Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (13 page)

“Against the south wall, don’t you think?”
she suggested. “That way we can plant the bare-rooted roses against
the north wall when we acquire some.”

Roberts’s deeply lined face creased into a
smile. “Verra good, ma’am. I’ll instruct Todd to start
digging.”

Elizabeth stood in Eilean Tor’s
much-neglected walled garden with the butler and one of the
footmen. Rosencrantz leaned against her leg while somewhere beyond
the wall, Guildenstern nosed about for rabbits to chase. The
garden, which she had first noticed from her bedroom window over a
week ago, lay on one of the few, relatively sheltered and gentle
slopes on the headland, just to the south of the castle’s main
wall. During her daily meetings with Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, she had
discovered that it had been more than five years since there had
been a gardener employed at the castle. And it showed.

On her initial inspection, Elizabeth had
discovered the garden’s dry-stone walls and slate paving were still
relatively intact, but the garden beds had been hopelessly overrun
with machair grass, weeds and thistles. Indeed, it had taken Mr.
Todd, one of the young footmen, the better part of two days to
clear the overgrowth.

Elizabeth hoped the marquess wouldn’t mind
that she had embarked on this project without his express
permission. It had been ten days since he’d left Eilean Tor, and
now that she was almost completely recovered from the ague—apart
from the occasional cough at night—she had decided that she needed
a task to keep herself busy until he returned. Reviving the walled
garden seemed like a worthwhile activity to engage in, in the
absence of any other direction from her employer. It helped that
Mr. and Mrs. Roberts had oftentimes reassured her that the marquess
would be very pleased to have a functioning castle garden once
more.

She had mapped out a tentative plan for the
garden beds with Mrs. Roberts on the basis of what was most needed
in the kitchen. As luck would have it, the cook had purchased
packets of seeds for a good range of vegetables—carrots, turnips,
onions, cabbages and potatoes—as well as herbs—mint, sage, parsley,
sorrel and thyme—in the previous year, but she had never managed to
have any of them planted.

“Her ladyship wasna interested in gardens,
even when she was here,” the cook had informed Elizabeth with a
shake of her head when they had first discussed the plan a week
ago. “An’ Lord Rothsburgh…Weel, he was often away with his Highland
Regiment, or attending to the rest of the estate’s matters. I didna
like to bother him with somethin’ as trivial as weeding an’
such.”

A gnarled rosemary bush was about the only
useful plant that had managed to live on in the garden. As Todd
carefully dug around its roots and jiggled the branches, the breeze
carried the pungent scent of its leaves toward her. She inhaled
deeply, and was suddenly reminded of another strong, spicy scent.
The heady scent of a man—Lord Rothsburgh.

She closed her eyes, and willed herself to
banish the unbidden image of him lying asleep and aroused in her
bed from her thoughts. Although she had been trying to ruthlessly
bury her misplaced regard and wanton attraction for the marquess
during his absence, it seemed she was fighting a losing battle.
When she least expected it, wild, libidinous and altogether
shameful imaginings entered her mind. She had never experienced
such feelings or thoughts before. She felt unsettled and strangely
needy—like a vixen on heat.

Lord Rothsburgh has offered you this post
out of pity, nothing more,
she sternly reminded herself. She
needed to remember that, just as much as the fact that she was a
married woman.

“Och, I do believe his lordship has come
home,” announced Roberts, startling her out of her tumultuous
reverie. “It’s a good thing the tide’s out. If ye dinna mind, Mrs.
Eliott, I will leave ye, to attend to Lord Rothsburgh.”

Elizabeth whirled around and looked toward
the causeway. Sure enough, a fine black coach pulled by two pairs
of fine greys, barreled along the road toward Eilean Tor. At the
pace they were setting, the marquess would be here within a few
minutes. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were already bounding up the
hill toward the castle’s courtyard.

“Of course, Roberts,” she replied. “Todd and
I will get on quite nicely.” She was amazed her voice sounded quite
normal even though her heart had kicked into an unsteady
gallop.

Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Lord Rothsburgh’s
sure to have more pressing matters to attend to than inspecting his
garden. Or seeing you.

Unless of course he had been able to find
another governess’s position for her. But it would be useless to
speculate further. No doubt she would find out about any such
possibilities when the marquess was good and ready to see her.
Until then, it was best if she kept herself busy.

She took a deep breath and turned back to
watch Todd finish releasing the rosemary bush from its bed of
long-spent soil. Tomorrow, after the footman had replanted it, she
would prune back its straggling branches. Perhaps Mrs. Roberts
could dry the off-cuts in the kitchen, and use the leaves in her
casseroles. And Elizabeth could always infuse a little oil with
some of the leaves to run through the ends of her hair when they
became dry—

“Mrs. Eliott. It’s wonderful to see you up
and about.” Lord Rothsburgh’s rich baritone carried easily to her
on the sea breeze.

Elizabeth planted what she hoped was a
pleasantly neutral smile on her face, and turned around. And her
breath caught in her throat.

Her memories of the marquess didn’t do the
man justice at all. Now, as he strode toward her up the slope, she
realized she’d underestimated how tall and powerfully built he was.
How devilishly handsome. He made her ache in ways she
shouldn’t.

And then before she could draw another
breath, he was standing before her, while she was struck dumb like
a silly debutante on her first foray into society. She dropped a
quick curtsy while from somewhere behind her, she heard Todd greet
his master.

The marquess acknowledged the footman before
he turned his gaze back to her. He was but an arm’s length away,
dressed in snug-fitting, ivory colored breeches that clung to the
long lean muscles of his thighs, shiny Hussar boots, and a well-cut
morning coat of black kerseymere. The wind picked up the black wing
of hair that perpetually flopped over his brow; however, she
noticed that he’d had the back and sides cropped into a fashionable
cut.

His dark gaze roamed over her face. As she
was facing into the sun, her black straw bonnet afforded her no
protection from his keen scrutiny. To her consternation, she felt
herself blushing.

“Roberts was right,” he said softly as his
mouth tipped into a smile. “You look very well, Mrs. Eliott. You
have color in your cheeks.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am much recovered,
thanks to you and Mr. and Mrs. Roberts.” She glanced away,
frustrated with her inopportune physical reactions. She didn’t want
to make a fool of herself. “I trust your visit to Edinburgh
was…rewarding.”

“Yes…and no.” The marquess moved slightly so
that he was in her line of vision again. His large frame now
shielded her eyes from the sun. “My daughter and my sister, Lady
Maxwell, are well, as are the rest of my sister’s family.” He
paused, his eyes seeking hers again before he spoke. “However, I’m
afraid my sister isn’t aware of any other vacant governess’s
positions at the moment. Of course, she will keep her ears and eyes
open for any hint of an opportunity. But until then…” He gave her a
crooked smile, and shrugged a broad shoulder. “Well, I suppose you
will just have to make do with us all at Eilean Tor.”

He turned back toward the garden and placed
a booted foot upon the stones of a nearby raised border, watching
Todd as the lad turned over the soil in the bed intended for the
root vegetables. “Roberts told me you were rejuvenating the
garden.”

She couldn’t see his face anymore, but his
expression sounded equable enough. “Yes...I hope you don’t mind, my
lord. Mrs. Roberts already had the seeds on hand, so it hasn’t made
any difference to the household budget. And hopefully there will be
a yield of some of the vegetables and herbs before the heavy frosts
set in…I’d be happy to go through the plans with you, whenever
you’d like. That is, if you’re interested…” She almost bit her
tongue to make herself stop babbling. She hated being inarticulate,
awkward beyond measure. She slid a glance the marquess’s way and
found he had turned back toward her. And he was smiling
broadly.

He might be laughing at her, but at least he
wasn’t displeased with what she’d done. “I’d be very interested to
see your plans,” he said, taking a step closer. “Tell me, is
gardening something you enjoy? I feel I know very little about
you—aside from what your reference states. I would like to know
more.”

“Yes…I do…enjoy gardening that is.” She
paused. Was he fishing for details of her life before she came
here? But what could she say? She didn’t want to make up false
stories. But in talking about herself, she might accidently betray
some detail about who she really was. Oh, she was walking on thin
ice indeed.

Lord Rothsburgh was watching her, waiting
for her to say something more. She summoned a slight smile that she
hoped looked self-deprecating rather than nervous. “As for anything
else about me…Well, I suppose there’s not much to tell that would
be of any interest.”

Lord Rothsburgh took another step closer—he
was almost certainly too close now. She was suddenly all too aware
of his decidedly masculine, spicy scent, and she noticed a hint of
dark stubble along his jaw line that he must have missed when
shaving.

His dark eyes fixed on hers. “Hmm. I beg to
differ, Mrs. Eliott. I think you are very interesting indeed.”

Her cheeks flamed with a hot blush, and she
dipped her head so her bonnet shielded her face a little. Was Lord
Rothsburgh flirting with her? No, he couldn’t be. Hugh’s voice
suddenly sounded in her head.
You may be pretty, my dear wife,
but you really are far too dull for words.

Why would the rakish Lord Rothsburgh think
any differently? He was obviously teasing her again for sport. It
was hardly fair. Frustration and embarrassment rose swiftly. Even
though it was unladylike to do so, she bit her lip to stop herself
accusing him of toying with her again. She must remember that
housekeepers didn’t argue with their employers.

Struggling to find something else to say,
she lifted her gaze to Lord Rothsburgh’s face again. But he didn’t
seem to notice the heated expression in her eyes. His gaze was
completely focused on her mouth. He swayed toward her, and she
sucked in a startled breath.

And then he paused.

Frowned and took a step back.

“Mrs. Eliott. Forgive me…” He ran a hand
down his face, and then glanced toward Todd who was still busily
tilling the soil. “I must go...An appointment in Blackhaven with my
solicitor and steward.”

As Lord Rothsburgh strode away from her,
Elizabeth realized how truly immoral she was. Five minutes in his
company and lust coursed through her veins, throbbed low in her
belly. It didn’t matter that he had teased her. Or that she might
be as dull as Hugh had always proclaimed. Or that she was
married.

In the moment Lord Rothsburgh had looked at
her as if he was about to kiss her, she had realized the awful
truth about herself—she had wanted him to.

* * * *

His sister was wrong. He was no saint. He
was a sinner to the depths of his dark soul. Why else would he
attempt to seduce Beth in broad daylight in front of one of his
footmen?

Rothsburgh set a fast pace as he stalked
back to the castle, determined to put as much distance between him
and Beth as possible. He had only been back a few minutes, and it
seemed he couldn’t control himself in her presence. Deliberately
flirting with her was bad enough—he knew she disliked it when he
teased her—but to actually go so far as attempting to kiss her?

She was his housekeeper for God’s sake.

The most beautiful housekeeper in
Christendom
.

Now that he’d seen her again, he suddenly
realized what a waste it was for someone like her to be worrying
about gardens, and menus, and linen inventories, or whatever the
hell else it was that housekeepers occupied their time with. He
should never have made her the foolish offer. He couldn’t abide it.
She was too beautiful, too refined and clever. Not for the first
time he wondered about her life before she came here. Her husband,
whoever he had been, had certainly been one lucky bastard. It was
time he faced the truth—he wanted her—more than he’d wanted any
other woman before in his life. One look at her beautiful face in
the clear light of day, and he had been overcome with a longing so
strong it hurt. Ten days away from her had obviously done nothing
to quell his physical desire. Nor his yearning for her smile, and
the simple pleasure of her company. He hadn’t lied when he’d told
her he wanted to learn more about her. He wanted to know everything
about her.

He passed Roberts in the Great Hall, and
ordered for his horse to be saddled before he raced to his room. He
needed to get away from Eilean Tor before the tide came back in.
Before he did something stupid like returning to the walled garden,
dismissing Todd and ravishing Beth on the hillside until he lost
himself in her, and she called out his name in ecstasy.

What the hell was he going to do?
Christ, he was a mess.

When had this itch he needed to scratch
become a full-blown, mad fever?

Once in his room, he resisted the urge to
down a whisky or two, and instead, began to change into his riding
clothes. A good hard ride cross-country should help ease his
rampant lust to some extent.