The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(40)

In the end, Rosa ran back to her and dragged her by the hand to sit with her on the sofa closest to her uncle.

Javan walked to the cabinet and poured two generous glasses of brandy. “So,” he said, handing one glass to his cousin and clinking it with his own. “What brings you out into the middle of nowhere, Richard? Apart from the sudden desire for our company, of course.”

“Like you, old boy, I’ve bolted.”

“From what?” Javan asked, amused.

Richard wrinkled his nose. “Marriage,” he said distastefully.

“You’re married?” Marjorie squeaked.

“No, thank God, that’s why I’m here, looking for cover.”

“Is she so ferocious?” Javan mocked.

“Never met the woman and never want to,” Richard assured him with a shudder. “It’s the whole idea that appalls me. I’m a young man with wild oats still to sow.”

“You’re three and thirty years old,” Javan pointed out. “Past time to get an heir, for I certainly don’t want to be Bart.”

Caroline’s head lifted, and her mouth opened as if she was about to ask what he meant. Then she closed it again.

“Baronet,” Marjorie explained kindly. “Richard’s father, Sir George Benedict, is head of the family. Javan always called him Uncle Bart because when he was a child, he once saw a letter addressed to Sir George Benedict Bart, without the proper punctuation. Richard is his only son and heir.”

“I shall one day be Cousin Bart,” Richard said flippantly. “But I have no intention of producing baby Bart just yet.”

“Take your medicine like a man,” Javan advised, throwing himself into the chair beside Marjorie. “And don’t be put off by my experience. Some people have quite pleasant marriages, I believe.”

“You’re not going to throw me to the wolves, are you?” Richard asked.

“Not as long as you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here.”

“How are my aunt and uncle?” Marjorie asked.

As the conversation flowed, Rosa’s head began to droop slowly onto Caroline’s shoulder.

“I think I should take her up to bed,” Caroline said quietly.

“Come back for supper,” Marjorie said brightly, for the servants were bringing in an array of dishes as Caroline gently woke Rosa and urged her to her feet. Javan knew she wouldn’t come back.

*

When he entered his daughter’s room, as he did every night, he caught a whisk of peach silk as Caroline vanished into her own bedchamber.

The soft click of the latch echoed in his mind. He sat on the edge of Rosa’s bed and she took his hand, smiling happily. Rosa was ready to face life again. He rather suspected life had found him, too.

The figure of Marcus Swayle swam before his eyes, all smiles and charm as he’d greeted Lord and Lady Tamar at the castle…until he’d seen Javan.

Javan was grateful for that hasty retreat. Thank God, Rosa had been elsewhere at the time. He hoped to hell the bastard had abandoned Blackhaven, for he wouldn’t have the poisonous little toad spoiling the life he’d only just begun to enjoy.

Rosa was fast asleep in no time. Detaching his hand, he stood and walked to the passage door, carefully not looking at the one connecting to the governess’s chamber. And yet, as he limped down the passage, he couldn’t help pausing at her door. She was in there, alone, and she wanted him. Perhaps she heard him, knew he stood there unmoving, swamped by temptation.

He could take her. He could give her a night of joy, oh but he could, and his own would light up the heavens.

He squeezed his eyes shut. She was no lightskirt, and no sophisticated lady protected by her husband’s name either. But she was a lady and she deserved marriage, or at the very least, an unsullied reputation in order to maintain herself. He could only give her the latter.

Determinedly, he walked on.

When he reentered the drawing room, he knew Marjorie and Richard had been talking about him. It was inevitable.

“Is she settled?” Richard asked lazily.

“Out like a light,” Javan replied. “I expect Marjorie’s been telling you of our full day of company—our first such since we came here. And I think it’s been good for her. Only…” He took the glass Richard thrust into his hand and sank into the chair by the fire. “I might as well tell you both at once. Marcus Swayle was at the castle.”

Marjorie’s eyes boggled.

“Sophia’s lover?” Richard said, stunned. “Good God, what brought him here? Did he track you down?”

“That was my first thought, too,” Javan admitted, “though I can’t think what good it would do him. Besides, he looked so stunned, so appalled to see me that he bolted. It seems to be merely some unlikely, not to say unkind, coincidence.”

“What was he doing there?” Marjorie demanded. “He is not some friend of the Tamars’ surely?”

“They are friendly people,” Javan said impatiently. “Were they not, we would not have been there. Swayle didn’t look well. I suspect he’s here to drink the waters.”

“You can go together,” Richard said flippantly. “Wouldn’t that be a cozy party?”

“Not once I’d run him through or strangled him to death in public,” Javan retorted. “And so I shall avoid him. I want to be sure you know to do the same. On no account must he come anywhere near Rosa.”