White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “Four weeks from today, at Christ Church,” Grey replied.

  Watson tore his eyes from hers and he handed Grey his newspaper. “A declaration of war passed in the Senate—all that’s left is for President Madison to sign it.”

  Beth’s stomach seemed to plummet and she drew in her breath. So this was it, then. War.

  Her mouth went dry. She’d heard all the stories from the last war with the King of England, of how the British had invaded and occupied Philadelphia, Boston and New York. How bad would things become this time? She inched closer to Grey.

  He released her hand, slipped his arm about her waist and drew her to his side. Right there on Main Street. At the warmth of his strong body her muscles relaxed.

  “Is there any doubt Madison will sign?”

  With his free hand, he took the newspaper and looked at it.

  She watched his face as he gazed at the paper. His eyes didn’t move. A sick realisation swelled in her innards. He’d known when he’d come to take her out that Congress had finally declared war on Great Britain and it had obviously weighed heavily on his mind, yet he hadn’t chosen to discuss it with her.

  Why wouldn’t he share all of himself with her? Would he ever? And what of Thomas? Would Grey speak of his feelings or would he just close her out? She wasn’t looking forward to the carriage ride home.

  * * * *

  “Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

  Beth’s words pulled Grey out of his thoughts of the war and what it would mean for Sexton Shipping. In fact, he’d been so far away that for a moment he wondered what this beautiful young woman was doing in his carriage.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry. The war won’t affect our plans. It will take time for the British to mount an attack. They’re an ocean away.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean…well, you know what I mean.”

  A burning knot formed in his chest. She meant Thomas. Damn it, he’d known he might be faced with some of her former lovers. He’d thought himself prepared. But now he knew there was no way to prepare for or accept the pain of it. “I thought we agreed last night that we wouldn’t accuse each other with our pasts?” he said.

  “I know you don’t really feel that way…not inside. Not truly.”

  He took a deep breath and reminded himself—for surely the thousandth time since he’d met her—that his jealousy wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t hold her past against her. And he didn’t. Not truly. But…

  “He’s a close friend, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes, he is. A very close friend.” Christ. It had never occurred to him that one of those nameless, faceless men she’d been with might be Thomas. That burning knot twisted in his chest like someone turning a knife. But what good did such feelings do? The past couldn’t be changed, and the future was too threatening. Too uncertain.

  War was a reality now. He didn’t need this distraction. Thank God he was due to leave. He could get his head clear from the pull of his attachment to her, be free of her insecurities and constant testing for a couple of weeks and take care of what needed to be taken care of.

  When he came back, they would be married and these disturbingly raw, masculine inclinations, the need to claim and possess her, would be appeased. Then he would have control over his world again and he could focus on what was truly important.

  It was really a short time now.

  But just how many men had she been with? A fresh surge of jealousy sent his blood seething and his senses churning. His gaze travelled over her angelic features and pretty, perky breasts showcased to perfection in the white muslin gown with its lace-trimmed bodice and fetching pale blue sash tied beneath. God, she was so beautiful, so young, so captivating—every man who saw her couldn’t help wanting her. Who was he trying to fool? A wedding ring wasn’t going to dampen any of their hopes.

  But wait—he wasn’t being fair to her. He had every reason to trust her. She was loyal to her family to the point of self-abasement. Though it had maddened him at times in his quest to possess her, that very loyalty had been one of her most endearing traits. She would give that same loyalty to a husband. He knew that, elsewise he would never have considered marrying her.

  He loved her. And even though she wouldn’t say the words, rationally he knew she loved him, too. That was all that mattered. He must remember.

  “He’s going to tell.”

  Again, her soft voice cut into his thoughts. “What?”

  “He’s going to tell everyone.” She sounded absolutely miserable. It tore at his guts.

  He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze to reassure her. “Relax. He’s my closest and oldest friend. He’ll tell no one.”

  She raised a pale brow. “You sound so confident.”

  “I am. Thomas won’t tell.”

  Her forehead took on a vertical crease as her brows drew together. “But what if—if he thinks he is doing you a kindness by revealing my past?”

  He gaped at her. “Where the devil would he get an idea like that?”

  “I don’t know…he just might.”

  The illogical slant of her thoughts spoke of just how upset she was. He fancied he could smell her fear on the warm air of the stuffy carriage interior. Tenderness melted away all his selfish jealousy. He moved closer and touched her shoulders. They were as hard with her tension as floor planks and he paused to caress them with sensual motions. “He won’t, I assure you.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  Because if Thomas were actually that unwise, Grey would simply meet him at dawn in Waukegan and settle things. He’d done it often enough when Juliana’s flirtations had got her into yet another scrape with an overzealous would-be Lothario. Of course, after that last bastard had crossed the line, no one else had dared test his patience over Juliana.

  But he didn’t tell Beth that. Instead, he leant down, placed his mouth to hers and kissed her. He caressed his tongue against hers in slow, sensual sweeps. Her shoulders relaxed under his hands and inwardly he smiled. She was so very susceptible to sensual pleasure. He lifted his head, then tipped her chin up until she opened her eyes. “We have to have faith in each other and focus on the future, not the past. Will you promise me you’ll do that?”

  “I’ll try,” she replied.

  He only hoped he could do the same.

  * * * *

  When they arrived at Mrs Hazelwood’s, the woman greeted them at the door, a pleasant half-smile on her face but her eyes focused sharply on Beth. “A Mr Nelcour came to see you, young lady.”

  “Oh,” Beth said, laying her hand over her stomach, which suddenly threatened to float away.

  “Oh, indeed. I had to pay him two hundred dollars to get him to leave.”

  “He ought not to have demanded that of you.”

  “I do not appreciate having a moneylender show his face here, Elizabeth.” Mrs Hazelwood’s lips compressed. “If you must support Charlie McConnell’s bad habits, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my good name out of it.”

  “I didn’t tell Nelcour about you—he must have found out from elsewhere. And the money wasn’t for Charlie, it was for Ruth.”

  Mrs Hazelwood turned to Grey. “Do you see what I mean about this girl?”

  His handsome face granite hard, he nodded. “Come, let us discuss this.” He took Mrs Hazelwood’s arm and led her to the front parlour.

  * * * *

  Beth sat in the window seat in her childhood bedchamber in Mrs Hazelwood’s house, watching the huge, old oak tree swaying in the gusting wind, against the backdrop of a fast-darkening sky. It suited her mood quite aptly, for she was fuming inside.

  Mrs Hazelwood had firmly ejected Beth from the parlour and closed the door. And Grey hadn’t said a word against it.

  “Go along up to your chamber. I shall deal with you later.”

  His coolly uttered words had been the final strike against Beth’s temper. Yes, he had right to be angry about the moneylender and the amount he would f
eel obligated to pay Mrs Hazelwood. But he ought to deal with her alone over this. They were both treating her as if she were thirteen, not twenty-three. Still, she would not show anger towards Grey in front of Mrs Hazelwood. She’d never embarrass him like that.

  Oh, but those unlikely allies, Mrs Hazelwood and Grey, had joined forces against her. They wanted her to be something she could never be. A lady. She curled her knees to her chest and groaned with the unfairness of it all. Why did she always have to want the love of those she could please the least?

  She had no right to complain. She’d made a bargain with him in the beginning, when she’d agreed to accept his court. She’d agreed to become a lady, at least in outward appearances.

  Maybe he’d been right. Maybe she ought to have been merely his mistress. Maybe it would have been all the luxury and pleasure without all this pain.

  But there could never have been children. She couldn’t have allowed it. And she wanted children.

  Her little china clock chimed out three o’ clock. Heavens, he’d been in there for over an hour now. What could they possibly have to discuss for that long?

  * * * *

  “Beth.”

  She awoke to Grey’s silver eyes staring into hers, tender and warm. She moved her legs and they tingled painfully from being curled beneath her. Her mind worked slowly, hampered by sleepiness. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “A little past six.” He sat beside her on the window seat.

  She tried to focus her sleepy mind. “Mrs Hazelwood knows you’re in here, in my chamber?”

  “She all but pushed me through the door.”

  “I can’t picture it.”

  His gaze had fallen from her face and become fixed, his pupils dilating. She glanced down at her herself. In the heat of the afternoon, in the privacy of her own chamber, she’d stripped down to her chemise. Her nipples showed clearly thorough the thin, lace-and-ribbon trimmed, low-cut garment.

  He bent towards her and put his lips to hers. The taste of his mouth and his spice and masculine scent filled her senses. Her sleep-warmed, limp body seemed to grow even more languid. He cupped her breast and she arched her back, trying to get more sensation. Her cunt tingled with hunger. She pressed her thighs together and wetness seeped from her core.

  “We can’t…Mrs Hazelwood…” Her voice rang as soft and unconvincing as a moan in her own ears.

  “We’re engaged.” His thumb rubbed over her nipple, sending ripples of delight shuddering through her. “She thinks we’re talking, I assure you. I’ve just put the last of her doubts in my intentions to rest in terms she can definitely understand.”

  Before she could ask what he meant, he pressed his hand against her belly, sliding lower until the heel of his hand pressed into her nub through her clothing. Sensation shot down her legs and up through her stomach.

  His mouth covered hers again. Something niggled at the corners of her mind. Oh yes…she was angry with him. For excluding her from his conversation with Mrs Hazelwood.

  For being an arrogant, autocratic jackass.

  But the taste of his tongue and the scent of his breath intoxicated her sleepy senses. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts. Wanted to feel his mouth on her pebbled nipples.

  Well, hell’s bells, couldn’t she be angry and quarrel with him later?

  She arched her back again to bring her breasts, with their stiff, straining peaks, to his attention. God, she ached for his mouth upon them.

  But he moved down her body, then knelt between her legs. She cupped her own breasts, rubbing her palms over the tight peaks through her thin chemise, frantically trying to gain the sensation she hungered for. She wanted him so badly. She wanted him now. Wanted his muscled chest crushing her breasts as he mounted her, his body hair abrading her nipples as he thrust into her. Wanted him to take her hard and fast.

  Just like that morning.

  She twisted her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and moaned softly.

  He pulled her skirts up in a swift, crinkling rustle. Dying to be closer to him—as close as she could get—she spread her legs wide to hug his body. He stroked his hands along her inner thighs, sending sparks of fire up to her cunt.

  He touched her inner folds with a fingertip and the jolt of sensation made her hips jump off the window seat. She cried out, the sound echoing loudly in her chamber.

  “Shh,” he warned, his eyes intent upon the place between her legs.

  She laughed softly.

  He traced his fingertip along her folds, starting at the wetness flowing from her channel’s entrance and moving forward ever so slowly. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. He did it again, drawing the moisture over her fast-stiffening nub. She bit her lip, harder this time. God, God, God, it was so good. No man had ever made love to her like he did—like it was some kind of fucking art.

  He circled her sensitive bud in a leisurely way, drawing the sensations out until the very soles of her feet tingled with the pleasure and the anticipation of more to come.

  “Oh heavens.” Her whisper shook with her trembling.

  “You like that?”

  “God, yes.”

  “And what about this?” He lowered his head and pushed his tongue into her channel.

  “Oh my…” She twined her fingers into his hair and arched her hips towards the mouth that tenderly ravished her.

  He eased back the hood on her nub and stroked slowly, firmly, with his tongue, up along her nub’s hidden length. The pure bliss vibrated through her belly and she shuddered and moaned. He repeated the move again and again, holding her there, right on the edge.

  “Please, please,” she whispered.

  He suddenly stopped, moved up and took her straining nipple into his mouth.

  God, God, God.

  She writhed and twisted and pressed her breast into his mouth, clutching his head. He took her other breast and squeezed. She moaned—a little too loudly.

  He pulled away and moved up to face her. His eyes shone like silver coins and his angular features were sharp with arousal. “If I let you come, you’ll scream, won’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no—I’ll be quiet.”

  He laughed softly. “Beautiful little liar.” He kissed her nose.

  “I swear, Grey, I’ll be quiet—so very quiet.”

  He took her lips in a heated, hungry kiss. The taste and smell of herself, of her arousal on his lips, drove her insane with need and she writhed against him even more frantically.

  He entered her with two fingers, feeling along her forward wall until he found that certain spot, and pleasure went stabbing through her. She shuddered and arched against him and cried out into his mouth. He worked his fingers rapidly inside her, pressing her there again and again. Deep, impossibly sweet pleasure went vibrating through her. Her tension crested, then broke over her in a wash of pure delight. She cried out and he sucked the sounds in, muffling them with his mouth.

  With one eye open, Grey watched the expression of pure bliss consume Beth’s features. His cock throbbed unbearably, pressing against the fall of his pantaloons. The last spasms contracted her flesh around his fingers and, spent, she collapsed in the circle of his arms with a soft sigh. He lifted his mouth and cradled her head against his shoulder and waited while her breathing slowed.

  He had come here, to her chamber—this servant’s attic chamber in which she’d spent her childhood—determined to put the rule of law to her about signing loans for her siblings. He’d been damned generous with the McConnells. If they couldn’t live within their new, extended means, he wasn’t about to subsidise them further.

  Beth moaned and stirred in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder.

  Yes, he’d meant to chastise her over the moneylender but the sight of her here on the window seat, all warm and sleepy, had awoken his lust so strongly that it had driven rational thought away.

  Devil take him, she was such a little scrap of a thing but she had to be the most ex
citing woman in the world.

  And she was his.

  Before he left this chamber, she was going to admit it. There would be no doubts between them about who was in control.

  “I love you. God help me, I love you so ardently.” He wrapped a hand about the mass of her hair and pulled gently. “Say it—tell me you love me.”

  She laughed, the sound sinfully sensual. She slid her hand down over his waistcoat. He caught his breath and held it as her hand reached the superfine cloth of his pantaloons. His pulse went racing away.

  He wanted to fuck the very breath out of her. He glanced at her narrow little bed. How badly would those ropes creak?

  Something brushed his straining hardness, startling him out of his thoughts. He glanced down and found her little fingers working nimbly, undoing his buttons. His erection grew harder, lengthening and straining painfully against his fall. God, he wanted to wrench the buttons open and free himself, but she looked so adorable, her delicate brows drawn tightly together, her mouth set in determination as she struggled with his buttons, that he let her have her way. Finally, she had the last button undone, and he sprang into her cool hand.

  He sighed with relief.

  She stroked him with sure, deft movements, exactly the right amount of pressure. Hunger ravished him. But she wasn’t going to distract her way out of this. “I know you love me, so just say it—just once, you little vixen.”

  She moved away from him, dropped down to the floor and squatted on her feet before him. She bent her head and pressed her cheek to his thigh, then glanced up. Her cheeks were flushed, and her loose hair was a bright, silver-gilt spill over his dark blue pantaloons.

  “Do you want to feel how I feel for you?” she asked, her voice breathy and soft, her eyes smoky blue. He got that peculiar catch in his heart—the one he’d got the very first time he’d met her eyes.

  He ran his hand over her hair, caressing the silken strands with his fingertips. She rubbed her cheek against his thigh and her eyes locked with his, glowing with tenderness now. The depth of emotion in her gaze struck him right in the heart. God. When she looked at him like that, what did the words really matter? He nodded.