The Marriage Bargain (3 page)

“Hello, Caesar,” Beckett replied as they trudged up the staircase. He said to Hartley, “What’s he still doing awake?”

“Still awake,” said Caesar.

“I put him to bed, sir,” Hartley explained, “along with Master Monty, Miss Cleo and the puppies—as you instructed. But Master Caesar simply would not keep quiet. He kept screeching and jabbering until I could take no more. I’m afraid he does that when you are out late at night, sir.”

The familiar clicking of twenty toenails accompanied them on the stairs, and Beckett glanced down to see his mongrel, Monty, bounding up beside them onto the landing. “Come to see the new addition, eh, Monty?”

The big brown dog panted up at him in response, his thick, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“What luck, Monty,” Alfred whispered. “Your master has found you another playmate!”

“Hartley, we’ll need fresh linens and a bath for our wayward miss. She’ll sleep in my room tonight,”

Beckett ordered.

“Your room, my lord?” Hartley asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, my room. And don’t look at me like that. I’ll sleep next door in the sitting room. I want to keep an ear open if she awakens. She may be frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings.”

The servant turned to go, but Beckett swung around and blocked him with the girl’s dangling legs. “The girl has nothing to fear. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. But I’m sure she thanks you for your concern.” He gave the older man a wicked grin.

Hartley nodded his graying head, fighting a smile of his own. “This must certainly be the most interesting stray you’ve rescued, my lord. But I’m afraid she smells as bad as the rest of them put together.” He chuckled and moved down the dark hall with Caesar still on his shoulder, lighting the sconces as he went.

Beckett looked at the unconscious girl in his arms and took another whiff, turning up his nose. “My word, I think he’s right.”

Alfred nodded, stifling a yawn. “Why can’t you rescue sweet-smelling females?” He turned to go down the hallway toward Beckett’s bedchamber, then stopped abruptly. “But who shall bathe her, Beckett?”

“I have no idea… but it certainly won’t be you.”

“Oh, trying to keep her all to yourself, are you?”

Beckett turned from him, adjusting the girl’s weight in his arms. Lord, but she was getting heavier by the second.

With Monty at his side, he walked down the short hallway to his bedchamber. Once inside, he carefully laid the girl’s limp body on the huge bed, while Alfred followed him and lit the candles.

The girl’s hair spread around her shoulders like a halo on the linen-covered pillow. Beckett pulled the covers around her and watched her for a moment. No, she certainly wasn’t a trollop, so what was she?

Who was she?

Hartley hurried into the room carrying linens, towels and blankets, then returned again with a pitcher of warm water. Crossing the room to the washstand, he poured the water into a blue porcelain basin.

“Thank you, Hartley. That is all,” Beckett said, and the valet took his leave.

Beckett set the linens on the edge of the bed. “I’m quite sure she won’t awaken this evening—we shall try to solve the mystery tomorrow. Now, Alfred, help me get her undressed.”

“I didn’t think you needed any help undressing a woman, Beckett.”

“I don’t, you fool! But I’m bloody tired and I want to go to bed, so give me a hand.”

“No, Beckett, this was your idea. I’m not interested in playing nursemaid.” Alfred folded his arms in front of his chest, and leaned closer to the unconscious girl. “I’ll just have a look at her when you’ve cleaned her up.”

“You know, Alfred, sometimes you can be a damned nuisance.”

“Poor Beckett. Perhaps it’s being such a bloody good Samaritan that’s a damned nuisance.”

Beckett gave Alfred a warning look, but his friend’s words gave him pause. Gads, was he doing the right thing? All he knew was that if they had left the girl there in the street, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight.

Beckett looked Alfred straight in the eye. “And if that had been me tonight, Alfred, and you didn’t know me… would you have come to my rescue?”

“Of course not! I would have left you to rot.” Alfred rested his fists on his hips and sighed. After a moment he added, “You know what the streets are like these days. You never know who might be lurking ‘round a corner, especially in that area.”

“But would you have helped this woman if I hadn’t forced you to?” Beckett prompted.

“If I say yes, will you be quiet? Let us cease with these hypotheticals. She’ll be gone soon, anyway.”

Beckett felt his eyes grow heavy as he stared at Alfred. “I wonder who she is, really….”

“You always did love a good mystery, old man.” Alfred started for the door. “I’m going downstairs and have myself another drink. Then I am going to sleep in my usual spot: The Blue Room.”

“You’re leaving me to do this alone?” Beckett grinned at Alfred, then yawned.

Alfred chuckled, saying over his shoulder, “You know, I just thought of something—if you ever call her ‘my pet,’ it won’t be the least bit of a lie. Enjoy bathing her!”

The door closed and Beckett turned his attention to the unconscious girl lying across his bed. His arms and legs felt like lead, and his eyes watered from yawning. Normally he might have been more excited at the prospect of washing a beautiful woman, but he was so tired, he just wanted to go to sleep.

Monty scooted himself closer to the bed and put his chin on it, his big, black nose sniffing energetically at the myriad smells covering the unconscious girl. His tongue snaked out and licked her hand.

“Monty, no!” Beckett whispered, frowning. “I need you to act as chaperon.” The dog moved back, but continued to look at the girl as if she were the sweetest-smelling thing he’d ever encountered.

Beckett tapped his chin and surveyed the situation. Perhaps he could just get her out of the damp nightdress and dry her off—instead of giving her a more thorough wash. But beautiful or not, the fact remained that she smelled like the contents of a sewer. He moved closer, and a quick appraisal showed that most of the filth was on her dress.

Beckett lifted up her arm and brought his nose near. Her skin was soft to the touch and her dainty hands and fingers were free of calluses. That lent credence to his earlier assumption. She wasn’t a common street-walker, of that he was certain.

Beckett reached down to remove the wet clothes from her clammy body. His gaze fell on the taut nipples straining against the thin fabric. Even in the dim light, he could see their shadow.

Gadzooks—he felt like a peeping Tom in his own bloody bedchamber!

Despite the vision before him, his eyelids began to droop as he reached for the lacy collar of her nightdress. Still, he told himself, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d undressed a woman with his eyes closed—although on most occasions he’d been kissing her at the same time.

He felt his way to the buttons down the front of her dress. There were so many of them, and the damn things were as tiny as pebbles. They were probably made this way to discourage young women from hasty trysts with lovers. And they were cleverly the size of a woman’s fingers, not a man’s. This was illogical indeed, he thought groggily, considering it was usually a man’s hands that unfastened the tiny buttons—at least here in London. In the country, perhaps it was different….

Finally he was through them all, and he eased the garment from her shoulders. His hands lingered there, and his eyes fluttered open as his forearm brushed against what lay below those creamy shoulders. The softness whispered across his skin like rose petals in the wind.

He was suddenly quite awake.

Beckett bit his lip as he tried not to feast his eyes on her now naked breasts, but he was drawn to them like bees to honey. His hands itched to touch their snow-white delicacy, and his lips ached to kiss the crowns of softest pink.

He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts in order, and succeeded in peeling the dress off her warm, wet torso and down around her legs.

Now the girl was completely, beautifully naked, lying vulnerable on the bed before him. Almost painfully, Beckett sensed her nakedness in every inch of his body. It called to him like a siren of the sea.

Steadying his breath, he turned and dampened a soft cloth in the basin. He gently dabbed her face with the cloth, careful to keep the pressure light.

He eased the cloth down along her neck and arms, gently washing away the grime that stained her ivory skin. And every time his fingertips brushed the softness of her, he felt an infusion of warmth spill through his veins.

She moaned and turned her head on the pillow.

Beckett froze.

She did not wake up. He grinned in spite of himself, and shook his head. It was terribly wicked, what he was doing… terribly wicked, indeed.

Was it his fault that bathing a woman’s body could be so damnably diverting?

Gently, he slid the cloth along her stomach, his groin suffusing with heat as he came to that secret place between her thighs. Oh, he had always loved that part of a woman. He had never understood why the women he’d been with had been so shy about that piece of themselves, why they had not been proud to possess such an instrument of exquisite beauty and pleasure. His hands came very close to her there as he smoothed the wash cloth along her hips and down the creamy skin of her thighs, and he found himself biting his lip to keep control. This bath alone was an exquisite torture.

Then he came to her feet, and was sobered by their terrible state. He had to rinse the cloth many times before he’d removed the last of the dried blood and dirt.

Beneath the filth, her feet were soft and dainty, though marred by shallow cuts. As he had suspected, these were not the feet of a guttersnipe.

Questions turned in his head, quelling the desire that had begun to overtake him.

Who was she? Could she be in danger?

He turned to the end of the bed and reached for the blankets Hartley had brought. Finding a soft, thick one of virgin wool, he placed it on the bed beside her.

Beckett slid his arm under her shoulders and lifted her, feeling his fingers brush the round underside of her breast as his hand reached around to grip her.

It sent a tingle through his stomach.

Pulling the blanket about the girl, he looked down at her face, and again felt that overwhelming need to protect her.

Unable to resist any longer, he reached out to touch the perfect beauty of her face.

As if to remind him of the late hour, a huge yawn came upon him. Reluctantly he lifted his hand from her cheek, and wiped his watering eyes. He checked her pulse, and felt the soft skin of her wrist growing warmer.

Tomorrow he would tell her that a maid had undressed her. Of course, he didn’t employ a maid, but that was a minor point easily addressed.

He yawned again and sat down on the other side of the bed. Where was he going to sleep tonight? Had he really intended to sleep in the sitting room, as he’d told Hartley? Alfred was in the Blue Room, and the other rooms weren’t prepared. He didn’t feel like waking his valet. The sofa in his sitting room would have to suffice.

He crossed the chamber and beckoned to Monty. “Come on, boy.”

Panting calmly, the dog showed no signs of movement.

“Monty, come!” Beckett whispered. In response, the dog moved to the foot of the bed and flopped down on the floor.

“So that’s the way it is, eh? One pretty face is all it takes to make you forget your master?”

Monty raised his head and looked at Beckett, then laid it down again.

“Alright, have it your way.” He took one candle and blew out the others.

It was difficult to simply leave the girl there all alone in his bed. So, watching her through the golden haze of candle-light, Beckett quoted one of Mr. Shakespeare’s sonnets. ” ‘Is it thy will, thy image should keep open my heavy eyelids to the weary night?’ ” With one last look, Beckett closed the door behind him.

He made his way toward the sitting room sofa, weariness dragging at him like a clinging child. Resting the candle on the table, he struggled to remove his boots, which hit the floor with a dull thud.

He then stretched out on the firm sofa, and let sleep take him where it would.

Beckett rolled over, his eyes still closed. He vaguely remembered stumbling into his bed in the dark, wee hours of the morning.

For some reason, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the sitting room. Oh, well, he was in his own bed now, and that was all that mattered.

Half-awake, he flung his arm out and it landed on something soft and warm. It felt like a…

Please, please don’t let that be what I think it is.

Beckett opened his eyes.

It was what he thought it was. Gingerly, he removed his hand from the girl’s naked breast, but it was too late.

The girl opened her eyes, a look of terror in their golden-brown depths. She opened her mouth, and screamed.

Beckett sprang from the bed like a cat. The girl jumped up as well, not realizing her nakedness until she was standing. She screamed again, her face white as she grabbed the blanket and wrapped it hurriedly around herself. She stared at Beckett as if he had struck her.

Monty skittered up, and tail wagging, barked at all the commotion.

“Who are you?” she shrieked, grabbing a nearby candlestick. “Stay away from me—or I swear I’ll bash your head in!”

“Please refrain, madam! You will ruin my coiffure, not to mention my health.”

“I said, stay away!” she yelled, brandishing the candlestick when he took a step closer.

“I’m staying away, see? Far, far away over here. Now, be a good girl and put that thing down.”

“Why? So you can ravish me again?” she shrieked incredulously, pulling the blanket closer around her naked body.

“Ravish you? No, no—you misunderstand. I can explain everything, but you must be quiet!” He half-shouted, half-whispered his words, not wanting to wake the household.

“I will not be quiet until you explain who you are and why you’ve brought me here! And what have you done with my clothes?”