Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Christine Merrill

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Beatrice said. ‘I only have William and Briggs to speak to, and it’s... I wanted someone to speak to. Really. I am sorry, I know that you... You are unmarried. But... Physical intimacy within marriage is wonderful,’ she said.

  Eleanor laughed. Actually laughed. ‘I know about that,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Eleanor!’

  ‘I mean, I have not... I understand though.’

  Beatrice thought that Eleanor probably did not understand all of the things that she and Briggs did together. But then, she doubted many people would. But they did. She would never share the details. They were far too personal. Far too intimate.

  ‘I don’t think he loves me,’ Beatrice said. ‘Or it’s impossible to tell. He is...’

  ‘What sort of father is he?’ Eleanor asked.

  ‘Lovely,’ Beatrice said, a silly smile crossing her lips.

  ‘Lovely?’

  ‘He is. I don’t know how else to say it.’

  ‘It is hard for me to imagine him as a father. Given all I know about his reputation,’ Eleanor said.

  Beatrice thought about that for a moment. ‘I’ve thought about Briggs’s reputation. His reputation is both severely under-and over-exaggerated.’

  It was true. Briggs was not a rake in the way that she had once imagined him to be. With her limited understanding of what that meant. He was a man of great intensity, and the desire that burned between them was anything but simple. It was the sort of thing that many people would find objectionable. Depraved even.

  But it was theirs. It was theirs and it was not for anyone else to understand. Not for anyone else to approve of.

  It was different, even, than the way that high society flaunted and enforced the rules they created at their own whims. For this was not about taking joy in debauchery, or in rebellion. It was about being what the other needed. It was about his honour of her strength. About her showing how safe he made her feel.

  ‘I’m happy you’re happy,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I am not happy that you aren’t,’ Beatrice said.

  ‘I will find a way,’ Eleanor responded. ‘You know, a woman such as myself... I have been very lucky to have been taken in by your family. It is... It is dishonourable of me to be so sad because I cannot have the impossible. I can no more take the stars down and hold them in my hands than I can aspire to be with your brother. My heart is foolish. I can go on loving him just fine married to another man.’

  ‘You would be content with that?’

  ‘I would be resigned to it,’ she said.

  ‘What of your husband?’

  ‘I dare say very few men expect love from their marriages.’

  Beatrice thought of that. ‘I did not expect love from mine. But he is the very dearest thing in the world to me. He is so strong, so... Hard and remote. And yet I find I want to hold him in my arms and protect him from everything that has happened.’

  ‘Does he grieve his wife?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s...’ She realised it as soon as she said, ‘He is angry at his wife. Deeply and bitterly angry.’

  ‘Oh,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I know him better than I have ever known another person. I have let him do things that... And yet there is still so much I don’t know.’

  ‘I guess that is the fortunate thing about marriage being a lifetime.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose that’s true.’

  ‘I can only hope I find that a remotely fortunate prospect when I’m faced with my own.’

  ‘Let us hope a gallant and handsome man catches your eye tonight,’ Beatrice said.

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘Let us hope so.’

  * * *

  Briggs had not simply failed at what he had promised, he had jumped head first into an affair with his own wife.

  He could not stay away from her.

  Philip. Please.

  It echoed in his head. When she had begged him. By name. To be taken.

  He had not been able to resist. She was all tight heat and need, and every night when he sank into her he felt himself slipping further and further away from what he had promised he could be, and embracing the darkness of what he wanted.

  He did not spill his seed inside her.

  She was adamant that she would speak to a physician about the risk of her carrying a child.

  Still, he knew that the precautions they took were no great assurance that there would be no baby.

  He was primitively satisfied in the image that came into his head of Beatrice swollen with his child.

  Serena had not wanted him to touch her when she’d been pregnant, and it was entirely possible that Beatrice might feel the same way. But she would not hide her body from him. That much he was certain of. He was deeply certain he would find the sight erotic.

  Not thoughts he should be having in the carriage with his wife beside him on his way to a ball where her brother would be present.

  She was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. Those things were so easy for her. Casual touches.

  She touched him all the time. She freely gave sweet affection to his son, and she gave it to him in equal measure. He had not realised how hungry he was for such a thing. Something as simple as touch. Not the sort of pleasurable touch they shared in the bedroom, but this simple close touch. That was simply pressure against his body, assurance that she was there.

  In cutting these sorts of relationships from his life, he had lost that.

  You’ve never had it.

  ‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he said, distracting himself by returning to her physical beauty.

  The crimson gown she was wearing tonight felt wicked. It did not reveal any more of her body than anything else she wore, but there was something about the colour that felt an announcement of sin.

  And he was so well acquainted with the kinds of sin that he could commit with Beatrice.

  It was all he could think of. That and dragging her out to the garden for re-enactment of previous interludes in the outdoors.

  ‘When did you begin sneaking out of your house?’

  It was something that he had puzzled over recently.

  For when he had met her she had seemed a pale and drawn creature, and he did not know when those things had changed. Or if she was simply very good at putting up a smokescreen.

  ‘When I was fourteen. I would climb out my bedroom window in the night. And sometimes I thought... Sometimes I thought it would be acceptable if it killed me. Because I was so very tired of those four walls.’

  ‘I do not find it acceptable,’ he said, looking at her. For he understood now, if reluctantly, what she thought about the baby really.

  She was not concerned for her own safety. She was hungry. Hungry for experience. And perhaps he could find a way to be enough.

  To be enough so that she did not feel the need to have a child.

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘But you know, every day we take risk when rising from our beds.’

  ‘For some it is a deeper risk,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she returned. ‘But life is all the dearer to me for that reason. I fought for the chance to run in the moonlight. I had to engage in subterfuge to spend time swinging in my own garden. I had to beg for my husband’s possession. I had to fight for a husband at all. Do you not see how much more dear these things are to me for that reason?’

  ‘Beatrice,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘You are strong. I am in great admiration of it. But...’

  ‘You wish to protect me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For Hugh’s sake or for mine?’

  The words caught in his throat for a moment. ‘For mine.’

  Her breath caught, she looked away from him, and said nothing else. When they arrived at Lady Smythe’s, they wer
e announced upon entry to the ballroom, and he immediately spotted Hugh.

  Beatrice was swept away by the gaggle of ladies that had taken a shine to her, and she took Eleanor along with her.

  ‘And how are you finding London?’ Briggs asked.

  Hugh’s expression was opaque. ‘Eleanor’s dance card is full. I suppose that is a victory.’

  He rather sounded like he was being sent to the gallows, not like he was pleased with his ward’s performance.

  Something troubled him, and Briggs wished he could help. And also felt as if he did not deserve any additional insight into what Hugh was feeling, not when he had betrayed his trust as he’d done.

  But you honoured Beatrice’s desires.

  He found that as much as he loved his friend, that mattered more.

  ‘Full marks to you,’ Briggs said.

  Hugh cast an eye over him. ‘And how are you finding London?’

  ‘I am here. As ever. And Beatrice is getting her experience of the Season.’

  ‘Good,’ Hugh said, looking around.

  ‘William is enjoying himself.’ Normally he went out of his way to never speak of William. Not even to Hugh.

  His friend lifted a brow, indicating his surprise.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Beatrice is a wonderful stepmother to him,’ he said. ‘He has... He has changed a great deal with her. I wonder what would’ve become of me if I’d had a mother who had cared for me so.’

  He did not know why he was saying this to his friend, except that he knew what Briggs had been like when he had first gone to school. The lack of confidence he’d felt. The inability to speak to other children.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. That it has been something beneficial for you.’

  ‘I would hope for all of us.’

  ‘That is more than I expected to hear, I confess.’

  ‘She is a strong woman, your sister,’ Briggs said. It was difficult for him to keep the admiration from his voice, and then, why should he? Hugh should understand. He should understand what manner of woman Beatrice was. Woman. Because he got the feeling his friend still thought of her as a girl. And she was not. She was strong, and glorious. When the two of them made love they...

  Hugh’s head turned sharply, his focus suddenly diverted. Briggs followed his gaze. His ward had gone to the dance floor and was now in the arms of another man.

  ‘I do not approve of that,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Abernathy? Why?’

  ‘You know full well.’

  ‘He frequents the sort of brothels that we do?’ Briggs asked.

  ‘He has a reputation for being quite perverse.’

  ‘So do I, as you well know.’

  The look that Hugh gave him went hard. ‘Yes, and I have full confidence that you are not visiting such acts upon my sister or I would look at you much the same.’

  Briggs ground his back teeth together. ‘She is not your sister,’ he said, indicating Eleanor.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Indeed she is not.’

  Beatrice separated herself from her lady-friends, and fixed him with a bright smile. Then she looked at her brother. ‘It is so good to see you.’ He knew that were they not in the ballroom she would’ve flung herself at Hugh and given him a hug.

  ‘And you. London suits you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Beatrice said defiantly. ‘It does. I remember a time when you did not think that would be true.’

  ‘I’m happy to be proven wrong,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Well, a strange thing indeed coming from you. I did not realise the Duke of Kendal ever thought he could be wrong.’

  Her words were strong and clear. She was not saying this to him to goad him, rather she was not allowing him total control of the situation. He recognised a person playing at mastery when he saw it.

  It was damnably impressive.

  ‘In this instance,’ he said, ‘I am pleased to be.’

  ‘My dear husband,’ Beatrice said. ‘Perhaps you should spare me a dance. We can keep an eye on Eleanor. Which I do think my brother would like. So that he can stop staring daggers in that direction.’

  ‘I’m not staring daggers.’

  ‘You are. Do not make this miserable for her,’ Beatrice said, not allowing him to get away with it.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Do not make it miserable for her,’ Beatrice repeated. ‘Whether it be because of protection or because you do not want another man to have that which you will not take yourself, you must not make her miserable. Please let her be happy.’

  ‘She will not be happy with him,’ Kendal said, bristling, and Briggs felt utterly outclassed by his wife. Who had clearly identified something happening that he had not.

  ‘You must let her determine that,’ Beatrice said. ‘You must let her decide what will make her happy.’ Beatrice let out a harsh breath. ‘You cannot protect people from everything. You cannot force everyone to live the life that you think is best.’

  ‘Of course I can,’ Kendal said. ‘I’m a duke.’

  ‘You are a stubborn ass is what you are,’ Beatrice said. ‘Come. Let us dance.’

  Briggs shrugged, and allowed Beatrice to take him to the dance floor, where he took her into his arms. ‘Bold of you,’ Briggs said.

  ‘Eleanor is miserable with love for him. He cannot act a jealous lover when he has no intention of ever...’

  ‘Beatrice,’ Briggs said gently. ‘Even if he did see her that way, which he has never indicated to me that he does, you know he never would. She is beneath his station in every way, and under his protection.’

  ‘I know,’ Beatrice said. ‘And so does she. But it does not change the way that she feels. If he truly wishes to do a kind thing for her, he must let her be happy. He must let her be.’

  ‘Human hearts are terribly inconvenient things,’ Briggs said.

  ‘Yes,’ Beatrice agreed readily. ‘They are.’

  Her eyes took on a strange light, and he shifted uncomfortably.

  Eleanor, for her part, looked like she was enjoying herself well enough, as she traded partners with frequency. She was extraordinarily beautiful, and even though her icy blonde beauty did not appeal to Briggs when he had Beatrice’s lovely chestnut curls beneath his hands, he could see that she was just the sort of woman that many men would like. She did not have a title, or a dowry, but she was under the Duke of Kendal’s protection, and he was offering quite the dowry. She should be able to find herself a good match.

  Such a strange thing, to be at one of these events with a wife again. He had not fully appreciated it the first time.

  He did not have to avoid women coyly trying to get his attention. Then indeed, even if there were women attempting to get his attention, he did not think he would notice.

  He was brought back to the moment by Beatrice’s hand on his cheek.

  ‘You are missing from me.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘Never.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘I remember when I so looked forward to experiencing a ball. And now I find myself impatient to leave so that you and I can be alone.’

  ‘If your brother were not here, I might take you into the garden again.’

  ‘That I would enjoy. But perhaps I would be the one to pleasure you.’

  His desire had him in a chokehold. And he knew that he should not tease her like this, not so openly. But everyone around them was dancing, and they were far too interested in their own entanglements to worry at all about Briggs and his wife.

  He moved his hand up between her shoulder blades, then up still to the back of her neck, his hold turning possessive. And he felt her shiver beneath his touch.

  ‘A promise,’ he said. ‘For later.’

  ‘I will hold you to that promise. I must warn you, I’m feeling particularly unruly tonight.’
/>
  ‘You shall require a firm hand.’

  Her grin lit up the ballroom. And he felt it square at the centre of his chest.

  ‘I do hope so.’

  When he looked up it was because he felt, rather than saw, someone looking at him. And he was correct. The Duke of Kendal had fixed him with a thousand-yard stare that felt rather like a knife at the centre of his back.

  He had been wrong then, about the interest of others. Hugh needed to find himself a woman to distract him, for Briggs had no interest in being the focus of his attention.

  But then, Hugh would not find the sort of woman he liked here. While he did not share Briggs’s specific affinities, what he knew was that his friend tended towards a level of roughness not ever visited upon gently bred ladies.

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  He led her out towards the back of the ballroom, to the terrace. And he sensed that Kendal was following them.

  He was not in the mood to have a discussion with his friend about the details of his intimate life.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, I imagine we will discover exactly what it is in just a few moments.’

  ‘Why exactly was I watching as the two of you flirted outrageously on a dance floor?’

  ‘We are married,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘I cannot be ruined by my own husband.’

  ‘Do not be incorrigible,’ Hugh said. ‘You and I both know the circumstances of your marriage.’

  ‘Nobody knows the circumstances of our marriage but us,’ Beatrice said.

  And he did want to tell her to not play quite so grandly with his fate. He did like to be alive.

  ‘Briggs, I asked one thing of you.’

  ‘Yes. You asked me to take care of your sister. You asked me to treat her as a ward.’

  ‘I have the sense things have changed.’

  Briggs knew that he was about to cross a line. And he thought to himself for a long moment about whether or not he wished to turn back. He did not.

  ‘Perhaps, it is simply that you are taking your feelings about what you would like to do with your ward and placing them on my shoulders.’