“I’m going to retire for the night,” Thomas ground out, not hiding his vexation.
“Please, Mr. Eversley, the man downstairs has requested the most unusual and shocking proposition. I know it’s quite odd even for the man to suggest it, but he’s aware of the situation and still wishes me to ask you.”
“What man? What are you jabbering about, Perkins?” Perkins took Thomas aside and pointed to the black clad man and his companions. The man looked at Thomas and bowed slightly while Perkins whispered in Thomas’s ear.
“He must be insane!” Thomas burst out.
“Quite serious,” Perkins remarked. “The information was relayed through Lord Augustus Stanhope. The man is an Italian acquaintance of Stanhope’s and speaks no English. I attempted to explain that his offer was impossible, but the foreigner said he’d speak only to you. He promised that you would be unable to deny him when you’re aware of how much he’ll pay.”
At Stanhope’s name, Bethlyn raised an eyebrow in acute interest, but pretended she’d heard nothing when Thomas glanced in her direction.
“I doubt any amount of money will change my mind. Stanhope’s friend is a lunatic.”
“Perhaps,” Perkins cautioned. “But Stanhope has led me to believe that the Italian is of noble blood and that to say the man is wealthy is an understatement. No matter how absurd his request, sir, I think you’d be foolish not to court his good will. A man so wealthy might be inclined to take his business elsewhere.”
Thomas seemed to mull over this strange proposition in his mind and nodded to Perkins. “I’ll speak to the man, but I shall set him straight on this matter. Watch over my wife for a few moments, Perkins.” Thomas then sent a penetrating glance to Bethlyn which effectively warned her not to try to escape.
With Perkins standing sentinel behind her, Bethlyn could only watch when Thomas joined the three dark-masked men on the ballroom floor. She knew one of the men was Stanhope, and from the gestures and the relaying of what the tall Italian was saying to him, she deduced that whatever the man wanted wasn’t being taken seriously by Thomas.
Thomas laughed loudly and shook his head, and all too often all four of the men directed their attention to Bethlyn on the balcony. What in the world was going on?
After much more head shaking and translating by Stanhope, Thomas started to look exasperated. Finally he threw up his hands, and he shouted, “Tell the damned bastard that she is my wife and not for sale!”
Somehow this information didn’t need translation, for no sooner had Thomas started to stalk away than the tall Italian’s voice resounded through the room, causing an instant hush from everyone present.
“Senor Eversley!”
The commanding tone instantly halted Thomas and he turned to face the man.
“I told you no,” Thomas declared.
“Si, Senor Eversley.”
A sudden battle of wills was going on below Bethlyn, a battle which concerned her. If what she’d heard so far was any indication of the Italian’s persistence, he meant to buy her away from Thomas like one of Woodsley’s women! The shock of it all left her numb, and she watched Thomas, her husband and a man whom she hated, face a masked stranger who wished to purchase her favors.
Before everyone watching, the man withdrew a large and heavy purse from inside his cloak. With comparative ease and grace, as if he were used to doing this sort of thing every day of his life, the stranger opened the purse and scattered the shining gold pieces upon the highly polished black-and-white marble dance floor to roll and land before Thomas’s feet.
“My God!” Lord Hoxton intoned for all to hear. “It’s a bloody fortune.”
Hoxton was right, and Thomas knew it. He’d made large profits from selling his women, enough that he’d never want for anything ever again. He was far richer than many of the men present, owing his wealth to the Earl of Dunsmoor. But no gentleman had ever offered him as much for one woman as this foreigner now showered upon the floor. If it had been any other woman but Bethlyn, Thomas would have instantly agreed, but this man wanted to bed Bethlyn, his wife, the woman he’d lusted after for years. God, he was only minutes away from finally making love to her, and now here was this arrogant and persistent upstart with nerve enough to offer for the honey-haired vixen he’d dreamed about ever since the day she asked his help to free her from Briston.
Thomas looked up to the balcony railing, seeing the object of his lust with her beautiful hands pressed to her creamy throat. Why, even her doe like brown eyes were pleading with him not to consider the man’s offer, not to sell her to a stranger. Some protective instinct, long buried, lurched within Thomas’s chest. He didn’t want to sell her away. More than anything he wanted to kiss her sweet lips, to enter her softness with his hardened manhood, and to finally know that he possessed the unattainable. At that second he could read her thought:
You aren’t that depraved, are you, Thomas?
But the gleaming and glittering multitude of gold by his feet caused him to focus his gaze on it and away from her. Money had always been his first concern and love, long before Bethlyn was ever born. Old habits and wants die hard, he knew. So much money for only one night. His palms itched to pick up the shining pieces, to caress them as he counted them. Their sparkle and cold appeal was becoming too much for Thomas to resist.
He heard the Italian say something, then Stanhope translated. “He wants your answer, Mr. Eversley.”
Thomas, unable to stop staring at the money which beckoned like a golden Circe by his feet, decided that he could have both the money and Bethlyn. She wasn’t a virgin, and if one other man had his way with her, then waiting an extra day to bed her wouldn’t matter. Maybe the experience with this Italian would be good for her, he rationalized. Maybe when he finally did bed her, she’d be all the more grateful and accommodating to him, and also a bit fearful he’d sell her again.
“Sir, your answer,” Stanhope persisted.
Thomas bent down and scooped up a handful of gold. “Tell your friend that my wife will await his pleasure in her room.”
Thomas didn’t hear Bethlyn’s frantic screams of “No, Thomas, no!” as Perkins led her away or hear the disgusted snorts of the gentlemen present. He saw nothing except the gold, totally unaware that the gentlemen and ladies had deserted him. He was alone in the ballroom, crawling on all fours while he gathered the object of his desire into a large serving dish.
~ ~ ~
“Quiet, you mouthy wench!” Perkins warned Bethlyn and pushed her into the confines of her room. “I don’t want to hit you to quiet you. The gentleman spent a fortune for you and he doesn’t want his purchase marred, I’m certain.”
“I won’t be quiet! I hate you and that depraved wretch of a husband I’ve got! I won’t do anything with that man. I’ll fight him, I’ll bite him, I’ll…”
“You’ll do what you’re supposed to, Mrs. Eversley. Your brat is still down the hall in Grace’s care. And I know for a fact that Mr. Eversley would be only too glad to pay Grace to take the child away from here. You’ll never see your son again if you don’t cooperate.”
Any reference to her baby made Bethlyn instantly silent. She never said another thing to Perkins, but watched him with burning hatred shining in her eyes until at the knock on the door Perkins was only too glad to leave her presence.
When Perkins left, the tall, masked Italian entered the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
The flickering candlelight emphasized his tallness and broadness, making him look stronger up close than when she’d viewed him in the ballroom. She was horribly frightened, knowing what sort of monster Thomas was and almost wishing he was the man standing before her. She had no idea what sort of brute she’d find beneath the silk covering on this man’s face or what tortures and depravity she’d be forced to endure. No one was going to help her; she was alone. Once again, she must rely on herself to get through life, since Thomas had decided to make a whore of her.
But she wouldn’t let this man think her weak and frightened, and she wouldn’t cower before him and beg him to gentleness as she truly wanted to do. She’d put on a brave facade and pretend she enjoyed his lovemaking, but since he didn’t know English, she’d curse him threefold in soft whispers when he took her.
“Well, senor, it seems that we’re to be bedmates tonight,” she said boldly and licked her parched lips. “My cur of a husband sold me to you, and like the docile wife I am I shall endeavor to do Thomas Eversley proud.”
Walking brazenly towards him, she stopped and placed her arms around his neck and rubbed her breasts against the front of his muscular chest and smiled up at him. “But since you can’t speak my language, I can be blunt when I tell you that I have as much regard for you as I do for my husband. I … I … should like … like to kill him, and before this night is over, I will hate you enough to want you dead, too. So, let’s please … please get this disgusting interlude over.” Her voice cracked a tiny bit. “I wish … wish that you could help free me, but … but you can’t.”
“You never did lose your sweet stutter, did you, my dove?”
Bethlyn tensed, but the life force drained from her body. “What?”
He raised an arm and lifted the mask from his face, causing Bethlyn to gasp and almost swoon, but his arms locked around her, and he revived her by pressing his hungry lips firmly against hers.
Familiar longings swept through her in tidal-wave fashion, carrying her out of the darkness into the blinding light of clarity, She’d thought she was dreaming, but now instinct and the feel of Ian’s mouth against her own and the wondrous way their bodies fit together, convinced her that the man she loved was very much alive. She doubted that a ghost or a figment of her mind could kiss with such unbridled passion.
“Ian, Ian,” was all she found the strength to say, and kissed his handsome, wonderful face as the joyful tears spilled freely down her cheeks to mingle with those of the man she loved.
“Bethlyn, I’m here,” he told her, his voice choked and filled with emotion while his lips explored and familiarized himself with the curve of her throat, the swell of her breasts.
She allowed him greedy plunder while she savored the feel and smell of him. Ian was definitely alive, and she should have realized that Thomas had lied to her about Ian’s death. She didn’t know where Ian had been, knowing that she had years to discover everything. But for right now, she wanted him with such a ferocity that when he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed, she tore at his clothes, and he at hers, until nothing covered them but the sheen of their perspiring bodies.
Coming slickly together, no preliminaries were necessary. Bethlyn opened her legs to him, and Ian entered her quickly but with tenderness and they rode to fulfillment on a wave of hot molten lava.
Nothing prepared either of them for the torturous heat which spread through every nerve of their beings with such swiftness that when the glorious and merciful end came, their bodies arched and pulsated in rapture.
Later, while they dressed, and in between heart-stirring kisses, Ian told her how Thomas had sent him to wallow away his life in Mill Prison. He skipped the tortures he’d endured, but he told her how he’d escaped with the help of a guard he’d learned to trust before making his way to London and to Aunt Penny’s.
“Penny was quite startled when I fainted on her carpet,” he said, and smiled disarmingly. “But she forgave me.”
“I’d forgive you anything, too.” Bethlyn found herself swept half-dressed into his arms, wishing they could make love again, but knowing they had the rest of their lives now. “I love you so much. I should have realized Thomas hadn’t killed you. He hated you too much to allow you to die, but he did murder my father. I have the proof.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him, Bethlyn, and I’m not surprised that he killed your father. The man’s weakness is money, and I gambled on that when I came here tonight. I knew he wouldn’t be able to turn down such a large offer for you. Without Jeremy and Augustus’s help, we might not be together right now. Augustus was most instrumental while I was ill at Penny’s the last few weeks. He learned who could and couldn’t be trusted here at Woodsley.”
“I had no idea Augustus was nosing around.” Bethlyn buried her fingers in the soft hairs on Ian’s chest. “I wish I’d known.”
He shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “There was no way to get a message to you, and we felt it was best that you be in the dark.”
“Ian, we have a son,” she said, her eyes shining with pleasure.
Ian laughed and merrily swung her about. “I know. Augustus told me, and Jeremy knew when he came to visit you, but Thomas said you were too ill for visitors.”
After he placed her on her feet, she looked worried. “Somehow we must get the baby from the nursery. Grace is always in there.”
“I know about Grace,” he admitted, and completed dressing. “We weren’t certain about her, since she was Thomas’s mistress at one time. But by now Jeremy has taken care of her, and our son is safe and snug in Tessie’s arms and waiting in the carriage at the back of the house. Perkins has been dutifully bound and gagged and locked away somewhere by Augustus, who I must say has a penchant for intrigue and would serve Captain Hawk quite well.”
“Oh. Ian, I can’t believe any of this. It’s all too wonderful — Tessie and the baby and you, especially you.”