White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She had paled slightly during his speech. Now a decidedly reddish hue suffused her lovely features. “Why? Why should I say another word? You’ve already drawn your own conclusions.”

  “Beth, why won’t you trust me? I have never hurt you, not like he did.” He approached her.

  She backed away. “Ha! All things in their own good time.”

  Her snide tone stopped him cold. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “Who was she?”

  “What?”

  “The little whore who kept your bed so warm in Baltimore.”

  “Don’t insult either of us with such common feminine nonsense.”

  “Nonsense is it? Well, something kept you too busy to even pen a letter. And I know you. I know your habits. I know a gentleman’s habits.”

  “There was no other woman. I was simply consumed with business.”

  Her lip curled up. “Every moment, for a whole week?”

  “It’s going to be that way. I have many responsibilities. You will have to make your own life.”

  The fetching spill of her silver-gilt curls bobbed rapidly. He knew she was tapping her foot beneath the silk folds of her gown. Her look hardened. Dread twisted through his guts. Oh, he knew that look. But he’d be damned if she was going to start dictating his life. Manipulating him with her accusations. He’d already been through that long ago. However, he was older now. Wiser.

  She tossed her head back. “Perhaps I should simply learn to make my own life…without you.”

  At her last two words, his heart seemed to freeze. He fixed her with his sternest look. “Listen to yourself. You’re still talking like a girl.”

  She glared, shooting blue sparks at him. “You can go straight to the devil.” She turned and stalked from the chamber.

  He stared at the empty doorway, as if stupefied. Damn it. No one turned on their heel and dismissed him.

  No one.

  He looked at his hands and realised he was shaking with anger. Anger that energised his whole body and demanded that he chase after her. He would straighten her out on a few things. Most importantly, what it meant to issue idle, careless threats towards him.

  If she wanted her freedom, she could have it.

  He’d never wanted to marry anyway. Not again. And it wouldn’t pain him in the least if they ended all this marriage business right now.

  So he wouldn’t be marrying Beth after all…

  He realised he was still staring at the doorway and shook himself.

  He forced himself to take several deep breaths. God, he’d allowed her to seduce him into losing his control. Completely. Utterly. He took a few moments setting his clothes to rights, smoothing the wrinkles, brushing lint from his coat and straightening his cravat.

  She’d been upset over that boy coming in here. At being caught in such a delicate position. He must be patient with her and not say or do anything rash. The girl was impulsive and explosively emotional enough all on her own.

  He was older. The man. He was supposed to be the rational one. He’d best start playing the part. He left the schoolroom and sedately walked down the corridor and down the stairs.

  Mrs Hazelwood was on her way up. A pleasant smile spread over her mouth. “Mr Sexton, just who I was looking for.”

  Damn it. Politeness demanded he pause, but he wanted only to catch up with Beth and demand, coax or cajole the whole matter out of her. Because if that boy was the one responsible for her ruin, then Grey was ready to set him on his heels for it.

  Mrs Hazelwood was eyeing him speculatively. “Where is Miss McConnell?”

  “I have no idea. I was looking for her myself.”

  She chuckled softly. “I knew you had lost her. I just passed her. She was on her way to the ballroom. I think she’s taking to all this society business very well.”

  He glanced in the direction of the parlours.

  Mrs Hazelwood touched his arm. “She’ll be fine on her own for a few moments—there are matters I wish to discuss with you.”

  Oh Christ. The last thing he wanted—or needed—at this moment was a private word with this woman. He glanced down, frowning slightly.

  She titled her head. “You’ll indulge an old lady in a private glass of Madeira, won’t you?”

  It wasn’t a request. Her eyes held the flinty hardness of demand. Oh, damn it all. At the moment she was uniquely situated to make whatever demands she wished.

  She had agreed to give the cover story that Grey had met Beth in her parlour. That she’d personally introduced them. For the sake of any children born to him and Beth, appearances must be kept.

  With a last, frustrated glance down the stairs in the direction of the ballroom, he nodded. “Of course.”

  Chapter Three

  Beth stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the guests and feeling much as she had as a child—like an interloper looking into this glittering world. She glanced longingly at the piano, where a grey-haired lady played along with the violinist and harpist. She wished she might take the woman’s place and escape into the pleasure of playing.

  But she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be seemly for her to draw such attention to herself.

  She glanced back at the stairwell. Grey must have gone to the card room. It was just as well. She wasn’t in the mood to face him. Her own outburst had frightened her. She didn’t know how to feel at the moment. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she glanced over her shoulder towards the door to the garden. Large, brown eyes bored into hers, burnt into her with their emotion. Damn Joshua. He still stood there, stiff shouldered, with his arms crossed over his chest.

  She narrowed her eyes, attempting to fire daggers into him. He had ruined everything tonight. Damn Joshua and his spying. Barging in like that. Oh, but Grey had been close to giving in. He’d been close to coming. She could still feel the velvet-over-steel smoothness of his cock on her tongue. Could still taste his salty fluids. And she’d wanted more. She’d wanted complete power over him. She’d wanted to swallow him whole.

  If not for Joshua, that whole terrible scene afterwards would never have happened.

  She hugged her arms. She needed a drink. Badly. But if she got foxed—here, tonight—then she’d really be in for it with Grey. She stole a glance at the stairway, then gritted her teeth at her behaviour. She was acting like a cowed schoolroom miss. Damn it, she’d have a drink if she wanted. She went to the sideboard where the refreshments were laid out for a cup of punch. She tossed it back. Damn Grey.

  Damn Joshua.

  Damn all men.

  Double damn all gentlemen.

  From the corner of her eye, she looked across the ballroom. Joshua glared back accusingly. How dare he act as if he had a right to be hurt?

  She was sick unto death of men—of their selfish intolerance, their feeling of entitlement to dictate her behaviour. A flash of sparking anger shot through her. Devil take him! She’d show him he meant nothing to her. Nothing.

  She set her cup down, took a deep breath and breezed past Joshua without a glance. She went to the garden doors and slipped out into the night. Warm, humid air surrounded her, carrying the scent of roses and jasmine. She stalked to the stone bench where she had once brought her dolls and later her books.

  She leant back. Fresh evening air rushed over her face and exposed neck. Moments passed and her heated blood cooled. Clarity returned and her punch-filled stomach gave a sickening lurch. Oh God. What was she doing here in the gardens? Alone. Luring her former lover here just for the gratification of flinging her engagement in his face.

  Not wise, Beth, not very wise at all.

  To risk her engagement with Grey, especially after her foolishly flung words… All the passionate love she held for him rushed over her with painful intensity. She curled her hands around the edge of the bench. She needed to go to him and find a way to patch things. Yes—now, before they became irreparably torn.

  The sound of boots crunched on the gravel path.

 
; Like lightning, an urge to jolt to her feet and run shot through her legs. To run just like the silly girl Grey had accused her of being. And she’d proved herself nothing but a girl by coming here. But now that he was here, she must face Joshua. If only to prove to him—and herself—that he no longer mattered. Would never matter again.

  With each footfall, her shoulders wrenched higher, tensing with each upward jerk.

  A man’s black top hat came sailing down to land next to her. “Good evening, my Beth.”

  She looked up. The elegant features wore that all-too-familiar mask of gentility. It wasn’t fair how he hid his true nature so easily. He was the youngest and most pampered son of Mrs Hazelwood’s eldest sister. He’d been sent to England to attain the best medical education possible and a great deal of polish. Handsome, exceptionally intelligent and far too charming, he was the darling of Philadelphia society and he knew it. He couldn’t put a foot wrong and it just wasn’t fair.

  But she knew him for what he was.

  He brushed an imaginary speck off his immaculate, dark blue physician’s coat and a lock of curling hair fell over his brow. The torchlight burnished it to ruby red. Soulful, coffee-brown eyes and a tall, slender build gave him a romantic appearance that had once set her heart afire. But surely his mouth had not always looked so soft, his chin so…so weak?

  “Think of the devil,” she said, unable to resist giving him a slow, sensual smile, the kind she knew drove him insane. Not because she still wanted him, but because she wanted him to suffer as she had suffered. To lie awake at night, aching for her alone.

  “You knew I would come.” He used that chiding tone she’d also grown to resent. He held no rights over her and never had. Everything she’d given him had been given willingly. Out of love. But he’d proven himself unworthy and made a fool of her.

  “You’ve come here for nothing,” she said in her coolest voice.

  His lofty mask vanished and, with a grin, he sat beside her. “I wanted to congratulate you. You’ve done very well for yourself, my dear.”

  She lifted her chin. “I love him. He loves me.”

  His grin stretched into a grimace. He paled.

  Fierce joy fired her senses.

  Yes, Joshua, take that and know what it feels like to be replaced with something better.

  He laughed softly and came closer. “Who are you trying to convince—me or yourself?”

  She put a hand to his chest and tried to push him away. He latched his arm firmly about her waist. She pushed harder but he only tightened his hold. Oh, bugger! For such a slender man, his lean muscles always held surprising strength. A renewed rush of cool rationality washed over her, stripping away her satisfaction in the moment. How stupid and foolish of her to have lured him here. To have goaded him with her engagement. She pushed at him again. “Let me go, Dr Wade.”

  He remained immovable. “Now don’t be disagreeable. I thought you’d be over all this wounded pride by now. And what did your pride gain you? This whole time, you could have been living in luxury, my Beth.”

  Beth. He’d given her the nickname. She’d been his special little Beth. And later it had pleased her to hear better men whisper it in her ear. Now she was sickened that she’d ever fallen for him.

  “Let. Me. Go,” she said. This wasn’t the first time her emotions had got the better of her sense, but it might be the one she regretted the most.

  Maintaining a relentless hold on her, he buried his face in her neck. “You’re so stubborn.”

  A faint scent of camphor and vinegar clung to him. He must have seen a patient on his way here. No one could fault his dedication as a physician. Not even Beth. She’d once idolised those things about him.

  His body went rigid against hers. “I can smell him all over you. Tell me, how does he like all those little refinements I taught you? It should make me furious that you bestow them on him.” He tightened his hands on her waist. “But, truthfully, the memory of you there on your knees, sucking his cock, just makes me crazy to fuck you. You forgot I had the key to the schoolroom, forgot that I alone know of your little penchant for hiding there. But I never forgot any of it, Beth. I never forgot you.”

  The last of her tolerance melted away to be replaced by a seething rage. “You’d better let me go.”

  “I try, honestly I do.” His lips found her neck. “But then I see you and—God, you drive me insane.”

  She cringed away from his hot, seeking lips. “I am warning you, I am going to make you sorry.

  “Never,” he breathed against her ear.

  She drove her elbow back and up, into his ribs—a sharp, wicked thrust.

  Groaning, he let go and grasped his side. “I forget what a”—he gulped for breath—“vicious little harpy you can be.”

  She stood and curled her lip. Men were such fools. “I have warned you repeatedly. I am not yours and never shall be again.”

  “Of course, you realise”—he panted for another breath with exaggerated effect, his tone playful—“you are only inflaming my passions. You do it intentionally.”

  She glared down at him, struggling to keep from raising her voice. “Shame on you, Joshua—you are a married man now and I am engaged.”

  He looked up at her, his eyes glittering with arousal. “This changes nothing. You know you’ll always be my own wicked seductress.”

  My wicked seductress, I always knew you would be this way. It shows in your eyes, the way you move…

  Joshua’s words, here in this very garden. In his father’s fine closed carriage. In her bedchamber upstairs in Mrs Hazelwood’s house after he’d sneaked in through her window. That night when he’d pledged undying love for her. And all those months after, while he’d systematically ripped away all her innocence and showed her just how wild and wanton she could be. And he had encouraged it. Praised it. Adored it. So much so that she’d let herself dream again of babies and booties and cold winter’s nights spent snuggled up against a hale and healthy male body.

  Then Joshua had married an angel. Anne Abbott, the purest, gentlest girl in all of Philadelphia. He’d planned on having both Anne and Beth—wife and mistress.

  He had planned wrong.

  She had turned down his offer of a luxurious house, a carriage, clothing, and servants, and had intended never to look back. But he’d managed to keep himself in her life by providing free medical services to her always ailing sister.

  “You’ve done quite well for yourself. You’ve managed to get your merchant prince to marry you.” His voice resonated with bitterness. “But does he know everything about his dear little princess?”

  Fear gripped her innards. “He does.”

  And it was the truth…up to a point. Grey knew everything he had a right to know. Everything she intended to tell him.

  Dr Wade laughed, a sound all the more wicked for its softness. “No, I wager he does not know all. He seems quite fastidious. I doubt you told him everything I taught you. Everything your naughty, delicious little body desires in a bed.”

  Her heart began pounding. Hard. Only Joshua knew the depths of her sexual wickedness. She knew it was the biggest reason he had chosen another girl to marry. A decent girl. A lady who didn’t enjoy dirty, depraved carnal acts. She hugged her arms over her chest, feeling hunted. “What do you want from me?”

  He smiled. A nasty smile. A scorned lover’s smile, when he had no right to the title. “I just want to warn you.”

  His voice was velvet smooth and it sent chills through her.

  “Oh, yes—warn me about what?” Her heart hammered even harder against her ribs. Bile rose in her throat, burning. God, what could he mean to do? What if—“You’ll say nothing to him.” She came at him and gripped his arm. “Nothing.”

  He leant back and arched a brow. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  She released his arm. “I think you want to hurt me, though you have no cause.”

  “Good God, Beth, do you have so little respect for my intelligence? If I said anyt
hing about—well, shall we call it your more decadent tastes?—Sexton would demand his satisfaction of me. Your intended husband has quite a reputation on the duelling field. I’ve no wish to face him, believe me.”

  “Grey has never fought a duel in his life.”

  “No? Well, tell that to the man who’ll never lift his arm again.”

  She felt a little ill. But no—Joshua didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “He’s a man of business, Beth. A society gentleman. He has a reputation to protect. Of course he’s fought duels.”

  He spoke with such certainty, meeting her gaze levelly. Suppose it was true? Did she really know Grey at all? She shivered. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I told you—I want to warn you, sweetheart, not to get your little hopes up over how wonderful life will be with him. Aunt Cornelia has told me all about Sexton. His mother’s maiden name was de Grijs.”

  “Yes, what of it?” she snapped. Why must he drag this out?

  He crossed one leg over the other and brushed a speck of lint off his dark pantaloons. “De Grijs? Think, Beth. He comes not only from the elite of Boston but also the very pinnacle of New York society. Their society is far more insular than ours. You won’t have any experience or hope of fitting in.”

  Her stomach sank, for she knew he spoke the truth. But knowing the truth and liking to hear it were two different things. “He says I can.” She barely whispered the words. It was as though, if she spoke too loudly, she’d hear the lie for what it was.

  “Oh, come, you can’t even look me in the eye as you say it.” His lip curled up and he grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. She twisted out of his grasp.

  “Thank you for your confidence in me,” she replied stiffly.

  He closed his eyes. “I meant no insult; I simply do not want to see you hurt.”

  “How very odd for you, of all people, to worry over that,” she said with deliberate softness.