He released his hold on her again. He could not decide if prior to this he would never have put himself in this position with his friend’s sister, never would’ve been alone with her, or if it would not have felt...weighted.
Because he had been somewhat isolated with Beatrice on any number of occasions. Here at the house, they had not been so formal. Kendal had trusted him, and he had never once moved to violate that trust. And would not have. But he was marrying her now, and whether or not it was to be a real marriage, it had shifted the positioning of their relationship. Had shifted the way he saw her.
Forced him to realise that she was a woman.
On that thought, she returned to him.
‘Will we?’ She turned to face him, and it brought her mouth perilously close to his. It was plump, and soft looking. In that moment, he felt an undeniable sense of the tragic. For it was possible that for her protection, no man would ever taste that mouth.
No man would ever be able to tap into that passion that existed beneath the surface of her skin, for it did. And that he had always known. It was perhaps why he had always favoured her. Why he had brought her sweets from London.
Why he had taken the extra time to talk to her. Because she was trapped here at the estate, and there was so much more to her than she would ever be able to express. She was right. Right then he could feel it. The storm beneath her skin that she was not allowed to let out. She was staring at him, her eyes filled with questions that were not his place to answer.
He could feel her fury. Her fury in the inability to get those answers.
Poor Beatrice.
‘I do not intend to make you miserable,’ he said.
‘But you will not take me to storm armies either, will you?’
‘The primary problem with that,’ he said, releasing hold of her again and letting her fly through the air, before bringing her back to him, ‘is that I do not know at present where there are any enemy armies, on my life.’
‘Surely you can find some, Briggs. I have great confidence in your abilities.’
‘In my ability to start a war?’
‘Yes.’
‘Should you like to be my Helen of Troy, Beatrice?’ he whispered, far too close to her ear, as he brought her back to his chest, her scent toying with him now. ‘Shall I launch a thousand ships for you?’
He pushed her forward again. ‘But I do not wish to sit at home,’ she said, looking back as she drew away from him. ‘I wish to fight.’
‘It is still the same result, is it not? A war, all for a woman.’
‘I imagine I nearly started a war between you and my brother.’
He continued to push her on the swing, allowing her to fly free before bringing her back. Only ever letting her so far. So high.
‘He believed me easily enough.’
‘Because he does not think me capable of anything truly shocking,’ she said.
‘Because he trusts me,’ he said, wondering right then if he was worthy of his friend’s trust. For as he brought her back, through the swing back, he ended up pressing the warmth of her body against his.
And he could feel the softness of her hair against his chin. And he knew that he was going to have to visit a brothel when they returned to London.
As a newly married man, he would be visiting a brothel.
He nearly curled his lip. Disgusted with himself.
But then, that was the state of things. He was not necessarily proud of the man he had become. But he was not waging a war against his nature either.
And in this instance it was a kindness to his wife.
For many reasons.
‘I’m sorry,’ Beatrice said. ‘Of course that is true. I did not think of it that way.’ She let out a slow breath, and he could feel it shift her frame. Then she leaned her head back, and it came to rest upon his chest. She jumped, but did not move. And he simply held her there, his hands gripping the ropes on the swing so tightly he thought he might cut his skin open. ‘Am I unbearably selfish?’
His chest felt tight. The rest of him felt...hard.
‘You are selfish, perhaps,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘But we all are. And the world favours the selfishness of men. You did what you thought you had to.’
‘I would feel better if you were angry with me,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘I apologise for not being able to accommodate.’
He released his hold on her and she made a small sound of surprise as she went careening forward. But his heart was thundering too hard, and he should not hold her against his body that way.
‘Why can’t you be angry with me?’
‘Because my freedom is not in question. I will continue to do exactly as I please. As I have always done.’
She laughed softly. ‘You’ve already told me that isn’t true. You have a child. Your heart does not beat simply for you.’
He had nothing to say to that, so he pushed her again on the swing.
* * *
Beatrice felt breathless. She did not know why. Not breathless in the way that had marked her childhood. Breathless in a way that frightened her.
This breathlessness was not unpleasant. Being close to him was not unpleasant. He had a solid presence that made her feel... Quieted. She had always liked being around him, but this was different. Leaning her head on his chest had felt natural, though she knew it was not proper. She was past proper. She had failed at being proper; she had gone and ruined herself, hadn’t she?
He pulled the swing near him again, and she could feel the heat from his body. She felt warm herself.
Her heart thundered almost painfully. He moved his hands, his fingertips brushing against her shoulders, and she shivered. She could sense his strength, and she wanted to lean into it. To test it. In a way that she was never allowed to test her own.
Tears stung her eyes. Because she felt like she was on the verge of something that she would never fully be able to immerse herself in.
Never fully be able to understand.
She turned her head again to look at him, and most of all to chase that strange prickling feeling she had felt before. When she had turned to face him on the swing and their faces had been so close. She was closer to Briggs than she had ever been to a man before. Well, with the exception of that moment in the library when he had put his hand on her hindquarters.
‘I would give anything to taste that sort of freedom,’ she whispered. ‘To know what it’s like.’
‘People do things... To find that,’ he said, his voice low, shivering over her skin in a way that left her feeling shaken. ‘To find that sense of pushing against the edges. They take themselves to extremes. But it is not always advisable.’
‘Who gets to decide?’ she whispered.
‘I suppose whoever has the greatest interest in keeping you safe.’
‘I sometimes wonder, though, at what point you must abandon safety in order to live. I feel like men are so rarely asked to make these choices. Or at least, if they must, they are the ones in charge of those decisions.’
‘Sometimes you have to trust that those who care for you might choose a better path for you than you would choose for yourself.’
He meant him. He meant choosing for her. ‘Why must I trust that?’
‘I do not have a good answer for you, Beatrice.’
‘That is disappointing. You have no anger for me, and you have no answers for me.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not.’
‘We are to be married tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I do not know what it means to be a wife.’
‘You do not have to know what it means to be a wife,’ he said. ‘You will be a wife to me, and there will be a specific way that can play out. But I will make sure you know everything to do.’
And amid all the un
certainty she found that promise supremely comforting. It was all she had to cling to. And cling to it, she would.
CHAPTER FIVE
Briggs had managed to procure the licence easily enough. And he had gone back to Bybee House, though his housekeeper had asked him if he wished William to come to the wedding.
‘I should not like to disrupt his schedule.’
‘You do not think he might wish to see you married?’
The only reason that Mrs Brown could get away with speaking to him in such a way was that she had been with the house since he was a boy. And she had certainly spent more time with him than his own parents.
‘I do not think that,’ he said. ‘He would find it dull, and the trip would only be taxing.’
And so he was now at the church, prepared to do what he must.
There would be few people in attendance. Beatrice’s mother, he assumed Kendal’s ward, as she was good friends with Beatrice. And Kendal himself, of course. But other than the minister, he did not imagine there would be another.
No one was in attendance. Not yet. He walked out of the sanctuary, and through to the back, where there was a small garden, and a stone bench. And upon it sat his bride.
He had last seen her on that swing, with the night drawing a protective veil around them.
It was bright and clear out this morning.
He could see her perfectly well, too well. And the vision mingled with the intimacy of the night before. The way she smelled. The warmth of her body pressed to his.
She was dressed in blush, the gown cut low, as was the fashion. But he had never seen Beatrice in such a fashion. She was...
She was a stunning picture there, her elegant neck curved, wisps of dark curls falling down over her pale skin. And her breasts...
She looked up, eyes wide. ‘Briggs.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I escaped. I thought I might come early and...’
‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’
He had not been imagining it. The same thing he had seen in her eyes in the library... He could see it again now. She liked to please him. She liked being told what was expected of her.
And that should not intrigue him.
He knew better than to visit his inclinations on a lady. These were things he had attempted in his first marriage, and he had since learned the marriage bed was not the place for such activities. There were brothels that catered to men of his tastes specifically. And everyone involved knew exactly what to expect. And even, enjoyed it. That was the thing about his particular desires. They might be hard, uncompromising.
He might enjoy being in charge, and doling out punishment where it was due. But a woman’s submission was only enjoyable if it was given willingly.
And if she received pleasure from the act.
Beatrice would never understand.
He would be very surprised if she understood much of anything about the dynamic between men and women. Ladies were so sheltered. He had experience of such a thing with his first wife. But Beatrice... It was likely she was even more so. Off the country as she was, and with a family that had no intention of ever marrying her off.
‘You told me that you wanted the truth. And so I am committed to offering it to you.’
‘Good.’
She blushed. And he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that it was an incredibly pretty blush.
‘Where will we go?’ she asked.
‘To Maynard Park. My family home.’
‘Oh.’
‘We will go to London for the Season. I must see to my duties at the House of Lords.’
For him, the Season typically marked a month-long period of work and excess. As he was not participating in the marriage market, he did not play games unless he was required to attend balls out of deference to a political pursuit. He took his duties relatively seriously. After all, a man had to possess some purpose in his life, or what was the point of it? It was far too easy to be a man in his position and do nothing, care for nothing. To simply exist, as he had much power and wealth, and it was easy for him to do so.
But that was not the way that he saw the world. He would not say that he was an extraordinarily good man, but he did not see the purpose in occupying his space if he did not try to do something to improve the state of others.
‘Oh,’ she said, immediately looking pleased. ‘I do so wish to spend the Season in London. I have not been... But one time. And never for an entire Season.’
‘I have a home there that I feel you will find comfortable.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ She smiled slightly. ‘I am... Is it wrong that I’m pleased?’
‘It is a life sentence, Beatrice. You can either look at it as if you’re going to the gallows or... Enjoy your time in the dungeon, I suppose.’
Badly chosen words on his part.
‘I must do my best to enjoy it.’
But she looked a bit pale and uncertain.
He felt rather than heard the approach of his friend, and he turned and saw Kendal standing there. He looked disapproving.
‘Shall we begin the proceedings?’
‘Are you ready?’ Briggs asked, somewhat mocking. As if his marriage was one on the time schedule of a man other than him.
His marriage that was not to be a marriage.
He looked at the lovely lines of the woman who would be his wife.
Not his wife in truth.
And then he looked back at Kendal. ‘Yes. Let us hasten the imprisonment.’
Beatrice looked slightly wounded by that, but he did not see the purpose in soothing her. He was not going to be hard on her. Not in the end of all things. But he also did not see the purpose in making this any easier on her than it need be.
She had been the architect of this particular sort of destruction.
It does not matter to you.
It did not. It did not and would not matter to him. It could not.
The brothels would receive him whether or not he was newly wed.
And with thoughts of brothels lingering in his mind they entered the church again. The minister was standing there looking reproving, and Briggs had a strange sensation of guilt, which was not something he carried with him often. The minister must be very good.
Briggs could almost feel the hellfire against his heels as he stood there.
Sadly, he was a man who enjoyed the flames. He never had been properly able to feel shame.
Not over certain things.
He had been correct, the only other souls in attendance were Beatrice’s mother, and Eleanor, the ward.
Eleanor, for her part, looked quite large-eyed and upset. On behalf of her friend no doubt. Being married off to the big bad Duke.
The minister read from the Book of Common Prayer, and Briggs’s most dominant thought was how strange it was to be here again.
With yet another young, sweet miss.
But he was not the man that he’d been. Going into marriage with expectations of something entirely different.
He had been certain that he could make a friendship with his wife. At the very least.
Be something other than his parents’ frosty union.
He had not managed it. If anything, he had failed.
He had failed at forging connections with all of the most important people in his life. With the exception of course of Kendal. Though that was likely somewhat compromised now.
It was a short ceremony. Quick and traditional. Legal. And that was all that mattered. They were married in the eyes of the church. And society would have to be appeased by the quick union.
It was incredible how decisive it was. A spare few words exchanged between two people who had been little more than acquaintances to each other a few days prior and they were now bound together for life.
* * *
And then they were bundled up into their carriage, making the three-hour journey to Maynard Park. And they had not exchanged a single word to each other since that moment in the garden.
‘You will tell me, if you have need of anything,’ he said.
‘Such as?’ she asked.
‘Clothing. We are to go for the Season, I assume you will wish to go to... Balls.’
She blinked. ‘I did not think that you would wish to attend them.’
‘I do not,’ he said. ‘But you are my ward. Not my prisoner, for all that I may have alluded otherwise.’
‘I’m not your ward,’ she said softly.
‘It is best if we think of it that way.’
And that he not think of last night, and the temptation he’d felt.
‘I see.’ She looked away from him. ‘Well. I shall need some dresses. It is not that my brother has not been generous, but this gown was taken from Eleanor. She had gowns made for the Season. I do not.’
‘We shall remedy this.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It is nothing.’
‘I cannot tell if you’re angry with me,’ she said. ‘Am only I held to the standard of being perfectly honest, or does that apply to you as well?’
‘Only you,’ he said. She clearly did not see the amusement in this. ‘It is for your protection,’ he said further. ‘I must know what you need, what you want, for if I do not, how can I care for you to the extent that you must be cared for?’
‘How will I know anything if we do not speak with some level of honesty?’
‘I imagine we shall continue on together as we began.’
‘You are my brother’s friend. We do not often speak. Occasionally, you have brought me sweets.’
‘I do not see why that needs to change.’
She sighed. ‘Well...should I call you Philip?’
Something rang out, sharp and hard in his chest. He did not know how many years it had been since he’d heard that name spoken out loud.
‘No,’ he said.
‘We are married and...’
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 26
