The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(30)

“Ah, your book,” she guessed. “Is it finished?”

“Almost.”

“I would be happy to help,” she said. “If I can.”

And her heart beat and beat because it would involve spending more time in his company. Despite what she’d promised herself barely two hours before.

*

Javan Benedict watched his daughter until she fell asleep. Because of her excitement during the day and her fear of Miss Grey not returning, it took her longer than usual, but he didn’t mind. The governess was correct. Rosa did need to do normal things, to grow used to such minor expeditions today’s. And she should not be so terrified of losing the governess she’d known less than a fortnight. Her morbid fear of abandonment had probably been heightened by the fact she had so few people around her.

There was more to bringing up a child than merely protecting her.

His heart was full as he gazed at her sleeping face. Marjorie thought he was too good to sit with his daughter every night. But it was no hardship to him. She was the comfort at the end of his day, his reason to begin another, a reminder of the rare goodness and sweetness in the world. She was his only joy and it broke his heart to think he might not be doing the best for her.

He had his reasons, of course. Reasons Miss Grey would surely discover in time. His revelations about the scandal had seemed to inspire more understanding than contempt or pity, neither of which would have been bearable from her.

Inevitably, his thoughts lingered on the governess. If he had guessed she would become such an obsession, he would have turned Braithwaite down. He hadn’t wanted a young, beautiful female to teach Rosa. He’d wanted a sensible older woman, strict but kindly, a motherly figure—which her true mother had never been—not this girl who disturbed his thoughts and his lusts. He’d held her in the rain, and in the grip of his waking shock had kissed her soft, startled lips, in terrible fear that he’d hurt her.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d wanted to take her in the rain, in his bed, before the fire in his study, anywhere she would have him. She wouldn’t, of course, for she was a well-bred lady dependent on her pure reputation. And in truth, he would never take that from her, no matter how urgently his body demanded it. He had just been without a woman too long not to fantasize.

But that was too easy an excuse, unworthy of her, or even him.

As Rosa’s fingers released his in sleep, he rose and walked across the room, conscious of new excitement in his heart. Caroline Grey would come to his study now, to be introduced to the work he’d so foolishly offered her.

Something had changed. Leaving Rosa, he no longer felt merely prepared to face another day. He wanted to.

His gaze fell on the door to Miss Grey’s bedchamber, and his whole body tightened. Was she there now? Waiting for the sounds of him leaving, which she must surely hear. In many ways, it would be so much more natural to knock on her door and ask her to accompany him to the study. He wanted to see her in her own, personal room, about whatever tasks she gave herself—scrubbing the mud from her everyday gown, writing to her family… But that wouldn’t be fair or right. He liked that she wasn’t afraid of him.

Leaving by the passage door, he picked up the candle he’d left there and walked purposefully to the stairs. His left leg still didn’t work as well as the right and had to be treated with care lest it collapse. Or lest he forget himself and groan from the pain.

In the evenings, when he was tired, the stairs were a challenge, but tonight he seemed to overcome them easily. Because he was remembering the way Miss Grey had come and stood beside him at the harbor. She hadn’t needed to. He hadn’t seen her approach. Equally, she could have greeted him and passed on.

He had known it was her as soon as she came up to him. He knew her clean, fresh scent, her presence. Although every nerve had been aware of her, he’d found a strange peace in her just being at his side. He’d almost been afraid to speak.

He walked into his study, leaving the door open. Tiny got up and loped over to lick his hand before returning to the hearth. There was only one lamp burning on the desk. Benedict lit a spill from his candle which he blew out before using the spill to light the other lamps and candles. Then he walked around the desk, arranging his notes into the order he wanted for the first few chapters of his book.

He strained every sense as though awaiting a lover instead of a secretary. At least he could laugh at himself.

Her quick, light footsteps along the passage brought a smile to his lips, though he’d banished it before she arrived.

“Ah, Miss Grey,” he greeted her with briskness.

She blew out her candle and set it by his at the door. “Sir.”

She crossed the room, looking as neat and efficient as always. She wore her drab grey gown with grace.

He hefted the pile of paper in his hands. “These are what I would like you to copy. Can you decipher my writing?”

She bent over the top sheet, scanning the words. “Yes, for the most part. If I come to a word I’m unsure of, I shall ask rather than guess.”

She raised her eyes to his. They were a soft, yet brilliant blue, her lashes several shades darker than her hair, which she wore in too severe a style. He couldn’t think of anything except removing her pins and shaking her lovely dark blond locks loose about her shoulders. As it had been that first night, when she’d followed Marjorie’s crying and he’d somehow escorted her back to her chamber without touching her.