White Lace and Promises (19 page)

She kept staring at him and rocked back on her heels, her face pale, her eyes wide as the ocean. “Oh God…”

Her soft voice cut into him sharper than any knife or dagger could. Tears, huge and fat, went rolling down her face. The same beautiful face that had haunted each and every one of his dreams while he was away. She brushed them away with her arm. An ineffectual motion that made his heart twist in his chest.

Beth was sure her heart and everything else vital and integral to her being had just expired within her. She would die when he left today and walked out of her life. Forever. But she had known it would end like this. Oh, bugger, hadn’t she known it would end just like this? They were too ill suited.

“Beth.” His tone was softer.

Her heart leapt at that softness. What if… But no, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to gamble her entire future on. Better to let things end now. “Oh, just go. It is what you really wanted all along.”

He was at her side in an instant. “That’s not true.”

He touched her, his fingertips lightly flirting over her bare arms. Cautiously. As if she would push him away if he pressed her any more than that. He leaned closer. She dared not breathe, else the hope burgeoning in her would blossom into something too joyful to be borne once it was disappointed.

“I missed you every moment I was away.”

Hope threatened to break free. She held her breath firm, trying to keep that hope locked up.

He caressed her cheek. “I love you insanely.”

His hoarsely spoken words broke over her like warm honey, sweetness beyond bearing and all she wanted—needed to hear. She released her breath.

God help her, she believed him. But what if—

“I am simply trying to explain. With the war and everything pressing… This is not easy for me; you must be patient—”

Hope. Her heart was bursting with it now. Needing to release it, she laughed softly. “I can be patient.”

He drew her close and buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Beth… Oh, Beth. I missed you. You must know how desperately I missed you. It is summer but the nights were all so cold and lonely. I must have you living under the same roof, or I shall go insane with missing you. My life in New York is meaningless without you there. Everything is so cold and I feel so numb.

“I didn’t know how to say all of that in a letter. I was so beleaguered with business that I couldn’t find the peace of mind to do so. And so, in a fit of misguided perfectionism, I said none of it. I am sorry, Beth.”

She had sucked in her breath, afraid to make any movement lest it stop his rapid flow of words. And yet, had he really just said that? Or had she wanted to hear it so badly that she had invented this whole scene? Would she soon wake from a dream? She exhaled slowly. Then she took a deep breath.

He pressed her body closer, so close she felt the air squeezing out of her lungs. She didn’t care. His mouth came down and captured hers in a kiss so bruising she tasted blood. His or hers? She didn’t know or care. She gave a moan of surrender and clasped his body to hers desperately. His arousal pressed into her. Joy stabbed through her. He broke the kiss and put his face back into the curve of her neck. He nipped at her earlobe and pleasurable shivers chased down her spine. “I want to fuck you, Beth. I need to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to think of anyone else ever fucking you again.”

“God,” she breathed as hunger went shuddering through her.

“What?” His voice was demanding, harsh.

“Yes, oh yes, fuck me…just like that.” She wanted to him to consume her with fire.

He grasped the top of her shift, at the back, and she felt him tighten his fingers upon it, preparing to tear the fabric. Wetness rolled between her shaking legs. She arched her pelvis into his body.

The door came bursting open.

“Mr Sexton, really!”

Grey let her go. She stumbled back, dazed, and slowly focused on Miss Fairchild who stood there, hands on hips, expression outraged. “Mrs Hazelwood told you downstairs you could not be here in her house today. It is bad luck, that’s what is it. Do you want to sabotage your own marriage?”

* * * *

“Your titties are about to pop out of that dress.”

Beth turned to see her older sister sitting on the bed, a mischievous expression on her round, ruddy, coarse-featured face. Her overly rounded figure was flattered in a new, high-waisted gown of medium blue muslin. Beth met her teasing gaze and rolled her eyes. “Please, Ruth—you aren’t helping my nerves any.”

Ruth chuckled and stuffed another piece of ginger biscuit into her mouth.

Beth’s head still stung from the assault with a gleaming silver brush and her hair pulled her scalp too tight. Two thin braids were wrapped about her head, and the rest of her tresses had been swept up and allowed to fall down the back of her head in a cascade of ringlets. They had rinsed her hair with something blue and now it looked as silver-white as moonlight.

Gingerly, she touched her cheek. Carefully polished with rice powder, her skin looked as white as alabaster and as smooth as satin, as if she were not a day over sixteen and as innocent as a snowdrift. What an illusion! She sighed.

“You keep breathing like that and they’re gonna pop right out.”

“Oh please, don’t even think it.” Beth stood and smoothed out the folds of her white silk gown, and the rows of lace at the hem seemed to float over the floor like a cloud. And just as Ruth had so eloquently pointed out, the square neckline was cut very low and its lavish lace trim somehow seemed to create the impression that she might spill out at any moment. The thought of how much the gown had cost made her hands shake.

Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to marry Mr Grey Sexton, merchant prince from New York? A man too busy even to write to her?

A powerful, dignified man who had climbed a tree in daylight to see her.

A gentleman who didn’t care that she was bastard-born and poor. The first and only man who’d ever made her scream with pleasure and come until she couldn’t move.

“Did you pick that dress out?”

Ruth’s voice startled her back to their conversation.

“Ah, well—yes and no. Grey picked the pattern and I approved it. He has a better notion of what is proper and fashionable.”

“I think he wanted to give folks a gander at what he’s marrying you for.”

Beth gaped at her sister. “You think he is marrying me solely for my bosom?”

“Well he ain’t marrying you for your wealth or bloodline and what else is there?”

Maybe others would think the same as Ruth. They would know Beth for a harlot and suspect her of being a fortune-grabber. Her empty stomach lurched and she pressed a hand against it. She hated the thought of people believing she was marrying Grey solely for his money. It made a whore of her and a fool of him.

The memory of his hands on her body, his deep voice telling her he loved her, suddenly flashed into her mind. Wasn’t everything in life really a gamble? Her blood quickened. She could gamble on love.

Miss Fairchild came running into the room carrying a flat, leather case. She pointed at the chair. “No, no, Miss McConnell, please sit. I have one last adjustment to make.”

Beth ran over to the tall, spare woman and grasped her arm. “This gown is too daring, isn’t it? Tell me true.”

“It is the height of fashion, I assure you,” Miss Fairchild said in her cool, crisp tones. “Now please sit, my lady, we have little time left.”

With a sigh, Beth sat, tapping her silk-shod foot nervously on the floor. Miss Fairchild moved frantically behind her and set the box on the vanity. “Just one moment.”

She looped something around Beth’s neck and it lay cool against her throat. Then she laid something on Beth’s head. A tiara.

“This just came. Mr Sexton was set to give it to you himself but I enlisted Mrs Hazelwood’s help in forbidding him to come back up here.” Miss Fairchild backed away. “There, now—don’t you look like a proper princess?”

Beth looked in the mirror. The tiara sparkled in the sunlight. She thought it was just silver laurel leaves but when she looked closer she saw the diamonds and aquamarines amid the leaves. The delicate silver filigree necklace glittered with the same precious stones.

“Good Lord,” Ruth choked. “You must’ve given Sexton one hell of a shagging to get that.”

Miss Fairchild paused in the act of attaching a piece of sheer, white veiling to the tiara to make a clicking sound with her tongue.

“Please, Ruth—enough.” Beth took an uneven breath and dared to touch the glittering headband. She managed a trembling smile. “You are shocking my lady’s maid.”

“Aye, I guess it’s ‘milady’ to you from now on.” Ruth chuckled again, two spots of too-bright colour showing on her round cheeks.

Beth stared at her reflection. She saw a young woman with pale blonde hair and angelic features, dressed in a frightfully expensive gown.

But she didn’t look out of place. There was not one sign of the harlot about her. She just might win this gamble. Yes, she was going to marry him. Despite the risks. Despite everything.

God help her not to regret it, because there would be no looking back.

She’d do whatever she had to and make things work.

Chapter Ten

As the carriage clipped along the brick streets, heading towards Christ Church, Beth laid her hand on her half-brother’s shaking arm. “Are you all right, Charlie?”

He looked down at her and nodded, a tight-lipped smile on his large, moon-shaped face. Sweat beaded his broad forehead, dampening his curling forelock of sandy-coloured hair, and he tugged fretfully at his crisp, new stock. How unusual it was to see him in a gentleman’s dark blue jacket, buff-coloured knee breeches, silk stockings and brass-buckled shoes. A swelling centred in her throat.

It was almost cruel, expecting self-conscious Charlie to escort her down the aisle. Yet it would have been even crueller not to ask. Mrs Hazelwood had not been pleased. Oh, she would never willingly have indicated as much, either by expression or words, but the frostiness in her eyes had given it away. If the old woman had had her way, Beth would never have gone to live with her half-siblings, or indeed acknowledged them at all. She would have settled down and married the nice young Anglican minister, Mr Williams.

One afternoon, Mrs Hazelwood had brightly suggested that, if Charlie was unavailable for any reason, then Joshua should do the honours. “After all, he has always been much like an older brother to you.”

Beth had almost spat tea all over Mrs Hazelwood’s fine damask settee. Charlie’s cough brought her attention back to the moment at hand. Grey had purchased her family a larger, newer shop on Third Street. It would require a larger staff to man it. With Charlie overwhelmed by all the details, she’d spent the past weeks interviewing apprentices and examining their work. “I think Jimmy will work out just fine.”

Charlie twisted his mouth. “You know I’ll have to hire three helpers to do the job you used to.” He compressed his lips. “But I’ll likely never get the same quality.”

She laughed softly. “Should I stand Mr Sexton up and stay here in Philadelphia, then?”

He frowned and fidgeted with his new silk top hat, which lay in his lap. “Now, Elizabeth, there’s no call to tease me. You know my tongue’s not as clever as yours.”

“Nor as sharp,” Ruth added archly.

Charlie glanced up and exchanged a half smile with Ruth, then he looked back at Beth. “I’m saying I’ll miss you, Elizabeth.”

“I shall miss you, too—both of you,” Beth said softly, her heart too full to say more.

* * * *

Pressed into a corner of Mrs Hazelwood’s parlour, Beth rubbed the hollows at her temples where twinges of pain buzzed in tandem with the rumble of voices. A sea of heads was bobbing all about her, making her lightheaded. She drew in a deep breath of hot, humid air and the scent of sweat and stale spirits made her want to gag.

Still, she wasn’t about to leave the corner and venture into the midst of that bursting, bustling crowd. If she had to smile and voice thanks for any more best wishes, if she had to allow another one of Grey’s seemingly endless number of friends and associates to kiss her… She shuddered. As the day had worn on and the spirits had flowed, she’d been forced to slap more than one pair of wandering hands—hard—with her fan.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mrs Asahel de Grijs Sexton.”

The deep, mocking voice settled in her guts like dread. Beth slowly pulled her eyes from the crowd to meet Thomas Watson’s cold, amber eyes. Leonine resplendence in a dark blue suit, he leered at her. “You’ve certainly come up in the world.” He moved a little closer and whisky fumes threatened to overwhelm her. He dropped his voice. “Though somehow I doubt you’ve taken your last ride in a strange man’s carriage.”

She stepped back, opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut. If he wouldn’t give her peace for Grey’s sake then he certainly wouldn’t heed any pleadings or threats she made. Her head began to pound. She turned and stormed through the crowd. People startled and grew silent as she approached them, parting and letting her pass on her way. Whispers erupted in her wake, burning her ears. She could feel all eyes probing and stabbing into her. She hastened towards the sideboards lining the wall. Her silk and satin skirts seemed to make impossibly loud rustling sounds, drawing more attention to her flight.