The Marriage Bargain (20 page)

As she scooped up a shovelful of earth and heaved it, she saw some of the dirt land on Beckett’s boot.

She nearly burst into giggles, glancing at his face to see if he had noticed. Thankfully, it seemed he hadn’t.

She continued her work, but was startled when a flying clump of earth caught the edge of her skirt. Isobel slowly looked over to see Beckett continue to dig.

Casually, she lifted her shovel, filled it with dirt, and sent the whole thing sailing over to strike Beckett’s chest.

Her husband stopped for a moment, looking down at himself. Dirt was stuck to every inch of him.

Isobel was suddenly afraid she had taken it too far. Beckett would be furious with her. Unsure of what to do, she bent to continue her digging.

A huge load of dirt hit the back of her head with so much force that it nearly knocked her off her feet.

Isobel spun about to find Beckett smiling at her, proud as a peacock.

Bellowing in a terribly unladylike manner, Isobel threw down her shovel and charged. Her husband instantly dropped his shovel and ran, laughing. He easily evaded her pursuit by changing directions and dashing around the edge of the ditch.

He stopped long enough, however, to pick up a handful of dirt and throw it at her. It covered the front of her dress so that her state of cleanliness now resembled his own.

Isobel quickly grabbed some dirt herself, and lobbed a handful at Beckett’s head. She just missed. His return volley landed in her hair and she shrieked unhappily.

Beckett laughed and pointed, but was duly silenced when a soggy clump of earth pelted his face. Now Beckett charged at Isobel, who knew it was impossible to out-run him.

The dirt kept flying in both directions, until they were out of breath from running, and merely stood hurling handfuls at each other.

Finally, Isobel stopped and pointed at Beckett, laughing uncontrollably. “You look as if you’ve been rolling in a pig sty!”

Beckett laughed too, pointing back at her hair. “Well, I’m afraid your hair is now as dark as horse dung, my dear. You know, I believe I’ll have to start calling you the countess of Ravendirt.”

Isobel attempted to catch her breath and glanced around to see Mr. Cobb, Josephine, and about twenty men and women staring at them completely dumbfounded.

“I daresay that’s enough mudslinging for today.” Beckett dusted off his hands. “Besides, we are attracting quite an audience.”

Isobel made a feeble attempt to straighten her filthy dress. Thankfully, no one could see her blushing beneath all the dirt on her face.

Beckett took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, as if they were about to leave a dinner party.

He cleared his throat and paused, glancing down at Isobel. Then, he opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

Josephine’s face broke into a smile that rivaled the sun’s gleam on the ocean. Her booming laughter rang out over the field. The others joined in as well. Soon Beckett, Isobel, Mr. Cobb, and all the other workers were laughing and pointing at each other’s dirty clothes, faces and hair.

Josephine held her stomach and doubled over in laughter. “I be surprised if ‘dere be any dirt left in the field, now! Ha, ha! Oh, my…”

“Indeed, Josephine,” Beckett chuckled.

“By the way, m’lord,” Mr. Cobb said, grinning. “The fire’s put out.”

At this the crowd erupted in hoots of wild laughter. Beckett and Isobel couldn’t help but join in.

“You both be wantin’ a nice bath, now,” Josephine said, wagging her finger. “I’ll run up to de house and get de water boilin’.”

“That won’t be necessary, Josephine.” Beckett pulled Isobel close.

Josephine looked unconvinced. “It will be if you want to get dat dirt off yourself.”

“Oh, we shall get ourselves clean, but with a little help from Mother Nature instead. I couldn’t bear to have any of this tracked indoors. Have some soap, towels, and clean clothes brought down from the house. I think it’s time Lady ‘Ravendirt’ became acquainted with our natural spring.”

Isobel felt butterflies flit through her stomach. Was he suggesting what she thought? She looked up at him, and the twinkle in his eyes confirmed it. Good Heavens, they were going to bathe together.

In a few moments, a girl from the house appeared with towels and clothes in her arms and a yellow cake of soap in her hand.

The servants and workers looked at each other sheepishly before being dismissed by Josephine: “What you all lookin’ at, now? You go and clean yourselves up and let de lord and lady do what dey please.”

Isobel watched their knowing smiles as they turned away, and wondered why she wasn’t mortified.

Strangely, there seemed no need for such worries here.

Josephine’s eyes twinkled at Beckett and Isobel as they turned to go. “I be servin’ dinner soon. Dat is, if you still be hungry after your bath… Ha-ha!”

Beckett led Isobel across the lawn to the path, with the servant girl following behind at a respectful distance. Isobel’s heart skipped with excitement and she clutched his hand. Beckett glanced back at her and smiled, then led her deeper and deeper into the dense greenery.

Soon, the spring appeared, encircled by a lush array of colorful flowers and shiny green leaves. A wall of rock rose up on one side and over, and a glistening waterfall spilled down it into the pool.

As Beckett waved a hand in dismissal, the servant set down their clothes, made a curtsy and left.

“My, my, but you’re filthy.” Her husband chuckled, looking Isobel up and down.

“The countess of Ravendirt must dress appropriately.”

“Take off your clothes, then.” He bent down to remove his boots.

Isobel felt gooseflesh cover her skin at Beckett’s words, but found herself obeying as if she had no will of her own. Soon she was down to her lawn undergarments.

“Everything, Isobel.” He gazed at her with intense eyes while he unfastened the buttons of his buckskins.

She swallowed. She had never stood naked in front of anyone before—at least not without any sort of covering. And certainly not in broad daylight. When she and Beckett had made love, it had been blissfully dark. But now?

As Beckett peeled off his buckskins and drawers, he looked up at her. She watched the last stitch of clothing fall away, and her uncertainty faded… replaced by desire.

He stood proudly nude, watching her. His arms and chest and face were covered with dirt, and the rest of him… oh, the rest of him!

Isobel let her eyes feast on the wonderfully masculine body before her. She had never seen anything so impressive before. Had God made man for the sole purpose of tempting woman?

Isobel’s eyes traveled unashamedly over the body she’d explored with hungry hands the night before. Her gaze lingered over his thighs, and up, and she saw that he was powerfully, beautifully aroused.

“Come on. It’s your turn,” he growled.

As if under a spell, Isobel slowly removed the rest of her undergarments, and felt the warm air touch every part of her body.

Beckett smiled and held his hand out to her. Silently, they entered the water and walked in until they were waist deep.

Beckett turned her to stand in front of him and dipped the soap in the water. He brought it up again and lathered it between his hands. “Close your eyes, tight.”

Isobel did as he asked and felt his hands gently rubbing her face. The sensation was wonderfully soothing. She felt herself smile through the suds and Beckett laughed, presumably at her.

“Dunk your head, now, like a good little girl.”

Isobel giggled and sank down into the water. When she came up again, she wiped the water away from her eyes and saw Beckett regarding her. His expression was more serious than she was accustomed.

“Now, your hair.”

Beckett moved to stand behind her, and she closed her eyes again as he ran soapy fingers through her slick wet hair. He scrubbed her head gently, and it was so relaxing Isobel thought for a moment she might fall asleep.

As she rinsed her hair, Beckett still stood behind her. She felt his strong hands on her back, sliding through the suds and massaging her tired muscles. A sigh escaped her and she heard Beckett chuckle.

“Enjoying this, my sweet?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered.

“I’m sure there aren’t many husbands who engage in personally bathing their wives as I do. They should know what they’re missing.”

Beckett turned her to face him. If it was possible, his eyes blazed even more intensely than before. He looked like a lion about to pounce upon his prey. Taking her hands in his, he placed the slippery round soap in her palm.

Isobel lathered the soap between her hands and felt a thrill as Beckett closed his eyes. Reaching up, Isobel smoothed suds over his chest, reveling in the feeling of his wet skin, his hard muscles, and their latent power.

She washed his face and his hair, as tenderly as he had done hers. She felt possessive of him, of this body that he seemed to offer like a gift. Did he feel the same way when he looked at her?

Isobel waited as Beckett dipped beneath the water to rinse the suds away. When he stood again, water running down the firm lines of his body, she found herself looking into eyes as dark as the sky before a storm.

“You know, Cobb said the fire looked suspicious.” Beckett ran his fingers through his wet hair, brushing it back. “It may have been purposely set.”

He held out his hand to Isobel and headed out of the water. On the grassy bank they dried themselves off and donned their dry clothes.

Even though the sun warmed them, Isobel felt a chill move through her. “Those footprints we saw in the sand. Could Sir Harry have found us?”

“You think he could have found you? I suppose it is possible…. You must not venture about alone, not even the grounds. Is that understood?”

Isobel nodded, unwilling to believe the serpent had found its way into their Eden. “If it is Sir Harry—”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“But if it is… what will we do, Beckett?”

“We’ll do what we have to. I’ll do what I have to in order to keep you safe, Isobel. I promise.”

As they headed up the grassy path back to Ravenwood Hall, Isobel tried to quell the uneasiness in her heart.

Was Sir Harry here in Barbados?

Beckett seemed unconvinced, but of course, he was not as well-acquainted with Sir Harry Lennox as she was. The villain reminded her of a mastiff that used to live on a property near Hampton Park. Once the dog caught the scent of his prey, he would not give up until the creature he hunted lay limp and lifeless between his jaws.

Though she tried to convince herself otherwise, Isobel couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Sir Harry had found her after all.

The footprints on the beach, so close to their estate… the suspicious fire shortly thereafter… were these just subtle calling cards her enemy was using to announce his presence?

And if so, when and how would he pay her and Beckett a formal visit?

Beckett leaned against a palm tree and stared out at the windswept ocean. The turquoise water crested into white foam and spread toward him on the sand, only to roll back and disappear from whence it came.

Looking at a sight of such awe-inspiring beauty, he knew his heart and mind should have been at peace.

But they were not.

He was about as far from peaceful as he was from England.

He had been happy these past weeks with Isobel. Far too happy for his own liking. And it unsettled him.

They had fallen into an easy friendship. Each morning, he and Isobel awoke in each other’s arms after a night of passionate lovemaking. They flirted and teased. They made each other laugh.

For all intents and purposes, one might think they were in love.

Except for the fact that Beckett knew it to be impossible.

Love was an illusion. He’d vowed never again to let Cupid’s arrow play havoc with his good sense. He had done it once. And he’d learned from his foolish mistake of loving Cordelia.

At least he’d thought he had.

But didn’t his actions speak louder than words? And if he continued acting as if he were in love with Isobel, he just might wake up one day to find that it was true.

When they returned to England, he would be sending her off to Hampton Park with a settlement and an heir to raise just as they’d agreed. Only now, to his surprise, that plan lacked its former lustre. And when he asked himself why, he refused to hear the knowledge that emanated from the depths of his heart.

It simply would not do.

Especially now, with the possibility of Isobel’s nemesis having followed her here. But surely there was only a slim chance of that. Lennox couldn’t have found out where they had gone. Could he?

The thought of Lennox only served to remind Beckett of the danger Isobel might be in—both here in Barbados, and back in London. There was still that murder charge to be taken care of. And if Alfred was unable to find proof of Lennox’s guilt in the matter, there was a possibility that Isobel could be arrested upon their return.

It was his duty as a husband, however business-like their arrangement, to protect her from Lennox. And the best way to do that was to distance himself from the dangerous feelings that were growing in his heart, which, like a poison flower, made him weaker with every new bloom.

For if Lennox ever put his filthy hands on Isobel, Beckett would never forgive himself. Just the thought of that blackguard touching her made his stomach harden into a tight knot.

Beckett turned and saw Isobel coming up over the rise, her golden hair blowing in the wind. She wore a gown of palest pink. Even from here, he could see that she radiated beauty as effortlessly as the sun itself.

Damnation! Why did his heart feel so damn heavy? As she came closer, his mind bucked from the answer.

Isobel smiled brightly when she reached him, and pushed her windswept curls back from her face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Have you?”

“I missed you at breakfast, and now it is past luncheon. Shall we go back? Josephine has made a lovely cucumber soup.”

He stepped away from the tree and offered his arm to her.