One Unashamed Night (18 page)

When his hands slid to where his body still lingered, she merely opened her legs further and let him explore, the scent of their lovemaking musky in the air around them.

‘More,’ she whispered and his answering laugh was as unguarded as she had ever heard it.

‘Much more,’ he returned as his fingers found a spot that made her whole body blush.

The sound of the clock brought them back and she had never felt so deliciously decadent as she ran her tongue across the outline of his lips.

‘Taris?’

His eyes sharpened as her fingers traced the scar across his left eye, the trail beginning in his hairline and finishing on the rise of his cheekbone.

Had any lover ever touched him in the way she was doing now? By the way he stayed so very still she thought not.

‘Did it hurt?’

The amber of his irises was brittle gold. ‘At first it did, though the ocean saved me, I suspect, for the salt leached away the pain. By the time we reached land again I could barely feel it.’

‘How long were you in the water?’

‘So many hours that we lost count. With the blood loss from this it was Ashe who dragged me with him finally, though the currents did their part in the rescue and deposited us on land on our second evening afloat.’

‘I have never heard any of this even whispered!’ she said.

‘Because of Emerald. It was her father who had caused the problem in the first place.’

‘Her father?’

‘Beau Sandford.’

‘The pirate? I am beginning to think that your family has as many secrets as I do.’

‘Which is why I tell them to you in the first place. Were you a woman without any past, I could not say a word.’

‘I would always take care of any confidences, no matter what.’

He smiled. ‘I know.’

Lord, Taris thought as he dressed that evening for the Davis country ball. He should tell Bea of his feelings for her, but something stopped him.

His blindness, if the truth were to be told and a dependence that he found repugnant, for the dream had been coming more frequently lately. The dream of the darkness without even a hint of light, lost in eternal black. The weariness and worry of it left him on edge but the child they had conceived together was also growing and the words that Beatrice had given him in the light of day as they made love demanded a response. From him.

Could he tell her everything?

Tell her of his fear and abhorrence of dependence and of pity. Tell her that his relationships with others were harder to maintain now with the sludge thicker, and negotiating a room full of people almost impossible without help.

Her help. He liked the feel of her arm against his, guiding him, lightly. He liked the way she stayed with him and talked, her easy conversation allowing him time to adjust and to avoid the pitfalls that he so often encountered.

He seldom took risks and yet today he had known that the door was unlocked. Anyone might have walked in. His fists tightened at his side as he realised what was happening to him.

Bea was making him live again. Live again even with the fear of tripping up, of being exposed, of having others seeing him in a compromised position.

He swallowed and swallowed again. If he lost her…No, he shook his head. He would not lose her, ever, and tonight when they were home from the party he swore that he would make her understand exactly what she meant to him and why.

Chapter Fifteen

T
aris led Beatrice into the Davis soiree, his hand across her own.

‘I seldom attended these sort of outings until recently,’ he said to her as they came into the ballroom.

She smiled. ‘What has changed your mind, my lord?’

‘ You by my side.’ His eyes softened as he said it.

‘A lovely compliment,’ she returned.

‘Oh, I have many more, Beatrice-Maude. Later tonight, if you would let me, I could share them with you.’

‘Later tonight?’ she queried with a laugh. ‘Is that a promise?’

‘Indeed.’ The humour in his voice was easily heard. ‘And may I say that you look very beautiful this evening.’

‘You can see me?’

‘Imagination has its advantages.’

‘Such as?’

‘In my mind you are wearing the gown drenched in perfume that I found you in after returning from London.’

‘Rather revealing at a country ball?’

‘And your hair is down, floating in curls around your shoulders like the sirens on the rocks at Li Galli.’

‘If you heard me sing you might choose another analogy, my lord.’

‘Boudicca, then, of the Iceni, leading the Ancient Britons against the Romans?’

‘With poor Nero and his legions such an easy target!’

When they had both stopped laughing, she brought her fingers along the edge of his cheek.

‘Taris?’

He was very still and in the amber of his eyes she determined a vulnerability that she had never seen there before.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For making me believe that I am nearly beautiful.’

‘Ahh, Beatrice,’ he returned and held her closer, ’to me you are very much more than that.’

An hour or so later Taris sensed that something was not right. He felt it in the air around him, and in the tension inside him.

Leaving Bea with Emerald and Ashe, he went with Bates on the pretence of retrieving his glasses from his cape.

Normally he would have simply sent his servant, but tonight the prickling sense of unease that he so often had had in his years as an intelligence officer under Wellington was strong, and he needed the silence to listen. As he sifted his way through the crowds, the intuition that had saved him on the Continent was heightened here and intense.

As they gained the entrance hall he heard a muffled thump followed by a distinct groan. Bates drew away, his footsteps easily heard on the marbled flooring, and then another noise followed the first.

‘Bates?’ When his servant did not answer, Taris released the diamond points of his ring before unshackling the handle of his cane.

‘Bates?’ He tried again, feeling a shadow on his skin and a bristling sense of danger. Reaching out, he tried to fend off whatever was coming at him and the glancing angle of a hard wooden object skimmed the flesh on his forearm in a heavy well-aimed blow; a baton if he should make a guess, but his initial twist had been enough to escape the worst of the jolt. The scent of bergamot was strong.

Radcliff! He was here? Raising his sword, Taris slashed before him, but all that was left was air.

Panic settled across calmness as he crouched to his servant on the floor at his feet. Another man lay beside him. Both were out cold, but still breathing.

God. Now the clerk would be after Bea!

Standing, he made for the noise in the room he had just left, running full into a door left half-open. On the rebound his fingers glanced across a pillar he had felt a few moments earlier and, gaining direction, he continued on, the feel of the wall against his palm and then the door. The warmth generated by a great amount of people led him onwards, and in the sludge of grey he determined shapes.

Someone swore at him as he bumped against a hand holding a glass, but he strode past, calling Beatrice’s name as he went. Not softly either. Another person’s foot almost tripped him up and he struggled to keep his balance, slamming into a plant that he had not seen and knocking it over.

No longer careful or camouflaged.

Years of restraint were lost in that one single moment of imagining her being hurt and as people came within his sphere he made no attempt at apology, their loud exclamations ignored completely as he made his way further inside.

‘Beatrice?’ Nothing else mattered now save finding out where she was, though without Bates at his side Taris had little idea of where that might be or of the objects in his way. A chair stopped his progress and he turned to the left.

‘Beatrice-Maude?’ His voice was louder, the cadence hardly recognisable, and the band that had been playing at this end of the room wound down into silence as he continued to shout. His breath came in thick bands of fear and he widened his eyes in an attempt to see something more.

Ghosts of grey blurred into blackness, ephemeral and unrecognisable, the darker shadows of walls giving him at least a clue of the boundaries in the room. Beyond that, bands of sombre murkiness lingered, the detail of the chamber completely lost.

‘Beatrice? Where are you?’ His unsheathed silver blade caused those around him to scatter.

‘Wellingham has a sword. He’s gone bloody mad.’

The sound of screaming made the hair on his arms stand up and the back of his neck crawl.

‘Bea?’ Had Radcliff got to her? Was he pulling her outside even as he searched hopelessly through the haze?

One man tried to stop him, but Taris made short work of the fellow, the fop’s ineffective jab no match at all for a soldier trained in the art of warfare for over six years. He felt others move back from him, whispering, the footfalls of people afraid.

‘Taris?’ Ashe’s voice from afar, the sound in it almost as desperate as his own. Relief surged through him.

‘Asher, can you see Beatrice?’ The room seemed larger than it had all night, and still there was no response from the only one he sought.

‘Bea. Beatrice-Maude, where are you? If you touch her, Radcliff, I will kill you. I swear I will. Ashe?’ Another shout to his brother, who sounded closer.

‘The clerk is here?’ Asher’s tone sounded exactly like his own, and the noise of those in the room lessened, as though they too were suddenly cognisant of further threat and waiting for it to charge at them from any quarter.

‘Beatrice?’ He tried to disguise panic, but couldn’t.

‘To your right. We are over here, Taris.’ His sister-in-law’s voice and then finally Beatrice.

‘Taris?’ Her question was filled with worry. Closer and closer. The whirl of blackness made him pant, the sweat on his brow building and then she was there beside him, her hands threaded around his arm and the smell of violets welcome.

‘I thought I had lost you. Radcliff is here.’ He gathered her in, sword at ready. If anyone came close he would kill them, he swore that he would. The grey sludge of nothingness clung to his fear and anger made him shake. Only they in the room against the world!

‘Taris. He is not here. I cannot see him here.’ Beatrice’s reason was calming.

‘You are sure?’

‘He is not here.’

The roar of the crowd came back and the thrump of his blood beating in his temples lessened. When Ashe and Emerald joined them, he lowered his blade and tried to find a normal breath.

‘He’s gone. The bastard was here, but now he has gone.’

‘You are sure it was Radcliff?’

‘I could smell him.’

‘Are you drunk, Wellingham?’ Lord Davis’s voice beside him voiced the query.

‘Not…drunk.’ He could barely get the words out, the rush of relief making him feel light-headed. ‘I believe that there is a man here who might hurt Mrs Bassingstoke and I would protect her. He has already knocked out two men.’

A hum of conversation erupted.

‘Describe him for them, Bea,’ he ordered and was pleased when she began to talk, giving him a moment to try to collect himself.

Beatrice felt his heart beating hard against her back. His arms had not released her and she stood in the middle of a roomful of strangers all looking at her.

Well, at Taris, were the truth to be told, because he appeared so dangerously and wildly magnificent with the scar across his eye and the sword in his hand, threatening anyone who made the mistake of placing themselves between them. Even Ashe stood his distance and waited. For reason!

‘He is a very tall and thin man with light brown hair and a small moustache.’

She peered around as the others did, but Radcliff was nowhere in sight, either in this room or in the next one.

‘I am sure he has left,’ she said more quietly to Taris and because of it he released her. Still, he held her hand as though he would not let her out of his sight.

She smiled at her choice of words. Out of his touch, more like, the whole evening taking on an importance that almost brought her to her knees.

For a man who hated to draw attention to himself tonight had been a revelation. Taris Wellingham had not only shouted across the room for all to hear, but had shielded her with his own body when he perceived the threat as ominous.

A declaration?

Perhaps he had not said he cared for her yet, but actions spoke louder than any words. Her fingers curled into his and stayed there. Safe. Right. Dependable.

Asher and Emerald next to her completed the guard. A family who would stand at her side as no others ever had before.

When Bates came up to join them, the bump on his forehead was raw and bleeding.

‘Did you see who hit you?’ Taris asked as he realised his man was standing beside him.

‘I just saw the baton. Presumably the same weapon he used on the footman, who is now being tended to by the housekeeper. It was a constable’s baton.’

‘The policeman who helped me off the street said he had lost his baton that day.’ Beatrice wished she might have kept that piece of information to herself as Taris swore soundly.

She noticed Bates had given him back the cane’s wooden cover and saw how well the sword was sheathed within it, the silver ball forming part of the hilt of the weapon.

To each side of them a line of people had formed, the interest on their faces undisguised.

Taris, however, seemed unaware of any of it as he took Bea’s fingers and placed them in the crook of his arm.

‘We will follow you out, Bates,’ he said and the small party walked as one to the waiting conveyance.

At Falder they sat in the small blue salon and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

‘The man must be crazy to think to attack us there.’ Ashe had a glass of wine in his hand. Emerald sat beside him with an identical glass.

‘I am not sure he meant to,’ Taris interjected. ‘I think we surprised him. If I were to guess I would imagine he was waiting for when we left to attack. But when he saw there were only two of us and that in the darkness he had surprise as an advantage, he took his opportunity.’

‘Bates will have a damn headache in the morning. You were lucky he didn’t go for you, Taris.’

‘He did.’ Rolling back his sleeve, Beatrice saw a large discoloured lump on his forearm, the skin broken by the force of the blow. ‘I felt him there—’ He stopped, tilting his head as though trying to remember something else.

‘Not all bergamot,’ he said suddenly. ‘Hops and mead. The smell of hops and mead.’

‘The Dog and the Boar?’ Ashe was on his feet.

‘At Kenworth.’

Taris turned with his brother and before Beatrice had a chance to say goodbye they were gone, calling men to join them.

Emerald had not moved, though she took a large swallow of her wine before beginning to speak.

‘The Dog and the Boar is a tavern five miles from here which has rooms for travellers. It makes its own special type of mead.’

‘The one that Taris could smell?’

‘Exactly. If Radcliff is there he doesn’t stand a chance.’

‘They would kill him?’ Horror made her whisper.

Emerald laughed. ‘Worse. When they finish with him he might wish that he were dead.’

‘He could be waiting for them!’ The danger of it all made her voice shake. ‘He could have others with him!’

‘I think our men can hold their own.’ Emerald’s reply held no sense of any fear.

‘Are you always so certain?’

Emerald began to laugh. ‘You think that of me when I could say exactly the same of you.’

‘The same?’ Bea frowned.

‘Your discussions! You manage your salon with the acumen of one long used to people and the subjects you put forward are not for the fainthearted. And yet you allow all an opinion, no matter how unusual.’

‘I was not allowed my own for so many years that I suspect it is now a calling to hear those of others.’

‘Are you never fearful that such debate might get out of hand?’

‘It is London. What harm could my patrons truly do?’

‘Crucify you with words, for one.’

‘The opinions of those here at Falder are the only ones I worry about.’

‘Lord. No wonder Taris wants you by his side, Bea. Together you might rule the world. I hope that he doesn’t take you off to Beaconsmeade too quickly.’

The conversation whirled again out of kilter. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Tonight was the first time that he has ever forgotten to hide his lack of sight from others and that was because of his fear for your safety.’

‘Or perhaps for that of our child.’ Bea had not meant to say it but it slipped out. Unbidden.

‘Which explains your penchant for weak tea?’

‘Anything else makes me feel ill.’

‘Have you wondered why a man who is pursued by every eligible miss in London has no other offspring, given that he is now almost thirty-two years of age?’

‘Perhaps he has been careful?’

‘Or celibate. Before you he barely noticed women and when he inherited his estate, believe me, there were many vying for his attention. You sell yourself short by proclaiming that his interest lies only in this child, for I can see that you love him.’

A single tear traced its way down Beatrice’s cheek. ‘I do,’ she returned, no longer able to hide anything. ‘More than life itself, for he has saved me by letting me be me.’

‘Then when he returns tell him how you feel, but be warned. The Wellingham men are not prone to using much poetry in words, so listen for them in other ways.’