Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (14 page)

"We must get you a habit and I'll teach you. It will give us something to do on our honeymoon."

Beth stared at him in surprise and he stiffened, memory and coolness returning in a second.

"Surely you don't want to spend
every
moment in bed?" he asked unpleasantly. "Even if you do, my dear, you must excuse me. No matter how lusty your previous lovers, I have only the capacity of a normal male. But I forget," he added with a sneer, "you satisfied yourself with plurality, didn't you? That I cannot accept."

Beth turned away to hide her burning cheeks. "I didn't," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

Beth swallowed hard and turned to face him. "I didn't... what you said. I haven't...."

He didn't thaw a bit. "It's a little late for maidenly modesty, Elizabeth, though I congratulate you on your acting. It relieves my mind. You will have no difficulty in persuading the local people we are in love."

"I am not acting, Lord Arden," said Beth desperately.

He leaned against a stall door and studied her. "Let me understand you. You are now claiming to be what...? Surely not a virgin?"

Beth felt as if she would be sick. "Yes."

"Why?"

Beth shook her head in bewilderment. "Why what?"

"Why lie about it now? The truth will out. I am not likely to be fooled by the bladder of blood hidden in the bedroom to stain the sheets."

Beth took a deep breath. "I am telling you the truth, my lord. I am untouched. I... I said what I did that first night in the hope you would end the engagement. I didn't realize you couldn't."

He walked over to her thoughtfully and raised her chin with a finger. Beth knew there were tears in her eyes and hoped they would work for her.

"The trouble with a lie, Elizabeth, is that it poisons truth. How do I know you are telling the truth now?"

"As you said," Beth replied hoarsely. "You will know."

He released her sharply and strode away to stand looking out at the stable yard. "You don't know how strong the temptation is to ravish you here and now. If you spoke the truth before, it is doubtless what you want. If you lied, it is what you deserve. No matter how untouched, no decent woman could have spoken so."

"You choose to define 'decent woman' to suit yourself, my lord," said Beth angrily. "Yes, I believe marriage to be an oppressive institution best avoided by women, but lust is another kind of prison. I would never give myself to a man I did not love and trust, and," she added formidably, "I have not met such a man yet."

He turned then, eyes cold and hard. "And if you meet him after we are married? I meant what I said. I will not be cuckolded."

Beth raised her chin. "I will keep
my
marriage vows if I make them," she said with something of a sneer. "Will you, my lord?"

She was pleased to see him flush, but her sense of victory was short-lived. He stepped closer and smiled unpleasantly. "It all depends," he said with smiling menace, "on how well you serve me, my sweet. Let us hope the men who have handled you have taught you something."

Beth gasped. "No men have handled me!"

He raised his brows. "And yet you stood so coolly as I did? Come now, Elizabeth, let's not stretch credulity too far. I'm willing to believe, with admiration, that you have controlled your swains so as to retain your maidenhead, but that you have never been handled in that manner before? No."

Tears were streaming out of her, and Beth could hardly see. She pressed a hand over her eyes as if to push the weak tears back. "Oh, let me be, my lord. I am sorry, truly sorry, to have said what I did..." She shook her head and swallowed. "And now I am punished."

She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "You consider this punishment? You deserve a whipping!"

Beth pulled against his tight hands. "Let me go!"

Someone nearby cleared his throat.

Shocked, Beth and the marquess turned to see Jarvis, the head groom. He looked white and scared to death but he said, "Perhaps I could escort Miss Armitage back to the house, my lord."

The marquess sucked in a sharp breath and his hands tightened on Beth's shoulders so that she gave a choked cry.

"If you want your post, Jarvis, leave now," said the marquess in a voice of ice.

The man said nothing, but stood there.

Beth knew that in a moment the marquess would vent all his frustrated fury on the gallant man. He'd probably kill him. He was also well on the way to destroying the credibility of their betrothal. As it seemed they must go through with it, Beth wanted as little talk as possible. She just hoped she was as good an actress as he thought.

"My lord," she said softly. "Jarvis thinks you mean to hurt me. He doesn't know you would never do such a thing."

She dragged out a smile and raised a shaking hand to touch the marquess's cheek, hoping he would stop looking death at the servant. He turned to her, and she flinched at the flame of fury still burning in his eyes.

"Our lovers' quarrels," she said in a whisper, for it was all she seemed to be able to produce, "must seem real to him. Surely you do not blame him for wanting to protect me?"

Control smoothed the frown from his face and he too smiled, though his eyes still betrayed his feelings. "Of course not, my darling. I can only be pleased you have such champions."

He moved his hands to lay an arm at her waist and hold her close. Very close. Beth had to fight not to pull away from his body. "Don't be concerned, Jarvis," he said calmly. "Both Miss Armitage and I are merely suffering from prenuptial nerves."

The man, visibly relieved, touched his forelock and moved off. Beth let out a long shuddering breath.

"You keep your wits remarkably," said the marquess softly.

"Please let me go," said Beth, pulling away. But his arm was like iron. If anything, he pressed her closer, so that she could feel the hard shape of his chest, his hip, his thigh....

"Why?" he asked, grasping her chin and turning her face up toward him. "Don't you think an open demonstration of our fondness would be in order?"

"No!" Beth could imagine nothing worse than to be kissed with hate. She pulled harder. "Let me go!" It was hopeless.

"I have a bargain for you," he said with a smile she distrusted.

Beth stilled. "What is it?"

He ran a finger down her cheek. Beth flinched. His smile became even wider and colder. "I will refrain from forcing my unwelcome attentions on you, sweeting, and from throwing your disgusting exploits in your face, if you will act your part to the full."

"I am," Beth protested.

"I want you to dress properly, assume the appropriate manner for a future marchioness, and give all the appearance of being in love."

Beth shuddered. "You are asking for total submission."

He drew her even closer, turning slightly so that he pressed against her sensitive breasts, and smiled a conqueror's smile. "In return, you are free of my attentions except for polite public performances. That
is
what you want, isn't it, Elizabeth?"

Beth had absolutely no choice. She needed to escape from this situation before it once more ripped out of control. "I agree. Let go of me."

He released her at last. "So be it."

Beth moved quickly to leave the stables, to leave him. His hand fastened around her arm. Beth jerked around like a scalded cat. "Gently, my dear. Our pact begins here. Dry your eyes." He offered a handkerchief and Beth used it to wipe the tears. Dear Lord, what now?

Then he extended his arm and she laid her hand upon it. Sedately, a proper lord and his lady, they walked back to the house.

* * *

Jarvis watched them go. He'd thought he'd lost his place, perhaps his life, for a moment there, but he couldn't stand by and do nothing. He'd perched the marquess on his first pony and taught him nearly all he knew about horses. Arden was a good lad, but he'd always had the devil's own temper when crossed. Back in those days, Jarvis had held the duke's permission to cuff him if he were stupid. He remembered taking his riding crop to the marquess one day when the boy had worked out one of his rages on a horse.

The lad had then run to his father, and the duke had come out to inspect the poor mare. Then he'd ordered Jarvis to give the lad six more strokes there in the stable yard. There'd been no more trouble after that, and the marquess had not held a grudge. Pity there was no one to take a whip to him now, treating a pleasant lady like Miss Armitage so. Lovers' quarrel indeed. Funny kind of love.

There was talk in the servants' hall about those two, though no one could figure out what was going on. Some thought the marquess had given her one in the basket, so to speak, but there wasn't that much hurry about getting them wed. They certainly didn't act like lovebirds, though.

Miss Armitage was a very well-liked lady as far as the staff went—pleasant, ladylike, but with no airs and graces. But hardly the marquess's type. Hardly his type at all.

Jarvis shook his head as he went back to care for his horses. Nags had more sense than people any day.

Chapter 7

When she separated from the taciturn marquess, Beth took refuge in the library.

He seemed to believe she was a virgin and yet it had not greatly helped matters. She had no idea what he thought she had done. A solid education including the unexpurgated classics had left her, she thought, well informed about men and women and what they did together. The reality, however, was like thinking knowledge of a bathtub adequate preparation for a life at sea.

She had not wished to be kissed in hate. What would it be like if she had to share a marriage bed in that spirit?

Tears threatened again, and again she pressed them back ruthlessly. She would not degenerate into a watering pot. She wished desperately that she had someone in whom to confide, someone to turn to for advice. It could not be Miss Mallory, for she would simply tell her to return home and give up all notion of the marriage. And besides, Beth had to suppose that lady's worldly wisdom to be as flawed as her own.

The duchess was the only married woman available to her, and she could not bring herself to lay the whole sordid mess before the marquess's mother.

Her only choice seemed to be to behave with such impeccable good breeding that the marquess would realize she could not be the kind of monster he imagined.

Who on earth were these men who were supposed to have handled her? With a choke of laughter Beth thought of her beaux, such as they had been.

Mr. Rutherford, the curate, who had blushed fiercely when forced one day to untangle her skirt from a rose bush; Mr. Grainger, the philosopher, who had once kissed her on the lips then apologized profusely for the presumption and fled; Dr. Carnarvon, who cared for the pupils at Miss Mallory's. The good doctor had hovered about her for a year before saying that he was quite unworthy of her because of his earthy desires. He had then married a sensible widow.

She tried to imagine any of those men treating her as the marquess had done—kissing her with an open mouth, touching her breast. That was not how a man touched a respectable woman. Perhaps she should write to the "men in her life" and ask for character references.

Then an illustration popped into her mind—a picture from one of Miss Mallory's more outré books, one of the ones kept locked from the pupils. It was of Venus and Mars. Venus was lying half-naked in the lap of Mars who had one of his hands on her naked breast.

Good God! Did the marquess think she had done
that?
With Mr. Rutherford? Beth leapt to her feet, her hands pressed to flaming cheeks. How could she ever face him again? Surely such things only occurred in pagan times!

It was at that moment that the duchess walked in. "I knew I would find you here, my dear—" She halted, puzzled to see Beth standing in the middle of the room. "Is anything the matter, Elizabeth?"

Beth knew an outright denial would not be believed and so she said, "Just a little
crise de nerfs,
that's all, Your Grace."

"I hope it was nothing Lucien did," said the duchess, coming closer. Beth knew she had just turned even redder. "He is fundamentally a good man, but he has enough of his father in him to be difficult at times."