Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

S un slanting through the window woke Beth, and she rolled onto her back, snug and warm under the covers. For a moment she wondered where she was and then the events of the past two days hit her with the force of a sack of hops. She was in Mr Rooke's bed, in his apartment, and she was safe.

He was such a big man, so dark and fearsome, yet towards her, he had been nothing but gentle and kind. His voice was so deep it almost rumbled. His eyes so dark they appeared as black as the hair on his head. His face covered in dark stubble should make him look disreputable, yet when he smiled at her, her heart turned over and her knees went weak.

She was accustomed to men, of all sorts, from all classes and all shapes, sizes and ages; growing up in a brewery it was hard to avoid them. And although both her father and stepfather had done their best to shelter her, the youngest, from the rougher elements of the trade, she was possessed of eyes and ears.

Mr Rooke was the finest specimen of manhood she had ever come across, and despite finding her in the most embarrassing and lewd of circumstances, he had treated her with the greatest respect.

While she had regretted her hasty decision to run away last night, this morning she was glad she had. Mr Rooke's timely rescue had saved her from the worst, and she was free also from the threat of having to marry Mr Neeps.

But what was she to do now? Go home? Everything in her rebelled at that thought. Truthfully, she was miserable living with her mother and stepfather. She longed to escape as Genevra and Mary had done, and if Mr Neeps had been a little younger and less revolting, perhaps she would have welcomed the match.

Yet what was the point? She had always known she hadn't long to live. The prospect of marriage and children and a family of her own, was but a pipe dream. Her heart would never survive the rigours of childbirth. The doctors had been very clear on that point.

She swallowed the ache in her throat and tried to shake off the attack of self-pity. She had sworn she would not indulge this nonsense. No matter how much she repined her circumstances, she could not change them. She had to make the best of the cards she was dealt. So, she would. And staying at home until her heart gave out, or marrying her stepfather's choice of groom, was not how she planned the rest of he r life to go, what she had left of it.

No, she would seize the opportunity she had, to carve out a different future for herself no matter how short it might be and make the best of it. Genevra would help her, she was sure. She had been a ninny not to go to her in the first place. A nibble of worry about her sister intruded on her thoughts and she puzzled over the mysterious Mr Lovell and what he was to her sister.

When Seb woke it was daylight and his guest was sitting on the floor in his night shirt playing with the kittens. Her legs encased in his too big stockings and the rest of her in his too large shirt, she was a sight to behold. The shirt gaped at the neck and her glorious honey coloured hair hung in heavy curls round her shoulders. She had brushed it, and it shone deep golden bronze in the band of sunlight coming through the window behind him. The hem of the shirt rode up, showing a tempting expanse of skin between the fabric and the top of the stockings. He dragged his eyes from it up to her face.

She looked up at him grinning, and his heart stopped. She was so enchantingly gorgeous, his cock stiffened painfully, and his heart recovered enough to thud hard in his chest.

"You didn't tell me you had kittens!" she said accusingly.

His lips twitched and he said mildly. "It didn't come up in conversation last night."

She laughed, flinging her head back and exposing the white column of h er throat. He swallowed a groan. So much for his attempt to be civilised!

"What are their names?"

"I haven't named them," he admitted with a shrug.

"Oh, but they must have names!"

"Be my guest," he said with a smile. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Which ones are boys and which ones are girls?"

"Now let me see," he said leaning forward and pointing. "That handsome little fellow in the black and white suit is a boy. The one with more white than black is a little lady. The two tabbies are girls and the entirely black one is another fellow."

She picked up the little black one and regarded him solemnly. "You sir are easy to name. You shall be Midnight." Midnight batted at her with a paw, whether in approval or disapprobation, it was difficult to tell. She put him down and leaned over to watch the two tabbies playing together. "You two shall be Elsie and Daisy," she pronounced.

"Which is which?" he asked promptly.

"You with the white shoes and socks shall be Elsie, and you with the white fichu shall be Daisy," she said, touching each kitten lightly on the head as if dubbing them. They each promptly rolled over and showed their tummies, which required them to be rubbed. When they grew tired of this and scampered off after some fluff rolling past, Miss Whittaker transferred her attention to the final two. "Now what am I to call you?" she asked with a frown.

"I know! You shall be Marmaduke, and you shall be Marigold. Duke for sh ort, because Marmaduke is such a mouthful. Unless you are naughty of course, when the full force of your name shall be brought to bear." she stroked each with a finger and looked up at Seb watching her. "Do you approve of their names sir?"

"I do," he replied. "On the subject of names, I fear we have not been properly introduced. I am Sebastian Rooke." He rose as he spoke and offered her a formal bow. She scrambled to her feet and responded with a curtsy. "I am Miss Bethany Whittaker."

She held out a hand and simpered with down cast eyes, that didn't fool him for a moment. The lady had a sense of humour and seemed entirely lacking in maidenly sensibility, despite her ordeal last night. Perhaps she saw the pointlessness of pretending that he hadn't seen her half naked?

He took her hand and very improperly squeezed it, before brushing the knuckles with his lips. It was nothing to what he longed to do but would need to suffice. He must remember how very young she was and that she was entrusted to his care. He must think of her as a younger version of Hetty. Although his feelings were anything but brotherly. Yes, he was a beast.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Whittaker."

She sobered and said seriously. "I cannot thank you enough for last night's intervention. If you hadn't arrived when you did-" she broke off with a shudder.

"I am aware," he said quietly. "I should also point out the impropriety of y ou gadding about in my shirt," he added.

"It is hardly less shocking than that dress they put me in last night. I was drugged you know. I would never have submitted to all of that willingly."

"I know. The dress at least covered your legs," he said. "It is most unfortunate that all your clothes were taken. I shall have to obtain some for you." Which, he thought with a sinking heart, was going to ruin his reputation, because what respectable man is to be seen shopping for ladies' attire? It was at moments like these that he longed for his sister Hetty.

She would know what to do and how to go about it.

He knew that men who kept mistresses frequently paid the bills for clothing obtained from dressmakers and milliners. But he was damn sure they didn't do the shopping themselves. And how was he to obtain a dress for her when he hadn't a clue as to her size? Tiny was about as close as he could get. Could he walk into a shop and hold out his hands and say, ‘about this size? ' He didn't think so.

"I suppose you would have to get something off the rack. I wouldn't know where to buy gowns like that, do you know?"

He shook his head, blushing faintly.

"I haven't a notion what size I would be either," she added. "All my gowns were made for me by Mrs Beetson, our seamstress. Do you have a tape measure?"

"No." Before he could dig himself any deeper into this quagmire, a knock on the door and a holler of "Mr Rooke!" told him that Ben had arrived. Ben was an enterprising lad, perhaps he could help.

"Just a minute Ben!" He called out, rising.

"Is that the boy who helped us last night?" she asked.

"Yes, and we need to cover you up" He couldn't have the lad staring at her in this indecent state. He strode past the screen to his wardrobe and brought out a banyan for her. Holding it out for her to put her arms through the sleeves, he tried very hard not to peak down the gaping neckline of his shirt to her pert little breasts. She was so short her head barely came up to his shoulder, her waist so tiny he thought he could almost encompass it with his hands.

"Thank you," she said tying the robe round her slender waist and rolling up the sleeves. The robe's hem reached to her feet.

Turning to the door, he let Ben in. Sun had broken out again from behind the fast-dissipating clouds, the cold wet spell of the last couple of days was evaporating.

Ben came in like a whirlwind, grinning and full of energy. "Mr Lovell sent me for a full report," he began, then catching sight of Miss Whittaker, he bowed punctiliously.

"Morning Miss, I trust yer none the worse fer wear from last night?"

She blushed and shook her head. "No, thank you, Mr Rooke's intervention was timely." She smiled at him, and Ben smiled back. "Can you tell me any news of my sister? Mrs Tate?" she asked anxiously .

"On the mend, Mr Lovell tells me," said Ben with an even wider grin. "Don't you worry about her, Miss, she's in good hands. Takin' very good care of ‘er he is."

Miss Whittaker's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to ask another question.

Clearing his throat, Seb intervened, "We have a problem, Ben, Miss Whittaker has nothing to wear. Can you advise where I might obtain suitable clothing?"

Ben looked dubious and said reluctantly, "Well there's Mrs Tattersalls' off Drury Lane, but that's mostly patronised by the theatre crowd..."

"No, that isn't suitable, Miss Whittaker is a lady," said Seb having visions of gowns exactly like the one she was wearing last night, or worse.

"What was I thinkin'?" Ben smacked himself dramatically in the face. "What about Clark and Debenem, silk merchant and linen draper in Cavendish Square? They sell all manner of fabrics, and some made up clothes for ladies too, I'm told."

"How do you know these things, Ben?" asked Seb with a smile.

Ben winked ostentatiously. "I been around Mr Rooke. I been around."

Miss Whittaker choked on a giggle, which made Ben blush and look at his boots. "Sorry, was forgettin' there was a lady present," mumbled Ben.

"You don't need to mind your tongue around me Ben, I grew up in a brewery. There isn't much we didn't hear from the men in the brew yard, despite papa's attempts to shield us." She smiled at him, and Ben blinked, visibly transfixed, and uttered a little sigh .

"So," she said clasping her hands together. "Clark and Debenem sounds perfect. The question is, how to determine my size, we really need a measuring tape."

"I'll get you a measuring tape Miss," Ben, the ever helpful, smiled.

"Alright Ben, you fetch a measuring tape, and I'll write up my report for Mr Lovell while you're gone."

Ben saluted and left the premises.

"He's delightful," she remarked and then clutched her belly when it gurgled loudly. "Oh dear, I am so hungry, is there any food?"

"Of course!" Seb jerked out of a brown study in which he was contemplating how to take her measurements without embarrassing himself. He fetched food and then sat down to pen the report for Mr Lovell. He was just finishing it, when Ben returned, with the measuring tape.

Left alone with Miss Whittaker and the measuring tape, Seb manned up and began the torturous process of taking Miss Whittaker's measurements while trying not to touch any vital part of her anatomy. A process that tried him sorely. Even more challenging was attempting to keep his thoughts out of the gutter they kept trying to dive into.

With the vital statistics and a list of items of lady's apparel (he had no idea it took so many bits and pieces for a lady to maintain a respectable appearance), he tidied himself up with a quick shave and pulling on his jacket, headed for the door.

"I will pay you back as soon as I am able," she said following him with a kitten in her hands .

"You need not concern yourself with that, Mr Lovell will meet all expenses," he said.

She frowned. "I don't quite understand, what does Mr Lovell have to do with my circumstances? Who is he?"

‘Mr Lovell is my employer and ah–a friend of your sister's, Mrs Tate." Seb was fully aware of the liaison between his employer and Mrs Tate, but he didn't think Miss Whittaker needed to know the details.

"Oh." she digested this in silence.

"I'd best be going." he said with forced cheerfulness.

"Yes, yes of course." She stepped back, and he shut the door behind him.