Spinning from the mirror in a burst of anger, she grabbed a vase filled with pink irises and dashed it against the wall. “Bastard! What a stupid moron you were, Fitzgerald!"
Staring at the bits of broken glass and the puddle of water staining the highly polished floor, she huffed a breath. “Tilly!"
The nervous maid, mobcap askew, rushed to the doorway and gave an awkward curtsey. “Yes, mum."
"Clean up this mess at once! Quickly!"
Tilly rushed off to attend the spill as Bea flopped onto the divan in a lazy sprawl.
Thinking she would be wealthy after Fitzgerald's death, she'd learned just the opposite was true. He'd squandered his so-called-son's inheritance and her future stability. Though few knew it, Stephen's title was empty. The day James Fitzgerald cocked up his toes, she'd learned there was little left in the family coffers.
She and Stephen had managed, but it wasn't enough just to get by. Stephen was a magnificent gambler, she admitted, and her own numerous lovers were generous men. But there was the matter of respect.
Most galling to her, however, was the fact that her son had been denied when his half-brother Christian seemed to all a golden child. Blessed in looks and money, he could do no wrong. Aside from inheriting vast wealth from his father, he'd gone on to double that amount with his own ventures. Everything the man touched was gold, but Beatrice was convinced it was due only to the legitimacy of his birth.
Watching the maid finish her task and leave the room, Beatrice felt a bolt of fury lash through her. That Stephen was deprived of his heritage was a great source of rage and though she cared for few things deeply, she loved her son.
Stephen needed to marry an heiress, and he'd set his sights on Elizabeth Grayson. Lovely thing, Beatrice mused. Nearly a week ago, over drinks, he'd talked of the bet with Christian and his determination to have the spirited Lady Grayson. Beatrice wanted to ensure that Stephen's wish came true.
Straightening her posture, she reached for the decanter again and poured herself another drink. Settling back, she struggled with her anger and slowly sipped in an effort to calm herself. Before Park's arrival, she must be completely in control.
Earlier today, her son had been rather blasé about the entire matter of marriage. Though he did not love her, Elizabeth had caught his eye. Money and revenge were his primary motivation. He was really more interested in besting Christian and, of course, gaining an heiress.
In any case, love seldom factored into a normal British marriage. Most aristocrats married for dynastic reasons rather than undying love. She was rich and beautiful, the perfect wife for a penniless aristocrat. Unfortunately, Christian Delaford wanted her for a wife as well.
Scowling, Beatrice took another sip of her drink, but then brightened at the sound of a knock on the door. Within minutes, her butler had shown Park Mansfield into the room.
"Ah, Mr. Mansfield, how good of you to come,” she said, sailing toward him, manicured fingers outstretched. Her voice fairly purred with sexual invitation.
Gallantly Mansfield kissed her proffered hand and allowed his gaze to dip to the low décolleté of her yellow satin gown. She moved closer on a cloud of expensive perfume and sensing her invitation, he licked lightly at the palm of her hand.
"Ooh. What a forward man you are.” She brushed against him and gave him a brazen kiss that lasted long enough to make young Park hard enough to pound stone.
Finally drawing away, she allowed her gaze to wander the length of his rangy body. Noting the evidence of his desire, she grinned like a cat licking cream. This would be so easy, she thought, purring in anticipation of her victory.
"But please, I forget myself. Do sit while I fix you a drink. Brandy?” She lifted a dark brow and pouted lush, red lips.
"Yes, thank you.” Park sprawled on a settee and crossed his legs at the ankle. As she poured his drink, Beatrice watched him covertly, careful to keep her movements blatantly seductive. It was surely no great secret they would have sex and she smiled slightly as he gave her a direct stare. Reaching down, he languidly stroked himself.
Park was just vain enough, she thought, to know that the size of his manhood appealed to the ladies, especially, lonely and beautiful widows. When she returned with the brandy, he smiled and patted the place beside him.
"Wonderful to see you again Bea,” he murmured, leaning closer. “It has been long time since I bedded you. What a delightful interlude!"
"Mmm. Yes, and what a darling man you are to remember."
"How could I forget the sweetest little she-cat in England?"
"Quite. And never fear, I shall purr for you again, darling, yet we have business to discuss."
"Go on. Please, let us get to the heart of the matter.” He set down his drink and proceeded to lift her yellow skirts above her knees. Delving upward, his hand went unerringly to the thatch of dark curls between her legs. She was already wet, and Park's erection grew large enough to prod the waistband of his trousers.
Obligingly, Bea leaned back and spread her legs so that he could play to his content. Arching against knowledgeable fingers, she explained about Stephen's desire to marry Elizabeth Grayson.
Park only grunted at her words until she mentioned his cousin, the Duke. Lifting his head, he scowled. “What about him? The bastard! I wanted him to stay in China. I would have been the Duke. Rich. I would have had everything."
Beatrice leaned closer to stroke Park's length beneath his trousers. Caressing him until his eyes glazed with pleasure, she spoke again. “It is his fault, darling, but now he wants to marry Elizabeth, too. He doesn't need a rich wife. He only needs marry by midnight of his birthday. You do know about the will, do you not?"
Park plunged his fingers deeply inside her body and smiled at Bea's sultry moan. “Yesss. Of course. I must keep him from marrying at all."
"I know, but his heart is set on this particular woman. You know how stubborn Christian is when his mind is set."
Going down on his knees, Park rucked up Bea's skirts and trailed his lips along her opulent thighs, teased her with his hands. She moaned, her breath quickening. He'd had enough and fell with her back on the floor allowing Bea to crawl astride him. Withdrawing his length from his trousers, she sank down upon him and arched her back. Delightful. Oh, yes.
"What do you propose, love?” he asked as he pulled her bodice down, exposing her breasts. Thrusting upward, he grasped a rose-colored nipple with his fingers.
"Elizabeth must marry my Stephen. I will be rich again. Ah, aaah, please, Park. Harder."
Taking her bottom in his hands, he ground himself against her with a sound of pleasure. “If Stephen marries ... Elizabeth. Oh, sweetheart, yes, give it all to me. If Stephen marries her, then Christian is without a wife, and I inherit."
"Yes, yes, yes.” Beatrice quivered atop him until he plunged deeply once more. Climaxing together, they cried out until finally, with a gusty sigh, she sank upon him.
After a minute or two, Park regained his breath enough to speak. “I take it that we will be partners once again."
"Yes, dear, in every way.” She stroked a finger across his lips. “Now, be a good lad, and listen well. I will tell you what must be done."
Six
White's took on a subtle difference during the morning hours, and Christian couldn't help but revel in the quiet of the room as he entered. Though raucous groups of men drank and gambled with great abandon every night, mornings brought a decidedly sedate bent to his favorite club.
Surprisingly busy for such an early hour, he stopped to address acquaintances as they breakfasted or simply conversed quietly.
"Ah, Your Grace, sorry to learn of the death of your father. You have my condolences."
"Thank you, Lord Simons. Good to see you again,” Christian murmured politely as he continued on.
He nodded then to His Honor, Barton Wills, to which the judge called out, “Good day to you, young man. Do join me for a cup and fill me in on your travels."
"Of course, but another time, Yo
ur Honor.” He bowed slightly and flashed his most charming smile. “I am searching for Lord Grayson. We have some business."
Bushy gray brows rose as Wills gestured to the reading room. “In there, nose buried in The Times, no doubt."
Thanking the man, Christian made his way in that direction and spotted Lord Henry immediately. He was settled in a deep leather chair, a cup of steaming tea at his elbow, perusing not The Times but The Public Ledger. The Ledger was a business publication filled with information on shipping and the prices of foreign merchandise on the London market.
As he moved closer, Lord Henry must have sensed his presence. Gazing over the top of the paper, he smiled at Christian.
"Well, Your Grace,” Henry said. “Fancy seeing you here, as I was just reading about your coup."
"My coup?"
Henry gestured to a chair. Christian obliged and ordered a cup of strong coffee from a manservant. Relaxing in the comfort of deep, soft leather, he crossed his riding boots at the ankle and regarded the older man with a lift of his brow. “My coup, Lord Henry?"
Henry laughed. “Yes, dear boy. I have just been reading with interest the financial success you've had with your last shipment of goods from China. My, what adventures you must have had there."
"It is an exciting place, but still, it is good to be home."
Turning serious, Henry looked him in the eye. “Once again, The London Museum thanks you for the generous gift. As a member of the board, I am sure I speak for all of us."
"Ah, the silk and jade artifacts."
"Quite. It is a superb collection and very generous."
"I was delighted to make the donation."
Christian's coffee was served, the aroma adding to the scents of leather and tobacco that permeated the room. He took a bracing sip of the brew. Sighing with pleasure, he leaned back and studied the man who would, if matters worked out, become his father-in-law. Though Elizabeth was a model for everything feminine, her resemblance to Lord Henry was readily apparent. Both possessed proud, aristocratic features and blazing violet-hued eyes that could turn fierce at a moment's notice.
"I am sure your time in the Orient was fascinating,” Henry was saying.
"Yes, it was. I shall be sure to tell you all about it one day, yet there are other more fascinating things, which I should like to discuss with you."
When Lord Henry gave him a knowing look, Christian smiled and continued. “More precisely, sir, I wish to discuss a rather fascinating young woman."
"Ah, I see. I assume you speak of my daughter. Once again, I must thank you for what you did for Elizabeth last week.” Henry shook his head. “The mere thought of losing her, too, quite simply terrified us both. In fact, Millicent took to her bed after the accident occurred."
"No accident."
Henry's hand fisted on the table, and Christian noted the flush of red on his cheeks. “Quite right. No accident, but the evil doings of Stanhope. If only I could prove it was he, yet for all anyone knows he hired the deed done. Blast it! Will our family ever be rid of him?"
"Not if Elizabeth does not learn to curb her loose tongue."
"Damnation! I know what she is about and I have warned her repeatedly not to taunt him further with her accusations. You must understand, though. Elizabeth's feelings run very deep."
"Tell me. I would know her better."
"Not much to tell really, but the truth. Having convinced all of us that this was a love match, Edward married Charlotte. How could it have been otherwise? Charlotte was a sweet, darling innocent, who had her choice of any young buck of the ton. A diamond of the first water, as is Elizabeth."
A diamond of the first water. Oh, yes. Most definitely.
"How did Elizabeth feel about their marriage?"
"Quite thrilled actually. She wanted Charlotte to be loved, to have her heart's desire, and Edward seemed to be just that. Almost immediately after the marriage, Lottie changed. A strange shyness overtook her personality, a melancholy, if you will.” Henry, eyes glazing in memory, absently rubbed at his temples. “It soon became obvious to everyone in the Ton that Edward kept mistresses, saw other women. This was not a love match, but Edward's need of a rich dowry and an important family connection.
"At Charlotte's death, I thought the entire family would join her in the hereafter, so distraught were we. Yet, Elizabeth, her twin, took it even worse. In many ways, I believe she felt guilt for encouraging the match. Never would she cry, at least not around my wife and me. No, hate filled her, took the place of her grief."
Christian's memory flashed at the sight of her facing Edward Huntley, Lord Stanhope, that first night. The glitter in her eyes told the tale to anyone with the good sense to notice.
Fear shook him.
"We cannot let this continue, My Lord,” Christian vowed. “I foresee grave danger for her if she continues on this course."
Lord Henry looked shaken. “I have done everything to rein her in. After the incident in Hyde Park, I forbade her to leave the house for the rest of the week. Told her as well that she must have an escort at all times. She fought me like a wildcat, not literally, yet she was furious."
"I can imagine.” Christian easily envisioned her tirade, imagined crystal vases and such smashing violently into walls. “Someone must take her in hand, Lord Henry, and though I know you do your best, she needs a husband."
Narrowing his eyes, Lord Henry studied him with quiet intensity. “What are you proposing, Your Grace?"
"Marriage. To me. I have spoken with Elizabeth and know her desire to remain unwed, yet, if you will pardon my saying so, she courts danger that could very well cost her her life."
"Have you feelings for her?"
Christian had some inkling of how the man might feel. He had lost a beloved daughter to a horrible marriage. Fear of losing Elizabeth as well must paralyze him with terror.
Staring Elizabeth's father straight in the eye, he spoke the truth. “I know nothing of love, sir, yet I know that I need your daughter. Not for money, for as you well know, I do not need an heiress. I need your daughter for her fire, her spirit. She is remarkable."
"After the attack, my first instinct was to carry her off to our country estate, yet I agree with you, Christian. Whether she wishes it or no, Elizabeth must marry. I want grandchildren to bounce on my knee. I need to know that she is safe and with a man who cares for her. I could not abide her unhappiness and I have already lost one daughter to a ruthless cad."
"I give you my word, sir, I would never hurt Elizabeth.” He laughed ruefully. “Should I ever do so, I would fear to close my eyes at night. The girl is a veritable tigress."
Lord Henry laughed. “Just so.” He turned serious once again. “I know you to be a good man. A bit of a reputation with the ladies, but you know what they say ... A reformed rake tends to make the best husband. You'd best not rush her, though. Elizabeth is not a woman to be pushed."
"How well I know it. I assure you I will have a care how I approach her, but heed me well, I intend to have her and soon. As for her safety, I plan to follow, most carefully, her every move.” Christian grinned. “Without her knowing, of course."
Lord Henry laughed wickedly. “How delightful! I do believe you and my Elizabeth will be a good match. Come at teatime, my boy, and I will make certain my daughter is present. Might be interesting to view the fireworks."
Slapping his hand on the table, Henry stood and called out to a passing waiter. “Champagne, my good man, your best!” Henry looked down at Christian, giving him a wink. “A bit unconventional, but I suspect yours might well be an unconventional sort of marriage."
* * * *
"Your first try at the job, and you have failed. Damn you, Mott! I want the bitch dead, and all you managed was a toss from her horse.” Edward stood carefully and rapped his cane on the floor. Beset with fury since the night of their confrontation, he'd thought of nothing but the death of his former sister-in-law, Elizabeth Grayson.
She had ruined him and by heav
ens, she would die for it!
Mott, a burly man with a pock-marked face and large bulbous nose, sniffled like a snot-nosed child and lowered his head. “Just a wee bit o’ bad plannin', yer lordship, but I'll see ‘er done, I will."
Edward sneered at the filthy hireling and sank into his chair again. “And just how do you propose to complete your job?"
Mott drew a relieved breath and grinned through rotted teeth. “Gotta hire me an associate, gov. Got just the bloke in mind. We'll catch the lady all alone and stick ‘er good.” For emphasis, he withdrew a long, wicked blade, which he caressed as sweetly as he might a lover. “Within the week, the twit won't be no problem to ye. Ye have me word."
Edward downed a shot of strong whiskey and snorted. “See that you do not disappoint me."
* * * *
Stephen Fitzgerald rapped sharply on the door of Christian's home and casually tapped a hand to his breast pocket. Signed, sealed, and now delivered, the papers outlining the bet in minute detail waited to be handed into Christian's care.
Leaving nothing to chance, he had seen his solicitor and had everything put in order. This was no simple wager, but a costly one. Stephen smiled and eyed the façade of the Haverton mansion. Something like this would belong to him soon. Confidence, being one of his finer points, would serve him well in courting Elizabeth Grayson.
Recalling the last day he'd seen her, it was impossible not to notice the irritability she felt in Christian's company. The woman virtually seethed around him while she'd treated himself with a polite, yet flirtatious, attitude.
Yes, it should not be hard to win her as long as he managed to keep his mother away. Beatrice was far too pushy for his taste. A master at manipulation, she wanted a fortune and she wanted it now. He had managed to care for her with his winnings, yet she was never satisfied. Though he knew she loved him, there were times that he wished her a continent away. Her meddling would only serve to damage his cause.
The afternoon was sunny and a bit breezy. A gust nearly dislodged his high-crowned beaver hat. Removing it to tuck lazily under his arm, he smiled as the front door opened.
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