To Be Seduced (6 page)

“That’s the great advantage of being a peer. Since coming to London, I maintain quite a comfortable living”—he ignored her derisive exclamation—“by the adroit use of my title in the right ears. London merchants have proved more than happy to extend credit to members of His Majesty’s Court.” He bowed.

“Provided, of course, that they never visit Hampton Palace and discover just how unimportant the peer truly is.” He observed her growing indignation as he finished his explanation.

“Good heavens, this is some sort of game for you.” Her eyes flashed. “You do nothing but trade on your name to see what it brings you. First the merchants, then me.”

He froze. “Be careful what you accuse me of, madam. My father refused to sully his name and mine with disloyalty when those fat merchants were scrambling for Cromwell’s favor. ’Twas no game. His sense of honor cost him his estates and his life.”

He fell silent, hands clenched. How dare she judge his actions? She had no grasp of the life he had led.

She stood by the fireplace, shocked at his vehemence, frightened. He realized that despite her practicality, she was only a few years older than his sister, and had grown up in the relative security of the countryside.

He forced himself to speak lightly. “Besides, that is the name that is going to obtain our evening meal.” He jammed his black felt hat on his head, but shut the door behind him quietly, careful not to slam it.

“Richard, wait!” He heard her voice through the door, but hurried down the stairs. He needed to calm himself before he faced her again.

“Trading his name,” as Bethany called it, took long enough that he walked directly home after his purchases. Only his insistence that he would possess a wealthy bride within the week induced the shop owners to give him their evening meal. He would have to discover her father’s bank and arrange for a letter of credit in order to eat after tomorrow’s breakfast.

His full hands prevented him from opening his own door. Bethany answered his knock and took the parcels from him as he shrugged off his cloak and beheld his room. She had rolled up her sleeves to clean, and taken her cap off. Even pinned up, the flaming strands caught his eye.

While much of the chaotic tumble remained, she had dusted off two chairs and a small table. Other piles of clutter had disappeared. He noticed that all the cushions had been removed. When asked, Bethany informed him that she had tossed them onto the midden heap in the alley behind.

She sniffed a smallish parcel. “What is this?”

“Eel pie. I fear ’twas the best I could coax from the pie man.” She eyed it doubtfully but said nothing and proceeded to put away the remaining foodstuffs before setting the pies out, along with bread and wine.

They supped heartily as dusk gathered outside the windows. After her initial cautious taste, she devoured her pie. Richard coaxed her to join him in a second glass of wine as they ate their bread and cheese.

Afterward, Bethany replaced the supper dishes with a candelabrum while Richard prowled the room restlessly. He seldom dined in his rooms, spending most evenings with his cronies at the theater, or visiting the numerous gambling dens and public houses catering to gentlemen. Occasionally he patronized a bawdy house, but he found women of his own social standing more attractive. And for him, their favors were usually free.

Mentally, he shrugged. For the fortune that Bethany brought, he would willingly pay the price of a few nights’ boredom. Once his ring was safely on her finger, he could do what he wished wherever he wanted.

The girl sat at the table before a piece of paper, writing steadily with a quill and ink unearthed from somewhere in the mess. Candlelight danced off her blazing hair, and he had a sudden urge to unpin it. What he wanted just now, he decided, was a bit of sport.

With a sly glance at her bent head, he selected a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He’d rushed his fences with her last evening. He would take slower steps now.

“Would you care to have me read to you?”

Bethany looked up from her work. He supposed it was a trick of the candlelight, but her bright gray eyes looked almost silver, a most attractive effect. “I’m sorry, I was not attending.”

He bestowed upon her his most disarming smile. “I wondered if you would care to have me read aloud.”

“That would be delightful.” She colored slightly. “If you really wish to, of course. As you can see, I have found a way to occupy myself.”

“You put me to shame with your industry, to be sure.” He seated himself opposite her. “Whatever are you working so hard on?”

“Lists, sir. One for immediate household needs, one for errands that must be run, another of questions I have.” She flexed her fingers. “Before you begin, shall I pour you a drink? I believe I saw a jug of cider among all your bottles of wine.”

“Thank you, yes, but another glass from the open bottle if you please. Pour one for yourself.” When she eyed him doubtfully, he dismissed her unspoken concern. “Claret, my dear, the feeblest stuff imaginable.”

Once they both settled back down, he thumbed through the book.

“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…’” As he read sonnet after sonnet, he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. As the quill moved slower and slower over the sheets in front of her, he lowered his voice, forcing her to concentrate in order to hear him.

The quill stopped completely. She sat across from him, unmoving, as he wove his spell. Seeing the kerchief over her breasts moving rapidly with each breath she took, he felt his own body tighten in response.

He closed the book with a soft smack. She raised her eyes then. Looking into their glittering silver depths, he felt himself drawn in, wanting her. He set the book down and rose to his feet, stretching slightly. “Did you enjoy that?”

She nodded, silent.

“I shall take you to the theater. You’ve never seen a play, have you?” He smiled faintly as she shook her head. “But first the shops. As Lady Harcourt, you’ll need fine dresses of velvet or silk. Perhaps in green to show off your hair.”

She touched the coil at her neck. “I despise it!”

“Why? It’s beautiful.” She stood up and backed away as he approached her. He chuckled. “’Tis a small room, you’ve nowhere to go.” Proving his point, he cornered her by the door. She averted her head, eyes closed, her breath coming in soft puffs. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” With those soft words, he gave in to the itch to unpin her burnished copper locks.

The thick braid unfurled down her back. She did not move as he combed his fingers through it, except to lick her lips. He bent to nuzzle her soft cheek, exulting in the shudder he elicited from her. His lips moved over the silken skin, easing toward her mouth, but not taking it.

She rewarded him by turning her head to him, opening herself to him with a soft moan. He embraced her gently as his tongue swept into her accepting mouth, twining with hers.

As their kiss deepened and roughened, his arms tightened, holding her to him. Her body nearly matched his for height, fitting perfectly against him. He left her mouth, searching for the sensitive point on her throat as she gasped and threw her head back.

It smacked painfully against the wall.

“Bethany! Are you all right?” He stepped back to avoid a bloody nose when she doubled over in pain, but stayed by her side. “I’ve never known such a dangerous female.” He drew her to a hard-backed bench and sat her down.

“If you’d stop trying to maul me, these things wouldn’t happen.” She grimaced, rubbing the back of her head.

Still unable to keep his hands out of the soft strands, he carefully stroked over the sore area. He felt heat in the injured spot, but no swelling. Relieved, he let his fingers slide to the base of her neck, circling and pressing.

She shut her eyes once more, sighing in pleasure as he worked the stiffness out of her tense muscles. When he finished, she sighed. “Much better.”

“Indeed.” He kissed her again, stroking her cheek with his thumb. In her relaxed state, Bethany responded ardently, placing one hand on his chest while the other moved to cup the back of his head.

He emitted a guttural moan as his hand stroked down her satiny throat to the top of her breast. Seeking beneath her kerchief and the edge of the wool bodice, his fingers found a sensitive peak. As they rolled and pinched it to stiffness, her back arched and her breathing grew ragged. Egged on by the sound, he followed with his mouth. Grasping the edge of the kerchief with his teeth, he eased it aside while working the bodice lower with his hands.

Bethany mewled at the pleasurable friction of soft muslin against her straining nipples. She knew she should tell Richard to stop, but thought fled as he freed her breasts from her stays and began to suckle. A trail of fire coursed its way down to the apex of her thighs and nestled there, burning. Her restless fingers tangled in Richard’s honey-colored strands as he cupped the creamy mounds in his hands, sucking and nibbling at each coral tip in turn.

A protest left her mouth when he abandoned them, but his mouth fastened over hers before she could complete it. Her hand stroked over his cheek and down to his cravat, loosening the snowy folds. He whispered his desire in her ear before nipping lightly at her earlobe and licking the tender skin below.

She reciprocated, shyly pressing kisses along his skin just below his jaw. At his growl of pleasure, she became bolder, moving her mouth down his muscular throat. Sitting up against him, she buried her face in the base of his throat, kissing and stroking.

She started as she felt her bodice loosen. Richard was untying it with one hand while his other slipped beneath her skirt and petticoat. His arousal pressed against her thigh.

“Shall we finish this in the bedchamber, my lovely girl?” The husky murmur meant nothing to her for a few seconds. When the meaning sank in, she choked and struggled to her feet. Looking down at herself, a wave of shame enveloped her.

“Dear God, what am I doing?” With an agonized cry, she turned away, trying to put her clothes in place. Her hands shook so severely she could barely manage the task.

From behind her, she heard the soft creak of the bench as Richard stood. She forced herself to face him. He stood only a few paces away, arms at his sides. His rough exhalations and the bulge in his pantaloons indicated his clear state of arousal.

She could see the fury in his darkened eyes at being denied for a second night running. They rested pointedly on her breasts where they threatened to spill out of her bodice. Unable to find her kerchief, she drew her hair over her shoulders.

“A trifle late for modesty, little Puritan.” He bit the words out.

She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry, Richard. I have no notion what possessed me to misbehave so badly these two nights.” To her horror, another sob escaped, and tears blurred her vision. She dropped her gaze to the floor, struggling with her chaotic emotions.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Jesu, don’t cry.” Frustration descended on his face. “And don’t pretend to coy virtue. Your zest for the exercise betrays your eagerness.” The lips that had just reduced her to the veriest jade pressed into a tight line as he tugged his own clothing to rights. “God’s teeth, we’re to be married as soon as we find your minister! What difference does it make to start the honeymoon a night or two before?”

“You said you would not harm me!” Her temper rising, she stepped toward him with the accusation.

“Those were cries of pain, were they?” The last shreds of shame disappeared at his mocking tone. “You did not appear to be suffering unduly under my attentions, madam!”

Unable to deny the truth of his statements, Bethany floundered for a reply. In the end, she could only sputter, “Go to your bed alone.” Which, with a deafening slam of the door, his lordship did.

She glowered after him, then proceeded to make up a bed on the settle by rolling up her cloak for a pillow and curling up under his. Waiting for sleep to take her, she stared at the fire. The journey to London must have disordered her senses, she reflected. She had never experienced the least urge to behave so badly with Mr. Ilkston. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was the sincere hope that they would find Mr. Barker before she abandoned all her morals.

Bethany roused intermittently through the night to shift from one awkward position to another, scolding herself for letting her temper get the better of her. She disliked the idea of sleeping on the floor before properly cleaning it, but doubted she would catch more than a few minutes of sleep on the unyielding settle. Her eyes drooped as she wondered how soon she could find a reputable maidservant.

Only a few moments later, it seemed, she scrambled to sit up, awakened by a loud crash and angry voices. Her pounding heart slowed as the dim light of predawn revealed an empty room. She must have slept for a few hours at any rate.

Following the noise of the disturbance, she half stumbled to the window. On the street below, she discerned a dray tilting to one side. Its canvas-covered load looked to be in danger of falling off as the driver castigated another man standing behind a pushcart. They shouted in a cant she understood only a few words of, but she gathered the cart had swerved to avoid hitting the peddler and had gotten stuck as a result. A deep hole in the cobbles held one wheel fast, and the cart now blocked not only the pushcart owner, but a gaggle of other pedestrians.

Some of them put their shoulders to the vehicle as the driver climbed aboard and cracked his whip over his horses’ heads. Bethany’s eyes narrowed. One big fellow reminded her of Lane.

The dray lurched forward with a wall-shaking jolt and huzzahs from the onlookers. It left a dark pile of something on the street, which a number of them instantly fell upon. She realized the canvas covered a load of coal.

The driver, distracted by hearty congratulations from a couple of men, waved a hand in thanks and proceeded down the street, oblivious of the theft.

The knot of bystanders smoothed itself into a trickle of pedestrians going their own ways as if nothing had happened. Indeed, as far as Bethany could tell, no one else even bothered to look out of their windows.

A nervous peep into the bedchamber revealed Richard snoring blissfully under the coverlets. Shaking her head, Bethany wondered how he had slept through the uproar, and hoped such tumults did not occur daily.

She had washed and put her clothes and hair to rights before Lane knocked softly on the door. She ignored his obvious surprise at finding her awake and raised an eyebrow at the small bucket of coal he carried. “Out getting supplies early? I am surprised you found a merchant willing to give Lord Harcourt credit.”

The coachman’s grizzled face assumed an exaggerated expression of innocence. “You might say as how a bit of luck fell my way, mistress.”

“A bit of coal, like as not.” Bethany sighed. They had no other fuel. Indeed, she had clasped her cloak around her to ward off the room’s winter chill.

After he made up the fire, she handed him a portion of their remaining bread and cheese, along with a tankard of small beer. “What time does his lordship normally arise?”

The servant considered, head to one side. “That’s hard to say, mistress. After a late night, he may not awaken till midafternoon.” Hastily he added, “No doubt he’ll want to be up bright and early today. No later than noon, never fret.” Before she could exclaim at such laxness, he thanked her for breakfast and promised to return the tankard after he had finished.

In his wake, Bethany looked around, at a loss. Normally she spent time in prayer and devotions after dressing. She repeated her prayers from memory, but missed her daily reading. Remembering a battered volume she had come across the day before, she located it. After a deep breath, she opened it to the title page.

The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments
. Opposite, a well-schooled hand had written, “To our greatly beloved son Richard upon the occasion of his confirmation.” The signatures of both his mother and his father followed. Naturally the Harcourts would cling to a prayer book banned under the Protectorate.

She leafed through the pages, glancing at unfamiliar liturgies to sacraments she had scarcely heard of. She read a psalm aloud, marveling that it sounded nearly identical to those she’d learned in her church. Many of the prayers held little of the papistry she had been taught to expect in the Church of England.

By the time Richard opened the door to the bedroom, yawning hugely, she had replaced the book. She had also washed Lane’s tankard, dusted, set the table, swept the floor, and cleaned the window.

“How kind of you to join me for breakfast, sir.”

“Breakfast?” He regarded the plate of golden cheddar and the small hard loaves of bread with revulsion. “Never touch the stuff.” He poured himself a tankard from the pitcher of beer sitting beside them. “I’ll just have a drink, and then we can go find your father’s banker.”

Bethany’s determination to maintain a charitable outlook disappeared. “My back aches from that abominable settle, the sun has been up for over an hour, and out of good manners I have waited even longer than that to eat. Therefore I suggest you do me the courtesy of joining me at the table!”

“You do, do you?” Beer sloshed over the edge of the tankard as he slammed it down. “In the normal way of things, a wife defers to her husband.”

“Fortunately for me, I am not your wife yet. And if you do not sit down this instant, I am not like ever to be.” She realized she had said the worst possible thing as soon as the words left her mouth.

Richard’s eyes narrowed and his face went blank. “Are you threatening me?” For the first time, Bethany caught a glimpse of steel behind his charming façade.

She gulped, but took her place. Slowly, he seated himself opposite, cutting off a wedge of cheese. She moderated her voice. “You did say you would take me to the shops first thing.”

He flicked a cold glance at her. “Ah. So I did. Of course the fact that I have no way to pay for your finery without a letter of credit has conveniently escaped your mind.”

“You got this last night.” She indicated their meal.

“This may come as a shock to you, madam, but women’s clothes are often a great deal more expensive than day-old bread.” Richard smiled condescendingly. “Particularly at the town’s better mantua makers.”

“And I am sure you are most familiar with the cost of female attire.” She gave him a look as she ripped apart a piece of bread.

His smiled disappeared. “I wonder if you haven’t been cozening me all along.”

Her heart nearly failed. Surely she had not given herself away! His gaze bored into her. “I doubt you even know the name of the bank, much less the banker.”

Relief swept through Bethany. “Of course I do! ’Tis Mr. Armitage of—” She gasped. “You wretch! You only said that to trick me.”

A grin flashed across his face. “Well, I couldn’t get it out of you any other way.”

She could not repress a chuckle at his frankness. Some of the tension in the room abated. She sobered. “Please believe that I wish to move the matter of our marriage forward. I hope we might visit Mr. and Mrs. Barker as well as the bank today. After a visit to the shops.”

She held up the travel-stained gray wool of her skirt. “The future Lady Harcourt can hardly appear wearing this.”

Her desire to find Mr. Barker and proceed with their nuptials heartened him but did not ameliorate his impatience to visit the bank. However, guilt at his shabby behavior combined with Bethany’s earlier stubborn refusal to render up the name of the banker induced him to allow her to have her way.

He escorted her to the establishment of a mantua maker patronized by several aristocratic ladies of his acquaintance. To his surprise, Bethany hesitated to enter.

Fingering the skirt and the shabby cloak that attracted the scorn of the ladies going in and out of the shop, she cast a nervous glance up at him.

Teasing her that her feisty nature must be reserved only for his benefit, he ruthlessly opened the door and shoved her in ahead of him. Her inherent pride quickly reasserted itself when the proprietor tried to ignore her. His lips twitched in amusement when she wasted no time in announcing herself as Lord Harcourt’s betrothed, in want of a trousseau.

She was shortly borne off by the owner’s wife, a plump woman with a businesslike air who quickly ferreted out of Bethany the information that Lord Harcourt would be wealthier by several thousand pounds as soon as he wed.

While lacking the fascination in feminine kickshaws that characterized the Court dandies, Richard owed no money at this particular shop and was inclined to linger. However, after seeing no sign of the future Lady Harcourt after three quarters of an hour, he left a message asking her to await his return and departed for a nearby coffeehouse after adding a few items to the account he had just opened.

An hour later, having engaged in a friendly discussion of the King’s latest dispute with Parliament, he returned to find his fiancée just emerging from the back of the shop.

He stopped short. She wore a dress of vivid green velvet ornamented by a lace-edged cambric kerchief and cuffs. Its modest cut resembled the discarded gray wool, but the rich material and color flattered her infinitely more. The addition of a wide-brimmed black hat simply trimmed with matching ribbons gave the ensemble an air of elegance. Her hair remained in its braided coil under a frilled cap, but he heard her asking for the name of a reputable hairdresser as she wrapped herself in a new black cloak lined with tawny satin.

She caught sight of him and flushed under his keen regard. He bowed, hand over heart. Her blush deepened at the loverlike display, although she made him a small curtsey in return.

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself.” She indicated the owner’s wife sighing sentimentally behind the counter. Ignoring his unrepentant grin, she continued on a lighter note.

“’Tis the most fortunate thing! The lady who commissioned this dress never paid for it, and it fits me quite closely, except for the length. They pinned a flounce to the bottom and assure me that under my cloak it will not show. They sent a boy to the milliner’s across the street for my hat and trimmed it themselves.”

To Richard’s vast amusement, his little Puritan prattled on about satin, laces, and velvets in a most worldly manner. However, when she expanded on the subject and stated a desire to visit other shops selling such necessities as hats, gloves, fans, embroidered stockings, shoes, and shoe buckles, he balked.

“Since you have an unaccountable longing to pay the bills from all these tradesmen, I must first wait upon your father’s banker. His name and direction, if you please.” Bethany provided them, albeit with a sigh. Guessing the cause, her betrothed cheerfully informed her the shops would doubtless be in the same places tomorrow morning.

He tucked her hand a little deeper into his elbow as they walked. The girl turned her head this way and that so much that she scarcely attended to where she stepped. If he did not take care, she would end up in front of a dray-cart. He smiled as she craned her head to watch an orange-girl stroll the opposite way, her wares displayed in a basket held on top of her head.

“However does she keep them in a perfect pyramid? I should have dropped them all over the street.” He guided her around a mud puddle.

“Practice.” Seeing the orange-girl stop to proposition two gentlemen blatantly ogling her, he drew Bethany’s attention away by pointing to a set of stocks used by the magistrates to punish local miscreants. Although empty at the moment, he assured her that they were a great source of entertainment to the local populace.

She looked at them for a moment until recognition dawned. In a gesture he started to recognize, she stopped walking. Praying for patience, he asked the reason.

“You shall not take me back to your lodgings!” She looked over at him. The familiar storm gathered in her eyes under the brim of her hat.

“Of course I’m taking you back to my lodgings. Ladies of breeding do not wander the streets unaccompanied.” He spoke in the firm voice that usually cowed his sister. His fiancée remained unimpressed. To his astonishment, she stated her intention to accompany him to the banker.

To her astonishment, he flatly refused. No female ever appeared in the precincts of a financial institution, he assured her. Over her protestations, he informed her that she could return to his rooms either at his side or over his shoulder.

On the verge of daring him to pick her up in the middle of the street, she caught the icy expression in his green eyes and stopped. Bethany realized with a shock that he was completely serious. Distracted by the memory of his solidly muscled arms holding her to him, she shook her head, trying to think clearly.

She capitulated, and he uncrossed his arms to walk beside her, offering her his arm. It might be possible to follow him, she decided.

To her dismay, he suavely ushered her to his rooms, then promptly shouted for Lane. As soon as the good man stumped down from an upper floor, Richard bade him keep watch in the front hall in case Mistress Dallison attempted to leave on her own.

“She is naturally anxious to call upon a number of shops,” he explained blandly to the coachman, “but I fear the chill weather may be injurious to her health.”

Lane looked at her from his place on the landing and nervously observed the lady’s mutinous expression. Nevertheless, he assured Master Richard that he would take care not to let her endanger herself.

At that, milord smiled sweetly over at her and bade her enjoy the afternoon. Indignantly she watched him clap his hat on his head and make his way back down the stairs. Lane shrugged his shoulders apologetically at her and followed him.

Uttering a wordless cry of frustration, she left the landing and shut the door behind her.

Looking about the still cluttered room, she supposed she might as well finish cleaning it up. Hanging up her hat and cloak, she started in, careful not to muss her new, and currently only, dress.

Not long afterward, she stood in the center of the room, pleased. The last piles of trash lay outside on the landing. Lane, citing his orders to watch the front door, had regretfully declined to carry them outside the building. He promised to do so the instant his lordship returned, however.