Bath Scandal (12 page)

Beatrice noticed he was no longer smiling. His tone, too, suggested something different—she could hardly put a word to it. Was it possible Southam was getting some ideas he shouldn’t? His conversation had bordered on the unseemly. All in fun, of course, but then a man would oftentimes float a serious notion under the guise of a joke, to see how it went off. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “If you try to get to know me more intimately, you might be surprised, Southam.” She disengaged herself from his arms.

He replied, “I like surprises. As you said, the spice of the unfamiliar.”

“I don’t think you would care for Irish spice,” she said, leveling a cool stare on him.

“One never knows till he tries. I am very fond of Irish whisky.”

“But I was speaking of Irish
temper,
Southam.”

She turned and walked hastily back to their chairs by the wall. She spoke to Miss Pittfield and Mr. FitzGeorge, making it clear by her friendly manner that she would not refuse a dance with the apothecary. Gillie stood up with her brother, and Tannie did his duty with Miss Pittfield, not by standing up with her, but by sitting at her side in nearly total silence for the duration of the cotillion.

The original party, minus Mr. FitzGeorge, regrouped at the end of the cotillion. Tannie said, “I’ll be running along now, Gillie. We cannot stand up together again, I suppose. Foolishness. Why do people make us go to dances, if we are not allowed to dance? I’ll call on you after lunch tomorrow and take you to the hurdle races if that is all right.”

His speech was, of course, overheard by them all. “We’ll all go. That is why we’re here,” Southam said. “You can show us the way, Duke. We haven’t been there before.”

The duke left, and with only one escort for three ladies, the evening promised little further entertainment. They were tired from the long trip, and when Miss Pittfield said she was for bed, they all decided to go up. Gillie and Miss Pittfield said goodnight at their door and arranged to meet the others in the private parlor at nine for breakfast. Southam accompanied Bea to her room.

“It is still quite early,” he said, taking her key and unlocking the door. “Shall we have some wine before retiring?” He pushed open the door.

Beatrice took a step into the room. “I don’t feel like tackling those stairs again,” she replied. Her hand was on the door, preparing to close it. As Southam had himself wedged in the doorway, she waited for him to leave.

He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “We don’t have to go downstairs, Beatrice. They will bring wine up.”

“Up to my room, you mean?” she asked, startled.

“What is the harm in it? It is not as though you are sharing a room with Gillie. She will not know.”

“Is that why you hired a separate room for me?” She studied him, wondering if he was actually suggesting what she thought he was. Surely that was not the opinion Southam had of her! Yet his eyes held a lambent glow, and the soft curving of his lips spoke of nothing less than lovemaking.

“I hoped we might have a little privacy from time to time. We are not children, after all. If adults want some adult entertainment as a respite from chaperoning the youngsters, what is the harm? No one knows us here.” As he spoke, he placed a hand proprietarily on her shoulder. His fingers tightened in an intimate gesture of encouragement, and he guided her into the room.

Bea took a deep breath. It was time to give him a taste of her Irish temper. She closed the door, for she was not the least frightened of him, and she did not want to provide a spectacle for anyone passing in the hall. Unfortunately Southam took the closing of the door for agreement. In his eager joy he acted swiftly and spontaneously, all decorum forgotten. He swept her into his arms for an ardent kiss. Taken by surprise, Beatrice was locked in his arms before she could push him away. His lips were hot, and his arms crushed her against his strong chest.

She hadn’t been kissed—not like this—since Leonard’s death. She had forgotten the potency of passion, but it came swarming over her senses, inundating her in a wave of sweetly remembered desire. Every sense was quickened, acutely aware of this attractive man who wanted her. As his passion swelled, she admitted she wanted him, too. She felt a weakening surrender invade her body. Her arms, though she did not hold him, felt too weak to push him away. They just hung by hers sides, as he molded her against him with both strong arms. Her lips, she knew, were encouraging, moving irresistibly against the commanding pressure of his. She should move her head aside at least, to escape this torment.

She tried, and he lifted one possessive hand to hold her head firm, while the kiss deepened to devastating passion. It flamed along her veins, intoxicating, strong, and hot as brandy. It robbed her of common sense and filled her mind instead with an old longing. A low moan echoed from her throat. Suddenly his lips grazed with rough tenderness across her cheek and whispered in her ear. “God, I have been wanting to do that forever!”

Free of his restraining arms, she took a fumbling step backward. Her breaths came in panting gasps, and her heart throbbed tumultuously. Southam looked into her wildly dazed eyes and smiled softly. “You have been feeling it, too, Beatrice. I knew I could not be mistaken.”

She pinched her lips to firm their trembling and took a deep breath. “How dare you!” she said in a menacing whisper.

Southam made the horrible error of laughing. “What is this, a Cheltenham tragedy? I prefer—”

She lifted her hand and struck him full on the cheek with such force that he fell back a step. “How dare you barge your way into my room and force yourself on me!” she demanded, her voice firming.

He rubbed his cheek in confusion. “I thought you wanted it!” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Darling, you know you do. I was clumsy—overly eager. You drove me to it. You are the most ravishing, adorable girl.”

She pulled away and put her hands over her ears, to block the temptation. “Get out! Get out of this room, and never come here again. I won’t listen to this.”

He smiled tolerantly and captured both her hands. “Then you haven’t done this before? I own I was fiercely jealous of your Sir Harold.”

Green sparks flashed from her eyes. “You have no right to be jealous of anyone! You are nothing to me, less than nothing. I am a decent, respectable widow. I should think respect for Leonard’s memory must protect me if your own chivalry to a lady is so lacking. I have never been so insulted in my life. By God, if I had a gun, I’d shoot you.”

A frown drew his brows together. “You’re serious!” he exclaimed in a light, incredulous tone.
“You
are the one who closed the door behind us.”

“Yes, because I did not want the whole inn to see me rake your hair with a chair.”

“But you as well as said, at the dance—”

“I said nothing of the sort! We were joking.”

“About having a flirtation and breaking my heart?” he asked, to recall the details of the conversation to her.

“You don’t have a heart. You have only an ego as big as London. Let me tell you, Lord Southam, you are quite as deficient as a flirt as I have not the least doubt you will be as a husband. To start mauling me the instant the door was closed, as if I were some lightskirt you had bought and paid for.”

“You didn’t seem to mind!”

“I minded very much! You didn’t give me a chance to say anything. I want you out of my room this instant. Tomorrow I shall return to Bath—alone.”

“How?” he asked.

“By foot, if necessary.”

As it sunk in that she was serious, Southam felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. He lifted his hands, palms out, in capitulation. “I made an error of judgment, and I am very sorry, Cousin. Your somewhat free manners led me astray. I would suggest in future you tame your flirtation if you don’t wish to be misunderstood.”

“There is no danger of a true gentleman misunderstanding me, sir. No one else has ever tried anything like this.”

“I have said I am sorry. If you will stay here a few days longer to give Gillian a chance to win her duke, I will be eternally in your debt.”

“Stay in the same inn with you? Not likely!”

His lips thinned in frustration and anger. A line formed from his nose to his lips. “I can control myself, Mrs. Searle. I am not an animal led by his appetites.”

“I take leave to doubt that. What was and remains a mystery to me is how Deborah puts up with this sort of carrying on.”

“Naturally she is not aware of it.”

Bea frowned in perplexity. “I meant your mauling her about as you attacked me. If she permits this sort of thing without benefit of marriage, she is a more foolish lady than I ever thought.”

“I don’t maul her about it. You make me sound like a wild animal.”

“I see,” she said, her fury mounting. His fiancée he treated with respect, while he took his appetites out on lightskirts and such unfortunate ladies as herself. She strode to the door and flung it open.

“You haven’t given me your answer,” he said. “What can I tell Gillie and Miss Pittfield if you are gone in the morning? I wish you would reconsider, for their sake. I would not dare to ask that you do it for mine. I promise I will not subject you to any further—mauling,” he said, unhappy at the word.

“Perhaps I should stay. It will only set tongues wagging in Bath.... Very well, I shall remain a few days, but it is agreed between us, Lord Southam, that there is to be no more of this behavior.”

“On my word as a gentleman.” He bowed and left, before he fell into any further fracas.

Southam went to his room, feeling as foolish as he had ever felt in his life. He put his head in his hands and moaned in misery. He had behaved like a scoundrel, and to a lady whose good opinion he cherished. A lady, besides, who was an old friend of Deborah’s and his sister’s chaperone. What had come over him? Was he mad? And to have to face her tomorrow over breakfast. He half wished he had let her go back to Bath. Have to make the best of it. Behave most properly and hope that in the fullness of time, this whole embarrassment would be forgotten.

Alone in her room, Bea was even more shaken. She felt cheapened and thoroughly confused. Was it
her
fault? Surely Southam did not think she would countenance an adulterous affair? It must be at least partly her fault, for she knew from Leonard that Southam was far from being a scandalous sort of gentleman. His engagement to Deborah was proof of that. Less than ever could she imagine how Deborah had landed this tiger. He was a wild beast in his passion, whatever he said to the contrary. And beneath all the worry and confusion, one small spring of pleasure coiled, that she had aroused the beast in Southam. She doubted if Deborah had done so.

Chapter Ten

Mrs. Searle and Lord Southam were so polite to each other over breakfast that Gillie knew immediately they had had a falling-out.

“I expect you ladies would like to have a tour of the shops this morning,” he said with a forced smile. “I will be very happy to accompany you.”

Gillie knew Rawl hated visiting the shops. She also knew Aunt Bea loved it and found her reply as strange as Rawl’s offer.

“I had planned to take Gillie to view the gardens and some of the walks this morning, but if you wish to go on the strut, Southam, you must not curtail your activities on our account,” Bea said.

“An excellent idea. We’ll all go,” he said at once.

They spent the morning touring the east cliff. When they tired of driving, they got out and walked through some of the ravines. The walking was hard, whether on rock or the springy turf that covered some of the chines. They viewed the gardens, admired the rhododendrons and the sea, and agreed that they could feel the fresh sea air invigorating them. The ladies could also feel it removing the curl from their coiffures, and Miss Pittfield could feel the damp seeping into her very bones. When Mrs. Searle accidentally wrenched the heel off her slipper, she was careful to moderate her anger to a mild “Oh, dear!”

Everyone agreed that they had had enough of invigorating air for one morning and used Mrs. Searle’s ruined slipper as an excuse to return to town. Southam, with a great show of concern, suggested she call a doctor. “A cobbler would be more to the point,” she said curtly.

“Well, have a good lie-down with your foot elevated on a pillow at least,” he said. “I plan to drive over and have a look at Saint Peter’s Church—unless you would like to go there tomorrow morning, Cousin?”

Bea disclaimed any interest in the church. The ladies got rid of Southam, and as soon as Bea changed her slippers, they went out to visit the shops. Gillie bought useless and gaudy souvenirs for her sisters, and Bea bought silk stockings. Miss Pittfield bought three postcards and mailed them home to her friends.

When the group met Southam at lunch hour, they were all in somewhat better spirits. Bea was not very keen on the hurdle races, but she meant to go the first time, just to see what they were like. Tannie called while they were finishing lunch. The next matter of business was to sort out who should go in what carriage.

“Why don’t you run along with Gillie and the duke, Miss Pittfield,” Southam suggested. “Mrs. Searle and I will follow behind in my carriage.”

“No, no. You and Gillie run along. Miss Pittfield will go with Southam and myself,” Bea said.

Southam swallowed his annoyance and smiled. He had hoped for some privacy, to apologize more thoroughly to Beatrice. With Miss Pittfield to provide harmless conversation in the carriage, he was almost totally ignored.

The racetrack with hurdles was set up at the edge of the New Forest. A motley throng had gathered. Stalls selling tea and gingerbread and ale dotted the length of the track. The gentlemen and Gillie took great pleasure in watching the horses racket over hurdles. Bea soon tired of this and turned her attention to the onlookers. When she spotted Sir Horatio Evendon, she strolled over for a word with him. He was sitting with some friends at an ad hoc tavern set up in the open air. Horatio introduced Bea to his colleagues and procured a glass for her. They discussed the races.