Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) (2 page)

He heard a strange sound and cocked his head to listen.

Was someone moaning?

“There it is again,” he said.

“There what is again?” Alfred asked.

“Shh!” Beckett hissed.

The two men listened intently as the sound seemed to emanate from a pile of rubbish alongside the gutter. It sounded like an animal in distress. Beckett crept toward the source of the sound, and in the dim lamplight, he saw a bedraggled cat hunching over a pile of fish heads in the trash-strewn alley.

Beckett held out his hand to the animal, carefully moving closer to it. But as he neared, the skittish cat sprang away, revealing a sight that made Beckett stumble backward in surprise.

He saw the face of a young woman lying motionless, surrounded by a stinking pile of rubbish that covered her like a vile blanket. Her eyelids were closed and dirt smeared her cheek…but even in such a condition, she possessed an ethereal beauty that made his gut tighten.

A small bare foot stuck out from under a ripped sack. The girl’s only clothing was a dirty, damp nightdress, which was molded like a second skin to her body beneath. She looked like a doll that had been thrown away by a careless child.

A surge of protectiveness rushed through Beckett’s veins, and he fought against it. He didn’t want to feel anything for any woman, least of all this mysterious girl. And yet the urge to take her into his arms, to shield her from whatever had brought her here lingered. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her face.

“It looks like some unfortunate trollop has been thrown out for the night,” said Alfred. “Cover her back up and let’s go.”

“What?” Beckett demanded.

“You heard me.” Alfred stepped back and crossed his arms. “Let’s go. I’m tired and I’m wet, now leave the wench where she belongs, in the gutter.”

“Alfred, are you blind?” Beckett asked. “She’s not from the gutter. Look at her nightdress. It is exquisitely made. And besides, streetwalkers usually don’t ply their trade wearing only a nightgown and no shoes.”

He checked her pulse and found it strong.

“Perhaps, but what would you have us do, Beckett?”

“We can’t leave her here. God knows what might happen to her if we did,” Beckett said.

“Try to wake her and see if she’s alright. If she is, we’ll go on our way,” Alfred suggested.

Beckett touched her shoulder and gave her a little shake. “Miss? Miss—are you alright?” She gave no response. He checked her breathing and found it unencumbered.

Looking up at his friend he said, “She is unconscious, but I don’t see any other signs of injury. Perhaps she fell and hit her head. We must get her home. I’d call the doctor, but I don’t have any money to pay him. Now, you lift her shoulders and I’ll take her feet.”

Alfred groaned, putting his hands under the girl’s arms and lifting her upper body. Beckett took her ankles.

“This is a bad idea, old man,” Alfred warned.

“Your problem is—you never want to do anything heroic,” Beckett said.

“No,” Alfred corrected, “I never want to do anything utterly stupid, that’s all. I still remember how you insisted it was our duty as officers to save those kittens from Napoleon’s guns in Salamanca. It wasn’t enough that you’d rescued a convent full of virgins, oh no! You had to save their cats, too. I still have the scars from that little escapade. And then there was the cow that we helped to give birth—a very messy episode, as I recall.” Alfred shifted the girl’s weight and added, “And need I mention the irate goose who tried to peck us to death when we rescued its eggs from being Wellington’s breakfast?”

“Quit complaining,” Beckett said. “You couldn’t turn your back on any of those creatures any more than I could—just as you can’t turn your back on this poor girl now.”

The girl’s head drooped to the side. A mass of damp honey-blond curls fell away from her face and revealed a nasty bruise near her hairline.

The thin nightdress clung wetly to her body, so that it was almost invisible. Beckett wanted to be a gentleman and avert his eyes from this involuntary display of her charms. He wanted to ignore the effect such sweetness was having on his own body. He wanted to tell himself she was just another stray, like the swan he had found walking down the middle of the Strand, or the sick, weakened puppy he had nursed back to health. But she wasn’t.

Her innocent beauty had quiet an effect on him.

A coach turned the corner onto King Street and Beckett said, “Flag it down, quick.”

The vehicle slowed beside the curb and stopped, the black horse stomping its hoof impatiently. Steam blew from its nostrils into the cold, damp night. The two men gingerly placed their silent cargo inside, under the driver’s suspicious gaze.

“My dear cousin is ill,” Beckett lied. “Please take us to Number Ten, Covington Place. There we can properly look after the young lady.”

As the vehicle rumbled down the street, Beckett gazed at the girl across from him. What was he doing rescuing this strange girl in the middle of the night? This was no stray kitten he was bringing into his home. She could be anything from an innocent lost lady to a dangerous murderer, for heaven’s sake. And yet, he’d never been able to turn away a creature in need. But would he later regret this penchant for rescuing strays?

He wanted to laugh at himself. He already had so many regrets, what was one more?

Chapter 2

As the coach turned onto Covington Place, Beckett ran his hands over his face, trying to wake himself up. The coach came to a jolting halt in front of the townhouse, and Beckett stepped out. He reached back in to receive the girl’s feet as Alfred lifted her shoulders. Finally, they managed to get her out and into Beckett’s arms. Alfred paid the coachman while Beckett headed up the walk.

The ornately carved door of the townhouse opened silently, as if by magic. Beckett’s valet, Hartley, stood behind it as they entered the foyer. Since Beckett could only afford one manservant, the long-suffering Hartley assumed the duties of butler, as well. Sitting on the man’s shoulder was Beckett’s African gray parrot, Caesar. Both looked at Beckett with interest.

“Who is the lady, sir?” Hartley asked.

“A poor woman in distress. Let’s get her upstairs.” With a nod to the valet, Beckett commanded him to light their way.

“
Hello. You’re a pretty bird
,” said Caesar.

“Hello, Caesar,” Beckett replied as they trudged up the staircase. He said to Hartley, “What’s he still doing awake?”

“
Still awake
,” said Caesar.

“I put him to bed, sir,” Hartley explained, “along with Master Monty, Miss Cleo and the puppies—as you instructed. But Master Caesar simply would not keep quiet. He kept screeching and jabbering until I could take no more. I’m afraid he does that when you are out late at night, sir.”

The familiar clicking of twenty toenails accompanied them on the stairs, and Beckett glanced down to see his mongrel, Monty, bounding up beside them onto the landing. “Come to see the new addition, eh, Monty?”

The big brown dog panted up at him in response, his thick, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“What luck, Monty,” Alfred whispered. “Your master has found you another playmate!”

“Hartley, we’ll need fresh linens for our wayward miss. She’ll sleep in my room tonight,” Beckett ordered.

“Your room, my lord?” Hartley asked, an eye-brow raised.

“Yes, my room,” Beckett said. “And don’t look at me like that. I’ll sleep next door in the sitting room. I want to keep an ear open if she awakens. She may be frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings.”

Hartley nodded and said, “This must certainly be the most interesting stray you’ve rescued, my lord. But I’m afraid she smells as bad as the rest of them put together.” He walked down the dark hall with Caesar still on his shoulder.

Beckett looked at the unconscious girl in his arms and took another whiff, turning up his nose. “My word, I think he’s right.”

Alfred nodded, stifling a yawn. “Why can’t you rescue sweet-smelling females?”

“I’ll try harder next time,” Beckett replied, adjusting the girl’s weight in his arms.

With Monty at his side, he walked down the short hallway to his bedchamber. Once inside, he carefully laid the girl’s limp body on the huge bed, while Alfred followed him and lit the candles.

The girl’s hair spread around her shoulders like a halo on the pillow. Beckett pulled the covers around her and watched her for a moment. No, she certainly wasn’t a trollop, so what was she? Who was she?

Hartley hurried into the room carrying linens, towels and blankets, then returned again with a pitcher of warm water. Crossing the room to the washstand, he poured the water into a blue porcelain basin.

“Thank you, Hartley. That is all,” Beckett said, and the valet took his leave.

Beckett set the linens on the edge of the bed. “She may not awaken this evening—we shall try to solve the mystery tomorrow.”

“Well, Beckett, I shall leave you to it,” Alfred said. “Alas, I’m not interested in playing nursemaid this evening. I’ll just have a look at her tomorrow when she’s cleaned up.”

Beckett felt his eyes grow heavy as he stared at Alfred. “I wonder who she is, really….”

“You always did love a good mystery, old man.” Alfred started for the door. “I’m going downstairs and have myself another drink. Then I am going to sleep in my usual spot: The Blue Room.” Alfred chuckled, saying over his shoulder, “You know, I just thought of something—if you ever call her ‘my pet,’ it won’t be the least bit of a lie.”

The door closed and Beckett turned his attention to the unconscious girl lying in his bed. Normally he might have been more excited at the prospect of seeing a beautiful woman in his bed, but he was so tired, he just wanted to go to sleep.

Monty scooted himself closer to the bed and put his chin on it, his big, black nose sniffing energetically at the myriad smells covering the unconscious girl. His tongue snaked out and licked her hand.

“Monty, no!” Beckett said, frowning. “I need you to act as chaperon. It is your duty to make sure nothing untoward happens to our guest, understand?” The dog continued to look at the girl as if she were the sweetest-smelling thing he’d ever encountered.

Beckett tapped his chin and surveyed the situation. The fact remained that someone needed to get her out of that damp, soiled nightdress and dry her off. There were no female servants to ask for assistance. The cook wouldn’t arrive for a few hours yet, and even so, would balk at such a request.

There was nothing for it—he would have to do it himself.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d undressed a woman with his eyes closed, Beckett told himself, though he’d usually be kissing the woman at the same time.

He felt his way to the buttons down the front of her dress. There were so many of them, and the damn things were as tiny as pebbles. This was not going to be a quick job….

When he was finally through them all, he eased the garment from her shoulders. It would be all he’d need for her to awaken right now, while a strange man was undressing her. How on earth would he explain that?

He worked as quickly as he could, peeling the dress off her warm, wet torso and down around her legs. Beckett reached for one of the blankets Hartley had brought to the room and covered the girl with it. He opened his eyes, sighing with relief that he’d managed to complete such a sensitive task while behaving as properly as he could.

She moaned and turned her head on the pillow.

Beckett leaned over to check her pulse and found it still strong. There seemed to be no problem with her breathing, and now that she was out of the cold, her color was improving.

He wondered what had happened to her. Had some dastardly man drugged her…? He’d heard of such things before, though the thought of it disgusted him. Hopefully, the morning would find her in a better way.

He had known other women before…hell, he’d even fancied himself in love with Cordelia. And yet there was something about this mysterious girl which got under his skin.

He yawned again and crossed the chamber toward the adjoining sitting room. The sofa there would suffice. He beckoned to Monty. “Come on, boy.”

Panting calmly, the dog showed no signs of movement.

“Monty, come,” Beckett commanded. In response, the dog moved to the foot of the bed and flopped down on the floor.

“You’re right, Monty,” Beckett said. “You should stay here and protect her. Good boy.”

Beckett made his way toward the sitting room sofa, weariness dragging at him like a clinging child. Resting the candle on the table, he struggled to remove his boots, which hit the floor with a dull thud.

Finally stretching out on the firm sofa, Beckett let sleep take him where it would.

Chapter 3

Beckett rolled over, his eyes still closed. Half-awake, he flung his arm out and it landed on something soft and warm. It felt like a…

Please, please don’t let that be what I think it is.

Beckett opened his eyes.

It was what he thought it was.

A warm, naked breast. And attached to the warm, naked breast was a warm, naked woman.