White Lace and Promises (9 page)

“I thought you were staying here tonight. Mrs Hazelwood tells me the mantua-maker is coming in the morning to fit you for your wedding gown.”

“Then I shall return in the morning.” She squeezed his hand. “I just can’t sleep in that chamber tonight.” Her voice broke and she bit her lip.

“What the devil is the matter?”

She looked down. “Please…don’t ask me, I can’t speak of it. Not tonight.”

“
He
found you and he upset you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she repeated.

“Did he insult you? Did he dare touch you?” He touched her shoulder and searched her eyes, trying to be gentle despite the heat rushing through his blood. “Tell me and I shall take care of it.”

God, he’d relish the chance to settle the score. Finding nothing but pain in her eyes, his need to take action increased.

He scanned the ballroom for the tall, slender doctor. No sign.

Her fingers dug into his arm. He looked down. Her fragile features, the wilted circlet of flowers, the delicately accented gown with its little puffed sleeves—they all made her look girlish. It was easy to picture her as she must have been when that boy had first seduced her. Innocent, vulnerable, so easily led by her naturally strong sexuality.

She shook her head vigorously, stray wisps of curling silver-blonde hair waving about. “Please, please, please don’t do anything.”

Her eyes were wide, full of fear—for the hapless doctor. She still had soft feelings for the worthless bastard. The realisation cut into him like a gale of glass shards.

“It’s my problem, my doing,” she said breathlessly.

“Damn it, Beth. What concerns you concerns me, now.”

“Please, don’t press me.” Her eyes glistened in the candlelight and she gripped his hand. “Not right now.”

The cold dampness of her bare hands bled through his glove. “God damn it, Beth—”

“Please, lower your voice, you’ll make a scene.” Her urgent whisper poured cool sanity into his overheated brain. Yes, if he thrashed the doctor here, in the garden, it would create a terrible scene. It would also raise unwholesome speculation about Wade and Beth.

“All right.”

“Thank you.” Her trembling lips spread into a smile.

He almost groaned with impotent anger. After the past few weeks, observing how Beth’s half-siblings treated her, how Mrs Hazelwood held her at a distance, had told him too much about how life had been for his young fiancée. And in the midst of all that, she’d been left out for a spoilt wolf pup to come and devour. Grey’s stomach turned sour.

Damn it, he would completely sever Beth from this whole situation and take her to New York and spoil her with luxury and everything her heart desired. He would make her forget the past. Yes—better to focus on their future. Focus on making her happy. She was his now and that was all that mattered.

Still, he’d be sure to pay a visit to the young doctor and make sure he understood to leave Beth alone.

Her lower lip trembled. He fancied he could feel the effort she was making not to show her emotion. “Please, Grey, it doesn’t matter. I just need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

At her soft, pleading tone, the last of his anger drained. God, he wanted to console her. Needed to hold her in his arms and be one with her. To show her his love in the most tangible way. Nothing else mattered. Not his pride or his need to be in control—nothing mattered but them being together.

But they still had to get through that announcement. He took her bare hand into his own.

“Where did you leave your gloves, Beth?”

“My gloves?” She raised a hand to her face and stared at it. Her mouth dropped open.

“You must have left them in the schoolroom. I’ll go and get them.”

* * * *

In the privacy of the closed carriage, she tore off her gloves and tossed them aside on the seat, then sighed as the air cooled her damp hands. The carriage lurched forward. Grey was a silent, dark shadow.

What was he thinking now? Was he wishing he’d never started this whole business of courtship and marriage? Was he wondering how he’d explain the bastard-born city urchin to his respectable New York family? Was he comparing her to his first wife? Joshua had said the first Mrs Sexton had been the sweetest person imaginable. Heavens, if a model of feminine grace like Juliana de Lange couldn’t satisfy Grey, there was little hope for Beth.

“Charlie doesn’t speak much with Mrs Hazelwood?” His deep voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“Oh no, Charlie is quite in awe of her. He avoids her as much as he can.”

“So if he thinks you are at Mrs Hazelwood’s house and she thinks you are at home…” He moved closer to her on the seat and put his arm about her shoulders, drawing her near. His scent was all citrus, spice and light masculine sweat from the heat of the crowded ballroom. Her heart fluttered. He touched her hair and began removing the pins. “Then there would be nothing risked if you spent the night with me?”

For a moment, she thought she’d heard him wrong—all but for his tone, which was intimate and sensual. Warmth blossomed in her lower belly.

She looked up. In the dim light, his eyes glittered lustily as he leaned closer to her. He gave her a grin, boyish and soul deep, right down to the man who had made her fall in love with him.

Heat suffused her whole body. She put her hand on his leg and smiled. “No, nothing would be risked.”

He took her hand and pulled it to his groin.

“Goodness, Grey.”

He touched his lips to hers and she closed her eyes and gripped his throbbing hardness. Oh, this was more like it.

* * * *

Behind the privacy of the high garden wall, Grey waited while Beth lingered by the Grecian-style fountain. Her hair glowed like the moonlight itself, rivalling the fountain’s white marble perfection. He held her hand, observing her face while she watched the brightly coloured fish swimming in the water. Her expression was positively girlish.

She wasn’t the hardened young temptress she pretended to be. He knew her depths. She was actually very tender-hearted, capable of giving a deep, abiding loyalty even when it wasn’t deserved. She was, as Mrs Hazelwood had said, too emotional, too impulsive. And, he would add, too giving of herself to the wrong people—with Charlie and Mrs Hazelwood and that bastard Wade at the top of the list.

She couldn’t help it. She had lived her whole life confused and lost, denied even from knowing who and what she really was—though discovering the truth now would only hurt her more. If he had his way, she would never have to know. Never have to bear the pain of the truth. And the past didn’t matter now. She was simply his lost little girl and he must protect her against everything—including herself.

He tightened his hand on hers and she turned to him. Her eyes, large and blue, softened with unmistakable adoration. As if he could do no wrong, could never fail in her eyes. When she looked at him like that, he wanted only to bask in her adoration and let the world go hang.

 
She’d looked at him the same way after he had first made love to her in his carriage. She had promised to meet with him again, then she’d placed her hand over his heart and stolen it while lying to him with both her voice and her kiss.

And everything in his world had turned to ashes, become dingy and grey. He had been unable to concentrate on his work. He had lain awake at nights and ached for her. Even when she had shown up that day at City Tavern, such an unexpected and welcome sight, their connection had been temporary—she had run from him at every chance. At the memory of those moments when he was sure he’d lost her forever, dull hollowness centred in his guts. Now he finally had her.

It’s a façade. She’s a wild, uncontrollable creature. Like sea and rain and wind. She’ll eventually want her freedom, no matter what.

No. Over his cold, dead body could Beth McConnell have her freedom. Ever.

He released her hand and grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her to his body, her soft breasts crushed to his chest. Her eyes were wide, her mouth falling open. He swept down and covered her lips with his, devouring them. He felt and heard her gasp, muffled in her throat, but he couldn’t stop. He was driven to possess her. To claim her. Own her.

His hands sought the laces at the back of her gown and untied them then tugged until the garment came loose. He pulled it down her shoulders, breaking the kiss to bend and put his lips to the swelling softness above her stays. He hooked his thumbs into the cloth, easing it down until her breast popped out, white as porcelain with a bright pink tip that was already pebbled. His cock hardened and lengthened, twitching impatiently within his pantaloons. He groaned, then bent to capture that enticing nipple between his lips. She tasted so sweet, like strawberries and cream.

Her laughter sounded, throaty and sensual, and her hands twined in his hair. “Grey, I hate to spoil your fun, but someone will see. From one of the windows.”

“We’re officially engaged now.” He breathed the words against her warm flesh. “It’s no great matter.”

“I think that’s just your heated blood speaking.”

He paused, looked up at her and grinned. “You did your damnedest to heat it, didn’t you, you vixen?”

Her eyes went all soft and smoky, with the lids at half-mast. She laughed softly and ruffled his hair.

He swept her up into his arms and hoisted her over his shoulder.

She squealed, a girlish sound that was wholly satisfying to his masculine ears. He applied a smack to her ass. “Be quiet, vixen—you were so worried about the neighbours.”

He carried her to the door, then set her on her feet.

She hugged him from behind, pressing her softness against his back and thighs, burning him as he fished in his pocket for the key. He aimed for the keyhole but her little seeking hand gripped his erection and the key missed, slid and scraped away some of the red paint.

Gaining a tighter grip on him, she laughed again. “Can’t you even unlock your own door? Just how much punch did you drink? Or was it brandy in the card room?”

“And just how much punch did you have, mistress?”

Her laughter teased his ears and his cock throbbed within her grasp. God, he wanted her body bared and beneath his. Right this instant. With determination he put the key into the lock then turned the knob. He kicked the door open and pulled her inside.

Behind the closed door, he worked to rid her of her two petticoats. She kept kissing him, the temptation of her sweet mouth making it hard to focus on his systematic stripping of her.

Somehow he’d also worked free of his coat. Her nimble fingers had his cock freed. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and yanked his cravat open, then pulled back for just a moment to pull his shirt over his head. The time it took to divest himself of his boots wore his patience thin. He went down on one knee and planted a passionate kiss on her silver-gilt mons.

“I think you probably have the most beautiful cunt in the whole world.”

She laughed and caressed his head. “Given this a lot of thought, have you?”

He gave her plump lips a gentle squeeze. “During the past week, I spent more sleepless hours thinking about this sweet part of you than I care to admit.”

“After that many sleepless nights, I’d think you’d be dead.”

“Damned near, Beth, damned near.” He pressed his face into her cunt and licked the wet, tender flesh. Her nub rose erect to meet his tongue and her pelvis arched in to him. He redoubled his efforts, working her sensitive points with single-minded determination until she began to tremble. He slid his hand up between her parted legs and entered her with two fingers and she cried out, her walls spasming around him.

God, she was a hot little piece. The hottest he’d ever known, anywhere in the world. He bolted to his feet and caught her limp form up in his arms and cradled her for a moment. Then he took her into the parlour, to the first piece of furniture he came to.

Beth supported herself with her hands, palms down and flat, behind her on the settee, her bottom resting on the edge of the seat and her gauzy chemise bunched around her waist. Grey bent over her and his heated breath blew against her neck.

Her cunt, well warmed by a climax, was more than ready to be filled by him.

“Lift your hips, Beth.” His voice, urgent and testy at the same time, made her laugh. The settee was narrow and hard, obviously designed for style and not function—at least not
this
function. She suspected he hadn’t chosen it himself but that it had filled some other, feminine notion of fashion.

Something bitter and yellow-green wormed through her heart, threatening to spoil her pleasure.

Grey’s other women. The thought burnt into her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. He’d kept mistresses aplenty, here and in New York. In England and France on visits, and even a so-called Russian princess.

Ruth shared her mariner husband with his English wife and God knew how many others. Beth could never be like that.

“Lift your hips,” he repeated, a more urgent edge to his voice.

Hunger surged. Her inner muscles clenched repeatedly and wetness gushed from her core. Oh, hell’s bells. What did the past matter? So what if he’d paid women to fill his lonely hours? She would be his wife. She would imprint herself so indelibly upon him that he’d not be able to look at another woman without seeing her in that woman’s face.