Page 20 of Brazen Rogue
The day passed quickly, and only every so often she caught glimpses of the house guests, who seemed to have left the estate today for an excursion or picnic if the large baskets of food indicated their goals.
She sat beside Lady Alice, reading her a bedtime story the little girl asked for often. Her eyelids dipped and eventually closed, but Reign continued for another five minutes before blowing out the candle beside her bed and pulling up her blankets.
She turned to leave and jumped at the sight of Lord Lupton-Gage leaning against the doorway, watching her.
"I'm too late, it seems. I'll have to apologize to Alice tomorrow for not getting back in time to wish her goodnight. I had hoped to be back to read the story myself," he said.
Reign placed the book back on the shelf and moved toward the door, her escape that the marquess was currently blocking.
The closer she came to him, the more she could smell the hint of brandy on his breath. Was he foxed? Was that why he was being so relaxed even though any of his guests could come upon them at any time?
"She was very tired and fell asleep quickly. I do not think she was upset that she did not see you this evening," she said, stepping past him.
He clasped her hand and pulled her to a stop. Reign looked up and met his eyes, and her stomach clenched in the wicked, restless way that it always had when around the marquess.
He was her weakness. She had such high hopes during her Season that he would court her and marry her, and instead, he married someone else entirely. A rich, well-dowered woman of nobility who tricked him into gaining her a title.
Reign had never stood a chance. She wasn't devious enough to reign supreme in London.
His gaze burned with a need that she recognized, but ought to deny. "Please move, my lord. This does not help either of us," she pleaded. She should push past him. Demand he let her leave, but her feet would not move.
Her mind and heart at odds over the matter.
"I cannot get that kiss out of my head," he whispered, a pained expression on his face. His fingers slipped down her arm to link with hers. "I cannot seem to let you go."
For a moment, Reign tipped toward the verge of scandal. To leap into the unknown and his lordship's arms and let him show her just how far a kiss could carry a lady down the road of ruin.
But she did not.
"Goodnight, my lord," she said with more conviction than she felt before pushing past him and toward the servant's stairs. Her back burned, and she knew he watched her until she was out of sight.
The urge to run back to him was beyond her endurance, yet she persisted. He did not want to marry his servant. She was a walking scandal he did not want to bring onto his family, and she would never marry a man who would resent her should they be ostracized by thetonmerely because he fell in love with a governess.
How soon would that love turn to spite and resentment?
No, she could never survive the marquess looking upon her with either of those emotions.
Bellamy closed his eyes and fought the desire that burned through him. The need to go after her and slake both their passions. He glanced in the direction she had walked and debated going after her. She would not be far.
"What do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice said from the darkness of the passage.
He turned and found Chilsten watching him, one suspect brow raised in his direction.
Bellamy swore and strolled toward his friend. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel at sea when Miss Hall is in my presence, and unfortunately, she is in my company more often than not."
"Come, let us sit in the parlor and talk. There are many ears about this evening," Chilsten said, moving away from the guest suites.
Bellamy followed, hating that his inaction, his inability to do what he had promised himself, had been seen by another.
They entered the parlor, and thankfully the fire was alight and gave them ample light to pour two glasses of whisky. Chilsten handed him one, a concerned expression on his face.
"What is going on between you and Miss Hall? I know I viewed something just before, and as your friend, I'm not fearful of telling you that I'm troubled," he said.
Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, agitated himself that he would crumble and sleep with his daughter's governess. He cringed, hating to think of Miss Hall in such a way. Once, he viewed her as an equal, even with her lack of funds that so many other debutantes had in excess. He did not care about such things, for he had enough money for both of them. But now … now she was working for him, and everything was different, wrong somehow.
"She is my daughter's governess, and yet, when I'm near her, I cannot help but want her. I want what I lost all those years ago when I married Sally."
Chilsten studied him as he sipped his drink. "Lady Lupton-Gage has passed, my friend. What does it matter if you marry a woman who isn't as high in society as so many worthless ones are?" he asked him. "You should not worry what people think so much. Or you will wake up one day, old and weary in your bed, and realize that you wasted your life on people who never mattered."
