were locked about Shaw’s cravat, gathering it tightly in his fist. He threw him up against the doorjamb and brought his face within an inch of the bastard’s.
“If you’re not gone by the time I get back downstairs, I will personally throw you out,” he barked.
Despite the fact that Shaw was considerably smaller than Stephen, he did not cower. Rather, he shoved his chin into the air defiantly just before Stephen dropped him on his arse with a thud. Shaw looked up at him, glowering. Once again, he opened his mouth to speak, but Stephen wouldn’t allow it.
“Get out!” he yelled once more, stamping his foot at the man as if he were a rabid dog.
Shaw finally rose and retreated down the hall with one last irascible glare at Becky, and Stephen had to strain to keep his fists at his sides. He had a mind to tear the man limb from limb.
When Shaw was finally out of sight, Stephen turned back i
nto the room where Becky still lay, curled in a ball on the bed.
Bloody hell. What if he had not been there? What if he had simply gone on socializing with his guests?
It hit him in that moment just how much she meant to him and just how close he had come to losing her. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
He knelt down on the floor beside her and gently put a hand to her shoulder. She recoiled slightly before rolling over and allowing him to gather her into his arms. He joined her on the bed and they sat in silence. Stephen rocked and hushed her, trying to banish the fear that Shaw had so deftly instilled.
“Did he hurt you?” Stephen finally asked, once her tears had subsided.
“Not...in the worst sense of the word,” she replied, her breathing ragged. “A few bruises probably and a sore head from where...he pulled...”
She broke off as the tears began to flow once more. Stephen fought the urge to chase after Shaw, the urge to snap every bone in his body.
“It’s all right,” he whispered instead. “You’re safe now.”
“I know,” she cried in childlike tones. “It’s just that...”
“It’s just that what, sweetheart?”
Becky wiped her eyes and pulled away, as if she had something to say to him. But whatever it was, she couldn’t speak through the tears.
“Shh, shh, now.” Stephen pulled her close again, grateful that he’d arrived before Shaw could make any more progress.
As he held her, he looked around the tiny, inadequate chamber and came to a decision. “I will call for Mrs. Brown to help you with your things.
Becky’s head snapped up and her watery green eyes flashed with uncertainty. “W-where am I going?” she asked, and Stephen realized she’d taken the wrong impression from his statement.
He smiled as he assured her, “I’m moving you to a proper room, of course.”
“Oh.” Becky blinked and another tear spilled down her cheek. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t where you should be,” he said without further explanation as he brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I’ll have a room prepared.”
More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance) Page 12
