White Lace and Promises (21 page)

“Damn.” He growled the word. “You are so deliciously wanton.”

The bed rocked again as he moved over. He touched her neck, brushed her hair aside, and his breath tickled her for a moment before he nipped at her neck. His erection, warm, velvet-covered steel, pressed against the crease of her bottom, rubbing teasingly. She arched and writhed, mindless words of need spilling from her lips.

He took hold of her hips and impaled her cunt, suddenly, savagely. White-hot lightning bolts of pleasure shot through her belly.

“Oh God, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she sobbed.

He grabbed the back of her hair, his lips fastened on her neck, and he thrust in and out of her, fast and furious. The tremors started deep within her, her cunt contracting harder than ever this time. He covered her mouth with his hand a second before the maelstrom of light, heat and energy swept her away.

* * * *

Grey panted, catching his breath after the furious outpourings of his ejaculation. He brushed her hair off the side of her face. “Beth, my darling.”

She didn’t respond. She barely
breathed
. Alarm cleared some of the haze from his brain. Had he been too rough, done her some harm? He caressed her face and his chest ached. What so often drove him to be so rough with this woman he felt so much tenderness for?

She stirred and gave a soft moan.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Christ,” he swore. The bathwater. How had they managed so fast?

He quickly pulled the blankets over her inert form, then buttoned his breeches, though he suspected there was no hiding that he’d thoroughly fucked his bride within the first few moments alone with her.

He grinned as satisfaction took hold of him. He’d fucked her in the beautiful gown. The sight of her in it had driven him insane with desire all day.

She was his. She was finally his.

* * * *

“Oh God…I want to die.”

Grey caressed Beth’s back with a light touch as another heave racked her body. Guilt sliced through him. He ought to have stayed by her side and made sure she didn’t drink too much. His legs cramped. He shifted his knees and rebalanced Beth’s weight across his legs. Her head hung over the pot on the bed beside him. How had they got into such a position? He couldn’t even remember.

He glanced at the clock. Four in the morning. About an hour of this so far. It was for things like this that he had employed Miss Fairchild, a woman with enough backbone and tact to deal with a young woman like Beth. To handle her and ease her way into her new society life. Certainly holding her head over the chamber pot would be a task better suited to a lady’s maid. And his own head didn’t feel well at the moment. He’d drunk a prodigious amount of champagne punch himself, on top of port and brandy. He longed for a cup of coffee and a cigar. To be alone with his thoughts after such an intense and emotional night.

However, he hadn’t been able to leave Beth.

“Oh, you must despise me.” Her words came out a miserable moan.

Tenderness overwhelmed him. He caressed her back and laughed softly. “A fine start you’ve made this night on your new life as a lady.”

Chapter Eleven

Beth eyed the pink roast beef with its perfect, crisp, browned edge on her blue and white china plate with a queasy eye. She’d got drunk on claret countless times before and once on Scotch, but never on sickly sweet champagne punch as she had last evening. But Mrs Hazelwood had admonished her that a lady drinks punch. The results had not been favourable. Grey had been most sympathetic and solicitous during those miserable morning hours.

She was still feeling quite wrung out. However, Jan had arrived and she couldn’t possibly have stayed in her chamber. That would have been too rude.

Now she glanced across the table at her new husband. Candlelight played on the angles of his face, making them softer than normal. After last night’s madness, he knew her for the wicked girl she really was. A girl who delighted in doing the dirtiest of things. That Grey had done them to her didn’t matter. He’d been drunk. He’d admitted it. And any man faced with a woman who enjoyed perversions would be too tempted not to partake. Joshua had explained it to her.

But, until last night, Joshua had been the only man to know her darkest secrets.

Now Grey knew.

“A lady lies passively and accepts her husband’s will.” Mrs Hazelwood’s words echoed in her head. Beth doubted that meant letting Grey bugger her with his tongue and fingers while she convulsed into a screaming climax.

Grey’s soft laugh echoed in her ears. “A fine start you’ve made this night on your new life as a lady.”

Oh, if only she could pass last night off as a drunken lapse, God, she’d do anything. Anything. But what if she couldn’t? What if she lost Grey’s esteem and respect? His affections would follow quickly. Her throat went dry and her stomach lurched. She dropped her fork to her plate. The small clang echoed in the dining room. She looked up instantly.

Looking far more mature than his age in a dark plum evening jacket and a haphazardly tied cravat, Jan turned his attention to her. His pale grey eyes raked her disdainfully. “You look green as a caterpillar.” He raised a brow. “Too much punch?”

Grey cleared his throat. “Jan,” he said sharply.

Jan’s sensual mouth quirked up at one corner. “When Father received that note from you, I was sure you were crying off. But I should have had faith in the power of Father’s money to always secure him what he wants.”

She looked down at her plate quickly, a heated flush spreading over her face. She might be lowborn, a servant’s bastard, but she’d never met such an ill-mannered young man in her life. Well, Jan was Grey’s son—she’d better let Grey handle this in his own way. She would never dream of trying to exert authority as a stepmother over a boy but six years younger than herself.

”That’s enough,” Grey said.

“It’s simple logic, Father. For what other earthly reason would any woman want to marry such a joyless gentleman?”

Silence fell over the table, a somehow deathly, tense silence.

Jan chuckled softly.

The little Beth had eaten threatened to sour and she looked away from her plate. “Please pardon me, I think I shall go lie down for a while.”

Grey held up a hand. “No, wait.” He looked to his son. “Jan, you owe my wife an apology.”

 
“I won’t apologise for voicing the simple truth.”

“Then you may leave. One wonders why you even bothered coming to Philadelphia for my wedding at all.”

Jan laughed in cynical tones. “Can’t you guess? I have run myself short, yet again. Some bad luck at cards. I had thought to play the good son and get in your better books, but I find I cannot stomach this farce another moment.”

Beth glanced up at Grey, open-mouthed. His dark brows drew together and he focused his gaze sharply on Jan. “Go, then, and pack your things.”

“Grey, don’t make him leave.”

Grey kept his eyes fixed on his son. “On your way back to Harvard, you may stop in Philadelphia and see Mr Heron. He will provide you with additional funds.”

“Well, you see, Father, I am not going back to Harvard.”

“You’re not?” Grey said.

Jan tossed his napkin to his plate and sat back in his chair. “I have been expelled.”

 
“Expelled?” Grey said tonelessly.

“Aye.” An expression of pure satisfaction crossed the young man’s face, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to voice these words.

“Why?”

“Because the stiff-necked masters have no sense of humour.” A smile curved Jan’s lips. “I suspect the dean’s letter is awaiting you on your desk, in New York.”

* * * *

“I couldn’t ask a mother to give up her child.”

Beth sat on the bed, watching Grey’s tall, broad-shouldered back as he stared out of the window.

“I allowed Juliana to take him with her to her father’s house. But I was young and foolish. I didn’t realise what it meant to let a son go to another man’s house, the distance it would create. I ended up with no power to discipline him or to have any say in how he was raised.”

“So why don’t you cut off his funds now?”

“Because I don’t want him dealing with moneylenders.” He sighed and turned to face her. “But let’s not spend our second night wed speaking of my difficulties with my son.”

He came to the bed, sat and pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Are you feeling better?”

“For the most part,” she said.

“Beth…about last night.”

She caught her breath and the chamber seemed to swirl about her. Her stomach lurched. “Last night?”

He looked down. His eyes glittered like silver stars and held hers captive. A burst of warmth, pure love, blossomed in her heart.

He caressed her cheek. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She glanced down and a shaky laugh forced itself up from her lurching stomach. “Oh, last night… Well, you see, I am afraid I don’t remember too much about it.” She smoothed her hand over his velvet banyan, feeling his chest muscles rippling beneath. His steady heartbeat. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. Oh, let her think of the right thing to say.

Please God, just let me pass last night off as something out of the ordinary. I’ll do anything. I’ll devote myself to being a true lady in every sense of the word. I just don’t want to lose his love.

“I’d had so much to drink.” She bit her lip and held her breath. And waited. What was he thinking? Why was he taking so long to answer?

Please God. Please, please, please…

“You don’t remember anything about it?” His voice held exaggerated hurt but his eyes twinkled. He was teasing her. Surely he wouldn’t be so lighthearted if he’d taken last night seriously.

Relief made her a little weak and she swayed in the circle of his arms. She was getting away with the subterfuge. She looked up at him and gave him a sultry look through her lashes. “I remember coming. I think. Maybe once.”

He bent and nipped at her neck. She shivered all over and laughed.

“Minx. Come once indeed. I haven’t given you your wedding gift yet.”

“I want you.” She stroked his cheek. “Only you.”

“Yes, I am yours, but I had no choice in that.” His eyes twinkled at her. “I want to give you something special.” He moved away, retrieved a piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to her.

It was the deed to a building with an address on Fair Street in New York City. Her name was on the deed but any property she owned in the world would now belong to her legal husband. It didn’t matter. She knew this was his way of saying this was hers.

She’d dreamt of someday having the leisure time to teach the piano to underprivileged girls. But she had never, even in her imagination, dared to dream of an actual school of her own.

“It has a slate roof and is made entirely of red brick, so it is quite fire safe,” he said. “It is three storeys. I’ll provide you with a budget—enough to buy pianos and equipment and to hire a staff. And it shall be your affair. I will not question what you do with the money.”

He was making it possible for her to enact her long-held dream. She choked up, unable to speak, so she went to him, wrapped her arms about his neck and put her lips to his. He drew her body close. He had given her and her family so much. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be beautiful from now on. She would make certain of it. She would prove herself worthy of his respect and love. Even the best gamblers made sure they played their hands well. She couldn’t slip up again as she had last night.

She would grow up. She would stop being a girl. Yes, she would become the very model of a lady.

Chapter Twelve

New York City, NY

November 1812

“If only Madison had waited!”

Mark Hunter’s voice grated on Grey’s ears. Yes, waiting might have saved them all thousands. The British had repealed the hated Orders in Council just two days after the United States’ declaration of war.

But what good did it do to continuously harp on the issue?

“Impressments alone were reason enough for us to go to war,” said the youngest member of their group, twenty-two-year-old Aaron Noble, a promising legal student Grey’s attorney Mr Roberts had recently taken on.

Thomas Watson laughed. “Ah, Mr Noble, you’re falling prey to Jefferson’s propaganda machine.” He turned to Grey and drew on his cigar, a thoughtful look in his eye. “How many mariners have you lost to British impressments? I mean in total.”

Grey twisted his mouth briefly. “Eleven.”

Watson turned back to Noble, “There, you see? The man has nearly forty vessels and he’s only lost eleven mariners to impressments.”

“Only eleven to British impressments. I have lost seven to the French,” Grey said.