Читать книгу To Be Seduced - Stephens Ann Sophia - Страница 9

Bethany arose heavy-eyed and guilt-ridden the next morning. She had tossed and turned all night even on Mistress Gatwell’s comfortable bed as she recalled her shameless behavior. In the normal way of things, she would give thanks to marry a man whose touch pleased her so. Certainly Mr. Ilkston’s had brought her no pleasure.

She could not help but wonder what Lord Harcourt thought of a woman who gave in to a few kisses so easily. Her reluctance to face him caused her to linger in her room after she had dressed and penned a note to her mother.

Eventually she forced herself to descend to the yard. Her betrothed stood in the chill winter air speaking to the landlord. He threw her a lowering glance and told her to break her fast so they could leave.

Inside the now empty common room, Mistress Gatwell handed her a trencher of day-old bread and a bit of cheese. After requesting the obliging soul to post her letter, she nibbled her food by the window, observing her betrothed as he tossed off the last of a tankard of ale. She wondered if he had eaten anything with it.

They surely made a fine pair this morning, she reflected. Her skirts fell limply to her feet after yesterday’s travel. His rumpled clothing looked as if he’d slept in it, and there were smudges under his eyes to match her own.

Lane guided the creaky old coach up to the pathway leading to the door. Richard exchanged a few words with him and turned to pay the innkeeper. Bethany hastily backed away from the window, hoping he had not caught her watching him.

Almost immediately she careened into a solid mass. Two hands grasped her elbows to steady her, and she found herself looking into the brown eyes of a man nearly a hand span taller than Richard. The thick brown curls of a periwig cascaded over his shoulders, and the fine muslin shirt under the voluminous black coat with green silk facings bespoke a man of substance.

“Pray, madam, forgive my clumsiness!” The gentleman bowed from the waist and swept his feathered hat over the green ribbons and silver buckles decorating his shoes. The country-bred girl stifled a giggle at the sight of matching ribbons adorning his knees. “I thought I saw a dear friend of mine in the yard, and crowded too close to the window trying to see if I was correct. Are you unhurt?”

Distracted by his sartorial grandeur, she scrambled to remember her manners. “Entirely unhurt, sir. I fear it is I who must apologize for not watching where I stepped. I must have been woolgathering not to have noticed you.”

Apparently taking the words as a compliment, he bowed once more. “You are too kind, dear lady. I should have made my presence known to you. My acquaintances often accuse me of being so quiet I nearly sneak up on them.” As he said the last words, an unexpected gleam of amusement lit the dark eyes.

“Mistress Bethany!” Mistress Gatwell bustled up to say that her brother awaited her in the yard. Exchanging a last nod with the beribboned gentleman, she left the inn’s warmth for the cold winter air.

She sighed at the old vehicle and faced Richard. “Is it a very long way to London?”

To her annoyance, he chuckled at her wistful question. “That depends on your stomach, my dear.”

Offended at his amusement, she permitted him to hand her into the rattletrap and place a hot brick at her feet, but refused to speak to him further after he took his place on the seat opposite. Richard knocked on the roof and with a violent lurch the day’s journey began.

Inside the Bell and Moon’s common room, the large gentleman watched their departure with great interest. He had not set eyes on Richard Harcourt or his family for some time, but he very much doubted that his sister would have grown so many inches since then. Or changed from a blonde to a redhead.

Although the distance to London was longer by several miles than the previous day’s travels, the smoother roads prevented another episode of Bethany’s illness. After a number of stops to rest the horses and give her a chance to get down from the coach, it was midafternoon before they arrived.

Richard watched her wide-eyed gaze take in the noise and bustle of the capitol, hiding his amusement. For all his twenty-eight years, he had gawked much the same way when he arrived for the King’s coronation last spring.

A night in the hayloft left him in no fine mood that morning, and his irritation increased when he realized that the day would see the last of his ready cash gone. Thankfully, his little Puritan had eaten lightly at dinnertime, and he could delay supper until their arrival in town.

His back and posterior ached from the bouncing on the thinly padded seats all day. Despite her fascination with the sights outside the coach’s window, she looked pale. Noticing that she rubbed the back of her neck every once in a while, he surmised that she had a headache. He assured her that they would arrive at their destination shortly. Her grateful smile told him he guessed right.

A shout from outside the carriage startled both of them. He sprang to a half crouch between the seats, his sword drawn instinctively. He glanced at Bethany and put a finger to his lips. She nodded, gray eyes wide with fear. Straightening as much as possible in the cramped vehicle, he flung the door open.

Torchlight danced along his naked blade as a couple of soldiers confronted him.

“Where be you going after sundown, sir?”

Richard lowered his weapon a few inches. “I am attempting to return to my lodgings. And what business is that of His Majesty’s army, pray tell?”

“Never tell me you don’t know anyone abroad after dark is to be stopped and questioned!” The older man, a sergeant, regarded him indignantly.

“Certainly such was not the custom when I left London four days past.” Richard assumed the brisk air he’d used during his days in the French army. “Who is your commander?”

The guard scratched his head. “I can’t rightly say, sir. A fellow named Venner sent some Puritans on a rampage against the King two days ago, and then again last night. We were called out and told what to do, but we ain’t seen an officer all day.”

“No officers and you’re still on duty? Well done!” Under his calculated praise, the men straightened and puffed out their chests. After giving them his name, they saluted smartly and waved the coach along.

Shortly after that, Lane set them down before the old building containing his lodgings. Richard assisted Bethany out and escorted her to the door. She stopped short as she gazed up at the building.

“What is this place?” She faced him, realization gathering in her gray eyes. “Do not tell me you expect me to share your lodgings.”

“I do expect just that.” They had not argued excessively, but two days of sitting in that miserable coach, a night in a hayloft, and short rations had exhausted his patience. “Now, please be so good as to go inside and not pick a quarrel on the street.”

“I do not normally indulge in such ill-bred behavior, my lord, but no gentleman installs an unmarried lady in his lodgings.” His companion’s pretty face looked downright mulish as she stood her ground. “I insist that you find a decent place for me to stay. At once.”

He reminded himself of his desperate straits and her fortune in order to restrain himself from pulling her inside like a small child. “This, madam, is London. You will find a good number of females living with gentlemen to whom they are not married.”

“Those are not ladies.” She crossed her arms, daring him to deny her demand. He took a deep breath. Gloriana at her most spoiled did not exasperate him like this chit.

He turned to the grinning coachman. “Lane, return the coach to the Mermaid at once.” The grizzled driver barely suppressed a snort of laughter before climbing back on the box and slapping the reins against the horses’ backs.

Returning his attention to his outraged fiancée, he grasped her arm and tried to escort her inside. She did not budge.

“Your choice, my girl. Either spend the night in my rooms or on the street. I haven’t the silver to buy you a room.” He stepped over the threshold and looked over his shoulder. “Well?”

She gave him a withering scowl before flouncing through the doorway.

Following him up the stairs, Bethany wrung her hands under her cloak. It never occurred to her that he would bring her to his lodgings. She faced disaster.

“Do you not have any married friends I could stay with?” She would infinitely prefer to stay with strangers instead of a man who turned her to melted wax with one touch.

“No.” She flinched at the snapped monosyllable. She tried to think of an alternative, but her pounding head pushed all thought aside. Except for her wish to avoid the all too attractive Richard Harcourt until after they wed.

She had nearly given in to him last night. His mouth ignited her with its touch and honeyed whispers alike. It would have been easy enough to remedy such a lapse. As a peer he could apply for a special license, and her trustees would have paid to prevent a scandal.

A scrabbling in the wall next to her interrupted her musings. She shuddered and hoped this ramshackle building housed nothing larger than mice.

Richard clearly needed her fortune and only by marrying her could he touch a penny of it. Her jaw hardened as she watched his heavy cloak swaying up the stairs ahead of her. She had consented to wed him for a home of her own and a title, but she hardly cherished illusions of matrimonial bliss. Once she provided him with an heir, she expected him to deposit her at his estate while he lived mostly in town.

Compared to this dank-smelling place, the prospect of living in the country sounded downright appealing. She had learned to order a household and run an estate from her mother.

Bethany stifled a sigh. A husband held absolute authority over his wife and her possessions unless her father or guardians bargained for a decent allowance. As she had neither, she must look after her own interests. If she convinced Richard to settle part of her money on her outright, she would gain some measure of security.

Besides which she objected to Richard gambling her father’s fortune away and spending it on his mistresses.

But for her to force his hand, he had to need the marriage more than she did. If she allowed him to finish what he had started last night at the inn, she also must marry in order to preserve her reputation.

Despite her bravado in the coach the previous day, she did care about society’s opinion. Growing up in her mother’s well-run but austere household, Bethany’s liking for display and attention had earned her frequent lectures on proper feminine behavior.

Ahead of her, Richard paused in a doorway off the first landing. His rigid posture indicated his lingering animosity. “Madam.” He bowed. Swallowing, she entered the den of iniquity awaiting her.

After one horrified look, she turned back to him, pleading. “Are you quite sure you don’t know anywhere else I might stay?”

When he had agreed to bring Bethany to London, he had expected to simply bring her to his rooms, find her vicar, wed her, and pay off his debts. The reality looked different as he saw his rooms through her eyes.

“As I had not planned to bring you back here, I did not take time to tidy it before leaving.” He followed her in, trying to cover up his discomfort.

“A wise decision. You’d still be here, wouldn’t you?” She moved cautiously into the room, stepping delicately around a few empty wine bottles scattered on the floor. He vaguely remembered playing ninepins with them, using an orange for a ball. After a moment’s panic, the sight of the dried peel sitting on a table assured him that the fruit was not rotting somewhere along the paneled wall.

He watched her drift through the room, examining a pile of periodicals, wrinkling her nose at some empty wineglasses scattered on a gateleg table. To his relief, she kept her composure. “I gather you have no servants?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s Lane, of course. He’s used to the stables more than housekeeping, but he’s been with me for years.”

“As has this, apparently.” She held a worn seat cushion between her thumb and forefinger at arm’s length as a thin trail of sawdust dribbled out of one corner. Gingerly replacing it, she surveyed the rest of the room.

“It came this way. The furniture did, at any rate.” He crossed his arms. “Coming to London was your idea, not mine.”

She ignored him and wandered over to examine a pile of plates. “I collect that Lane at least comprehends the function of a dishcloth and soap. Do you usually keep clean dishes on the window seat?”

He shrugged. “Why not? They’re closer to hand.”

A pained expression crossed her face and she shut her eyes. “All things considered, Richard, it may be best that you are marrying into money. We are going to hire at least one maidservant as soon as possible. And the first thing we are going to do after we marry is find a decent place to live.”

His lips twitched as she removed a few books from a chair and searched for a place to put them, but he said nothing. After last evening, he had his own ideas about the first activities in which they would indulge following the wedding. They did not include house hunting.

Bethany’s exploration ended quickly when she discovered that the far door led to his bedchamber. She immediately closed it again, flushing crimson at his unrepentant grin.

“How on earth do you cook in here?” Her perplexed gaze took in the small fireplace.

“We don’t. Lane brings hot meals in, or whatever else we need—bread, fruit, wine, that sort of thing. We keep them in the cupboard in the corner.” Her brow furrowed. Obviously she wanted to ask him something, but she hesitated.

“What were you going to ask now?” He smiled at her grave face and clasped hands.

“Do you think he’ll be much longer?” Her pensive question reminded him that their small dinner on the road had been several hours ago.

“He’s likely been delayed at the Mermaid.” Richard chuckled. “He’s, ah, quite friendly with one of the chambermaids there. I’m famished as well. Shall I go out and see what I can find among the stalls on the street?”

“That would be wonderful, but how will you pay for it?” She cocked her head to one side. “I thought you had no money.”

“That’s the great advantage of being a peer. Since coming to London, I maintain quite a comfortable living”—he ignored her derisive exclamation—“by the adroit use of my title in the right ears. London merchants have proved more than happy to extend credit to members of His Majesty’s Court.” He bowed.

“Provided, of course, that they never visit Hampton Palace and discover just how unimportant the peer truly is.” He observed her growing indignation as he finished his explanation.

“Good heavens, this is some sort of game for you.” Her eyes flashed. “You do nothing but trade on your name to see what it brings you. First the merchants, then me.”

He froze. “Be careful what you accuse me of, madam. My father refused to sully his name and mine with disloyalty when those fat merchants were scrambling for Cromwell’s favor. ’Twas no game. His sense of honor cost him his estates and his life.”

He fell silent, hands clenched. How dare she judge his actions? She had no grasp of the life he had led.

She stood by the fireplace, shocked at his vehemence, frightened. He realized that despite her practicality, she was only a few years older than his sister, and had grown up in the relative security of the countryside.

He forced himself to speak lightly. “Besides, that is the name that is going to obtain our evening meal.” He jammed his black felt hat on his head, but shut the door behind him quietly, careful not to slam it.

“Richard, wait!” He heard her voice through the door, but hurried down the stairs. He needed to calm himself before he faced her again.

“Trading his name,” as Bethany called it, took long enough that he walked directly home after his purchases. Only his insistence that he would possess a wealthy bride within the week induced the shop owners to give him their evening meal. He would have to discover her father’s bank and arrange for a letter of credit in order to eat after tomorrow’s breakfast.

His full hands prevented him from opening his own door. Bethany answered his knock and took the parcels from him as he shrugged off his cloak and beheld his room. She had rolled up her sleeves to clean, and taken her cap off. Even pinned up, the flaming strands caught his eye.

While much of the chaotic tumble remained, she had dusted off two chairs and a small table. Other piles of clutter had disappeared. He noticed that all the cushions had been removed. When asked, Bethany informed him that she had tossed them onto the midden heap in the alley behind.

She sniffed a smallish parcel. “What is this?”

“Eel pie. I fear ’twas the best I could coax from the pie man.” She eyed it doubtfully but said nothing and proceeded to put away the remaining foodstuffs before setting the pies out, along with bread and wine.

They supped heartily as dusk gathered outside the windows. After her initial cautious taste, she devoured her pie. Richard coaxed her to join him in a second glass of wine as they ate their bread and cheese.

Afterward, Bethany replaced the supper dishes with a candelabrum while Richard prowled the room restlessly. He seldom dined in his rooms, spending most evenings with his cronies at the theater, or visiting the numerous gambling dens and public houses catering to gentlemen. Occasionally he patronized a bawdy house, but he found women of his own social standing more attractive. And for him, their favors were usually free.

Mentally, he shrugged. For the fortune that Bethany brought, he would willingly pay the price of a few nights’ boredom. Once his ring was safely on her finger, he could do what he wished wherever he wanted.

The girl sat at the table before a piece of paper, writing steadily with a quill and ink unearthed from somewhere in the mess. Candlelight danced off her blazing hair, and he had a sudden urge to unpin it. What he wanted just now, he decided, was a bit of sport.

With a sly glance at her bent head, he selected a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He’d rushed his fences with her last evening. He would take slower steps now.

“Would you care to have me read to you?”

Bethany looked up from her work. He supposed it was a trick of the candlelight, but her bright gray eyes looked almost silver, a most attractive effect. “I’m sorry, I was not attending.”

He bestowed upon her his most disarming smile. “I wondered if you would care to have me read aloud.”

“That would be delightful.” She colored slightly. “If you really wish to, of course. As you can see, I have found a way to occupy myself.”

“You put me to shame with your industry, to be sure.” He seated himself opposite her. “Whatever are you working so hard on?”

“Lists, sir. One for immediate household needs, one for errands that must be run, another of questions I have.” She flexed her fingers. “Before you begin, shall I pour you a drink? I believe I saw a jug of cider among all your bottles of wine.”

“Thank you, yes, but another glass from the open bottle if you please. Pour one for yourself.” When she eyed him doubtfully, he dismissed her unspoken concern. “Claret, my dear, the feeblest stuff imaginable.”

Once they both settled back down, he thumbed through the book.

“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…’” As he read sonnet after sonnet, he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. As the quill moved slower and slower over the sheets in front of her, he lowered his voice, forcing her to concentrate in order to hear him.

The quill stopped completely. She sat across from him, unmoving, as he wove his spell. Seeing the kerchief over her breasts moving rapidly with each breath she took, he felt his own body tighten in response.

He closed the book with a soft smack. She raised her eyes then. Looking into their glittering silver depths, he felt himself drawn in, wanting her. He set the book down and rose to his feet, stretching slightly. “Did you enjoy that?”

She nodded, silent.

“I shall take you to the theater. You’ve never seen a play, have you?” He smiled faintly as she shook her head. “But first the shops. As Lady Harcourt, you’ll need fine dresses of velvet or silk. Perhaps in green to show off your hair.”

She touched the coil at her neck. “I despise it!”

“Why? It’s beautiful.” She stood up and backed away as he approached her. He chuckled. “’Tis a small room, you’ve nowhere to go.” Proving his point, he cornered her by the door. She averted her head, eyes closed, her breath coming in soft puffs. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” With those soft words, he gave in to the itch to unpin her burnished copper locks.

The thick braid unfurled down her back. She did not move as he combed his fingers through it, except to lick her lips. He bent to nuzzle her soft cheek, exulting in the shudder he elicited from her. His lips moved over the silken skin, easing toward her mouth, but not taking it.

She rewarded him by turning her head to him, opening herself to him with a soft moan. He embraced her gently as his tongue swept into her accepting mouth, twining with hers.

As their kiss deepened and roughened, his arms tightened, holding her to him. Her body nearly matched his for height, fitting perfectly against him. He left her mouth, searching for the sensitive point on her throat as she gasped and threw her head back.

It smacked painfully against the wall.

“Bethany! Are you all right?” He stepped back to avoid a bloody nose when she doubled over in pain, but stayed by her side. “I’ve never known such a dangerous female.” He drew her to a hard-backed bench and sat her down.

“If you’d stop trying to maul me, these things wouldn’t happen.” She grimaced, rubbing the back of her head.

Still unable to keep his hands out of the soft strands, he carefully stroked over the sore area. He felt heat in the injured spot, but no swelling. Relieved, he let his fingers slide to the base of her neck, circling and pressing.

She shut her eyes once more, sighing in pleasure as he worked the stiffness out of her tense muscles. When he finished, she sighed. “Much better.”

“Indeed.” He kissed her again, stroking her cheek with his thumb. In her relaxed state, Bethany responded ardently, placing one hand on his chest while the other moved to cup the back of his head.

He emitted a guttural moan as his hand stroked down her satiny throat to the top of her breast. Seeking beneath her kerchief and the edge of the wool bodice, his fingers found a sensitive peak. As they rolled and pinched it to stiffness, her back arched and her breathing grew ragged. Egged on by the sound, he followed with his mouth. Grasping the edge of the kerchief with his teeth, he eased it aside while working the bodice lower with his hands.

Bethany mewled at the pleasurable friction of soft muslin against her straining nipples. She knew she should tell Richard to stop, but thought fled as he freed her breasts from her stays and began to suckle. A trail of fire coursed its way down to the apex of her thighs and nestled there, burning. Her restless fingers tangled in Richard’s honey-colored strands as he cupped the creamy mounds in his hands, sucking and nibbling at each coral tip in turn.

A protest left her mouth when he abandoned them, but his mouth fastened over hers before she could complete it. Her hand stroked over his cheek and down to his cravat, loosening the snowy folds. He whispered his desire in her ear before nipping lightly at her earlobe and licking the tender skin below.

She reciprocated, shyly pressing kisses along his skin just below his jaw. At his growl of pleasure, she became bolder, moving her mouth down his muscular throat. Sitting up against him, she buried her face in the base of his throat, kissing and stroking.

She started as she felt her bodice loosen. Richard was untying it with one hand while his other slipped beneath her skirt and petticoat. His arousal pressed against her thigh.

“Shall we finish this in the bedchamber, my lovely girl?” The husky murmur meant nothing to her for a few seconds. When the meaning sank in, she choked and struggled to her feet. Looking down at herself, a wave of shame enveloped her.

“Dear God, what am I doing?” With an agonized cry, she turned away, trying to put her clothes in place. Her hands shook so severely she could barely manage the task.

From behind her, she heard the soft creak of the bench as Richard stood. She forced herself to face him. He stood only a few paces away, arms at his sides. His rough exhalations and the bulge in his pantaloons indicated his clear state of arousal.

She could see the fury in his darkened eyes at being denied for a second night running. They rested pointedly on her breasts where they threatened to spill out of her bodice. Unable to find her kerchief, she drew her hair over her shoulders.

“A trifle late for modesty, little Puritan.” He bit the words out.

She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry, Richard. I have no notion what possessed me to misbehave so badly these two nights.” To her horror, another sob escaped, and tears blurred her vision. She dropped her gaze to the floor, struggling with her chaotic emotions.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Jesu, don’t cry.” Frustration descended on his face. “And don’t pretend to coy virtue. Your zest for the exercise betrays your eagerness.” The lips that had just reduced her to the veriest jade pressed into a tight line as he tugged his own clothing to rights. “God’s teeth, we’re to be married as soon as we find your minister! What difference does it make to start the honeymoon a night or two before?”

“You said you would not harm me!” Her temper rising, she stepped toward him with the accusation.

“Those were cries of pain, were they?” The last shreds of shame disappeared at his mocking tone. “You did not appear to be suffering unduly under my attentions, madam!”

Unable to deny the truth of his statements, Bethany floundered for a reply. In the end, she could only sputter, “Go to your bed alone.” Which, with a deafening slam of the door, his lordship did.

She glowered after him, then proceeded to make up a bed on the settle by rolling up her cloak for a pillow and curling up under his. Waiting for sleep to take her, she stared at the fire. The journey to London must have disordered her senses, she reflected. She had never experienced the least urge to behave so badly with Mr. Ilkston. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was the sincere hope that they would find Mr. Barker before she abandoned all her morals.