Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1)

by Maggie Jagger

Chapter 16

  The berline swayed up the road to London while Lizzie ignored her husband, who was trying not to gloat at his triumph. The weather had turned unseasonably cool with a haze in the sky. She would have preferred the landau, but its two hoods were claustrophobic in bad weather. At least the berline had windows. Two more carriages followed, filled with servants and baggage.

  Twelve outriders escorted them. Mr. Rackham rode. Only the Beast accompanied her inside the berline, for he had banished Gladys with the excuse of needing to stretch his legs out to sleep. But he had not slept. He watched her from the seat opposite with half-closed eyes, while she pretended not to notice.

  “Are you well, Lizzie?” Felmont leaned towards her, rather an alarming sight as the berline rocked and swayed on springs designed to make the ride easy and smooth.

  “Quite well, thank you.”

  “Do feel free to use me in any way for your comfort.” He seemed to expect an answer.

  “Not at all,” she replied. Let him make of that what he wished.

  “But I really must insist you order me about just as you would Gladys, as I am taking her place.” He waited for an answer.

  She shrugged and managed to smile at him.

  “Lizzie, are you in pain?” He placed a hand on her belly, low down.

  She could feel the warmth of it through her skirts for the moment it took her to stop hugging herself and push him away. Her body flared with heat, remembering the pleasure of his touch, when all she wanted to do was not respond to him during the day.

  “How dare you!” She lost her dignity and her temper at his touch. She was on her way to London with him! She had to spend hours alone with him. After last night—after all the things he had done to her, it was not to be borne that he thought he had the right to touch her during the day.

  “Answer me, Lizzie. Are you in pain?” His long saturnine face with its Felmont nose must be borne all the way to London, but she’d not talk of how he’d persuaded her to travel with him.

  All those moans and sighs, all the times he’d brought her to that terrible pleasure. She’d fallen asleep exhausted with him still invading her body, only to wake hours later with him still hard within her—not finished. He had obviously inherited the Felmont predilection for endless bouts of fornication.

  Drat the man!

  “It is none of your business, dear Felmont.” She ached in a delicate place and dared not complain about it. “Do not touch me during the day and please don’t refer to the events of the night in any way, dear husband.” Lest her treacherous body betray her.

  She stared back at him until he turned to look out of the window with an innocent expression on his face.

  “Excuse me for having to share the berline with you, dear wife.” He exaggerated his pronunciation of the last two words, as if she didn’t know he was lying. “Hellfire, Lizzie,” he said softy, “I feel as if I have been galloped over by a company of dragoons.” He dared turn his head to look at the juncture of her hips before raising his eyes to her. “Forgive me, it will not happen again.”

  For a moment her spirits soared until he added with a wicked smile, “Not for the whole night. My apologies for raising your hopes. You are simply too delicious to resist.”

  “You will not talk of licentious matters,” she spluttered. Really, he must not! For her body responded to his words, eager for his sympathy.

  He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirked down.

  Lizzie controlled her voice, “You will obey me in this, dear husband, or you have broken our pact, which means I am free to leave you.”

  His shoulders sagged, which made him wince. “You are rather severe.”

  “You shall not touch me during the day, dear husband.” He did not answer. Lizzie felt herself growing stronger, warmer. “You must confine your conversation to domestic matters or you have broken our pact. If you break the pact by talking of forbidden topics or by touch, I shall leave you.”

  He flinched at her words and sank lower on his seat to sulk silently.

  Lizzie grew bolder. “Do you understand?” she asked.

  “I am waiting for my endearment, dearest Lizzie,” he drawled with a mournful sigh.

  She drawled back at him, more confident and cheerful than when he had stepped into her berline. “Dearest husband, do you understand my terms?”

  “How like a banker you sound. Yes, I understand I have erred. My apologies, my dear. Let me remind you, I wanted to marry for love. If you cannot fake it, then you will have to do it, dearest Lizzie. I wonder if I can entice you to fall in love with me?”

  She gave a mocking laugh. Love him? Disaster struck any female foolish enough to love a Felmont. Her body must not yearn for midnight, nor sigh at the sight, or sound, or scent of him.

  “Glad I amuse you, dear heart. Remember to pretend you love me or you break our pact. If you call me beast again, I shall consider it broken and all your days and nights will belong to me.”

  He didn’t frighten her. “Let us hope you will have spoken of things you should not have long before then, dearest Felmont. Admit you regret marrying me.”

  “My love, I regret some things that happened last night, about which I am forbidden to speak.”

  Lizzie smiled with gracious calm. “Would you care to tell me any more, dearest husband?”

  “If you ask me, then you cannot entrap me into breaking the pact. Do you care to hear me apologize for my sins?” The dimple flashed in his cheek. He looked up from contemplation of his boots to meet her eyes and make her heart skip a beat. Foolish heart!

  “No, dear husband, I do not want to hear your apologies.”

  He reached up to knock on the roof. “Stop, Dickon.” He looked rather crushed, but there was something in his eyes she did not trust. “Forgive me, Lizzie, I cannot quarrel all the way to London. I shall send Gladys to you and take her place.”

  Lizzie looked away until he untangled his long legs from the berline. A cold draft of damp air swept in to announce his departure.

  As soon as Gladys was safely seated across from her, clutching the jewel-case and her bag, Lizzie rapped on the roof. “Dickon, drive on.”

  The carriage jerked into motion. Gladys placed the jewel-case in the drawer under the seat and rummaged in her bag for her glasses. “What tales they have been telling. If ever you want to hear how the viscount spent his youth with the Thwaites, you just ask me. What a terror. Molly was just telling me–”

  “Molly is with us?” Lizzie could not believe it. No wonder Felmont preferred not to bear her company, he wanted to be with that woman, to laugh with her. Was Molly the woman he wanted to tend to his friend, or was he taking her to London for another more licentious reason? No, Jim said that Molly was like a sister to the viscount. There was no reason to doubt Jim. But Felmonts were never to be trusted where women were concerned.

  Lizzie knocked on the roof. “Stop, Dickon. I want to get out.”

  “Oh, my lady, don’t go letting on I told,” protested Gladys. “They asked me not to tell you, but what harm does it do? I won’t keep secrets from you. The viscount wants Molly to nurse his friend, if she wants the job after she has met him. Seems he is not likely to last long, poor fellow. Got hit by one of our own rockets, he did, and he’s been near to death ever since.”

  “Please don’t talk about wounds, Gladys.” Lizzie wrapped a shawl around her shoulders when the groom opened the carriage door. “I have seen enough to last me a lifetime.”

  Gladys made a sympathetic noise. “You have indeed, and very brave you were.”