A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Yes, they are.” She broke contact with his eyes and turned to Richard. She introduced the men. They nodded.

  “How do you know my wife?” Richard said. Brenna felt his tension. He was jealous of the handsome Mister Everhart.

  “We met several times in London.”

  Everhart kept his tone even, but Brenna knew he was thinking of the kiss. His eyes were too heated for comfort. The cad.

  “We danced,” she said, by way of explanation. She wanted to drag Richard away from the man. However, to do so would raise her husband’s curiosity. Though she did not have any reason to feel shamed or guilty, she did not think Richard would let the matter rest. He’d want to know every detail, and she did not want to discuss the unpleasant encounter.

  “I hope you will save me a place on your dance card, Milady,” Everhart said. “I do look forward to dancing with the loveliest woman at the ball.”

  He nodded and walked away. Brenna looked up at her husband and saw his jaw tick. “You have no reason to concern yourself about Mister Everhart, Husband. He is not the sort of man I’d wish to call friend.”

  “The man raises my suspicions,” Richard said. “I think Jones should look into his past and what day he arrived.”

  It took a moment to see the path of his thoughts. “You cannot think Mister Everhart is the killer?”

  Even as she protested, she realized the man could not be ruled out. She thought about how well she knew him, and there was not much. She’d heard that he enjoyed the company of women and had a reputation for taking what he wanted from ladies, at no consequence to himself.

  At least two young women in the last three years had been sent to the country, rumored to be carrying his child, though that was unconfirmed. They were both quickly married off soon after. Otherwise, she had not given him much notice before the unwelcome kiss.

  “Do you know him well enough to vouch for his character?” Richard asked, his expression accusing.

  His tone rankled. She gritted her teeth. “I only bedded him a dozen times after I discovered I was carrying your child. So other than his proclivities in bed, I know very little about the man.”

  With that, Brenna stomped off. She spent the next several hours dancing, flirting, and ignoring her husband—that, and keeping her dance partners’ hands in appropriate places. Secretive glances Richard’s way confirmed he was seething. She took immense satisfaction in his anger.

  Despite his wish to dance with her, Everhart did not approach her. In fact, she did not see him again all evening. His nephew and friends, including George, were there, and each took a turn with her for country-dances. She did not waltz, fearing the intimacy of the dance would tweak Richard further.

  As the evening pushed past midnight, her feet throbbed in her slippers. She decided to step outside to rest before moving on to the next man on her dance card.

  Without a shawl, the night air chilled her skin. She walked down the terrace steps and into the garden. Finding a quiet spot with a bench, and well within screaming distance from the house, she sat, slipped off her slippers, and rubbed her feet. A small groan escaped her.

  Disappointed in the outcome of the ball brought a frown. The torment of Richard seemed to have failed, and Brenna wanted to stay in the garden so as not to have to face him again.

  Perhaps she should forgo the rest of the evening and ask to return home. Her feet would thank her, and her pride had taken enough of a battering for one night. The dress proved unsuccessful. Nothing could rouse her husband to grand passion.

  “Waiting for your lover, Wife?”

  Brenna startled. Then her surprise turned to annoyance. “I am indeed. So you’d better trot off lest you ruin my secret lovers’ tryst.”

  “If I thought Everhart truly was your lover, he’d currently be in need of a physician. If I let him live at all.”

  She came to her feet and brought her hands to her hips. “How dare you act like a jealous husband when you have banned yourself from my bed? You want a marriage of convenience, yet you forbid me from taking a lover.”

  “I will lock you away before I’d allow that to happen.”

  Her temper churned to boiling. She stepped forward and poked him in the chest. “Either you bed me or I will find a man willing to do so. I suspect there are half a dozen men inside who would eagerly do the deed, in a closet or under a bush, if I asked. Perhaps I can even try out a new lover each week. It would certainly add much-needed excitement to my life.”

  “Brenna.”

  “Do not scowl at me. I am weary of your politeness and your scowls.” She stalked back and forth. “You want me. You don’t want me. You kissed me, but you won’t bed me. You want me to return to London, yet you lead me to believe you want me to stay.” She stopped pacing. “What is it you want, Richard? Do you want a wife of convenience, or do you want a wife in truth, for I am weary of waiting for you to make up your mind. I will have your answer now.”

  The long pause that followed shattered her heart. She met his eyes, defeated. “James and I will be packed and gone before sunrise.”

  Turning on her heel, she took a step. A hand on her arm brought her to a halt. Richard spun her around and slammed his mouth over hers.

  Brenna struggled. He held her in an iron grip. The kiss inflamed her body and ignited a confusing mix of emotions. She wanted to hate him, yet she quickly conceded and kissed him back with days—no, months—of built-up passion inside her.

  The kiss in the dower house had not satisfied her need for this man, her husband.

  She clawed at his shirt, pulling the hem from his waistband. He tugged at her bodice, freeing her breasts. Brenna walked backward, leading him to the bench, and pulled him down atop her. He broke the kiss and kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and moved lower still to suck a nipple into his mouth.

  Moaning, Brenna reached to open his trousers. His erection sprang free. She lifted her legs, splaying them out like a wanton, uncaring if anyone else was enjoying the garden.

  “I want you, Richard; I need you now.”

  He grinned, shoved aside layers of underclothes, and sought her damp center. Without preliminaries, he rubbed his hardness against her. She gasped out something that might have been “yes,” and he obliged. He eased inside her with a groan and reclaimed her mouth.

  Rocking against her, Brenna gasped again and again as he teased her with both his erection and his fingers. This was no coming together with love, but a mutual mating for passion’s sake. His kiss kept her from crying out when she found her shattering release. Then with a few long strokes, he joined her, shuddering as he spilled himself into her willing body.

  With a deep groan, he slumped over her, taking care not to crush her beneath his weight. Brenna slid her hands under his coat and down his back, to where his shirt rode up to expose his lower back. She reveled in the feel of his bare skin.

  “I apologize for the speed of our coupling,” he said, with his warm breath against her neck. “It has been some time since our last encounter.”

  Brenna freed a hand and eased his head up so she could look into his eyes. “Then you and Bethany are not lovers?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I saw you in the library,” Brenna admitted. She tried to keep her voice emotionless. “I saw her in your arms.”

  Richard pushed up off the bench and adjusted his trousers. Then he put her skirts to rights and dragged her onto his lap.

  “I have never wanted Bethany. Not before our marriage and certainly not after.”

  A heavy weight lifted off of Brenna. Lucy had seen what she could not. “Why, then, have you not shared my bed?”

  He cupped her face in his hand. “Beckwith Hall is no place for a lively young woman to live. I cannot ask you to give up the excitement of the city, and the close proximity to your family, to live here with me.”

  “I cannot once recall complaining about my life at the hall.” Brenna now understood his hesitation to reclaim his conjugal rights. A sep
aration would be more difficult were they to share a bed. “I want to be your wife and to raise our son together. I have even become fond of sheep.”

  Richard held her gaze. Could this be true? Was Brenna satisfied with her lot? “What of your life in London?”

  “Unless you intend to lock me up here and never allow me to visit my family, I will spend time in London—with you, I hope.” She played with the hair at his nape. “A few weeks a year should more than satisfy my youthful need for the social whirl.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  She leaned in to nip his ear. “Not in the least, love.”

  His cock aroused to attention. He hungered to see her naked. The bench was good for no more than a quick romp. He wanted more, much more. Brenna was his. There was no longer a need to keep himself from her.

  “Come, Wife.” He slid her from his lap and stood, pulling her to her feet. He bent and lifted her up into his arms. “I have plans for the rest of our evening.”

  Brenna let out a small giggle of surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “Our coach awaits.” With long strides and the desire to ravish his wife driving him onward, it did not take long to round the house and find the coach. Without more than a clipped instruction to the driver to take them home, he nudged Brenna inside, and they were off.

  Taking liberties brought Brenna’s laughter during the too-brief ride. He did not wait for the coachman to alight but helped Brenna down himself. They ran into the house and up the stairs, startling the footman outside his bedroom door, and Nanny when Richard pushed open the door.

  “Go to bed, Nanny,” he said, and the woman hurried out. James stirred in his crib, and Brenna went to him before he could awaken fully. Richard went through to his bedroom and disrobed, giving Brenna time to tend to their son.

  When he returned, he went to the crib, kissed James on the head, and grinned, finding Brenna on the bed with the sheet pulled up, barely covering her nipples. Clearly she was wearing nothing beneath.

  His cock sprang to attention. With long strides, he hurried to the bed, yanked back the sheet, ogled her nakedness until she flushed pink all over, and then pressed her down on the mattress and took full advantage of her welcoming nature.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The sun hadn’t a chance to fully arrive when James awoke his parents with a squawk, followed in short order by a loud and demanding cry. Brenna groaned and dragged herself from the bed, Richard reaching out to caress her bare buttock before her feet found the floor.

  Turning to tease him with a scolding look, she smiled and slipped into her chemise, which she found lying on the stool.

  “Hush, darling.” She scooped up James, pressed kisses on his downy soft head, and claimed the chair. While she fed him, Richard rolled to a sit on the edge of the bed and scratched his jaw with both hands.

  Brenna’s heart welled. With Richard’s hair mussed and the sleepy-boyish look on his face, father and son were the image of each other. And she deeply loved them both.

  “We must teach our son to wait until morning is in full bloom before demanding his breakfast,” Richard said. “His hours should match those of his parents.”

  James closed his fingers around Brenna’s fingertip.

  “If his father were not so demanding himself, he might not be so tired this morning. He kept us both up to the wee hours slaking his own hunger,” she teased.

  He narrowed his eyes. “The noises you were making during those same wee hours were not words of complaint. I’d know the difference.”

  Brenna laughed softly as Richard shot her a warm look and padded out of the room. She cooed to the baby and thought of the change in her life over the last several hours. Richard was hers now, forever, and she vowed to carefully tend to his, and her own, happiness.

  Dressed in trousers, Richard returned and walked to the crib. He grabbed one end with both hands and, without a word, dragged it toward the open sitting-room door.

  “Richard—?”

  He didn’t pause but vanished within, the feet of the crib scraping loudly across the polished wood floor. After a few minutes of the sounds of the crib being moved around his room, silence fell, then the pad of his bare feet coming back.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “From this moment forward, the three of us will be sharing my room. Permanently. Your bed is too small for my comfort, and I grow weary of moving you back and forth.” He stretched his back as if to prove his point. “I’ve discovered that I like waking with you in my arms. I intend to do so every morning from here on.”

  Without allowing her to comment, he walked back through the sitting room, unaware of the happy grin he’d left behind.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled down at her son. Richard had not declared his undying love for her, but knowing he cared enough to insist she share his bed was enough for now.

  “I love your father,” she whispered to James. “I certainly do.” She lifted his hand to her mouth. “And I love you, too.”

  Richard arrived at breakfast before Brenna and found the table empty save George. The man was red-eyed and yawning over his coddled eggs and toast. He appeared to have been run over by a coach-and-four. Richard and Brenna weren’t the only members of the household who did not rest well last evening.

  Richard muttered a good morning and went to the sideboard.

  Piling up his plate, he took a seat across from George. “Where is Miriam?” he asked. “She is usually the first up.”

  George gave him a funny look. “She has not been seen in two days, since she rode off to the village. I thought you knew.”

  Stopping his fork midway to his mouth, Richard slowly lowered it to his plate, his mouth slightly open. “She is missing?”

  The other man shrugged. “Bethany told me she has a lover. Someone whose name she would not say. We assumed she’s run off with the man. Miriam is just desperate enough to do so. She falls easily in love.”

  A wave of guilt prickled through Richard. With the turbulence of his relationship with Brenna and his concerns over the dead maid, he had not noticed that Miriam was gone.

  He pushed to his feet. “Where is Bethany?”

  “She packed and left this morning,” George said. “She’s decided to stay with a friend in Bath.” He shrugged. “She finally gave up hope of becoming your viscountess.”

  “Damn.” He went in search of Jones. The man was shrugging into his coat when Richard banged the bedroom door open and entered without leave.

  “Good morning to you, Milord,” Jones said, and waved off the valet. “I assume you did not come to tell me the ham is especially tasty this morning?”

  “Did you know Miriam was missing?”

  “I did,” Jones said. “Freemont went into the village to look for her and was told she was seen riding west with a man in a black coat and hat. Since she was known to have a lover, and she has not been found murdered, we deduced she’d run off.”

  Richard shook his head. “Am I the only one who did not know she had a lover? That she’s missing?” He clenched his fists. Beckwith Hall was his, and he knew little about the goings-on inside these walls.

  “I believe the missing Miriam matter was briefly mentioned at supper last evening,” Jones said, with a knowing smile. “I believe you were too busy staring at your wife like a besotted schoolboy to catch the exchange.”

  With his patience at an end, Richard chose to ignore the comment. Truthfully, his mind had been so occupied by Brenna and the murder over the last few days, there was little room for anything else.

  Guilt formed. Miriam was his friend, and he’d failed her. “Are there any indications to the identity of this man?”

  “None.” Jones tugged at his cuffs. “Unless she decides to return, there is little we can do. She is a woman grown.”

  First Anne, then Miriam, and now Bethany was gone, too.

  Sighing, Richard dropped into a chair. He could not dwell on t
he flighty nature of the women of Beckwith Hall—excluding Brenna, of course—as there was a murder left to solve. Miriam would contact them in her own time.

  If only he’d talked to her before she’d run off. Now he might never have the chance.

  “Have you discovered any new clues about Clara’s murder?” he asked.

  Jones walked to the wardrobe and reached inside. He pulled out a pistol and slid it into his waistband. “Only one maid knew anything about her. She said Clara had been secretive over the last week, like something was amiss. However, the woman did not have any details, as she did not know Clara well, and they did not share confidences.”

  “And the Bow Street Runners?”

  “Freemont managed to find out something. The Runners examined Clara’s body and concluded she’d died of strangulation. They are sending men out across the area to see what they can find. So far the killer has left little to point to his identity.”

  Richard tapped a fist on the chair arm. “This is frustrating. We are chasing a ghost.”

  His mind went to his family, his staff, and his tenants, everyone who lived on his property and needed his protection. With a madman lurking, no one was safe.

  “Our killer has been hiding for several years now,” Jones agreed. “He has perfected his game. It will take a mistake to flush him into the light. We must keep alert and wary.”

  “Alert is not enough; we need guards. I want to hire your men to guard the property. I want everyone you have. The cost is no issue.”

  Jones nodded. “My men are trained fighters and former soldiers. There is no better group for this task. I shall send for them immediately.”

  Richard watched him go. One worry was taken care of and many more competed for dominance in his mind. Brenna and James would soon be heavily guarded, Bethany was safely away, and with guards roaming the grounds, the likelihood of the killer returning to his property was slim. Still, there was one concern he could not shake: Miriam’s disappearance.

  Had she gone off willingly with her lover as suspected, or had she fallen under the influence of a killer, who’d used her to glean information about his family and staff, and then led her off to an uncertain fate?