Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

She gave him a sultry smile and slipped from his embrace to make her way to her new instrument. Before she sat, she stroked her fingers along the shiny wood of the encasement, causing a sudden strain against the front of Michael's trousers. What he wouldn't give to lay her down on top of that piano, to feel her stroke him as she stroked the piano...

  He blinked to attention as music began to fill the room. He hadn't even noticed she'd sat and opened the lid. As she began to sing, he sauntered to her side and leaned against the edge of the piano with a laugh.

  She was playing La cidarem la mano. The song he'd been singing the day of their arrival to ruffle her feathers. The first song he ever heard her sing that told him of her exceptional talents. He hadn't expected her to be a consummate pianist as well, but she accompanied herself with ease and style.

  “Won't you sing with me?” she asked as her fingers flitted over the keys.

  Michael knew he had a terrible singing voice, but he wasn't about to miss the chance to sing with his little lark. And so they stayed there all afternoon, until their stomachs grumbled with hunger, singing and laughing together, and making merry music.

  ***

  After dinner that evening, Bonnie awaited Beth in her room to help her out of her gown and into her nightrail. Beth's mind wandered to their afternoon while Bonnie undid the tiny buttons at the back of her dress. She still couldn't believe the beautiful piano Michael had bought for her. She'd forgotten how important music was to her life until she began to stroke her fingers over the keys. Until she began to sing with her husband.

  She smiled at the memory and Bonnie must have noticed the change in her demeanor.

  “Ya had a good day, milady?” she asked as she took her corset from her and hung it in the wardrobe.

  Beth nodded. “A wonderful day.”

  “Then I take it ya haven't gotten around to asking his lordship about the witch.”

  Bonnie's tone held a hint of accusation, but Beth wouldn't let it spoil her mood. And she hadn't wanted to spoil her afternoon with Michael by telling him she now wanted him to find her a witch. It sounded absurd, even to her own ears. Mediums, witches, ghosts, giant monsters at the bottom of a lake...perhaps they had fallen into an alternate universe.

  Beth gave a snort at the thought. They had fallen into an alternate universe and it was called Scotland.

  “No, I haven't,” she finally admitted. “I will, though, when the time is right.”

  “If ya don't mind my sayin', I think ya ought to say something sooner than later. You've only got two days until the séance, and ya don't want much time to pass before ya have the place cleansed.”

  Wishing to dispense of the conversation, Beth dismissed Bonnie and finished preparing for bed alone. She had been so determined to tell Michael about the need for a witch that morning, but when she saw the piano, she knew she wouldn't be able to tell him today. Everything was just too perfect, too wonderful, to ruin it with more talk of that silly ghost! Perhaps that was why everyone fled. The frustration was beginning to outweigh her fear, and part of her wanted to leave it all behind.

  Of course, another part of her refused to be bested by a dead woman!

  A soft knock came at the adjoining panel between hers and Michael's rooms just before it slid open. Michael stepped through. He was already in his robe, clearly ready for bed, and carried two tumblers of scotch in his hands.

  “I thought we might enjoy a little night cap before we turn in,” he said as he sauntered in her direction.

  She rose from her vanity stool to greet him and take the whisky. She didn't much care for the taste, but perhaps it would help her to sleep better tonight. Perhaps it would keep that ghost from her dreams.

  They nestled onto the settee by the fire. Beth settled into the crook of Michael's arm and closed her eyes as his hand played with the wispy strands of hair at her temples. She could stay like this forever. No other-worldly disturbances. No societal rules telling her what to do or how to behave. No reprobate brothers or meddling maids. Just her and Michael. Forever.

  “So what is it that Bonnie is so eager for you to talk to me about,” Michael said, bringing the perfect moment to an abrupt end.

  She stilled in his arms. What had he heard, she wondered? She opted to evade with a little giggle and a tossed off, “Oh, nothing important, darling!”

  She felt his arm raise and his Adams apple move as he took a swig of his scotch. He let out a loud breath as he lowered the glass again. “Come now, Beth, I know there's something going on. Your maid and your brother are being awfully obvious, encouraging me to 'go and have a talk with you' at every turn. And I heard Bonnie say something just a few minutes ago about telling me sooner than later.”

  Beth stayed still and closed her eyes, wishing she could put it off until morning, but knowing she couldn't. During her brief silence, it became apparent that Michael had drawn the wrong conclusion. He inhaled sharply, but she could hear the smile in that breath, feel the excitement in his body all of a sudden.

  “Oh, good gracious, Michael, I'm not pregnant!” she exclaimed, slamming back the last of her scotch and then turning to face him. “But can't we please talk about this in the morning? I promise if it was anything so important—” or terrifying, “as a baby, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you.”

  He stared back at her, his eyes dark with lust, and she felt the color rush to her cheeks. Would she always feel this way? When they were sixty and he gave her that look, would she still feel butterflies in her stomach and heat in her cheeks? She certainly hoped so.

  She gave him a sultry smile, aware that it was the best possible way to get his mind off of what she had to talk to him about. Indeed it took little persuasion to get him from the sitting area to her bed, and once she'd had her way with him, they both fell fast asleep.

  Until, of course, Beth awoke from a horrific nightmare. It wasn't her ghost who had visited her. As a matter of fact, she couldn't really say what the dream was about. Only that it disturbed her too much to be able to fall back to sleep. The clock on the mantel, and the slow dissipation of blackness outside the window, told her it wasn't long before sunrise, so at least she'd slept most of the night.

  She blinked her eyes until they adjusted to the waning gloom and settled on the book sitting on her nightstand. She hadn't read all the stories that were there yet; she'd merely skimmed through the book, picking and choosing the tales at random. Since she didn't have anything else to do at this time of morning, Beth decided to pick up the book and read until she either scared herself to death or fell back to sleep.

  Thirty-Two

  Michael awoke to the unwelcome sight of his wife staring intently at that damned book. She was going to scare herself half out of her wits and then he'd have to figure out a way to calm her down without it seeming like he didn't believe her.

  He sighed, loudly, but she didn't budge. Her eyes didn't even flicker from the page. This was not how he wanted to start his day. He wanted to wake with her sleeping soundly in his arms. He wanted to feel her body warm and suppliant against his, not sitting up, halfway across the bed from him.

  Annoyed, he reached out and tried to grab the book from her hands, but her fingers were clamped hard at the bottom, and she jerked it back with ease. Finally, she turned to look at him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, blinking with apparent irritation.

  Michael lifted onto one elbow and rested his head in his hand. He held the other hand out. “Hand it over,” he demanded, hoping she saw the twinkle of playfulness in his eyes. He didn't want to start an argument, after all. He just wanted to have a few quiet moments with his wife before the day began.

  “Michael, I'm reading,” she said, and turned immediately back to the book.

  “I can see that.” He came to a fully sitting position. “But I'd rather you weren't.”

  “You can't always have your way, you know?” Her eyes were focused on the book, but he knew she wasn't reading. She was trying to keep from smiling at her rebuke
.

  Of course, he could have his way...and he would. Slowly, he reached his hand out and found her nipple, already taught—perhaps from the chilliness of the room, or perhaps she'd been anticipating this—and squeezed it ever so lightly. Beth shrunk down into the pillows with a little squeal and giggled.

  “Stop,” she cried through her laughter.

  “Stop what?” he asked, moving closer to her and continuing his ministrations on her breasts. “Trying to seduce you?”

  “Trying to get me to do your bidding by using seduction,” she corrected. “It won't work.”

  “Won't it?” He lowered his head and clamped his mouth over her nipple, still covered in the fine gauze of her nightrail. As expected, she moaned and slid further into the pillows. That's better.

  “Michael,” she groaned as he pulled the sleeves of her gown down over her shoulders. “Wait!”

  He typically would have ignored her demand, but there was a slight edge of desperation that made him stop what he was doing—with great reluctance—and look up to meet her gaze.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “It's just that there is something I must ask you and I can't allow myself to be distracted or I'll never ask it.”

  “Can it not wait a few minutes?”

  “No, it can't.”

  He sighed, supposing it had been too much to hope for. Accepting defeat, he replaced her sleeves to her shoulders and then rolled off the bed. Once he'd found and donned his robe and rung for breakfast, he turned to his wife. She still sat upon the bed, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, her lips parted in apparent dismay. Damn it, but his erection was painfully hard. If he continued to look at her in her early morning state of dishabille, he'd never be able to leave the room.

  “Well,” he finally said, turning his attention to the clock on the mantle that told him it was just after eight thirty, “go on.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Ah, well...the thing is...erm...” Her brow furrowed into a worried frown as she closed the book and set it aside. “You see, I'm afraid we must do more than just a simple séance to rid ourselves of our ghost.”

  Oh, good Lord! Michael groaned aloud—loud enough for Beth to hear—and leveled her with a threatening stare. Of course, that didn't bother her any. She never took his threatening stares as seriously as he would have liked.

  “Don't give me that look,” she admonished. “This is very important. Everyone has told me so.”

  “Everyone?”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “Well, almost everyone.”

  Ah. Bonnie. Since when did his wife take advice from that little chit? A week ago she was throwing candlesticks at him to keep her out of their employ. Now they'd apparently become the best of friends. He wanted desperately to understand his wife, but he wondered if perhaps that was a futile endeavor.

  “This is about last night, isn't it?” he asked, remembering that his wife had used seduction to keep him from asking any more questions. He had to admit, she beat him at his own game, and that was to be commended.

  “We need to hire a witch!” she blurted out and then clamped her lips shut tight as she awaited his response.

  Of course, he had no immediate response. Not one he should voice, anyhow. Bloody hell, this was getting out of hand.

  With as much calmness as he could muster, Michael asked, “Pray, my dear, dear Elizabeth, what on earth do we need with a witch? Isn't that essentially what Madam Rosa is?”

  “Oh, no!” his wife exclaimed, her blue eyes turning round in her perfect face. “They are very different...well, according to Bonnie, anyhow. You see,” she said as she jumped from the bed, crossed the room and pulled him to the settee with her, “Madam Rosa will get rid of the ghost, but she won't prevent others from taking up residence.”

  Michael's traitorous lips began to twitch with laughter. Taking up residence? She must have been joking! Though, her murderous stare spoke volumes to the contrary.

  He cleared his throat and silently promised he would hear her out.

  “The house must be cleansed, Michael! It simply must be or another ghost will move in!”

  “Beth, where the devil am I supposed to find a bloody witch?” he asked, breaking his promise and losing his patience.

  “I don't know,” she admitted, her tone clipped with annoyance. What right did she have to be annoyed? “And don't you dare bloody curse at me!”

  He rose an eyebrow, fighting the urge to...to what? To laugh? To yell at her? To throw her on the bed? Or throw her in the dungeon?

  “Rather hypocritical to curse at someone while demanding they not curse at you, don't you think?”

  Oh, God. This was not going to be pretty. He'd stoked her ire—again—and he thought it might be in his best interest to seek shelter. Either that or collect any and all heavy, blunt, sharp or pointy objects and hide them from her view.

  “I thought you cared to take this seriously,” she said, nostrils flaring. “This is important, Michael, and until you realize that, well...I want you out.”

  Well, this was unexpected. And entirely unwelcome.

  “Out?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows and planting her with a menacing glance.

  “You heard me. I will find the witch on my own and you will...stay out of my room.” She said the last with a hint of weariness, as if she didn't really want to say it. So, why did she?

  Well, he was done giving in to her. He was done placating her and giving in to her every whim for mediums and witches and whatever else it was she demanded of him. He'd been more than patient with her. More than accommodating. But now she was trying to hit him where it really hurt: right smack dab in his groin. Literally and figuratively. But he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurt. Or that he even cared.

  “If that is what you wish, my lady,” he gave her a curt bow, not bothering to even make eye contact, “I bid you good day.”

  Thirty-Three

  Beth hated herself more in that moment than she'd ever hated herself before. Why was she being like this? Why was she acting irrationally and banning her husband from her bedroom for something so silly as a witch?

  In her mind, she knew she was being ridiculous and that she was punishing herself as well. But her emotions were high and she'd said many things just then that she knew, even in the moment, she ought not have said.

  But it wasn't silly, really. Not to her, at least! She'd gotten precious little sleep since they'd been here—well over a month now. The circles under her eyes grew darker by the day. If her mother could see her now, she would dissolve into an apoplexy. Appearance meant everything...

  Beth shook her head. What did appearance matter now? She was already married and she lived in the middle of nowhere practically. She had no one to impress, especially now that even her husband wasn't speaking to her.

  With a heavy sigh, she slumped back against the settee and turned her head lazily to the empty spot beside her. The spot where Michael had been just moments earlier. Moments before he gave her an annoyingly curt bow and, in the most horrid tone she'd ever heard from him, acquiesced to her request.

  “Stupid ninny,” she muttered to herself. And then, because she couldn't muster the energy to dress or to even speak with anyone just then, she padded across the rug to her bed, curled up under the covers and went to sleep.

  But even in the light of day, her ghost would not leave her alone. The red-haired specter came to her in her sleep again, only this time her stomach bulged with the obvious signs of impregnation.

  “I feel it,” she said in her far away, but oh-so-present voice. “My baby.”

  Beth tried to wake herself, but she couldn't. She felt trapped in the dream, trapped by the young woman, cooing and delighting in her baby's kicks. She couldn't say how long she remained in the dream, but by the time she woke, the sun was high in the sky and her stomach rumbled loudly.

  It took her a moment to shake off the dregs of sleep, to remember what had happened before she laid down. To get the imag
e of the woman from her mind...as much as she could, of course.

  It occurred to her that Michael had rung for breakfast earlier, but none had ever come. Perhaps she'd been sleeping by the time it arrived. Or maybe he had intercepted Mrs. Kerr on her way to deliver it.

  Would he have thought to starve her, she wondered?

  She laughed at her foolishness and decided to ring for lunch and for Bonnie. She would have to dress and leave this room sometime today, if for no other reason than to keep her own sanity. She'd never been able to stay put in one place for too long.

  Once she'd dressed and had a bit to eat, she set out to find something to do. She could read, but she didn't feel much like reading just then—she had read all morning, after all. She probably wouldn't be able to keep her mind focused long enough to read even a paragraph, anyhow.

  It was sunny out. Perhaps a walk through the gardens?

  Making up her mind, she found her shawl and then made her way to the back doors of the house. Only to see her husband making his own way through the garden.

  Blast him. He appeared to be inspecting it, rather than enjoying it. Perhaps he meant to have it restored in the spring.

  His gaze turned suddenly to the house, as if he knew someone was watching him, and Beth jumped behind one of the long velvet drapes. She waited a moment, and then peeked out again, but he was gone.

  Humph. If he thought to run from her, it wasn't necessary. She didn't want to see him as much as he didn't want to see her.

  She retreated back towards the front of the manor, still contemplating what to do with so many empty hours ahead of her, when she remembered she had a lovely new piano at her disposal. A smile came to her lips and she sighed, a happy, contented sigh of relief that she had, at long last, found something to pass away the lonely hours ahead.

  On quick feet, she scurried down the hallway and through the music room door, then shut it snugly behind her. It was completely quiet on this end of the house. She could probably stay here for hours and no one would bother her.