Beyond Love

by Glenda Diana

  It had not taken long for her to catch on to his game and conquer it like a mastermind. Just that afternoon, she had come up behind him and leaned over to get a stack of letters from his desk. Her breast brushed his shoulder, causing him to shudder with need. He was beginning to feel like one of his Saxon ancestors and wondered just how much Norman blood ran through her.

  Blake was deep in thought as the four headed to the Wilkin's bash. The thirty-minute ride through the throng of carriages seemed to last only a few seconds. When the coach rocked to a stop, he climbed out and automatically reached up for her. The moment his fingers wrapped around her waist his wandering thoughts came spinning homeward. It took all his might not to pull her close and let her lush body slide down the length of him. Gathering the remains of his willpower, he set her on her feet, tucked her arm through his, and led her forward.

  What confounded him the most was why she wanted to win? Were her reasons the same as his, to prove a point? Or to establish that a man's sexual need sometimes overruled his head? All right, he admitted, so he had been fighting a battle from within himself, but he had not lost. He had to regain the upper hand and there was only one way to accomplish that ... fight harder.

  He started rethinking and reforming plans. Here was the only part of war he'd enjoyed, the strategic maneuvers, then the final attack. He'd won honors for having a systematic mind. One chit would not outmaneuver him.

  Thorton noticed Blake seemed to be lost in thought. She wanted his full attention. “If you'll excuse me, I must journey upstairs to repair myself,” she murmured, a shy smile playing on her full lips.

  Her husky voice pulled Blake back to the present. His eyes stayed on her as she climbed the Wilkin's elaborate staircase. She had not even stopped long enough to hand over her cloak to the servant. “She looked fine to me.”

  “You know how women can be,” Lucas replied.

  “A royal pain in the arse, is what they are,” Blake muttered, as he scowled at the empty stairway. “I'll find something to drink,” he said, as he walked away.

  “Has he always been one to cuddle a bottle?” Lucas asked Roger as they watched Blake make his way through the sea of people. He couldn't help but smile, the crowded room seemed to split down the center, like the Red Sea, but Blake made a poor Moses.

  “Your sister is driving him to drink,” Roger replied.

  Lucas’ brown eyes came back to Roger. The older man had a wide smile across his face. “That pleases you?”

  “Of course not.” Roger laughed. “But it does mean my stubborn son is not so unresponsive to Thorton as he would like us to think.”

  Lucas nodded. “I should stay here and wait for Thorton. Who knows what trouble she will find if left on her own. Already some of the rogues have noticed Blake, which means they will be searching for Thorton. I don't believe I like Town much. Too much philandering.”

  “I agree,” Roger said, patting Lucas’ shoulder. “Keep Blake company or at least distract the gawking nitwits from angering him while I wait for her.”

  “He does seem to have a short temper these days.” Lucas laughed as he walked off.

  Thorton came down the stairs unnoticed. She handed the maid her cloak and smiled at the woman's startled gasp. Quietly, she stood at Roger's side. “A handsome man like you standing alone?” she stated softly. “Isn't that Lady Martha?”

  Roger spotted the woman in question. “That means her bumbling husband is...” His words died with a sputter when he turned to face Thorton. His blue eyes bulged at the sight of her gown ... or lack of it. He wasn't sure there was enough material to be considered a gown. Good Lord, she was a beautiful sight. “Are you daft, girl? Blake will see red when he gets sight of you.” Grabbing her elbow, he propelled her toward the entrance. “If we hurry we might be able to get you changed and back before he misses you.”

  “I'm not changing for him or anyone.” Thorton pulled loose of his hold and started back toward the ballroom.

  “I believe Lord Bradley has the right of it, my dear.”

  Thorton looked at the gentleman addressing her. “Mr. Garrick, right?”

  “I'm honored, Baroness,” Alan Garrick stated with a slight bow.

  Thorton smiled. He was handsome with his reddish brown hair and green eyes. She still had not thanked him and his friend for their assistance the night of the Hillerman party. “Please, call me Thorton.”

  “Only if you will call me Alan.”

  “I'm afraid if you wander down this path, old man, her husband will call you out,” came a new voice.

  Thorton looked at the newcomer and laughed. “Mr. Wellsbrough, you have a keen sense of humor,” she replied, offering her hand in greeting.

  Lance raised her hand to his mouth and winked. “What I have, my dear, is a keen sense of awareness. My roguish friend doesn't quite get the gist of what Blake would do to him. By the time he's through with Alan, there wouldn't be much left of him.”

  “That goes for you, too,” Roger grumbled, stepping between Thorton and the two men. “Off with the both of you. I need to get this silly chit out of here before my son sees the way she's garbed.”

  “What's wrong with her garb?” Alan asked innocently.

  “Careful, old man,” Lance told his friend. “This one is as bad as his son.”

  Roger scowled. “Off with you, scamps.”

  While the three men were busy antagonizing each other, Thorton started for the ballroom. Before she had taken five steps, she found herself practically surrounded. Roger at her left, Lance at her right, and Alan in front of her. “Gentlemen, this is not necessary. I'm just going to find my husband.”

  “My dear, Thorton,” Lance murmured. “I would say it is most necessary. In case you've neglected to look around, I'd venture to say you are the cause for the sudden stillness that's descended over the crowd.”

  “He's right, girl,” Roger sighed. “No turning back, I guess. The whole place has come to a standstill.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Alan added, with a teasing smile, “you and Blake do seem to have that effect on crowds.”

  “Pooh,” Thorton whispered, then swallowed hard. She certainly hoped she was not going to regret this evening.

  Blake was already on his third drink when silence filled the room. He wondered who had arrived to cause a stir and shrugged away the thought. It didn't matter who it was if it meant he would no longer be the center of attention, the recipient of rude stares.

  “Good, God,” Lucas moaned.

  Those two words were what made Blake turn. The drink he had just raised to his mouth went spewing down the front of him. He shook his head as if he could chase away the apparition floating toward him. It didn't work; she kept coming.

  Damn, the woman. She was going to kill him yet, Blake thought as he shoved his empty glass at Lucas. His scowl increased when his mind cleared enough to realize two of the tons' most distinguished and handsome bachelors were escorting her. He didn't take into account his sire was there, too. All he could think about was ripping those two men apart.

  God, she was lovely, he thought, as he began to remove his jacket. That's when he noticed the stares they were drawing as the crowd waited expectantly.

  “I'm sorry it took so long, Milord. Roger and I ran into a couple of your friends,” Thorton stated, as she placed her hand upon his sleeve. “They were nice enough to accompany us.”

  “Bradley, it's been an honor to escort your beautiful wife to you. But, Garrick and I must be going,” Lance said, giving Blake a nod, then a sly wink at Thorton.

  “This must be the best decorated gala we've attended yet,” Thorton said, hoping to ease the anger she could feel flowing from her husband.

  “Madame,” Blake's voice hissed.

  She smiled. “You would not cause a scene, would you, sir? Our audience is watching most closely.” Thorton gave a soft laugh for the benefit of the crowd as she gazed into Blake's furious eyes.

  “We will be leaving this instant.”
<
br />   In response, Thorton curtsied low and gently tugged him onto the dance floor. When his arm came around her for the waltz, she counted it as a small victory. If he came to her room tonight, she'd declare it a major one.

  Blake gritted his teeth as Thorton's body brushed against his. Silently, he counted, hoping to distract the lust running through his veins. He could do nothing less than to perform the dance. He would not embarrass them because Thorton wished to parade herself like a strumpet.

  When the dance ended, she gracefully dipped into another curtsy. Blake helped her up with more of a jerk than a helping hand. He ordered his eyes not to look. They disobeyed. Her skin glowed peaches and cream; the silver ribbons glistened like moonbeams through her hair. Though he tried valiantly, his body quickened. He had to get them out without causing too much of a scene. He led her to Roger and Lucas and placed her hand upon her brother's arm. He whispered something to Roger, who then left.

  Thorton wasn't sure what Blake was up to, but she had no doubt she would soon find out. She stood between Blake and Lucas and watched as the dancers twirled by. Before the tune had ended, Roger had returned. He sent a quick nod to Blake before leading Lady Pickens onto the floor.

  “Bradley, it's nice to see you and your lovely wife again,” Neil Waldom said, stepping directly in front of them.

  “Waldom,” Blake practically growled.

  “May I have the pleasure of dancing with your wife?”

  “No,” Blake answered, not bothering to look at the man.

  “Don't be rude,” Thorton scolded. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Waldom. But I must decline.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Neil murmured as he raised her hand to his lips. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Not likely,” Blake retorted.

  “I see you're not holding a grudge against Wellsbrough,” Neil said, gazing about the room. “Good. You and he use to be as close as you and I once were. I hear Penelope is still his Mistress. Never understood why she dumped you for him.”

  Blake stiffened. “This is not a subject I'll discuss with you now, nor ever.”

  Neil looked from Blake to Thorton. “Forgive me, Baroness. That was most rude. A man seldom likes the name of his ex-mistress bantered around.” Neil nodded at Blake. “Good evening.”

  Blake had the urge to knock the man's head off his shoulder. He had enough problems without Waldom mentioning an old mistress. Instead of going after the man, he sighed as he caught sight of Griggs making his way toward them.

  People stared in surprise as the servant conversed with the Baron of Stonecrest. Griggs made sure to wildly wave his arms as he talked in hush tones, several times he pointed around at the crowd. The Wilkin's guests soon began to think the servant was tattling gossip. A number of them appeared guilty, Thorton thought with a smile.

  Blake placed his arm around her waist and led her past the gawking throng, past Lance, Alan, and Neil, and out of the ballroom. Roger, Lucas, and Griggs followed.

  “What happened?” Lucas asked once inside the carriage. “Is there trouble at your home?”

  “Not until we arrive,” Blake answered.

  At her brother's bewildered expression, Thorton patted his knee. “Blake means I have angered him and he will be taking care of the matter when we arrive home.” Thorton gave Blake a side-glance. “I must commend you. It was a brilliant plan. I must tell Griggs how superb he was.”

  Roger leaned toward Lucas. “They're going to have a row tonight.”

  “Can't blame the fellow,” Lucas replied, settling back in his seat. “She shocked me when I saw her gown,”

  “Is she wearing a gown?” Blake asked. “If there were any less material, she'd be naked.”

  Lucas shook his head at Thorton. “I hate to miss the show the two of you are bound to put on, but I'd just as soon have Griggs take me to my town house.”

  “But Lucas, your house isn't ready yet.”

  Lucas laughed. “My house might be empty, but it will be considerably quieter.”

  “But...”

  “Leave off,” Blake murmured. “You heard him, he wants to go home.”

  Reaching up, he tapped on the roof instructing Griggs of Lucas’ desire. He did not wish to be rude, but he would just as soon have fewer at his house this evening. Blake planned on having an all-out war with his wife.

  Thorton remained quiet until the carriage stopped in front of Lucas’ house. Leaning forward, she received a kiss on her cheek. “You don't have any serious notions about that Deveraux chit you danced with tonight, do you?”

  Lucas had almost shut the carriage door when her question stopped him. “Why?”

  “The girl doesn't appear to have a brain in her head.” Thorton waved her hand. “Never mind. That was not nice of me to say.”

  Lucas smiled. “That's the kind of woman I want. I don't want one who gets silly notions and acts upon them.”

  Thorton frowned when all three men laughed. “I have a brain and it works perfectly.”

  “Your mind is perfect,” Blake mumbled. “Perfectly warped.”

  “I can say one thing,” Lucas continued. “When I do find the right woman, I won't be an ass about it.”

  Blake pulled the door closed on Lucas’ laughter. He was tired of being called an ass. He sincerely hoped that when Lucas did find a woman with whom he wished to settle down, she was exactly like Thorton. It was amazing how just one thought, vicious though it might be, could make a man feel a hundred percent better.

  When they reached home it was Roger who assisted Thorton from the coach while Blake walked ahead of them. “Want me to get my pistols?” Roger whispered to her.

  Thorton laughed. “I certainly could not shoot him and don't bother to tell me you'll defend my honor. You could not shoot him anymore than I could.

  Blake was waiting at the bottom of the staircase. He placed a hand on Thorton's arm, detaining her. “Good night, father,” he stated without a sign of emotion on his hard face.

  Roger started up the stairs, turning several times to look at Thorton. She smiled brightly, telling him she would see him in the morning.

  Blake waited for his father to disappear before turning to Thorton. “Would you care to explain your choice of dress, or should I say undress? You are practically falling out of the neckline.” He wanted to rip the damned thing off her and throw it in the nearest hearth. Blake closed his eyes and prayed for patience. His thoughts were creating the most tantalizing illusions of him, her, and the shredded dress.

  Thorton started up the stairs.

  “Where do you think you're going? I asked for an explanation and I expect you to give one.”

  Thorton walked down the stairs to stand in front of him. “You can ask all you like, Baron. I refuse to answer. I have tried to explain a number of things to you and was never once allowed. I've had enough of being cut off.” So saying, she continued up to her chamber.

  The slamming of the library door could be heard throughout the house. Blake went for the decanter of brandy and found it missing. He was positive it had been on his desk earlier. Only one person would dare enter his lair, to brave the waters, who was meddlesome, troublesome, and obnoxious enough ... Griggs.

  Jerking open the door Blake yelled for the interfering buzzard. It took three shouts before the servant approached in an easy, slow pace. The old man was showing his stubbornness.

  Griggs was already dressed for bed in his long gown and nightcap. “You bellowed, sir?” he asked and promptly yawned.

  “Where the hell is my brandy?” In frustration Blake ran his fingers through his hair. She was to blame for the swelling irritation he felt.

  “Right where you told me to put it, Milord.”

  Blake rubbed his hand over his face. He could not remember telling Griggs to put it anywhere. “And just where was that?”

  “In your room, Milord. Now, if you don't mind, I am retiring. If you wish to bellow for anything else, wait till morning ... or g
et it yourself.” He stomped away.

  Between grumbling over his disrespectful servant and the urge to tear something, anything, apart, Blake couldn't help the sigh that slipped from him upon entering his warm chamber. A low fire glowed in the hearth, while his full decanter sat on the table beside his chair.

  He stripped to his breeches before sitting to have a drink. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Thorton, dressed in white, silver, and pink. She had looked like some ancient Goddess entering the ballroom to briefly mingle with the earthly creatures.

  When he had seen Wellsbrough and Garrick escorting her, he'd had the strangest impulse to throw her over his shoulder and run like hell. And there she'd stood beside him, touching his hand, smiling so enchantingly, as if she thought him the handsomest man in attendance.

  How could she act so? Every woman noticed his ravaged face. They all stared like a bunch of gaping nitwits, whispering behind fans, looking ready to swoon if his eyes met theirs. But not Thorton. Of course, he knew why. She had years to study and examine his scarred face. But none of that mattered when they were out in public. What mattered at the point was she was touching and caressing him, the Beast of Stonecrest, for all the world to see.

  Blake pushed away the sweet thoughts and poured himself another drink. A soft knock came from Thorton's side of their adjoining door. Without waiting for permission, she came in.

  Blake's mouth grew dry at the sight of her. He took a sip of brandy. “Did you change your mind about explaining?” He noticed the way the fire from the hearth reflected in her eyes; they were a brilliant topaz, except in passion, when they turned to burnt gold. Perhaps Lucas had been right. Maybe God had made her eyes that extraordinary color to express the unique person inside.

  Then it finally dawned on him what this woman was. The knowledge was like a swift blow to his head and brought terror to his heart. He felt like a fool for not recognizing it before. She was Hell. To have this gorgeous creature as his wife, to see her daily and knowing she felt only pity for him, was his hell on earth.