The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (10 page)

She pushed the coverlet down to her waist. It was remarkably hot considering that it was already autumn. Should she open the window? A little fresh air, even night air, would do her no harm. She could shut it again before Hetty appeared to berate her for doing something so foolish.

She crossed to the window to push the curtains back a little and then eased the sash up an inch or two, working slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaks that might
disturb the rest of the household. There was a sliver of moon just behind the beech tree. Where earlier its leaves had been golden and glowing, they were now dark, cold shadows. There was no movement, no wind. The great tree was holding its breath, waiting for the embrace of winter, making ready to fall asleep. As Beth should sleep.

If only there were a way… If only…

From the fields beyond the glebe, the sheep were bleating. Strange, for the lambs were long gone. Was the ram back in the field to ensure next spring’s crop of lambs? The ewes would be ready, for they could certainly not remain untouched. That was the way of nature.

She shook her head. What a strange pattern of thought. She yawned. Good. At last she should be able to sleep.

Beth took one final breath and pulled the curtains closed, resolving she would rise early to shut the window again. She was sure she would sleep better with the sweet night air around her. She climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard was the bleat of the ewes beyond the glebe.

‘Miss Beth, you
never
slept with the window open?’

It was Hetty with her hot water. So much for Beth’s good intentions. She sat up with a jerk and put her hands to her hair, sensing something was amiss. Her plaits had come undone in the night. Her hair was a mass of
tangles and her nightrail was all bunched up above her waist. The bedclothes, too, seemed to have tied themselves in knots. She—

Heavens, she had been dreaming about Jonathan! Again! This time, she had been in his arms while he covered every inch of her skin with passionate kisses. Every last inch. Her whole body had been hot and alive. And willing. It had been blissful. It was a wonder she had not torn off her nightrail along with the fastenings of her hair. In her dreams, she had been so very sure, so—

In your dreams, you were wanton. You should be ashamed.

Beth forced herself to ignore the warnings of her conscience. He would arrive soon. ‘Hetty, would you bring me a large jug of cool water please? I seem to have become very hot in the night. It would be best if I give myself a sponge bath before I dress.’

‘You’ve caught a fever, Miss Beth. On account of the open window.’

Beth shook her head. Her fever was not of the kind Hetty meant. Hetty’s fevers could be cured. ‘I am not ill. But I am going driving with his lordship this morning and I must be looking my best. Make haste with the water, if you please. It is going to take you an age to comb the tangles out of my hair.’

Hetty paused a moment, looking mutinous, but then she obeyed.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of bed, allowing the rumpled nightrail to fall back to her ankles. She was decent again. Outwardly. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her skin was still flushed,
especially where the ribbon ties had come undone to expose her throat and breasts. Yes, he had kissed her there, too. And she had gloried in it.

In her dreams, she was not untouched.

And in her dreams, she had discovered what she must do.

It was a beautiful morning, more like late August than early October. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the slight breeze was warm. Only the turning trees betrayed how late in the year it was. Soon their crisp leaves would be heaped in the gutters and under the hedgerows, offering winter hiding places to small animals and rich food for worms and beetles.

Beth refused to think about the dead leaves that had saved her from oblivion, long ago. Better to think about her rescuer, the man who now sat beside her in the curricle, his lean hands guiding his matched pair along the curving path through Fratcombe Manor park. She and Jonathan were easy enough together, even though he had spoken barely a word beyond the normal courtesies. She was starting to wonder if he felt as tongue-tied as she did.

He had promised to tell her what he would do if she refused him. And she—heaven help her!—had promised to respond to his proposal.

She could not bring herself to ask him to begin. Once he did, she would have to speak, too. This was one confrontation she could not run from, no matter what was said. She had to trust him. She did trust him.

He spoke at last. ‘I thought I would drive you to the far side of the park this morning. For once, the track
is dry enough to take a carriage.’ His voice sounded remarkably normal. How did he do that? Could he feel none of the confusion that was threatening to overwhelm her?

‘Usually the ground is too marshy for wheeled vehicles. Pray do not upbraid me, Miss Beth,’ he added hastily, with a hint of humour in his tone. ‘I do intend to drain that land as soon as I can. I am fully aware of my duties there, I promise you.’ He turned slightly. Beth saw that he was smiling.

She found herself smiling back. She could not help it. He was in control of this encounter and, strangely, it made her feel…protected. He was deliberately teasing her into relaxing with him once more. ‘Have I been such a termagant, sir? It was not my intent to badger you.’

‘No?’ He chuckled. ‘No, I am sure your reproofs were kindly meant. Such as when you told me to look to the repairs of my tenants’ houses. And to ensure that travelling gypsy bands could camp unmolested.’

‘Oh!’ Yes, she had done both of those. ‘I apologise if I overstepped the mark, sir. My intentions were of the best. I was trying to—’

‘You were trying to take care of others, to do good, as you always do, Beth, which is one of the reasons why I admire you so much. And why I want you to be my wife.’

Beth’s heart clutched in her breast. She could not breathe.

‘But before I press you for your answer, I owe you mine. A promise is a promise, especially between friends. Do you not agree?’ He waited a beat. When she said nothing, he continued, airily, ‘I have decided that, if
you refuse me, I shall keep repeating my proposal until you accept. In other words, you might as well accept me at once.’ His voice dropped a little, to a deeper, more serious tone. ‘Will you marry me, Beth? Please?’

Beth had been screwing up her courage for this since the moment she awoke from that beckoning dream. She lifted her chin, focused on the horses’ ears and launched into her prepared answer. ‘I will accept your proposal, sir—’

‘Beth, that is wonderful—’

‘—but on one condition.’

‘Ah. Name it.’

She took a deep breath. ‘On condition that you prove to my satisfaction, and to your own, that I am still a virgin
before
you lead me to the altar.’

The noise he made sounded to Beth like the growl of a furiously angry bear, beset by slavering dogs.

‘If I am a virgin, I cannot have been married before. And I…I would not be dishonouring you by accepting your proposal. My plan provides the only sensible solution.’

‘And how do you propose, sensible Miss Aubrey, that I should establish your virginity? I take it you have a plan for that, too?’ His voice was very hard, very cold.

Beth shivered at the sound, but she would not give up now. She was mortified enough and already scarlet to her hairline, she knew. She had nothing more to lose. ‘I believe the only reliable method is the…the natural one. I…I will come to your bed and let you…let you—’

His string of curses included mostly words that Beth did not recognise. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said at last,
recovering his control, though not his colour. He was sheet white under his tan. ‘You are proposing that I should deflower you in order to prove you are fit to be my wife? What kind of cold-blooded devil do you take me for?’

‘If you do indeed discover that I am a virgin, then I will marry you. But if you do not, if I am already…er…
deflowered
as you call it, I will not marry you, for that could be bigamy. It seems simple enough.’

‘Simple?’ He was having even more trouble controlling his temper now. That one word was a howl of rage. ‘Has it not occurred to you that, as a result of this
plan
of yours, you could end up carrying my child? Virgin or no, would you marry me then?’

‘I…I…’ In for a penny, in for a pound. ‘I am not totally ignorant of such matters, sir. I know how children are got. I do not know precisely how they are prevented, but I have heard that there are ways of…of ensuring that—’ She stopped and swallowed hard. She knew she had to go on with this, no matter what. She mustered all her remaining courage and dared to meet and hold his stormy gaze. ‘I know you to be a man of the world. I assumed you would know the way of it. Was I wrong?’

A
t that moment, Jon could have strangled Beth Aubrey, even if he had to swing for it. Luckily for her, his hands were fully occupied in controlling his horses. They had sensed his anger and were becoming extremely restive. He must calm them, or they would probably bolt.

It took more than five straining minutes to ensure that his pair—and his unruly temper—were back under control. He did not dare to speak until they were. In fact, he did not dare to speak at all. What an extraordinary proposal, from an innocent young lady. And yet…

And yet her logic could well be less flawed than Jon’s. How could he truly be sure she was unspoilt on the basis of one single kiss? Beth’s test was a surer touchstone than Jon’s. How much courage it must have taken for her to propose such a thing. And to go further, to speak of preventing pregnancy… It was utterly outrageous.

It was one of the bravest things he had ever heard.

It appeared she was indeed willing to accept Jon, but
only if there was no risk to his honour. His honour, not hers! As if she cared more for Jon’s honour than he did himself.

He risked another quick sideways glance. Beth’s shoulders had not drooped even a fraction from her normal upright carriage, and she was staring down at her gloved hands. She was implacable. He could see that in every line of her tense body. Either he accepted her offer—her extraordinary plan—or she would be lost to him. That must not happen. In the course of this summer and autumn, Beth Aubrey had become the woman he wanted. He would not part with her. He needed her beside him. And so he was going to have to accept her terms.

She would come to his bed and let him—

Poor Beth. She had been unable to say the word. Yet it had taken courage to go as far as she had. She was as brave as any comrade he had served with.

She would come to his bed…

Oh dear. He laughed aloud, his black doubts disappearing with the sound. Poor Beth, indeed. Her carefully constructed plan was going to be her undoing.

‘You find my question amusing, my lord?’ Her tone was frosty.

‘No, Beth. Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, but at the extraordinary predicament in which we find ourselves.’ He slowed his horses for the sharp bend in the track. The right fork led round the back of the stable block to the furthest parts of his land. The left fork led to the lake and the tamer parkland beyond, where the folly lay hidden. ‘You asked me about…er…prevention. Yes, I do know how it can be done.’

‘Good.’ She nodded. ‘Then there is nothing to stop us from following my plan, is there?’

The die was cast, by her own hand. Jon turned his horses towards the lake.

She glanced sharply up at him, her eyes questioning, but she did not speak. Unlike most of her sex, she would be content to wait in silence.

‘Your plan, ma’am. I think it needs to be…er…fleshed out a little. You said you would come to my bed. Believe me, I am honoured by your offer. Might I ask, though, how you were…um…planning to manage it?’ He was having trouble keeping the laughter out of his voice. His mind was filled with the ludicrous image of his butler announcing Beth at his bedchamber door.
Miss Aubrey is here, my lord. To be deflowered.

Beth gave a gasp of horror and began to cough, trying to cover her acute embarrassment. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have believed a lady could turn that particular shade of vermilion.

Yes, the die was cast. And the play was his.

Jon relaxed and let the horses have their heads up the gentle slope. The path was clear. Beth would have her assignation. On Jon’s terms.

‘Someone is living here!’

The folly consisted of a single square room. Beth would have expected it to be empty, or to contain a few chairs, at most, where guests might sit to recover after the long climb up from the house and past the lake. Instead, it looked like the cluttered living quarters of some rich young buck with an extremely idle servant. There was a fireplace, with a kettle suspended, but the
fire had burned down long ago, and the ashes had spilled out over the small hearth. In front of it were comfortable chairs and a table strewn with used plates and glasses. There was at least one empty wine bottle on the floor.

Beth turned away. She had seen quite enough. The only part of the room that was not at sixes and sevens was the desk, where a neat row of books stood propped against the wall. Next to them were several leather-bound notebooks, a pile of writing paper and an inkstand. The desk was so tidy, it could have been in the rector’s study. But the rest—!

‘No. Not living.’ He gazed round, apparently trying to view the chaos as Beth had just done. ‘I use this place from time to time for…er…my own pleasure. It is totally private. The servants are not permitted to enter, even to clean and restock it, without special leave. And as you can see—’ he waved a hand in the direction of the tumbled cushions and the dirty plates ‘—I have not yet given them leave today.’

‘You were here last night?’

‘Yes, I was here. I prefer solitude when I want to think. Besides, it was a splendid night.’

She frowned. A splendid night? What on earth did he mean? Glancing round again at the mess and at what, she now realised, was a kind of bed in the far corner, she decided that she did not wish to know.

He was smiling down at her. It was the kind of superior, knowing smile that made her want to slap him. He was waiting for her to ask. Well, she would not. Whatever his
splendid
nocturnal activities might be, he could keep them to himself. ‘Might I ask why you have brought me here, sir? It is barely minutes since you said
you would drive me to the marshes. The marshes you have promised to drain,’ she added, with emphasis. That wiped the superior smile from his face, she was glad to see.

From mocking to serious in an instant. ‘I brought you here to make plans. I understand now—forgive me, I did not understand before—how strongly you feel on the subject of our…er…possible union. I understand, too, that the condition you have laid down is absolute.’ He took her right hand in his, holding it lightly. ‘But I think you must now realise, Beth, that meeting your condition will be far from easy. I cannot simply walk into your bedchamber, nor you into mine.’

Beth felt herself colouring yet again. It seemed she had done nothing else since the moment he had arrived at the rectory door. But he was right that she had been a fool. Society, especially in villages like Fratcombe, was arranged precisely to prevent such carnal assignations.

Jonathan led her across to the desk and invited her to sit. There was only one chair. Once she was seated, he let go of her hand and leaned nonchalantly against the corner of the desk. ‘Our meeting cannot be at the rectory, clearly. Nor at the Manor, for there are too many servants with prying eyes and long noses. Did you imagine you could come there, alone, and be admitted by my butler?’

‘I…um…’ Beth fixed her gaze on the tooled leather of the notebook.

‘I have a better plan to propose. First, you must be conveyed from the rectory to our meeting place. You cannot be expected to go on foot, alone, in the dark. I
suggest you slip out and wait behind the beech tree. At the appointed hour, I will meet you and bring you to our rendezvous. You have only to leave the rectory without being seen. And to return again before first light, of course. Do you think you can do that, Beth?’

‘I…I…’ This was no time for missishness. Jonathan was providing a practical plan that would allow the condition—Beth’s own condition—to be met. ‘Yes. Yes, I can do that.’

‘Beth.’ He reached for her hand again and held it in a strong clasp. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? It is not necessary, believe me. I really do want to marry you, and I require no such demonstration of your virtue beforehand. What’s more, I am sure you would be easier if our first lovemaking took place when we were already man and wife.’

‘No,’ she declared stoutly. ‘That cannot be the way of it, for the reasons I have given you. I will not risk bigamy. Nor your honour. Unless we fulfil my condition, there will be no marriage.’

He shook his head. ‘You are a stubborn woman, Beth Aubrey. Very well, it shall be as you wish. You may leave all the arrangements to me. Apart from one thing. You must be sure to be warmly clad and sensibly shod, for I will not be able to bring a carriage for you. That would attract too much attention, even in the dark. I shall come for you on horseback.’

She could see the sense in that. She nodded. ‘Do I need to ride, too?’

‘No. Saracen is more than capable of carrying us both.’

He was going to take her up before him and ride
with her in his arms, close against his powerful body. The prospect sent a delicious frisson down her spine. Especially as it would be followed by… Oh dear. A virtuous lady should not be thinking of such things, but she could not help it. She wanted him so. ‘Will you bring me here?’ she asked quietly, trying not to dwell on the sensual images that were invading her brain. She glanced round the room. Unfortunately that added even more wanton thoughts, for the room had an air of wild abandon.

‘Yes. For it will be quite private.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I will have it set to rights before you arrive. There will be nothing to offend your delicate sensibilities, I promise you.’

Nothing except what they were going to do in this private place!

Jonathan’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. Her face must have given her away, yet she could not bring herself to be angry with him this time. After all, the condition was hers. And he had found a way of making a reality of it. If he was teasing her a little in the process, she would not object. Better to respond in kind. ‘I should hope so, indeed, sir,’ she said brightly, reaching out to run a gloved finger along the window sill behind the books. She examined it closely, shaking her head in mock disgust. That window had not been dusted for some time. ‘A lady likes to meet her…um… A lady likes to go to an encounter with a gentleman knowing that all her needs will be met—warmth, comfort,
and
cleanliness.’

He chuckled. ‘I promise you that all your requirements will be met.’ He raised her hands to his lips,
kissing each in turn. ‘All of them. Now, if you are content, ma’am, I suggest we continue our drive.’

How very matter of fact he was about such a momentous thing. Yet those kisses on her hands had not been matter of fact, or even necessary. She sensed they were his way of sealing their very special bargain.

She nodded. She would try to sound as normal as he had. ‘Yes. By all means. Let us view your marshes.’

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started for the door, stopping there for a last swift glance back at the room. ‘It will be transformed, I promise you, Beth. Meet me behind the beech tree at a quarter to midnight and you shall see for yourself.’

Tonight?
It was for tonight?

He was smiling down at her. It was not a leer, nor anything like. It was a smile of encouragement, the kind of smile Beth often used in the schoolroom when a child was facing a new and daunting task. ‘Courage, little one,’ he said softly. ‘A quarter to midnight.’

She met his gaze bravely. ‘A quarter to midnight? So be it.’

The big bay stopped by the entrance to the folly. The whole park was in darkness except for a single candle glowing through the slit window alongside the door. In the silence, a long shiver passed down Beth’s body. Jonathan must have felt it, for he pulled her a little more closely against his body. He made no comment. He had made clear from the outset that this condition of hers did not need to be met. He had repeated it as he pulled her up before him and settled her into his arms. She had
only to say the word, at any stage, and he would return her to the rectory.

She did not say the word now. And he did not hector her. He was paying her the compliment of treating her like an equal, able to make her own decisions. If she changed her mind, he was trusting her to say so.

‘You are chilled,’ he murmured against her ear, his breath caressing her cheek. ‘You must go in to the warm.’ He dismounted and helped her down, holding her close against his side. Then he led her to the door and reached for the handle. ‘Go in. Make yourself comfortable. And warm. I will join you in a moment, once I have seen Saracen safely bestowed.’

Beth glanced back at the horse which stood motionless, waiting patiently. ‘He looks as though he would stand there all night.’ She was trying to inject a degree of lightness into her voice.

Jonathan chuckled. ‘Aye, he would. But I think he deserves a net of hay, and to be rid of the weight of the saddle on his back.’ He opened the door for Beth and pushed her gently inside, closing it behind her.

The room was transformed. A few hours earlier, there had been chaos and abandon. Now everything had been set to rights; it was warm and welcoming. Indeed, as a venue for an illicit tryst, it seemed a little tame. A good fire was burning in the hearth and the kettle had been swung close enough to sing, though not to boil. The fire, an oil lamp on the desk and that single candle by the door provided the only illumination, although several branches of new, unlit candles had been set around the room.

Beth risked one quick glance at the bed in the
far corner. It had been piled high with cushions so that it looked more like a sofa than a bed. Almost unthreatening.

She shivered again. She must be cold. There was no other reason for it. She was not being forced. Everything that took place now would be by her own choice and her own will. Crossing to the fire, she stripped off her gloves to warm her hands. Ah, delicious. It was only then that she noticed a tea tray standing ready on a low stool by the hearth. Tea? After midnight? And at an assignation?

She began to laugh. If she had been afraid, even a very little afraid, she was so no longer. She was here, tonight, to be in the arms of the man she loved. It was a time for anticipation, not for fear.

In that moment she knew that, whatever the outcome of this encounter, she wanted it. More than anything. Even if they parted after this one night, she would cherish every second of it, for the rest of her life.