Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

by Secret Cravings Publishing

  He paused for a moment and blew out a breath, willing himself to continue. Now to deliver the next series of blows. “Beth, even when I saw Isabelle and Hugh together, I wasn’t surprised.”

  Beth frowned in apparent confusion. “What do you mean? I know you’ve told me that you and Isabelle had grown apart. But to actually discover your wife—in the act of betraying you—how could you not be surprised…or even shocked? Unless…” Her eyes widened with dawning horror.

  Rothsburgh inclined his head as his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Unless I already knew that Isabelle was unfaithful to me? That’s right, Beth. My wife had never been true to me at any time throughout our six year marriage. In fact, Isabelle and Hugh were lovers before she and I even met. I believe she took up with Hugh sometime during her first Season in London. But although Hugh wouldn’t marry her back then, it seems neither of them could give the other up, even after they both married. Their affair went on in secret for years.”

  Beth gasped. “That’s… appalling. I had no idea. At all.” She shook her head, her voice now trembling with deep emotion—outrage and shock he guessed. The same acrid feelings that had coursed through his veins when Isabelle had first flaunted her grand affaire in his face all those years ago.

  “I always thought it was me—that there was something wrong with me—and that’s why Hugh couldn’t love me,” Beth continued, her voice shaking. “I knew he had lovers, mistresses, whores aplenty. But I never considered that he might actually love another.”

  She pushed herself back against the headboard and closed her eyes for a moment, her face pale and strained. She was clearly struggling with all that he had told her. And there was so much more she needed to know—even uglier truths about her husband and Isabelle. He hated doing this—being the bearer of such sick and twisted news—but as much as it would shock her, she had a right to know.

  He placed a hand over hers, and waited until she opened her eyes before he spoke again.

  “Love…I’m not sure if Hugh or Isabelle ever really felt such a fine emotion for each other, Beth. What I do know is, Isabelle certainly never loved me. In fact, the only reason she married me was because she was pregnant…with someone else’s child.”

  As he expected, Beth looked utterly horrified, her eyes widening as the import of what he’d just said, struck her.

  For a brief moment it seemed she was unable to formulate words. “Oh…oh my God, James,” she uttered eventually. “Does that mean…Annabelle…she’s not yours? Don’t tell me she’s Hugh’s.”

  * * * *

  Elizabeth could barely speak…could barely breathe. After everything James had disclosed, this…this was too diabolical. To think that her husband had conceived a child with another woman. And the man she loved had been forced to give his name to a daughter that wasn’t his. She stared at James, her heart seizing with anguished horror as he nodded his head, confirming what she’d just asked him to deny.

  “I’m sorry, Beth. But yes…Annabelle is Hugh’s daughter.”

  “Oh, James. I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her throat tightening with the effort it took not to cry—for James, for Annabelle…and for herself. “What a terrible burden you have had to bear.” She dearly wanted to comfort him, and holding his hand suddenly didn’t seem like it was enough. But she was faithless, and a liar, like Isabelle. She should be satisfied that James tolerated her touch at all. Instead, she swallowed past the ache in her throat and forced out another question. “Do you…do you think Hugh knows?”

  James met her gaze. “Yes, I believe he has always known,” he said gravely. “Isabelle told him when she first became pregnant. In fact, she demanded that he marry her. But at the age of twenty-two your husband was a rakehell of the highest order, and definitely not in the market for a bride. So Isabelle had to settle for me to hide her indiscretion. Of course, I didn’t know any of that at the time. Not until it was too late.” James’s shoulders suddenly heaved with a great sigh and he ran a hand down his face, but the action didn’t dispel the tension within him—a muscle still flickered in his jaw as he appeared to gather his thoughts.

  “You see, when I first met her, she was the incomparable Lady Isabelle March, grand-daughter of the Duke of Sommersby, and in London for her second Season. She was…extraordinary, captivating…and I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, even though there were rumors about her having a wild streak. But besotted sap that I was, I ignored the whispers about her and Hugh. I suppose I just didn’t want to believe any of it, and Isabelle denied everything when I asked her. Well, at least until after we were safely married.”

  He laughed then, a cold harsh sound like ice cracking. “It wasn’t until a few months after Annabelle was born—she was an early baby apparently—that I began to suspect she wasn’t mine. But I was in denial at first. I didn’t want to believe that Isabelle could have betrayed me so grievously, and I couldn’t help but love Annabelle from the start. But as she grew into a golden-haired, blue-eyed child, I could see she was someone else’s daughter. Hugh’s daughter. And Isabelle—cruel witch that she was—didn’t bat an eye-lid when I confronted her about it.”

  James suddenly squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in terrible pain. “Isabelle laughed at me, taunted me in fact,” he whispered hoarsely. “I will never forget her words, Beth—and please forgive my crude language, but it will give you an idea of the sort of woman she was. She said, ‘What was I supposed to do, James? You were in love with me and wanted to marry me. And even though Hugh is a better fuck than you, and I’d rather have wed him, he doesn’t give a toss that he’s fathered a bastard. Needs must when the devil drives, my husband.’”

  Elizabeth bit her lip to stop the tears that threatened to fall—for James and his emotional scars. And for how black and bleak all the years of his marriage must have been. She was about to throw caution to the wind and reach forward to touch his tightly clenched stubbled jaw, but he opened his eyes.

  His mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Needless to say, my love for Isabelle died the moment she uttered those words. In hind sight, that only made it easier for me to cope with everything else my wife did.”

  “Everything else?” Elizabeth whispered. How much worse can it be?

  * * * *

  Rothsburgh debated for a moment whether he should divulge the rest of his wife’s sordid history to Beth. It would be like baring his soul, to admit the most abhorrent secrets of all. It was something that he’d never talked about to anyone else before.

  But he didn’t want any secrets between himself and Beth. And perhaps if he shared this information with her, she might understand why he had been so quick to condemn her for being unfaithful when she had first confessed that she was married. If she understood even just a little of the hell Isabelle had put him through, then perhaps she would forgive him.

  He searched Beth’s face. Although she was still pale and clearly shaken by all that he had already told her, he could also see compassion lighting her eyes. As if attuned to his uncertainty, she squeezed his hand, silently giving him the strength he needed to continue.

  “After Isabelle and I married, I found out very quickly that there was something not quite right about her. She had a dark, hedonistic and completely unprincipled side. I told you earlier she craved excitement and danger. Well, even having Hugh as her lover wasn’t enough.”

  “You mean she had other lovers? James…that’s…it’s too horrible, what you’ve had to endure.”

  He dragged in a breath. Swallowed. And despite his resolve to be strong, his voice emerged with a hoarse edge. “I won’t lie to you, Beth. It’s probably worse than you or anyone else could even imagine. You see my wife, in some circles, was known as the ‘whore of the ton’. She was without a doubt, society’s best kept secret.”

  Beth gasped. “What?”

  He rushed on—now that he had opened the floodgate it seemed he couldn’t hold back the last of his dark revelations. “Isabelle was mercenary in ch
asing her own pleasure, Beth. She was a connoisseur of sexual indulgence. I seriously doubt there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do. And she didn’t care that I was the laughing-stock of the men she had hand-picked for her exclusive male harem—usually the most dissolute rakes of the ton—year after year. Hugh was one of them of course. She called her harem, the Sapphire Club and you could tell who was in it, who she’d invited because she gave them all gold and sapphire signet rings, or cravat pins to wear that were engraved with her initials, IH. She wore a sapphire and pearl brooch herself whenever she was inclined to indulge in…her excesses…to let her fellow club members know she was available. You would have seen it in her portrait.”

  “I never knew any of this during the first few years of our marriage. I knew about Hugh of course. But not the others. Not until a friend, Lord Markham in fact—he has uncanny intelligence that man—heard the rumors and told me. I confronted Isabelle, but she didn’t deny the accusations I was making. Far from it. She thought it was amusing that I had taken so long to find out. But there was nothing I could do. Divorce wasn’t an option—I certainly wasn’t going to parade the sickening and sordid details of our private life through Parliament and the courts. And Isabelle was independently wealthy—a bequest from her Ducal grandfather—so I couldn’t control her by cutting off her income. So with precious little options open to me, to spare myself the ongoing humiliation, I simply decided to stay away—to withdraw from most social spheres, and become a recluse for all intents and purposes. I didn’t want to continue mixing with the men who were doing over my wife.”

  Beth raised a shaking hand to her throat. “Hugh…Hugh has a sapphire cravat pin, and a signet ring. They’re his favorite embellishments. I had no idea whatsoever what they signified. How…disgusting.” She shook her head in apparent bewilderment. “I don’t understand. How did Isabelle get away with it? Surely, if word got out, she would have been shunned.”

  Rothsburgh couldn’t hide the bitterness from his voice. “I know it sounds incredible, but I suppose it was worth the while of all her male entourage to keep her debauchery a secret. I mean, why would they want to pass up the prospect of getting an impromptu service from her in a darkened hallway at a soiree, or in a deserted cloakroom at Lord and Lady Such-and-Such’s ball? She was insatiable and would do anything, anywhere. Even at Eilean Tor. That’s why I had the drawing room closed up. A year ago, while I was away in Edinburgh on business, she brought two young bucks there. Roberts caught her with both of them in the drawing room, in the middle of the day. I just thank God that Annabelle didn’t burst in on them. My wife had no conscience at all.”

  Rothsburgh glanced at Beth, wanting to gauge her reaction to all that he had divulged. He was, in fact, surprised she hadn’t run screaming from the room after hearing about the foulness and depravity that had been part of his life for so long. But she hadn’t even drawn away. She still held his hand and watched him steadily.

  As their eyes met, she gave him a small, sad smile. “I don’t think Hugh has much of a conscience either, James. It seems we both married unwisely.”

  Rothsburgh nodded, wondering how it had really been for Beth during the three years of her marriage. He still wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t been mistreated by her cur of a husband.

  “I’m guessing you were like me, Beth and that you were duped by Hugh,” he said softly. “I imagine that you loved him at the start.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, her grey eyes wistful for a brief moment. “He was handsome and charming, and literally swept me off my feet. I was twenty-one and imagined myself in love. I’d done the rounds of the come-out balls for two Seasons running, but no-one had piqued my interest until I met Hugh. But then our marriage…Well, it was not what I thought it would be.”

  “I know you’ve told me that he didn’t hurt you. But did he Beth?” Rothsburgh felt his muscles bunch beneath his coat, and his jaw tightened almost to the point of pain. He knew where Isabelle’s tastes ran. The rougher and more perverse the sex was, the better. He could imagine that Hugh could be a sadistic bastard in the bedroom. He’d have to be to satisfy Isabelle.

  But Beth was shaking her head, thank God. “No…I mean he was never gentle, but neither was he physically cruel. He just never seemed overly interested in me. Especially after the first month or so of our marriage. I was like an afterthought most of the time. It was almost like he didn’t see me. Or he just couldn’t be bothered with me. It didn’t matter what I did, I never seemed to please him. He told me once, after a year of our marriage—that I was pretty enough, but far too dull. I bored him. I think the only reason he married me was because I had the right lineage, and looked the part. I was like a broodmare really—just waiting in the stable until he decided it was time for me to bear him pretty blonde children. Ironically, that only seemed to be the case after he’d contracted syphilis.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Beth. Don’t tell me he tried to force you.”

  “No. He might have, but I didn’t give him the chance. The night that he suddenly showed an interest was strangely enough, the last night that I intended to spend at Harcourt House, our home in London. The nightmare I have—it’s about that night. When Hugh came to my room and told me his intentions—that he wanted to get me with child—I thought at first he had discovered my plan to leave, and that perhaps he was punishing me, by ruining me. I tried to hide from him…in a spare room in the servants’ quarters. But he quickly found me.”

  James’s gut clenched and he fought the urge to slam his fist through a wall, imagining it was Hugh’s face. “How did you get away?”

  “Jenkins, our butler, was my knight in shining armor that night. He heard Hugh trying to break down the door. When he questioned Hugh, asked him if he needed anything, Hugh swore at him and told him not to bother because he was going back to his club for the night. He called through the door and told me that he would deal with me in the morning. But Jenkins hired a cab for me and I left Harcourt House before the sun had even risen.”

  “The other thing I remember clearly about that night is how oddly Hugh behaved before he told me he wanted to…bed me again. When he first came to my room, he was melancholy, not himself. He looked like a man about to face the gallows. And now I know why, James—he must have been mourning Isabelle. And from what you’ve told me, I rather suspect that Isabelle is the only reason I escaped unscathed.”

  What? Rothsburgh shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you said Isabelle didn’t have a conscience, but I’m wondering if she did have a trace within her. The only reason I knew that Hugh suffered from syphilis was because his mistress sent me a letter, warning me to take precautions. It arrived in the post at Harcourt House, addressed to me, in the first week of September.”

  “That was two weeks after Isabelle died,” he whispered. Could it be true? Could Isabelle have saved Beth from the undeserved and cruel fate that would have been hers otherwise?

  “Perhaps she didn’t write a letter for you only, my love. Perhaps she also wrote one to me. I still have it.” Beth leaned over to the stand beside the bed to retrieve her reticule, and after unfastening it, pulled out a rather creased and stained piece of plain parchment. She passed it to him.

  “It seems perverse I know, to keep something like this—a letter from my husband’s mistress. I suppose any sane person would have burnt it. But whenever I start to have doubts about what I have done—running away—I look at it, and it reminds me that leaving Hugh was perhaps the only thing I could do, to stay safe.”

  Rothsburgh unfolded the parchment with shaking hands.

  Dear Lady Beauchamp,

  You won’t believe me but I write this missive with the best of intentions…

  He glanced up at Beth, then swallowed past the lump of emotion jamming his throat. “Yes. It’s from Isabelle.” He drew a shuddering breath and dashed away a tear. “I’m sorry, Beth. You’ll think me a fool for reacting this way.”

  Beth shook her head. “I wou
ld never think that, James.”

  He believed her. There was no judgment in her expression, only understanding. He put Isabelle’s letter on the side table and turned back to the woman he loved more than anything.

  “It’s just that…I have hated Isabelle for so long. But now, despite all of the terrible things she did, to discover that she had a shred of decency within her…it means a lot to me.” He lifted Beth’s bandaged hand to his lips. “Especially because she saved you.”

  Beth’s eyes were shining as she reached forward and caressed his cheek. “Yes, she did.”

  She was touching him. Such a simple gesture, but one that conveyed tenderness. Caring. Perhaps more. God, he prayed that it meant more. He suddenly didn’t want to speak about Hugh or Isabelle anymore. His desire to find out how Beth truly felt about him was so great, he ached.

  He turned his face toward Beth’s hand and kissed her palm, before catching her gaze again. “Beth, although I might seem overwhelmed with emotion right now, I didn’t miss that you called me, my love, only a few moments ago.” Placing his hand over hers, he searched her beautiful face, and her soft grey eyes, trying to see through to her very soul. He drew another steadying breath. “So did you mean it, Beth? Am I your love?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So did you mean it, Beth? Am I your love?”

  Elizabeth’s heart began to pound wildly in her chest, and her cheeks flamed under James’s intense scrutiny. The unconcealed longing in his dark brown eyes was so clear, it stole her breath away; made her very soul weep because she couldn’t possibly tell him what was in her heart. Even though James now knew who she really was, and understood why she’d had to leave Hugh, admitting how she felt about him wouldn’t change anything.