Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “Bloody cast,” he murmured.

  “What was that?” Margaret asked.

  “Nothing.” They ended up at the water’s edge. With his weak arm throbbing, he reached into his pocket. No bottle. A blade of panic sliced through him. Glancing back at the house, which now seemed a very long way away though it was merely a few hundred yards, Cam realized he hadn’t grabbed the laudanum from beside the bed after Peter dressed him.

  His countenance must have given away the alarm that was even then coursing through him, for when Margaret glanced his way, she gasped.

  “John, is something wrong?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dammit all! Cam wasn’t going to tell Margaret he wanted—no, he needed—his opium tincture. It would cause no end of questioning and delay.

  How could he get her to want to return to the house, and quickly?

  “Do either of you fish?” He had no idea why that question came out of his mouth, but it seemed to engender delight in the younger Blackwood sister.

  Eleanor nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve caught many fish at home. My father taught me.”

  “What did you catch?” Cam asked, trying to keep his mind off his aching arm.

  “Bream and perch,” she said. “Do you fish here?”

  “I used to when I was a boy. I caught some large zander, and we ate them for dinner.” He looked at Margaret.

  “I don’t fish,” she said, “but I’ll happily eat it.”

  “Shall we go get poles?” Cam asked. “I’ll return to the house and see if Cyril can find some poles, probably in the gardener’s shed. If Gray were here, he’d know how to lay his hands on some. No matter, I’ll find them. Perhaps in the stables. Though why would anyone keep fishing poles in their stables?”

  He closed his mouth firmly on the babbling words flowing unbidden from it.

  Beginning to turn his pushchair around, he heard Margaret laughing. A beautiful sound. So why, at that moment, did it grate on his nerves?

  “We don’t have to fish now,” she said. “It’s very kind of you, but for you to go all the way back is nonsense. We’ll plan for it tomorrow.”

  “It’s not nonsense.” He hoped he sounded even-keeled while a cloud of unease was settling over him. He could see in his mind’s eye the dark glass bottle. In it was everything he needed to feel good on this outing. If only Maggie hadn’t forced him to have a bath and change his clothing.

  “Look at Eleanor,” he persisted. “She wants to fish.”

  “Do you, dear?” Margaret asked her sister.

  Eleanor shrugged. “Tomorrow is fine.”

  “But we can fish now,” he persisted, hearing a whine in his voice that made him seem younger than the girl whom he’d hoped would have been his ally. “Why wait? It might rain tomorrow.”

  “John, even I don’t expect you to wheel yourself back and forth in one day. You’ll be exhausted, and your arm will be terribly sore.”

  “True,” he said calmly, despite the storm of jitters roiling around in his stomach. He could feel the sweat break out on his forehead and running down his back, as well.

  “Perchance you ladies could help by pushing me back to the house, one at either handle. We would get there faster and then get back here more quickly, too.”

  “Really, we’re happy simply to stroll along the river. I’m sure there are plenty of birds to keep us occupied.”

  Something inside him snapped. That was how he would best describe it to himself later when he lay upon his bed wondering at his rudeness.

  “Fine! You two can look at the bloody birds if you like. I’m going back to the house.”

  As he wheeled away in the stunned silence, he heard Eleanor say, “Your fiancé must truly love to fish.”

  They did not come after him as he rolled away, his arm cramping in agony at the speed with which he moved his pushchair. As soon as he approached the veranda, he began to yell for help.

  Mrs. Mackle was closest apparently, for she came rushing out of the back of the house, followed by his mother.

  Should he ask them? He had no choice. He couldn’t wait the length of time it would take to summon Cyril or Peter, nor to get help going upstairs to fetch the bottle himself.

  “I need my laudanum at once,” he said to the housekeeper. “There is a bottle beside my bed.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She offered the barest of curtsies, befitting her age and station, and as she was unused to being sent on an errand, the housekeeper didn’t seem to be moving quickly enough given the size of Turvey House.

  “With haste, Mrs. Mackle,” he called after her as she strolled to the back door.

  Nevertheless, knowing the tincture was almost in his hand, he began to relax.

  “You were yelling like a ruffian,” his mother admonished him. “I thought you were injured or something was wrong with one of the Blackwoods. Where are they?”

  Sighing, he knew she was going to be upset at his abandonment of their guests.

  “Can’t you see them from there?” Cam asked. “They are perfectly happy walking by the river and birdwatching.”

  “Birdwatching?”

  “Yes, Eleanor is quite the naturalist. By the way, do we own any fishing poles?”

  “Grayson would know,” Lady Cambrey said. “But why did you go all the way there only to come back a minute later?”

  “Wheeling the pushchair was too much for my right arm, I’m sorry to say. The pain is intense.”

  His mother paled. Just then, Mrs. Mackle reappeared and hurried toward him, clearly understanding the urgency after all. She thrust the bottle into his outstretched hands and he unstopped it, taking a small sip. He knew from experience it didn’t take much to give powerful relief.

  After a few moments, his mother asked, “Better, dear boy?”

  “Yes.” However, with the blissful end to his pain and the familiar euphoric sensation came a new feeling. Guilt, followed quickly by disappointment in himself. He’d behaved badly in front of Margaret and her sister, becoming impatient and yelling irrationally.

  Determined to do better, Cam decided to do two things—to make certain he always had laudanum upon his person while at the same time being more discreet about drinking it. There was no reason for those around him to even know he was taking it anymore. In any case, it was his personal business.

  As long as he remembered to have it regularly to take the edge off his agony, and at the same time, to keep pushing himself to strengthen his muscles, he would improve in all aspects.

  “Are you going back to find them?” his mother asked.

  Cam considered the task.

  “I think not. They are most likely nearly as far down as All Saints by now. Unless they went up river. In any case, too far for me to wheel by myself.”

  “Why don’t we play a game of cards, then? We haven’t done that in ages. When the girls come back, they can join in.”

  *

  Battling emotions of anger and worry, as well as embarrassment at John’s behavior, Maggie tried to enjoy her time with Eleanor before they headed back to the house. She was thankful her sister hadn’t made further reference to John’s strange behavior, which Maggie guessed was opium driven. In her bones, she knew it.

  When he didn’t return, she realized what a changed man he was from the one whom she’d met the year before. John had taken her whole family under his protection out of loyalty to his best friend, Simon, who had left the country and his wife, Jenny, behind in London. All the Blackwoods had experienced the Earl of Cambrey’s kindness, and with every moment Maggie had spent in his company, either engaging in conversation or silently observing him, his character had impressed her greatly. And when they’d kissed the first time, she’d been overwhelmed with sentimental emotion. And desire.

  Currently, he was short-tempered, sly—for she was sure he didn’t care about fishing—and peevish. In fact, at the present moment, he was not the type of man whom she could envision herself marrying.

  That thoug
ht, right as she reached the veranda, had her stopping in her tracks, causing Eleanor to bump into her from behind.

  “Oomph. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sorry,” she told Eleanor. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Sketch. I’m heading to the stables as soon as I have my pencils and paper.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll check on you later. Don’t get—”

  “I know, I know. Don’t get hurt. For goodness sake, Mags, I’m not a child anymore.”

  Maggie chuckled.

  “I was going to say don’t get in anyone’s way, but you’re right. At your advanced age, you shall neither be in danger nor a nuisance.”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes before running into the house, exactly like a child would, to fetch her sketchbook.

  Maggie knew what her next task was, and she didn’t care for it one bit.

  “Where is his lordship?” she asked the first servant she encountered, who turned out to be Polly.

  “In the library, I believe, miss.”

  A moment later, she peered around the open doorway. John was seated in his pushchair, reading and making notes. Looking up at her entrance, he offered her a slightly sheepish smile.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Maggie began, remembering the last time she’d barged in there and had the nasty surprise of seeing him with Jane, seemingly in a loving moment. Shortly after, they’d agreed to marry, and her heart had bloomed with happiness.

  “No, not at all,” he said. “I’ve only just finished playing a round of écarte with Mother. I thought I’d make notes on investments I want to discuss with Gray if he ever comes back. Speaking to you is infinitely preferable, I promise.”

  How to begin? She wanted to explain again her reasons for being concerned because deep inside, he was still the man she wanted to share her life with. If only she could get that man to return.

  “I’m sorry,” John blurted before she could say anything. “I know I acted like a dunderhead.”

  It was a start, she thought. “You had a reason, I believe, for your behavior.”

  Frowning, he remained silent.

  Was he going to be forthcoming or not?

  She pressed the issue. “You didn’t return to the house to seek fishing poles.”

  He had the grace to blush. “No, I was in some pain from using my pushchair.”

  Maggie felt a pang of guilt.

  “I am sorry for your pain. I should have let Cyril push you down to the river.”

  “No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “You were right. I need to strengthen my arm, and the only way to do so is to use it and suffer the consequences. I intend to continue wheeling myself around.”

  “I don’t want you to ache,” she made sure he understood. “However, I am extremely concerned.”

  “I’m going to stop taking laudanum,” he interrupted, his voice sounding determined.

  He had her attention. “Really?”

  “Yes. I promise.” He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, and she saw earnestness flickering there.

  “You don’t know this, but I tried to stop already, and it was damnably difficult. However, I can see my taking opium bothers you, and thus, I am determined to persevere. Be prepared, though, for the discomfort makes me rather grumpy. Ask my valet in particular.”

  Her heart had lightened with each word he’d said.

  “I didn’t know you had tried before. I’m sorry it caused you pain, but this time I’ll be right beside you,” she promised.

  “There is no one else I would want there.”

  He held out his hand to her. She took it, and in the next instant, with their hands clasped, he pulled her onto his lap and began kissing her to distraction.

  With his lips on hers, all their problems fell away. Here, at last, was her John. When he kissed her, she could deny him nothing, or even remember why she’d felt uncertain about their future only a few minutes earlier.

  Pulling back, he asked, “Is Eleanor going to walk in and interrupt us?”

  “No,” she said, her heartbeat racing. “She’s sketching your horses.”

  “How very brilliant of her. Will it take her long?”

  “At least half an hour. Maybe more.”

  “Wonderful!” And he brushed his knuckles across each of her breasts, exactly as he’d done in his bedroom when he thought her a dream.

  With her nipples tingling and tightening, she threaded her fingers in his clean hair, relishing the silky feel of it. Then to her astonishment and delight, he cupped her fullness with his palms, holding each of her breasts gently, rubbing his thumbs over her now-sensitive peaks.

  Oddly, and she could hardly credit the sensation, it seemed as if he were stroking her elsewhere. Indeed, with each caress of her nipples, she felt it between her legs.

  Her core heated, and she began to wriggle against him, wanting more.

  “John,” she moaned against his lips as they kissed again.

  She felt him trying to gain better access, but her high-necked blouse and tight, figure-hugging jacket made it impossible. Moreover, when he reached under her skirts, he was impeded by the awkward angle of her sitting on his lap.

  Hearing him groan, she took his face in her hands and kissed him fervently, her lips parting and her tongue darting out to seek his.

  The rest of him froze at her boldness, but as he opened his mouth and drew her tongue inside, sucking on it, she knew he was enjoying their encounter as much as she was.

  After a time, Maggie realized he’d altered the kiss to thrust his tongue between her lips. Therefore, precisely as he had done, she sucked gently. Meanwhile, his hands, which had momentarily stilled, came back to life, roaming over her back and then across her breasts to finally settle at her waist.

  When the kiss ended, they were both breathing heavily.

  Grasping the front of his waistcoat, she said, “I think it is a good thing you are in a cast, or I question whether we would make it chastely to the wedding night.”

  He gave a frustrated laugh. “Chastity is highly overrated, my darling. If I weren’t in this cast, I can promise you I would be attempting to breach your innocence long before the wedding night. And you would thank me for it, too. Right before you yelled my name.”

  Blushing, Maggie had no doubt he was correct, for everywhere John touched her, she seemed to awaken with exquisite new sensations. Her breasts were literally aching to be uncovered and held.

  “Not all of you is in a cast,” Maggie pointed out and wriggled her bottom once more.

  He groaned again. “And none of you is. Perhaps we should go upstairs and see what we can accomplish.”

  Biting her lower lip, she considered his proposal. They were to be married anyway. She was safely engaged with no blemish upon her reputation, and she no longer needed to fiercely guard it.

  “We shall make a plan,” she whispered against his ear. “Stay downstairs with me the rest of the day. Tonight, I’ll come to you.”

  She watched him swallow.

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  Feeling his sigh, she let him take her chin in his hand.

  “You think so, do you? I want to claim you for my own in a way that is utterly irrevocable. You only have one chance to give your body for your first time.”

  Excitement raced through her. Could they really join in the way of a man and woman while he was impeded by plaster and bandages? Despite her earlier fears, John Angsley was firmly in her heart, and that wouldn’t change. For her part, she saw no need to wait until their wedding night. After all, this wasn’t the middle ages, and she was an enlightened woman!

  “I decided to give my body to you when I agreed to marry you. What does it matter if we wait until we’re actually wed? Should I worry after you’ve taken my maidenhead, you’ll renege?”

  “Of all the things you may worry about, that is not one of them. I don’t want you only with my body—though I desire
you so much, it almost scares me. But I truly want you with my head and heart, too.”

  As she smiled, he laughed.

  “There it is. Your gorgeous smile. I used to think it was a weapon you unleashed upon unsuspecting bachelors whom you hoped to ensnare. And it was extremely successful, by the way. Now I know, however, it is simply your natural expression of joy. I hope I can always conjure it.”

  Thinking of a rejoinder, Maggie wasn’t aware the door had been pushed open or notice her future mother-in-law had entered the room. By the time Lady Cambrey offered a delicate cough, it was too late for Maggie to jump off her fiancé’s lap and appear presentable.

  In any case, John encircled her with his arms, imprisoning her in the compromising position.

  “Yes, Mother?” His voice was dripping with innocence, daring her to comment, while Maggie felt her face inflame with embarrassment.

  “I am glad to see you two happy.” Lady Cambrey said. “It makes my maternal heart very glad.”

  She turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her.

  Into the silence that followed, Maggie stared at John, eyes wide, before they both burst into laughter.

  From then onward, with her anticipation raging high, Maggie thought the day dragged on endlessly. All the while, through meals and conversation, through games of whist and charades, she would steal a glance at John to find he was staring at her. He would raise a devilish eyebrow or wink, causing her heartbeat to race.

  One time, he even licked his lips, and she felt her womanly parts start to pulse.

  Good God, would it ever be bedtime?

  Retiring early, she took a long bath, though not washing her hair since she had no intention of going to John dripping like a cat left out in the rain. Instead, she brushed it, leaving her hair to hang around her, knowing it would entice her man to touch it and her. A simple pale-pink cotton nightdress of the softest, finely woven lawn and her blue dressing gown were all she needed as she slid her feet into her favorite soft house slippers.

  Heart pounding in her throat, Maggie wondered at her own daring. Shouldn’t she be afraid instead of excited? Was she dreadfully wanton for wishing to experience this joining?