Coming to her senses, the woman sputtered a bit and finally said, "Fine, milord, just fine. Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment."
Nine
Beth plopped back down onto the settee as Bonnie exited the room on the heels of Mrs. Kerr. Michael watched his wife with amusement. Her jaw was tight, her nostrils slightly flared as she breathed in and out, and her bright blue eyes focused straight ahead. Goodness, what happened? He looked more closely, and she must have felt his eyes boring into her for she suddenly turned and fixed him with an icy glare.
“Stop staring at me,” she demanded, her tone just as cold as her eyes.
“Why? I rather like staring at you.”
That seemed to get her delicately arched back up. She opened her mouth to say something—something acerbic, no doubt—and then shut it again. Michael tucked his lips in between his teeth to keep from smiling. Beth looked ready to cosh him over the head, and he was sure if she detected even a hint of amusement on his part, he’d be abed within minutes, his skull wrapped in gauze.
The door to the drawing room swung open.
“Shall I send the next one in, milord?”
Michael was about to say yes, but thought better of it. “I need a moment alone with my wife, Mr. Kerr. I will ring for you when we’re ready.”
Beth was gaping at him now, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
He situated himself on the settee so he was facing her and leaned back against the arm. “You tell me,” he replied.
Under his scrutiny, Beth blushed and looked away. She straightened her skirts and cleared her throat. “Tell you what?” she said at last.
“Tell me why you’re acting so strange. And why Mrs. Kerr was acting so strange as well. I had hoped you would tell me of your own free will, but clearly that’s not going to happen. Mrs. Kerr thinks you’re ill. Are you?”
“No!” Beth shouted and stood quickly, darting a few feet away from him to stand behind the wing-backed chair. “I’m fine.”
“Then why would Mrs. Kerr think you were ill?”
She cleared her throat again and closed her eyes before she said, “Mrs. Kerr may be under the impression...that is, she might think that I’m...with child.” The last part came out so quietly, it could have been a mouse who’d uttered the words.
“Come again,” Michael said, turning to sit straight on the sofa and leaning forward. “I didn’t quite catch that last part.”
“No, I’m not going to say it again. It’s far too embarrassing and I won’t discuss such things with you. I think I’ve suffered enough humiliation for an entire year now, don’t you agree?”
Michael sighed. They really were going to have to talk about this. “Beth, what happened last night—”
“Don’t you dare bring up last night!” she screamed, her face turning even redder than before. She was really one of the most lovely girls he’d ever known, but the crimson color of her skin right now did not suit her.
“You’re my wife, Beth, we should be able to talk about these things.”
“I’m your wife because you and your brother tricked me. I don’t have to talk to you about anything.”
“But you will.” He’d always been gentle with her, given her space and time, but he was growing weary of this conversation. Over and over, throwing his sins in his face. It wasn’t fair and he needed to put a stop to it now. “Need I remind you that you had an opportunity to back out?"
"And be completely ruined?"
"I daresay Lord Edgmond would have offered for you regardless."
She cast him a mutinous glare, but said nothing.
"We have a good many years ahead of us, Beth, and I think it’s about time you got used to the fact that we’re married now. I won’t apologize again for my deception. I know it was wrong—I knew it then, but I did it anyhow because I...because you deserved more than what Andrew could offer you.”
“Andrew could have offered me a great deal. Why, right now, he and Chloe are having a grand old time, living by her family, traipsing about the countryside, basking in one another’s lo—”
“And why do you think that is, Beth? Do you think things would have been the same had you married my brother? He doesn’t love you, he never did. He loves Chloe, and he would have married you, harboring that secret, knowing that she had born his child. He would have been miserable and by extension, so would you.”
Beth turned to him, wild fire in her eyes. “You are a cruel bastard,” she shouted, even as the tears began to stream down her cheeks.
Damn it, he hadn’t meant to make her cry, for God’s sake. Softening his tone, he stood and made a move towards her. She backed up and shot daggers at him, silently warning him to stay where he was. Considering she resembled a rabid dog, he stayed back and allowed her space.
“I’m not trying to be cruel, Beth, and you know it,” he said, keeping his voice quiet and gentle. “Now, I want to say something about last night.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction. Clearly, she expected him to speak regardless of her pleas.
“It’s a shame you had to resort to such measures.”
Beth’s head snapped up and she stared at him, eyes wide, as if she had expected an entirely different statement to come out of his mouth altogether. She expected censure, degradation, he was certain.
“What do you mean?”
Finally, she was softening, her expression becoming more curious than furious. “What I mean is that you’re a married woman, and your husband was sleeping not fifty feet from you. It’s a bloody shame you chose to use your hand rather than come to me.”
She gulped and Michael smiled. He’d unnerved her, but the wheels in her head were spinning out of control, he could see. Would she take the bait? God, he hoped so. It was about damned time they consummated this blessed union. He imagined he’d never gone so long without a tup; he was nearly going out of his mind with waiting.
“Well, that’s hardly fair, Michael,” she finally said, her voice low and unsure. “I don’t know the first thing about seduction. I wouldn’t know what to do if I found myself standing at your bedside.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Beth looked as if she might get angry again, but he held up a hand to stop her. “No, don’t start yelling again. All I’m saying is that you’re a beautiful woman, and I’m certain you know how to use your charms to your advantage.”
“It’s not the same thing, and you know it. Flirting in a ballroom is not at all like taking a man to...”
“Bed? True, I’ll grant you that. However, getting there is much the same, and then I would be there to guide you further.”
“Why should I have to be the one to do the seducing? You’re my husband, and I’m simply your lowly wife. Surely men have done less honorable things than take their unwilling, virgin wives to bed against their will.”
Michael couldn’t stop his laughter. “Oh, Beth, you do surprise me. How could I possibly come to you now, after such an impassioned speech? That is precisely why you must do the seducing.”
“Fine!” Beth stuck her nose in the air and straightened her spine. “If you wish me to come to you...I will.”
“Do you wish to come to me?”
“Not necessarily, but you’re right. We are married and have many years ahead of us. Obviously, I’m curious—there’s no point in trying to hide that from you now. So, yes, I will come to you. Tomorrow evening.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because,” she said, and stopped, as if that was all the explanation he should need.
“Because...?”
She fidgeted with the slightly puffed sleeve of her dress, avoiding eye contact with him. “Because I need more time, if you please. I’ve been a virgin for twenty years. It’s not something one gives up so easily after such a long period of time.”
Michael smiled and inwardly rejoiced. What was one more day? He’d been waiting for her for
a very long time. One more day certainly wouldn’t kill him. And the thought of finally having her in his bed made him harden in an instant. Damn it to hell, they needed to get on with the interviews.
Desperate to change the subject, Michael slapped his knee and said, “Good, it’s settled then. Shall I tell Mr. Kerr we’re ready for the next candidate? Though I daresay we don’t need to interview anyone else for the position of your personal maid. Bonnie fits the bill quite nicely.”
Michael was halfway to the door when something hard and painful hit him on the back of the head. He turned to see Beth standing by the fire, glaring at him as if he were the very devil. At his feet was a small, silver candlestick. His eyes darted to the mantle where a much bigger and heavier looking candlestick sat, and he supposed it could have been worse. Still, why the hell was she throwing things at him?
“Care to explain?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his head to check for any bumps. None yet, but surely there would be by evening.
Beth’s lips were clamped tightly together. She wasn’t going to explain, that much was clear, and he didn’t care to argue anymore just then. They had things to do, and he wasn’t about to spend time quibbling with her when they should be repairing their crumbling domicile.
He pocketed the candlestick with a tight smile, and patted down the flap. “I’ll just hang on to this, if you don’t mind.” With determined steps, he walked the rest of the way to the door, yelled at Mr. Kerr to send the next person in, and then returned to his place on the settee by his wife.
The more he sat there next to her, the more enraged he became. What the hell was wrong with this woman? He hadn’t even said anything—at least nothing of real importance—nothing that should have gotten him clobbered with a candlestick. His mind replayed his last words...
Bonnie fits the bill quite nicely.
With a start, Michael realized his wife’s rage for exactly what it was. And then he was laughing, unable to stop himself. Good heavens, she was jealous of that little twit! Did she really think him the type to chase after children? After the help? Good God, they’d known each other for years. Why in hell would she think that of him? He’d never demonstrated such a propensity in the past. Perhaps there was something in the Scottish air that was making her lose her mind.
“Something amusing, my lord?”
He stopped laughing to the best of his ability and turned to his wife. Damn, but he wished she’d stop being so angry all the time. He missed the Elizabeth he’d known in London. The one he’d come to care for quite strongly. She allowed him glimpses here and there, but only glimpses, before she put back on her armor.
“Quite,” he said. “But we will discuss it later, for here comes our next candidate.”
Ten
At five o’clock that afternoon, Lizzie sat down in front of her vanity mirror in her bedchamber and stared at the reflection of the redheaded tart that was about to do her hair. Lizzie knew she was being unfair and unreasonable, but she didn't care. She hated the girl already. Every movement she made was calculated, every flick of her wrist as she removed the pins from Lizzie's hair executed with such eloquence that Lizzie wondered if she practiced the movements in her spare time.
Silly ninny! Not efficient at all. Lovely and eloquent but not efficient. Lizzie needed her to go no further to know she wasn't going to do as her maid. It would take forever, with those annoyingly perfect movements, to get the pins out, let alone back in.
“Done!”
Lizzie's head shot up. Blast her! She'd already finished? Lizzie's blond curls tumbled around her shoulders now, down her back, tapering off somewhere near her waist. The girl took a few moments to prepare the necessary accouterments and then set to work. Lizzie closed her eyes, unable to watch. She really couldn't stand this girl or her mannerisms. It wouldn't matter if she gave her the most stunning coiffure that had ever been done in all of English history, she would still refuse her as her maid.
There was no doubt in Lizzie's mind that her husband would dally with the girl were she to remain here, in their home, in their service. No! She couldn't allow him to take this girl's innocence! Yes, that was it. This poor, unsuspecting girl, with no more guile than a newborn puppy, could not be exposed to her husband's lascivious stares and crude advances. Lizzie had to protect her.
Several minutes later, Bonnie gave an awe-inspired sigh and bid Lizzie to open her eyes. Lizzie did, slowly, and mimicked her maid's sigh. Good heavens, it was astonishing. But how could that be? She hadn't really expected the girl to execute one of Britain's most elegant coiffures in history, but somehow, in such a short amount of time, she had.
Precocious chit!
“All right, clearly you are adept with hair, but now you must ready me for dinner. If you can dress me with proficiency, well then...” Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek. She really didn't want to take the girl on, but after another full day of interviews, there really was no one else to fill the position. They were practically in the middle of nowhere and most of the people they'd seen over the last two days were men.
She looked into the startling green eyes of her new maid. Perhaps she should give the girl a chance. After all, she'd been nothing but amiable to her and she did aim to please. Lizzie just hoped she wouldn't aim to please Michael.
“Which gown will you be wearing for dinner this evening, my lady? I'll make sure it's pressed and that all the appropriate jewels and what not are ready as well.”
***
An hour later Lizzie descended the stairs to the first floor and walked to the dining room. She had never been so annoyed in her entire life. The damned tart had done everything to perfection. Her hair, her dress, her jewelry, gloves, everything had been thought of, laid out and put on Lizzie with great efficacy. She now had no choice but to tell Michael they'd be keeping the girl as her personal maid, and that thought nearly made her nauseous. The last thing she wanted was to admit he'd been right.
Lizzie pushed open the door to the dining room and stopped short when she saw it was empty. No fire in the grate, no candles or place settings on the table. The only light came from the quickly fading sun. How odd.
She turned her gaze to the clock on the mantle. Six thirty. They'd eaten at this time every night. Where was everyone?
Before she could set off down the hall to check the drawing room, she caught sight of a large, black spider making its way across the white linen table runner. Her blood froze in her veins and her limbs turned to stone. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
And then there was another. And another. Oh, dear God, the place was infested! She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn't move. She stood there, trembling, for an indeterminate amount of time before she heard a panicked voice call out her name.
“Beth!” Michael was at her side in an instant, wedging himself between her and the doorway and slamming the doors shut at his back. “You’re early.”
Coming to her senses, she blinked her eyes and met with Michael’s concerned gaze. “What do you mean, early?” she asked, irritation infusing her tone. “It’s six thirty, is it not?”
“Yes, but I meant to intercept you before you left your room. I went to retrieve you and Bonnie informed me you’d gone already.”
Humph! Bonnie. Lizzie scowled at her husband. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“We’ve a slight problem in the dining room. It seems a spider...or two...have laid and um, hatched their eggs.”
A pit the size of England formed in Lizzie’s belly. Her skin went cold and clammy, her eyes blurred and she wasn’t sure if she was going to swoon or throw up. Or both.
Anticipating her imminent dilemma, Michael reached down and scooped her up in his arms. He silently carried her down the hall to the drawing room and deposited her on the sofa before the fire. Lizzie stared blankly ahead and gladly accepted the glass of liquor that was handed to her moments later.
“When did it start?”
Lizzie turned to see Michael sitting next to her. Hi
s fingers played with one of the curls that hung loosely from her coiffure, but he stopped abruptly when she turned to look at him.
“When did what start?”
“This fear of yours. Something must have happened to make you be so frightened of them.”
Lizzie blinked, feeling daft all of a sudden. Why was she so afraid of them? She’d never really thought about it before—just accepted the fact that she was terrified and did her very best to avoid them at all costs.
“I-I don’t know,” she admitted sheepishly.
Michael’s brows rose. “You don’t know?” he repeated. “But you must. You nearly swooned back there. Think, Beth. Can’t you remember anything? A childhood incident? Were you bitten when you were little, perhaps?”
She shook her head back and forth. “No. Not that I know of. The first incident I remember was in Chloe’s treehouse. I was ten or eleven perhaps, and a small spider crawled up the wall. I was instantly afraid and nearly broke my neck trying to climb down the ladder.”
They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Lizzie looked at Michael, her husband, and wondered what he was thinking. Not that she wanted to ask him. What if he was thinking about Bonnie? Or about torturing her by putting spiders in her bed?
“Well,” he finally said, turning to her, “we can’t risk you breaking that pretty little neck of yours over some silly spiders, can we?”
“No?” she replied, taken off guard by his beguiling smile.
“Of course not! It’s far too lovely a neck.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” Lizzie managed. “But I’ve been afraid of spiders my whole life. I doubt the fear is simply going to go away.”
“True, true.” Michael tapped his chin with his finger as he regarded her through narrowed eyes.
Lizzie’s stomach turned queasy. “What are you thinking, Michael?” she asked slowly, unsure of whether or not she really wanted an answer.
In an instant, Michael was on his feet, crossing the room and tugging the bell pull.
Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 6
