“Stay away from my wife, sir.”
Not waiting to listen to any response he strode back to where their carriage had been left waiting, with Milly having to almost run to keep up with him.
He handed her into the carriage and sat opposite, the atmosphere so electric it felt like lightening could strike between them at any moment.
“How dare you!” Milly flung at him the moment the carriage lurched into motion. “How dare you embarrass me like that. I'll never forgive you for it!”
“How dare I?” he demanded, rage and jealousy mingling for supremacy. “You allow that impertinent jackanapes to call for you at our home and walk about with him in part of town you have no business going to unescorted - and you want to know how I dare? Good God, Milly, I wonder you have the effrontery to look me in the eye!”
“Oh do you?”
He was a little taken aback by the sheer violence behind those words. Sweet, gentle little Milly looked very much like she wanted to put her delicate hands about his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
“Who is he?” he demanded, his heart thudding too hard, terrified that she would tell him that the man was her lover, that she'd never cared for Beau at all, that she was leaving him. “Who is he to you, Milly?”
He was quite unable to keep the tremor from his voice and he wondered if she could hear his desperation. Have pity, love, he begged inwardly but Milly just crossed her arms and stared out of the window, refusing to even look at him.
“Milly! Answer me, damn it! What is he to you? Did you come back to London for him, is that it?” Had he been fooling himself last night, was this why she'd bought those daring new dresses, for her lover?
Her head whipped around at that, her eyes febrile with such scalding anger that he almost caught his breath.
“Damn you, Beau,” she raged. “Damn you!”
She turned away from him, trembling and white faced but she hadn't answered him.
“Is he your lover?”
To his horror she laughed though he wasn't about to consider it a happy sound. Instead she just turned and looked him straight in the eye.
“I won't tell you. You can just wonder about that.”
Before he knew what he'd done he was beside her, his hands grasping her delicate arms too hard. He wanted to shake her for hurting him so very badly.
“I won't share you with him,” he shouted, and any mastery over his temper or semblance of rationality fled in barrage of uncontrollable emotion. “I'll kill him before I let him touch you.”
“But we're just friends, Beau,” she said, her voice quiet against the thunder of his rage but the words were audible enough for him to hear her contempt.
“You are my wife!” he growled, determined to bludgeon that fact home and never let her forget it again. “And just to be sure you understand that, Milly, I tell you now ... I want an heir, and you will damn well give one to me.” He was too angry to regret the violence of those words but the shock in her eyes was hard to ignore.
“W-what?” she stammered, her lovely dark eyes filled with fear.
“You heard me,” he repeated, already beginning to regret the manner in which he'd said them. The carriage drew up outside of their home and the silence between them seemed absolute. He let go of her arms and moved back a little but she still cowered away from him.
“Go indoors, Milly,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “I will expect you to be waiting for me when I return.”
For a moment she was immobile, the appalled expression on her face eloquent enough to tell him what she thought of that idea. But then she flung herself out of the carriage, almost tripping in her haste to get away from him.
Furious and overwhelmed Beau yelled for the driver to take him to White's and sat back against the squabs.
Chapter 22
“Wherein chances are taken and given."
Beau stared at the glass in his hand. White's was practically empty, most of the ton having long since quit the stench of the city in summer and retreated to their country estates. He was left to his own sorrow, wondering how everything had gone so very wrong. His damned temper had over-ridden good sense and he'd behaved like the worst kind of bullying, callous bastard. In fact he'd behaved rather like his father might have. The thought sickened him.
He looked up to see dusk settling in and knew he had to go back. He had to face her. If she was even there. The likelihood was that she'd run away from him again. He could hardly blame her.
How could he rage at her for taking a lover when she must believe that he had already done the same? In fact she believed that he'd never stopped. He'd assured her nothing would change, that she would play no part in that aspect of his life. She was expected to look the other way and never be anything more to him than a friend. He'd never told her the rules were different for her. He'd never said she couldn't take a lover. Because with blinding ignorance and wilful stupidity, it had never occurred to him that she might. It had never even entered his head. What a bloody fool.
Beau stood and downed the drink he'd been nursing all afternoon. He'd been too afraid to give into the desire to drown his sorrows. God only knew what he might be capable of in this mood if he was drunk. Now he could only go back home and assure Milly that he hadn't meant it. He would never touch her in anger, would never lay a finger on her if she didn't want him to.
Though he had been truthful in one thing. He did want an heir. Not for the blasted title though, but because he wanted a part of her that was his too. The idea of his child growing inside her made his throat tight. The idea that he might never be allowed such a thing was almost enough to unman him.
He walked home, too afraid of what he might face to hurry. The air was hot and close, the tang of the filthy city sharp in his nostrils. Somewhere a way off the watch called the hour, a melancholy voice echoing alone in the relative quiet of the city streets. For the first time in his entire life he longed to be back at Ware. Back with Milly, though, as it had been before he had messed everything up so spectacularly.
In the far distance there was a soft rumble of thunder and the too still air seemed heavy with the threat of a storm. Pausing outside of the smart red brick of his town house on fashionable Savile Row he looked up. He had always been proud of this place. A place he had made his own home away from his father's cancerous presence. Forever robbing Peter to pay Paul before everyone began dunning him he had damned near killed himself to keep it. He'd gambled at all hours of the day and night, using his skill at cards to win enough to keep him afloat for another few weeks. For of course the son of a duke couldn't work for a living. God forbid. It would have been far, far too vulgar.
The imposing Palladian façade towered four stories high and a soft light was emitted from Milly's bedroom. So she hadn't run away then.
The door opened and Beau nodded to the butler who'd been employed while Rexon remained at Ware. Beau missed the old man's warm presence, resenting this young fellow's pristine starchiness, though of course it was everything that was right and proper. Though if their last encounter was anything to go on, Rexom would treat him just as coldly. He was unsurprised at the swiftness with which both he and Mrs Buss had switched allegiance. Any fool could see Milly was worth ten of him.
He dismissed the butler and went to his room, allowing Purefoy simply to remove his jacket, cravat and boots before sending him away too. Waiting until the house was quiet he stole to Milly's room and knocked quietly on the door. There was no answer but he had hardly expected an invitation so he turned the handle and opened it.
Milly was sat on the side of the bed but she jumped up as he walked in.
Beau caught his breath as desire and longing swept over him. His own sweet Milly, waiting for him.
She was dressed in a simple white cotton nightgown that covered every inch of skin from neck to toe but he had never felt such need burn beneath his skin. He had taken many women to his bed, too many it seemed now. Their beautiful faces blurred and faded, and he k
new he had seen many women far more striking than his wife. But he couldn't remember them.
Her thick, dark hair was loose and fell about her shoulders in heavy waves, her sweet face flushed and her eyes downcast. He closed the door behind him and stepped a little closer, noticing how her breathing sped as he did so. By God he felt like a brute.
“Milly,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I'm so sorry, love. I ... I didn't mean it. I would never ... never ...” He sighed and wished he that he could swap some of his practised seduction techniques for something that Milly could see was honest and true. “I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was angry and ... jealous,” he said, feeling like a fool and wishing she would say something but she didn't even look at him. “I want you, love, so much. But not ... not like this.”
He waited, watched her for any sign that she might forgive him but found nothing. With his heart weighing heavy in his chest he turned back to the door.
“Wait.”
The word was so quietly spoken that he might have missed it. As it was he froze, terrified that the fragile hope that had flickered to life would be quickly killed. That she would now rake him down with some angry reminder of just how pathetic his apology was in the light of his own dreadful behaviour.
He turned around, hardly daring to breathe as he found her dark eyes on him.
“Don't go.”
He stared back at her, the white cotton of her nightgown lent a golden tinge by the candle light.
“Why?” he asked, knowing perhaps he was asking too much but needing to hear the words so badly. “Why not?”
He could see the confusion in her eyes and he stepped closer to her, moving slowly. Pausing in front of her he lifted one hand and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. A barely there touch, he was surprised when she hauled in a trembling breath, her eyes closing. Did she really want him after all?
“Tell me, love,” he whispered. “Please tell me that you want me.”
She was quiet for the longest time, so long he was almost ready to beg her but then she looked up at him and saved him from humiliation.
Her eyes were darker than he'd even seen them, heavy with desire.
“I want you,” she said, the words bold and sure. “I want you very much.”
“Oh God, Milly.” He closed the gap between them and caught her face in his hands, lifting her head as he pressed his mouth against hers.
Her lips were so soft, so terribly sweet and it was so hard to rein in his own need to possess her, body and soul. She put her hands about his wrists to steady herself, rising on tiptoe to meet him, so obviously willing for more that his chest ached with wanting her.
But to his delight and the deliverance of his bruised heart she was only too clearly an innocent. He kept his kisses slow and soft and tender, allowing her to learn from him, to mimic the steps he laid out for her. But her body learned as quickly as her brilliant mind and soon it was her urging him on. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed against him, clinging to him with a fevered desperation that he was only too willing to submit to.
He pulled her close to him, revelling in the feel of her in his arms. She was slight and delicate and yet surprisingly curvaceous, the generous swell of her breasts pressing against him making his body taut with need.
Drawing back for a moment he looked down at her, beguiled by the flush on her lovely skin, the lush curve of her mouth already swollen from his kisses. Reaching for the ties of her nightgown, he began with the first under her neck. Giving a little tug, the ribbon slid apart as his breath caught in his throat. He thought perhaps his hands were trembling.
“If you knew how I've longed to do this,” he said, hearing his own voice deep and full of yearning. He leaned down as his hands fell to the next tie and pressed a kiss to the side of her throat.
Milly sighed, her head falling back and to the side to allow him to continue. Little by little the chaste white cotton fell open to his gaze and he followed the path it revealed with his mouth. He kissed the soft, perfect skin down her neck, parting the gown to reveal her breasts. The sweet pink peaks his mouth had watered for ever since he'd seen her bathing did not escape his attentions tonight.
He ran his tongue over the delicate bud of her nipple, feeling the skin furl beneath his touch before he closed his mouth over it. He sucked lightly at first and then harder as Milly groaned and clutched at his head, pulling him closer. Pure, unalloyed lust exploded inside him, his body so hard and taut it was painful. He needed to be inside her so very badly, but he wasn't about to ruin this as he had so nearly ruined everything else by being a selfish bastard.
Lavishing the same attention between both breasts he contented himself for the moment with listening to her breathing becoming ever more erratic and the desperate little noises she made. He knelt down, trailing kisses over her belly, surprised when she braced herself by leaning back on the carved wood at the foot of the bed.
He looked up from his position on the floor, looking along the perfect landscape of her body, revealed to him from between the prim folds of her gown. She stared back at him, her eyes bold and unafraid. In a move that almost chased the breath from his lungs she allowed one leg to move, parting her thighs, opening herself to him.
Never taking his eyes from hers he leaned in and pressed a kiss against her thigh, hearing her breathing hitch as he did so. He trailed his tongue a little higher, painting patterns on her skin and teasing the crease that ran beside the little triangle of her dark thatch of curls. She pressed her hips towards him, wanton with desire, her eyes pleading for him to stop teasing her. He chuckled against her skin, delighted and captivated by his sweet Milly's fearless nature. How foolish to have believed that she could ever be a frightened, trembling virgin. She was far too brave for that.
He rewarded her boldness by parting those springy little curls and sweeping his tongue over the delicate flesh beneath. She clutched at the bed frame behind her and moaned, throwing her head back as he repeated the move. Beau was lost, entirely caught in her lovely toils and when she hooked her leg over his shoulder to allow him to pleasure her more fully, he thought he might just humiliate himself and come before she'd even touched him.
Somehow he kept a hold on his own desires as she shattered beneath his mouth, crying out with one hand clutching at his hair.
She stared down at him, one hand still tangled tightly in his hair and Beau suddenly felt very afraid. What wouldn't he do for her? What wouldn't he do to make her love him?
He got to his feet, tearing the gown from her shoulders and lifting her onto the bed. Standing over her, he just looked his fill and his breath caught as she arranged herself for him, folding her lovely limbs into the exact pose of that very first picture he had asked her to look at.
“Oh, God, love, you're killing me,” he moaned, hardly able to draw breath as he snatched at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. “Show me how you did it,” he urged, his voice rough as he watched her delicate fingers thread through her own curls.
By the time he was naked he was at the edge of sanity. He fell upon her like a starving man at a feast, taking her mouth like he would die without it. His hands weren't as gentle as he'd meant to be but the sweet temptress beneath him didn't seem to mind.
“Yes, touch me,” he groaned as her hands began to explore her own path. “Please, touch me.” He settled a little beside her so her hands could explore him as they wished and sucked in a breath as her fingers closed over him.
“Show me how,” she demanded and he smiled at the curious glint in her eyes. She would learn this with the same singled minded enthusiasm with which she'd bested him at cards. The thought was at once delicious and a little daunting. He closed his hand over hers and showed her how to caress him.
“Strange,” she murmured. “Your skin is so soft, yet so very hard.” She sat up and batted his hand away, exploring further, cupping the soft sack of his balls with a little frown of concentration. Beau arched beneath her and then groaned in e
arnest as she rubbed in the moisture which beaded on the sleek head of his erection. She looked back at him, smiling and looking a little shy for the first time. “This means you like it I think?” she asked, one arched brow quirked a little.
He gave a little huff of desperation and covered his face with his hands, praying he could hold on as she continued her investigations. A moment later he hauled in a breath as the decadent warmth of her mouth enveloped him.
“Salty,” she murmured against his skin with a thoughtful tone before repeating the process.
“Oh God.” For a moment he allowed himself to revel in the pure, unalloyed pleasure of his wife giving him her undivided attention before he was forced to push her away. “No! Milly, stop. You have to stop.”
He pulled her up into his arms again and forced her onto her back.
“Didn't you like it?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Because it was in that book you gave me.”
“Oh, sweet life, yes, yes, I liked it,” he said, moving between her thighs. “So much, Milly. But I need to be inside you and if you'd carried on ...”
“Oh,” she said, eyes widening as she understood. “So I can do that again then? You don't mind?”
Beau made a strangled noise deep in his throat and decided his wife was determined to kill him
“Any time, love, absolutely any time you like. I'm all yours.”
Thinking it was time for a little payback he slid his aching cock between the hot, slick skin between her thighs. With a slow, deliberate sweep he watched her eyes close and then found himself startled as she came again almost at once, crying out and clutching at him so hard her nails dug into his back.
“My God,” he murmured, staring down at her in alarm.
She blinked up at him, her eyes still hazy with pleasure.
“What?” she asked, looking flushed and lovely and rubbing her body against him, sinuous as a cat and quite obviously eager for more.
The Devil May Care Page 19
