“If that is true, then why?”
“Because he deserves it,” Loraine answered. At least that much seemed to be the truth. After all, Lord Blackhill had a fairly atrocious reputation.
“You hardly know him.”
“I’ve heard enough about him,” she replied, curtly.
“Well even if it is true that he deserves it. Why you? Are you judge, jury and executioner now?”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
“I just want you to be careful. To be happy. You know you aren’t likely to make friends here if you’re off plotting.”
It was a sore spot for Loraine. Mrs. Barrow knew all too well how much she longed for friendship. “That’s none of your concern,” Loraine answered, in a stiff voice. “Now please leave me. I am tired.”
Mrs. Barrow hesitated, seeming like she wanted to say something else. But when she saw Loraine’s cold expression, she closed her mouth and turned to leave.
***
Miss Loraine Beauchamp
Just as she had anticipated, Lord Blackhill came in the morning. When he knocked, it was Mrs. Barrow who answered the door. She regarded him with a cold eye.
“I’m here to see Miss Loraine Beauchamp,” Lord Blackhill announced, as he tried to peer around Mrs. Barrow’s body.
Loraine stood in the foyer behind her, having watched him arrive from her window. Loraine went to the door and told Mrs. Barrow that she needn’t guard the door so. With a quiet huff, Mrs. Barrow went back to the kitchens.
“Well, she did not seem to like me,” Lord Blackhill said, with a smile.
Loraine ignored the remark and said, “What brings you here, Lord Blackhill?”
“I’ve come for our ride,” he answered.
“As I told you yesterday, I am quite busy.”
“And as I told you yesterday, I do not believe you.”
Loraine pursed her lips tightly and narrowed her eyes on him. After several long moments, she stepped aside and said, “Come in.”
They went to the drawing room, but neither of them took a seat. She didn’t want to give him any indication that he would be staying for long. Philip looked around him at the walls, with a constant smile.
“I expected there to be more books,” he said.
“Why did you expect that?”
“I’ve heard that the Beauchamps are a well-read family.”
He’d been asking about her around town. It didn’t surprise her, and he seemed to know it wouldn’t. He hadn’t even tried to make any effort to hide it.
“The books are in the library,” she said.
“The library,” Lord Blackhill mused. “I’d love to see that. Do you have any Latin texts?”
Once again, Loraine narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You have been asking around about me,” she said, to call him out on it.
He affected a look of absolute innocence. “Pardon?” He said. “Do you mean to say that you read Latin?”
“Do you mean to suggest that you didn’t know that before coming here?”
He smiled mischievously and tilted his head to the side. “However would I know that?”
Loraine rolled her eyes. “Well, my Lord. If you are going to lie, at least do it well.”
He ignored the accusation. “You know, I have quite the penchant for Latin texts. I’d love to see your collection, my Lady.”
“You read Latin?” She said, with shameless disbelief.
“I dabble in it.”
Loraine thought for a moment, while she quirked a brow at him. Then she concluded that she’d rather like to outshine him in this regard. This was a subject he couldn’t compete with her on. “Very well,” she said, with a smile. “Let’s go to the library then.”
Once there, Loraine went to the shelf where she kept her Latin texts. She fingered the spines, looking for one in particular, and then pulled it free. “The Aeneid, by Virgil,” she said. “What do you think of it?”
She had every expectation that he wouldn’t have the faintest idea what The Aeneid was about and she was very much looking forward to seeing him struggle.
Lord Blackhill took the book from her hands and turned it over in his hands. “I’m not fond of it,” he admitted.
Before she could accuse him of knowing nothing about The Aeneid, he went on, without looking up from the book’s cover. “All poor weather and sieges. But there is something I like about it.”
Loraine’s accusation fell silent in her mouth. “Go on,” she said, curiously.
He opened the book and started flicking through the pages. She inched closer so she could stand beside him and look over his shoulder. “This part,” he murmured. “When Aeneas is sent away by his lover, Dido.”
Loraine became lost in the sound of his voice. “She kills herself,” she said, softly. She’d wept at that tragedy. She looked up at Philip’s face. There was more sadness than she ever could have imagined him feeling. And mingled with it, there was anger.
“I thought you said you liked that part,” she said.
“I do,” he answered, as he closed the book and looked up at her. “It made me feel something.
But I begrudge Virgil for writing such tragedy.”
Loraine could understand that. In the presence of his knowledge, she’d lost all notion of exposing him as an unlearned liar. She knew so few people who shared in her love of Latin.
She went back to the bookshelf and picked out another. “Ovid’s Metamorphosis.”
This re-animated him. He smiled and took the book from her hands. “Now this is a read,” he said, as he opened it. “Echo and Narcissus was a feat of true imagination. I cannot hear an echo without thinking of her.”
Listening to him speak about the books she cherished so much, she felt a tingle of excitement.
Though these were the things she’d always loved most in the world, they were also the things that made her feel most lonely. Because there were so few who could share in her joy.
But he could. And she didn’t want to relinquish that.
She momentarily forgot about the game she was playing and found herself enjoying his company. They sat down with a stack of her favorite books and she showed each of them to him.
“The Conquest of Gaul?”
“Remarkable.”
“I preferred In Praise of Folly.”
After an hour, they had a huge pile of books on the floor beside them. She’d opened up Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius, and become lost in the text.
“Listen,” she murmured, with a small smile. She followed the words on the page with her fingertip. “This is my favorite line.”
She cleared her throat, then read the translation. “If someone is able to show me that what I think or do is not right, I will happily change, for I seek the truth, by which no one was ever truly harmed.
It is the person who continues in his self-deception and ignorance who is harmed.”
She noticed that Lord Blackhill had been very quiet. Loraine looked up at him, to see that he had a blank expression and he was staring down at the page.
He didn’t remark on the line she’d just read.
“You’re rather brilliant,” he said, instead.
Loraine was not the sort of woman who blushed, but she did feel her cheeks get pinker when he said that. “Truly,” he said. “I could not translate with such ease.”
It was a surprise to hear him say so. To hear him admit that, in this regard, she was better than him.
For two competitive people, it was remarkable that he felt able to acknowledge that.
She put the book down in her lap and just looked at him.
His eyes were a starburst of color. His smile so soft and easy that she felt herself smiling too.
She had to admit that there was something about him. No wonder he had so much success with women.
“Did you still want to take that ride?” She asked.
Chapter 13
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
The Aeneid h
ad hit home for him and hiding it had not been easy. The story of Dido and Aeneas was too much like Edgar’s story. Except in this instance, Miss Beauchamp was the one who’d left. Leaving Edgar with his broken heart.
He’d felt a stirring of anger, mingled in with so much misery that he was sincerely afraid that she’d see right through him. Thank God she didn’t.
They talked about each of her favorite books, at length, and his temper was soothed. Even his misery couldn’t prevail when she was reading to him.
And asking him what he thought about things he’d always loved, but that he’d neglected since being expelled from university.
At that time, he’d felt like such a failure that the prospect of returning to the texts he’d cherished had felt impossible.
When Miss Beauchamp read from Meditations, it felt personal again. It sounded like something his brother would say to him. Before he could think on the subject a great deal, he turned the attention back on her.
When he said that she was brilliant, he wasn’t trying to be charming. For the first time, he complimented her because he wanted her to know. Cold-hearted or not, she was intellectually astounding. And he couldn’t keep himself from admiring that.
When she asked him if he wanted to go riding, he smiled. “Are you going to cheat again?”
She nudged his shoulder with hers, as she smiled. “Are you going to be a sore loser?”
They were both smiling, shoulder to shoulder. Looking like a couple of fools. As he looked down into her eyes, his smile slipped away.
He leaned in, fixated on her lips. But before their lips brushed, they heard a voice. “Loraine!”
Miss Beauchamp sucked in a breath and drew back from him suddenly. “It’s my aunt,” she hissed, quietly, with obvious panic.
“Will she not be happy to find me here?”
“Are you kidding?”
She stood and took him by the hand, hauling him towards the door. Still holding his arm, she peeked around the door and looked into the hall. “Okay,” she whispered. “She’s gone. Move quietly.”
She gestured for him to follow and he did, entirely silently. When they were half way down the stairs, she pointed at a step. “Avoid that one,” she whispered. “It creaks.”
He skipped that step, rather astounded by her intimate knowledge of the house.
He imagined her as a child, sneaking around in this massive house.
Philip tried to imagine what she must have been like, but couldn’t conceive of the idea in his mind.
To him, she was all woman. And imagining her as an innocent, unlearned child was next to impossible for him.
Once they were outside, Loraine shut the door very carefully behind them and expelled a breath. “Why are you so worried that your aunt will see us together?” He wondered.
She led him to the stables, casting one last look up at the windows of the house. Presumably to make sure that her aunt wasn’t watching them. “She can be… intense,” Miss Beauchamp said.
“Yes, I got that impression at the ball,” he replied, smiling.
“It’s more than that,” she answered, as they approached the paddocks.
“Does she not want anyone courting you?”
Miss Beauchamp looked back at him and smiled, with a raised brow. “Are you courting me, Lord Blackhill?”
He smiled too, from ear to ear. “That’s up to you, Miss Beauchamp.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, with a playful tone, as she opened up a paddock.
The horse she’d been riding the day before came out to see her and pressed its nose against her chest. She kissed its forehead.
“My aunt can be quite paranoid,” she explained. “I prefer to do things without her interference.”
That suited him. Bringing her aunt into the picture would complicate things. Philip’s horse was in the paddock beside her horse’s. He ushered it out and stroked its mane.
They spent a few minutes saddling up, before leading their horses back out to the courtyard, where they mounted. “Are you ready?” She asked. There was a competitive look in her eye. A challenge he was eager to rise to.
Philip didn’t answer. Just like she’d done the day before, he pushed his horse into a sudden gallop. He heard her laughter behind him.
***
Miss Loraine Beauchamp
When her aunt had called for her, Loraine had reacted on instinct. She knew that if her aunt came in, she’d give the game away. She didn’t know how to play this kind of game. Not really.
And the prospect of Lord Blackhill finding out what she was up to had thrown her into a sudden panic. She didn’t feel true relief until they were in the stables, where her aunt never ventured.
When Lord Blackhill pushed his horse into a gallop ahead of her, she wasn’t far behind him. Riding so hard and fast was exhilarating and it made her heart beat at a thrilling pace.
They rode for a long time, testing their speed and their fortitude as they went.
After a while, the flat turned into rolling hills and rolling hills turned into woodland. Once the trees were thick around them, they had to slow down.
They were both breathing heavily. Lord Blackhill stopped and dismounted. He walked towards a river that passed through the forest and bent down so that he could splash his face with water.
She watched him push his wet fingers through his hair and swallowed. When he stood, the top of his shirt was damp and clinging to his skin. He looked back at her, smiling and flushed from the ride.
Loraine dismounted too and joined him beside the river. She cupped it and brought it to her lips so she could drink. This seemed to surprise Lord Blackhill, who stared at her as she did it.
“I’ve never known a woman like you,” he admitted, in an awed voice.
“A woman like me?” She said, as she straightened and shook the droplets from her hands.
“You speak Latin. You ride like a professional. You drink from wild rivers in the woods.” He shook his head. “Where did you come from, Miss Beauchamp?”
He truly did have a way with words.
Lord Blackhill stepped closer, but this time she didn’t feel crowded. The distance between them still felt immense, even as it shrank.
She wanted him closer. As close as she could get him.
“Lord Blackhill…” she breathed, but she wasn’t sure what she’d meant to say.
“Philip,” he murmured. “Please call me Philip.”
Her knees suddenly felt unsteady. As he said this, his hand rose towards her face and she felt the cool press of his fingers against her jaw. He followed the line from her chin to her earlobe, with a heavy gaze.
“You are…” He didn’t finish. He was shaking his head as if she was a fairy he’d met in the woods. As if she was beyond his comprehension.
Her eyes closed when his face lowered towards hers. When he kissed her, she felt that familiar fire burst through her veins.
She moaned softly upon first touch, and put her arms around his neck so she could hold him closer.
In a sudden burst of needfulness, Philip moved closer. But it was a miscalculation, which forced Loraine’s foot to move back so she could keep her balance.
But she felt a dip in the soil beneath the ball of her foot and her weak knees got even weaker. She sucked in a breath and began to tumble, but he didn’t catch her, though she knew he could have.
He let them fall. And while she clung to his neck, he put his hand out to keep her body from striking the ground in a way that would hurt her. She didn’t know how he did it, but he made the forest floor feel like a feather bed.
As she gasped, his lips moved lower, into the hollow of her throat. He kissed that space where her pulse was beating wildly and lowered one of his hands down her sides. “I can’t… I can’t get enough of you, Loraine,” he whispered, in a shaky voice, as he fisted her skirt.
And she let him.
She let him.
It all happened so suddenly. One moment he was kissing her
. The next they were both lying in the dirt, with his lips kissing her collarbone.
She could feel the tension in the way he fisted her skirt. Could feel the strain in him. “Philip,” she whispered, as her senses started to return to her in small degrees.
Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies Page 10
