Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (11 page)

Beth's nerves gave a shock of warning as she saw where her words were leading. "You would assuredly fail, my lord."

She only got out a squeak before she was in his arms and his mouth covered hers. His arms imprisoned, so struggle was pointless, but he did not hurt her. One hand cradled her head, making it quite impossible to twist away, and his lips, soft and warm, only pressed enough to stifle protest. Beth was totally helpless. She had always known in theory that men were strong; until this moment she had not realized how strong.

Then his tongue slipped through to touch against her lips. She tried to protest and found it against her teeth, tickling against the inside of her upper lip. A quiver of something passed through her. She was alarmed by a sensation of dizziness. With sudden resolution she parted her teeth, prepared to bite. His mouth pulled back and he laughed.

"Life with you is going to be intriguing," he said, eyes gleaming. "And dangerous."

Beth realized with despair that she had somehow stirred his interest.

Still holding her, he said lightly, "Will I have to search our marriage bed for a stiletto?"

"If you handle me like this, my lord," said Beth fiercely, resuming her struggles and getting nowhere, "there will be no such thing. Let go of me! Being an admirer of Mary Wollstonecraft does not mean I give my favors to any man who grabs me!"

He froze. "Do you know what you are saying?" he asked softly, and Beth realized how he had interpreted her words.

Beth swallowed and pasted a bold smile on her face. "Of course I do." If she could make him believe this she'd be sent back to Miss Mallory's tomorrow.
In one piece
? she wondered.

One large hand gripped her chin as if to prevent her from turning away. His voice was hoarse. "How many have there been?"

Beth tossed her head saucily. "If you will give me a list of your conquests, my lord, I'll oblige you with a list of mine."

He released her so suddenly she staggered. "God!"

Beth turned and leaned on the balustrade, feeling sick. Could she go through with this? But only a few moments more and she would be on her way home. What could the duke do if his son simply refused? And he would refuse. No man would stand for this.

Her shoulders were caught and she was spun roughly to face him again.

"I don't believe you," he said.

"Why not?" It was an honest question. Beth needed to know why he doubted her if she was to act convincingly.

"You and Miss Mallory run a select ladies' seminary. You could hardly succeed in that with a smirched reputation."

Beth schooled her features to project insolence. "I am discreet, my lord."

It was hard to look bold. The man looked positively murderous. He was searching her face as if reading a book. Beth tried to look as an unrepentant exponent of free-love would. Had not Mary Wollstonecraft's daughter, Mary, recently eloped with Percy Shelley—and him a married man? The marquess need never know that this escapade had horrified both Miss Mallory and Beth.

Suddenly he pushed her hands behind her, took her two slender wrists in one hand, and held them there. Terror shot through her at this bondage, and she twisted wildly. She was shocked to find she could not break that grip.

"Don't struggle," he said coldly, "or I'll have to hurt you."

He wasn't going to hurt her? She'd thought he was going to beat her at the very least. His words might reassure, but his expression did not. Her heart was racing, and it was all she could do not to beg for mercy.

If he wasn't going to hurt her, what was he going to do? She supposed a bolder woman would know. Could he see her pounding heart which seemed to be somewhere up at the back of her throat? She longed to take her words back, but that would be to lose her chance of freedom. She could not stop the trembling, however, which was shaking her whole body.

He pressed his hard body against her, against her legs, her hips, her breasts... It was an intolerable invasion of privacy.

God in Heaven, was he going to rape her?

"Why are you so frightened?" he asked silkily. "You surely know I do not intend to hurt you, my dear."

"I am outraged," Beth forced out. "I am furious!"

His free hand came up and stroked her cheek. Beth flinched. "Why, I wonder? In what way were your other lovers so superior to me?"

Beth saw a weapon and grasped it. "Does your pride smart, my lord? They were men of sensitivity and intelligence, and they were
my own choice."

"I'm sorry," he said with a lightness which did not hide the fury in his eyes. "By my code it is not intelligent or sensitive to take the virginity of a lady without marriage, yet one of those paragons must have done that."

"It was
given
my lord," she spat back. "Given. It was not taken, nor was it sold for a few guineas or even a wedding ring!"

He caught his breath in shock. His hand momentarily tightened on her wrists so that she could not stifle a cry of pain. The pressure immediately lessened, but she could feel in the air around them the intensity of his control and the peril of its loss.

What now? Beth knew something else was going to happen. Something terrible.

His face was a stony mask, but his eyes burned. He watched her fixedly as his hand slid down the side of her neck to her shoulder. She quivered. He moved his imprisoning body away and Beth took a deep breath of relief. Then his hand moved down to settle cupping her left breast.

Gasping, Beth started once more to struggle. Surely any woman, no matter how experienced, would struggle when so handled against her will. It was impossible to break his iron hold.

Beth remembered her purpose and stilled herself. Victory was so close, and she must not quail now. What was he watching for? What would betray her ignorance and virtue?

She felt his thumb begin to rub lightly over her breast, over her nipple. Even through her light stays was a shocking sensation. She closed her eyes before they betrayed her desperation. Extraordinary things were happening in her body.

Instinct told her she could improve her impression of boldness by responding, by kissing him perhaps. He would hate a display of wanton lust. But she simply could not, nor did she know how to do it right.

Instead she wanted to scream and fight. She wanted to escape. If she screamed, his parents would come and stop this torment but would that gain her end?

She forced herself to stay as still as her trembling body would allow as she racked her mind for a way to use this moment. To use it to give him such disgust of her that he would never consider marrying her, no matter what his parents wished. And quickly. She could not endure much more of this without betraying something.

She remembered, long ago, eavesdropping on a conversation between two of the middle-aged daily maids who cleaned the school. They'd been talking of their husbands and the marriage act, and though Beth had scarcely been able to understand them, the words came back now.

"He's a good enough man, my Jem, and lusty, but he does so like to make a meal of it, and there's times I'd just rather have it done and get me sleep." Now she had a glimmer of what "making a meal out of it" might mean.

Summoning up her courage, and with a prayer to whatever deity looked after poor beleaguered women, Beth opened her eyes and drawled, "Do you always make such a meal of it, my lord? Can't we just get on with it?"

He released her and stepped back. There was in his face all the revulsion for which she could wish.

They stared at each other in silence. His face looked white, but that could be the moonlight. Beth thought not. She wondered if she'd live to make the journey back to Miss Mallory's.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked bluntly.

"Of course not!"

"Can you be so sure?"

Beth clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. "Yes."

He took a visible breath. "Will you give me your word," he said carefully, "not to... not to indulge your passions before the wedding. I think there are enough bastards in this affair already."

"Really, my lord—"

"It's a little late for offended delicacy, Miss Armitage. I want your word." His lips tightened with distaste. "If your needs are so great they cannot be controlled, I will, with reluctance, accommodate you before the wedding. Any child you bear will be mine."

"You still wish to marry me?" asked Beth in horror.

"I never wished to marry you, Miss Armitage," he said. "Now I would give a fortune not to have to touch you. But I have no choice, for though I would give a fortune, I will not give up my heritage. My father will leave me only the property without the means to maintain it unless I marry you."

A great chill washed over Beth, and she wondered if she would faint. "So you are helpless, too," she whispered, wondering how she could undo what she had done.

"But not powerless. I will not acknowledge bastards, and I will not be cuckolded. I think I am able to keep you satisfied. I will beat you silly and lock you up with a keeper if you show any sign of going to another man. Do you understand me?"

Sick with horror at what she had done, Beth could only whisper, "Yes."

"Now get out of my sight." He turned away from her.

Beth stared at his back. "My—my lord...."

"If you value your skin, Miss Armitage, you will leave."

Beth looked at one tightly clenched fist on the cold stone balustrade and fled.

If the duke and duchess, sitting quietly reading, noticed anything untoward in Beth's appearance, they did not show it. When she said she wished to retire after a tiring day, the duchess rang the bell by her hand. One of the footmen came to escort her back to her rooms while another went to inform Redcliff she was needed.

Beth would have forestalled that if she had known how, but she simply endured the woman's ministrations. Then alone in the dark room she assessed the bleak situation.

The duke had said he could compel his son, but she had not really understood him. Now her fight for freedom had backfired disastrously. The marquess had not been insensitive to the awkwardness of her position and had been disposed to be kind. She had destroyed that and in a way that would shame her to her dying day.

How could she even face him tomorrow, never mind attempt to undo her work and find a basis for marriage between them?

* * *

The duchess watched the young woman leave the room. Miss Armitage had a great deal of control, but it would seem the time alone with Lucien had not gone well. She waited for her son to reappear so she could better judge what had occurred. Eventually she realized he was not coming.

"William, I worry about this plan of yours," she said softly.

The duke looked up from his book. "They will deal well enough in time."

"Did you look at her when she passed through this room, William?" she asked. "That poor girl looked bruised."

The duke stiffened. "You think he struck her?"

"No, of course not. Bruised in spirit. But will you care," she asked angrily, "if he beats her as long as she gives him sons?"

"I have assured Elizabeth of her welfare," said the duke, gazing at his wife. "I will not have her hurt."

"So what are you going to do if he mistreats her, William?" she challenged. "Forbid the marriage? You can't do that and still achieve your purpose. Or will you bring them together for occasional matings, carefully guarded like a dangerous stallion and a prize mare?"

"Yolande!"

She leapt to her feet and challenged him. "Tell me. What are you going to do?"

He rose too, color on his cheeks. "A fine opinion you have of your son, madam! From knowledge of the father, no doubt."

"His manners have been learned from you, Belcraven. And his cruelty."

"You
dare accuse me of cruelty?"

She turned away and ran her hands through her hair.

To the duke she looked like the girl he had married and adored. Her figure was still shapely and in the candlelight her hair looked guinea-gold.

"Yes, cruel," she said softly, still facing away. "I never realized until you proposed this plan just how ruthless you could be. All these years I have thought you suffered," she said, turning to stare at him with tear-filled eyes. "Now I see you were merely obsessed with punishing me."

With that she fled the room. Too fast. Straight on the thought he realized how stupid it was to worry about the servants. Why should they not for once see the family as human beings, not remote demigods without emotions or flaws?

Punishing her? She thought he had been punishing her all these years? All these years of anguish and self-denial.

He remembered wanting something sharp to break their crystal prison. Was this what he wanted? To be hated? To see Yolande cry?

Seeking an outlet, the duke's anguish turned to rage and found a focus. It was all Arden's fault. Everything was Arden's fault, and now he could not even manage a simple dynastic marriage with grace.

The duke stalked out onto the terrace to castigate his heir but found the place empty in the cold moonlight. Control slowly returned. The girl had been tired after her journey and nervous in a strange place. If there had been trouble, it had doubtless been over nothing and soon smoothed over.