The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(31)

Under his continued gaze, her skin flushed. “Is something wrong, sir? Would you like me to copy a page to be sure I am up to the task?”

“Yes,” he said, in an effort to make his brain think again. “If you please,”

Clearing a space on the nearside corner of his desk, he set down his papers, and took a large new notebook from the drawer on the other side. He found a chair by the window and set it by the desk. He even trimmed a pen for her and passed the ink.

This was ridiculous. He felt like a tongue-tied schoolboy, and yet he was only too aware that he was the one who held all the power, all the authority, and he could not approach her as an equal.

Approach her? he mocked himself as he strode back to the window. With what? My late wife’s money? My damaged child and my soiled honor? Anger and shame and desire clashed in him, exploding in a turbulent mess that had him leaning his arm against the window for support.

Behind him, her pen scratched against the paper, the sound comfortingly normal. And it happened again. The strange peace she’d seemed to bring him by the harbor began to wash over him once more. No wonder Rosa found her so necessary so quickly. He was in danger of finding the same.

He let his arm fall to his side and walked to the desk. She laid aside the pen and sat back while he bent over the book. Her writing was neat and legible with just a hint of flamboyance in the loops. He could smell lavender from her hair, hear her every breath as though it were his own.

“Perfect,” he said straightening. “There is no huge rush for this work, so just come here and continue whenever you wish and your duties with Rosa allow. Whether I am here or not.”

Deliberately, he did not ask her to stay right now, merely walked around the desk to his own chair and sat down to continue with his final chapters. After a moment, she picked up her pen again and began to write.

It was a sweet torture, one he was happy to endure.





Chapter Nine





That Sunday, Lady Serena was as good as her word and rode over from Braithwaite Castle with Lady Helen. When Williams admitted them, Caroline was crossing the hall in the direction of the study and paused to greet them. Helen ran at her, and Serena hastily pressed a letter into her hand.

“It was delivered to the castle yesterday,” she murmured.

Caroline’s heart lurched in fear, for it was her mother’s hand which had scrawled the wrong address. The reasons for such carelessness were truly terrifying. Fortunately, Williams took Serena and Helen straight up to Miss Benedict in the drawing room, so Caroline was able to flee to the quiet of the study.

She knew the room would be empty, for from her chamber window, barely twenty minutes ago, she had seen Mr. Benedict walk into the woods with Tiny. By past practice, he would not return for hours.

With her heart in her mouth, she tore open the seal, sinking onto the sofa. But there was no way to prepare for the blow she feared.

For a few moments, the words danced before her eyes, making no sense. Then she realized what they were saying and reread them properly, tears streaming down her face.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Thank God.”

She didn’t even hear anyone come in, but suddenly, Tiny’s head was in her lap, and Mr. Benedict knelt at her feet, frowning into her face.

“What is it?” he said urgently. “What has happened?”

She smiled through her tears. “Peter is well. He was probably never in any real danger, but when they didn’t write I was so afraid…” She dashed her hand against her cheeks in a belated attempt to hide her emotion, but to her surprise, he caught her hand and held it. Suddenly she was blurting out the whole story of Peter’s illness, the cost of the doctor, and her managing to send the money home via Lord Braithwaite, only to hear nothing at all of his health since.

Mr. Benedict gave her a large handkerchief. Only as she took it, did she realize she was clutching his hand. She released it with a hiccup of apology and hastily wiped her face and eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “You must think me very foolish to be crying over such happy news.”

“Not foolish. I can see you care a great deal for the child.” He caught her gaze. “Tell me truthfully. Is he really your nephew?”

She stared at him uncomprehending. “Really my…oh!”

She jumped up, narrowly missing the dog’s great feet as she backed away from Benedict.

“Of course he is my nephew,” she said stiffly. “Do I have your permission to take Rosa to the drawing room to meet Lady Helen? I thought Lady Tamar and I could take them for a walk.”

“Of course,” he said impatiently. “I told you so yesterday. Miss Grey—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted and stalked out of the room. How dare he? How dare he even think Peter is mine? What does he take me for?

She’d run to her bedchamber, splashed water on her face and toweled it dry before she admitted to herself why she was so angry. The way he’d looked at her occasionally, with that wild, exciting heat. His words that first night—“Go in before I forget I was once a gentleman.” His apparent favor to her, allowing her to copy out his book, thrusting her more into his company… Was it all a ruse because he imagined she had a child out of wedlock and was therefore easy pickings? A light-skirted female who’d already tried to seduce Lord Braithwaite—and succeeded for all Benedict knew.