To Be Seduced (19 page)

“Then send the footman to fetch her back!” Exclaiming under her breath at the obtuseness of servants, Bethany retreated to the chamber she had used last night to await her meal and her maid.

The footman caught Faith
in flagrante delicto
and haled her back before she could completely adjust her appearance. Straightening her disarranged clothes, she begged Bethany to delay her departure.

“Please, my lady, I haven’t had even a full day with Augustus.” Tears rolled down her round cheeks. “Why must we leave so sudden-like?”

“Oh, do stop blubbering!” The maid’s evidence of a happy reunion with the coachman irritated Bethany beyond measure. “As for your Augustus—er, Lane—he probably enjoyed the favors of every pretty tavern wench he could get his hands on while you were gone.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. In the first place, to lay a charge of infidelity at his door was unjust, and cruel to poor Faith. In the second, it defeated her intention to leave London as soon as possible, for the older woman burst into miserable wails at the idea that her beloved would so misuse her. She held the weeping servant to her shoulder and patted her back.

“Forgive me, Faith, ’tis not true. We all know he loves only you. ’Twas cruel of me to say differently.”

Several minutes passed before the little maid lifted her head and hiccoughed.

“It’s a terrible hard thing to say, milady, and not like you.” She scrubbed the tears off her face and blew her nose. “Why must we leave? You were right terrified for his lordship all the way here, and Lane says as how you saved his life. You should be happy now.”

Bethany clenched her jaw. She could not trust herself to speak of the scene she had witnessed without breaking down herself.

“I am sure Lord Harcourt and I shall be quite content, Faith. But I must return home to Yorkshire as soon as possible and his lordship doubtless wishes to remain with his friends in town.” Her voice quivered over the last words, but she remained calm under Faith’s suddenly sharpened eyes.

“You two are going to have a hard time getting an heir sleeping that far apart,” she muttered. Bethany ignored her.

“Off you go to the kitchen. You must eat something before we leave.” The maid’s eyes filled with tears yet again, and she hastily urged her out the door, shutting it behind her. She fidgeted until a scratching on the wooden panels announced the arrival of her own cloth-covered tray.

Removing the clean napkin, she discovered a pewter plate filled not just with two small loaves of crusty bread and a wedge of golden cheddar, but with sliced cold chicken on one side. In a small dish, fragrant hothouse strawberries rested under a dollop of clotted cream, and a goblet held some of Lord Rothley’s favorite sack.

She thought eating any of it would choke her.

The cook, a most expensive employee, took justifiable pride in her craft, but in her misery Bethany might as well have forced down sawdust and vinegar.

A footman arrived to take the small chest downstairs to wait for the coach while she ate. She had just finished when familiar footsteps thudded up the stairway. Richard threw the door open and glared at her.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I suppose Lane told you my plans. I should have known.” She sighed, wiped her hands and mouth, and rose to her feet. Oddly, his wrath inspired a strange calmness in her. “Come in, my lord, and shut the door.”

He complied. The concern on his face as he approached nearly undid her, but she stood her ground. The anger faded from his eyes.

“Beth, what is this? Why do you leave before giving me a chance to thank you?” He took her hands in his. Trying to ignore the shiver his touch inspired in her, she pulled away. He reached for them again, but stopped when she backed away from him.

“Please, my lord.” She regarded him a trifle unsteadily. “’Tis not necessary for you to bid me stay.”

“You save my life, very nearly at the cost of your own, and now you turn around and leave?” He ran his fingers through his honey-colored hair. “At least tell me why.”

Bethany swallowed as she remembered the feel of those silky strands. “Does it really matter if I go, my lord?”

“And stop calling me ‘my lord’ every other sentence!” She jumped and glared as he slapped his hand on the surface of her dressing table.

“You sent me away. You never said you wanted me back.” She exhaled, unexpectedly tired.

He dropped his eyes at the implied accusation.

“I did not realize how much I missed you until I was imprisoned.” His voice was only a thread; she could scarcely hear it. “All I could think about in prison was that I would never see you again.”

She wanted to believe him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, but she could not. Exhausted by the journey from Yorkshire, and facing the prospect of setting out on the return within the day, she could not find the energy to argue with him over his mistress.

“If you wanted to see me, why did you not even send word to Graymoor when you were arrested?” She searched his face, trying to read his expression. A shadow crossed it and he sighed heavily.

“I expected you to leave me to hang.” He could not meet her eyes. Bethany thought she had misheard him for a moment.

“Dear God, can you truly believe that I am such a monster?” She whispered the words through numb lips.

“First you accuse me of infidelity and now this.” With such a low opinion of her, no wonder he had turned to his old mistress.

She stepped around him, hastening to the door. He gently grasped her wrist. She pulled, but he did not let her go.

“Under the circumstance, ’tis best I return to Yorkshire, Richard.” She averted her head to hide the tears trembling on her lashes.

“Beth, listen to me. I was a great fool to believe that you would betray me, and with Tom, of all men.” Richard’s shaky breath stirred her dangling earring. “After making such an accusation, I couldn’t very well ask you to turn around and save my life. And—and if I was executed, you would be free to enjoy your entire fortune.”

“This is worse than accusing me of adultery.” A sob ripped through her.

To her shock, Richard cradled her head in his hands. His thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Hear me out, sweetheart. The Crown would confiscate Graymoor and my money as the property of a traitor, but not your trust. I told Fothery to petition for the estate after my death so that it would stay with Glory’s family.” Bethany wept harder and he pulled her against his shoulder. “I ordered Leafley to transfer my funds into your trust. I was going to ask you to provide for Glory out of my share, but all else was—is—yours.” He spoke dryly. “I do hope you enjoy the irony of all this, my dear.”

She gulped and drew out her handkerchief to blot her wet face. When she stepped back, he regarded her with a puzzled expression.

“I’ll tell Leafley to put your share back immediately.” She crossed to the door. “Then I’ll leave. You’ll never have to set eyes on me again if you don’t wish to.”

He followed her, touching her hand where it rested on the knob. His fingertips traced the fragile bones under her skin. She caught her breath. Even this small caress sent a current of excitement through her body.

“Tell me something before you go, Beth.” She waited, unmoving. “Tell me why, if you were so willing to entrust your person to my care, you could not do the same with your fortune.”

“The money never mattered, Richard.” She left the door and paced back to the center of the room. “I spent my entire life in the shadow of a fortune I would never be allowed to touch.

“I was seven when I became aware of its existence. One of the neighboring families came to visit with their son, a boy my age. We were playing in the garden when I fell and scraped my hand. He bound it up in a kerchief for me. When I thanked him, he told me his father ordered him to be nice to me, for we might suit and I would bring a fortune to him.”

“What a disgusting brat! At least I waited to adulthood.” She brushed Richard’s indignant comment aside.

“’Tis not the point. I was thrilled with the discovery. That night at supper, I started to tell my mother all the things I would do with my money when I grew up.” She shrugged.

“Childish stuff, you know. I wanted to build a home for stray dogs and give the poor dinner every day, and buy chapbooks for all their children.”

Richard remained by the door, arms crossed, but he listened attentively.

“Mother stopped me short. She told me my husband would decide what to do with my money, for it would all belong to him as soon as I married. I confess I did not believe her, for how could something so obviously unfair be permitted?” She smiled bitterly.

“I later learned that my opinion verged on sacrilege.” She paced. “When Mother announced that I would wed Mr. Ilkston, I was aghast. He possesses a harsh nature and I loathed his inability to show kindness or understanding to others.” She turned to her husband.

“Then you came. I knew you were charming and handsome, but little else. I didn’t want the money so much as I wanted safety, and the use of my own judgment. I would never wish you dead.”

Richard said nothing for a long while after she had finished. Finally, he nodded. “It does seem strange to hear a woman say so, when I was raised to protect and cherish them. ’Tis something one would expect a man to say,” he mused. His glance swept over her figure as he smiled slowly. “But you are most certainly all a woman.”

He approached her and caught her hands. Bringing the palms to his lips, he kissed first one, then the other. The warm pressure of his lips set Bethany’s pulse beating faster. It had been so long since he had touched her. Nor had she ever seen that expression of longing on his face.

“Could we start again?”

No
, her mind screamed, warning her of the disastrous consequences of giving her heart to a rake.

Too late
, her heart replied as she stepped into his open arms and gave him a searing kiss.

He responded fervently, searching her mouth as if he would draw out her very soul. She twined her arms around his neck to pull him closer, brokenly whispering his name.

They both jumped when the footman’s voice sounded beyond the closed door.

“Milady, the coach is here. Shall I bid it wait for you?”

Richard stepped back a few paces, making it clear that the decision was hers. She looked at him, remembering the scene in the council chamber even as her body hummed from his touch. A sensible woman would ignore the fire running through her veins and leave before she was burnt to a cinder.

“Milady?” As the footman spoke again, her gaze locked on her husband’s face. She tried to discern whether the passion he felt for her this moment would last or not. In the end, she pleased herself.

“Dismiss it.” Instantly Richard enveloped her in his arms, his hands and mouth moving desperately over her body and face. She prayed she had made the right decision even as her hand caressed the back of his neck.

They undressed one another, taking turns removing articles of clothing, until their clothes surrounded them in a pile. He took great care not to disturb her bandages, asking if they should continue.

“Oh, yes, Rickon.” He kissed her mouth, then sank to his knees to carefully brush his lips over the strips of cloth. A smile played over his full lips as he looked up at her. She chuckled even as she blushed a little under his avid inspection.

“What?” Rising smoothly to his feet, he circled behind her and she felt the tug as he removed the first pin holding her hair in place. Others followed quickly, landing on the wooden planks under their feet with light ringing sounds.

“Our clothing does have a habit of ending up in a heap on the floor.” A breathy laugh escaped her as Richard buried his face in her newly freed tresses. “What is it about my hair?”

“’Tis like silken fire, warm and soft at the same time.” His breath blew hot against her ear. “I love knowing I am the only man to see it flowing down over your breasts and back.” He reached around to lift her breasts, rolling the sensitive peaks to stiff attention before grasping her hips and pulling her back against him. She gasped at the feel of his manhood against the small of her back.

“Growing up, most people acted like I had horns when they saw it. Mother forbade me to expose it.” She emitted a whimper as he gently took an earlobe in his teeth. “Dear God, that feels good.”

With an aroused growl, he turned her to face him and rained kisses across her forehead, eyes, and cheeks. Eyes closed, she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back, fascinated at the feel of the different muscles as they bunched and relaxed under his smooth skin.

Daring, she grasped his rocklike buttocks and pulled him closer, glorying in the feel of his heated erection against her bare skin. Richard groaned and thrust himself against her as if he could not help himself.

“Wait, sweet. I would love you as gently as you deserve.” She touched the side of his face, and he opened his eyes. The green depths glowed, stealing her breath.

“How would you make love to me, Rickon? If ’twas all for your own pleasure?” The arrested look on his face told her no one had asked this of him before. Guilty color flooded his cheeks. Intrigued, she squeezed his hips and rolled her pelvis against him. “Tell me.”

“You’ve been hurt, sweetheart.” He sucked in his breath at the feel of her body and rested his forehead against hers, panting as if he had just run a race.

His hesitance to tell her his desire alarmed her a little. But he had come to her arms, not Frances Shadbourne’s, and she feared she would be given only this one chance to win him back to her. She framed his face in her hands.

“If I was your mistress, not your wife, what would you have me do now? If I do not wish to, I shall say so.”

He swallowed and wet his lips.

“I want you to ride me hard and fast until you scream my name when you climax.”

His honeyed voice entered her ear and seemed to flow down to pool between her thighs. Her skin tingled where he stroked over it, alternating his palms and knuckles. She placed her arms around Richard’s neck and looked up at him uncertainly.

“Is that even possible?”

“Indeed it is, love.” He drew her to the bed and pulled her to sit beside him, nuzzling her neck and caressing her body. Stretching out to his full length on the soft feather mattress, he coaxed her to straddle him, letting his hands slide over her thighs and up her body. Her nipples puckered as he brushed the soft undersides of her breasts. He circled them with his thumbs, then leaned forward to suckle one coral peak. Panting, she raked her hands through his soft hair, gazing at the strands of honey mingled with lighter wheat-colored highlights.

“I’m not hurting you, am I, Beth?”

She could only shake her head breathlessly. He turned his attention to her other breast, while his hand slid to the curls covering the tender mound between her legs. Searching through them, his fingers spread her moist folds open and teased the small nub that controlled her passion. His member pressed intimately against her, hot and hard. Finally she could stand it no longer.

“I want you inside me, Rickon.” His hands tightened on her hips as she guided herself onto him. A gasp caught in the back of her throat at the amazing sensation of being filled from below. She rocked against him, sliding up and down on his shaft. He urged her on, praising her beauty as he caressed her with hands and mouth.

They moved together faster and faster as their climax built to dizzying heights. Crying out, she exploded around him, her back arched in ecstasy. He held her firmly against him as he ground upward, his teeth gritted and eyes shut as he erupted into her.

Sweating, shaking, she collapsed onto him, unable to do anything for long minutes except listen to his heart thundering in rhythm with her own.

“You’re all right, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you?” She stirred only when Richard’s question vibrated in her ear.

“No, love, I’m not hurt. ’Twas the veriest scratch, I hardly feel it.” She raised her head slightly. At her gasp, he opened his eyes. “I fear you must be the one in pain.”

Both his shoulders carried red marks where she had dug her nails into his flesh. Horrified, Bethany begged his forgiveness, only to be cut short as he pulled her back into his embrace.

“You didn’t mean to, Beth, ’tis no matter.” His chest shook with laughter under her. “Besides, ’tis a great satisfaction to know I can induce my lady wife to act the wanton.”

“Truly?” Her fingers explored the soft hairs peppering his chest. “I was taught that a wife should display modesty and decorum at all times.”

“So you do. Except when you lose that temper of yours.” He grinned and caught her hand before she could swat him. He kissed it. “A man likes to feel desired in his bed as much as a woman. And so you do that for me, Beth.” He cuddled her close.

Curled up next to him, she considered his words for a long time.

Bethany jerked awake as the coach hit a pothole. Dreams of her last night with Richard intruded on her peace of mind waking and sleeping.

They had dozed on and off through the rest of the afternoon, rousing only to take the dinner that Bethany ordered brought to their room on a tray. They made love again afterward, leisurely exploring one another. When they fell asleep for the night, Bethany thought her heart overflowed with joy.

She awakened early the next morning. They had not bothered to draw the bed curtains closed, and she watched him as he slept soundly beside her. With his hair falling into his face, smiling a little, he looked younger and somehow more vulnerable.

She slid out of bed and pulled the curtains closed to prevent the growing light from awaking him. Her skin prickled in the chill morning air as she bent to pick up their clothes from where they had fallen the day before. Her spare chemise was packed, but she borrowed one from the store Lady Rothley kept on hand in the house. She could order a replacement from the linen draper’s easily enough. She would have to order a few dresses as well, for the saddle packs could hold only one.

She picked up the sage green gown and laid it over a chair before gathering Richard’s clothes. As she picked up Richard’s coat, she felt a slight weight in one pocket. Biting her lip, she recalled his mistress giving him something the day before. Summoning all her resolution, she placed the embroidered garment over the back of the chair and left it.

Where the coat had lain on the floor, a small piece of paper sat, unsealed. Meaning only to set it on the dressing table, she picked it up as if handling a poisonous snake. It fell open as she grasped it between thumb and forefinger, exposing his handwriting. It fluttered to the floor seconds later, as Bethany doubled over, hands clamped to her mouth.

Clearly written in her husband’s flowing hand, it declared in unmistakable terms his devotion to Mistress Shadbourne.

She stared unseeing at the slow-moving scenery beyond the coach window. The fields and hedgerows looked much the same as they had that morning and the day before. She wondered if she would ever travel the long route to Yorkshire in a state of content.

At night, she had taken to ordering a bottle of any available spirits to her chamber so that she could drink her way to oblivion.

His betrayal would not have hurt so much had he not bedded her so passionately the night before. She unsuccessfully fought back a sob. Of course he had come to her; her testimony had convinced the King to pardon him. But ’twas no more than gratitude, however much they pleased each other’s bodies. The thought that he aroused so intense a response in her when he felt so little himself nearly made her ill.

The only sop to her pride came from the knowledge that she had not spoken of the letter of apology she had burnt. At least she had not suffered the humiliation of begging forgiveness from a man who thought so little of her.

Where anger had sustained her the first time she left London, now she experienced suffocating grief. She had lost her husband as surely as if the court had found him guilty and executed him.

Her weeping turned to painful laughter in the empty coach. In order to lose Rickon, she would have had to possess him in the first place. As his letter had demonstrated with painful clarity, she had never had a hold on his heart.

Glory alternated between effervescence and moping as the month before the wedding passed. Bethany kept her own misery locked in her breast as she coped with the girl’s moods. Mastering her own emotions proved difficult in the face of her sister-in-law’s changing sentiments.

She suffered from envy whenever she saw Fothery and Gloriana. Not for the elaborate wedding plans expected by the blissful couple and by Lady Rothley. Richard’s aunt responded to the news of the impending nuptials with a letter of epic length detailing a number of traditions and recipes expected at Harcourt marriages.

Bethany, used to the sober weddings of her mother’s congregation, thought most of the suggestions shamelessly extravagant, and even Glory vetoed several of them. Both wrote tactful replies citing Graymoor’s unfinished state as the reason for declining to follow all of her directives.

Instead, jealousy threatened her equilibrium when she saw the joy the betrothed couple experienced while engaging in activities as simple as walking in the gardens or softly discussing names for their unborn children. At those moments, she reminded herself of the rarity of love matches and tried to join their happy banter.

On the rare days when Fothery did not visit and lift her spirits, Glory fretted for her brother. Bethany comforted the girl as best she could, but as the days passed without any word from him, his sister wondered if Richard had indeed washed his hands of her. She assured the girl that Richard might disapprove of her careless behavior, but he would never cast her off.

Two weeks before the wedding, a rider from London arrived in the courtyard, handing over a brief missive addressed to Glory. The housekeeper brought it to her in the Great Chamber, where she and Bethany stood discussing the number of guests the room might hold.

His Majesty, having pardoned Richard, had requested his presence at the coronation.

“’Tis a great honor, and so public an appearance will restore his name in the eyes of the world. But that is April twenty-third, and we are getting married on the twenty-seventh.” Glory’s hand trembled as she sought Bethany’s eyes. “How can he possibly travel from London in time?” She choked back tears.

Struggling with her own blighted hopes, Bethany looked at the letter longingly. By rights, she should have received the letter from Richard. It was a measure of her husband’s disgust with her that he had written to Glory instead.

She drew the sobbing girl to a bench against the wall. As her sister-in-law wept onto her shoulder, she stared unseeing out the windows. Even the sun shining on the burgeoning garden below failed to cheer her. She swallowed a lump in her own throat.

They had parted so badly in London. Despite her fury at his flaunting of his mistress before her very eyes, she had believed his sister’s wedding would bring him to Graymoor. And then what, her mind taunted her.

If he wanted a legitimate heir, she knew he would have to return to her bed, but the idea that he would touch her only out of dynastic duty wounded her beyond words. And yet she wanted to show him the improvements she had written of, to show him how well she could care for him and his.