Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (31 page)

And the marquess had undressed her. She remembered that. And he hadn't....

Beth sat up abruptly, saw the marquess sitting in a chair watching her, and, with a gasp, slid back down under the covers. He was dressed in a marvelous blue damask banjan robe and his hair was engagingly unkempt.

"Good morning, my lady," he said with a warm smile.

"Good morning," Beth replied, watching him warily.

He frowned slightly. "Don't look so scared, Beth," he said. "I want my spirited radical back."

"It's hard to be bold when naked under the sheets, my lord."

His blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "Is it? I hadn't noticed that before."

Beth felt her face grow hot but couldn't help smile back. "You are a very wicked man."

"The only sort worth having." He came over to the bed with her heavy satin wrap in his hand and let it slither slowly down onto the covers. "I sent your maid away." He studied her a moment. Beth wondered if he were going to slide down on top of her as the wrap had slid, and cover her.... But he moved away. "I'm going to order breakfast for us in your boudoir. What would you like?"

"Eggs," said Beth, realizing she was hungry.

He grinned. "I'm pleased to see we're compatible in drink at least. I never have hangovers either." With that he left the room.

Beth lost no time in scrambling out of bed and into both her nightgown and wrap. It was, in fact, a more concealing ensemble than her wedding gown, tossed carelessly on the floor and quite ruined by the wine stain, but she still felt undressed. She slipped cautiously through into her dressing room but found it deserted. She sat to brush her tangled curls and wished for a cap to give her courage.

What a wedding. She had got drunk, had hysterics, and been stripped naked by a man. She found herself wishing he'd done "it" while she was so drunk. Now she must wait daily for him to consummate the marriage.

When, under the compulsion of a lifetime's training, she went back to tidy the bed she gasped with shock. There was a bloodstain on the sheet. But her body felt no different. Could he have done it without her having the slightest awareness?

He walked in. "Breakfast is here—What is it?" Then he saw the sheets. "Don't worry. That's not your blood. I just didn't want to start talk, our marriage being a trifle hasty. I gave myself a small cut with my razor and decorated the sheets."

"You think of everything, my lord," said Beth, somehow offended that he should have arranged matters so competently while she had gone to pieces.

A certain restraint settled on him. "You would rather, I am sure, be tied for life to an inefficient bungler of noble heart and great mind. You are, however, compelled to make do with me."

"Nobody is questioning your nobility," said Beth smartly. And then stopped, horrified.

He politely stood back so she could precede him through the door. "We had best ignore that comment, I think."

Beth was pleased to do so. Quicksands again. Would it ever change?

They walked in silence through her dressing room and bedroom to the luxurious boudoir where a table had been laid with linen and china. Beth helped herself to perfect eggs and a crisp, fresh bread roll. Her nerves had been so overwrought in recent days she had eaten little. The present moment was not perhaps the most comfortable of her life, but like most feared events, it was easier to handle when arrived at.

Considering the traps to be found in the most innocent conversation she was happy to follow his example and eat in silence. When her hunger was satisfied, though, the silence began to weigh on her.

She fidgeted with the new, unaccustomed wedding ring. "For how long, my lord, do we live here in seclusion?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Until, I think, you call me Lucien."

Beth met his eyes. "You really must learn not to challenge me, Lord Arden. We are likely to become the hermits of Marlborough Square."

"You refuse to use my given name?"

"Under those terms, yes."

He studied her then turned on his most glittering smile.

"Please, my dear Beth," he said softly, "will you call me Lucien?"

"Yes, Lucien, I will," replied Beth in her best schoolmistress's voice, hoping it disguised the way her pulse had speeded under his attentions.

The marquess set his elbows on the table and rested his shapely chin on his hands. His blue eyes were bright and mischievous. "Is that the key to your heart, my blushing rose? Please, my perfumed paradise, my angel of delight, come sit on my lap and kiss me."

Beth eyed him warily and tried to deny the turmoil his words stirred in her. "No."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It was worth a try. I think I'll wait for you to seduce me."

"In that case there are unlikely to be heirs to the glory of the de Vaux."

"We shall see." He rose and stretched. "Now, having solved the name problem, it is time for us to leave and spend a few days at Hartwell."

"Hartwell?"

"Don't worry. It's not Louis
le Désiré's
miniature Versailles in Buckinghamshire. It's my country estate in Surrey. Just a small place, a cottage ornée. Only a handful of servants. We can relax in bucolic isolation."

"And after that?" asked Beth.

"After that we really should return for the remainder of the Season. We need to establish your place in Society, but I promise not to run you ragged as my mother did."

"You most certainly will not," said Beth also rising. "Please stop treating me like a child, my... Lucien. I will arrange my own social life."

"To a point. Be fair, Beth. You still need some guidance on managing in Society."

Beth didn't feel fair, but she was forced to agree. "Very well. And now, my lord...
Lucien, my darling,"
she corrected, causing a laugh, "I must summon Redcliff. Unless you intend to be my maid today as well."

Her unwary tongue had betrayed her again, and Beth saw the glitter in his eyes with alarm. He came over and began to unfasten the pearl clusters down the front of the wrap, his attention completely focused on his task. Beth looked at his handsome face blankly and wondered what she should do, what she wanted to do.

He slid his hands beneath the satin and pushed the wrap off her shoulders. His hands were hot against her skin. The garment slithered into a snowy pool on the carpet, and Beth was intensely grateful she had put on the nightgown. It still provided a decent covering.

His fingers rose to the three buttons which fastened it to the scooped and filled neckline. Beth's hand came up to stop him.

He looked up, amused eyes challenging her.

"A maid would never leave my wrap lying on the floor."

"Whatever made you think I was a maid?" he asked. In a single movement, he swept her hands behind her and trapped them. Just like that terrible night and yet so different. Beth might be nervous and uncertain, but she felt no fear.

He placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose and Beth jerked back, wriggling in his grasp. "Let go of me! You said you'd wait for me to seduce you."

He released her hands but wrapped his arms around her so she was still helpless. "Ah, but do you know what seduction is?" he asked. "You've made a prodigious start, I'll grant you. Provocative remarks are a wonderful beginning...."

"I did not—" Her protests were stopped with a kiss.

When he raised his lips Beth tried again, "I—" and was stopped again.

The next time he raised his lips she wisely remained silent. She doubted her ability to be coherent in any case. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating with an energy she had never experienced before, an energy which burnt away thought like the sun burning away a morning mist.

"...but you have to know what to do next," he completed. "Also," he added softly, "you have to know you want the prize." He lowered his head for another kiss.

This time he did not merely seal her lips. This time he gently teased them open and she felt his tongue upon hers for the first time. She moaned, but whether it was protest or delight she could not have said. Nothing in any book had prepared her for this.

She could feel the heat of his hands through the thin silk, one between her shoulder blades, one lower, in the small of her back, rubbing in small circles which pressed her against his body. The rough texture of his damask robe fretted her skin through the fine silk, and her nipples, ah, her nipples had developed a life of their own. She inhaled the aroma of soap and something more—something warm, spicy, and dangerous.

The scent of a man.

Instinct drove her to open her mouth to further invasion. She felt fingers trace up to thread through her curls, sending shivers down her spine to weave with the magic of his other hand. A fever spread throughout her body. She surrendered utterly, her hands clutching at his robe.

Eventually his mouth released hers. She shuddered and rested her swimming head on his shoulder, feeling his hand stroke over her hair.

"Beth?" he asked softly.

Chapter 15

A part of Beth's body reacted to the question like a child offered sugar plums, but her mind balked. If he had carried her to the bed then and taken her, she would not have resisted, but she could not, at that moment, consent. She was too overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all. Having regained a degree of sanity she was afraid to return to that wild disintegration.

She shook her head against his shoulder.

He sighed and released her. But then he slipped his fingers to twine with hers and pulled her into her bedroom. Beth could feel the thudding of her heart as he studied her. A part of her still wanted him to persuade her.

But in the end he let her go. "Ring for your maid. We'll speak to the duke and duchess and set off. Don't dally."

With that he left for his own rooms and Beth collapsed down on a bench, not at all sure she was grateful for his restraint.

An hour later, armored in a new walking dress of sage green crepe, Beth rejoined her husband. He was safely conventional in blue and buff and that moment of uninhibited passion seemed like a fevered dream. Together they went to find the duke and duchess.

The duchess kissed Beth on the cheek. "How smart you look, my dear. I understand Lucien is wafting you off to Hartwell. The duke and I spent part of our honeymoon there."

Beth noticed the duchess flash a look at the duke and saw that austere gentleman smile. For some reason she felt embarrassed, as if she had witnessed an intimacy.

The duke also gave Beth a kiss. "Welcome to the de Vaux family," he said with a degree of complacency which Beth longed to disturb. He obviously thought his stratagem was working perfectly. Beth was sourly pleased he would have to wait longer than nine months for his pure-blooded grandchildren.

In fact, she was surprised at how vinegary she felt. The worst was over and she had not been subjected to intimate assault. It appeared that the marquess was willing to wait until she was ready to consummate the marriage. They were going off to some peace and quiet in a small house in the country. She should be feeling sweet, not sour.

She determined to be sweet, not sour.

As soon as she was in the luxurious chariot, this time with the marquess beside her, she set herself to be pleasant. The weather certainly contributed to good humor, for the late spring countryside was at its very best.

"Tell me more about this estate, Hartwell," she said.

He was lounged at his ease and showed no sign of amorousness, thank heavens. "As I said, it's a cottage ornée. Quite pretty, I think, with charming rustic gardens." His lips twitched into a grin. "Deceptive simplicity sums it up. It takes a great deal of work and money to preserve its bucolic charms, but it's charming all the same. There's a stream at the end of the garden and an orchard and a dovecot."

"Should I have brought my silk and lace shepherdess outfit?" Beth teased.

"Like Marie Antoinette at the Petit Trianon? Definitely not. But the real charm of Hartwell is that we may wear exactly what we wish." He reached up and unknotted his cravat, unwound it, and tossed it onto the opposite seat.
"Voila!
Freedom."