Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (11 page)

But it was not as if he was going to propose
that Beth become his mistress—as much as he was tempted to do so.
He instinctively knew she was a moral creature, and even though her
state of widowhood gave her the freedom to indulge in sensual
pursuits outside of marriage, he doubted she would ever do so. He
suspected she found him attractive, but for someone who so
obviously valued respectability and honor, the pull of physical
desire would probably never be enough to tempt her to embark on an
affaire
, let alone become a paid courtesan.

Her affronted reaction to even his implied
suggestion had been telling enough.

She was watching him warily again because he
hadn’t moved away. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so
with a sigh of resignation, he stood and moved to take a seat
behind his desk again. The unbidden image of her reclining
half-naked across the burgundy leather blotter with her damnably
severe widow’s weeds pushed up around her waist as he pounded into
her, entered his mind. Christ Almighty, he needed to state his
proposition before he asked her to be his mistress after all.

“How would you feel about filling the
position of Eilean Tor’s housekeeper, Mrs. Eliott?”

Beth blinked and then her clear grey eyes
opened wider. She was clearly startled. “I…I don’t know…I had not
even considered applying for such work…” Her forehead dipped into a
frown. “Your housekeeper—Mrs. Barrie?—she recently passed away from
this ague, didn’t she, my lord?”

Rothsburgh held her gaze. “Yes, sadly she
did. Her husband is my gameskeeper. He lives on the estate, not far
from Torhaven, on the edge of Blackhaven Wood. Mrs. Barrie had been
on staff here for many years and…well, I hadn’t thought to replace
her…but now….Will you consider it, Mrs. Eliott?”

Beth’s brow furrowed more deeply and she
dropped her gaze. He wondered what she was thinking. With a jolt of
surprise, he realized he was nervous about her response. “I imagine
you would probably prefer to be employed as a governess,” he
continued.
Why wouldn’t she look at him?
God, he hoped he
wasn’t making a mess of this. “But unfortunately, I do not know of
anyone who is looking to secure one. I also thought of contacting
my sister, Lady Maxwell, to ask for her support in finding another
vacant governess’s post, but as that may take a little time…well, I
thought perhaps you could stay on at Eilean Tor until something
more to your liking came up. Would fifty pounds per quarter do for
your salary?”

At last Beth raised her eyes. He was
dismayed to see they were brimming with tears.

“Thank you, Lord Rothsburgh,” she said with
grave sincerity. “I will accept your most generous offer…but
perhaps it would be better if you agreed to employ me for a trial
period only, and for a lesser salary. I believe such a sum is
unheard of for a housekeeper. Besides I…I have never worked in such
a capacity before and…well, I’m afraid I may not be up to
scratch.”

“Nonsense. I can’t imagine you
not
doing anything well. As for your salary, I’m sure your services are
worth immeasurably more than what I initially offered. In fact, I
think sixty pounds per quarter sounds more reasonable. And if it
makes you feel better, I will agree to a trial. Shall we say three
months? Starting from when you have fully recovered. And you must
keep in mind that you are more than free to leave at any time
within that period if you so choose. What do you say?”

He was pleased to see Beth was fairly
flabbergasted. It was an offer too good to refuse. He was counting
on it.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Lord
Rothsburgh.”

He smiled at her. “You’ve already said yes,
Mrs. Eliott. Why would you change your mind now?”

* * * *

Because I’m throwing my lot in with the
devil himself.

For the life of her, Elizabeth couldn’t
understand why Lord Rothsburgh would want to pay her so much. She
had been responsible for the smooth running of Harcourt House in
London as well as Scarwood Hall, Hugh’s country residence in
Gloucestershire, and knew exactly how much their staff had been
paid. The sum Lord Rothsburgh offered her was outrageous.

Unless he expects more from you than
housekeeping.

She gave herself a mental shake. Why would
he? Hugh had never been particularly enamored of her, even at the
beginning of their marriage—and later, not all. Why would Lord
Rothsburgh be any different? Besides, he had just lost his wife.
Elizabeth would be a ninnyhammer indeed to think he would be
attracted to someone like her, especially when from the moment she
had arrived at Eilean Tor, he had only ever seen her when she was
bedraggled, bedridden with illness or coughing up her lungs.
Perhaps the wayward thought only occurred to her because he had
been teasing her earlier with his word games. And the fact that he
was so strikingly handsome had stirred the long-buried feeling of
desire within her.

Don’t be a fool, Elizabeth. He would never
be interested in someone like you. You couldn’t even keep your
husband interested.

She raised her chin and looked Lord
Rothsburgh in the eye. She needed to accept that beggars couldn’t
be choosers. Besides, he had just assured her that she could leave
at any time. She really had no choice but to consent to his
terms—ridiculous as they were.

“I find that I am overwhelmed by your
magnanimous offer, my lord. And, if it so pleases you, I will abide
by my agreement to enter into a trial period as Eilean Tor’s
housekeeper.”

Lord Rothsburgh inclined his head and smiled
with what she thought was satisfaction. “It pleases me greatly,
Mrs. Eliott.” He suddenly gave a mock frown. “Now that’s settled,
are you going to promise to behave and rest in your room until you
are better?”

“Hmm, for the most part, yes. I cannot
promise that I won’t seek out the library again to perhaps borrow a
book or two to while away the hours. If that is all right with
you…”

“Of course. You must consider yourself my
guest. And even after you take up your duties, I trust that you
will always feel welcome here.”

“Thank you, Lord Rothsburgh…for everything.
You are too kind.” The interview, such as it was, seemed to be over
so she rose from her seat and curtsied. The marquess had risen as
well. When she looked up he was frowning.

“Such formalities are not necessary.” He
moved to her side of the desk. “In fact, let me escort you back to
your room.”

Before she could protest, he reached for her
hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm; he kept his hand over
hers as if he was anticipating that she would try to escape. His
fingers were warm and she shivered as a strange heat suffused her
entire body. She knew she should pull away, but it would seem
ungracious to do so. Instead, she bowed her head and smiled
faintly. At least her room wasn’t far away. She was finding it
wearying indeed to keep up the effort of continually suppressing
her errant physical impulses.

“When you are sufficiently recovered, I will
arrange a tour of Eilean Tor for you,” Lord Rothsburgh said
conversationally as they exited the library and proceeded to the
stairs. “As you can see, the castle’s living quarters are quite
extensive. However, many sections are not in use and at some stage
will require refurbishment…”

Elizabeth nodded, only half listening to the
marquess’s description of certain architectural and design features
along the way. Her breathing had become effortful again and the
urge to cough was back, stronger than ever. Half-way up the
staircase, she dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing. If it hadn’t
been for Lord Rothsburgh holding onto her, she suspected she would
have collapsed. The fit eventually eased, although her breathing
was labored and her head spun with light-headedness.

“I will...be…all right…in a moment…my lord,”
she gasped, clinging to the marquess’s arm.

“Mmm, I doubt that.” Before she could draw
another breath, he swept her up into his arms as if she weighed
nothing at all. “You needn’t bother protesting about what I’m
doing,” he said as he strode up the stairs. “Last time you told me
you were fine, Mrs. Eliott, you promptly fainted a short time
later. And I’d rather not risk you passing out on the staircase and
breaking your neck.”

She meekly consented. She reasoned there was
little else she could do given her less than able state. However,
being pressed up against Lord Rothsburgh’s formidable chest wasn’t
doing much to help calm her breathing, or slow down her racing
pulse. She was relieved beyond measure when they reached her
room.

Once Lord Rothsburgh had installed her upon
the chaise longue before the fireplace, he stepped back and
retreated to the door. Even though he sought her gaze, he suddenly
seemed distant, more formal somehow. She should be grateful for the
respite from his overwhelming presence, but for some reason—and she
didn’t want to examine why—she felt vaguely crestfallen that he
wasn’t going to linger a while longer.

“I’ll have Roberts stop by to find out your
reading preferences. And remember to ring if you require anything
else. I think it would be safer if you avoided the stairs for the
time being.” Lord Rothsburgh paused, looking uncharacteristically
uncertain for a moment as if he was about to say something else,
but had then changed his mind. Instead, he simply inclined his head
politely. “I’ll bid you a good evening then, Mrs. Eliott.”

The door shut before she could bid him her
own adieu.

It’s better that he’s gone, she told herself
as she stared at the oak paneling of the closed door.
Remember
you’re his housekeeper, nothing more.

That is how it must be.
Anything else
was unconscionable.

Six hours later, Rothsburgh found himself
hovering outside Beth’s closed bedroom door, Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern at his heels. He wasn’t sure what demon inside him had
led him to her room. Earlier, when he’d determinedly left her here,
he’d been adamant that he wouldn’t return.

Yet here he was again.

It probably hadn’t helped that he’d imbibed
the best part of a bottle of claret and several drams of single
malt whisky. He grimaced and leaned his forehead against the smooth
oak panel of the door. Beth had literally stumbled into his life
only four nights ago, and now it seemed he couldn’t pass a single
evening without her. There was no denying it—he was a pathetic sap
in more ways than one.

But whatever the reason that had brought him
here, it hardly mattered now; especially when he could hear her
coughing uncontrollably in the room beyond. Rosencrantz nudged his
hand and whined. He looked down at the hound. “You’re right,
Rosencrantz. We can’t walk away while she’s in that state.”

He knocked and waited until he thought he
heard a faint invitation to enter. Opening the door, his gaze
immediately found Beth. She was seated on the chaise longue,
holding a shawl to her mouth. She was obviously trying to stifle
her coughs.

Despite his concern, he waited in the
doorway. He wanted to go to her aid, to rub her back as he’d done
in the library this afternoon, but he sensed she would be
disconcerted by his touch and suspicious of his motives—as she
probably should be. So he simply stood there until the fit eased
before he spoke.

“Forgive me for visiting at such a late
hour, Mrs. Eliott. It’s just that…Rosencrantz missed your company,”
he said with a sheepish smile. He knew the excuse was weak, but he
had little else to offer. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear him
whining at your door. He really is a tragic case.”

Beth gave him a shaky smile in return.
“Well…we can’t have poor Rosencrantz pining away now, can we?” She
stretched out her hand toward the hound and he immediately went to
her side. Guildenstern followed and flopped down on the rug at her
feet.

“I’m afraid both dogs spent a fair bit of
time in your room while you were unwell. I hope you don’t mind,”
Rothsburgh said, letting himself indulge in the simple pleasure of
looking at Beth. He was pleased to see her beautiful ash blonde
hair was unbound, falling in a luxurious wave over one of her
shoulders. Aside from a grey cashmere shawl, she wore only a pale
blue silk robe over one of her simple, white cotton nightrails. He
tried to ignore the pang of disappointment within his chest when he
saw her lovely ankles and feet were concealed by a thick woolen
blanket.

“No, I don’t mind. In fact, I’m rather fond
of dogs.” She stroked one of Rosencrantz’s ears with her pale,
elegant fingers. The hound had an almost beatific expression on his
face.

Lucky Rosencrantz
.

Rothsburgh pulled his gaze away from the
rhythmic movement of her fingers lest his body betray how aroused
he was becoming. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way, given how
exceedingly unwell the poor woman was, but it seemed he had no
control over his body’s reaction to her presence. So he remained
where he was, hesitant to fully come into the room.

He noticed that she hadn’t invited him to
sit by her either.

As an awkward silence descended, he glanced
about and noticed her supper tray on a nearby side table. Mrs.
Roberts had sent up a smaller version of what he’d dined on
earlier—a rich beef and red wine casserole with neeps and
tatties—but it appeared Beth had barely touched the fare. She also
hadn’t drunk the dram of whisky he’d sent up with the meal to ease
her coughing.

“It seems you haven’t taken your medicine,
Mrs. Eliott.” He nodded toward the crystal glass of amber-hued
liquid.

She looked up and grimaced. “I’m not much of
a drinker when it comes to strong liquor, my lord.”

“Nevertheless, I can highly recommend the
uisge beatha
—the water of life—for easing coughs. Even Mrs.
Roberts swears by it.”