A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Finally, honesty. Richard stared at the man through narrowed lids. A similar goal connected them: to keep Brenna safe. He had to trust Jones.

  “You and Mister Freemont are welcome to stay,” Richard said. “The inn is too distant, and I prefer to have you here. Hopefully, your presence will deter the housebreaker from another trespass.”

  Nodding, Jones sat down his glass and stood. “We will start by asking questions of your staff. Someone may have seen something they did not think was important.” He inclined his head toward the door, and Mister Freemont followed him out.

  With the two men on the case and Brenna with the baby, Richard went to seek out Miriam. It was time to find out what she was doing wandering the grounds at night.

  Miss Miriam left right after the footman told us of the murder,” Miriam’s maid, Doris, said. “She dressed in a habit. I believe she was taking a horse into the village.”

  Richard gritted his teeth. He’d already put off this interrogation long enough. Now another delay loomed. He was tired of the games, the secrets, everything. As soon as the case was over, Bethany and Miriam would be sent home, something he should have done months ago.

  “Did she indicate when she’d return?”

  “No, Milord.” Doris fluffed a pillow and placed it on the bed. “She said she may be late and would sup in the village.”

  When she returned, he’d be waiting. Lives were at risk. He’d shake answers out of her if he had to. The timid woman had secrets, and he’d ferret out each and every one.

  He went to seek out Bethany. He found her in the library. She was standing at the window, looking out in the direction of the sheep barn. Dressed in blue, she made a pretty picture. He’d just never found her forwardness enticing.

  “It is terrible what has happened,” she said, and he realized she’d seen his reflection in the glass. “I cannot believe a killer is stalking Beckwith Hall.”

  “I am doing what I can to keep everyone safe,” he assured her. “I think it best if you stay close to the house and do not travel into the village without a groom.”

  She turned. “I’m frightened, Richard.” She hurried across the room and launched herself into his arms. Unprepared, Richard stumbled back and caught her against him to keep them both upright. “I’m pleased to know you will keep me protected.”

  “You, and everyone under my care.” The strong scent of flowers whirled around her. There was nothing subtle about Bethany. Not even her perfume.

  He suspected that she wasn’t as frightened as she claimed. Her hands had somehow found their way under his coat, and one was settled just above his left buttock.

  He tried to dislodge her, but she held tight.

  “Hold me, Richard.”

  “Bethany.” He managed to clutch her upper arms and push her back slightly. As he’d predicted, there was no terror in her eyes. In fact, she was smiling.

  “I’ve imagined your embrace since the night of our kiss.” She released him enough to run her hands up his chest and around his neck. “You want me as I want you.” She lifted onto her toes and moved in for a kiss. He barely avoided contact by turning his head.

  “Enough!” he said, and jerked free.

  Her smile dissolved into a pout. “Why do you fight me, Richard? I know you are not sleeping with Brenna. If you came to my bed, I would not refuse you. You have to know of my love.”

  “Love? You jest.” He held out a hand lest she launch another attack. “You love my fortune. That is not the same as loving me.”

  The smile faded. “How dare you accuse me of being a fortune hunter? I have devoted nearly three years to loving you, and this is my repayment? You push me aside for that bitch you married? What does she possess that I do not?”

  “Cease your prattle, woman,” he commanded. “You tried to seduce me once and failed. It is time you found another wealthy man more receptive to your charms.”

  Her eyes flashed anger. “You are a bastard.”

  “I am Brenna’s bastard.”

  She slapped him. Hard. “I despise you.” She gathered her skirts and stalked from the room.

  Richard sighed. Hopefully she’d be gone by nightfall. Hell, it was high time for Miriam and George to return home, too. He was no longer in danger of becoming a recluse, and their youthful antics had lost their ability to amuse him. This was Brenna’s home now, for as long as she wanted to stay, and he’d put running the trio off long enough.

  As soon as everyone was questioned in the case, he’d give them a week or two to gather their things and make other arrangements. He realized, then, that he was looking forward to having Beckwith Hall, and Brenna, all to himself.

  Brenna’s heart broke. To discover Richard in the library, locked in a lover’s embrace with Bethany, was too much to bear. It was clear why he did not come to her bed. He was already finding his ease with another woman.

  She brushed her tears away with the back of her hand.

  Why had she thought he cared for her? How could she have been so foolish? How many times did he have to tell her theirs was a marriage in name only and that he’d never love her? Why had she not listened?

  James was the reason he had not sent her away. He adored his son. She’d seen the way he looked at the boy. Someday, they would be inseparable.

  She’d been nothing but James’s mother to him. How fortunate for him that his seed had found fertile ground so easily. Otherwise, she’d still be in London, likely with their marriage annulled and married to someone else. And he’d be happily keeping company with Bethany here at the hall, having pushed aside all memories of her. Forever.

  “Why so glum, Brenna?” Lucy asked, when she found her brooding in her sitting room.

  “I found Richard and Bethany together, in the library.” Tears welled again. “Embracing.”

  Lucy sat next to her on the settee. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I am not,” Brenna said, her tears turning to anger. She swiped her face. “She was in his arms, and they acted like lovers. Her hand was on his bum.”

  “I cannot believe that,” Lucy said. “He is mad for you. I’ve told you that a dozen times. He never so much as gives Bethany a second glance, even when she prances around him like an overheated bitch.”

  Brenna caught up a pillow to her chest and twisted it in her hands. “I know what I saw.”

  “I believe you. Yet there must be some explanation.”

  “Yes, and I know what it is,” Brenna sniped. “He sees me as nothing more than the mother of his child. Any passion he once felt for me is gone. I am nothing but a frumpy broodmare, with none of Bethany’s trim appeal.”

  Lucy shook her head. “You are as lovely as you ever were. Why would he choose that scrawny pigeon over you? He would not. I think he just needs to be reminded that you are seductive and passionate…and his wife. It is time he moves past his reservations and realizes you two are meant to be together, now and always.”

  “What about Bethany?” Brenna asked. “I hate him for betraying me.”

  Lucy stood and pulled Brenna to her feet. “Whatever you saw was Bethany’s doing. She is a calculating bitch. She probably saw you in the hall and decided to torment you.”

  “I cannot be certain of that.” Brenna wanted to believe Richard had not betrayed her. “Men have needs, and he is not slaking them with me.”

  “We will discover the truth easily enough.” Lucy led her into Brenna’s bedroom. She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the rose ball gown with the tiny crystals on the bodice. She’d ordered the gown last month and had yet to wear it. The dress shimmered in the light. “You will wear this to the Pomerantz ball tomorrow night. You will flirt and dance with every handsome man assembled there. If His Lordship is not insane with jealousy by evening’s end, then you know his feelings are for Bethany alone.”

  Brenna fingered the cloth. It was a stunning gown. If this did not entice him, she’d turn to wearing sackcloth. “You truly think this will work?”

  “If I am
wrong about this, I will spend the next month emptying the hall’s chamber pots myself.” The two women locked gazes and screwed up their faces.

  “Ick,” Brenna said.

  “Your husband had better prove me right,” Lucy said, with a clipped laugh. “Or the next month will be miserable for me.”

  That evening, Brenna was cool to Richard and refused to explain why. Though she’d allowed Lucy to give her hope, she still could not be certain he was not sneaking into Bethany’s room at night.

  Bethany came down to supper in a sour mood. This was curious. She craved male attention. George’s friends Clive and Lord Ponteby, who lived nearby, arrived to join them for supper. This would have normally put her in good spirits. Instead, she cast gloom over the evening. Since she’d met with Richard in the library, something had changed in her.

  Brenna took some satisfaction in knowing the other woman was unhappy as she.

  Friday came, and in spite of the murder, the ball went on. Brenna played with and fed James before returning him to Nanny.

  Lucy helped Agnes dress Brenna, putting her own touches into place. She slid diamond clips in Brenna’s upswept hair. Against her dark tresses, the clips sparkled.

  “His Lordship will not take his eyes from you, Milady,” Agnes said, smiling. “He will have to keep his guard up lest some young buck steals you away.”

  Nodding her agreement over the sentiment, Lucy handed Brenna her gloves. “You are stunning.”

  Once she was ready, Agnes left them to collect Brenna’s cloak, to hide the dress from Richard. He would not see her in her full finery until the ball.

  “I wish you were coming with me,” Brenna said.

  “I am still in mourning,” Lucy replied. “Besides, you need to be alone with Lord Ashwood. You cannot entice him with me underfoot.”

  Brenna looked into the mirror, and her shoulders slumped. “I hope this helps me seduce my husband.”

  “It will.” Lucy put her hands on Brenna’s shoulders and turned her around. “As soon as the cloak comes off, he will spill himself in his trousers.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Brenna shot her a look meant to shame her, but Lucy only laughed and hugged her tight. “You are disgraceful.”

  “Disgraceful? Half the young bucks will have the same reaction when they see you,” Lucy teased, and released her. “The other half will need stronger glasses.”

  “Clearly Miss Eva has more work to do with you before she can match you again,” Brenna scolded, fighting her own urge to giggle. “You need to learn to curb your tongue, lest you get yourself into trouble.”

  Lucy waved a hand. “Posh. Life would be dull without women like me to make things lively.”

  Agnes returned, and Lucy took the cloak from her. She settled it around Brenna’s shoulders. “Besides, I’m not certain I want to be matched again. I think I might want to match myself.”

  “Oh?” Brenna’s brows went up. “Could a certain Mister Freemont be the reason for this change?”

  Lucy’s eyes lit up. She tried to shrug off Brenna’s question, but her face gave her away. “He is handsome,” she finally admitted. “But he is far too quiet. Unless he is speaking of thugs and murders, he has very little to say.”

  “He may be shy,” Brenna offered.

  “Perhaps. If not for his face and fine form, I would not give him a second glance. I do prefer a bolder fellow.”

  “Hmm.” Brenna was certain there was more to Mister Freemont than Lucy saw. Any man who chased criminals and murderers as his profession was not timid. “I noticed you ignoring him at supper. Your indifference has worked in your favor. He has noticed you in return.”

  With a quick glance at Agnes, Lucy leaned in to whisper in Brenna’s ear. “I did learn some tricks as a courtesan.”

  Brenna smiled. “If this gown and playing coquette tonight does not work for me, I think tomorrow you can begin my lessons on how to seduce my husband as a courtesan would.”

  They laughed, drawing Agnes’s attention. She frowned as Lucy took Brenna’s hand and pulled her from the room.

  Richard waited at the bottom of the stairs, and Brenna’s heart fluttered. He was dressed in gray trousers, a matching coat, a gray and white striped waistcoat, and a white shirt and cravat. He was so very handsome.

  “You look lovely, Brenna,” he said politely.

  Irked, she held back her temper. She did not want polite. She was entirely sick of polite. She wanted him to toss her onto a dressing table, as he had in the dower house, and take her with sensual abandon—without the interruption this time.

  “Thank you,” she managed, with a placid smile. By the end of the evening, he’d be anything but polite. She planned to unleash the dangerous highwayman inside her staid husband.

  “Shall we go?” Richard took her by the elbow and led her toward the door. She glanced over her shoulder and matched the wicked glance in Lucy’s eyes.

  “I cannot wait,” she said, and watched Lucy cover her mouth with one hand. Brenna winked at her friend as Richard ushered her into the night.

  The ball was in full bloom when they arrived, though the gaiety was somewhat tempered in deference to the murder. The house was lit with candles and decorated in silver and gold.

  Mister and Mrs. Pomerantz welcomed them warmly. The middle-aged couple had moved from Austria to England some years earlier, and Brenna had to listen closely in order to understand their heavily accented words. “Welcome to our home,” Mrs. Pomerantz said, and took Brenna’s hands. “We are happy you could come.”

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Brenna said. “I seldom get out, with our son so young.”

  “Yes, you are a new mother,” the hostess said. She squeezed Brenna’s hands. “Congratulations to you and Lord Ashwood.”

  “Thank you,” Brenna replied. Due to the crush of arriving guests, the footman was a bit late collecting her cloak. When he swept it off her shoulders, Brenna heard Richard suck in his breath. The dress shimmered in the candlelight.

  She scored her first point.

  “Your gown is beautiful, Lady Ashwood,” Mrs. Pomerantz said, and glanced at Richard. “Your husband had better stay close. We have a wealth of young gentlemen in attendance tonight.”

  Several people lingered behind them, waiting for introductions, so Richard only had time to mutter, “I certainly will,” as he led her away.

  They weaved through the guests to a less crowded corner, and Richard faced her. “Isn’t that gown a bit low in the bodice?”

  Brenna glanced down at the full press of her breasts straining the limits of her corset. It was low, indeed. Still, the gown was entirely proper. “I think not. Several women we passed wore necklines much lower.”

  “I do not care about other women. You are my wife.”

  Glancing around, Brenna took note of the attention of several men. “I do not see anyone scandalized by my gown.”

  Richard followed her eyes and scowled. “Perhaps a maid can find you a shawl.”

  “You are being ridiculous,” Brenna snapped. “I assure you that I will not fall out of my dress and shame us both. Now let us greet our neighbors.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Brenna headed off in the direction of Mrs. Turner, forcing Richard to follow. She stepped lively, knowing he was put out by the fact that there wasn’t a single thing he could do about her dress.

  “Good evening, Lady Ashwood,” Ellard Smith said, as she passed. The gangly lad was barely out of the schoolroom.

  “Good evening, Mister Smith.”

  “Good evening, Lady Ashwood,” Lord Brighton said, his gaze falling well below her eyes.

  “Good evening, Lord Brighton,” she replied, fighting the urge to take him to task for his rudeness. She’d wanted Richard jealous. This sort of man fit perfectly into her plan.

  On and on the greetings went, along the same vein, as Brenna walked across the room. When Richard finally caught her elbow, his grip was tight…and possessive. “You are causing a stir,” h
e hissed.

  She smiled brightly. “Truly? Then I have chosen my gown well.” She stepped toward Mrs. Turner. She was dressed from head to hem in orange, with matching feathers in her hair.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Turner. You look fetching tonight.” She did not wait for Richard but took an open seat beside her friend. She indicated the packed ballroom. “Murder has not kept the guests home.”

  “Sad business, that,” Mrs. Turner agreed. She looked up at Richard. “Would you mind getting us some punch, Richard?”

  Clearly, he did not want to let Brenna out of his sight. But he could not be rude to Mrs. Turner. He bowed, frowned one last time at Brenna, and left.

  “Your husband is in a sour state,” Mrs. Turner said. She gave Brenna a look over. “He does not like your gown. He is the only man who doesn’t.”

  Eyes widening, Brenna stared. Mrs. Turner shrugged. “I was not always an old woman. There was once a time when I wore things to shock my husband. Sometimes a man needs a reminder that his wife is still able to turn heads.”

  Brenna bit her lip. “He is angry.”

  “Let him be. His eyes will be on you all night.”

  Richard returned with the punch, managed several minutes of polite conversation with Mrs. Turner, then led Brenna away. They greeted friends and acquaintances, and he introduced her to several guests she had not yet met.

  “Lady Brenna?” Brenna turned, and her heart skipped.

  “Mister Everhart?” Her shock was genuine. After he’d stolen that kiss and she’d slapped him, she’d hoped to never see him again. Clearly, she hadn’t wished hard enough. “I am surprised to see you here. We are quite a distance from London.”

  “I am visiting my nephew, Clive.” He bowed over her hand. His eyes bore into her, as if they shared a salacious secret. “He is staying with his friend Percy, Lord Ponteby. Of course, you know that. I understand that they are frequent guests in your home.”