Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (41 page)

"Yet you threatened to beat me. Twice." She didn't mention it, but the blow which marked her face hovered between them.

They walked a little way in silence before he responded. "I suppose I consider force appropriate on occasions, but I have no excuse or justification for what happened tonight." Thoughtfully he added, "It worries me considerably." After a moment he continued, "As for my threats, I threatened to beat you—though I don't know whether I could do such a thing—when you seemed about to bring scandal into the family. If it helps, I'd threaten to beat a man in the same situation and be more likely to do it. Does that make you more equal, or less?"

"I don't know," said Beth frowning. "It's late and I'm tired. That must be why you can justify violence to me. It can't actually make sense."

He stopped and wrapped his arms around her. Right there in the street. Beth's eyes felt gritty and her head was not very clear. She leaned against him gratefully. "Hitting you tonight made no sense," he said softly. "That was pure barbarian, and out of control as well. Nothing like that will ever happen again, I promise. Even if you take a thousand lovers—Beth!"

She realized she had drifted off to sleep. She looked up and shook her head to gather her wits. He lifted her into his arms.

"You can't carry me all the way home," she protested.

"We're three doors away, you goose."

"Are we just going to walk in the front door?" she asked. "There's a little side door where they deliver the coal."

"I'll be damned if I'll sneak into my own house," he said as he put her down carefully. "It would be better if you walk in, though. Otherwise, the footman will probably think you're drunk. Robin," he said to the hovering boy. "Off you go. I'll tell Dooley to let you sleep in."

Lucien put his arm around Beth and encouraged her up to the big, carved doors. "What will the footman think?" she asked.

"One of the advantages of our position, my love, is that we don't have to care." Beth had proof that she wasn't yet fully a member of the highest aristocracy when she felt her cheeks color in the face of the young footman's astonishment.

He was obviously startled by their appearance, on foot in the dead hours of the night, particularly as no one had been aware of the marchioness leaving the house. Of course he said nothing other than a polite, "Good morning, milord, milady."

Beth made it to her bed. Just. She was three-quarters asleep by the time Lucien had taken off her gown and shoes. Sadly she remembered the events of the previous evening.

"I meant what I said in that note," she said sleepily.

"Don't worry," he replied as he gently stroked her hair back from her face. "Tomorrow night nothing is going to prevent us from eliminating our anxiety, I promise you, my darling."

* * *

Beth awoke the next morning when Redcliff drew back the curtains to let in bright sunlight. The maid bustled over with the tea tray and stopped, staring.

Beth realized she was in her petticoat, and she dreaded to think what her face looked like by now. What on earth should she say, particularly since the staff must know she and the marquess had returned to the house in the small hours of the morning?

"We went to take Miss Greystone somewhere, Redcliff, and I fell. Bring me a mirror, please."

One look was enough. There was a distinct purpling of her right cheekbone. "I think I'll keep to my rooms today, Redcliff," said Beth, trying to ignore the maid's disbelief at her explanation. She wished she had the true arrogance of a de Vaux and didn't give a damn. "Perhaps you can try to keep visitors away, too."

"Very well, milady. But it's a shame you didn't put something on that sooner."

Beth found she experienced only a slight twinge at eating her toast, so the damage could not be very serious. "Is there anything that would help now, Redcliff?"

"Well, some say vinegar and others witch hazel. I'd say the cosmetic pot would be your best chance, milady." The maid was stiff with disapproval. Beth wondered if it would be obvious to everyone she met that she'd been hit. It increased her resolve to keep to her rooms.

"Let's try witch hazel," she said. "I don't much care to smell of vinegar all day. Then you can buy me some face paint in case I have to go out later."

When the maid had gone, Beth recalled Lucien's parting words. They were going to eliminate their anxiety. She experienced the mix of trepidation and anticipation she had lived with for days, weeks even, but now anticipation was definitely in the ascendant. She knew, however, the sight of her bruise was going to upset him. He deserved to be upset, but she didn't want it to spoil the night. When Redcliff returned, she applied the witch hazel compresses conscientiously.

Beth was sitting at her desk reading, her cheek propped upon the pad in her hand when Lucien came into her boudoir. She hastily dropped the moist cloth and smiled at him, keeping her face turned slightly away. It did little good. He came straight over and took her chin to angle her cheek to the light. His lips tightened. He did not look well-rested.

"It would serve me right if you never wanted to be alone with me again," he said.

"How ridiculous," Beth said. "And most improper, too."

It at least elicited a twitch of humor. "Shy, are we?"

"I can't speak for you, but I would at least consider myself modest."

"'Ways without reproach, unadorned simplicity and blushing modesty,'" he quoted with a smile.

Beth knew she was making his words true by blushing even as she looked a question. She did not recognize the quotation.

"Ovid," he said with a triumphant grin. "The
Amores.
I rather suspected Miss Mallory wouldn't go quite that far in your liberal education."

"I'm surprised Harrow went that far in yours," Beth responded.

"Cambridge. There's absolutely no limit to what one can learn at Cambridge. Isn't it wise they don't allow ladies there?"

Beth had opened her mouth to plunge into this argument when she saw the teasing look in his. "Picking a fight, My Lord Marquess?" she asked sweetly.

He perched on the edge of her desk and took her hand. "It did cross my mind that if we had a flaming row and I didn't raise a finger it might restore your confidence."

"Do I appear nervous?" she responded and raised his hand to kiss it. "Forget it, Lucien, please. I know it will never happen again. Hopefully those circumstances will never occur again."

"But you have feared me from the first," he said, standing up and drawing her into his arms. "And see how right you were."

"No," she said, snuggling comfortably against him. "This has reassured me. Pushed to your worst you've hardly hurt me and you're so very unhappy about it."

His lips came down in a sudden, ardent kiss that spoke of contrition and caring. And desire. Beth was beginning to think of morning love when the door opened and Redcliff breezed right in.

"I got it, milady—Excuse me!"

The maid disappeared, but Lucien reluctantly drew back. "I actually came to excuse myself for most of the day, Beth. I'm supposed to be racing Viking against Stephenham's Major Grey over at Richmond. I'd much rather stay here with you, but all the arrangements are made and bets have been laid. Do you mind?"

"Of course not, Lucien," Beth lied. "But what about Clarissa?"

"There's no urgency," he said carelessly. "She's safe enough. Give it time."

"But what if her parents don't believe that I haven't seen her? What if they try to make trouble?"

He was all de Vaux. "Here?" he said in amazement. "They wouldn't dare. Have a peaceful, restful day, my love." He dropped a kiss on her lips. There was a wicked twinkle in his eye. "Have a long, restful nap in preparation for the night."

Beth's heart speeded. "While you gallop around on Viking all day?" she queried.

"Practice," he said blithely and made a quick exit.

Beth burst into laughter though she knew her cheeks must be flaming. Thoughts of the night wound around her, making her hot, nervy, and restless.

Her contentment with being secluded in her room evaporated. She needed action and fresh air. Still, she was reluctant to show her face in Society. When Redcliff returned, they experimented with the cosmetic cream, which did disguise the worst of the darkening. The maid then dressed Beth's hair with side curls. It was not a style she favored, but it helped with the concealment. The addition of a Pamela bonnet with a large bow at the side completed the effect. Turning from side to side in front of the mirror, Beth was sure her bruise was unnoticeable.

But where to go?

She flicked through her invitations and found none of interest. Then she went through the listings Lucien had given her. A talk by Professor Richards on his travels to China, a musicale at Lady Rossiter's, a reception for Mrs. Edgeworth. She had intended to go to that as she much admired the author of
Castle Rackrent
and
Tales of Fashionable Life.
She looked at the mantel clock. There was still time. Beth sighed. Today she could not do justice to such an interesting speaker.

She was interrupted by the duchess, who stared to find Beth sitting at her desk
en deshabille,
yet with a bonnet on.

"Redcliff and I were just trying the effect of a new coiffure," explained Beth with a straight face.

"Ah," said the duchess, studying the effect. "I'm not sure it is flattering though, Elizabeth. It makes your face look rather round."

"I was of much the same opinion myself,
Maman.
Is there some way in which I can assist you?"

"A tedious matter. Sir Peter Greystone was here asking for his daughter. Marleigh dealt with him, but he reported to me. It seems the silly girl has run away and they thought she might have come here."

Beth hoped her practice in dissimulation would hold up under the duchess's carelessly shrewd eyes. "Here?" she said. "They thought Clarissa was here? I can assure you she is not,
Maman."

"I did not see how she could be, and she did not visit here yesterday, even."

"But has she truly run away?" asked Beth.

The duchess gave a very Gallic shrug. "That is what they say, and one cannot imagine a reason for them to make such scandal over nothing."

"Well, I am very glad," said Beth, feeling she must stay in character. "No young girl should be forced to marry Lord Deveril."

"You are right, of course," said the duchess with a moue of distaste. "A horrible man. He called here, too, but Marleigh soon dismissed him."

For once, Beth thought, the army of servants had its advantages.

"Do you have engagements?" asked the duchess, glancing at the pile of cards in front of Beth. "I am to visit Lord Taberley's to see his collection of medieval jewelry. One of the best in the world, they say. Do you care to come?"

"Thank you, but no,
Maman.
I am a little tired and will have a quiet day."

The duchess looked at her with concern. "Are you sure you are well,
ma chere?
You seem so easily tired. Perhaps—"

"Oh, I doubt it," said Beth, reading the woman's mind.

"One never knows," said the duchess. "I gave birth to Maria nine months after our wedding."

"Er... I feel that is unlikely in our case."

"Oh," said the duchess. "I see. In fact, that is as well. You have plenty of time and once the babies come life changes." The duchess gave Beth a warm, perfumed kiss on the cheek—Beth was careful to turn her left cheek—before leaving.

Beth immediately pulled off the bonnet and undid the silly hairstyle. She then tried to settle to peaceful solitude. The day's edition of the
Times,
which she usually read with relish, could not hold her interest. Just more speculation about Napoleon's whereabouts and troop movements, all four or five days old. A fascinating article in the
Quarterly Review
on the Hapsburgs had no appeal. She looked at the clock a dozen times and the hands had hardly moved at all.

She picked over her luncheon, plagued by tantalizing questions. When would he be back? He hadn't said. Would he be home for dinner? There seemed a vast wasteland of time to be got over before even then. Would it be very bold if she were to order a quiet dinner to be served in her room for them both? Very bold or not, it was too bold for Beth.

The only thing to do, she decided in the end, was to go somewhere. She was not a prisoner, after all. She could visit the fashionable emporiums. The idea held little appeal, for she was still uncomfortable with spending large amounts of money on fripperies.

She could visit the Delaneys. But they were such perceptive people, and today she felt transparent as glass.

What she needed was a long walk to dissipate some of her nervous energy. Decided at last, Beth summoned Redcliff and dressed in a pale blue figured lawn gown and blue twill spencer which matched the high Pamela bonnet. She submitted once more to the curls down the sides of her face and the tower of white straw on top.

Looking in the mirror, she sighed. "This is ridiculous. In this bonnet I must be quite six feet tall!"

"It's all the thing, milady. And it's not as if you have to watch such matters with his lordship. He'd still be able to give you some inches."