Page 7 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

Chapter Five

A s luck would have it, Bea didn’t cross paths with the elusive Mr. Dimsdale until much later that night, long after the dinner hour had passed and she’d put the children to bed.

She was alone on the deck in the moonlight, having just made her wish on the evening star, when the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted, warning her that someone was approaching.

This time it wasn’t an unshaven rogue of a colonel. It was another man, one stinking rather heavily of whiskey.

Gathering her courage, Bea turned around, coming face-to-face with Mr. Dimsdale.

Her pulse skittered with feminine apprehension.

She may not have spent any time with Mr. Dimsdale since entering his family’s employ, but she knew him well enough by sight.

She’d seen him often over her years in India, shouting at native bearers, riding hard during polo matches, and striding about various encampments with similar-looking Englishmen.

All of them loud, strapping fellows, with heavy beards, and weathered skin.

Pukka sahibs.

Bea wasn’t overly fond of the breed. “Mr. Dimsdale.” She inclined her head. “Good evening.”

“Miss Layton.” His thick lips curled in an oily smile. “What do you mean by wandering the deck at night on your own? Not waiting for me, are you?” He advanced on her. “My valet said you required my ear.”

Bea had to steel herself from retreating. She’d encountered drunken men before, but never in the role of employer. “I required a breath of fresh air,” she said. “But yes, I did hope that I might speak with you about the children. Mrs. Dimsdale recommended it.”

“Did she, by God.” He came to the rail. His gait was markedly unsteady, made more noticeable by the roll of the deck beneath his feet. “What are they up to now, the rascals?”

Bea saw no point in beating about the bush. “Your daughter struck me last evening.”

Mr. Dimsdale’s bushy brows lifted. “Little Lilith?” He guffawed. “I can’t believe it. Not unless she was mightily provoked.”

Bea’s chest tightened with indignation. “There was no provocation, sir. I was merely attempting to put her to bed.”

He gave another chuckle of amusement. “Is that all?”

“It was enough. You must be aware how difficult the children can be.”

“I’m aware how lazy servants are. Can’t get a decent Ayah or bearer wallah for any sum. Have to keep after them with the boot or the strap. That’s what my children are used to, giving a bit of the old encouragement to an indolent domestic.”

Bea’s lips compressed. She had witnessed just such despicable behavior, long before she’d entered the Dimsdales’ employ, as had everyone else who’d encountered them in India.

It was the very reason Mrs. Dimsdale had been unable to find a governess for her children after their last one had unceremoniously departed.

“An unfortunate habit,” Bea said, “and one that should never have been tolerated in the first place. No one has the right to strike a person they perceive as being beneath them.”

Mr. Dimsdale’s smile dimmed. “Lofty opinions for one in your position.” He drew closer still. The stink of whiskey and tobacco that came with him was nearly overpowering. “Where did she strike you?”

Bea made an effort not to inhale. “On my cheek. But that’s beside the point. I would have you address her behavior before?—”

“Here?” Mr. Dimsdale’s brought his hand to her face.

Bea recoiled from his touch. “If you wouldn’t mind?—”

His tobacco-stained fingers curved to cup her cheek, arresting her speech and preventing her from retreating. “What soft skin you have,” he said. “One wouldn’t know it by the sharpness of your tongue.”

Bea’s blood ran cold. Good lord. Just how intoxicated was he? “Mr. Dimsdale, really,” she protested. “You must desist.”

His fingertips pressed hard into the curve of her jaw. “And those pretty blue eyes. Quite fetching in the right light.”

Bea’s heart beat an erratic rhythm in her breast. She was rapidly losing control of the situation.

If she’d ever had it in the first place.

“My wife would prefer to sack you,” he said, still holding tight to Bea’s face. “I expect she will after this latest episode with Lilith. No lady desires to be reprimanded by her servant. But I might put in a word for you, providing I get something in return.”

Bea was left in no doubt of his intentions. Staring up at his inebriated face, her future as the Dimsdales’ governess flashed before her eyes. She was a hair’s breadth away from being dishonored. Either that or dismissed.

Of the two, she knew which she’d prefer.

She jerked her head back. “Unhand me this instant!”

“And what will you give me for it?” he asked. “How about a kiss? Or is that mouth of yours reserved for scolding my wife and children?”

“I said, let me go , you philistine!” Bea raised her hands to his chest. She was just about to shove him away with all her might when the hard clack of a walking stick sounded on the deck behind them.

“Lovely night, isn’t it, Miss Layton?” a deep male voice interjected.

Bea’s gaze lurched to the colonel’s. A flare of unimaginable relief went through her.

It was short-lived.

Though he was dressed in the same old cavalry coat and trousers he’d worn on the previous occasions they’d met, and though his hair and beard were just as overgrown, there was something in the colonel’s face so markedly different as to send a chill down Bea’s spine.

It was his eyes, she realized. They were no longer kind. They were as cold as hoarfrost on a godforsaken moor.

Mr. Dimsdale abruptly released Bea’s cheek. He stepped back, with a cough. “Er, I say, Miss Layton. Do you know this chap?”

Bea pressed a hand to her corseted midsection. Her breath seemed to have jammed up in her chest, and her skin had gone into some queer sort of clammy flush. She didn’t know how she managed to keep her countenance.

“Colonel, may I present my employer, Mr. Dimsdale,” she said. “Mr. Dimsdale, this is Colonel…” She faltered. “Colonel…”

“Beresford,” the colonel replied as he came to join them. “Lately of Her Majesty’s Army in Persia.”

“Beresford,” Mr. Dimsdale repeated with a dubious sniff. “Don’t recall the name.”

The colonel held Mr. Dimsdale’s gaze. “You might be better acquainted with my father,” he said. “The Earl of Allendale.”