A Most Delicate Pursuit (13 page)

Sniffling, Bea nodded. “Please.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was seated at the dressing table, dressed, her hair tied up and looking a far sight better than she felt.

“How's that, my lady?”

Bea smiled. “You've a good hand. If I'm not careful, some savvy lady may steal you away from me.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I'm most happy with my employment here at Slyddon.”

“Of course.” Beatrice's stomach rumbled and she remembered it had been the previous morning since she'd had anything to eat. “I think I'll take a light breakfast in here. Then, perhaps go to the library,” she said, hopeful to avoid seeing Michael for the time being. She needed time to think.

“Um, I think the earl is meeting with a visitor in the library.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm so sorry. I should have told you earlier. I mean, I thought you knew…”

Not knowing why, Bea felt a sense of dread rise in her stomach. “Oh no, my fault. The earl might have said something and I'd forgotten. Probably one of the local gentry come to visit. Not to worry. I'll join him there in a bit.”

The girl bobbed her head and then left Bea alone. Watching her servant leave was something of a relief. While she'd loved visiting with her family and friends, more and more she was beginning to cherish her time alone. It allowed her to close her eyes and imagine the future she'd have once she was in charge of her own life.

Just then, there was a gentle tapping on the door.

“Yes?”

An older woman stepped into the room. Agnes was her name, Bea remembered from previous visits; she was the downstairs maid. “This note was just delivered. A young man came and said you must read it immediately.”

“Oh, did he wait for an answer?” Bea held her breath. With luck, it would be from her employer. It was all she could do to keep from tearing the envelope open right that very moment.

“No, my lady, he did not.”

Bea did her best to hide her disappointment. For a brief moment, she'd hoped that a carriage had arrived to take her to Portsmouth.

“Thank you,” she muttered. Best not to dwell on it. She waved Agnes off, and as soon as the woman was out of sight, she tore into the envelope.

Dearest Beatrice,

I am so happy that you have decided to accept the position of governess. Lord Ringsley is most anxious to have you oversee our children. We were told of your flight from London and that horrible man, Mr.Bainbridge. We will be most happy to send a coach for you as soon as it can be arranged. Unfortunately, our driver, Mr. Higgins, has fallen ill and we are acquiring a second driver. As a result, we won't be able to send a new carriage until Friday next. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but we will compensate you on the loss of income from the delay.

Sincerely,

Lady E. Ringsley

Bea folded the note. She was thrilled that her message had reached her employer and that she was sending her a coach, but another week? Her heart sank. She'd hoped to be back on the road to Portsmouth as soon as possible.

Of course, it stabbed her heart to think of carrying on this charade. The thought of how hurt Caroline would be when she learned the truth of Bea's ruse was beyond thought. How could she possibly wait that long? And what if Ash decided to bring them to Slyddon?

And then there was the problem of Michael. Of course, he'd want to stay and protect her.

Every time he was close, her head spun, her heart raced, and her limbs turned to water. Sometimes she could hardly breathe and other times her words were jumbled almost beyond recognition. All her wretched body wanted to do was to lift her skirts and tumble with him at every opportunity.

“I can't do this,” she gasped. “I must end whatever this is between us, once and for all.”

She ran from the room and down the stairs to the main dining room. She would tell Michael once and for all. Surely, once he saw her distress, he'd agree to…

Turning the corner, she saw the cook coming out of the dining room.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Hawkins. I was just calling for Lizzie to bring you up a tray. You must be famished.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” She looked frantically down the hall. Perhaps he'd already finished his visit and was eating breakfast?

“Has the earl eaten yet?”

“Yes, ma'am, some time ago. He's in the library with Lady Merriweather.”

Bea stopped short. “With Lady Merriweather? How long has she been here?”

“She arrived early this morning. Such a determined lady. Fresh from the road, came straight from London, according to her driver. She refused breakfast or a chance to freshen up. Wanted to see the earl immediately.”

“I see.” Her heart sank. How could he not tell her? Perhaps he was only being polite, not wanting to wake her. That's what she told herself.

Believing it was another matter.

“I'll go and give her my regards.”

“I'm sorry. The earl said he didn't want to be disturbed.”

“Really? How long ago was that?”

“Half an hour, maybe more. He mentioned something about settling accounts.” The woman backed away, hand over her mouth.

“Accounts?”

She shook her head, her tightly curled waves jiggling as she did so. “Never mind, my lady. I spoke out of turn. My apologies.” With that, the older woman fled the room.

“Settling accounts.” Bea frowned. She knew that gentlemen often said such things whenever they spoke of “private matters” with their ladies.

That was it. Michael was seeing to his mistress as if she wasn't there. Those wonderful nights they'd spent making love, he'd been lying to her. He'd already cast her off like worn shoes.

Bea bit her lip. What difference did it make? Wasn't she running away as soon as her transport arrived? Wasn't it best to leave him to this woman and hope he found comfort with her?

That should have settled it. Michael would not be alone when she would be off on her grand adventure. Determined to not let her heart be broken, she pushed back the pain. She'd been such a fool.

Never mind that she'd come to enjoy his company. Or that when he'd made passionate love to her, it had been the most thrilling thing she'd ever known. She was sure one day those feelings would fade and she'd become herself again.

She'd learn to live her life without him. She was a strong woman after all.

Or she would be one day.

Though making herself believe it was another matter.

Deciding it was time to eat, Beatrice made her way to the dining room and settled herself at the table. She'd barely had time to ring the servant bell when Lizzie appeared.

“I thought you'd be wanting breakfast.”

Bea nodded. “It is a bit late, but some tea would be nice.”

The girl went about pouring her a cup and fixing her a plate from the sideboard. Slices of ham, fresh berries, and pickled eggs.

“There you go, my lady.” Lizzie hummed as she poured the tea.

Just as she finished her second cup of tea, she thanked Lizzie. “If you would get my afternoon wardrobe ready, please. I feel like going on a walk in the garden. It's been a long time since I last visited Slyddon. I think some fresh air and sunshine are in order.”

The girl nodded and set off.

Watching her leave, Bea decided to make her way to the library. Surely Michael had had enough time to “settle his accounts” by now.

She was saved the trip when Michael appeared at the door.

“There's my beautiful girl.” He grinned at her. “You're a balm to a stormy spirit.”

Leaning over her, he captured her mouth with a kiss.

“Oh,” she muttered, her mind suddenly scrambled at his sudden attention.

“I hope you don't mind,” he said, snatching a leftover blueberry from her plate. “I had business to attend to this morning.”

Bea couldn't believe he'd lie to her so boldly. “Of course,” she said, anger stirring within her. Her first inclination was to call him out, to accuse him of playing her false and being with that wretched Merriweather woman.

Leaning across the table, he took her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles in her palms.

“I want there to be truth between us. Though I didn't plan it, I met with Lady Merriweather and informed her I no longer wanted her attentions. Our affair ended months ago, but since she'd become widowed she'd hoped to renew our affections.”

Bea felt instantly guilty for judging him so. “Michael, this is really not something that I need be involved in.”

He shook his head. “But you are. You've said often enough that you want no part of marriage. Since I've not had much fortune in that arena myself, I thought perhaps we could remain as we are.”

She looked at him. “You want me to be your mistress?”

“Of course not. I mean, remain together while here at Slyddon. You'll be leaving soon enough and until then, we have quite a bit of time we can spend together.”

Realization dawned. “You mean, together as lovers.”

He dipped his head and kissed both of her hands. “I do, indeed.” He didn't look up from her fingers, rubbing them gently as he spoke. “We must be careful, of course. No one must know, and we don't want you with child, either.”

She swallowed. The longer he held her hands, it was as if he'd some spell over her. Treacherous thing that it was, her body reacted. Her mouth went dry, her breathing became short, and her heart was beating a wild rhythm in her chest.

“Is this wise?” She barely whispered the words. “I mean, when we have to part, won't it be difficult?”

“Of course, these things are never easy, sweet Beatrice. But it won't be long and you'll be on your way to a new life and I'll be here alone.”

Standing, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. So profound were his touches, so sweet his kisses, Beatrice knew she couldn't refuse—him or herself.

“For a few days, then,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But you must promise to end this when the time comes,” she said, the raw need growing in her as she spoke.

“I promise,” he said. Then, lifting her into his arms, he carried her out of the dining room and up the stairs.

God, he thought, she is beautiful…

Once again he'd coaxed her into his bed. Lying atop the quilts, breathless from his kisses, her trusting expression nearly ended him at the sight.

“I want you, Beatrice,” he said, his voice a rough, throaty sound in her ears. He could hear her rapid pants against his own gasps, a music of passionate need surrounding them.

Not answering him, she grasped his shirtsleeves and pulled him down atop her, her lips searching his, her legs encircling his waist. Michael almost died at her embrace. But what an amazing death it would be, he thought. His need rushed through him and less than a minute later they were a tangle of torn clothing and heated flesh.

By the gods, the woman vexed him. But what a sweet torture it was…

“Mmm,” he heard her moan. “I'm such a harlot,” she gasped. “I've ached for your touch every moment since last night. When does this feeling stop?”

He laughed, the sound rumbling against her neck as he kissed her there. “I must confess,” he told her, “I've wanted to bed you at least a million times since our first time.”

“Only a million?” She laughed.

“Well then, more times than this poor man's mind can calculate,” he said, and then captured her mouth again with his own. As he did so, he slipped one hand beneath her bottom and the other along her body from her waist to her thigh. She gasped as he did so.

“Please,” she whimpered.

The sound of her voice made him stop. It would be too easy to take the lead and push his will upon her. Far too easy.

All at once, Michael realized the true mettle of the woman who'd captured his heart. Beatrice was not one to be forced. She didn't need a man to lead her, only to love her. He knew immediately why she'd refused all of the men who'd offered her marriage—the wealthy and poor alike. She was a woman who knew her own mind and meant to have her own way of things.

Of course, now that he knew what was needed, he knew how to convince her to marry him. The answer to Beatrice had been quite simple, after all.

Knowing what to do next, he pulled back from her kisses and rolled over to lie beside her.

“What's wrong?” she asked, rolling over to face him. “Why did you stop?”

Michael felt like grinning, like laughing out loud, but he was sure she'd think him a madman.

“I believe, my lady, that it's your turn.”

Sitting up, she sent him a questioning stare. “What do you mean, my turn?”

Michael almost laughed at that. He didn't know how it was possible but, flushed with desire, anger tipping the edge of her temper judging by the darkened expression she was now giving him, she looked more beautiful than ever before.

Angelic beauty. The sort of breathless visage that would bring any man to his knees before her. For a brief moment, he pitied all the fools who'd tried to capture her and failed. His concern for others was fleeting, however, when she leaned over him and searched his expression as though her stare alone might pry the truth from him.

“It's your turn to make love to me.”

It was a simple enough phrase, but the depth of it was not lost on Beatrice. First he saw her confusion, then her surprise, and then caution cross her expression.

“Me make love to you? But, it's men who…”

“I don't care what other men do. I only want you, Beatrice. Not sniveling beneath me like some whimpering ninny. You have power over me, my sweet. You always have and you always will.”

“I do?” she asked. But her confusion didn't last long and the full weight of what he was saying fell upon her. “I do.”

To his amazement, a broad smile crossed her face, and watching the machinations of her thoughts play across her expression was more than a little frightening. In truth, he had never trusted another to take such control while making love. It was exhilarating when she touched his face, exciting when she blew her warm breath across his chest, and almost his complete undoing when she sat up and, rolling forward, straddled him entirely.