Sebastian cursed himself to kingdom come. He’d lashed out and purposely hurt Beatrice for no reason other than jealousy. He didn’t like the way she had conversed with Dunmire as if they were old friends. And she had let the man put his hands on her.
What was their relationship? The idea that Dunmire knew Beatrice better than he did sent him reeling. Why did he care? Beatrice was simply a means to an end. A woman to bear him children.
He grudgingly admired Beatrice’s response to his abysmal behavior. Her back straight, her head high, she swept across the ballroom like a princess.
It wasn’t quite the reaction he’d expected, but he’d caught the flash of hurt in her eyes.
However, it was better that he destroy any ideas of there being more to this marriage. Then she’d never love him. He didn’t need an irritating love-struck wife, demanding his time, henpecking him, and making him a laughingstock.
He looked up to find Hadley shaking his head at him. Sebastian merely shrugged and stared him down. Hadley drew near.
“That was badly done, arguing the first night you introduce her into society. She was having a hard enough time as it was. I expected more from you.”
He could hardly tell Hadley that he was consumed with jealousy. He could hardly admit it to himself. He needed to put space between himself and his wife.
He tugged at his cravat. “I have to leave. I have to get out of here.”
As he walked out into the night, he didn’t know what he was more annoyed about, Hadley’s sanctimonious expression as he accompanied him, or his own niggle of conscience about the petty wound he’d inflicted on Beatrice.
Hours later, Beatrice lay curled up in her large bed, watching the fire sputter and spark in the white marble fireplace, her mind racing. How could he have left her like that, so publicly, at their first ball? She could still see and hear the people sniggering at the news that Sebastian had left.
She would not cry—-she would not cry—she would not …
If she said it often enough, the tears might not flow.
What had she expected from this marriage? The man did not love her—hell, he probably didn’t even find her attractive. She knew of his reputation. He never kept a mistress, preferring short-term, meaningless liaisons, and he was never short of willing bed partners.
She’d never keep a man like Sebastian interested. He would undoubtedly always seek his pleasures elsewhere. That was the message he had sent her tonight. She was not to expect fidelity in their marriage.
He was full of bull. Friendship, trust, respect. How could she respect a man who held her in such low regard? A man who took pleasure in hurting her.
Torn between hurt and anger, she finally couldn’t keep the tears from spilling down her face. She smeared them away with the back of her hand. Crying and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t solve anything. She’d married a man who wanted nothing from his wife … save an heir.
Well, she was no broodmare. She wanted a man to love and cherish her. She deserved a man who would never intentionally hurt her.
She snuggled deeper into the down covers, cold with fear. She gulped back a sob. Could a man filled with passion, angst, and sensuality come to love? He needed the right encouragement, a reason to open his heart. She knew he could love. He loved his family. What was so wrong with her that no one could bring themselves to love her? Was she unlovable?
Could she earn his love? Was she brave enough to risk finding out? She chewed on her bottom lip. If she set out to entice him into love, she would be the one risking everything. He’d been deliberately cruel tonight, warning her not to get too close.
What was he afraid of? And he was afraid. Seeing her with Dunmire had probably triggered memories of his parents. Beatrice had clearly seen the fear that had filled his eyes. That’s why he tried to push her away. That’s what the scene in the ballroom had been all about.
She would just have to be fearless for both of them. She rose from the bed, grabbed a robe, and made her way to her husband’s bedroom. She would wait up for him and get answers. If this was how her marriage would be, then she would be the one to leave. She would not bring a child into this world to a man who did not value her contribution. If he did not wish to be her friend, how could she trust he would not take the child from her? She’d die before she let that happen.
Sebastian paused in the doorway of the sin club, forcibly repressing his sense of right and wrong, surprised at the layers of guilt cloaking him. He was, after all, a man. He was entitled to indulge.
The elegant drawing room glittered under the crystal chandeliers and pulsed with the gaiety of satisfied guests. It was still early, so the club had yet to fill with the smell of smoke and stale body odor. Instead, women’s perfume scented the air, tickling his senses, as did the female flesh blatantly displayed. His body stirred with a restless hunger.
“What are you doing here?” Hadley asked. “This is not like you. What has Beatrice done to deserve this disrespect?”
“Are you telling me that if you marry you’ll forsake all women for your wife?” Sebastian waved a careless hand at the beauties surrounding them.
“Yes. For I won’t marry until I find the one woman who completes me.”
“Some of us didn’t have that option,” he answered sarcastically.
“Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. No one forced you to marry Beatrice, you chose her. You could have provided for her family without marriage. You could have found her a husband, you could have—”
“Stop,” Sebastian said, and he turned away, determined to enjoy himself. But Beatrice’s face popped into his head, her pain-filled eyes making him grit his teeth.
Blast the woman. He’d enjoyed this club more than any other London brothel.
“Brings back happy memories, does it not?” his friend quietly said in his ear. “Please tell me you are only here for the cards. You’ll hate yourself in the morning if you indulge. You might have briefly forgotten who you are, but I haven’t.”
He didn’t like the sound of the challenge in Hadley’s voice. Setting his jaw, Sebastian strolled into the main entertainment room. Almost immediately, he spied the evening’s prime enticement. He halted and Hadley almost stumbled into him, their gazes drawn to the dais at the far end of the room, where several nude beauties were onstage, lustily cavorting with each other. One had her head buried between the other’s thighs, lapping her with a long, talented tongue, to tempt the avidly watching gentlemen in the audience.
Sebastian’s annoyance grew. His body responded to the sensual sight but his mind swirled with images and thoughts of Beatrice—sweet, innocently alluring Beatrice. He pictured her on their wedding night, so trusting that he would not hurt her—that he would give her pleasure.
She had ensnared him with eagerness, and delightful inhibition. Compared to her freshness, scenes like this one lost their appeal and roused little more than a feeling of disgust in him. Beatrice had given him a taste of something other than mindless sexual gratification. She’d given him a taste of her innocence, her trust.
And he’d stamped on that trust and friendship tonight as if her gift were nothing. He felt ill with regret, but it was too late, the damage done.
If he were to indulge in a fantasy such as this one being enacted onstage, he would replace the beauties with one specific woman.
The image of Beatrice, naked and on her back, her thick auburn tresses spread out across his pillows, was arousing enough to make Sebastian instantly hard.
Damn her. She was like a shot of opium in his blood.
“The gaming is more to my taste tonight,” he growled, and headed to a table in the far room.
Sebastian played through the night and into the early hours of the morning with a fervor nobody missed. He played frantically, betting wildly, mainly to distract himself from the way he’d treated Beatrice. How could he go home when he didn’t know how to make it right?
It unnerved him that in a brothel filled with entici
ng, sensual, and beautiful women, he couldn’t prevent his erotic musings, the pictures of him ravishing Beatrice, from invading his mind.
It unnerved him that she had feelings for him. He was flummoxed; he was used to grasping, shallow beauties who pursued him for his title and fortune. God knew her family needed his fortune. But she’d openly propositioned him. She hadn’t tried to trap him. She’d given him a choice. And he’d wanted to accept.
He didn’t know how to deal with her.
He couldn’t recall any woman who was less afraid of him. Nor could he remember one who actually dealt with him as an equal, without trying to impress him or control him.
She was pretty, but hardly a raving beauty. But that didn’t explain why he wanted her so badly. Why he lusted after her almost to the point of obsession. There were plenty of beautiful and available women—he looked round him—here, for instance. Women who’d do almost anything he asked without ties or commitment or needing his heart—just his money.
More likely it was the fact he’d been her first that was attracting him so strongly to Beatrice. She was his and his alone. She was his to cherish and keep.
He was used to variety. He never wanted the same woman for long. Perhaps his lust for Beatrice would diminish over time, or perhaps if he bedded another woman, the idea of Beatrice would be gone from his blood.
He looked round. He could pick one of these beauties and test his theory. What better place than a sin club? As he gazed with heated blood at the naked rouged flesh on display, Beatrice’s face flooded his mind. He pulled at his cuffs.
“I think it’s time to leave.” Hadley pushed his chair back. “You’ve lost quite a lot of money tonight. That isn’t like you.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Perhaps we should move to the settee to enjoy other entertainments.”
Sebastian eyed the curvaceous blonde lying completely naked, prone, upon the divan against the far wall. At his stare, her mouth curved in a beckoning smile and her tongue slipped out from between moist pink lips. She swung her legs down to the floor and parted them, running her hand provocatively down between her thighs.
He hardened immediately at her blatant sexual invitation, and curved his finger, beckoning her over.
She swayed her way over to the two men, stopping before them. “What can I do for you, gentlemen? Perhaps you’d both like to go somewhere more private?”
Hadley said nothing, merely looked at Sebastian with disappointment in his gaze.
“You are a beauty, sweetling. What is your name?”
“Adele, my lord.” She sat in Sebastian’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her nakedness close.
Hadley sighed and stood. “I’m leaving. If you’re sensible, you’ll do the same.”
Sebastian’s reply was to bend the beauty on his lap back over his arm and take one taut nipple deep into his mouth.
He heard Hadley stomp away, but he’d started down this track of self-destruction and he would not turn back. Not for Hadley and not for his wife. That path led to danger. Love was the enemy and he would ensure he banished its power for good. The knowledge that this course of action would kill any feelings Beatrice held for him was a blessing and punishment both.
The young woman was squirming in his arms, all soft curves and satin skin, making exquisite meowing noses, inflaming his senses further. Then he heard a voice that wilted any desire he felt.
“My compliments, Lord Coldhurst, on your exquisite taste in women. More responsive than that wife of yours, I’d wager.”
Dunmire. Sebastian lifted his head from Adele’s breasts and shoved back his chair. “And what would you know about the responsiveness of my wife?”
The man shrugged, wary of the tone in Sebastian’s voice. “Nothing, my lord. I merely assumed that with a wife nicknamed Henpeck Hennessey, it’s little wonder you escape to find more pleasurable pursuits.” Dunmire smiled. “Adele is a beauty. When you’ve finished with her for the night, send her my way, or perhaps we could share.”
He felt Adele stiffen in his arms at Dunmire’s offer. The idea of sharing a woman with the likes of Dunmire turned his stomach. “I don’t think so. Adele is mine for the night. Find your own playmate.”
“No offense intended, Coldhurst,” Dunmire said, and drifted away into the other entertainment room.
“Thank you, my lord. I cannot stand his touch. If he hurts one more girl, the madam is barring him from the club.”
At least he’d done one decent thing tonight—he’d helped Adele.
She rose and took his hand. “Let us go somewhere more private, my lord.”
He really no longer wanted to go upstairs, all desire had fled with Dunmire’s smirk and nasty remarks about his wife, but the pleading in Adele’s eyes allowed her to lead him up the stairs.
When they got to the room, Sebastian sank into a chair by the fire and Adele moved to pour him a drink. She handed it to him with a tentative smile. “It does not appear that your heart is in the mood for pleasure tonight,” she whispered softly. “Shall I put on a show for you, my lord?”
He nodded, wishing he could leave, but if he left now, Dunmire would take his place simply to spite him, and Adele did not deserve to be caught in their game.
Adele crawled onto the bed and turned to face him, legs spread wide, running her hand provocatively down between her thighs. She began to move, her hips lifting as she fingered herself. She used one hand to spread her nether lips wide, and the other hand’s fingers disappeared inside her.
Soon she was moaning, her breasts were heaving, her eyes were closed, and her hips were gyrating wildly, lifting off the bed, as her fingers disappeared between her wet, glistening folds. She was emitting soft cries of passion, and for the first time in his life, Sebastian was not aroused.
She came with one final scream and slumped back against the bed, her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
Goddamn himself to hell, he couldn’t hide from the truth: he, a renowned rake, was not in the mood for a woman … other than his wife.
So he shook his head, feigning regret. “You’re right, sweeting, my mind is not on pleasure tonight.”
“It isn’t me, is it?” she asked with trepidation.
He shook his head and walked to the bed. He bent and kissed her chastely on her forehead. “No. That was a beautiful, erotic display. It’s simply I find I want only one woman. I wish I didn’t, but the truth must be faced.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your wife? What is so bad in only wanting your wife?”
He stood looking down at her, his mind blank. “Because if she knows I want only her, she’ll have the power to hurt me.”
“If you want only her, why would she want to hurt you? If one man wanted me above all others, I’d worship him until the end of my days.”
Perhaps Adele was right. His blood heated with the idea of Beatrice worshiping him.
“It’s late. I’m tired. I have to go but I’ll pay for you for the rest of the night so Dunmire can’t have you.”
She rose up off the bed and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Your wife is a lucky woman.”
“I hope she feels that way when I get home.” As he made his way down the stairs, he very much doubted it.
When he got home, he made his way to Beatrice’s bedchamber to apologize, but when he entered her room her bed was empty. Fear gripped him. Where was she? Had she run from him?
Just then he heard a noise at their adjoining door and he turned to see her standing looking at him with hurt in her big green eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I behaved poorly.”
She crossed the room and sat on her bed. She looked at the clock. “Where have you been?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “At my club. With Hadley,” he added.
“Doing what?”
He swallowed. “Playing cards.”
“And?”
“Don’t do this, Beatrice. There is no need to browbeat me. I’ve already apologized.”
“I can smell her on you.”
“I came home to you. I left her before …”
She looked at him with fire burning in her eyes. “So, now you want me, is that it? You felt guilty at wanting another woman, so you come home to do penance and duty by bedding your wife and getting an heir.”
Anger simmered. What did she want from him? He was not a saint. He had given up fucking another woman to come home to her. He wanted only her.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I came home because I wanted only you.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? You’re my wife.”
“That didn’t seem to mean anything to you earlier in the ballroom, where you all but said you’d do anything you wanted in this marriage, and I was lucky you married me.”
“I was angry—”
“You made it clear what our arrangement meant.” With that, she stood up, undid the sash on her robe, and let it fall to the floor. Then she pulled her night rail over her head and dropped it at her feet. She stood staring at him, hurt and pride and defiance gleaming within her eyes, before climbing up on the bed, lying on her back, opening her legs, and saying, “I’m ready. I’m upholding my end of our deal. I’ll let you use my body whenever you require, but unless you engage me”—she beat her chest—“unless you take the time to know me, to respect me, I will no longer participate.”
His heart cracked as he saw a single tear trace down her pale cheek. He’d reduced what had started as a partnership of equals into some kind of cruel, master-slave relationship and he’d never hated himself more.
“Stop it. Don’t do this.”
Beatrice kept her voice even. “Do what? Do what you asked of me? Keep our feelings and emotions out of our marriage? I’m only doing what you requested.”
With a growl he moved onto the bed. “What do you want from me?” he yelled, frustration and guilt eating at him. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He dropped his head into his hands and swore. “I’m sorry. Dunmire’s hands—”
“What has Dunmire to do with this?” she asked in a steady voice.
“He put his hands on you and you didn’t seem to object.”
A Promise of More Page 15
