White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  The emptiness in Grey’s stomach became an aching, acid roiling void. An image of Thomas’s body covering Beth’s, of her pale white limbs clinging to him as he impaled her again and again, took hold of his mind. It grew in vivid detail until it threatened to erase years of memories. Memories of shared commiserations between himself and Thomas at Harvard. Standing up for each other at their weddings. Sharing the joy of their children’s milestones. Grey took a steadying breath and forced the erotic tableau from his mind. “Thomas, I don’t think you should say any more.”

  “You must know this,” Thomas said, his calm, determined manner giving no sign he understood how he tempted the Devil’s own violence with his ill-favoured importuning. “I take coffee at Mrs Bickle’s often when I am here—it is a favourite haunt of some of my business acquaintances. One day it was raining and I was leaving and she asked me to give her a ride home in my carriage. After that, she didn’t play the lady, if you understand my meaning.”

  Grey fisted his hands at his sides. Thomas was his oldest friend. He’d do well to remember that. The past can’t be changed. Can’t be changed. He let the words repeat in his head. A litany of sanity to cling to.

  Thomas sighed with much drama. “Of course, afterwards, once I knew what kind of girl she is, I shunned her like the plague. I was of half a mind to inform Mrs Bickle what kind of person she had employed. But I decided to be merciful.”

  Thomas sat back and tossed his head back with a superior shake.

  Grey’s stomach unknotted and something filled that empty space. Perverse, dark amusement. He knew the sort of life Thomas had led since his wife’s death. Thomas would have been just as eager to secure Beth as a mistress as he himself had been. No man could possess Beth’s beauty, know her passion, and be satisfied with just once. And Thomas suffered from an overweening and perhaps underserved pride when it came to his women.

  Grey chuckled. “So she refused to see you again?”

  Thomas shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other, then braced his hands over his knee. His jaw protruded forward and he blinked in rapid succession. “That’s not it at all, Sexton. I simply don’t care to keep company with girls like that.”

  Grey shook his head. “I find the whole aspect of holding women to blame for sex tiresome.”

  A pang tapped at his chest wall. An echo of the terrible remorse he’d felt the morning after he’d left Philadelphia, after the frightening eruption of feeling between himself and Beth. Her defiance. His jealous possessiveness.

  But it was true. It was insane for men to hold women to blame for sex. Women had needs the same as men. If a woman was unmarried and had no sexual outlets, what was she to do?

  And Beth had come back to him. Only to him. “She’s just young and impetuous. Surely you remember being so yourself?”

  Thomas’ brows rose and he sat up straighter. “She’s not just young and impetuous, she’s—well, I shall just say it bluntly. She’s a harlot.”

  Grey’s tolerance vaporised. “Take care. You’re speaking of the woman who shall soon be my wife. If you don’t cease, then it will be too late to avoid the consequences for us both. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Thomas paled a degree or two and sat up straighter in the chair. “All right, I apologise… I just can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

  “It’s none of your affair.”

  “Think about this, Grey.”

  “I have. Deeply.”

  “Oh, good God. Yes, she’s beautiful, but she’s not worth the price—or the risk to you and your cherished business.”

  Grey turned back to the mirror and gave his cravat a final tweak. He forced his anger down. Watson was merely disappointed because Grey hadn’t chosen his daughter to wed. Yes, it would have been advantageous and a bit sentimental to link their families in marriage, but it wasn’t to be. “I was never going to marry Jenna. She’s too young, too innocent for my blood. Christ, I’ve seen her grow up—I feel like her uncle.”

  “It’s not about Jenna, it’s about you. Yes, she’d have made you an excellent wife, and yes, I wanted the familial connection to you. But any number of young ladies in New York would make you a good wife. Why does it have to be this McConnell chit? What’s so special about her?”

  Grey would never tell anyone the truth of his immediate and uncontrollable feelings upon meeting Beth. But he would admit to something less revealing. He grinned. “I admire her audacity.”

  The door burst open. “Father, you had best get yourself over to see that fiancée of yours.”

  Grey turned and faced his seventeen-year-old son. Jan was holding a piece of paper—an open note.

  Grey jerked it out of his hand. “Who taught you to read other people’s messages?”

  Jan shrugged. “I had to be certain it wasn’t something dire. And it is something dire—she sounds ready to fly the coop on you.”

  * * * *

  Grey wasn’t coming.

  Beth knew it more firmly with each breath she took. She lay on the bed. Her satin chemise was wet from a frantic sponging and clung clammily to her skin and her belly was sore from having been ill twice more. The sweet taste of the mint tea Miss Fairchild had forced on her calmed her stomach somewhat but she feared what might happen if she left the bed.

  A tapping sounded. With a moan, she rolled over to the window. Grey sat in the huge old oak, rapping on the glass. Forgetting her nausea, she scrambled off the bed and hurried over to let him in.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he leapt from the sill to the floor. He was a dazzling display of tall, long-legged, broad-shouldered male gorgeousness and she devoured him with her eyes.

  Elated energy pounded through her so violently she almost shook. He was here.

  He was really here.

  He brushed off his pantaloons. “They told me I could not see you and refused me entry into the house, so rather than argue I took matters into my own hands.”

  “Oh,” she replied dumbly. She couldn’t fathom a gentleman of his dignity climbing a tree and sneaking into the attic of Mrs Hazelwood’s elegant, three-storey red brick Georgian mansion.

  He straightened, brushed his coal-black forelock off his forehead and fixed her with a stern look. “That cryptic, frantic note—what the devil was I supposed to think, Beth?”

  “Oh… I…” Her mind would not work to form speech. How did he always do this to her? Turn her into a stuttering nitwit? So pathetic.

  He sighed and held out his arms.

  She should have remained cool, but she couldn’t restrain herself—she flung herself at his body.

  At the impact, he rocked on his feet. He looked down with a smile full of tolerant patience. Oh, that smile, as if he hadn’t done a thing amiss and was merely tolerating some unwarranted and unpredictable feminine whim. All her anger rushed to the surface, wiping away her joy at seeing him.

  “Three weeks and not one letter—” She pounded her fist against his chest. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

  He made a sibilant sound and caressed her back.

  His scent surrounded her, his strength held her. Inexplicably, a warm sensation overcame her. Safety. Security. As if she belonged in no other place than his arms. All the fear, anger and longing she’d carried around for weeks rose to the surface, demanding release, and she crumpled against him, her face to his chest.

  His hand continued to stroke her back and he murmured tender, nonsensical things. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to cling to him. To accept his reassurance.

  The cloth of his jacket grew damp against her cheek. Her breathing turned hitching, wet sounding. God. She was weeping into his lapel. Abject horror washed over her. This was not the way to begin a marriage with this arrogant man. She put her hand to his chest and pushed.

  He clasped his hands to her back, held her firm. “Now, Beth, don’t be rash. Let’s neither of us do or say anything we shall regret. We’ve come this far.”

  “I don’
t understand.” She blinked hard and sniffed several times, willing her tears to dry. “Why couldn’t you write to me?”

  He resumed massaging her back. “I am sorry, Beth. There was so much to do…”

  She studied the angles of his handsome face. “You really don’t want to marry me. I know it.”

  He let her go and stepped back. “I have engaged personal servants for your needs. I have bought you an entire wardrobe. I have thrown a small fortune at that family of yours. I assure you, I didn’t do it for the sheer amusement.”

  His annoyed, cold tone did little to soothe her. She hugged herself. “Yes, you’ve spent a great deal of money on me. And I am so very grateful for what you’ve done for me and my family but…”

  “What more could I possibly do to reassure you? I am here, Beth, ready and willing to marry you.”

  “I can’t help but think if you truly valued me, if you truly cared then you would have taken a moment to write to me. You would have been compelled to—as I was compelled to write to you.”

  His gaze flicked up to the rafters. He crossed his hands behind his back and began to pace. “Oh hell, this marriage business—”

  “Yes, yes.” The words exploded from her. “Let’s hear the truth of how you feel.”

  He stopped in front of the unlit hearth. He seemed to be staring at his feet. She could only keep her eyes focused on his face. She held her breath and fisted her hands at her sides, waiting to hear what she’d dreaded hearing. It would be better once he finally admitted the truth. It would be a relief.

  Her nails dug into her palms.

  “I warned you things would be easier if you were my mistress and I your protector. I am not accustomed to opening my life like this…” His voice trailed off.

  She followed his eyes.

  Joshua’s letter laying face up in the grate.

  Her heart died then leapt up into rapid beating life. She placed a hand to her throat, trying to push it down.

  Oh God… Why hadn’t she thought to crumple it up? Why could she never gather her wits?

  She opened her mouth but no words came. Instead only a choked gasp as Grey bent to pick up the vellum.

  He stood, his eyes fixed to the paper. He chuckled, a low, cynical sound. “Ah, now this whole drama makes a great deal more sense.”

  Her stomach took a tumble. “Now Grey, please.”

  His expression was so blank—what was he thinking?

  Grey resisted the urge to crush the paper in his fist then cast it into the hearth. Instead, he calmly walked back to Beth. Her face was paler than even when he had first come into the chamber and her eyes were wide. He handed her the letter. “If you want to go to him, go now.”

  “But, Grey, I—”

  “Go now, because I won’t tolerate your infidelity after we are wed.”

  “I have no true desire to go to him. You know this.”

  “No true desire—but you had thoughts, doubts?”

  Her expression grew pained and she closed her eyes. She nodded.

  It was like a blow. Crushing him.

  “I heard nothing from you. I was so frightened. Frightened of my own fear, my own anger at being neglected.” Her words came as a rush.

  He recognised her franticness, the wildness in her eyes. She was overset, incapable of doing anything else but reacting to her own emotions. Then he remembered.

  She had come back to him.

  Yes, she had run from him. Again and again. Yet she had always returned to him. And today when she had had serious doubts, serious fears—doubts and fears he had provided her a real basis for—she had not gone running away with her former seducer.

  She had sent for him.

  The heaviness in his chest lightened. “Bridal nerves.”

  She tilted her head and frowned. “What?”

  “You were simply suffering from bridal nerves. You are afraid of the change coming, as any sane, sensible person would be.” He took the letter back from her and glanced over it again. What madness. There was nothing between her and the slender, bespectacled doctor. Nothing but dreams. Baseless dreams ill suited to Beth herself.

  “Indiana?” He chuckled again and shook his head. “You in Indiana?”

  “You’re laughing about this?” Her eyes were wider now.

  “Do you particularly enjoy caring for sick people?”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question, Beth.”

  “I’ll do it if someone needs my help.” Her tone sounded defensive.

  “That’s not what I asked you. Do you find the idea of caring for sick people fulfilling?”

  She frowned, as if confused. She shook her head. “Honestly, no, not on any regular basis.”

  “Do you want to live in Indiana, live in a house made of logs, grass and mud?”

  She paused and stared at him with her mouth open. “Grey, you’re making a jest of this.”

  “Do you? I mean really?”

  She stared at him in silence, blinking rapidly.

  “Because that’s what it is really like. A mud floor and oiled paper in the windows. And the woods are full of bears and wolves. Oh yes, and the Indians just waiting to come at night to attack and loot the settlement. You’ll always have one eye open at night. Is this the life you want?”

  “What a horrid picture you draw. That’s not how it is in the settled areas.”

  “Those are the settled areas. Would you want to live under those conditions?”

  “Hell’s bells, no,” she blurted. “I mean, who in their right mind would?” she continued somewhat apologetically.

  “Well, then, you’re not the wife for Dr Joshua Wade.”

  Her frown deepened. “Grey, you’re not listening. I don’t want—”

  He spoke over her. “What do you want to do, Beth? I mean what do you really want to do with the rest of your life?”

  “You know what I want to do; I want to teach piano.”

  “To the poor little girls in the city, where you can come home each night to a proper house? Where you don’t have to fear that a bear will knock the door down or that a wild Indian will carry you away in the night?”

  “Grey, stop making light of this—”

  “Just answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, marry me, because I want that for you too.”

  She turned away from him and stalked to the window. She gripped the sill and stared outside. The shadow of her breasts rose and fell very quickly. Her knuckles turned white.

  Perhaps he had placed too much value in the fact that she had returned to him again and again. “Now what, Beth?”

  “You needn’t have mocked me.” Hurt resonated in her voice.

  “I was not mocking you. I was trying to get you to look at things logically rather than be so damned emotional.”

  She blinked several times. “Logic. Rationality. About something like this?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. You need to learn to be more rational and stop reacting to everything like a flighty girl. For God’s sake, Beth, you frightened the blue blazes out of me. I never know what you might do. You are so very impulsive and driven by your emotions.” He became aware that his voice had raised several octaves. He took a deep breath then continued. “In a matter of hours you shall be my wife. Are you even ready for the responsibility of such a role?”

  Her hands twisted on the fabric of her shift, the movement drawing his attention to her youthful, firm body. Her small, pink nipples and the apex of her legs. His blood heated. That annoyed him more than anything. He could not seem to govern his own responses to this slip of a girl who had beguiled him and ensnared him into loving her.

  “You might have reassured me.” Her softly spoken words sent his ire and frustration into an unbearable state. Would she always madden him like this? All the remaining years of his life? Did she think he would give her two hundred and fifty thousand dollars if he meant to jilt her? Devil take it, he’d given her that money to show her the depth of
his feelings in a real, tangible way. It should have ensured her confidence in his intentions, no matter what else happened.

  He forced himself to speak slowly and in a temperate tone. “I did try to reassure you. It did no good.”

  She whirled and faced him, her eyes wild and suspiciously glossy. “You reminded me how much money you had spent on me and my family. And then you congratulated yourself for just being here.”

  “Damn it, what would you have had me do?” He spoke sharply, louder than was polite. He didn’t care. She had driven him beyond caring.

  “Well, if I have to spell it out for you, what good is the doing on your part?”

  Oh God! Damn feminine notions. Was he supposed to read her thoughts? “You aren’t even making sense now, Beth. If you want something, then tell me and I shall provide it.”

  Her expression hardened. Dizziness swept over him. A whisper of a warning that disaster was near to strike. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything to placate her.

  She was quicker. “I think we should call the wedding off.”

  She had leant forward as she hurled the words at him with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were wild, her face flushed. She looked every inch the spitting virago he knew her to be.

  He’d had enough of this. He wasn’t going through this for the rest of his life. No force on earth could push him into such a living hell.

  He fixed her with a stern look. “If that’s what you want, Beth, you shall have it.”

  She kept staring at him and rocked back on her heels, her face pale, her eyes wide as the ocean. “Oh God…”

  Her soft voice cut into him sharper than any knife or dagger could. Tears, huge and fat, went rolling down her face. The same beautiful face that had haunted each and every one of his dreams while he was away. She brushed them away with her arm. An ineffectual motion that made his heart twist in his chest.

  Beth was sure her heart and everything else vital and integral to her being had just expired within her. She would die when he left today and walked out of her life. Forever. But she had known it would end like this. Oh, bugger, hadn’t she known it would end just like this? They were too ill suited.