Page 10 of Brazen Rogue
"Miss Hall?" a deep baritone voiced from the doorway.
She started at the interruption, dropping the book before picking it up hastily. "Your lordship, I apologize for being in here. I was looking for the book on frogs that you mentioned. I hope you do not mind," she said, holding the book before her as if it would ward off the emotions that always bombarded her when he was near.
It did not work. Nothing worked when it came to Bellamy ...
He waved her concerns aside, laying several letters on his desk before removing his greatcoat and throwing it over a nearby chair.
"Not at all. By all means, search and use whatever books you think will assist your lessons with my daughter." He slumped into the chair behind his desk, rubbing a hand over his face.
Reign noted the dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked to have aged several years since their picnic luncheon this afternoon. "I think I have found the book I need. I shall leave you to your business," she said, starting for the door.
"Wait, stay. You do not need to go so soon. Come, sit with me a moment. I could use the company," he said, his eyes imploring her in a way she could not refuse. Had never been able to refuse if she were honest with herself.
"Very well, if you like." Reign came and sat across the desk from him, unable not to drink him in. After years of not seeing him, being so close to the man she once thought would be her husband was a delight she had never thought to experience again. "You look weary, my lord," she blurted before she could wrench the words back. She covered her mouth with her hand, unsure what possessed her to be so familiar with him. She had no right to be anymore. She was a servant in his house and ought to know her place.
He scoffed but nodded in agreement. She thought he would scold her, but perhaps he too was finding it hard to remember her place in society had altered. "You are right. I'm terribly beat and will be abed soon enough."
Reign fought not to imagine what he would look like abed. She was seven and twenty, no longer the young, naive girl who did not think like the woman she now was. Now she longed to know what men hid beneath their superfine coats, perfectly pressed shirts, and starched cravats.
One man in particular above all others. She longed to know what Lord Lupton-Gage looked like beneath all his finery. Even now, his buckskin breeches and bottle-green jacket sprayed with mud, and who knew whatever else, looked regal and so damn alluring it made her heart hurt.
"Well, I hope you have a pleasant and restful sleep," she said, wondering when she had started to reply with inane comments like the one she just did.
He watched her, and she fought not to fiddle with the book in her hand.
"I watched you today with my daughter and could not fathom how some women are motherly, have been born as if that is all the duty they wish for in life, and then there are others." He paused, his mouth twisting into a displeased line. "Women who marry for status and titles and birth a child merely because that is what they believe is required of them and then do not wish the burden of such joy."
Reign swallowed, unsure if she ought to have an opinion on what his lordship was saying, for he was most certainly speaking of his late wife. And while she may be angry with her ladyship for ripping Lord Lupton-Gage from her all those years ago, it did not mean it was her place to disregard her memory or speak ill of the dead.
"She never wanted Alice, and my daughter this afternoon was so happy and cheerful that someone was interested in the same things she was. Even if you feigned your interest, I thank you for being kind to her. She longs for the company of a mother figure, which is something I cannot give her, no matter all my wealth."
His words humbled and alarmed her. "My affection for Lady Alice is not feigned, my lord. I think she's endearing, and I'm happy to be her governess. As a woman who has also lost her mother, I can understand the hole she may feel in her life, but I hope I can fill it if merely a little bit," she said, having never meant anything more in her life.
Bellamy did not know why he was telling Miss Hall all the particulars of his life that haunted him, but for years he had held the burden of his wife, her scandalous pursuits over the continent that would always get back to him. Letters from acquaintances who relished the knowledge they were bestowing of news on his unfaithful wife and her antics.
"Thank you for your service to my daughter and your kindness. I will not forget." He paused, meeting her eyes. "What are your plans once you complete your governess duties here? Will you return to Grafton?" he asked, unsure why the thought of her leaving made his stomach twist. He did not want her to leave. Now that he had Miss Hall—Reign—back within his sight, the thought of her leaving him was unthinkable.
She's your daughter's governess, Bellamy. She has fallen too low for you to marry her now ...
In time he would need to marry again and beget an heir, but seeing Reign again brought home all he had lost in not marrying her when he had the ability.
Her eyes flared, and her fingers tightened on the book in her lap. "I intend to save and purchase passage to America, my lord. I have instructed the local magistrate in Grafton to sell my property, and that alone will get me across the Atlantic, but I shall need money to help me survive for the few weeks until I'm settled."
A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he shifted on his chair. America? "America?" he blurted, shaking his head, uncertain he heard her correctly. "But surely the money from the sale of your house will be more than ample to get you there and keep you fed and housed in the interim." Bellamy frowned, wondering why he would say such a thing, especially when the idea of her leaving England and never returning made his blood run cold.
What are you thinking, man? She is your daughter's governess. Yes, once, she may have been suitable, but no longer.Marrying a woman who was a servant would bring only more scandal to the house of Lupton-Gage.
And his wife had filled that quota well enough when she was alive.
"Unfortunately not," she said, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. "My parents were not fond of economy, my lord, and there are debts in Grafton that will need to be paid, along with several in London that resulted from my Season. If I'm fortunate, I may have fifty pounds once everything is settled."
For the longest moment, Bellamy stared at Miss Hall, unable to fathom that a person would only have fifty pounds to their name and nothing else in the world. No family, no siblings, no home.
She had nothing, and shame washed over him that he had been part of the process that placed her in the position she now lived.
But America? What would she do should she be assaulted or robbed by a footpad or highwayman? What if she were injured or, worse, killed?
With nothing else and no one to turn to in a foreign land, she would do what all women did to survive.
