by Isobel Carr
Gareth felt a flicker of guilt. He shouldn’t have said that. A girl—even such a one as Beau—didn’t want to be told such a thing. “It’s the common parlance, yes. But like celibacy, there’s nothing convenient about you either.”
Doubt and hurt scuttled through her eyes. She swallowed hard. Gareth took a deep breath. He was making it worse with every word. “That came out wrong, brat.”
“Stop calling me that,” Beau snapped. “I’m not twelve anymore.”
CHAPTER 16
A marriage of convenience. Beau couldn’t get the phrase out of her head. It swirled inside her brain, twisting around her sister-in-law’s observations about her and Gareth, and always circling back to one another.
The curate droned on, and Beau parroted back the marriage vows, hardly even aware that she was doing so. Gareth stood beside her, gaze holding hers, a hint of a smile on his face. For once in his life, his brows didn’t seem to be begging for her to sooth away some hurt.
Viola was right. The realization struck her an almost physical blow. What they’d been doing was their own special brand of flirtation. And it certainly wasn’t one-sided. He’d been flirting with her too. For years now.
Gareth slipped a simple posey ring onto her finger, and the curate pronounced them man and wife. Man and wife. The words echoed through her mind as clearly as the clarion call of the church bells that followed them back down the aisle and outside into the crisp autumn air.
Beau took a deep breath as their families joined them. Only their female relatives looked truly happy. Their mothers were wreathed in smiles. Viola was keeping a firm hold on Leo’s arm, but she looked pleased. Their elder brothers hadn’t even bothered to bring their wives, a point that clearly annoyed the duke.
“Shall we return to Dyrham for the breakfast?” Leo said, not even bothering to try and sound as though he were happy to be hosting it.
“We shall,” his wife replied, pulling him away toward the carriages before he could make a scene. Viola threw Beau an apologetic look over her shoulder, and Beau forced herself to smile back.
Leo hadn’t softened in the slightest. He was still too furious to speak to either of them. Glennalmond had moralized over her that morning, saying he wished her happy in her marriage in a tone that clearly implied that he believed she would regret it.
Beau raised her chin and smiled. She was going to be happy. She was already happy. And so would Gareth be, as soon as he realized what she already had: that he loved her, just as she loved him. It might be an unconventional, uncomfortable, disarming sort of love, but it was there all the same.
There was no need for her brothers to be angry, for her father to worry, or for Viola to pity her. She was going to be happy.
Both families fled the scene as soon as the breakfast was over. Beau’s family was returning to London, Gareth’s to their estates in the north. Gareth’s mother hugged her like she genuinely meant it before she was hustled out the door by the earl. Her own family made a bit more of a fuss, her parents promising to send her things to her new home, her brothers both hugging her fiercely, and Viola whispering, “I’ve left something for you beside the bed. Sandison will know what to do with it.”
Gareth watched them all go with a disturbingly blank expression. Beau squeezed his hand, and he came back from wherever his mind had wandered off to. He laughed and squeezed her hand back.
“I rather imagine that’s the last we’ll be seeing of any of them for quite a while. The estate my father gave us is as far away from either family seat as possible, without actually being in France or Ireland.”
“Have you ever seen it?” she asked as he led her back to her brother’s now-vacant library.
Gareth shook his head. “I never knew it existed.”
“So it could be anything? A rundown farmhouse. A glorified ruin.”
“All I know is it’s in Kent, produces roughly five thousand pounds a year, and that my father swore it was habitable. I pressed him on that point before the duke and I signed the settlement. He assured me it was furnished, and that the couple installed to see to its care would serve handily as butler and housekeeper should we see fit to keep them on.”
“It seems odd, having an estate so far from the others that is not a hunting box or London retreat.” Beau wandered across the room, trailing her shawl after her. She was nervous now that they were alone. No, not nervous exactly. She was simply at a loss about what to do next.
“Apparently,” Gareth said from where he knelt, stoking the fire, “he won it at faro in his youth, and being as avaricious as a dragon, held on to it until now. I expect we’ll find it somewhat old-fashioned.”
Beau circled back and claimed one of the chairs near the fireplace. “The Lochmaben family seat is more castle than house. It can hardly be more old-fashioned than that. I swear to you, the house still has garderobes, though we don’t use them, thank heavens.”
Gareth set the poker aside and stood warming his hands. “The earl said it was not dissimilar to Dyrham.”
“Bah,” Beau said, exasperation winning out over her nerves. “What the devil are we supposed to do all day alone in Leo’s house?” Especially when all she could think about was what would happen tonight. Her stomach was full of butterflies, and her hands were tingling with anticipation and the slight hint of worry.
“We could make use of your brother’s exceptional bathhouse?” Gareth said with a wicked waggle of his brows.
“Or we could simply scandalize the servants and retreat to our room,” Beau suggested, rushing her fence.
Gareth’s smile grew. “Yes, we most certainly could. Or…” He drew the word out. “I could lock the door and seduce you here.”
Beau’s heartbeat lodged between her thighs, a heavy, throbbing ache. She shook her head. “The gardeners might see.”
Gareth shrugged, and Beau shook her head a tad more vigorously, a blush burning its way up her chest and flooding over her cheeks. “They’d tell Leo.”
“The servants might just as well tell him I dragged you upstairs and debauched you as soon as he was out the door.”
Beau smiled and shook her head one more time. “Is debauchery really possible with one’s spouse?”
“It is if you do it right, little libertine,” Gareth said with a grin.
CHAPTER 17
The best guestroom was flooded with late-afternoon sunlight. Beau stood beside the dressing table, carefully removing the pins that held her gown shut. The bodice fluttered open, revealing the pink silk of her stays.
Gareth stood rooted to the floor. She was his. Irrevocably. Body and soul. There was something humbling—and slightly terrifying—about it.
She smiled, looking a bit lost. “I can’t get out of this gown without assistance,” she finally said.
Of course she couldn’t. How many women had he undressed over the years? Too many to remember, and here he stood watching her as though she were a pantomime.
“A man would rather unwrap his own present anyway,” he said, tugging the sleeves down and easing the bodice off her shoulders. Beau loosed the tapes that held up her petticoats and the gown fell to the floor with a whisper of silk. She stepped out of the sea of fabric and Gareth reached for the lace of her stays. He kissed the nape of her neck before tugging the knot loose.
“Do you know how much I wanted to do that in the woods?” He swiftly unlaced her, letting her stays join her gown on the floor. He slid his hands over her stomach and brought them up to cup her breasts, weighing them in his hands. “How much I wanted to touch you.”
Beau turned her head so that their eyes met. Her nipples ruched beneath his palms, nothing but a gossamer wisp of a shift covering them. With a heady moan, she twisted about in his arms, slid her own arms about his neck, and dragged him down for a kiss.
Gareth scooped her up, tossed her onto the bed, and shrugged out of his coat. Beau propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. No maidenly modesty. No blush. No averted gaze.
His coc
k was already hard, the confinement of his breeches almost unbearable. Gareth yanked off his shirt and kicked off his shoes.
Beau was smiling now. She sat up and pulled her shift over her head, tossing it to the floor. There were clear marks of mishandling on the pale skin of her arms.
“You’ve got bruises.”
“So do you,” she pointed out, bending to unbuckle her shoe. She tossed both shoes after her shift and reached to unhook her garter.
“Don’t,” Gareth said, nearly choking. “Leave them.”
Beau looked at him quizzically, but did as he said. “Part of unwrapping your present?”
“Oh, God yes.”
The beam of light washing across the bed sparked off a jar on the bedside table. Gareth smiled. A handful of small sponges floating in amber liquid. Beau followed his gaze. “Viola said she’d left us something, and that you’d know what to do with it.”
“That I do, sweetheart,” Gareth replied, shucking off his breeches and drawers and putting one knee on the bed. Beau knelt in the center, still watching.
She grinned. “Husband rampant, pizzled.”
Gareth shook his head. “You are the oddest girl. Bride ravissant.” And she was, ready to spring—eager and inquisitive.
She reached for him, hand sliding over his shoulders. “Not couchant?”
“No.” Gareth tipped her under him. “Passant.”
He kissed her hard, cupped her breast, and rolled the already peaked nipple between his fingers. Beau threw her head back, wrapped one leg around his hip, and slid a hand between them, fingers brushing lightly over his engorged cock.
Gareth pulled her hand away, and she made a small sound of protest. “You’ll have me going off like a green boy. And you don’t want that, I promise you.”
She smiled wickedly and rocked her hips against his. Gareth ignored her teasing and slid his mouth down her neck, over her chest, and captured a nipple between his teeth.
Beau’s hand locked in his hair, tightening slowly, a sweet, exquisite pain. Gareth bit a little harder, sucking as he did so. She gasped and loosened her grip. Gareth let go as well, stretching to reach the jar by the side of the bed. The lid hit the floor with a hollow clatter, and the scent of brandy rose up. He plucked out a sponge.
Beau raised one brow, eyeing him quizzically. Gareth trailed the hand with the sponge down across her stomach, leaving a trail of brandy across her pale skin. He followed the trail with his mouth, down her belly, over her mons, to the already rigid peak at the top of her slick folds.
The warmth of the brandy mingled with the sweet, earthy taste that was simply Beau. She bucked, gasping out an incoherent phrase. Gareth flicked his tongue over her and slid the sponge inside, pushing it up against the mouth of her womb with his finger.
He carefully worked a second finger inside, holding her down, his free hand splayed across her torso. He’d never deflowered a virgin, but logic told him the odds of her finding any pleasure her first time were low. Most of the women he’d bedded over the years had nothing pleasant to say about their first time, or their husband’s clumsy initial efforts.
Better to bring her to her climax first.
Beau shut her eyes and gasped for air, concentrating on the deep throb of her release. It pulsed through her, spreading outward from her womb all the way to her fingertips and toes.
Gareth withdrew his hand, and her mumbled protest turned into a gasp of surprise as he entered her with one, swift thrust. She gripped his hips with her thighs and held tight. Gareth rested motionless above her.
Having his—her mind stumbled over the words, cock, penis, yard—inside her was entirely different from his fingers. And not just because it was larger. The burn of invasion faded, leaving behind a sensation of satiety, of rightness.
Gareth bent down to kiss her, lips soft, tongue teasing hers until she responded in kind. He flexed his back, pressing into her, easing out, the slight motion a sharp, sweet agony against her already enflamed flesh.
“Gareth, I-I—” She what? She wasn’t entirely sure what she meant to say, just that it needed to be said.
“Did I hurt you?” The question was soft, his breath warm across the skin just below her ear.
“Yes. No.” Beau took a shuddering breath. “No,” she repeated with more authority.
“Good.” He kissed her again, hands sliding along her thighs until they caught in the crook of her knees. He used his weight to gently push them farther apart, increasing the ratio of pull and thrust as he did so.
“Don’t think, little libertine.” His teeth scraped along her jaw, his tongue traced over the pulse point in her neck. “Thinking’s bad for this.”
Beau pushed her questions, her thoughts, aside and concentrated on the raw sensation of their joining—the powerful thrust of Gareth’s body into hers, the liquid reception of her own body, the tortuous grind where his pelvis rocked against her swollen, inflamed flesh.
Gareth let go of her legs, and she pulled her knees up, hugging his rib cage with them. He propped himself up on his elbows, weight crushing her into the bed, every thrust pushing her closer to the bright edge that she’d already come to recognize as the cusp of climax. She tumbled over with a cry that Gareth quickly stifled, his mouth covering hers. He broke off the kiss to seek his own release with unrestrained abandon.
Beau clung to him, giddy, restless, enraptured. He growled, grasped, and pulsed hotly within her, before collapsing onto her chest, hair spread over her in a silver wave.
CHAPTER 18
Beau stretched and ran a possessive eye over her husband. He might call this a marriage of convenience but she was afraid that she was half in love with him already. Always had been. Just one small push from tumbling all the way… It would be so easy.
It might even be easy to convince herself that he felt the same way. He was certainly prodigiously interested in bedding her. He rolled over and reached for her sleepily. Beau plucked a sponge out of the jar, slipped it inside her, and slid her leg over his hip to straddle him.
His cock was trapped between them, hard, straining, ready. Beau rocked her hips slowly, waiting for Gareth to open his eyes. He was smiling, hands on her thighs, but she wasn’t entirely sure that he was awake.
She leaned forward, breasts brushing across his chest, nipples pebbling. She ran her lips along his jaw, gripped his shaft, and guided him into her. Gareth’s eyes flew open, shock quickly replaced by gratification.
Their hips met, and Beau moaned as he flexed upward, filling her. “Finally awake?” she said.
He groaned in response, hands moving up to grip her hips. Beau splayed her hands across his chest for balance and began to move, barely. Really, it was enough to take in the sensation of having him inside her, the slight friction of her swollen clitoris against his pubic bone. There was something delightful about going from nearly full to almost too full and back again, over and over and over as her body adjusted and took him deeper with every thrust.
“Have a little mercy,” Gareth said.
Beau ignored him, not altering the pace. Her hands and feet were tingling. Her pulse had spread outward to encompass her womb. She spread her thighs wider, reaching for the last infinitesimal inch of him.
Her climax was soft, just like their joining. Gareth ground himself against her as her body pulsed around his. His hands gripped her, forcing a new, harder pace. Beau bit the heel of her hand as she came a second time, and Gareth spilled himself into her with his own release.
“Good morning, wife.”
His hands were on her bottom, holding her firmly in place. His lips found her nipple, and he flicked his tongue over it. Beau arched in response, the sensitive, swollen flesh between her thighs throbbing almost painfully with every tiny motion.
“We leave for London in a few hours,” he said, one hand trailing up her body to cover her other breast. He found her nipple again and sucked hard, drawing her breast into his mouth until she could feel the slight abrasion of teeth.
&nbs
p; “Yes.” Her answer came out in a breathy gasp, the one word all that she could manage.
“Shall we see how many times I can make you come before then?”
“Yes.”
His thumb slicked over the tight peak just above where their bodies joined. “How about on the road? Shall we carry the game over to the trip itself?”
Beau moaned, unable to speak.
“Was that a yes?” Gareth lifted her, pushing her up until only the head of his cock was still inside her, holding his place, driving her mad.
“Yes.”
He pulled her back down, hard, bodies colliding with enough force to make her quake with the need to do it again. She pushed off the bed, slammed back down. Gareth bit her breast hard enough to almost distract her, but the shiver of almost-pain merely tipped her ever closer to her release.
Gareth let go of her breast and wrapped his arms around her, hands curled up over her shoulders. She pushed up, and he yanked her back down. She came sobbing his name.
“Again?” he said, withdrawing from her, hand replacing his cock, fingers delving inside her.
“Can’t.”
He tumbled her onto her back. “Of course you can.”
“Can’t. Impossible.”
“One more time, love.” He pushed in another finger, hand working rhythmically between her legs. “Once more.”
“Bastard,” Beau said, having trouble getting her tongue around the word. Gareth grinned and kissed her, his mouth covering hers as her breathing hitched and her climax roared through her.
CHAPTER 19
Granby finished Nowlin’s letter, dropped the sheet of foolscap into the fire, and swept everything on the mantle onto the floor with one clean motion. Porcelain shattered into dust. The expensive, ormolu clock broke apart on the fender. The branch of candles splattered wax all over the hearth.
“Bitch!” Granby let the single word carry him along. Lady Boudicea was married. Married to the son of an earl, no less. His plans were in ruins.
