To Be Seduced (9 page)

He marched Bethany up the stairway to the landing and led her inside the rooms. The lock grated behind her and she turned in alarm. Richard’s glance flickered over her before he placed the key on the mantel over the fireplace. She relaxed slightly. Whatever awaited, he had no intention of imprisoning her, at least.

Lane had apparently busied himself in his absence. Firewood lay ready to light in the fireplace and two wineglasses sat next to a bottle on the gateleg table. She swallowed suddenly, reminded of the purpose of a wedding night.

He removed his cloak, hat, and gauntlets. Ignoring her, he flung himself over to the window and stood looking down on the street. Anger still rolled off him in waves. She remained where he left her, immobile in the center of the room, still wearing her cloak.

He turned to her, heat overtaking the coldness in his eyes and face. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

She did not raise her eyes as he deliberately crossed to her. “Look at me.”

She lifted her chin. Fear made it hard for her to breathe, but she was determined to accept the consequences of her behavior. He seemed to understand, for he nodded.

“Good.” Her heart lurched at the near whisper, but she stood her ground. “You used me.” She flinched at the hissed accusation, but did not deny it. She fixed her gaze on the wall opposite as he moved to the table and poured a glass of wine. “You humiliated me in front of a group of strangers.”

“Did I?” She turned to look him in the eye as she rallied. “You used me. As you will continue to use me because the law gives you that right. Along with my money.” She laughed bitterly.

“Will you think of my shame every time you buy another woman with the money I brought you?” She reached up to untie her cloak but Richard grabbed her wrist.

“No,
dear wife
. What did your Master Barker say in his little homily? ‘A faithful wife is her husband’s treasure…’?” He circled her as he spoke, still angry but with an underlying growl that vibrated along her skin. He came to rest behind her.

“Let me see this treasure I’ve married.” His breath puffed against her neck as he reached around to untie her cloak and pull it from her shoulders. “Let me discover how best to use her.”

As he grated out the last words, Bethany’s heart pounded and her stomach knotted. She had known he would be furious, but it never occurred to her just how he might react. She forced her legs to step away from him, but he caught her back against him with an arm around her waist. She froze as she felt herself pulled against his entire length from shoulders to feet.

She inhaled sharply as he slowly removed the whisk covering the neckline of the dress and let it slip to the floor. His warm mouth pressed against the back of her neck as his fingertips lightly brushed the creamy tops of her breasts. As always, her body betrayed her at his merest touch. She shut her eyes, her skin tingling under the deft onslaught.

“Yes,” he murmured in her ear, igniting a darker heat deep within her. “My wife. Mine. To do with as I wish.”

She gasped, half in pleasure at his touch and half in annoyance at his arrogance. Trying to escape the intoxicating sensations he aroused in her, she stepped away.

He did not stop her, only permitting his hands to run over her shoulders as she moved. Her relief turned to alarm when she felt a tugging at her back.

“Thank you, my dear.” He laughed softly as he unlaced her bodice.

“Stop that!” She glared at him over her shoulder but he ignored her at first, focusing instead on her rapidly loosening dress. When he raised his eyes to hers, Bethany sucked in her breath and her mouth went dry. No one had ever looked at her with that kind of hunger.

“We’re man and wife now.” He kept his gaze riveted to hers even as his hands worked her stiff bodice open. “Whatever games you play with me, I still have a husband’s rights.” He turned her to face him fully. She tried to resist, but he drew her close and cupped her face in his hands.

“More to the point, it allows both of us to fully enjoy the delights of the marriage bed.” His lips feathered over her face until they met hers. She sighed as his tongue slid into her mouth and retreated, teasing her to respond. She did, brazenly opening to him in invitation. He deepened his onslaught, his tongue mating with hers again and again.

When they at last broke apart, she rested her forehead on his shoulder, breathing heavily. She had never denied her attraction to Richard. But her mother had drilled into her the precept that all men wanted wives of impeccable morals, even if their own characters lacked the same quality.

She raised her head. “Do you want me to experience these—delights you speak of?”

His eyes gleamed under hooded lids. “Yes, little Puritan, I do.” His mouth curled in a small smile as he stroked her arms beneath her chemise. Startled, she looked down to discover that he had coaxed the sleeves of her dress down. His cravat had unaccountably loosened, too.

She stepped back from his wandering hands but he followed and eased the apricot cloth all the way off. Mortified, she stood before him with her bodice bunched around her waist. He took her hands in his to prevent her from covering herself back up.

“Coyness doesn’t become you, Bethany. Not the way your body answers my hands and mouth.” He swept his gaze over her bosom, still held in place by her stays. Bethany gasped when he followed the direction of his eyes to kiss and nibble her neck. The rustle of cloth formed a background to the feel of his hands stroking over to her waist and hips, unfastening yet more ties. With a jolt, she felt the sudden rush of air when the twill dress and her petticoat slid off her body. Her stays loosened as he worked at their laces.

Richard breathed heavily as he held her at arms’ length. His eyes blazed green with desire as he looked at her fully. “No more games. I want you; you want me.”

Her knees buckled slightly at his hoarse declaration. As he had at the inn, he easily picked her up. She buried her burning face in his shoulder as he negotiated their way into the bedroom.

To her surprise, he set her carefully on her feet at the foot of the bed. She wondered if he had changed his mind until he tossed his cravat to the floor and unbuckled his belt. He kept his gaze on her face as his coat and waistcoat rapidly followed. Seeing him in only his shirt, breeches, and boots, she swallowed but did not move.

“I just don’t know what to do.” She feared her agonized confession fell on deaf ears as he drew her stays off without a word. As he stared at her nakedness under the thin cloth, however, he finally spoke.

“Follow me, Bethany. Just follow me.” His own chest rapidly rose and fell as he lifted his hands to her hair. She felt the soft strands falling one by one as he freed them from their pins. He stroked through the mass, spreading it down over her breast, then letting his fingers circle the soft peak beneath her chemise.

She gasped as the bud hardened and elongated under his touch. The soft intake of breath seemed to break his control. A moment later, she was caught in a firm embrace, his mouth slanting over hers as he played with her breast, lifting and squeezing it. She clung to his muscular arms, moaning his name as his thumb flicked the peak until it ached.

His other hand rested on the small of her back, pushing her more fully against the hard ridge straining the cloth of his breeches. He delved into the tender cleft of her buttocks to press her against the stiff flesh.

He whispered incoherently as he slid her up onto the bed. His hands dropped to the hem of her chemise and worked it up and off as she lifted her arms to assist him. He sat beside her long enough to jerk his boots off his feet then stood to untie the neck of his cambric shirt.

Suddenly aware of her nakedness, she moved up to slip between the sheets, but he stopped her, placing a hand on her ankle.

“Stay. I’ve wanted to see you like this, spread out on my bed with naught but that glorious mane to cover you.” Mesmerized under his hot-eyed stare, she stayed as he asked, watching her husband’s body emerge from his shirt and trousers.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. Muscles bunched and released under the smooth skin of his shoulders and arms as he pulled the fine muslin over his head. She licked her lips at the sight of his chest and flat stomach. A dusting of light brown hair gathered into a furred ridge that led below the waist of his trousers. She knew it was terribly immodest, but she could not take her eyes away from it as he undid the waist of his trousers and kicked them off.

Her mouth went dry as she saw the jutting staff of flesh between his thighs. Her gaze flew to his. She must have looked alarmed because he smiled reassuringly as he hoisted himself onto the bed beside her.

“Aye, this is what all the fuss is about.” To her relief, he only propped himself on his elbow as he spoke. Perhaps her hair was the sign of a wanton after all, for she felt no shame knowing what they were about to do. Or perhaps she responded to the desire in his eyes.

“Don’t be frightened.” He ran a hand down her body, his warm palm stopping on her thigh. She licked her lips and nodded.

“I’m not, very much,” she whispered.

“Sweet girl.” He brought her to him, kissing and stroking her, whispering his want for her. His hands wandered freely over her skin, setting her blood to rushing. When she hesitantly reciprocated, running her palms over his back and shoulders, he encouraged her, urging her to touch him as she wished.

She shivered when she felt him gently grind his rigid manhood against her belly. The erotic play set a fire in her most secret places. She caught her breath and instinctively rocked against him. At his groan, she froze.

“Did I do something wrong?” She watched as he lifted her hand to kiss her palm.

“No, your touch pleases me, especially there. ’Tis just that I am too ready and you’ve not been adequately prepared.” He rolled her onto her back, and began his onslaught in earnest.

Kissing his way to her breasts, his mouth closed over one stiff peak and suckled her while his fingers rolled the other. Bethany arched her back and cried out at the fiery sensations snaking over her body. He took advantage of it by adjusting his body to lie intimately between her thighs.

Her first impulse was to wriggle out from under him but he tightened his arms so she could not escape. Slipping his hand between their bodies, he slid his fingers into the curls protecting her nether lips. Two long digits caressed the damp slit from bottom to top, coming to rest on a tender nub Bethany had never known existed.

As he alternately circled and stroked it, Bethany could only gasp in pleasure. Embarrassing moisture gathered between her thighs, but Richard used it to help his wicked fingers glide faster against her. She felt as if she was being taken up a cliff, higher and higher. When he thrust his fingers into her most secret mouth, she lost control and leapt off, but instead of falling, she flew. Light exploded inside her head as she cried out and helplessly thrust her hips against his hand.

She had barely come back to earth when he lifted himself over her and positioned his member against her damp opening. Sotted with passion, she looked up at him and nodded.

He eased into her, holding her still against his invasion.

“Be easy, love. Easy. Don’t be frightened, ’twill only hurt a little, this one time.” His velvety voice soothed her as he entered farther, inexorably opening and widening her. There was some hurt, but not much, and she eventually relaxed to accept him.

Then he pulled back and, with one swift plunge, sheathed himself completely. She cried out at a painful tearing sensation deep within. Tears welled at the shock, and he bent to kiss them away, apologizing for hurting her so.

He stayed still within her for several seconds, panting, while she adjusted to him. He moved very slightly within her and she braced for more pain, but none came, only the same deep ache. She felt him shaking with the effort to hold back.

“Richard?” She pushed against his chest so he would look at her. “It does hurt, but not so very much. Please, take your pleasure.”

“Oh God, I shouldn’t. But you feel so tight around me, love, I can’t resist.” He resumed his movements, and to her surprise, the soreness became more tolerable. She relaxed enough to let her hips meet his.

He lost control then, holding her close and thrusting into her at greater speed until he climaxed with a roar of pleasure. She pressed her face into his shoulder at his tremors of release, gasping at the sensation of his hot seed exploding into her.

He collapsed on top of her for several minutes, but she found she relished his weight. When she kissed his shoulder, the salty taste of sweat stayed on her lips. Breathless, she stroked a hand down his damp back and toyed with his hair, running her fingers through the long locks.

“Oh no!” She looked up at the canopy as a thought occurred to her.

“Mmmmmm?” Richard, still unmoving, tickled her ear when he spoke.

“What if we got blood on the coverlet?”

He stretched then and reached behind him to fold it down. He slid between the sheets and pulled her with him until her back cuddled against his front.

“We’ll worry about it later.” She felt so very comfortable that she decided to do just that.

Richard floated just below the surface of wakefulness, lost in his favorite dream. The King had awarded him great honors at Court while a bevy of women vied for his favor. He smiled when he felt a woman’s body beside him as he drowsed. Perhaps the female he’d found the night before brought him these visions of plenty.

Since his mistress had given him over for the charms of a wealthy man, he had amused himself by occasional amatory ventures with women in want of a lover for only a night or two. He knew he could enjoy more of his favorite exercise if he cast his net beyond women of his own station, but he had no wish to contract the pox.

Judging from his body’s satisfied languor, he’d found a partner who enjoyed sporting in bed as much as he. Wanting to return to his enjoyable dreams, he scooted closer to whoever slept beside him. His hand stroked over a slim waist and rested against her flat stomach.

He sighed happily, enjoying the feel of warm satin skin beneath his palm. A familiar stirring between his legs started as memories of her heated response and fiery hair drifted through his mind.

With a sharp inhalation, he opened his eyes. Even in the dim light of the shuttered chamber, that redgold hair blazed across his pillows. Shocked fully awake, he lifted his head.

He spied no more than her hair and the edge of her cheek, but her deep breathing and utter repose told him she slept on. They had made love again last night after sleeping awhile.

Richard realized he had started playing with the soft tendrils spread before him and stopped. He should not have touched her after that first time. But crawling back into bed after shuttering the window, he had found her sleep-warmed body irresistible.

Rolling to his back, he placed his hands behind his head, away from temptation. Fiery hair and heated kisses ran through his mind as he tried to ignore his increasing arousal. How could such warmth hide so cool a calculating heart, he wondered. God’s teeth, he stood rampant yet again at the thought of her. Who would have thought a sheltered virgin would respond so ardently to his caresses? Or that she would stir him so easily.

He needed to get up—or rather out of bed, he thought irritably. A nearby coffeehouse served steak and ale for its customers, even in the morning. Disagreeable for a bride to awake alone after her wedding night, he reflected, then hardened his heart. The sooner the girl accustomed herself to solitude, the better.

He would answer her deception with indifference. Let her enjoy the money she’d maneuvered out of him, he thought savagely. She’d have naught else from him, not his affection or his company.

He now possessed the means to match his breeding. He could afford a London house large enough to prevent them from setting eyes on one another. Not to mention such gentlemanly accoutrements as a fine wardrobe and a well-connected mistress. He would take a box at the theater and gamble in the most exclusive hells while his little Puritan sat home and read sermons. A voice in the back of his head told him he was cruel. He quashed it.

Then it reminded him that he must breed an heir. Myriad carnal visions of his wife presented themselves to him at this thought. Unnerved, he eased out of bed and silently dressed. Certainly he planned to get her with child, after he mastered this overwhelming need of her.

Now, however, he needed to flee before he made yet another attempt to reproduce. He told himself the reason he stood staring down at her so long was to assure himself she would not awaken.

Much later, Bethany opened her eyes. She wriggled her toes and smiled to herself, despite the soreness at the juncture of her thighs. Secretive conversations among married women had taught her that a woman’s conjugal duties could hold the miseries of hell or the delights of paradise. Hers, it appeared, fell into the latter category.

She twisted around, surprised to discover Richard’s side of the bed deserted. Propping herself on one elbow, she listened for sounds of life from the other room. Only calls from peddlers in the street greeted her ears. She hoped he sought something for their breakfast, as she felt unaccountably hungry this morning.

Cold air hit her body when she threw off the coverlet. Gritting her teeth against the chill on her naked body, she grabbed her chemise on the floor and donned it. She recalled with some embarrassment that her bridal dress had not made it to the bedchamber. Richard had acted most improperly in removing it, but he had taken as much pleasure in her body as she had in his.

Growing up on an estate dependent on animal husbandry for food, she had grasped the mechanics of the marriage act. But learning that the joining of two bodies could produce such delightful sensations proved a revelation to her. He had hurt her no more than necessary the first time, and had shown her only ecstasy the second time he had taken her.

His tenderness relieved her; he had not taken her financial maneuverings well at the Barkers’.

Which reminded her that Mistress Barker had sent a man over yesterday with her clothing after she had selected her wedding dress. Finally able to focus on something beside the bed, she noticed a linen-covered bundle plopped on the chest. Opening it disclosed her still-meager wardrobe and two beautifully embroidered pillowcases. A second look at the linen cloth revealed that it was a bed sheet, a wedding gift from the Barkers.

Humming a country ballad under her breath, Bethany folded and placed them on the bed, along with her dresses and petticoats. She noticed a smaller paper-wrapped package tucked on the floor beside the chest with the name of the linen draper inscribed on it. It contained several necessities she had ordered.

Thankfully, she dressed once more in the green velvet, but with a fresh chemise and a lace kerchief. She brushed out her hair and coiled it under a fetching little cap, warmth suffusing her body at the memory of Richard’s face and hands buried in it the night before. She broke into another song as she opened the shutters and straightened the room. She did cringe slightly when she ascertained that they had, in fact, left a small bloodstain on the coverlet.

She had just finished rearranging Richard’s clothing to make room for hers in the press when she heard Lane’s angry voice rising above a sudden babble on the stairway.

“I’ve got no orders to let anybody into his lordship’s rooms and that’s flat.” Bethany came to the door between the two rooms as muffled voices argued with the coachman’s bellowed protest.

She wondered if a tradesman who did not know of Richard’s improved circumstances might be trying to collect money owed him. With her fortune available, they could pay everything off, but going through his piles of bills would take some time.

“Stand aside, fellow. I have a warrant sworn out against Lord Harcourt, and if you don’t cooperate with the law, I’ll arrest you as well.” She muffled her intake of breath with her hand. Someone wanted to arrest Richard for debt!

Lane sounded unimpressed with this threat. “Garn, go on then and look. You’ll find that paper of yours useless.”

She twitched her cuffs into place. Perhaps if she offered to pay the sum in question that day, the merchant would drop the charges. She did not know whether to be glad Richard was not here to be carried off to prison or vexed because she had to deal with an irate debtor.

She shook her head. Mother certainly commented often enough that men always disappeared when one particularly needed them about. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Her mother’s unmistakable voice rang out from outside the front room.

“Useless! I think not, you miserable creature. Sergeant, seize him. He looks to be the sort who would help abduct an innocent maid and steal her money. He shall hang alongside his master.”

As the handle on the outer door rattled, Bethany fled into the bedchamber. Wildly, she contemplated diving under the bed before common sense prevailed. That would be the first place Mother would search for her. Contemplating whether she might possibly fit into the chest, she peeped through the cracked open door into the front room to gauge how much time she had to hide.

To her astonishment, her mother had brought reinforcements. Lord Rothley looked on as Mistress Dallison harangued a plump stranger in the uniform of a constable. And to Bethany’s rising indignation, there, dressed in his inevitable black, stood Mr. Ilkston!

Lane, the constable, and Lord Rothley exhibited varying degrees of alarm at her mother’s tongue-lashing. Mr. Ilkston merely echoed her sentiments, nodding his head judiciously as she spoke.

His lordship, midway between the peace officer’s stammered confusion and Lane’s phlegmatic scowl, stopped asking her to reconsider her opinion of his nephew and stooped to gather something up from its place on the floor.

He held up the apricot twill gown. Bethany closed her eyes in dread.

“Madam, it may be that your daughter is not here after all.” He gazed at the pale orange material. “This garment does not look quite like her normal style.”

Mr. Ilkston instantly retreated from its contaminating influence. Her mother shrieked and flew at Lane. The officer, demonstrating unexpected courage, interposed himself before she could harm the coachman.

“You sinful creature, tell me where you and your vile master have secreted my daughter!” She grabbed the offending dress and scolded the sweating official. “Lord Harcourt no sooner absconds with my poor girl and her money than he starts to spend it on harlots, and you protect his servant?”

As her mother poured invective on the head of the quaking man, Bethany swallowed and took a deep breath. She hated her mother’s rages, but she could not leave poor Lane and a complete stranger to her mercies. Reminding herself that she was safely married, she pulled open the chamber door.

“Please be so good as to put down my dress, Mama.” Regrettably, her voice came out in a breathless squeak instead of the tranquil tones she wished, but it did serve her purpose. Everyone in the room turned to her.

And then they all winced at her mother’s outraged screech. “Bethany Dallison, what mean you by that?”

She gripped the doorway for support but stood her ground. “I mean that you are holding my dress, and I should not like it to get wrinkled.”

At this evidence of her immorality, Mistress Dallison tottered to the settle and collapsed onto it. Bethany took advantage of the distraction, catching Lane’s eye. With a glare and a jerk of her head, she silently ordered him out of the room. He tugged his forelock and winked. Then, moving remarkably quietly for such a large man, he backed out, pulling the door to behind him.

Bethany returned her attention to her unwelcome guests. Her mother sat croaking about the waywardness of daughters while Lord Rothley assured her that he would force his nephew to do the right thing by Bethany. Mr. Ilkston delivered a convoluted speech in which he praised Mistress Dallison’s maternal sentiments and expressed concern at her daughter’s lack of morals. The constable repeatedly pointed out that he could not arrest a man who was not present.

Like it or not, it was past time to take a hand in the matter. Bethany squared her shoulders.

“Mother!” Her raised voice cut through the din. “I wrote you that I am quite safe.” An explanation occurred to her. “Did you not receive my note?”

Ignoring the dismay in her voice, her mother looked her up and down scathingly. “Safe? Is it your idea of safety to parade yourself in this cesspool of depravity dressed like a wanton? And in the company of a rake like Lord Harcourt.”

Mistress Dallison’s exclamation moved Lord Rothley to defend his family’s honor. “I beg your pardon, madam, but that’s a harsh thing to say. My nevvy’s no worse than most blades in town.” He scrutinized Bethany. “Your daughter looks proper enough in that rig. Besides, the letter did say she went with him of her own accord.”

She looked at her mother. “If you received it, then why are you here?” Her confusion grew by the minute.

Lord Rothley answered. “Why, to fetch you back home, of course.” He frowned grimly. “I shall stay behind to have a few words with that nephew of mine.”

She thought she had misheard him until Mistress Dallison spoke with awful dignity. “Despite the shame you have brought on my head with your elopement, I am prepared to shelter you until such time that you can be delivered into the hands of a governor more capable than I of strengthening you in upright and modest behavior.”

She shook her head, mystified. “I concede that my behavior did not conform to propriety, but just how do you plan to fetch me home? I do believe Lord Harcourt has a say in that.”

Behind her, Mr. Ilkston spoke firmly. “Who knows what lengths a libertine will go to in order to persuade a foolish girl to abandon all moral scruples? Despite that, I have consented to uphold the agreement with your mother to marry you once this unfortunate connection with Harcourt has been severed.”

The constable, observing Bethany’s dumbfounded expression, helpfully explained that the warrant had been issued on the grounds that she had been taken against her will for the lucre of her substance.

Ignoring the truth of this statement, Bethany crossed her arms and stood her ground. “Whether I was or not, I am pleased with my situation now.” A thought occurred to her. “And Lord Harcourt acted no more shamefully than Mr. Ilkston—he just didn’t have your permission, and didn’t agree to give you any of my inheritance.”

Her barb reached its intended targets. Her mother scolded her for pertness. Lord Rothley and the constable both pricked up their ears at this piece of news, while Mr. Ilkston’s face flooded red with rage.

“Speak for yourselves, but I’ll not be made a fool of by an impudent girl.” He grabbed Bethany’s arm and yanked the resisting girl toward the doorway. “You shall come back at once while we sort this coil you’ve dragged us into. My lord, if you would be so good as to inform your coachman that we are coming down?”

Instead, Lord Rothley protested his manhandling her. Disgusted at his poor-spirited response, Bethany’s erstwhile betrothed demanded that her mother help remove Bethany from the premises.

She approached reluctantly, but did manage to get hold of her daughter’s other arm. They tried to compel her to the door over the objections of the other two men.