‘Can’t,’ Bea confessed. ‘There’s too much to think about.’ She felt his lips in her hair.
‘Then don’t think,’ he whispered. ‘Tonight’s not for thinking. It’s just for us.’
‘And the morning?’ Bea sighed, wishing she had his confidence.
‘The morning will come whether we worry about it or not.’ Preston rolled her beneath him, smiling down at her, his eyes flirting. ‘Do you know what a good cure for sleeplessness is?’
She laughed up at him, setting aside her cares as she twined her arms loosely about his neck. ‘I have an idea what that might be. Why don’t you show me?’ She paused. ‘Wait. Why don’t I show you? Roll over. I want you beneath me.’
Preston laughed, but she heard the hitch of desire in his voice and felt his body rise in anticipation as she straddled him. She smiled to herself, reaching a hand behind her to trail her nails up the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, listening to him gasp an epithet as she cupped the sac between his legs. She loved holding him, loved what she could make him feel. Her own breath came faster. She drew her nails up his leg one more time, this time wrenching a desperate groan from him.
‘You’re killing me, Bea.’
She leaned forward and kissed his mouth. ‘Just wait. It will be worth it.’ She rose up then, levering herself over his straining phallus, let it tease them both at her entrance before she slid down its length, revelling in each inch as she took him. Oh, sweet heavens, this would be the death of them both. She’d never made love to a man before, never thought it would be this exquisite, this powerful to take the lead. Beneath her, Preston shook, his body bucked as she slid and rose, slid and rose again, her palms flat on his chest as the pleasure built.
His hands were at her hips, anchoring her as her body found the place where her own gratification resided. She ground her hips into his, releasing it, both of them swept away once more in pleasure’s wave, this time at her behest, Preston bucking hard one last time beneath her. She laid her head on his chest, feeling his heart thumping hard against her ear as he filled her. Drowsiness crept up on her and still she was loath to move. Her last thought was that maybe Preston was right. The morning would take care of itself. If only they could stay like this.
Chapter Seventeen
If only they could have stayed. Preston was still wishing they were back in bed at the inn hours later as he pulled up in front of Liam’s town house. He’d seen Bea and Matthew safely dropped off at Worth House on Bruton Street first. He would have liked to have helped Bea settle in, but time was of the essence and he was keen to see what Liam had learned. He’d stayed long enough to introduce Bea to the staff, accept their congratulations and to open the letter addressed to him from the Foreign Office.
He regretted the haste. Depending on what Liam had to say, other errands might be in order. If so, he wouldn’t see Beatrice again until this evening. Bea would have a lot of time on her hands to think about last night, to think about this morning before they’d left the inn. To realise, as he had, that once was not going to be enough. He had no idea what sorts of conclusions she’d draw. But he had his. He’d make the engagement real if she’d let him. Only he couldn’t say that to her. Bea would think he’d manipulated the whole arrangement to leave her no choice and that would make her stubborn. He had to be careful and let her come to him. Waiting would be hard.
* * *
Liam was being careful with his words. Preston had known his friend long enough to know when something difficult was on his mind. Preston watched him put a breakfast plate together at the sideboard with slow, deliberate selections. He was stalling. Preston cleared his throat. ‘Time was; you’d simply pile a plate as high as it could go. You could fill a plate in ten seconds, if I recall rightly.’
Liam chuckled. ‘That was a long time ago, before I had any manners. Things change. Time was, I could leave you for a few hours and be assured you wouldn’t do anything outlandish either.’
Ah. So that was it. Preston unfolded his napkin and set it in his lap, waiting for Liam to take a seat.
‘I hear congratulations are in order. You and Beatrice are engaged.’
‘I thought you liked Beatrice.’ Preston started in on his eggs, starving. He’d waited to eat with Liam. ‘I thought the match would please you.’
‘If done for the right reasons.’ Liam buttered his toast with quiet ferocity.
‘What better reasons can there be than to give Beatrice the protection of my name? The security of my wealth? To give Matthew a father?’
‘In exchange for Greece?’ Liam replied pointedly. ‘The talk is all over Grillion’s that you’ll be offered the post. You can’t have them both. There’s no question of taking Bea and the baby with you. Greece is far too explosive right now.’ Liam was going to break the toast in half if he buttered it any harder. ‘Is she worth your ambitions? Because that’s the price of this engagement if you haven’t figured it out yet.’ One could always count on Liam to be blunt.
‘I had a letter waiting for me to that extent,’ Preston said tersely. He’d not allowed himself time to consider the import of that letter and without the preparation to do so, Liam’s bluntness called into question the darker places of his heart. Perhaps that was why he’d been eager to agree with Bea that the engagement be a sham. Maybe deep in his heart, he hadn’t quite reconciled himself to what a real wedding meant. Maybe he was still playing at the fantasy of a family man.
The thoughts shamed him, as honest as they were, especially after last night. He had not taken Bea to bed without contemplation. There was no question of wanting Bea, of caring for her. He did. But marriage to Bea would commit him to a different lifestyle than the one he imagined for himself. He knew, deep inside, he had not yet reconciled those two pieces of himself.
Liam sensed his hesitation and pounced on his weakness. ‘There’s always the issue of love.’ Liam gave up on the toast and fixed him with a blue stare. ‘Love is also a good reason to get married. The only reason, really, and I haven’t heard you mention it once when you catalogue the assets of this alliance.’
‘Love? Really?’ Preston was starting to get agitated. ‘That’s quite the hypocrisy coming from a man who wouldn’t marry my sister because he felt he couldn’t give her the very things I can offer Beatrice.’ Preston returned Liam’s stare. ‘You once believed all you had to offer May was love and it wouldn’t be enough.’ Checkmate. Preston took a smug sip of coffee. Let him argue with that, although the whole idea of arguing over this at all was insane since it wasn’t going to happen, even if last night had prompted some very different thoughts on the subject.
Liam chose not to make a direct response. ‘I care for both of you very much. I would not want to see either of you committed to a match made out of desperation, even though I understand your motives for it.’
Time to switch conversational tracts. Preston had no desire to listen to Liam’s marriage counselling. ‘So, how bad is it? What have you learned about Alton?’
Liam obliged with a grim set to his jaw. ‘Nothing good, I can you tell that much. I only had a twenty-four-hour head start on you, but I made the club rounds immediately. Malvern Alton has debt problems and everyone knows.’
Preston nodded. His instincts had been right. ‘How bad?’
‘Pretty bad. His father has cut him off in order to pressure him into marriage. It seems there’s an inheritance Alton has refused to claim because it requires he take a bride in order to access it. Without his allowance, Alton has run up debts at nearly every gaming hell and brothel in London. Even the ones he doesn’t have vowels at won’t extend him any credit at this point.’
Liam paused. Preston could see him gathering his thoughts. There was bad news coming. ‘There are thugs after him. Madam Rose at House of Flowers has given him until June to pay his bill with interest. He beat a girl up last time he was there. I h
eard that from the famed madam herself after following a couple of leads and paying a few well-placed bribes. Madam Rose said he had plans to marry a wealthy bride. It was the only reason he’s still walking. She was afraid if she damaged the goods she’d never get her money.’
Preston set aside his fork, his appetite gone at the mention of the beaten girl. ‘Then he’ll come for Beatrice.’ Alton was dangerous in more ways than one. He didn’t like thinking of what an angry Alton would do to Beatrice. ‘We’d better be ready. I’ll speak to the Penrose solicitor about getting the betrothal papers drawn up right away.’ The sooner he had some paper to stand between Alton and Beatrice, the better.
Liam sighed and steepled his fingers on the tablecloth. ‘I wish I had better news. I wish you didn’t have to—’
Preston shook his head. ‘Stop. I don’t have to do anything. I want to do this. I am fond of Beatrice and the child. I don’t want you or anyone thinking this is a sacrifice.’ Especially since it was a sacrifice that would not come to pass. But in the meantime, this engagement had to look and feel real to everyone around them. ‘I need a favour, Liam. I want to have our engagement announced at your celebration ball, after the knighting ceremony.’
Preston knew Liam would understand the need for pomp and precipitancy—the two of them had tracked criminals for too long. Malvern Alton was coming. It wasn’t a question of if, it was a matter of when. But they still had some time. Two days by Preston’s calculations. Dimitri wouldn’t deliver the note until this afternoon. Even if he left right away, Alton wouldn’t be in London until the day after tomorrow. They could have protection and emergency contingencies in place by then, although Beatrice wouldn’t like the contingency when she learned about it.
Preston rose from the table and shook Liam’s hand. ‘I appreciate your help and your support.’ He let Liam draw him into a strong embrace.
‘If anyone can make her happy, I know it’s you.’ His friend clapped him on the back. He could, too. If Beatrice would let him.
* * *
Malvern Alton crumpled the short note in his hand. He was not happy. Once he arrived in Little Westbury his plan was supposed to take care of itself. Just the opposite had happened. Instead of being intimidated by his blackmail threat, Beatrice had left for London, the last place he would have thought she’d want to be, where her shame could be exposed to everyone. It was certainly the last place he wanted to be. Until he had money in his pocket to clear his debts, he didn’t want to risk running into anyone he owed—all of whom who were in London, as it happened.
He began to pace the small room at the Little Westbury inn, frustration mounting. He might not have a choice. The simple plan had gone awry from the start. What had begun as an easy courtship of a wealthy country girl had derailed almost immediately. It was the baby’s fault. Who would have guessed he’d got her pregnant? Who would have guessed she’d have had the baby and brought it home?
Still, he’d seen the immediate possibilities the moment the baby had entered the drawing room. He’d thought the baby would help his cause. She’d be eager to marry the father of her child. All of this assumed Beatrice Penrose was an ordinary woman, living by ordinary rules. He was starting to remember what he disliked about her so much. Beatrice was fiercely independent. She played by her own rules. She’d left him no choice but to lower himself to blackmail—she and that gentleman who was sniffing after her.
Blackmail should have been the end of it. The threat was fairly straightforward: marry me or I’ll tell everyone the child is a bastard. But Beatrice hadn’t scared. Her family hadn’t scared. He’d bargained on her parents’ fear, but they’d seen through the threat to the flaw beneath. The response they’d sent had said as much. He could not tell the world the child was his bastard without incriminating himself—what sort of man left a woman pregnant and unwed for over a year and then announced to the world what he’d done?
That assumed anyone would believe him. He unrumpled the paper in his hand and reread the lines.
Our daughter married Baldwin Fielding last February. He died at sea and his child was born in November.
The enormity of the lie was nearly as incredulous as the idea that people would believe it. Then again, they didn’t have to believe it. They only had to accept it and society would accept anything from those they championed.
The audacity of the Penroses was striking. They were simply choosing to ignore his presence. It was almost as if he were invisible. Who would believe him if he tried to expose the lie? How would he prove otherwise? Never had he imagined his threat would be faced head on. They were calling his bluff, daring him to go through with it. And he could not.
If his blackmail had no teeth, maybe it was time to rethink the nature of his strategy. Perhaps public exposure wasn’t necessary to get what he wanted. That left force. He would just take what he wanted. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all. Once he had Beatrice and that child in his hands, the Penroses would pay mightily to get them back, and while he had Beatrice in his power, she’d do anything for her child. Even marry him. Once the ransom was paid, the Penroses would find they’d got more than they bargained for, like a son-in-law. But in order for any of that to happen, he’d have to follow her to London. Carefully. London wasn’t exactly safe for him at the moment.
Chapter Eighteen
Careful was the watchword of Beatrice’s day. Her actions as she unpacked at the Worths’, her words, even her thoughts were all very carefully chosen. She strolled the town-house halls with Matthew on her hip, trying to distract him from his teething. He’d been fussy since Preston had dropped them off and now he refused to go down for his nap. At least Matthew kept her from thinking too much. If she wasn’t careful, her thoughts would run rampant. They would lead her to thinking about last night and what it could mean as opposed to what it did mean.
She’d come to a comfortable understanding of what it did mean: two people with a strong attraction to one another had satisfied their curiosity, their hunger. That the attraction ran deeper than the physical had only served to make the connection stronger and the realisation of that desire more powerful. She could live with that. She would have to live with that. It was all she could have, all she’d allowed herself to have. It was what her rules would tolerate and what her conscience would tolerate when it came to Preston. Preston had said she could trust him to give her pleasure and to keep her safe. He’d been true on both accounts. He’d taken precautions. There would be no child from their interlude and there had been pleasure aplenty.
Now, it was up to her to keep Preston safe. He’d promised her the engagement would end, that there would be no marriage. She didn’t want him rethinking it after last night. The honour in him would push such a conclusion, especially if last night happened again, another reason why it could only be once.
Beatrice shifted Matthew to her other hip, finding a hard carrot in her pocket for him to chew on. If he didn’t settle down soon, she’d have to opt for the whisky. Whisky on the gums worked like magic, but she didn’t like the idea of giving drink to a baby. She shifted directions, heading towards the estate office where she knew the decanters were always filled, just in case.
It was a long walk and Matthew had calmed down with his carrot considerably by the time she arrived. Bea sat down in the chair behind the desk and began to bounce him, her eye drawn to the open letter on the desk’s polished surface. She leaned forward, scanning the contents, reading twice to understand the stunning news: the Foreign Office wanted Preston to go to Greece.
She sat back, forgetting to bounce Matthew, stunned. How long had he known? He hadn’t said anything in the carriage ride from Scotland, he’d only talked of Seacrest and how much he didn’t want to go there. Because he wanted to go elsewhere—to Greece. Because he’d been hoping for the appointment. She understood better now why he’d not had a forthcoming assignment, but was expecting to l
inger around London due to the Roan trial. Because of this. Until she’d come along and ruined everything.
Well, that might be giving herself too much credit. She’d only thought she’d ruined everything. She’d thought, right up until a few minutes ago, Preston might actually push to marry her even though he’d promised her he’d end the engagement. Clearly, she was wrong. He needed the engagement to end as much as she did. Greece was waiting. His future was waiting and it wasn’t with her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to keep Preston safe, after all. She should feel relief. She’d worried for nothing. He already had this planned out. She should feel better about that than she did. Right now, she felt unexplainably sick, because any explanation for the rolling sensation in her stomach defied logic.
* * *
‘You’ve done what?’ Beatrice fought to keep her voice down as she faced Preston in the Worth drawing room that night. The hour was late. Dinner was over, May and Liam had gone home and Preston’s late-arriving parents had finally gone upstairs to bed, leaving them alone at last. She’d been expecting news of Alton, expecting them to perhaps talk about Greece. He was going to have to tell her some time. She’d not been expecting the first words out of his mouth to be, ‘I’ve got a special licence.’ According to the letter she’d seen upstairs, such an action made no sense.
‘It’s a necessary contingency, if you’d let me explain.’ Preston pushed a hand through his hair, his customary gesture of impatience. Bea begrudgingly took the licence from him.
‘So, this is what you’ve spent the last seven hours doing since leaving Liam’s?’ He’d been waiting on the archbishop’s office in the Doctors’ Commons. She saw the reason for the wait. This was a true special licence that allowed him to marry her any day and any time of that day. ‘It’s a lot of trouble to go through for a wedding that won’t happen.’
Marrying the Rebellious Miss Page 15
