Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (38 page)

"You must change straightaway," said Beth and led her into the dressing room. There Redcliff produced a shift and one of Beth's old gowns, a plain blue muslin. Clarissa changed with alacrity. The gown was a trifle long but otherwise an adequate fit.

"That feels so much better," said Clarissa with a wan smile. "You have no idea how horrible it was to be standing in the square waiting for you. I was certain everyone knew I was a woman and was looking at my legs."

"But what are we to do?" asked Beth. "Your parents will hunt for you. They will be concerned."

"No, they won't," said Clarissa stonily. "Except about Lord Deveril's money."

"I can't keep you here, Clarissa. The servants will be sure to find out. Do you have any friends who would hide you?"

Clarissa shook her head, beginning to look frightened again. "Are you going to send me back?"

Beth hugged the poor girl. "Never. But I may not be able to prevent them taking you."

"Could I not hide here?" asked Clarissa desperately. "No one except your maid saw us come in. It's a very large house."

Beth had little choice. She simply could not throw Clarissa out. "Perhaps for a little while," she said.

She turned to the maid, who was still the picture of disapproval. "Where could Miss Greystone hide and not be detected by the servants, Redcliff?"

"It's not proper, milady," protested the older woman.

"Never mind that. Where? The attics? The cellars?"

"No, milady. The servants rooms are up under the roof, some of them. And the walls are thin. If she made a move it'd be heard. And the cellars have the stores in them. There's people in and out every minute."

"Well, where then? As Clarissa says, it's an enormous house. There must be somewhere."

Redcliff's mouth became even tighter, but she answered in the end. "She'll have to go in one of the spare bedrooms, if anywhere. The one next door to your boudoir is empty."

For some reason, hiding Clarissa in a guest room seemed much more shocking than concealing her in the cellars, but the maid was doubtless correct.

"Very well," said Beth. She took Clarissa to the bedroom which housed her court dress. With a grin, she twitched aside the covers. Clarissa gasped. "It's beautiful."

"I suppose so, but I'm not looking forward to wearing it."

"I haven't been presented," said Clarissa wistfully. "I'd like it, I think."

"Do you really have a taste for such things, Clarissa?"

The girl smiled. "I don't think I have a noble mind like you. I like fine clothes, and balls and flirting with young men. I like fireworks and illuminations and masquerades. Now, I suppose the best I can hope for is to be a governess or a schoolmistress. I
loathe
Lord Deveril," she said bitterly. "This is all his fault."

Beth could have retorted that it was the fault of Clarissa's father's addiction to gaming, but there seemed no point and she had no objection to Deveril receiving all the opprobrium. She left Clarissa with
Self-Control
to pass the time and strict instructions not to make any noise. As she returned to her apartments, however, Beth couldn't help reflecting on the difference in their tastes. What a shame Clarissa hadn't been the duke's daughter.

The very thought made her hands clench. She wouldn't go back to Miss Mallory's now for all the tea in China. Never see Lucien again? Truly, she feared she would die.

Back in her dressing room, she gathered up the clothing Clarissa had taken off. "What are we to do with this, Redcliff?" she asked.

"Give it to me, my lady," said the older woman with resignation. "I'll stash it somewhere below stairs. I don't know what the marquess will have to say when he finds out."

"You are not to tell him," said Beth sharply.

"I know that," said the woman, "but you better do so, milady. He can't harbor a fugitive in his father's house without knowing of it."

When she left with the bundle under her cloak, neither of them remembered the tricorne and the crumpled cravat still lying in the boudoir.

Chapter 18

Afraid to leave Clarissa in the house alone, Beth pleaded a headache and kept to her rooms. She even took her dinner there, sharing it with the girl. She desperately tried to think of a place Clarissa could find safety, but the only possibility was the Delaneys. Though they seemed so warm and welcoming, the acquaintance was too slight to boldly ask them to be her accomplices in an illegality. If necessary she would do so, however, rather than meekly hand Clarissa back.

Beth lent the girl a nightgown and saw her tucked up in the bed. At least it was warm weather so the unaired sheets were not too cold. All they needed was for Clarissa to take sick.

Then, seeing no need to put off the matter, she prepared for bed herself and gave Redcliff the evening off. Sitting curled up on the sofa in her boudoir, fretting uselessly hour after hour over her problem, she had completely forgotten about Lucien until he walked into the room carrying a decanter and two glasses. Red wine, just like on their wedding night.

His blue eyes were bright, his beautiful mouth curled in a happy smile. "Dutch courage," he said lightly, "though I'm not sure which of us will need it most."

Beth could not hope to conceal her shock and alarm. Her principal thought was that Clarissa was in the very next room and might walk in at any moment.

Lucien's expression dimmed. "You perhaps?" he said and poured her a glass. This time her hand did not shake very much, and she gratefully gulped the encouraging claret.

He studied her before he spoke. "I thought your note was unambiguous, my dear, but I'm beginning to wonder. Would you prefer that I leave?"

There was a great temptation to say yes, but Beth did not
want
him to leave and quailed to think what such an answer might do to their fragile relationship.

"Of course not," she said, holding out a hand to him. "I... I just did not expect you so early. You have been out late these last few nights."

He relaxed and smiled again as he came to sit beside her. "Am I to be under the cat's paw? I might like it, I think. Truly, I thought you needed a break from my company."

He seemed so honest. She wished she could believe him. "Of course I didn't," she said. "I've missed you."

He didn't move. There was no significant change in his expression and yet something altered. Something took her breath away. He gently took the empty glass from her hand. "Have you? You may be right, then, about eliminating our anxiety. I thought you'd taken me in dislike again."

Beth felt her heart hammering in her chest, a warmth spreading through her body. He raised her hand and kissed it, his lips soft and warm against her fingers. She watched his lowered head breathlessly as he turned her hand and pressed a kiss into her sensitive palm.

"Oh."

It was a meaningless little exhalation on her part. She had to breathe sooner or later. He looked up, and she had the impression fire danced in his eyes. His cheeks were beautifully touched with color.

He pulled her gently and she swayed into his arms. "I should have seduced you that morning, shouldn't I have, my little radical?" he said softly.

Beth remembered. "Yes, I think you should."

He buried his face in her curls and she felt his lips at her neck. Her hands sought him but found, unsatisfactorily, the fabric of his jacket.

"Lucien," she said. "You have too many clothes on."

He choked with helpless laughter against her shoulder and then pushed back slightly to look at her "Of course I have. It would have been a trifle brash, though to have come in my night robe, wouldn't it?"

"Would it? You weren't ashamed of your banjan before."

"But then," he said, "I was fairly sure I wouldn't be your lover. Now, my wonderful angel-light, I'm fairly sure I will."

There was the slightest question in the last phrase and, by way of answer, Beth raised a hand to touch his face. So that quotation hadn't been an insult. "I am not quite sure I see the logic in that, my lord," she said lightly, over the staccato of her heartbeats and the singing of her nerves.

He turned his head to kiss her palm again. "In my state, you expect logic, dear one
?"

"Oh." She understood what he meant. She seemed to be reduced to incoherence herself.

"I think," he said, smiling, "I will see how many times I can make you say, 'oh.'"

She expected to be kissed, but he traced her lips with a delicate finger, leaving them tingling, hungry.

Then he licked his finger and traced them again.

"Ohhh."

He smiled as he slowly unbuttoned her nightgown and slipped his fingers to nestle between her breasts. She waited for his hand to move over a breast, rub a nipple as he had that evening; waited in shuddering expectation for that deep, stirring excitement, welcome now.

He leaned forward and sucked softly on her earlobe.

"Ohhhh." It was a long-drawn-out moan.

Then she became aware that his hand had moved and was rubbing butterfly soft over her nipple through the silk of her nightgown. A dizzy hunger surged in her, and she turned her head to meet him in a desperate kiss. His arms around her, pressed to him, she wanted only to eliminate all their clothing and be skin to skin, and more.

When the kiss died and his hot lips trailed down her throat, Beth said, "Oh and oh and oh.
Please
will you take some clothes off?"

He laughed again, so hard he had to stop kissing her. "You're adorable! What a terrible amount of time we've wasted."

Running a wondering hand through his curls, she asked. "Why did you not seduce me that morning? I was more than half willing."

He captured her hand. "I have never forced a woman," he said softly. "You had so little choice in events that I feared I would have been forcing you then." With a teasing smile he asked, "How willing are you now, my courageous one? Still more than half? Three-quarters? Four-fifths?"

Beth pretended to give the matter deep thought. "Ninety-nine one hundredths," she said at last.

He drew her back into his arms. "I'll have to work on that fragment of doubt, my enchanting schoolmistress...."

Like an icy shock, remembrance of Clarissa, so close, stiffened Beth's muscles.

He frowned in perplexity. "Beth, there's no need to hurry into this," he said, drawing back. "I'm sorry if you feel I've been neglecting you, but I require no price for my presence."

If he left her now, Beth thought, she'd tear the room apart. "Lucien," she said, "stop being so noble, damn you!"

He burst out laughing. "Oh Beth, I do love you."

That shocked her into a semblance of sobriety. "You do?"

He met her eyes calmly. "Yes, I really do. I think I fell in love with you at Hartwell. I've missed our time together these last few days. I've missed your challenging way of looking at things and your wit. You always catch my jokes first time, and often cap them. Do you mind very much being loved by your enslaver, my darling houri?"

Mind? She felt as if she could float away with happiness. "How could I mind? I've been trying to persuade myself for weeks that I don't love you. And failing."

As he took her in his arms again she murmured, "Do you think we can keep it from the duke, though?"

His lips were against hers as he said, "Why?"

"He'll be so pleased with himself."

He laughed even as his mouth came down on hers and the magic started again. With playful hands and velvet lips, he teased and tantalized her into delight but always, a barrier to ecstasy, was the knowledge of Clarissa.

Then Beth had an inspiration. "Lucien!"

"Yes, my darling," he said against her breast.

"Lucien. I want you to make love to me in
your
bed."

He looked up into her blushing face, his eyes bright with delight. "You are a box of wonders, my angel. What strange fancy do we have here, and where did you find the courage to demand it?"

Beth could only think that in his bedroom they would be four doors away from Clarissa. "Am I not a flaming radical, my dear baboon?"