Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) (18 page)

They
had not.

But had
she?

Isobel recoiled from the answer to that question. Beckett had warned her that love was not part of the bargain. For him it would undoubtedly be true. But for her?

The thought sobered Isobel quicker than a dousing of cold water.

Oh, this was a mistake!

To fall in love with Beckett would be a
terrible
mistake. She had agreed to the terms of the marriage. They were to lead separate lives—he in London and she at Hampton Park. After this was done, she would spend the rest of her years alone on her estate, pining for a husband who had sworn never to love her.

And yet, it was too late. Last night had simply revealed the awful truth to her, removing the last barricade from her defenses.

It was true.

She
was
in love with him.

Isobel had criticized Beckett for keeping secrets from her, and now she would have to keep the truth from him forever.

No one ever said marriage was easy

* * *

The warm wind lightly caressed Isobel’s skin as she and Beckett rode on horseback down a quiet road that led to the beach. The smell of the sea floated on the breeze, and the sound of the gulls beckoned.

They ascended a rise and Isobel smiled as she beheld the breathtaking ocean beyond. The brilliant turquoise of the water held a vibrancy she had never before seen. The swirling colors reminded her of Beckett’s eyes—their beauty could bewitch and their depths could swallow one whole.

Beckett stopped his horse near some swaying palm trees and dismounted, reaching up to help Isobel off her mount. His hands on her waist felt firm and strong and made her stomach thrill.

“This seems a good spot.” Beckett guided her toward a grove of trees.

“The view is magnificent,” Isobel agreed, gazing at the white, sandy beach and at the water that stretched as far as she could see. This was a paradise.

Beckett took the horses to a nearby patch of grass and picketed them. With an unhurried air, he strolled back to the palm trees, spread out a blanket and plunked himself down.

Isobel joined him as he opened the basket that Josephine had prepared for them. A wonderful aroma drifted up from the delicious lunch of cheeses, roasted chicken and hearty brown bread. Beckett took a bite of cheddar and offered her some.

“No, thank you, I had a late breakfast,” she said.

Beckett grinned. “A late breakfast? Why were you so late to rise this morning?”

Feeling herself blush, Isobel looked away.

“Was that husband of yours keeping you up ’til all hours?”

Isobel met his eyes and saw the playful light dancing in them. Her stomach did flip-flops. “Yes, my lord, he did. He even woke me in the middle of the night to—”

“To….” Beckett moved closer to her.

“To continue with his—”

“His…?”

“His husbandly rights.”

“Husbandly rights
?” Beckett scoffed, amused. “Is that what you call what I did to you? I thought I was making mad, passionate love to you, Isobel. And that does not even consider what you were doing to me.”

“Me?” she said, taken off guard. “I did nothing to you.”

“I beg to differ, my dear, you did quite a lot,” he insisted. “Such wiggling and squirming. What is a poor husband to do when his wife insists on being serviced at all hours? Ignore her demands upon his person? I ask you.”

Isobel gasped and felt her cheeks burning.

“Not very kind of me to tease you so, is it?” He leaned back and lifted a morsel of bread to his lips. “Is there much pain today?”

She paused, but answered truthfully, “A little.”

He nodded, saying, “I’m sorry to say, nature is often cruel to the fairer sex. For isn’t it the woman who must carry and bear the child that the coupling of the two sexes might create? You could be carrying my child right now, as we speak. Have you thought of that?”

Isobel’s heart skipped a beat. Last night had happened so fast, had been so intoxicating, she truly hadn’t considered it. She’d thought only of the pleasure, of the way he’d made her whole body hum with passion.

And now, she felt a primal rush of pride at the possibility of carrying her husband’s child. Beckett’s child.

“I see the idea sits well with you, and that pleases me,” he said. “Because as the earl and countess of Ravenwood, we have a duty to perform, Isobel. You must conceive my child and heir. And that could take months. In fact, my friends Lord and Lady Secord had to engage in this type of behavior every day for almost a year until Letty conceived. And the whole time, both she and George wore the silliest smiles about town. Come to think of it, they’re still wearing them. Well, that stands to reason, as they’ve had a child each year since their marriage four years ago. Would you object to doing our duty as devotedly?”

“I would not, my lord,” she said, shocked at her own honesty.

Beckett lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, gazing into her eyes. “Nor would I, my dear. But I shall be a good husband to you tonight, and let you recover from your first taste of the marriage bed. It would be rather boorish of me to insist on performing our marital duty so soon, with you still tender from last night’s loving.”

No, it wouldn’t!
she wanted to say.

All this talk was making her skin positively tingle. Oh, why was he teasing her so?

Beckett turned his attention back to the picnic lunch beside him and picked up a leg of chicken. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I think I shall eat my lunch. I’m famished. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “I’ll sit here and sketch.”

Isobel arranged her pencils and paper in a bid to avoid watching Beckett lick the crumbs from his fingers. Oh, why hadn’t she brought her fan? It was decidedly hotter than before.

Isobel concentrated on the white sheet of paper before her. She did not want to be seen staring at her husband like a love-sick cow. He must not see the raw desire in her eyes. Nor how easily he could arouse her passions.

She picked up her pencil and began to draw the face of this man who drove her to distraction. She glanced up at him occasionally, his features quickly appearing on the paper in front of her. There was the arch of the eyebrow that sometimes taunted her, the regal nose, the sensuous mouth in that wicked half-grin. But Beckett’s eyes seemed far too intense to accurately transfer to paper.

Isobel completed the portrait, regarding the finished result with a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment. The drawing of Beckett showed a man brimming with raw sexuality. A man who could fulfill any woman’s desires. It looked positively indecent. She certainly didn’t want to show it to him.

But her reservations came too late.

He was already reaching for it.

Beckett studied the portrait silently.

“Well, what do you think?” Isobel said, brushing a flyaway hair from her face.

“Is this how you see me, Isobel?” he asked, pointedly.

She swallowed. “I suppose it is.”

“I look like a male courtesan!” he said, chuckling. “We should send it back to London and have it published in the Times. Imagine my reputation after the
ton
sees this, and learns my wife is the one who drew it”

Isobel snatched it back. “You will do no such thing.”

“Quite right.” Beckett agreed. “A full nude would cause a far greater scandal. We should get started on that directly.”

“What?” she asked, horrified. “I most certainly will not draw you nude.”

“That, Madam, is your loss,” he said cheekily. “Shall we go down to the water? I’ll bet it’s warmer than the English Channel.”

Isobel paused, then nodded in agreement as Beckett began removing his boots and stockings. She slipped off her shoes and silk stockings, picked up her skirts and trotted down to the beach, with Beckett following behind. It would be good to get her mind off her husband’s teasing.

They splashed their legs into the warm, foamy water, and Isobel gloried in the refreshing feeling. The tropical breeze sighed against her bare legs as Isobel lifted her skirts to keep them out of the water. She turned to see Beckett staring at her.

“You’re making it damned difficult for me to keep my word about leaving you alone tonight,” he warned.

“Perhaps I don’t wish you to keep your word,” she replied, splashing through the water and back onto the sand.

Walking down the beach ahead of Beckett, Isobel felt deliciously light-hearted. She drank in the blue sky overhead with its white, puffy clouds. The heady scent of the island’s exotic flowers floated on the breeze.

Rounding a curve in the shoreline, Beckett stopped and looked down at the sand, kicking it with his toes.

“Now, what have we here?” he asked. “Footprints? Must have been four or five men at least, and they lead down to the water. Perhaps Mr. Cobb’s talk of pirates wasn’t just flummery after all. There, you can see where their boat was dragged up onto the sand.”

“Might it not be local fishermen?” Isobel said, seeing the marks in the sand. An unsettling shiver ran up her back.

“Mr. Cobb said the fishing is done farther down the coast, where the waters are calmer,” Beckett answered. “Of course, I’m most likely assuming the worst. But you must promise never to come down here alone.”

Isobel nodded. “I promise.”

It was not a difficult one to make.

They turned back toward the grove of trees, and as they neared the horses, Isobel tried to silence her fears.

Surely, it wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be Sir Harry.
Could it?

She pushed the frightening thought from her mind.

They packed up the picnic basket and her drawings, and mounted the waiting horses.

As they neared Ravenwood Hall, Isobel noticed an oppressive smell in the air. Beckett seemed to notice it too and they stopped the horses. They heard shouts of alarm floating on the breeze.

Beckett’s eyes suddenly turned deadly serious. He kicked his stallion into a gallop, and Isobel followed as closely as she could.

As they approached the plantation, they saw pandemonium.

“The fields are on fire!”

Chapter 17

Beckett jumped off his horse and ran toward the burning sugar cane fields. Isobel struggled to keep up with him. She and Beckett stopped short when they saw Mr. Cobb running toward them.

“What’s happened, Cobb?” Beckett shouted. “You said the fields weren’t supposed to be burned until next week!”

“Not sure, m’lord!” Cobb yelled, his face and clothes blackened by soot. “Started ’bout an hour ago down in the south field. No one’s supposed to be down that way. Don’t know what could have happened. I’ve got all the men out there, and some o’ the women, too. We’ve got to put it out, or the house’ll be next, sir.”

Beckett ripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Tell me what to do, Cobb. I’m not going to lose Ravenwood Hall!”

“We’re digging ditches ’round the fields so the fire won’t spread,” Cobb explained. “The women are wetting down the sides and roof of the house and barn. Don’t want flying sparks to ignite the buildings.”

“I’ll help Josephine and the others up here,” Isobel said, squinting her eyes against the heat from the fire.

“Whatever you do, don’t get too close to the flames,” Beckett commanded.

“But you’re going down there!” she protested.

“I have no choice, Isobel. And neither do you.” Beckett turned and followed Cobb toward the heart of the burning fire.

Isobel coughed from the smoke in the air and looked for Josephine, who would most likely be in charge of the women.

She found her quickly; Josephine was already busy issuing orders.

“You girls go and get all de buckets you can find.
Big
ones!” Josephine shouted. When she saw Isobel, she said, “M’lady, come wit me.”

She led Isobel over to the well as the other women ran back with the buckets.

“Make a line to de barn,” she told the staff, coolly directing the panicking servants like an army colonel. “M’lady and I will pull de water up from de well.”

Isobel and Josephine worked together to crank the water up, handing bucket after bucket to the first woman in line, while the ladies at the other end doused the barn.

They worked as fast as they could to wet down the structure and get to the house before floating sparks landed on the roof. Next they made a line toward the manor, and bucket after bucket passed down the line until the house was dampened, too.

Isobel had no idea how much time had passed since they began their back-breaking work, but she could see the fire still burning down in the fields. She turned to Josephine, panting and wiping the sweat from her brow.

“We must go down and help the men dig,” she said.

“Dat would be a good idea, m’lady,” Josephine agreed.

After assembling the other women and taking what shovels remained, Isobel led the women down to the burning fields.