“Pleasure doing business with you,” Worthington said with a nod. “I have a carriage waiting up the road, and the horses are fresh. We’ll be at Hampton Park before long, I’ll wager.”
“Lennox will be surprised to see you again,” Beckett said, following Worthington to the roadway. “Not to mention me.”
“So he should,” Worthington said, chuckling. “He’s an odious excuse for a man.”
“He is, at that,” Beckett agreed, getting into the waiting carriage. “Now let’s go and stop him before he puts his odious hands upon my wife.”
* * *
“Just stand there and perform the marriage, you idiot!” Sir Harry snapped at the parson, who seemed a trifle uneasy about the scene unfolding in the huge drawing room.
“Please!” Isobel implored. “You must help me. I am here against my will. I do not wish to marry this man!”
The little cleric eyed Isobel with uncertainty, then addressed her captor. “Forgive me, Sir Harry, but it would seem that the bride is voicing some objection.”
“Don’t listen to her, Parson,” Sir Harry said, dismissively. “She is nervous, that’s all.”
“I’m not nervous,” Isobel protested. “I’m mortally opposed to being in the same room with this man, let alone becoming his wife. I’d rather be fed to an ill-tempered tiger.”
The parson frowned.
“A lovers quarrel,” Sir Harry explained.
“It is not a lover’s quarrel, sir,” Isobel countered. “He has me here against my will.” She raised her wrists so the parson could see her bonds.
“Oh, my,” he said, glancing at Sir Harry. “It is most unusual for the bride to be bound in such a way, my good man. Most unusual, indeed.”
Sir Harry glared at the parson with a dangerous expression, and said, “My fiancee has just suffered a great loss. She has been beside herself with grief. The doctor has ordered her to be bound thus for her own protection.”
“That is not true!” Isobel cried.
“You see?” Sir Harry said. “She is beside herself, as I explained. Not that it is any of your concern. I wish to marry the girl, to bring some joy back into her life. Surely, you will allow me to do that by marrying us sometime between now and the next century?”
“Oh, yes.” The parson nodded, still seeming unsure. “Of course. The poor girl. Where was I, then?”
“You weren’t anywhere!” Sir Harry spat. “You haven’t even started.”
“Oh…of course. Now, let’s see,” the parson said, slowly turning the pages.
Isobel looked away. It was no use. This country preacher would not help her. He would do as Sir Harry ordered, no matter what she said.
“Oh, give me that, you buffoon!” Sir Harry said, grabbing the book and flipping through the pages. “Here! Now, read it.”
The two pirates Sir Harry hired stood by the wall, acting as witnesses. Stranger bridesmaids she had never seen.
As Isobel waited for the parson to say the words that would seal her fate, she absently looked around the drawing room. This place, where she had enjoyed so many quiet evenings with her parents, would now be the setting of a nightmare.
Suddenly, something caught her eye in the corner of the room…a movement in the shadows. Was she imagining things?
“Ahem,” the parson said, clearing his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here, today…”
The parson stared at something behind them, his expression changing quickly from confusion to fearful disbelief.
“Oh, what on earth is the matter, now?” Sir Harry demanded.
“How unkind of you,” a familiar voice said from the doorway, “not to invite a man to his wife’s wedding.”
Isobel turned, slowly.
Beckett.
Alive!
And standing in the doorway with Worthington and his pirates.
“You!” Sir Harry hissed, staring in shock.
“Yes, me, Lennox,” Beckett said, stepping fully into the room, his powerful frame poised for action. “Very much alive, and very intent on reclaiming my wife, if you please. And even if you don’t please.”
Isobel felt life pouring back into her heart, coursing through her veins in a flood of joy.
Beckett was alive! And though it seemed impossible, he had come for her as he’d promised.
Isobel moved toward her husband, but Sir Harry grabbed her arm and whirled her in front of him. He whipped something off the table beside them. With one hand, he covered her mouth and with the other he held a letter-opener poised to stab her throat.
Beckett aimed a pistol at her tormentor, regarding him with ice-blue eyes. “Let her go, Lennox.”
Sir Harry backed toward the wall, taking Isobel with him.
“I said release her,” her husband ordered, his voice commanding. “There’s nowhere for you to go, Lennox. There is only one exit to this room and as you can see, it has been blocked. You’re surrounded and outnumbered. You can’t win.”
Sir Harry’s mouth curved into a menacing grin as he said, “I may be surrounded and outnumbered, Ravenwood, but I’m still going to win. If I can’t have Isobel, no one will—including you!”
Sir Harry pushed back against the wall and the secret door opened. He pulled Isobel through and shut the portal behind them, bolting it quickly. They were plunged into pitch blackness.
Isobel heard pounding on the door and Beckett’s muffled voice fading away as Sir Harry dragged her through the dark, narrow corridor. She struggled and kicked at him but he grabbed the bonds that tied her wrists and pulled her behind him. Isobel was forced to keep up or be dragged across the ground.
“You’ve lost, Sir Harry. Do you hear?” Isobel said, trying to catch her breath. “You’ve lost!”
He stopped short and Isobel slammed into him. In the pitch blackness, she heard his awful, menacing voice as his hand encircled her throat. He pushed her up against the wall.
“I have lost nothing!” he spat. “It is not yet over, I assure you. Just because your husband has risen from the grave doesn’t mean he can’t go back there just as quickly. The detestable man is like a cat with nine lives! But I assure you, my darling bride, his luck is about to run out.”
Isobel gasped as she felt something furry move past her leg. A rat? Oh, what did it matter when she was in the hands of a madman?
Sir Harry took hold of her bonds again.
A strange, otherworldly cry echoed through the passageway, and Sir Harry yelled in surprise.
Isobel shrank back against the wall, paralyzed with fear.
But something was attacking Sir Harry. He cried out for help, and she heard his arms flapping uselessly as he tried to fight off his assailant.
Isobel could hear the mysterious presence hissing as it bounced off the walls near her. But it never touched her—it only seemed to want Sir Harry. He screamed pitifully for mercy. From the sound of it he was being ripped to shreds.
The attack continued. Sir Harry cried out, each sound more desperate than the last. Finally, she heard him sink to the ground, whimpering like a wounded animal, and the assault was over.
Would she be next?
Isobel stood against the wall, unable to move.
“Isobel?” she heard Beckett’s muffled voice call from far away.
“Here! I’m here, Beckett!” she cried.
“I’m coming, Isobel,” he said, the sound of his voice growing closer.
She only hoped the ferocious creature wouldn’t attack her before Beckett arrived. To be safe, she crept further away from where Sir Harry lay.
Light bounced across the floor, her eyes searching the shadows. And then—
Beckett.
His strong arms circled around her and held her close, finally putting an end to the nightmare.
Isobel heard boots trample by in the dark corridor and knew it was the pirates going to see to Sir Harry. But she didn’t care.
She didn’t care about anything but this moment, and this man, and the love that thre
atened to burst her heart open with its beautiful power.
“I—I feared you were dead,” she whispered, as tears filled her eyes.
Beckett held her in front of him, and she stared through the lamplight into the brightest, bluest, most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.
“I would have been as good as dead, if I hadn’t found you again, Isobel,” he said.
Beckett’s warm mouth covered hers and he kissed her with such fierce passion, Isobel wondered fleetingly if they might shock the pirates. But she didn’t care.
She was in the arms of the man she loved, and nothing else mattered.
Nothing ever would.
“Ahem,” someone said.
Beckett broke the kiss and they both looked at Worthington, who stood with arms folded and an amused grin on his face. “My apologies for interrupting your reunion, Ravenwood. My lady. But there is something I think you should see,” he said, moving to where Sir Harry was lying.
They came closer, and Isobel couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping her.
Sir Harry lay on his side, seemingly unconscious. His clothes were torn and bloodstains marred his shirt. His face and hands were covered in scratches and cuts, all of them bleeding. It looked as if someone had taken a knife to him.
Behind him, sitting just in the shadows, was a cat…calmly cleaning its paws.
“Captain Black,” Isobel exclaimed. “But how?”
Beckett shook his head, saying, “I’m certainly glad he turned up, though I have no idea how he did.”
“He must have hitched a ride on Lennox’s carriage,” Worthington said. “After all, that cat does have a fondness for you, Lady Ravenwood.”
At that, Captain Black looked up at his audience. His green eyes glowed, and as he walked toward Isobel, she could see bloodstains on some of the white patches of his fur. He stopped at her feet and meowed up at her. Isobel lifted him in her arms and snuggled him close.
“Captain Mayfield was right—you did protect me,” Isobel said, scratching his ears in gratitude. The cat purred and closed his eyes.
“Thanks for looking after her, old boy,” Beckett said, reaching over and stroked the cat, too.
Isobel looked down at Sir Harry, then at Worthington. “Is he—?”
“Dead?” Worthington replied. “No, the silly sap just fainted from the shock of it all. His wounds, while painful, are unfortunately not fatal. Still, he’ll have some nice scars. Ought to fit right in with the lads at Newgate. I have connections that will ensure Sir Harry is taken into custody. I must admit, I never liked the man.”
“Yet you did his bidding onboard ship,” Isobel countered. “You kidnapped us because of him!”
“That I did, Lady Ravenwood,” the captain agreed, “but as I explained to you, it was a business transaction. I had nothing personal against you or your husband. That is why I helped him to rescue you now.”
“Another business transaction?” Isobel asked, warily.
“Yes, Isobel,” Beckett said.
“And what was the price?”
Beckett looked at her with a serious expression. “A thousand pounds. I thought it quite steep, myself—”
“What?” Isobel exclaimed.
Beckett pulled her close, saying, “I’m teasing. I would have given up my entire fortune, my dear, if that was what Worthington had asked.”
“Damn me,” Worthington said, chuckling, “if only I’d known! Ah, well, I still made a tidy profit. It should cover the ships repairs.”
He reached for Captain Black, and Isobel reluctantly handed him over.
“Now, you and your husband must be tired,” Worthington said. “You should get yourselves home. I and my men will take care of everything here, including Sir Harry.”
“But this is Isobel’s family home,” Beckett said, regarding her with concerned eyes. “Perhaps you want to stay here for the night?”
“No, Beckett, it is ours, now,” she replied. “But I don’t want to stay here. Let us go to Covington Place.”
Beckett kissed the top of her head. “I would like that very much indeed. My wife and I are going home. Might I hire two of your men to drive us?” he asked Worthington.
The captain shook Beckett’s hand, saying, “Of course. Mr. Evandale and Mr. Martin will be happy to escort you. Best of luck to you, Ravenwood. My lady.” He kissed Isobel’s hand.
Isobel took one last look at Captain Black, then she and Beckett headed out of the passageway. Soon they were rumbling down the road, away from Sir Harry and the nightmare that had almost come to pass.
But the nightmare wasn’t over yet. There was still the false murder charge hanging over her head in London. Would Palmerston proceed with prosecuting her?
Oh, she couldn’t think about that, now. She wouldn’t think about it!
Beckett was alive. He was beside her, warm and strong and alive. She would let nothing else spoil this moment.
Beckett tipped her chin up towards him. His face looked unbearably handsome in the yellow moonlight.
“Tell me something, wife,” he whispered.
“Yes?” She thrilled at the sound of his husky voice.
“Have you ever made love in a carriage?”
Chapter 28
Beckett knelt on the floor of the carriage before her, his eyes glowing like jewels. His hands reached up and slid her dress down over her shoulders.
Slowly, with exquisite control, he ran his hands over her naked breasts. Isobel heard her own intake of breath as he caressed her with deft fingers.
His touch was maddeningly light as his fingertips drew circles around the sensitive pink tips. With each thumb, he teased the hard peaks until Isobel heard herself gasping. And all the while, she stared at him, at this beautiful man’s face with blue eyes that seared her like the heat of the sun.
Suddenly, his hands moved to the hem of her skirt. Beckett stopped for a moment, and the wicked promise in his eyes was almost too much for Isobel to bear. He smiled and pushed her skirt up over her knees. His hands explored her thighs, and Isobel arched her back and spread her legs, wanting so much for him to touch her. He pulled off her undergarments and threw them over his shoulder.
Beckett leaned forward and captured her mouth in a burning kiss while his hands stroked between her legs. Isobel felt herself becoming slick with heat, and when his fingers went inside her she moaned and gripped his shoulder.
“I want to worship you,” he whispered in her ear, and it sent shivers down her spine.
Beckett knelt back and dipped his head to kiss her inner thigh. He teased her with lips and tongue, and she jolted as his warm, wet tongue delved between her legs.
He raised his head and looked up at her. “It’s alright, Isobel. Just lie back and let your husband love you.”
His words sent a bittersweet pain through her heart.
The man she loved had come back to her alive…but would he, could he ever love her in return? He had told her before that such emotion was impossible for him.
If only she could keep her feelings at bay when he made love to her, and accept their coupling as pure physical sensation. But that was much more difficult than it seemed.
She closed her eyes as his mouth pleasured her. The sensation was so exquisite, so intense, she could never have imagined such beautiful wickedness. It was frighteningly intimate, almost too much to bear. But she would let him take her down this unknown road, for she was powerless to do anything else.
Beckett moved his mouth with a smooth rhythm, Isobel’s breath quickened. Warmth spread through her body with maddening slowness, like cream travelling through coffee.
She spread her legs wider, her hands reaching down and holding his head as he worked her with his tongue. He lifted her legs over his shoulders. Isobel heard herself gasping. It sounded as if she were in terrible pain, so desperate was her response.
Two of his fingers slipped inside her and she thought she would lose her mind—the double pleasure was unbearable. She wanted to beg him to stop, bu
t words were impossible.
Isobel moaned loudly and rocked her hips against his hand and mouth. Her head thrashed from side to side against the back of the seat. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.
Then, a mind-numbing pleasure passed through every fiber of her body. She felt it everywhere, in her legs, her arms, even her fingertips. It emptied her and yet filled her completely.
Beckett pulled his head away and she regarded him through half-lidded eyes. He unfastened his trousers and slid them down over his hips. Then he reached forward and lifted her towards him. He sat back on the opposite seat and lowered her down onto the hardness between his legs.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands cupped her buttocks, his mouth joining with hers as their bodies moved together.
Isobel circled her arms around his neck as he pumped into her. She closed her eyes and threw her head back as the pleasure of him filled her completely. Then she felt it coming again, that speeding, heady flood that would wash her away so completely.
Beckett groaned and pounded into her with a blinding rhythm. He moaned as he gripped her buttocks and thrust harder.
Isobel felt lightness overtake her—as though she were weightless and couldn’t feel her body anymore. She cried out, bursting through glorious waves of pleasure yet again.
Beckett groaned and crushed her to him, burying his face in her shoulder as he, too, found release.
They remained that way for awhile, unable to move. Then Beckett kissed her sweetly, tenderly, and looked into her eyes. He brushed the stray hair away from her eyes and stroked her face.
“You never answered my question, Isobel,” he said.
“What question?” she asked, dazedly.
“Have you ever made love in a carriage?”
She smiled, and said, “Oh, yes—I have.”
“And how was it?” he pressed.
“Absolutely incredible,” she answered, truthfully.
“I must say, that is good news,” Beckett said. “Perhaps you’ll want to go for more carriage rides, all about London. Perhaps we’ll go through Hyde Park at five o’clock on a Saturday, and draw the curtains.”
“We couldn’t!” she said, giggling.
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 21
