Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) (13 page)

She whispered, “Only to slap your face with it.”

To her added annoyance, he merely laughed. “That’s a fine way to talk to your fiancé. Am I not allowed to admire you?” He laid his fingers on her wrist, not grasping her hand but simply holding his long fingers there, as if he could feel her pulse through her evening glove. A fluttering sensation swept up her arm and then down through her body. Oh yes, she could quite see how Lucius Wainwright had seduced so many. He would have been the dark and dangerous man in the room who few women could resist. The more often a girl was warned against him, the more she would be drawn to the villain’s company.

He only had to brush against her, speak her name in that deep tone, and Becky the Bold forgot that she’d meant to walk away from him. His voice, like a rich, sticky toffee sauce, dripped over her body.

“I enjoyed our supper last night,” he muttered very low, “although it ended prematurely. I hope we’ll finish what we began. Soon. Don’t make me wait too long to satisfy my sweet tooth. I might turn wild and ravenous.”

Fortunately no one was within hearing distance. The Book Club Belles had gathered around the pianoforte to sing a song while Mrs. Makepiece played for them, and Becky deliberately did not see Justina gesturing to her. Singing Yuletide songs was the last thing she felt like doing with her insides all in a pickle. The music began without her.

Whispering again, she told him, “I see you don’t bother acting the gentleman around me. I daresay you know it would be a waste of your time, since I already met the real Lucky Luke. You may be yourself around me.”

His smile changed from self-contented cat to confused kitten, newly discovering that balls of wool unravel. “Mayhap that’s why I like you. There must be some reason why I couldn’t stop myself trailing after you.”

“Like me? You know nothing about me.”

“But I do. You told me all I needed to know as soon as we met, remember? It was a succinct but thorough introduction. Once we’re married, we’ll get to know each other even better.”

“Kindly stop talking of marriage,” she hissed. “I will not be used just to secure your inheritance.”

He frowned. “
What?
” His voice boomed, making Mrs. Makepiece play a brief jumble of wrong keys. Everyone looked over at them.

Becky forced a smile to reassure their audience and then she walked around the annoying fellow so that he must turn away from their view. She waited until the music and singing began again before she whispered hurriedly, “The last thing you want is a woman hanging on you. Those were your words yesterday. I’m sure once you have the certificate signed to show the solicitors, marriage will not curb your behavior in any way. I will not be a party to deceit. Or trapped in marriage with a notorious rake, who only wants to get his hands on the family fortune.”

“Your friend is right and you read too many novels.”

Head high, she would have left him standing there, but Luke moved closer, blocking her view of the others at the pianoforte, causing her to take a step back until she felt the wall at her shoulder. “Who told you about the terms of my father’s will?”

“Aha! Didn’t think I’d find out?”

He shook his head. “When I encountered you yesterday, I wasn’t planning to stay long. I had made up my mind to move on. Our collision changed all that. This has nothing to do with the will.”

“I’m supposed to believe you’re a reformed fellow? At the age of seven-and-thirty? Suddenly you want to change? I told you, I’m not a naive girl with eyes wide as barn doors and a mind full of fantasy.”

Luke studied her for a moment and then said flatly, “You’re angry.”

Somehow restraining herself from screaming, she sputtered, “I wonder why?”

He sighed and shook his head. “’Tis best not to tackle a woman in conversation when her temper is up. I should know better. I had forgotten that.”

“If you really don’t know why I might be angry—”

“What have I done to you? Saved you from scandal by announcing our engagement. Yes, I can quite see the cruelty, the villainy!” His eyes were jet black now, staring hard into hers. “Apparently that vast experience of the male gender—a matter of which you boasted to me last night—does not include them ever thinking of your reputation.”

She gritted her teeth and hissed softly, “Just for a moment, Colonel, let us bypass your true reason for marrying and look at my reason for
not
doing so.”

His brow wrinkled. His lips tightened. He leaned on his cane as if she made his leg hurt worse.

“If I ever marry, Colonel, it will be to a man of my choosing, not one who suddenly decides, after a lifetime of avoiding marriage, that he wants a wife. And then assumes the first convenient woman he sets his sights on will agree.” The very idea of being cornered into this made her skin itch, and yet if she dared scratch herself in public, the likes of Mrs. Makepiece would never recover. “I sincerely doubt I will ever need another man in my life, least of all one who thinks he can master me. Even as he lies with every word out of his mouth.”

“I did not lie to you.”

Again, Becky would have moved around him, but he put up his arm suddenly, pretending to draw her attention to a landscape painting on the wall. Slyly he leaned even closer, his cane effectively trapping her there with him.

“I warned you what I am,” he growled. “But you still wanted a kiss from me. You insisted upon it. Now look what you did.”

It was true, he had not lied about what he was. Only
who
he was. Perhaps, now she knew the truth, she was angry with herself for succumbing, almost as much as she was with him for not telling her his name. For letting her think he had come there just for her. She should have known better. That must account for some of these wild emotions careening about inside her.

He caught her fingers and held them. “The last thing I ever had in mind to be was a decently married man, Gingersnap.
I
ought to be angry with
you
.”

“Oh, be angry with my
cherry
basket
”—the words sizzled hotly off her tongue—“as that seems to have caused you all the trouble. Blame that.” But she hadn’t snatched her hand away. The strength and size of his fingers made her hand feel small-boned, delicate. Ladylike for once.

He gave her a wicked half grin. Swaying, he propped one shoulder to the wall, his pose shockingly casual for a genteel drawing room party. “Very well,” he whispered. “Let me be angry with that. Slip away with me into the hall right now and I’ll see the naughty thing well chastised. I can help you release some of that pent-up mischief held within it.” He caressed her gloved wrist with his fingertips and she knew he felt her rapid pulse.

This was very, very bad. Her nipples were beginning to ache and that heaviness had returned to her body. The heightened awareness that made every nerve ending tingle. His grin made it worse. He must have seen her glance over at the door, as if she actually considered his suggestion. Becky knew she had to get away and quickly before she was lost, enthralled by that wicked grin. Tempted by this sinner, like too many victims before her.

“So much for your attempt at reform,” she sputtered. “While I wish you well with your struggle, I suspect respectability will soon prove too great an adjustment for Lucky Luke, even with a vast fortune at stake. Standing in this drawing room for an hour has already made you long to leave it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the first time I met you, in that hot, smoky little tavern, you wore a heavy coat, impervious to the heat. Tonight, however, there is a bead of sweat, Colonel, slowly trickling down your temple.” She retrieved her hand from his and pointed at the offending drop. He looked at the white tip of her gloved finger as if he might bite it, and Becky quickly put her hand down. “You have adjusted your neckcloth enough times that it looks as if your dog brawled with it, and your lips are pressed so tightly together with resentment that your nostrils must work extra hard to take in air. Oh…there goes another bead of sweat making its course over the wrinkles of your surly frown.”

“All these words are making my head ache. Do you mean to say that you think me incapable of change? I thought you prided yourself, Gingersnap, on getting to the point?”

“Very well. I am convinced the effort of being a gentleman will cause your large, thick head to fall off.”

“Smug, aren’t you?”

“We can make a wager on it, if you like.”

His eyes gleamed, immediately interested. “Gambling? Tsk, tsk. Accepting such a challenge will surely mean I have lost already.”

“Are you
afraid
, Lucky Luke?”

His lips twitched. “Me? Never. I’m just like you.”

Sighing heavily, she turned away, but he stopped her again with a hasty whisper that brushed the curls at the nape of her neck.

“Double or nothing, Gingersnap.”

Slowly she turned, raising her gaze to his face again. “Meaning?”

“Give me time to prove I can mend my ways. If I don’t, you can call off the engagement and that way still save face. Blame it all on me. I’m used to it.”

She licked her dry lips. “Oh, don’t try to make me feel sorry for you.”
Any
minute
now
, she thought,
he’ll complain about his leg and clutch his cane tighter
.

It was as if she’d known him forever.

The walls of the drawing room seemed to be closing in, candlelight blurring in the sides of her vision. Suddenly she wanted to get out of there probably as much as he did. The heat of the room, so comforting and much appreciated when she first arrived, now felt stifling. She longed for cool air again and space. To turn her face up to stars in the velvety sky and breathe. “And if you do reform?”

“Well, you just claimed that to be impossible.” He blinked his dark lashes, trying to look innocent and harmless. Failing at both. Too late for that act with her.

“Then I will give you until the new year.” There was no doubt in her mind that he would fail. How many times did she have to tell him that she knew all about men? Suddenly struck with a curious thought, she added, “You would be content with a marriage to a wife won on a wager?” That only showed how little he valued the institute of marriage.

Those dark eyes glimmered down at her. “Love is an unnecessary complication. We can manage without it. You’ll enjoy the company of this sinner in bed, nonetheless.” His lips bent in a slight smile.

The man had an answer for everything. And every answer left her unsettled, dizzy. Like one of those pale, dainty women who fainted at every opportunity.

How ironic that she’d longed to feel more feminine and this was the man who did it to her. This crude-tongued charlatan.

Becky turned so quickly to get away that she tripped against a chair leg but righted herself and walked across the room with as much grace as she could manage to join her friends at the pianoforte. Yes, indeed, she could see exactly how so many women had fallen around him, for it was very hard to keep one’s footing in his presence.

* * *

“I hope your intentions toward Miss Sherringham are genuine,” Darius muttered, meeting Luke at the punch bowl a few moments later.

“Of course,” he replied gruffly before taking a long swig of punch. “Christ, haven’t you any brandy? Anything without fruit in it?”

“Miss Sherringham is a friend of my wife’s and a very pleasant young woman. Not your usual conquest, as far as I recall.”

“That’s the damned point, isn’t it? I thought you’d be pleased.”

After a pause, Darius said, “You met her in Brighton?”

“Yes.”

“She’s rather young for you.”

Luke groaned and scratched the back of his neck, wishing he could get out of his brother’s clothes and cool off. “Perhaps.” Usually the climate here was too cold for him, since he was used to more tropical places. But tonight, as she had pointed out, he was definitely overheated. Kept thinking about getting her out in the quiet hall and taking a drink of something that would better quench this almighty thirst.

“I hope you appreciate more than her physical attributes, Lucius.”

Bloody hell. Anyone would think his brother was seven years his senior instead of junior. “Nah,” he snapped. “I’m only in it for the lovely bubbies, ain’t I? You know me too well, Handles. There you go. Scuppered me again.”

Darius remained grave, watching him closely. “She told me this marriage idea was a misunderstanding. Why would she say that?”

“A temporary lover’s tiff,” he muttered. “I expect I looked at her the wrong way or said something I shouldn’t. You know how women are. Never quite on the same blasted orbit.”

“You’re perspiring on my shirt, Lucius. You haven’t come back with some fever? Perhaps you should see Dr. Penny.”

“It’s just these damnable clothes. I’ll have to get some new made for myself, won’t I?” Irritated, he looked around for something else to talk about. “Bugger, it’s hot in here.” He saw her with the other young ladies around the pianoforte, singing. “My future bride can’t hold a bloody tune, can she?” He winced just as Rebecca caught his eye. She put her prim nose in the air and sang louder.

Ness had wisely scuttled under the sofa.

Witnessing this exchange and his brother’s continual perspiring, Darius muttered, “I know you generally disdain any form of advice—and, indeed, pride yourself on having lived thirty-seven years without it—but perhaps you will allow me to caution you in regard to the young ladies of Hawcombe Prior, since I have some experience of them already.”

“Why? What’s wrong with ’em?”

Darius sighed. “Their
orbits
have a tendency to make one somewhat…vertiginous.”

“I can believe that.”

“They are very fond of missions.”

“Oh?”

“And they read a great many romantic novels.”

“It would be a compact of convenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes it would be no marriage at all… To me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the expense of the other.”

—Marianne Dashwood,
Sense
and
Sensibility

“I’m afraid the colonel reads like an open book, Jussy. He’s doing this for the inheritance and I refuse to help him uproot you—my dearest friend—and your beloved Wainwright from your home. I would rather end my days an old maid. Which, as Papa pointed out to me yesterday evening, is more than likely my fate.”

The two friends stood together, looking at the window display of Hawcombe Prior’s one and only shop. It was an emporium that began life as a haberdasher and tea shop in what was really little more than Mr. Porter’s front rooms but had since adapted into a treasure chest in which one could find all manner of sundry items without traveling the distance to Manderson.

Justina was purchasing last-minute gifts that day, and Becky had joined her in hope of finding some new trim to brighten up her best white muslin.

After all, she mused, the Clarendons were coming. One ought to make an effort.

“But the colonel claims he meant to save you from scandal when Mrs. Kenton saw you kissing,” said Justina, frowning into the window.

“He
claims
that to be his sole reason, but I know differently.”

“He certainly looks at you as if he has many more reasons,” Justina replied wryly.

Becky dismissed that with a sniff. She didn’t need it pointed out to her that the man had a habit of using his eyes as if they were fingers to unfasten hooks and buttons. He must have looked at many other women the same way. “Hmm. I wonder if Mr. Porter has any nice, thick, serviceable shawls. Big ones.”

She saw her friend’s frown reflected in the window. “And Sarah says that when you met him, you didn’t know his name?”

“Let’s just say we were not formally introduced.”

“Becky, you are being very mysterious, which isn’t like you at all.”

She groaned, her breath misting the window pane. “We met briefly in Brighton and then again two nights ago. I…I kissed him because he tricked me into it. Unfortunately, Mrs. Kenton saw us. He decided I’d do for a wife, since he needed one to claim his inheritance, and Mrs. Kenton’s wretched spying gave him the excuse he needed to try and force me into it. That is all. The entire tangled mess in a nutshell.”

Since she’d lain awake again for the second night in a row, troubled by thoughts of that unworthy fellow, Becky’s eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, staring through the glass without seeing a single item on the other side of it.

She added hastily, “Really, Jussy, you could not seriously have imagined the colonel and me together? It would be a most unsuitable match. Quite impossible.” She yawned, belatedly covering her mouth with one hand. “Not to be rude, since he is your brother-in-law, but he is dreadfully old and almost as boring as Mr. Kenton. Not to mention just as full of himself, terribly ill-mannered, and with a curiously eccentric sense of humor. I think he might be injured in the brain, as I saw him stand a full five minutes staring into his empty cup last night, and he couldn’t remember anyone’s name after they were introduced. Poor thing. He probably ought to be heavily sedated and wheeled about in a Bath chair for his own safety.”

“I am always confused when a sentence is begun by someone asking me not to feel offended when the words that follow will almost certainly cause that very effect.”

“I’m sorry, Jussy,” Becky replied briskly, “but I see no reason to sweeten the medicine with sugar water. It only dilutes the strength of the tonic and postpones the cure.”

“Well, I admit I
was
a little surprised that you had kept the engagement from me, and I always thought that Charles Clarendon had a better chance of meeting your requirements, but I wanted to believe it when Luke told us that you’d accepted his proposal.” Jussy sighed heavily. “How perfect it would be for us to become sisters-in-law!”

Becky chuckled. “I’m sorry, Jussy. As dearly as I love you, I can’t marry a man like that.”

“But he vows to be a changed man. I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding, as Mrs. Kenton says.”

At mention of that woman’s name, Becky groaned, pushing open the shop door and waving her friend on ahead. “She does have plenty to say on the subject of the colonel, to be sure.”

“None of it her business. Oh, I do hope he settles down at last, even if it is not with you. It would please my Wainwright to see his brother married.”

“But if the colonel marries, he can lay claim to everything that now belongs to your husband and your future children!” On her friend’s behalf, Becky was appalled by this terrible injustice.

Justina, however, barely acknowledged the fact that the colonel’s return was inconvenient. She had taken him under her wing as another of her missions. “It really doesn’t matter to us. My Wainwright is capable of earning his own money and we shall be happy wherever we go. We could live in Dockley’s barn and be content. When you fall in love, you will understand.”

That sounded altogether too rosy for Becky. When people made statements along the lines of “All we need is each other,” it usually meant they weren’t practical thinkers or had never known hard times. “If you ask me,” she muttered, sullen, “it’s very thoughtless of Lucky Luke to come back. He should have stayed away another dozen years and left you both alone.”

“You seem to have taken against my poor brother-in-law rather virulently, Rebecca Sherringham! Was his kiss so very bad?”

Becky turned away quickly. “Oh, look, what do you think of this patterned muslin? Goodness, it’s expensive.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Becky shook her head. “If the prodigal brother’s return doesn’t matter to you and your blessed Wainwright, then I suppose it can’t matter to me either…but don’t think you’re going to matchmake for the colonel and me. At his age, he would do better to court Diana’s mother if he truly needs a wife and isn’t very particular.”

Although Becky hadn’t meant it seriously, rather than laugh, her friend immediately pounced upon the idea. “Now, there is a very good thought indeed. Mrs. Makepiece
was
unusually civil to him last night.” Justina inspected a card of lace. “And we must not forget that Diana’s mother has scandal in her past too. She once went against her family’s wishes to elope with a young man of whom they did not approve. Therefore she has a little streak of rebellion beneath her starched petticoats. Somewhere.”

“Surely, at her age, all that is long gone.”

“She is only forty. Too wise and stern to tolerate a
young
man, perhaps, but certainly not old enough to resign herself to a lonely bed. When Diana is married, what will she have left to do with herself then? The colonel would give her companionship in old age.”

Becky swiped the lace out of her friend’s hand to examine it herself. “It is good of you to be so concerned for that prim fusspot’s future happiness.”

“It would not
all
be for her benefit, of course.” Justina admitted with a grin. “Although you would never say it out loud, I know you feel as I do, that Diana should not be allowed to throw herself away on the awful Shaw.”

“William Shaw is a very steady, responsible, reliable man and a prudent choice for—”

“Diana is in love with your brother, despite her mama’s attempts to prevent it, and when Nathaniel returns, we cannot let her be married to another. It would be a tragedy of immense proportions. Therefore, her dear mama ought to be given some other occupation to take her mind off this course upon which she is set.”

Becky marched purposefully around the table of trimmings, restlessly picking up and discarding various items as she went. Justina followed closely, still speculating out loud.

“Why not the colonel? He is almost her age—only three years younger—and he too has a daughter. They have much in common, unlikely as it might seem at first glance. Really it is very clever of you to suggest it.”

It
is
true
, Becky thought morosely; he was almost forty.
Forty
. And father to a girl only six years younger than herself. Becky’s mind circled those facts until she felt dizzy, bewildered, and annoyed. At least those were the feelings she could name.

Justina continued, “I heard Mrs. Makepiece say she thought his looks darkly appealing. And she even laughed at something he said.”

Becky almost pulled a ribbon entirely off its reel, causing Mr. Porter to glare at her from the other side of the shop. She moved along the counter to scowl at some buttons. “I very much doubt he’ll do for Mrs. Makepiece. He barely kept his masquerade up for a few hours last night. Once that slips, she’ll see he’s much too uncivilized to suit her.” She could not picture Diana’s mother letting him kiss her the way he had kissed Becky. Did not want to picture it.

Why was the idea so horrid? She struggled over the question but could find no answer.

“My mind is made up on the matter,” said her friend. “I shall have the colonel married and settled before my sister’s wedding in the spring! You’ll see, Madam Doubtful!”

Becky knew from past experience that trying to talk Justina out of anything would only make her more determined. Let the mission fail of its own accord, as it surely would.

Eventually, to her relief, Justina moved on to other matters. “Since you’ve lost Mrs. Jarvis again, you and the major should come to Christmas dinner at the manor this year. I’ve invited my parents to dine with us too. Monsieur Philippe is cooking an enormous goose and we’ll have plum pudding with brandy butter!”

How could she refuse such a gracious invitation? Since Darius Wainwright’s fancy London chef had arrived at Midwitch Manor, dinner there was very much the prized invitation to be had. Her father would sulk if she turned it down.

“If you can tolerate the dreary company of Colonel Wainwright,” Justina added, turning to assess her reflection in a mirror while holding scarlet plumes to her bonnet. “He will be there too, of course.”

Well, that was unfortunate, but why should Lucky Luke Wainwright’s menacing intentions keep her from enjoying the festivities of the season and her good friend’s company?

“I would have invited Diana and her mama too,” Justina added, “but they have those dreadful Oxfordshire snob cousins coming to visit, along with the beastly Shaw. As for Lucy, her father insists she stay at home to help her mama with all her little brothers.” She paused. “It is quite rude of the Clarendons to descend upon Diana’s mother with such little notice, do you not agree?”

“I think she enjoys the attention.”

“But Mrs. Makepiece barely has the room, as you know, and certainly not the housekeeping budget to feed all those extra mouths.” She shook her head. “If you ask me, it’s very strange that they are coming, traveling about in winter, to see two ladies whose comfort they never consider the rest of the year. Does their father not wish for them to stay with him for Christmas? It is very odd.”

Becky studied some mother-of-pearl buttons. “It will give Diana’s mother something to boast about all season, in any case.”

Quite casually, Justina said, “I suppose you are looking forward to seeing Charles Clarendon again.”

“Not particularly. Why?”

“Perhaps because he fits your ‘Attributes Required in a Husband’ so very well?” Then, as if the idea had just come to her, Justina spun around and cried, “Poor Colonel Wainwright! That is why you will not even consider him now. Because you wait for Charles to declare himself.”

Becky tossed the buttons aside and folded her arms, too annoyed now to look at frivolous trimmings. Why was she bothering anyway when she never got anything right about her dress? “Diana told me the Clarendons are staying at Lark Hollow with Admiral Vyne,” she muttered. “So they will only visit for a short time. I may not even see Mr. Clarendon while they are here.”

Justina huffed. “Oh, he will make sure he’s seen. That young man always wants everybody’s attention. I’ve never known such a peacock. He struts about and shows off his fine-feathered tail. As for the sister, she’s as interesting as a wet cabbage leaf, and the elder brother slept through church service the last time they came. Despite their grand pedigree, they are certainly an ill-mannered bunch.”

Her friend, it seemed, was ready to forgive the formerly deceased Colonel Wainwright for descending upon
her
without notice, yet she looked upon the Clarendons’ Yuletide visit to Mrs. Makepiece with less accepting eyes.

Becky would have pointed this inequity out if not for the sudden tinkling of the shop’s doorbell, followed by a loud voice. “Looking for cloth for your wedding clothes, eh, Miss Sherringham?”

It was too late to duck away and hide. Mrs. Kenton was in “full boom”—a status they’d secretly assigned to her worst, most annoying moods, after she was heard referring to her husband’s rose garden in the same terms. Whether she knew she’d missed out an
l
or whether she thought this was the correct phrase, no one knew, and no one bothered to correct her.

“Not closeted away at your secret society today then, I see?” she bellowed.

The only reason Mrs. Kenton had not joined the Book Club Belles when she first settled there was because she claimed to have no time to read novels—a circumstance for which they were all grateful, and so they did everything in their power to keep her too busy. But as a consequence of not being a member, the meddlesome lady always referred to the book club as if it was some sort of screen for a wicked coven.

She looked at Becky. “I hear that you are without a cook for Christmas. You and the major must come to us.” It was never an invitation with Mrs. Kenton; it was always a command.

“Oh, dear! Such a shame, but I must decline. Mrs. Wainwright has invited us to dine at the manor on Christmas Day.” Just in the nick of time!

“But I have already decided upon the seating arrangements at the parsonage. With all this business about the colonel, I knew you would be in need of some sound advice, which I, as a close personal friend of his stepsister, am at liberty to give you. And which, no doubt, the colonel’s brother would not, since he is tighter with his information than an oyster shell with its pearl.”