A Most Delicate Pursuit (14 page)

Heart racing, he couldn't help gasping when he felt the raw, naked center of her nestle upon him.

“By the gods, woman,” he gasped and very nearly lost himself in the process. The urge to spill into her was almost more than he could stand.

“Wait,” she commanded him. “Don't give into it just yet.”

His breath caught in his throat.

His body spasmed beneath her but he held himself together.

“As my lady requests,” he said, though it took all of his effort to do so. “But I caution my lady not to wait too long. I'm only a man, after all.”

He could say no more because this time it was Bea claiming his mouth, kissing him deep and surely with the intention to drive him beyond the edge of his senses. This was new and exciting and his body came alive, as if she'd set him afire. With every kiss, caress, and pinch she gave him, his body responded with pure delight and unquenchable need.

She nibbled his chin, suckled his neck, and then bit by bit drove him nearly mad with every stroke.

“Please,” he cried out. “I can't stand much more. And we must be careful,” he panted, “lest I lose all control. It will soon become impossible to hold back…”

“I see. You've been so good,” she breathed, “to hold your own pleasure until after mine.”

He nodded. “I do try,” he hissed.

“Very well. But first, I have a question to ask you.”

His mind froze. “A question?”

Somehow he felt as if his very life depended on his answer, his body close to exploding, his mind beyond emotion.

“Everything depends on your answer,” she said, her voice strained and echoing the need he felt as well.

“Ask your question, and be damned to the consequences.” He grunted when she pulled away from him.

“Michael Carver,” she breathed above him, “will you marry me?”

Beatrice couldn't believe the words that came out of her mouth. How natural it had come to her, to ask such a thing. She felt him tense beneath her and really, she couldn't blame him. Not only had she killed their romantic playfulness, she'd buried and covered it with ash. Her own heart nearly stopped beating in her chest and her stomach twisted riotously.

There was no denying what her heart wanted now. She had to know before she could spend another minute with him.

Surely he would refuse her. How could he possibly want a woman who'd been ruined from the start and then who now freely gave herself to a man without any thought of propriety or decency? She was tainted and used goods and she knew to her soul that no man would ever really want her.

So she waited above him, breathless and wanting, preparing for the sting of his rejection. There were so many ways he could refuse her. Her thoughts swam around frantic in her head like an overfilled barrel of fish.

Seconds passed before Michael spoke. Then, as if awakening from a dream, he gently caressed her cheek.

“I will marry you, sweet Beatrice. Or not, as you desire. I will go with you to the ends of the earth and back again. I will make my home in your heart and live there until I live no more. And, if ever there is a day that you bid me to leave, I will go and trouble you no longer. I will be full, having loved you for whatever time you grant me.”

Bea swallowed. “Marry me, Michael. Marry me and give your heart and I will give you mine.”

She kissed him then, deep and long, pouring herself fully into him.

When she pulled back, he took her hand and placed it on his chest, just above his heart. “My heart beats for you, Beatrice. I think it always has.”

She smiled. “It's odd, but I know this is the right choice. Still, I can't help but be a little sad at saying goodbye to the woman who would have struck out on her own.”

“Who's saying you can't? Go to America, Beatrice. But go with me instead.”

She sat up. “Really? You'd leave London?”

“I'd leave it all and never look back. You need only give the command.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then, to America we shall go.”

“Indeed. The only question is, when do you want to have the wedding?”

Bea chewed her lip. “I'd almost forgotten about Bainbridge. The sooner the better, I think.”

He grinned. “Then you'll be happy to hear that your stalwart brother-in-law is on his way here with a special license this very moment.”

Shocked, Bea sat up. “What do you mean?”

He saw her suspicions rise like the tide of a full moon. He had to set things right or she'd cast him off and he'd lose her forever.

“I mean that Ash was most determined to get you married. Whether to me or not, he'd already had plans to get you married. I did tell him you were far too smart a girl to get yourself leg-shackled to a poor sot like me.”

“I see.” She licked her lips. “That does sound like Ash.”

Michael was careful with his next words. “Do you still want me?” he asked, though he was careful to not ask if she still wanted to marry him, because he simply didn't care. Married or not, he wanted to be with her and would do whatever it took to stay with her.

“Yes,” she said, and he suspected that she knew as well as he that they'd crossed a threshold that neither of them could step away from.

“Good,” he said, pulling her back down to lie in his arms. “Because I can't imagine life without you.”

“I do love you.” Bea kissed him again and reveled in the feel of him beneath her.

“And I have loved you since the very first moment we met,” he said.

“You have? Why didn't you say so?” Bea didn't want to tell him that she'd been pining for him since the night of Caro and Ash's engagement.

He looked at her then, his eye wandering over her for a moment before he spoke. “Because everything in my life has been spoiled, Beatrice. My father's hatred, my mother's abandonment, my lost fiancée, my wife…” He took a breath. “I didn't want to spoil you as well. It's a big step I take, opening myself to you like this. I can no longer deny what I feel for you. But, for the life of me, I can't help the fear of bringing disaster upon you.”

Bea shook her head. “That won't happen. I refuse to let anything ruin our happiness.”

He let out a breath and Bea delighted in the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I do believe that if anyone can stave off ruination, Beatrice, it's you.”

“Good. Now, I command you to make love to me, Michael. I shall wait no longer.”

He laughed and pulled her into his kiss. “As my lady commands…”

“Mmmm,” Beatrice moaned after their lovemaking. “I swear, I could stay in this bed forever.”

Michael stretched beside her. “You may do whatever you like, my love.”

“No, there are things to be done and putting them off won't make it any easier. I've got a dozen letters to write, a wardrobe to assemble, and I know I must look a fright.”

“You look beautiful.” He laughed. “But I understand. I'd wanted to take you around the grounds in the morning, but, my friend Braden Winegood is touring the area and has stopped for a visit.”

“You mean Ash's friend from the army? The Viscount of Waverton?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes. He wants to have another go at Old Walter.”

“Old Walter,” she said. “You mean that deer that everyone goes on about?”

“He's the finest and meanest buck in the territory. Any man who could take him down would become a local hero.”

“I've heard Ash speak of him many times. The beast is legendary.”

“You won't mind if I go with him? Just for the afternoon, I promise.”

Bea smiled. “You're asking for my permission? I thought men dictated what was to be done and women bowed to their will. And yet, you allow me to decide. I find that most curious and at the same time very pleasing.”

“Many a man might disagree and suffer the arrows of an unhappy lady.” He laughed. “But as you'll find out, I'm not most men.”

She sat back and studied him for a moment. “No. You're not.”

“So, I can go?”

“I can occupy myself for the afternoon, although I don't see what's so sporting about shooting a defenseless animal.”

“He's not as defenseless as you'd think.” Michael laughed. “Managed to outsmart every hunter who's ever traversed this forest for over a decade.”

She sighed. “Off with you, then, as long as you don't mind if I take the side of Old Walter. It's my hope that he dodges your arrows for another day.”

Michael laughed and pulled her into his embrace and kissed her again.

“I'll return and give you a proper thank-you then.”

“Blasted man,” she said as she watched him fall asleep. She'd gotten herself in a boil now, for certain.

Despite her best efforts not to, Bea had changed.

And Michael had not. Oh, the true man had been hidden beneath layers of guilt, pain, and fear, she was sure of it. But there was so much more to him. She knew that by confessing her love to him, she not only set herself free, but him as well. By accepting him into her heart, she had saved them both.

Though she'd known the public Michael Carver for two years, did she really know him at all? One moment he seemed to be an angel and the next, the devil himself. Worse than that, Bea didn't know which one she liked better.

“Oh, the scoundrel.”

“Are you ready, my lord?”

Michael looked at his reflection in the cheval glass. The valet was right on when it came to choosing the best attire for any occasion. He now looked quite impressive in his hunting ensemble, complete with a dark brown jacket and trousers, and black Hessian boots polished to perfection. He'd have to thank Ash at the first opportunity.

“There you are.” Braden Winegood, the Viscount of Waverton, had just arrived earlier that morning and was on his way to London. He was passing through after visiting one of his distant relatives in the south.

“Braden”—Michael nodded to his valet, who brushed his jacket one last time and left them—“are you sure that you want to go hunting so soon? Didn't you just finish a round in the north?”

“I did, but those paltry lands are nothing compared to the Great Forest. I swear, this lodge has vexed more than any woman I've ever met.”

Michael laughed. “Because you haven't met the right one.”

“And you have?” He stepped back. “Something's changed about you. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were happy.”

“You have always been very perceptive.” Michael snorted. “There's no hiding from you.”

“So, you offered for Her Grace's sister-in-law and she accepted?”

Michael grinned. “Not exactly. She asked me to marry her, and I accepted.”

“Truly? Then this is a day for celebration. Break out the champagne and we'll throw a fete that will raise the countryside.”

Michael held up his hand. “Not yet.” He motioned his friend to the dressing room door and the two of them set off down the hall. “I adore Beatrice. She's beautiful and has a quick wit. I love her.”

“By the gods, you have gone mad.”

Michael shook his head. “We're to be married as soon as Ash arrives with the license.”

“You have been and ever will be a fine soldier, Michael. I salute you.”

“What the devil are you on about?”

His friend shrugged. “You set out on a campaign to marry Ash's sister-in-law and prevailed.”

“It wasn't like that,” he started and then thought better of it. Why did anyone need to concern themselves with his business after all? “Well, it was in the beginning, but then things changed.” He scoffed. No good trying to explain it.

“Truly, I'm not judging you, my good man. I'm applauding you. You've managed to net the most difficult woman in all of Britain.”

Michael turned to his friend, his curiosity peaked. “Why are you so concerned about my marriage? Haven't you got worries enough of your own?”

Braden gave him a grin. “I've no more worries than most.”

Michael followed his friend to the stairs, wondering what the man was about. Was he “checking in” on the happy couple for Ash? It wouldn't be unheard of. Beatrice was his sister-in-law, after all.

They reached the main floor and headed toward the front entrance. “I've already had the groomsmen ready the horses and bring them to the courtyard.”

It was to be a simple affair, both of them hunting with bow and arrow with the hounds. He'd been hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Old Walter. But now, after hearing Beatrice's thoughts, he decided that a sighting would be enough.

“I've only to choose among the available young women,” Braden said as they walked to the courtyard.

“What's keeping you single?” Michael asked as they mounted their rides. “After all, a decorated young man such as yourself, a viscount even, is quite the catch.”

“It's not as easy as you'd think.”

Michael let out a breath and steered his horse into the woods. “Nonsense. Why drag your feet?”

He gave Michael a long look. “The eligible women you speak of bore me to death. I can't bear the thought of the daily drudgery of being with one of those shallow, thoughtless muffins for the rest of my life.”

“Shallow? That's a bit rude, isn't it?”

“I know. But I've made the rounds, you know. This baron's daughter or that lady so-and-so's niece. I have nothing in common with any of them. My love of hunting puts most women off. They know nothing of fishing or fowling. Nor do they care. It's all about parties and Sunday rides and fashion. All the things I detest.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “If I'm forced to have a wife, she needs to be a simple girl who will keep to herself and allow me the freedom to pursue my interests as I will.”

It was all Michael could do to keep from laughing, though he knew of his friend's serious nature.

“My young friend, I fear you are too immature to appreciate the qualities to be found in a good woman. One day, I hope you'll see your error. But either way, I wish you good luck in your pursuit.”

A long silence spread between them as they rounded the bend, quiet as they watched a doe scamper through the brush. Michael thought to raise his bow, but just as he did, the animal looked up at him, her eyes wide, the color of midnight, and her nose moist with dew. Just then, her calf scampered up to her, dancing on spindly legs, faltering as it poked its mouth beneath her.

Michael felt Braden lift his bow, but he put his hand upon his friend's sleeve. “Not this one,” he whispered. “She's too young for us, anyway.”

“I don't understand. Are we not hunters?”

Michael gave him a serious glance. “Yes, but we hunt for only what we need. Separating this young one from its mother is not wise. Let it live.”

He heard Braden put down his bow. “Such things never seemed to bother you before. What is it?”

Michael looked at his friend. He, like their other close friends, Ash and Jeremy Horton—the army surgeon who'd pulled them back from the edge of death on many occasions—Braden knew him better and could read him to his very soul.

“I'm worried for Beatrice,” Michael said. “The sooner we're wed, the better.”

“You're not wrong there,” Braden said, kicking his horse forward. “I'd heard that Constance Merriweather arrived at Slyddon this morning. You're not letting her back into your bed, are you? I mean, you wouldn't be the first man to keep a wife and a mistress…”

“Of course not. No one knows of her devious machinations more than I. She definitely means to stir up trouble.”

“Then ignore her.” He paused a moment, taking the reigns to Michael's horse. “She's a devious witch, that one. We all knew it. And when you took up with her, we tried to warn you…”