A Most Delicate Pursuit (12 page)

Hearing him groan, she gave him her most patient expression. She was, after all, the guiltless one. Or, nearly guiltless, that was.

“She was a lovely girl. Very sweet and most anxious to get on with our engagement.”

“You were engaged to her?”

“I meant to marry her, yes. She completely beguiled me, especially after one starry night at her family's country house. We'd gone out for a day of riding and when we'd returned to the stables to put away our mounts, she let me kiss her. Quite scandalously, in fact. Then, we found ourselves in a corner of the barn, on a fresh pile of hay.”

Bea gasped. “You ruined her?”

He laughed. “More like the other way around. She'd far more experience than I. It was my first time with a woman.” He sighed. “Sadly, her father thought she could do better. He refused my offer of marriage and the next day sent her to Spain, where she wed a very wealthy landowner.”

Bea blinked. “But, you're a peer. Surely a title would be more desirable than the life of a farmer's wife.”

“You would think so. It didn't matter. My father was against it from the beginning. He thought the girl was just after my money. So he drained my accounts to the last farthing. Said if I was going to carry on with rubbish, I needed to make my own fortune.”

“Oh.” She looked at him, feeling a bit the shrew. Still, she wanted to know all about him.

“Whom else have you had an affair with?”

“Lady Elizabeth Penn. Viscount Davenport's oldest daughter.”

“How did you meet?”

Michael smiled. “We met on our wedding day.”

“And your father approved of her?”

“More like he approved Davenport's deep pockets. Thought he might make a bit of coin at my expense. It was arranged before I'd even known about it. I'd been at Eton with Ash one day, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged back to Vanguard Hall for a quick wedding, bedding, and holiday. It happened very fast.”

Bea heard his voice trail off and felt more than a little stung to think that he might have cared so much for another woman.

“I see. Did you love her?”

He gave her a half smile as an answer.

“Not at first, but after we married we were happy enough.” His expression darkened. “Or, at least I thought we were.”

“Go on,” she said, although somewhat less enthusiastically than before.

He shrugged. “Shortly after our marriage, she managed to get herself caught behind closed doors with a randy young gent. Of course, there was a scandal. She was so humiliated that she killed herself two days later.” He shook his head. “Turned out, she'd rather been dead than married to me.”

Bea now really felt terrible. “I'm so sorry.”

“You needn't be.” He waved her off. “It was a very long time ago.”

She couldn't blame him for that. “You were very young.”

He sighed. “So, I make poor choices, duel far too much, and I'm a womanizer. Those are my faults. Oh, I've almost forgotten. I'm penniless. Most women would consider that a fault, I suppose.”

As if she didn't feel horrible enough. “What happened to your inheritance?”

“My father gave what remained of his estate to a distant relative of ours. He signed it all over on his deathbed, so I had nothing to inherit when he died. Part of his plan of ‘making me a better man,' you see.”

“You're an earl and you've no money?”

“Barely a farthing. Except for Vanguard Hall and my good name, that's about all you'd get by marrying me, my dear. That and the protection I can give you. I'm pretty handy with a weapon, you know.”

She raised her gaze and pointed to his missing eye but remained silent.

He shrugged. “Well, I'm not as good a shot as I used to be, but I will fight with my whole heart and lay down my very life if need be.”

“Thank you for your good intentions. I'm sure that won't be necessary.”

He nodded. “Of course, you already know about my former lover, Lady Merriweather.”

“Yes, of course.” She let out a breath. “In spite of all you told me, you do have feelings for her, don't you?”

He smiled again, but his face was unreadable.

Could it be he was still in love with Lady Merriweather? Was it possible that she would comfort him once Bea had gone?

Of course, she wanted him to be happy. That was what she'd hoped for, right?

And, in that hope was the tiniest bit of sadness that he very well might. She spared a glance at him but saw by his downward-cast expression that the woman meant more bad feelings than good.

He took one breath, and then another, before he spoke.

“Connie is a lovely woman and, for a time, she was just what a ragged, heartbroken man needed. I'd come home from the war, was pushed into an arranged marriage, blamed myself for the disaster it became, and there she was. It was as if she were throwing out a tender bit of beef to a scrawny, starving mongrel.”

He laughed, though Bea didn't detect a bit of humor in his voice.

“She took you in.”

He looked up at her, his glance sharp and cutting. She hoped he knew that she wasn't trying to hurt him with her words.

“Yes.”

She chewed her lip, waiting for him to say more, but he remained silent. Thoughtful, even.

Clearly, he still had feelings for the woman.

“I see,” she said at last.

He shook his head. “No, I'm afraid you don't. I've been honest with you. I just don't feel my time with Lady Merriweather needs to be further discussed.”

A part of her wanted to know more about the woman and her influence on Michael. “I apologize. I've no right to ask such things.”

To her surprise, he turned away. It was full dark now, the landscape all but invisible on the moonless night. When he spoke again, he remained facing the other direction and his voice was a tone deeper and a bit thicker than when he'd spoken earlier.

“I've long enjoyed our acquaintance, Beatrice, and to be honest, I was more than pleased when Ash asked me to help.” He turned back to face her. “While I had no illusion that we'd be a love match, I'd hoped that you'd see the sense of it and agree to become my wife. But, whatever comes of our friendship, I won't speak of Lady Merriweather again.”

With that, he turned back to the trail and fell silent.

Bea stood quiet for a time, not knowing what she should say. His pain was palpable and she knew she was responsible for it. Well, perhaps not all of it.

“She hurt you, didn't she?”

Michael sent her a sharp look. “Nothing more than I deserved. Our affair didn't fall to the stabs of jealousy or indifference, you know. She was a balm to my injured soul and when my brokenness healed, after a fashion, I no longer needed her. So, if you must know, it was I who left her. And she's never forgiven me for it.”

It was a dangerous thing, but somehow his heartache had become hers as well. She wanted to hate and despise the woman who'd hurt him.

“Michael,” she said at last.

“Yes?” He answered but didn't turn around.

“I'm sorry. You're a good man, protecting her like that. I know how fortunate I'd be to have you as my husband.”

He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “And I, to have you as my wife.”

When he didn't say anything more, she placed her hand on his arm, absorbing the heat of him and reveling in it. She knew what her actions might lead to, but in that moment, she no longer cared. His pain matched her own, somehow. Both of them had known disappointment and, for some odd reason, that formed a tenuous bond between them.

When he slowly turned toward her, she wasn't really surprised. Nor was she at all bothered when he leaned down and kissed her, slow and gentle at first.

Something unexpected happened.

More than the previous night's passion flared between them. It was deeper and stronger than the feelings she'd had for him thus far. Before she knew what was happening, she was opening herself to him.

In that very instant, she wanted him more than anything else in her life—more than a life of freedom, more than a promise of adventure. For the future didn't matter and the past was unchangeable. All thought left her and nothing else existed but the man in her arms.

For when he touched her, it was more than just a meeting of bodies, more than an act of capturing the moment. They both had hopes and dreams, bobbing precariously like bubbles on the ocean, threatening to disappear into the void of the nothingness beyond. She would worry about that later, she told herself. For now, it was enough to love this man and to have him love her back.

She doubted that she'd ever get the chance again.

It wasn't until after their passions had ebbed, and they lay together on a patch of grass at the edge of the forest, that she realized where they were. A few hundred feet from where they'd settled stood the thick, squat figure of Slyddon Castle, looking very much as it must have in past centuries, a medieval fortress rising up out of the darkness to stand guard against enemies and friends alike.

Turning over, she felt him spoon behind her and enjoyed the feel of him against her backside. How she longed to make this night last forever and they could stay, two lovers alone in the forest. Closing her eyes, she let herself pretend for just a while longer.

It was just before daylight when she felt him stir beside her. They'd formed a warm pocket between them, huddled in the tall grasses, impenetrable to the chilly winds around them.

“Time to get you to a proper bed, my girl,” he said.

She meant to rouse, to tell him no and beg him to stay still, his arms around her, his body keeping her warm. “Not yet,” she begged.

He chuckled beside her. “And have you catch your death? It's going to rain soon. I can feel the change in the air. Best to get you indoors. We've barely eaten or had anything more than a few swallows of water since we left the cabin.”

“A few minutes more…” Bea yawned.

“You rest,” he muttered over her. “I'll get you inside.”

The next thing she knew, he was kneeling beside her, lifting her into his arms, and carrying her like a small child. She settled her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. It felt good, being carried by him, but not so good that she didn't want to stand on her own as well. Exhaustion and the chilly wind kept her still in his arms.

“Well,” she said, closing her eyes, “maybe this one time…”

Michael awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the shade gently flapping against the window frame, and Beatrice resting quietly beside him. Gently turning over, he meant to awaken her with a tender kiss, but seeing her huddled into a ball made him decide against it. Her beauty never waned, and she looked just as beautiful as she did in the first light of day. And yet, as he looked closer, he could see she wore a frown and was turned away from him, curled up in herself.

“How odd?” he muttered. Should he wake her and ask her what was the matter?

Scooting from the bed, he gently pulled the quilts up and watched as she cocooned herself within them. He'd the feeling he was the cause of her unsettled slumber.

Perhaps she was just overtired and he was looking for ghosts that weren't there.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling and he realized that if he didn't eat, the ruckus would likely wake her.

Very well, he thought. To breakfast.

Doing his best to not awaken her, he donned his shirt and trousers. After pulling on his boots, he tread lightly out of the room. Once in the hall, he rang for the valet.

“Good morning, my lord,” Winston said. “I thought you might not want to disturb the lady, so I've set up a dressing room in the spare room across the hall. His Grace said to give you complete access to his wardrobe.”

“He's arrived from London, then?”

The man shook his head. “He sent news that he'd been delayed and should be here within the week. Something about obtaining certain documents…”

Michael waved him off. “Thank you.”

Half an hour later he was shaved, dressed, and on his second biscuit when the doorman, Mr. Jamison, came to the dining room.

Bowing deeply, he removed his hat. “Begging your lordship's pardon, sir. But, Sir Oliver Cardiff has just arrived.”

“Cardiff? I thought he was spending the season on the Continent.”

“I'm afraid not, sir. He's come with a lady who is requesting an immediate audience with you.”

“Lady?” Michael's stomach tightened.

“Yes, my lord. A Lady Merriweather.”

“By the gods.” He nearly choked. “What in blazes is she doing here?”

The servant leaned forward. “She says it's urgent and that the two of you have ‘unfinished' business, my lord.”

Michael groaned as the biscuits turned to lead in his belly. This was just the sort of confrontation he'd hoped to avoid. “Very well, show her to the library. I'll be there directly.”

What in the devil was she about? Hoping to sabotage his new relationship with Beatrice, no doubt. Well, he'd send her packing.

“Hello, Michael,” Constance Merriweather crooned as he walked into the library. Wearing a bright yellow gown, her dark brown hair swept up and neatly tucked beneath a flowered hat, she looked as fresh as a spring field of daisies. Her cheerful ruse hadn't fooled Michael. He knew it was the way she dressed when she wanted to lay siege to a room.

“Hello, Connie,” Michael said. He walked to the liquor cabinet, opened the door, and pulled out a bottle of brandy. “I'd say it's good to see you, but in truth you are the last person I wanted to suffer a visit.”

Her smile didn't waver. “Michael, how can you be so cruel?”

“How can you be so brash to visit me when I'm on holiday?” Michael didn't want to be rude, but the woman had to be dealt with.

“You know I only have your best interest at heart. I have news to share with you, and I recommend you don't take it lightly.”

Michael poured the drinks thoughtfully. He knew she was not happy with his refusing her attentions. But such things had never stirred her interest before. So why now? Was it that she was still angry with him for his refusal of her marriage proposal? Or was there something else?

Smiling at him, she held out her hand for the glass. “I told Lord Cardiff that we might want to send a calling card first, but he told me that His Grace was a personal friend and had extended him an open invitation to visit Slyddon. He's seeing to the carriage now, if you'd like to speak to him.”

“Why are you here?” Michael asked, handing her a glass and then downing the contents of his own in a single swallow.

“I'd heard that you'd been forced to abscond with the duke's sister-in-law,” she said, sipping her brandy daintily and batting her eyelashes at him. “Everyone in the ton is practically in a whirl about it. Some say the two of you have run off to Gretna Green. But I knew better. My Michael would never do something so impulsive as that.”

Michael let out a breath. He was fast becoming tired of her games. “That's all quite nice, but I ask again, why have you come?”

“Why, to rescue you, of course. Just in case you'd been foolish enough to consider wedding that woman, I thought it my duty as your old friend to make sure you knew the truth about her.”

“The truth?”

He looked at the woman and perhaps saw her for what she was for the very first time. He realized that the angles in her face, a sign of classic beauty for most, were a bit too sharp. Her thin, lithe form was far too harsh and unforgiving. Worst of all was her green gaze, which he now saw as dark, calculating, and cold. A shiver went through him as he considered how close he'd come to being caught in her vicious web.

“I'd heard, through private circles, that Summerton was about to turn her out for her refusing to marry. If I'd known that you'd be considering offering for her yourself, I should have spoken up about her reputation then. Later, I'd heard that she refused you as well. How humiliating that must have been.”

Michael set down his glass. “What a truly vindictive woman you are. What a fool I've been to have not seen it before now.”

Michael saw that his barb had hit home. Her expression hardened and her mouth went to a straight line.

“You're no stranger to cruelty yourself,” she said, setting her glass down on the table without looking away from him. “Perhaps that's why I like you so much. I admit, it does sting when you turn your anger toward me.”

“It's not anger, Connie, it's disgust.”

Stepping forward, she grabbed his arm. “I know you're not happy with me. I know you feel betrayed.”

He saw the false emotions she'd painted on her expression. “It's all been a ruse. You thought you could manipulate me like every other foppish fool in the ton.”

“When we were together, I was as true with my feelings for you as I've ever been with anyone.”

“What about Miss Hawkins? Do you love her?” she asked, her voice tight. Clearly she was straining to hold in her anger.

He didn't hesitate.

“Yes, I do.” Feeling victorious, he poured himself another brandy.

He looked at her a moment before speaking. “You didn't come here to rescue my reputation. There's something you want.”

“I've come to tell you about your precious Miss Hawkins. That she was engaged to a certain young lord and meant to trap him into marrying her, in much the same way she is attempting to do with you.”

“You mean Andrew Hudgins?”

She took a sip of brandy. “Indeed.”

“Beatrice told me of him. Of how he promised to marry her, convinced her to lie with him, and then left her alone, denying their agreement ever existed. I hope you didn't pay him for that bit of fluff. Or did you make a trade, your charms for his information?”

“I never pay for information, unless I know it benefits me, of course. As it was, Lord Hudgins was bragging about all the women he'd managed to sample over the years.”

“Ah, the despicable Hudgins trying to gain your obvious favors, then. That's certainly no inducement to lying, now, is it? Heaven knows you give it away easily enough.”

Michael knew he shouldn't be so cruel, especially since he'd been one of the men frequenting her parlor himself.

“There are those among the ton who will swear that Miss Hawkins simply constructed a very clever trap. Of course, she didn't do it alone.”

“Oh, and who helped her in her collusion?”

He watched her swirl the brandy in her glass, deeply breathing in the scent of the alcohol, causing her breasts to rise and fall. They were one tool she well used in her arsenal of weapons when she'd set about her campaign to seduce a man.

To his credit, he hadn't lingered too long on that battlefield.

“Oh, this one and that. You know, her sister and her mother-in-law, the dowager duchess perhaps…”

Michael's heart nearly stopped as white-hot rage shot through him. “Madam, you go too far.”

“To suggest the two women who love the chit the most would intervene for her? Please, my lord, you know as well as I, that's what women do. We protect our own.”

“So, you accuse Beatrice of being the villain here?”

She shook her head. “ ‘Accuse' is such a strong word. Of course, one would think that of a woman who would perpetuate a fraud.”

“More than any other woman in the marriage mart? Pray tell, what makes you believe that?” His temper had just about reached its pinnacle. It was all he could do to keep from crossing the room and giving the woman a good slap for her impertinence.

“I know her kind. Face it, Michael. She is spoiled fruit, left too long on the vine and sampled too easily.” She grinned, looking very much like a cat that had just swallowed a very fat mouse.

Michael firmly set his glass on the table. “Madam, I insist you leave this house immediately.”

Of course, he'd known the truth. But how terrible that Hudgins was bragging about it at every opportunity. If what she said was true, Beatrice was ruined already. And if she disappeared as she'd planned, then people would think the very worst of her.

Like a lioness smelling blood, Constance went in for the kill. She stood now, laughing at him, the sound of her mirth stabbing his ears like a thousand shards of glass.

“What? Did you get to sample her charms, too? Did she lead you to believe you were her first?”

“Get out,” he said, clenching his fists. If she weren't a woman, he swore he would throttle the life right out of her.

“Men are so easily duped by a pretty face and a light skirt.”

“Whatever Beatrice has done, or not done, doesn't change my mind about you, Connie. I won't marry you, nor will I keep you as a mistress. What we once had has ended and any affection I once held for you has been killed by your spiteful actions. I'd once hoped to keep you as a friend, but I can see even that is no longer possible.” He turned to leave her. “You will pack your things and leave immediately. Goodbye.”

Just as he reached the door, he heard his former lover's tone change, and he swore the temperature of the room dropped by the chill in her tone.

“It's a terrible mistake, Michael, making me your enemy.”

He spun around to face her one last time. “One enemy more or less matters little to me. As it happens, you are not first in line for that honor, nor will you be the last. Now get out.”

With that he turned his back to her and left the room. As he closed the door, he heard her hiss behind him. It was an angry, dangerous sound, and one he'd heard her utter before. It was no small concern that he knew well the turmoil she stirred against those who displeasured her.

With Constance spreading her venom all over the realm, the courts might not look approvingly at their marriage. The sooner Ash arrived with the special license, the better for them all.

“How could I have let it happen again?” Beatrice had awoken immediately after Michael had left their bed. Pulling the quilts around her shoulders to ward off the morning chill, she saw her reflection in the cheval glass across the room.

Taken by surprise, she stared at the disheveled mess she'd become since leaving Summerton. Torn from her family, attacked by marauders, traipsing through the woods with Michael…

“Oh…” She clasped her hand over her mouth.

Memories of the previous night rushed into her thoughts. How they'd kissed, held each other, and escaped into blessed oblivion together. Even now, her body ached for him. Michael was a malady she'd have to soon get over, or all was lost.

Stupid fool that she was, she'd made things all the worse. Hellfire, she'd practically begged him to make love to her…again.

Climbing out of bed, she started to pace.

She was so angry with herself and so sorry for the mess she'd gotten them both into. She should have married one of the dozen or so men who had offered for her. She should have been a better sister to Caro and a better friend to Ash and Michael.

If she had, she wouldn't be miles away from her family with a man she'd already hurt too much, and facing an uncertain future.

For a moment, she was sure that she'd been wrong to agree to become a governess and sail so far away from home. What sort of woman had she become?

But the thought of being married, especially after the way that Andrew had shattered her hopes and dreams, was the last thing she wanted. And now having made love to him, she'd ruined Michael's life as well.

A gentle knock came at her door, and Bea knew she couldn't hide from the world forever.

“Come,” she called.

“My lady”—the maid bowed—“I beg pardon. My name is Lizzie. I didn't mean to disturb you, but I thought I'd heard you moving about.”

“You're not disturbing me. I suppose I should get ready for the day. No sense in hiding away in here.”

The girl entered. Of medium height, with thin and wispy blond hair, she looked to be no older than fifteen or sixteen. In her arms, she carried fresh linens, a lady's gown, a pair of soft leather half-boots, and a basket that held an assortment of ribbons and combs.

The woman grinned. “I think this dress will brighten you up a bit.” She held up a pale pink morning dress that had tiny embroidered roses around the neckline, hem, and sleeves. “And, if you like, I could put up your hair. I'm fairly good with the combs, you know.”