Beauty in Breeches (8 page)

Recollecting herself when a small lance of sanity entered her mind and made her wonder at her behaviour, Beatrice tore her mouth free. She was horrified by what was happening, what he was doing to her. She should have found his kiss repulsive, but in truth she found it wildly exciting and found it hard to keep her world together. It was as if she had drunk too much wine and was giddy from it. What was the matter with her? She was neither a tippler nor a woman of easy virtue. She was a virgin, for heaven's sake. In her fury she pushed against him with all her strength. She must be out of her mind to think she could do this, could manage this charade—and him. Julius Chadwick was more than she'd bargained for.

‘You beast,' she hissed. ‘You filthy beast.' As she wiped the moisture from her mouth with the back of her hand, sparks of indignation flashed in her eyes. ‘How dare you lay your hands on me?'

Julius stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was wide eyed and vulnerable and trembling. And lovely. Dear Lord, she was so damned lovely. He wanted her with a fierceness that took his breath away. His strategy to make her change her mind had backfired with a vengeance. He had begun by trying to frighten and threaten her and had ended up with his own resolutions threatened instead.

‘Come now, Miss Fanshaw,' he managed to say mockingly, laughing lightly, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘You needn't be so indignant or feel insulted.' A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘It was only a kiss. You must have been kissed before. I told you, if you really do want to be my wife, that is something you will have to get used to. It's as well you know that I'm an amorous man. I would not take kindly to having a cold and unwilling partner in my bed.'

He still had his arms about her and he could feel contempt written in her straight back and imperious head. At that moment she was feeling insulted and degraded and her posture was implying that if he knew what was good for him he would go away and never come back. But no matter how much she wanted to utter the words, too much was at stake for her to utter them.

Julius let her go so abruptly that she staggered back a step, then he drew a long, audible breath. She glared at him. ‘How dare you do that to me? No doubt you will say I was asking for such treatment.'

His mobile mouth twisted into a grim smile and
Beatrice had the fleeting impression that he was struggling for composure, as she was. Before this he had been a man unknown to her. She had not thought of him as anything but the man who had ruined her father and taken Larkhill and how she could use him to get it back. She'd had no reason to think of him in intimate terms. Now she saw him as a strong, attractive man who was unsettling her. For the first time in her life she felt unsure of herself.

Julius studied her, grudgingly thinking how magnificent she was. Her mouth had been sweet, warm and moist, and he was impatient to repeat the kiss. In her madness she had fought him like a lioness, and yet there had been a moment in that frenzied kiss when she had leaned against him as though the strength had gone from her and he had felt her hands, instead of clawing at him, hesitate and then slide up his chest and cling to his shoulders as though to steady herself in the havoc that washed over them both. He felt slightly bewildered by her now, almost bewitched.

‘You made a grave mistake when you asked for my forfeit,' he said finally. ‘However, after saying that, I don't think either of us can deny that we are
drawn
to each other.' Forcing himself to remain calm, he caught her glittering gaze and held it. ‘I think we both know what we want, don't we?'

Beatrice scrutinised his expression warily. Her feelings were nebulous, chaotic, yet one stood out clearly—frustrated desire. She hadn't wanted him to stop kissing her. But she would not give him the satisfaction of
letting him know that. Holding his gaze, she drew in a slow breath, then shook her head. ‘No.'

‘Liar,' he uttered quietly. ‘Your eyes tell a different story.' Turning from her, he took a moment to reflect on her strong will, a quality he admired. He could not escape the fact that Beatrice Fanshaw had intrigued him from the moment he had laid eyes on her. She had no artificial airs and graces and possessed a kind of courage about her that was unusual in a woman. She was also proud and independent, with bold, forthright ways, but he considered that in the matter of the forfeit she had acted foolishly. Looking at her now, Julius felt her breathtaking beauty quicken his very soul, stirring his mind with imaginings of what life married to her would be like. He was fiercely attracted to her, yet because of the secrets he was carrying he would have to try to fight the attraction.

‘There is another alternative to you becoming my wife. I have an offer to make to you.' He saw her eyes cloud with wariness and distrust at the word ‘offer'. ‘It is a proposition of a different kind. Once you've considered it, I think you will agree that it would be a sensible arrangement for us both.'

‘What sort of proposition?' she asked with clinical, cautious calm.

‘That you become my mistress.'

Beatrice was so surprised that all she could do was stare at him. After several moments of digesting what being his mistress would involve, she fixed him with indignant, angry eyes. ‘You want me to become your mistress?'

‘Good Lord, no!' Julius took a deep breath, trying to keep his calm. ‘I don't need a mistress any more than I need a wife. But I feel obliged to offer a solution to the dilemma you have so foolishly created for us both. Do you think I consider this lightly?'

His contemplation was steady. He remained silent when she moved away from him, giving his proposal careful thought. She moved with the natural grace of one who led an active life and bore nothing of the affected daintiness and fragility so often displayed by beauties of the
ton
. There was a sureness in her stride that lent smooth, fluid grace to her every movement. Julius admired everything about her; he had already set a price in his mind and only waited the moment.

At length she turned back to him and scowled. ‘So I was right. You
are
trying to wriggle out of it,' she accused sharply.

‘I am merely suggesting another option, one in which neither of us has to commit ourselves. I am sure that despite our many differences we would be compatible sexually. You share my bed and in return for that you will have your own house and carriage and horses. You will have your own maid, a butler and servants, gowns and expensive baubles by the dozen. In short, I will be most generous. While you remain my mistress, you will have enough money to live like a queen—providing no other man gets to share what I am paying for.'

‘I don't care for baubles,' she said at length, ‘although a house of my own appeals to me. Kindly enlarge on that?'

His eyes were intent. ‘I would give you your heart's desire: Larkhill. Mistress or wife, you could live there—if that is what you want. What's the difference?'

Her smile was cynical. ‘You may have lost the wager, Lord Chadwick, but you still have a winning way with words. There is a vast difference. As your mistress you could kick me out on a whim. My answer is no. You insult me. My aunt would be scandalised and would never allow it. And I could never accept being any man's mistress.'

He lifted his broad shoulders in a slight shrug and said in an indifferent voice, ‘That is your prerogative.'

‘Exactly. Lord Chadwick, are you or are you not going to honour your word given to me in the presence of others?'

His eyes boldly roamed over her body from head to toe and back to her face. ‘I'm beginning to warm to the idea. Married to you, life would never be dull. When you are near me I feel there is but one thought on my mind.'

In that moment her thoughts were far from Larkhill and how her aunt would react to what she was doing; instead, they centred on the turmoil within herself. A strong feeling of doubt blasted her confidence and she was suddenly unsure of her ability to deal with Julius Chadwick.

Julius moved to stand close to her. ‘Do you mean to bait me? Do you seek to punish me and, in so doing, extract your revenge for my past sins? If that is your game, then lead on. I will welcome your attention and the challenge.'

After a moment, Beatrice realised he was looking at her with a strange and tender smile on his lips. Her curiosity was piqued at his apparent ability to turn circumstances to his benefit.

‘There is one thing I would like to know. What forfeit would you have asked of me had you won?'

‘That was it.'

‘What?'

‘That you become my mistress.'

Beatrice was about to vent her indignation in his face, but suddenly his laughter rang out once more and brought quick death to her words. Strolling away from her, clasping his hands behind his back, he was as relaxed as if he were drinking with his friends in a gentleman's club. Still chuckling derisively, he turned and strolled back to her.

‘I thought that might make you see the real price of your predicament. What would you have done? Would you have honoured your forfeit and become my mistress had you lost the race?'

Beatrice was surprised and shocked and intensely relieved that she had escaped such a fate, but did not show it. Taking a deep breath she nodded. ‘Yes. I may be many things, Lord Chadwick, but I always abide by my word. I can only thank God and my own skill that I beat you.'

‘No man or woman will ever master me, Miss Fanshaw.'

He stood gazing down, holding her eyes in a wilful use of power. Unable to look at him any longer, Beatrice averted her gaze.

‘Look at me.'

Unwillingly she turned her cool, questioning eyes to his once more and found a slow lazy smile that seemed to mock her. Leisurely he passed a knuckle along the fragile bone of her cheeks. His voice was soft as he continued, but it held a note of determination which in an odd way both frightened and angered her.

‘Whatever madness has driven you to this, one thing I can promise you is that the misery you have endured since your father lost Larkhill will be as nothing compared to what your life will be like married to me. Consider it and think on it carefully. As my wife you will be at my beck and call night and day—in my bed and out of it. You will be my wife not only in the eyes of the law, but in every other way as well. So between now and the day when we say our vows, ask yourself if that damned house is worth it.'

Beatrice watched him walk away. Slowly, a warm flush of triumph permeated her being. She had achieved her object, and however Julius Chadwick viewed her, he was not a willing suitor. But as she walked back to the house her thoughts were jumbled, for despite his role in her misfortunes, she had a grudging admiration for him. He was not a man to flinch from duty and that was why he had achieved so much in his life.

Despite her anger and resentment she had to concede that courage and strength ran through his veins, a strength that was in his character as well as his body. She had come away from their encounter with a feeling that he was an isolated, lonely figure without a family of his own. Surely such a handsome man should not
be alone. Well, maybe it was high time he had a wife, and, with that thought and a reputation for walking on the wild side, she fully intended to turn his life upside down. If this was how she would get her revenge, then there could be worse things.

But, she reflected, despite their unsatisfactory exchange, she owned he had many good qualities, and deep down she was quite excited at the prospect of being his wife.

 

George told Astrid about the outcome of the race and the forfeit Beatrice had asked of Lord Chadwick. Appalled and deeply concerned by what her cousin was doing, Astrid went in search of her. Not until the salon door had closed behind them did she speak.

‘I know what happened. George told me. But—Lord Chadwick? How can you possibly marry him after the harm he has done you in the past?'

‘I know, but I am going to marry him, Astrid. He agreed to the forfeit.'

Astrid frowned as she tried to comprehend Beatrice and her actions. ‘But—you could make Larkhill your forfeit without going to such lengths as to marry him to get it.'

Beatrice looked at Astrid with something like pity. ‘No, Astrid. What good would that be? Unlike you I have no dowry and am loathe to let your mother pay for one. She is determined to make me see my place. To obtain Larkhill I must first make myself Lord Chadwick's wife. Without wealth of my own, in no time at
all I would be forced to sell it. This way I can have it all: money and Larkhill.'

‘And Lord Chadwick? You speak as if he has nothing to do with it, yet he will be your husband—a man who will be hard to ignore.'

‘You should look on it as a favour, Astrid. With Lord Chadwick out of the way, you mother will cease pressurising you on the matter. Although if she had succeeded in pulling off the match, he would have soon seen through you,' Beatrice said gently.

Astrid's head shot up. ‘Why, what do you mean by that?'

‘I don't think he is the kind of man to marry a woman who is in love with someone else.' Astrid blushed a deep scarlet. Beatrice smiled. ‘I thought as much. Anyone can see—and I know I am not wrong. You are glowing like a maid in springtime; every time Henry Talbot looks at you he looks as if he wants to eat you alive. I would put a fortune on you being in love with him. I am not wrong, am I, Astrid?'

She shook her head. ‘No. Henry and I have known one another all our lives, yet it is only recently that we have become close and acknowledged the depth of our feelings for each other. But with Mama being like she is, we have had to be careful not to show it.'

‘You're to be congratulated, Astrid. Even I did not suspect—until your birthday party.'

‘That's because your head is always filled with other things and you walk about in blinkers, seeing nothing but what is ahead of you.'