“We couldn’t draw the curtains?” he asked. “Wicked woman. Then everyone would see.”
“No,” she replied, though she knew he was teasing her. “We couldn’t do that riding around Hyde Park…could we?”
Beckett pulled her to him and kissed her so passionately, she thought he might make love to her again, right there.
“We shall see,” he said. “Now, we should get ourselves dressed. We’ll be entering the outskirts of London soon. And while I am entranced with your current state of dishabille, I’m afraid I’d rather not share the sight with Hartley when he opens the door.”
Isobel laughed as he threw her undergarments at her head. When she was once again presentable, Isobel sat back on the seat and Beckett joined her. He encircled her with his arms and she leaned her head back against his chest. Though she hadn’t meant to, relief and happiness overwhelmed her and she promptly dozed off.
* * *
Isobel rolled over and pulled the covers higher over her head, refusing to let the troubles of the world disturb her. She was certain that she could stay in this bed forever. It was so warm and soft. And yet, there was a niggling feeling in the back of her mind. Where was she?
Isobel sat upright in the bed and realized she was naked. Oh, yes. She was in Beckett’s bed in the townhouse in Covington Place, exactly where this adventure had started.
But she didn’t remember coming into the town-house, let alone Beckett’s bedroom. The last thing she remembered, she’d started to doze off in her husband’s arms as they neared London. Could she have been asleep all this time?
A knock sounded at the door, and Isobel pulled the sheet up to cover her naked breasts. A pair of bright blue eyes peeked around the door. They belonged to the most handsome man she had ever seen. Her heart did a flip-flop, and she smiled as her husband entered the room. Close on his heels was the most handsome dog she had ever seen.
“Monty!” She held her arms out to the dog as he bounded over to the bed, his great pink tongue lolling in his excited rush to see her. The shaggy brown dog skidded to a halt just before crashing into the bed, and plunked his rump down obediently, resting his chin on the coverlet.
“Good heavens, wife, I could have had Hartley with me instead of Monty,” he said, pointing at her naked shoulders and cringed in mock horror.
“But you didn’t,” Isobel replied, scratching the dog’s ears as the animal gazed at her with a look of unadulterated devotion. “Besides, I seem to have a strange habit of waking in your bed, wearing not even a stitch of clothing. Have I been asleep since the carriage?”
Beckett sat next to her on the other side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her as he absently fondled a breast. “Yes. I carried you in and put you to bed. Rather like the first night we met. Only last night I climbed in beside you in a most premeditated manner. Then I joined you in dreamland. It’s no wonder we slept so soundly. We’d had a bit of an exhausting day, I think.”
“Oh, Beckett, is it true?” she asked. “Is Sir Harry really out of our lives?”
“Yes, Isobel,” he replied. “I promise that no one will ever hurt you or take you away from me again.”
“But what about Lord Palmerston?”
He put his hand to her lips, saying, “We shall talk about that later. Now you must get dressed. Alfred is due at any moment. Unless you prefer to entertain guests in all your natural glory.”
“I shall reserve such wicked pleasures for my husband only,” she said, flirtatiously.
He grinned, saying, “Perhaps I shall take you up on it tonight. I must confess, I have an urge to see you play the piano-forte thus.”
Isobel laughed and pushed him away.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Hartley’s voice. “Lord Weston downstairs to see you, m’lord.”
“Yes, Hartley, I’ll be down directly,” Beckett answered, ring from the bed and heading for the door. Monty obediently followed. “Come down as soon as you’re dressed. Oh, and there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Remind me, will you?”
Isobel nodded and watched them leave. She wondered at his words. Whatever he had to say to her, she would find out soon enough.
Isobel threw the covers back and walked to the washstand. Quickly she bathed and dressed. She chose a simple gown the same blue as Beckett’s eyes. And as she headed downstairs, she thought to herself, there was one subject she would not bring up.
Since they’d been reunited, she’d been careful not to speak of love. Certainly, they had made love in the carriage, and they had made love before—but it was only the physical relations between husband and wife. She would not confuse it with real love.
It was enough, Isobel had decided, that she loved him. Though she would not speak of it, she would know that in her heart. And Beckett had an affection for her, even if he couldn’t truly love her.
She had so much to be thankful for. Beckett was alive, and Sir Harry was out of their lives. That alone was more than she could have hoped for, only a day ago.
Descending the staircase, she felt as she had on that first morning, hearing Beckett and Alfred talking and joking in the salon, and Caesar squawking noisily along with them. But, no—then she had been afraid. This time, she had nothing to fear.
Isobel entered the salon, and Alfred quickly crossed the room to greet her. Opening his arms, he embraced Isobel and kissed her cheek.
“My dearest Lady Ravenwood, Beckett has been telling me about your adventure,” he said. “I must say, I can scarcely believe it.”
“Believe it! Believe it!” Caesar shrieked from his cage.
“Oh, Caesar—really,” Beckett admonished.
Monty barked his own disapproval at his feathered friend. Isobel laughed as the bird ignored his master and squawking.
“Nor can I, Alfred,” she answered. “Only yesterday, I was Sir Harry’s prisoner and I feared that Beckett was dead. Now I am here at my husband’s side where I belong.”
“And what of Sir Harry?” Alfred asked. “As I was telling Beckett, I acquired heaps of incriminating evidence against him while you were in Barbados. Blackmail, bribery, smuggling, swindling—I’m afraid the man is as dirty as a dung-heap. Where is he? Has he been taken off to the magistrate?”
“No,” Beckett replied, reaching for a note on the table. “This came while you were sleeping, my dear. I thought you and Alfred would like to hear it.”
Beckett opened it and began to read aloud as Isobel looked on.
“Lord Ravenwood,
I write to you as the Revenge prepares to set sail for Jamaica. I hope you and your wife are well.
Sir Harry Lennox is dead. He was shot while trying to escape from Newgate. Fortunately, no one else was hurt in the escape attempt.
While he was in my custody, I was able to “persuade” Lennox to make a full confession regarding the murder of Edward Langley, the kidnapping of both you and your wife, and his manipulation of Lord Palmerston; a signed copy of which is attached. I will keep the other copy in a very safe place.
With Sir Harry’s death, you and your wife are finally free.
Sincerely Yours,
Captain Richard Worthington
P.S. Captain Black sends his regards.”
Isobel let out her breath, though she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it in.
Beckett pulled her close and kissed the back of her hand. “You’re safe, my dear. Lennox can never hurt you again.”
Alfred reached for the letter. He looked over the confession and seemed satisfied, then said, “Now that Lennox is dead, I should think the trumped-up murder charge against Isobel will be dropped.”
“I daresay it will,” Beckett agreed. “He was the one pulling Lord Palmerston’s strings. I’m sure Palmerston wouldn’t want it known he’d accepted a bribe from Lennox in the matter.”
Alfred turned to Isobel, asking, “And what do you think, my dear lady? Do you think that justice has been served?”
“Sir Harry was responsible for m
y parent’s deaths,” she said, “for the death of my guardian, and he almost took Beckett away from me. Sir Harry has earned his fate, and he has occupied more than enough time in my life. I have no more room for him—only for happiness.”
Beckett regarded her proudly.
“A remarkable woman you married, Beckett,” Alfred said, smiling. “No doubt about it. Oh, and I have news about someone else who won’t be bothering you anymore. Cordelia.”
Beckett’s eyebrows rose in question.
“She’s gone and married Sir Montague Tate,” Alfred explained.
“Tate—why, he must be close to sixty!” Beckett said, surprised.
“He is. But Sir Montague must be in good health for he and Cordelia were—” he looked at Isobel “—forgive me, my dear, but they were caught in a disastrously close embrace at Lady Ashbrook’s ball not two weeks past. I must take some responsibility, as I was the one who misinformed her about Tate’s fortune. You see, Cordelia had set her cap for the Marquess of Rutledge, who, as you know, is enormously rich, and also a very good friend of mine. What could I do? I simply had to intervene.”
Alfred continued, “Apparently Cordelia was beside herself after the fiasco with Tate. But what could be done? Her father wisely forced the match. They were married in a little church in Huxley Lane, and removed to Sir Montague’s modest—meaning terribly small—estate in Shropshire. Can you imagine Cordelia in Shropshire with all those sheep?”
Beckett shook his head, but smiled. “No, but I wish Cordelia and Sir Montague well in their marriage. As Isobel said, we must let go of the past. Let only happiness into our hearts.”
Isobel agreed. Yes, she could let go of the past. She could let go of the need to be loved by Beckett. She would let only the happiness of loving him every day into her heart, and that would be enough.
It would have to be.
Chapter 29
Isobel stood in the doorway as Alfred prepared to leave. He and Beckett had enjoyed their morning together, and she had enjoyed watching them reunited. They were like brothers, and it warmed her heart to see her husband so happy.
“Well, I’m off,” Alfred said, adjusting his hat so that it sat at precisely the perfect angle upon his head. “Now, you must promise to come for a visit. Great Aunt Withypoll is up from Broomely Park and she is driving me ’round the bend. Say you’ll come. I am not averse to begging, you know.”
Beckett chuckled and patted his friend on the back. “Don’t worry, Alfred. We would be overjoyed to see the dear lady. I think she and Isobel will get along famously. Tomorrow evening, then.”
“Splendid!” Alfred said, beaming. He bent to kiss Isobel’s hand. “Until tomorrow, madam.”
“Goodbye, Alfred.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Beckett and Isobel alone. For a moment silence hung heavily between them, and they looked at each other as if not knowing what to say. An uneasiness gnawed at Isobel’s heart and she knew she couldn’t ignore it.
As they walked back into the salon, she took a deep breath and said, “You asked me to remind you that there was something you wanted to tell me.”
“Oh, yes—I’m glad you reminded me,” Beckett said, steering her toward the sofa. “It is quite an important matter, you see. I am convinced it will have a profound effect on our future as husband and wife.”
They sat down and Isobel stared at her hands folded in her lap, braced herself for the worst.
Dear Lord, was he going to tell her he wanted to live apart? After all they’d been through?
She had to prepare herself for such a thing. If that was what Beckett wanted, she would go back to Hampton Park and live out her days there alone.
“Isobel—” Beckett gently lifted her chin up so that she looked into his eyes.
Oh, how could she bear it?
“What I want to say is,” he began, “well, I have been trying to make something plain to you for quite some time, now. I tried to tell you when you came to my cell on the ship, but I was a bloody coward and I couldn’t say it properly. Then I tried to say it on the deck just before they were going to hang me, but as you know, I was very rudely interrupted. But it is important, and though it is difficult to say—”
“Oh, don’t say it, please,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She supposed she wasn’t as strong as she thought.
“Don’t say it?” Beckett said, sounding perplexed. “But I really feel that I must, my dear.”
“Oh, please, I beg you not to. For my sake,” she replied.
“But it is for your sake that I want to say it,” Beckett insisted. “And for my sake that I must. I assure you, this is much more difficult for me than it is for you, Isobel.”
“I doubt it,” she muttered.
Beckett touched her shoulders, turning her toward him.
Reluctantly she faced her husband, looking into the depths of his eyes as he shook her slightly.
“Isobel, you are making it increasingly impossible to tell you that I love you,” he said, finally.
She stared at him in shock.
“You what?” she asked, unsure that she heard the words correctly.
He smiled at her, his eyes shining with emotion as he said, “I love you. That is what I’ve been trying to say. I love you! Irrefutably, indisputably, and most conclusively. There. What do you have to say to that?”
Isobel didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears that filled her eyes. They were tears of love.
Irrefutably, and indisputably.
“Oh, Beckett!” She threw her arms around his neck and laughed and cried and hugged him tightly as he hugged her back. “I love you, too.”
“I must say that I had my suspicions,” he said, teasing.
She pulled away and whacked his arm, but they were both laughing. Then, he touched his lips to hers in a kiss that echoed his words, and she felt both of them flowing into it—sharing their love with open hearts.
Beckett broke the kiss and stroked her face. His eyes glowed warm and clear like the Bajan sea. “I have loved you far longer than I knew, Isobel,” he explained. “I was simply too afraid of feeling anything so deep, so frighteningly pure. I’d been burnt by the flame of love with Cordelia. It seemed foolish to play with fire after that.”
He continued, “But when I was in that cell, I had an epiphany. I realized that I had been fighting a losing battle with my heart. That was why it ached so unbearably when I thought of losing you. I realized true love is a prize reserved for those willing to give themselves to it with an open heart. And I speak from experience.”
“I believe I was fighting the same battle myself,” she said, “knowing that I loved you more than life, and trying to convince my heart to change its mind about the matter. As you discovered, it was a fruitless attempt.”
Beckett pulled her close in his arms. “Well, I, for one, am glad.”
“Oh, Beckett, I’m the happiest woman on Earth!”
“Well, that’s good, because I am the happiest man on earth,” he replied. “And it is only fitting that the happiest man and the happiest woman should be married to each other. Now, let me take you to bed, and show you exactly how much I love you.”
Isobel smiled at his devilish grin and sparkling eyes, saying, “Beckett, it’s almost noon!”
He stood and swept her up into his arms, and she squealed and kicked half-heartedly.
“I know what time it is, my dear,” he answered. “And by my calculations, we can make love for over three hours before Martha rings the bell for tea.”
Beckett bent his head and kissed her with passion. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer that carriage ride around Hyde Park….”
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading SEDUCING THE BRIDE, book one in the Brides of Mayfair series. I hope you enjoyed it and will pick up book two as well, which is Alfred’s story. He has quite an interesting time when he meets his match late one night in the London Theatre District. I had a great time writing his story, and you can read on f
or an excerpt and more information about it.
After Alfred’s story, the next book in the series is HIS COURTESAN BRIDE, and a description of that book follows as well. If you would like to be notified about future releases in this series, as well as special events and giveaways, please visit my website at www.michellemcmaster.com and sign up for my mailing list. I would love to send news to you.
I also encourage you to follow me on Bookbub to learn about temporary 99 cent sales on ebooks from my backlist. Just click the blue follow button, and Bookbub will send you an email to let you know.
Lastly, if you enjoy the thriller genre, please check out my Watch Me series, which I write under the pen name of Avery Holt. I have a separate website for my Avery novels, and you can visit Avery’s website here.
Once again, thank you for reading one of my novels.
Until next time!
Michelle McMaster
Other Books in the Brides of Mayfair Series
TAMING THE BRIDE
Brides of Mayfair Series – Book 2
The last thing Prudence Atwater wants is a husband, for her sole purpose in life is to run The Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies. But her beloved institution is not just any finishing school, for secretly, her ambition is to rescue unfortunates from the streets, even if it means dressing up as a streetwalker herself in order to infiltrate their world. What she doesn’t count on one memorable night outside Drury Lane is to be propositioned by a devilishly handsome nobleman who leaves her breathless…
After a night at the theater, Lord Alfred Weston is surprised to find himself engaged in a most titillating conversation with a strangely intriguing and intelligent light-skirt. The moment ends in a heated kiss, followed by an inconvenient turn of events that leaves him desperate to track down the cheeky tart who caused him to wind up in the Times. Imagine his surprise when he discovers that by day, she is a bookish, innocent school-marm!
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 22
