Authors: Ann Stephens
“I should beat you with the flat of my blade for holding out on us, you dog.” Lord Thomas shook him playfully. “Who else do I mean but that exquisite female at your side?”
“What?” Richard’s head whipped around and he gaped up at the seat he had just vacated.
Bethany sat at the front of the box, properly dividing her attention between the stage and his uncle. In the midst of the vibrantly attired crowd, her light-colored dress stood out like a piece of moonlight. Candlelight picked out golden highlights in her fiery hair. One of the swains nearby sighed and compared her to the goddess of dawn.
Revolted at the sickly comparison, he turned on the speaker, a pallid young sprig in aquamarine satin. “She is not curst Aurora, sirrah! That happens to be Lady Harcourt.” He advanced toward the hapless fellow. “And I am Lord Harcourt.” The young man became whiter and immediately begged his pardon, carefully edging away. Richard glared at the circle of men around him.
“Meaning you are just the man to make us known to her.” The irrepressible Lord Thomas arranged his cuffs and ribands. A sudden expression of hurt crossed his handsome face. “You owe us that much. I thought you said she was a Puritan, all prayers and psalms.”
“She is!” The exclamation no sooner left his mouth than his wife noticed him standing in the crowd. Even at this distance, he caught the mischievous spark in her eye as she nodded to him and then looked away as if uninterested.
“That vixen. She knows exactly what she’s about.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Beside him, Tom laughed. “A much better description, in faith. Now, introductions if you please.”
In the face of their importunity, Richard grudgingly tromped back up to the gallery, trailed by a gaggle of gallants. Barely concealing his chagrin, he presented them to his wife and watched them crowd around her. To his dismay, she proved adept at listening to all, while making each man feel he had her attention.
She accepted their acclaim without favoring any, except for Lord Thomas, made known to her as a particular friend of his. She engaged him in conversation for several moments until he courteously addressed Lord Rothley. Only then did she speak to anyone else.
When the play resumed, he ruthlessly escorted them all to the stairs, even Lord Thomas. Bethany glanced at him when he returned to her side. “Your companions are very kind to welcome me so.” He nearly delivered a sharp retort when he realized she spoke in earnest. She took their attentions as no more than generosity to a friend’s wife. He uttered a noncommittal reply and moved his chair to hide her from curious eyes in the pit. He spent the rest of the evening in her company, making an unspoken declaration of possession.
At the performance’s end, she placed a hand on his arm as he wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “That dark gentleman across from us seems to want your attention.” He followed the direction of her inclined head. From the gallery opposite, Arthur Loring bowed sardonically.
“An acquaintance, ’tis no one of import.” Richard nodded coldly and offered his arm to his wife. As they strolled toward the exit, she wrinkled her nose.
“He was at the Bell and Moon the morning we left. He wore a ridiculous amount of ribbons then, too.”
The reappearance of those cavaliers who had earlier met his wife drove all thoughts of the captain from his mind. They exhibited an irritating tendency to crowd around her as they made their way out of the building. It took Richard quite half an hour to escort her to the waiting sedan chair.
Back in Saint Clement’s Lane, Lord Rothley complimented her on her conquests. “I shall have quite a tale for my lady and your new sister upon my return.” He chuckled at her. “But if you say naught to her about seeing an actoress, I shall keep quiet about the same thing to your mother.” Bethany hastily agreed to his bargain.
After enjoying a sack posset with them, he picked up his candle. Lighting it from a graceful sconce by the door, he bade them good night. Listening to his steps echo down the wooden floor of the hall beyond, Richard debated with himself.
He had planned to deposit his wife in Saint Clement’s Lane and join Lord Thomas and several of their friends in a fashionable gaming hell. After seeing her in public for the first time, it occurred to him he only guessed her nature. Such had never mattered to him before, but then he never intended to marry any of his previous women.
He offered her a glass of wine, which she accepted. Pouring one for himself, he seated himself in a leather-padded chair and asked her opinion of the theater. She sipped thoughtfully before answering.
“I should like to go back. From the sermons I heard condemning plays and playhouses, I expected much worse. I understand they live dissolute lives off the stage, but seeing and hearing the women drew me in to their dilemmas.” She grimaced. “You will think me foolish, but it seemed as though I stood beside them at times.”
“Not in the least. A good actor makes you believe he speaks from your own heart.” He looked into her eyes, marveling at the way they held both silver and smoke. “I shall take you again.” He could not explain why her brilliant smile made his pulse leap.
They discussed a number of subjects as both the candles in their holders and the wine in the bottle dipped lower. When Bethany stood up to retire for the night, she wobbled alarmingly. Coming to her aid, Richard found himself a bit tipsy, but otherwise in control of himself. She took his arm with an apology. “I seem to be a bit fuddled, my lord.”
He led her down the long paneled hallway to the stairs, one hand guiding her elbow and the other holding a candelabrum. The steps proved more of a challenge. He bit his lip at the contact of her slim body when she missed a step and stumbled into him. The feel of her soft curves against his body contrasted sharply with the chaste image of her sitting above him in the gallery earlier, starting a familiar heat in his loins.
He had not planned to take her again until he could master the desire he felt every time he touched her. To want a woman so constantly made a man desperate. He had lived with desperation from his boyhood and wanted no more of it. To want a woman who had used him so coldly made him weak.
He had avoided her successfully until tonight. Now the wine whispered that she was his wife, his for the taking. Should he feel shame because the bride he had chosen for money proved so eminently beddable?
When they reached their chamber, he set the candles down, although Bethany still needed his assistance. He awakened Faith, who had fallen asleep in one of two chairs before the fireplace. When he dismissed her, she shook her head and chuckled. She stopped long enough to light more candles by the bed table before leaving them.
Bethany twined her arms round his neck and pouted. “I need my maid, sir.” Richard took an unsteady breath and placed her arms at her sides, running his hands down them. She felt the heat from his palms through the layers of material, but strangely enough the warmth caused her to shiver. Her breath came faster as they moved up to frame her cheeks. His slightly callused thumb brushed her cheekbone as he angled her to receive his kiss. When he spoke, his voice roughened with want.
“I shall maid my lady tonight.”
His mouth ravaged hers, but she opened to him willingly. He tasted of the claret he had imbibed so freely, and when he moved to suck and nip at her earlobe, she inhaled the mingled scents of musk and lavender.
Her head swam, but no longer from wine. Her breasts were crushed against his solid chest as he reached back to untie the laces of her gown. Their peaks tingled against the confines of her stays. His mouth continued to explore her neck, skipping over the gold chain he had given her. Breathing in shallow open-mouthed gasps, she dropped her head back farther to give him the access he wordlessly demanded. Had she not gripped his muscled arms, she would have collapsed.
As her loosened bodice came away from her torso, he stepped back, drawing the heavy material down her arms. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her breasts through the sheer chemise, their coral tips already stiffening. He lifted the soft globes, circling and rolling the taut peaks between his fingers. Heat flamed in the cleft between her thighs. She moaned with pleasure as she felt herself becoming moist at his touch.
The combination of wine and her husband’s sensuous onslaught loosened Bethany’s inhibitions. As his hands worked their magic on her body, she reached up and pushed his satin coat off his shoulders. He let go of her long enough to shrug it to the floor. Taking advantage, she unknotted the lace at his neck.
As it fluttered to the floor, he stroked his hands down her slim curves. Coming to rest where her waist flared into the chalice of her hips, they tightened and he pulled her into yet another kiss. The feel of the exciting ridge tenting his breeches caused her to rock against him. He growled and slid her gown the rest of the way off. His green eyes darkened to emerald as he gazed her scarcely veiled body. She swallowed thickly in anticipation as he unfastened the chain to let it fall heedlessly into the soft pool of damask.
He planted kisses over the swell of each breast while he coaxed her chemise off. His mouth followed the receding lawn, at last closing over a nipple and suckling fiercely. She gave a hoarse cry as his index finger slid into the brown curls between her legs, teasing more wetness from her as it parted her nether lips to caress and fondle.
He lifted his head, watching her as his finger moved rhythmically inside her. His breath came in gasps as his muscular chest rose and fell. “You want this, Beth. Tell me you want me.”
She could barely speak as she writhed in his arms. “Yes, Richard. Oh, yes.”
He withdrew his finger suddenly and she cried out in need. Kissing deeply, they staggered to the bed, divesting each other of the rest of their clothes. He pulled the coverlet down and urged her between the sheets.
She gasped at the shock of the cold sheets on her naked body. When Richard joined her a moment later, she burrowed against him as much for body heat as for desire. He rumbled with laughter, knowing full well what she did.
She pulled her head back to frown at him. “I’m cold!”
His laughter died, replaced by an intent expression. “That you are not, my lady. Not in my bed, at least. Why is that?”
She looked at him, puzzled at his unexpected seriousness. “It is a great blessing when man and wife find pleasure in the marriage bed.” He said nothing more then, but arched an eyebrow into a wicked leer.
“I’m glad to hear you say so.” He rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body, his tongue plunging greedily into her mouth. Hers twined around it, tasting, feeling its texture.
She purred at the feel of his warmth pressing her into the soft feather bed. Her back arched slightly at the feel of the crisp hair of his chest against her sensitive nipples. Her hands stroked down his spine to rest on his firm buttocks. He laughed again and obliged her by rocking his hard shaft against her lower belly.
He rose to his elbows and knees as his mouth left hers to kiss its way down her body. She stretched out beneath him as he scooted his way down, arching her breasts into his hands as his fingers plucked and toyed with her nipples.
When his mouth came to the mound between her legs, however, she froze.
“Richard, what are doing?” She lifted her head to see him resting his chin on the soft curls.
“I’m helping my wife find pleasure in the marriage bed.” His virtuous tone belied the wicked smile on his face.
“I already have that, you must know it.” Vainly she tried to wiggle out from under him, using her hands for leverage. Instantly he pulled her back down, wrapping his arms around her thighs and holding her hands at her sides. She struggled a little as he kissed each inner thigh in turn, but she could not escape.
His hands and shoulders forced her legs far apart, opening her completely to his gaze and mouth. All thought of protest deserted her when his tongue stroked intimately into her. Her hips lifted helplessly as he flicked her tender nub and circled her intimate opening. Her heart pounded so she thought it would burst from her chest as he buried his tongue into her passage, wringing waves of heat and moisture from her.
The first tremors of her release overcame her. He raised himself up and entered her with a single luscious thrust, smothering her cries with his open kiss that tasted of her own juices. He continued to move within her as her body convulsed around him, his steady strokes prolonging her exquisite tremors.
As she finished, he buried his face against her neck, nearly sobbing as he thrust into her harder and faster. Instinctively she gathered him closer, running her hands over his sweat-covered back. When she grasped his butt and pulled him farther into her, he found his own climax, arching his back as his hot seed spilled into her and overflowed.
He relaxed onto her, whispering her name over and over again between kisses on her mouth, cheeks, and brow. She kissed him back, toying with his sweat-dampened hair until he adjusted himself to one side of her with an apology.
“Forgive me, sweet. I shouldn’t have just squashed you like that.” She snuggled next to him, her eyes already drifting shut.
“I like the feel of your weight on top of me,” she confessed. “It makes me feel like I’ve done something right.”
He hugged her closer. “Is that so unusual?”
She shifted slightly to stare up at the wooden canopy. “Mother often found fault with me, true. But I was thinking more that I’ve given you pleasure, too.”
“Aye, sweet Beth.” His breath tickled her ear. “You did.”
Satisfied, she soon fell fast asleep.
Young Lady Harcourt’s success continued after her appearance at the theater. At first, she did not often go out, for women ruled the realm of society, even where a new King sat at its pinnacle. For the first time in her memory, she had no female companions. Mistress Cade managed the house so well that she had little to do but read, attend to her needlework, and shop for herself.
Luckily for her funds, the latter activity soon palled. So many packages of new gowns, hats, gloves, stockings, fans, and other kickshaws arrived that Richard jested that they had moved to Saint Clement’s Lane just in time to avoid running out of room in his old lodgings.
Richard seemed to have reconciled himself to their marriage. He dressed in Lord Rothley’s bedchamber, but regularly slept in her bed. To her delight, he did so even when he did not make love to her. Her husband also made a point of accompanying her to the theater again, and to other amusements suitable for a lady. But his attentions, however welcome, did not compensate for his lack of acquaintance with suitable ladies.
Granted, she permitted some of his friends to escort her to the park or the playhouse on occasion, for it did not do for a husband and wife to appear exclusively in one another’s company. Fortunately, Lord Thomas offered the solution to her dilemma one night at the theater by introducing her to his mother, the Dowager Countess of Planchard, and his sister, Viscountess Haynes.
Although high in the instep, both ladies prepared to welcome her as Richard’s wife. It transpired that he was a favorite of theirs and they soon included her in invitations to walk or dine.
After her initial nervousness in their presence, Bethany cautiously enjoyed their company. The viscountess, only a few years older than she, shared her brother’s insouciance. She even coaxed Bethany into letting her pierce her ears. Upon hearing that her husband wished to present her at Court, she immediately offered to assist her in selecting clothes and learning the necessary rules of etiquette.
As he was not a gentleman in waiting to the King, Richard had no need to appear at Court regularly, but it behooved him to present his new wife to his sovereign as soon as possible. The coronation was nearly three months away, but crowds of the noble and the wealthy swarmed to Court to curry favor.
On the day appointed by Richard, Bethany sat patiently under the ministrations of the hairdresser while Faith prepared her bodice and skirt. She already wore her chemise, petticoats, stockings, and shoes under a voluminous robe of blush pink. As soon as he had finished, she examined her appearance in the hand mirror, turning her head from side to side.
Her cropped and curled hair hung on either side of her face in masses of ringlets while the bulk of it had been twisted and wound with the gold chain given to her by Richard.
As soon as he retired from the room, she and Faith finished the tedious task of dressing her in the remaining layers of clothing. Richard entered just as she shook out the last frill of heavy lace falling from her sleeves.
“Are you ready, madam?” He sounded uncharacteristically nervous. He had no need to be; she caught her breath at the sight of him.
The fashionable justacorps of bronze satin fit perfectly across his broad shoulders before flaring out slightly over the matching vest and breeches. As usual, he eschewed the frivolity of excessive ribbons and frills. Most of the decoration consisted of the heavy embroidery in cream and bronze thread on the facings of the jacket, and from the worked scabbard of his sword.
An ivory lace cravat flowing down the open front of the justacorps completed his ensemble. He carried a black beaver hat with a single cream ostrich feather and a pair of wide-cuffed gloves studded with brass suns. She could smell the faint scent of amber emanating from the black leather.
“You look very fine, my lord.” She spoke softly, aware of her maid’s continued presence.
The rich color of the suit enhanced his eyes. She could not look away from their green depths as they took in her own appearance.
“As do you, my lady.” She ducked her head at his approval. While he lay with her often, other nights he came home late after carousing with his friends. She did not know his real feelings toward her.
Trying now to convince herself she did not care as long as he treated her with the respect due a wife, she forced a laugh. “I scarcely know if I can move in all this finery.” He took her hand and twirled her in a stately circle. The petticoats under her buff velvet skirt rustled sumptuously and the pale blue ribbons decorating her sleeves and bodice fluttered as she moved.
“You shall do very well.” His eyebrows drew together as he looked over her hair. “Is that my father’s chain?” Involuntarily, she put her hand to the heavy coil at the back of her head.
“If it displeases you, I shall take it out.” His carefully neutral expression alarmed her. Rather to her relief, as it had taken some time to put her hair up, he shook his head.
“No, that would only delay us. I would ask that you not use it as a hair ornament in the future, though.” He spoke without heat, but with a hint of sadness. Bethany hastily agreed to his request.
“I am sorry, Richard. I had no idea it was your father’s.”
He shrugged. “You had no way of knowing.” Softly he continued, “My mother had to sell most of her jewelry while we were in exile. Most of what remained when she died I gave to my sister.” Bethany nodded, unwilling to interrupt. He had never before mentioned his family’s life on the continent. The next moment, his manner lightened.
“Indeed, ’tis partly my own fault you had to resort to such measures.” He held up a finger. “Faith, do you have the box I gave to you earlier?”
Grinning from ear to ear, the plump maid brought out a leather-covered box from one of the clothes presses. Taking it from her, Richard opened it. Bethany’s eyes widened. Inside, a pair of aquamarine and pearl earrings and a matching necklace rested on the satin lining.
“They’re lovely.” She touched them hesitantly, almost afraid they would disappear. He gave them to her largely because she would look odd at Court without any jewels; she understood that. But he had obviously taken care to select pieces that matched her dress.
She put the earrings in, replacing the gold drops Richard had purchased for her when they were first pierced. She raised her eyebrows at him. “Will you put the necklace on?”
He complied readily, toying with a tendril of hair on the back of her neck after he fastened the clasp. She pivoted and hugged him. “Thank you so much! I’ve never had anything so beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like them. You’ve never teased me for jewelry so I wasn’t sure what you would care for.” He held out his elbow, a sign for them to go downstairs.
She laughed as she tucked her hand into its crook. “Is that why you haven’t given me any before now?”
The second King Charles kept a Court far less formal than his father’s, but those entering the royal presence were to appear suitably groomed. To prevent untoward particles of dirt from marring their new ensembles, Lady Haynes insisted on escorting them to Whitehall in her lord’s town coach.
Bethany remarked on her generous impulse as they awaited her arrival in the library. Their domestic harmony faltered when Richard reminded her that they would own a similar equipage by now had she not raised strenuous objections to its purchase.
“I have no objection to owning a town coach, sir.” She held on to her temper with difficulty. “As I have said repeatedly, I question the need for one when we haven’t any permanent property in London, but do have an estate in Yorkshire that requires a heavy coach to travel to and from.”
“You may recall that I wished to order one of each style.” His lordship lowered his brows as he leaned on a heavy walnut reading table, where she sat loosely holding an open book in her lap.
She stood and tossed the book on the table’s surface. “How will we afford a place of our own here in town if our money is spent on coaches and the horses to draw them?”
“We? You mean me, do you not? I don’t recall hearing you offer to put any of your precious trust toward a house!”
“I offered to apply part of my funds toward the purchase of a berlin for long journeys, and of course I would contribute to the cost of a house.” She leaned on the table herself now. “We haven’t even found one we like yet!”
He leaned farther toward her. “A fine thing when a man must apply to his wife for monetary aid. God’s teeth, if word were to get out that I have only five thousand pounds out of our twenty, I’d be a laughingstock.”
“And a woman whose husband controls the entirety of any property she brings to her marriage is not humiliated?” She asked the question in a low voice, looking him in the eye.
He hissed his answer as the door to the library creaked open. “That is entirely different!”
The arrival of Viscountess Haynes on Lord Thomas’s arm reduced her retort to a roll of her eyes. Her ladyship entered the library in a flurry of chatter and taffeta. Scrutinizing Bethany’s appearance, she admired her new jewelry.
“Faith, Richard, you did very well. Did I not tell you aquamarines would suit this gown to perfection? Lady Harcourt, allow me to view your Court curtsey one last time.”
Under the watchful eyes of all three, Bethany sank nearly to the ground as her skirt undulated into a pool around her. After holding the position for several seconds, she rose to her feet.
“You shall be a credit to all of us. Only a month ago you could hardly bend your knees, and now look at you!” She turned to relay a choice bit of gossip to her brother while Lord Thomas helped her into her cloak.
Bethany accepted her wrap from Richard with ill grace. “I feel like a trained monkey.” Fortunately, the viscountess’s prattle covered her whisper. He turned a laugh into a cough behind his gloved hand.
“If you say that aloud, I’ll wring your neck, you wretched woman.”
She gawped like a green girl after descending from the coach to the restrained bustle of the palace. Around her the jumble of mismatched structures making up Whitehall seethed with activity. Not only courtiers and ladies in waiting scurried from one building to another; the royal servants had their business to attend to as well. Carpenters, stablemen, laundresses, and scullery maids orbited the uncrowned King.
A few enterprising beggars shivered in a clump near the gatehouse the carriage had just passed. They alternated their pleas to passersby with insults to the guards assigned the task of removing them from the royal grounds.
Lady Haynes led them unhesitatingly across the courtyard and into one of the largest buildings, where they were to collect Lady Planchard. Walking alongside her husband, Bethany soon lost all sense of direction in the maze of halls, stairways, and anterooms. Eventually they stood in front of the countess’s apartments, granted to acknowledge the late earl’s death in the service of Charles the First.
The gray-haired dowager countess invited them inside to remove their cloaks before entering His Majesty’s presence. As she listened to her ladyship speaking with her son and daughter, Bethany looked around the small chamber. A bright tapestry on one wall relieved some of the windowless room’s darkness, as did numerous candles. A small fire provided additional light and heat, both welcome this day, although she wondered how stuffy the room became in summer.
The countess had expressed only gratitude in her hearing for the small rooms. Bethany had learned from her daughter that the current earl declined to house her, claiming poverty. Lady Haynes herself wished very much to take her mother under her roof, but Lord Haynes forbade it. Lord Thomas, even poorer than his brother, could do little to provide for her either.
As they left the room, she pretended not to notice Lady Haynes slip a small purse into the countess’s hand with a whisper. “Just a bit of my dress allowance, I don’t need it and his lordship will never notice.” She glanced at Richard. From the sympathetic look on his face, she knew he had witnessed the exchange, too.
Careful not to embarrass his friends, Bethany inclined her head to whisper into his ear. “Why so distressed, dear sir? ’Tis no more than what you would reduce me to.”
Looking straight ahead, he replied to her jibe equally quietly. “I would not behave so shamefully to my wife.”
“I do not think you would, no. But if I had only what funds you chose to allow me, all you’d have to do is change your mind and I would be as helpless as she.” By unspoken agreement, they dropped behind their hosts to continue their whispered argument.
“You must know I would not do so shabby a thing.” His protest could barely be heard through his stiff lips.
“I know you abducted me for my money. And tried to ruin me after you said you would not.” He flinched slightly at her statement, but recovered quickly.
“Allow me to remind you how willing you were to enjoy a title, my lady, not to mention my embrace. You bargained well enough for yourself in the end.”
She ignored his attempt to insult her. “Aye, I did, Richard. I do not live in fear of my husband and have no need to intrigue to get what I want.”
“And I did not need to touch you to get your money.” He stopped walking and turned to glare at her, although he still spoke the softest whisper.
“Then why did you,” she challenged him.
“Because I damned well couldn’t keep my hands off you!” He abruptly cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. She grasped his wrists to pull away, but as he deepened the kiss, her fingers loosened as she responded to him.
“Oh.” Dazed, she became aware that they stood in a sumptuously decorated hallway in the better part of the palace. Sunlight entered through windows along one side, shining off elaborately carved and gilded frames surrounding paintings and mirrors. The reflected light enhanced the brilliant colors of an immense Gobelin tapestry dominating the wall opposite.
It also flattered the rich clothing and jewels worn by a knot of courtiers and ladies clustered by the far door. Judging by the titters and smirks only partially hidden behind their hands, they must have arrived in time to observe the unseemly display. Bethany wanted to sink in mortification at their amusement. She glimpsed her crimson face in one of the huge mirrors.