Always the Bridesmaid

by E K Murdoch, Emily

  Tabitha walked nonchalantly out of the Pump Room.

  “Here she is,” a young woman giggled as she jumped into Tabitha’s path, arm in arm with another young lady, neither of whom Tabitha knew. “Here, Mary, this is the bridesmaid I was telling you of! Miss Chesworth, is it not? Mary, this lady—”

  “You must excuse me,” Tabitha interrupted, heat rising in her cheeks as if they were watching an exhibit in a traveling circus. “I must speak with my friend.”

  Ignoring the cries of “Wait!” and “Miss Chesworth!”, Tabitha inclined her head to the master of ceremonies as she stepped onto the abbey churchyard.

  As she shivered in the cold winter air, Tabitha could not see either gentlemen, but in the quiet of the morning, she heard voices around the corner on Stall Street.

  Shocked at her daring and trying to convince herself this was not eavesdropping, as anyone could walk by and accidentally overhear their conversation, Tabitha crept behind one of the pillars so conveniently hiding her from Mr. Lister and Axwick.

  “—back off I say,” Mr. Lister said in a low and urgent tone. “I will not ask you again, sir, I am telling you. Back away from young Miss Chesworth.”

  Tabitha gasped and bit her lip. She did not want to give herself away, not now that she knew exactly what their topic of conversation was.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Axwick’s voice said curtly.

  Mr. Lister laughed. “Oh, but I think you do, sir, and I would remind you that I got here first. I saw her in the Pump Room, and I was the one which spoke to her. Miss Chesworth is mine to have, ’tis my right.”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened. To hear herself spoken about…What was Axwick’s reply?

  “I beg your pardon,” came the cold words, “but I do not believe—”

  “Do not think you can fool me, Axwick, for I have heard of you,” Mr. Lister interrupted. “I know exactly what your plan is, and I can tell you, it will come to naught. ’Tis Miss Chesworth’s dowry, is it not? Come now, sir, as soon as I heard your name, I understood it all. You think there is a soul in Bath who has not heard of your money troubles?”

  There was silence and, despite Tabitha’s growing curiosity, she dared not chance peeking around the pillar to see the look on Axwick’s face.

  “There is no shame in it,” Mr. Lister’s voice sounded easy and relaxed, while Axwick was conspicuous only in his silence. “We are not so different, you and I. Why do you think I am interested in Miss Chesworth in the first place?”

  Tabitha flushed with embarrassment. She had never considered Mr. Lister as a suitor, so his treacherous nature was no loss, but it was mortifying to discover he was only interested in her for her inheritance.

  “Yes, her father left her quite the fortune,” Mr. Lister had continued. “Thirty thousand pounds! Despite the fact she’s a little chit with more trips down the aisle than most vicars,” and he laughed into the quiet, “I am more than willing to take her down once more, for that amount of cash.”

  A crash echoed across the street, and Tabitha heard a grunt which she could not understand. Swallowing hard, she risked a peek around the pillar.

  And what a sight to behold. Mr. Lister, grunting and turning red, was pushed against the wall by his collar by none other than the Duke of Axwick.

  “What the—” Mr. Lister spluttered, his voice hoarse, and his face starting to darken as Axwick increased the pressure around his neck. “What the devil d-do you think you—”

  “Stay away from her.” Axwick’s words were hissed with such anger and vehemence that Tabitha shivered. “Stay away from Miss Tabitha Chesworth.”

  Mr. Lister’s hands were scrabbling against Axwick’s, but it was no use. The duke was far stronger, and he had no trouble in keeping the irate man against the wall, even as his feet started to kick.

  The duke lowered his face toward Mr. Lister, and there was real hatred on his features. “Tabitha deserves someone who cares for her,” he said quietly with menace. “Not some idiot who wants her money to waste on horses.”

  Mr. Lister’s face almost turned purple as he managed to say, “Why do you care? Is she under your protection?”

  Tabitha’s gaze shot from Mr. Lister to Axwick, who dropped his hold on the gentleman. Mr. Lister sank to his knees, clutching at his throat.

  The duke took a step back and stared at Mr. Lister. “Yes.”

  Tabitha tried to slow her breathing. It was thrilling to watch such a man defend her, to claim her for his own in such a way, and to see a man like Mr. Lister get what he deserved for speaking of her like that.

  But it was not over. As Axwick turned away from him, Mr. Lister rose shakily to his feet and spat on the ground.

  “I should have known,” he said darkly. “I should have known the whore was spoiled goods.”

  Tabitha’s scream was unheard, covered by the echoing sound of a fist crunching into a cheek.

  Axwick punched him cleanly, and his head spun back and hit the wall. Blood spurted from Mr. Lister’s nose, and his hands flew to his face as he let out a cry of agony.

  Breathing heavily and staring stoically at the groaning man collapsed on the ground, Axwick spoke in a dark but controlled voice, “Miss Tabitha Chesworth,” taking in another breath, “is as pure as the Virgin Mary. But I care for her, you understand, and I will not permit anyone disgusting or repellent, such as yourself Lister, to speak ill of her or pursue her. She deserves better, and by God, I will make sure of it.”

  Mr. Lister was gazing at the duke with a mingled look of fear and horror. There was a bruise starting to darken on his cheek that was remarkably like Axwick’s signet ring but in reverse.

  “Y-you are mad,” he said, shaking his bleeding head and struggling to his feet. “Mad, I tell you, to protect a woman who is neither family, nor fiancée, nor mistress! Why…”

  Axwick took a menacing step forward, and Lister broke off, stumbling to the side and staggering away. Axwick leaned against the wall, still breathing heavily, his eyes downcast as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Tabitha’s heart was in her mouth, and she was breathing just as heavily. Why would he do such a thing? To fight a man, to attack him in such a way, leaving him under no illusion that she was under his protection, that her honor was his own.

  Why would he do that if he had no honorable intentions toward her?

  Something like hope, or a feeling very close to it, rose in her chest. It was shocking to see such violence and on the streets of Bath, too, a civilized city!

  There was something animalistic in his act, something territorial, instinctual. It made her shiver all over. If only she could know exactly what he was thinking, for she had the same question as Mr. Lister. Why would a gentleman, and a duke no less, do such a thing? Stake his own reputation like that for a lady with whom he was entirely unconnected?

  Tabitha stared at him leaning against the wall, and before she could hide herself behind the pillar once more, Axwick saw her.

  His eyes widened, and he stood up straight immediately. Embarrassment warmed Tabitha’s cheeks, their eyes unable or unwilling to separate.

  “R-Richard,” she stammered.

  Perhaps it was because his temper was already up that made him do what he did next. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing her there, after speaking of her so passionately and determinedly. Perhaps it was because she had used his name, the name which she had refused to use since they had met.

  Perhaps it was a fiery medley of all three. Whatever the reason, Richard strode forward with that fierce look, covering the yards between them so quickly that Tabitha could not move or make a sound, and before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her arms, pushed her roughly against the pillar she had hidden behind, and kissed her passionately on the lips.

  Oh, and what a kiss. As his lips touched hers, she was overcome with longing, longing that he awoke in her but she had not understood. His lips had captured hers instantly, and the shock of plea
sure that rippled through her body was made all the sweeter by the softness twinned with the barely controlled desire she could taste.

  His hands tilted her head, and Tabitha’s eyes closed, utterly lost in the kiss. It deepened as his tongue gently pried her lips open, and she welcomed him in, welcomed the fire burning through his body. She did not have to think, just feel, and it felt right to raise her hands to his head to pull him closer, it felt right that he was pushing her against the pillar, entrapping her between the cold marble and the blazing heat of his body.

  Her tongue, gentle and curious, met his own, and Richard groaned in her mouth. This was fire, fire like Tabitha had never known, and she could not tell whether she was the flame that set him alight, or if he was the blaze burning her. They kissed until they ran out of air and were forced to break apart.

  Tabitha opened her eyes. His face was close to hers, his hands on her hips.

  She wanted to say something about the way she felt, about how he was making her melt inside, but before she could, he spoke.

  “I-I am sorry,” he said in a jagged voice.

  Tabitha blinked, drunk on desire. “Why?”

  Richard laughed bitterly and drew his head away from hers. “I…I am far more in your power than I thought, Tabitha. I should not have been so despicable in the Pump Room.”

  His dark eyes looked hungrily at her, while his words were so remorseful. She could not help but laugh. Her hands left his face and found his hands on her hips, entangling his fingers between hers.

  “I am glad,” she said simply. “I know what Mr. Lister is truly like, and I have you to thank.”

  “You are far too good for a man like Lister,” Richard growled.

  Her heart had been racing since she had seen Richard punch Mr. Lister for her honor, but it quickened again at her daring.

  She smiled and tilted her head. “Am I too good for a man like you?”

  Something fired in his eyes, and he leaned forward to kiss her, but Tabitha placed a finger on his lips this time.

  “That,” she whispered, wishing she was not about to say these words, “was not an acceptance of your offer. I spoke the truth before. If…if you want to make love to me, you will have to marry me.”

  Tabitha thought she had finally gone too far. He would surely step away from her, angry she had led him to believe he could have her.

  Richard took her wrist and pinned it to the pillar. Before she could react, he held both hands above her head.

  She gasped, her whole body covered by the strong hardness of the Duke of Axwick.

  He moved his head closer to hers, and Tabitha arched instinctively to kiss him, but he drew back just enough so she could not reach him. Now it was her turn to feel hungry for the sensation of his lips on hers, but she did not have the words to explain it—begging him for the one thing she wanted so badly. There was something happening between her legs—a hot sensation.

  “Someone could walk by,” she whispered as she strained against his hold. “They would see us, and you will have missed your chance, Richard. You will miss your chance to taste me again—”

  If it had been anyone else’s words, they would have mortified her. With Richard, it felt natural.

  His response was even better.

  “I will kiss you when I am damn ready.” He leaned closer.

  Tabitha went to meet him, mouth open for the kiss, but he leaned back again, and she moaned with frustration.

  “God, Tabitha,” he muttered, his eyes flashing. “Though I would be glad to find my way into your bed, the idea of finding my way into your heart is not as repellent as I had once thought.”

  She fell in love with him then, her whole being tumbling over a cliff. She could only hope he would be there to catch her.

  “Richard,” she cried into his mouth, and he pushed her harder against the pillar, his lips finally crushed against hers.

  And then it was over. The sound of footsteps echoed down the street, and he released her hands and stepped away. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, still taste him.

  A young woman wearing spectacles walked past them, a disapproving expression on her face. As she reached the end of the street, she peered back and shook her head before turning the corner.

  Tabitha tried to calm her breathing.

  “I could do that all night,” he said, staying a few steps away from her. “And more, Tabitha. Damn it all.”

  The temptation to say yes and take me with you, to show her all the delightful things a man and a woman could do to each other, almost overwhelmed her. But she hesitated. She had to be strong, she could not allow herself to be easily won. If she was truly a prize worth fighting for, she had to be worth waiting for.

  “I know you could,” she said lightly. “I know.”

  Without saying another word, she walked away, unsure of anything except that this was the right thing to do.

  He was the one in her power.

  Chapter Eight

  Richard had never thought the library clock had a loud chime. He kept it because it had been his mother’s.

  Despite its subtle noise, Richard jumped violently as it struck three. The book in his lap slipped to the floor, and he blinked, unable to remember what he had been reading. Picking it up, he saw it was The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. He opened it to the marked page and read the same verse again without taking in a single word.

  He placed the book on the table and laughed.

  He had never felt this way about a woman before, and it was frightening, exhilarating, and confusing. None had ever caused him such distress; no one had ever resisted him.

  Every time he closed his eyes, it was not any of the women from his past. It was Tabitha he saw. He was kissing her passionately, and she smiled seductively and quivered as he touched her warm and glowing skin.

  It was impossible to rid himself of her, and he did not want to.

  Unlike every other encounter, a kiss was not enough, her touch was not enough, the wildness he could sense underneath her controlled facade was not enough.

  He wanted to learn everything about her, know every part of her life that brought her to this moment. Richard chuckled as he shook his head. He barely knew anything about her.

  Yes, she was passionate. She was determined, too, for few women could have rejected him after being intimate with him—it made him hard just thinking about it.

  What was her history? Did she have brothers or sisters? What were her interests, what made her the woman he knew?

  He could barely think straight after just two kisses. If they shared more, what would it be like for him—what dangers would he face?

  Charlotte entered the room and laughed.

  “This is the quietest I think I have ever seen you,” she said lightly.

  “’Tis not really what you expect from me, is it?”

  She considered him carefully. “No. What is going on, Richard?”

  He sighed, unprepared for the conversation. Charlotte may laugh, but she would never judge him.

  “I think,” he said carefully, startled at how difficult the words were, “I am having rather warm feelings for Miss Tabitha Chesworth.”

  Charlotte scrunched her nose. “Oh, Richard! I do not want to hear the sordid details of that part of your life!”

  “No, no, you misunderstand me,” he said quickly. “I mean…well, as surprising as this will be to you, Lotty, I…I think ’tis more personal than that. I mean to say…well. I actually like her.”

  Charlotte stared at her brother, then she sank into a chair. “I have never heard you speak like that about a woman before.”

  He laughed dryly. “I think if I am not very careful, I will be truly caught, and then where will we be?”

  He hoped, though would never admit it, that she would say he was more than a match for Tabitha.

  But she did not. “The question is,” she said, looking serious, “when will you go to her mother and ask permission to court her? Because you must do it
properly, Richard, if you hope to marry her.”

  Richard scrunched his nose the same way his sister had. It was a family trait they had learned from their mother.

  “Never,” he said curtly. “I need to bed her to get her out of my system. I suppose you would say a night with Tabitha is the cure.”

  Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “So, this is just the same as all the others, after all.”

  Irritation rose. Could she not see Tabitha was different? But then what did that mean? Would bedding her give him the relief he wanted? Did he want to be released from her at all?

  “This is different,” he said eventually. “I am not sure how, but it is different.”

  Somewhere in the depths of his mind, and he did not care to examine the thought more closely, was the wish it would not be the same. That he would want her, and she would want more than just a night of pleasure and passion.

  Perhaps Tabitha could be…if not a mistress, then a companion for him. Not a wife, not a woman to bear him heirs and continue the accursed family line. But a woman he could make love to and find comfort with.

  It was a far cry from his heady, youthful days when any woman was enough for the night, but he was older now. Wiser. Hungry for more. Hungry for her.

  “So what is your next move?”

  Charlotte’s voice cut through his thoughts and Richard smiled. “Why? Curious?”

  His sister shrugged. “Gentlemen make all of the decisions in courting. As it is unlikely to happen to me in any event, it would be nice to gain a view from the other side.”

  There was sadness in her tone but nothing but steel in her eyes, and Richard knew better than to attempt to comfort her. Lotty had never wanted pity, even when a child. She may only be a few years older than himself, but she had always been more controlled.

  “I have already decided on my next course of action. I am to host a ball and invite Miss Chesworth. I think it unlikely she will refuse an invitation. Few would decline one from the Duke of Axwick.”