Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (23 page)

"Let this be a lesson to you, Hal," said the marquess, and Beth knew he was referring to the spilling of secrets, not the war.

"Point taken. But I don't think Miss Armitage will take it amiss that you like to use your brain."

The marquess looked at Beth thoughtfully. "I wonder. Being very clever herself, she might have thought to outsmart me now and then."

Beth colored at this piece of perception. "I still do expect that," she said saucily. "Now and then."

"A challenge!" said Beaumont. "I wouldn't care to lay odds on the winner either."

"I would," said Miss Swinnamer complacently with a malicious glance at Beth. "Mama says a lady never wins by besting a gentleman in anything."

"Well, Miss Swinnamer," said Beth politely. "I am sure it is a pleasure to us all to know you will never cause your Mama any anxiety in that regard."

The marquess choked on a mouthful of wine. The beauty was still puzzling over the strange remark when the marquess and Beth left the table."When I think I was close to offering for her, I shudder," he said, still fighting laughter.

"Why were you going to offer for someone with whom you have so little in common?"

He shrugged. "It was my duty to marry and I didn't seem to be the type to fall in love. Phoebe Swinnamer is the sort of girl I was supposed to marry—well-born, well-dowered, beautiful and... perfectly amiable."

"Because she has been trained to be," said Beth pointedly, knowing that in that list of qualities she scored a round nothing.

He smiled at her and shook his head. "Not one of your failings, as we are both aware."

"I am perfectly amiable," retorted Beth, "unless I am given reason not to be."

"You are a shrew," said the marquess, amusement still softening his face. "Don't fly into alt about it. I'm coming to like it well enough." With that he handed her over to her next partner, leaving Beth not a little off balance.

Eventually, at four in the morning, the affair was over and Beth could seek her bed. As she slipped between the sheets exhausted, she wandered through memories of the evening, confused by it all. Moments of affinity, moments of strife.

As the maid walked toward the door, Beth asked, "Do you know anything about doves of Drury Lane, Redcliff?"

"No, miss. I've only been to London the once and never visited a theater. I suppose they have them in cages, for decoration like."

"Yes. But it's all very strange," said Beth as she drifted off to sleep.

Redcliff happened to mention this strange conversation the next morning at the upper servant's breakfast. She was surprised when Hughes, the marquess's very proper valet, took her aside afterwards.

"If I were you, Miss Redcliff," he said. "I would dissuade Miss Armitage from speaking of doves of Drury Lane."

"Why, Mr. Hughes?"

The man pursed his lips. "Let us just say that the White Dove of Drury Lane is a particular favorite of the marquess's. If you see what I mean."

The maid flushed. "I do indeed. Oh, the poor dear! And who would put such a thing into her head?"

"Exactly what I was wondering. And so will his lordship if it comes to his ears."

* * *

Lucien, however, had forgotten Beth's comment. He was more concerned with other matters, and before he collapsed into bed he sat down and scribbled a note to Nicholas Delaney.

Dear Nicholas,

Deveril turned up at my betrothal ball. I thought he'd fled with Madame, but he must have straightened things out with the authorities. Thought you should know. He's as nasty as ever.

L de V

He arranged for it to be dispatched to Grattingley, home of Nicholas's twin brother, Lord Stainbridge.

He didn't know why the intrusion of Lord Deveril made him so uneasy, other than the man was evil with very low and nasty tastes. It was a natural instinct not to want such a specimen within miles of one's home, but there was more to it than that.

Deveril had been entwined with Thérèse Bellaire in her plot to trick Napoleonic sympathizers out of their money. Lucien had gained the impression that Deveril had also had something to do with Eleanor Delaney in the days when she'd been living with her loathsome worm of a brother. There was certainly no love lost between Nicholas and Deveril.

They had all assumed Lord Deveril had fled with Thérèse Bellaire to enjoy their ill-gotten gains and their shared taste for depravity. His reemergence raised worrying questions.

Chapter 11

Beth rose the next morning feeling wrung out. Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted sour, and the negative aspects of the previous evening sat solidly at the front of her mind.

Why could she not act a prim and proper innocent? Perhaps she should take lessons from Miss Swinnamer's mama. Why could the marquess not see that a fighting spirit and a little worldly wisdom did not make her a trollop?

She remembered what he had said about her being a shrew. He couldn't really like a shrew. He couldn't like someone he didn't trust, and he had shown on the terrace that he didn't trust her at all.

She sighed bitterly. It seemed to be as he had said. Words once spoken had a life of their own. They could not be unsaid. Every time Beth and the marquess were on edge, that dreadful evening on the terrace came back to haunt them.

On top of her misery at this was her anger that he made no claim to purity of any kind and yet felt free to castigate her for some vague form of misdoing. She knew he was behaving according to his code, but the temptation to lash out at him was tremendous.

And then, of course, she would be called a shrew.

The duchess sent for Beth to share a late breakfast in her suite, and she felt obliged to go. Some bread and coffee made her feel better, but the duchess's cheerful chatter was hard to respond to.

"I was pleased to see you and Lucien so at ease," the duchess said. "His few days in Town did him good, as I knew they would. He's more himself and that should make it easier for you, my dear. And there isn't much more of this falderol to endure. We have a week of festivities here, culminating in the reception for all the local people, and then we will remove to London. Then it will be only two weeks to your wedding."

Two weeks. Buttered bun turned to sawdust in Beth's mouth. She had known the date set for the event, but now it loomed frighteningly close. "It is all rather rushed," she protested. "It will cause talk."

"Yes, but the duke wants it done," said the duchess apologetically. "And your first child will be born after the nine months, so the speculation will end then."

Beth swallowed, and the duchess looked at her with shrewd eyes. "My dear, do you know about marriage? I feel I stand in the place of a mother to you."

"I know all about marriage," said Beth hastily and then saw the shock in the duchess's eyes. "I mean, I have read widely."

"What extraordinary books you must come across," the duchess remarked. "But even so it is easy to be... confused on such a subject. My older daughter, Maria, thought that the act of sleeping in a bed with a man caused babies. By the time I talked to her, she had already convinced Graviston that they should have separate bedrooms because she snored. She thought her troubles were over."

Beth was aghast. "How could you force her into such a distasteful marriage?"

"Distasteful?" said the duchess. "Oh no, it was a love match. But Maria felt, being but eighteen, that she did not want children just yet. Having heard that 'sleeping together' caused babies," the duchess explained with a twinkle, "she thought she could have Graviston's kisses and all they promised without consequences."

Beth desperately wanted to ask whether she could have the babies without the kisses and all they promised, but she lowered her eyes.

The duchess looked at the young woman thoughtfully. "Do you know, Elizabeth, I think I will you give you my little talk anyway. Books can be so unreliable."

And she did so.

Beth listened, wide-eyed. So that was what "making a meal of it" meant.

In the end, rosy-cheeked and with the picture of Venus and Mars in her mind, Beth protested, "But surely all this... this playing around is not necessary?"

"Not necessary, no," said the duchess calmly. "But if I thought Lucien would neglect such courtesies I would be very cross with him. Leaving aside any question of your pleasure, they are necessary for your comfort."

Beth remembered a thumb cold-bloodedly rubbing against her nipple and the effect it had achieved, and raised her hands to her heated cheeks. "Oh, I would much rather not!"

The duchess came over and gathered her into her arms. "Oh my dear, I am sorry to have distressed you. As I said, my daughters' matches were love matches, and though they were a little nervous, they did not go to their marriage beds afraid. I can see how it is different for you and Lucien, thrown together as you are."

She patted Beth's shoulder and her tone lightened. "But count your blessings, Elizabeth. He is a very handsome man, well-trained in courtesy. You must find him a little bit appealing, yes?"

Beth shook her head. It was not so much a denial as a gesture of despair at his undoubted physical appeal which she did not welcome at all.

The duchess sighed. "Then I would ask you to think that it is much the same for him." When Beth looked at her in surprise she explained, "Certainly he is not a virgin, but he must come to you without love. If he is sharp at times, remember his nerves are stretched, too."

Beth wished she could bring herself to tell the duchess what she had done and seek her counsel, but it would shock her so. It was impossible.

After that explicit description of the intimacies of marriage, it was also impossible to face the man with whom she would be doing these things. Beth took to her bed, claiming a sick headache.

Over the next days Beth dutifully appeared at public functions and stood by Lord Arden's side as they listened to deputations from this place and that, all expressing the warmest best wishes for the future. All these speeches also mentioned their wish for the speedy production of an heir to Belcraven. As the horrible Lord Deveril had said, the purpose of marriage was quite clear to all.

Beth could only think of the means of getting that heir.

After one of these events, her husband-to-be waylaid her before she could escape back to her apartments. "You are doing wonders for my reputation," he said with a smile, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. "All these worthy souls know an admirable woman when they see one. They are not used to thinking me to have such sense."

He was trying to be kind, but Beth's nerves were sensitized beyond bearing and she tried to pull away.

He would not release her. "Walk with me," he said, still kindly, but implacably.

Beth had little choice but to stroll with him toward the yew walk.

"You must not be afraid of me, Elizabeth," he said bluntly.

"Is that a command?" she asked. She had intended it to be light, but it came out deadly serious. She looked anxiously up at him. It was as if she had lost the connection between her will and her words.

He was frowning slightly, but with puzzlement, not anger. "What has happened to you recently, Elizabeth? You're like a whip-shy horse. Has someone done or said something to upset you?"

"No," said Beth quickly, too quickly. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the duchess's explanation of the marriage act. To move the conversation on she asked, "What would you do with a whip-shy horse?"

"Feed it to the hounds?"

"What!" Then she saw the teasing light in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Of course I'd try to repair the damage first." He stopped and turned to face her, putting a hand up to cradle the side of her face.

Beth flinched and tried to pull away. He tightened his hold. "For God's sake, stop that! What's the matter with you?"

The matter was that every intimacy made her think of Venus and Mars. She had no notion of how to deal with it graciously and was terrified of where it might lead. "I don't like to be handled," she said stiffly, his hand a burning brand against the side of her neck.