The Marriage Bargain (13 page)

“But Lord Weston,” Isobel began. “Surely it isn’t safe to start poking about on your own. And I do not like to think of what might happen if Sir Harry gets wind of your plan. He is a dangerous man.”

“As am I, dear lady.” Alfred smiled and kissed her hand.

Isobel looked imploringly at Beckett. “But there must be another way.”

“Lord Palmerston’s men will be back from Chilton in a few days,” explained Beckett. “We must be safely on our way before they return to London.”

“But what if Alfred doesn’t find any proof?”

“Of course I will, dear lady,” Alfred assured her. “I possess a wealth of skills. Isn’t that right, Beckett?”

“Very true, though I doubt most of them have any relevance here.” Beckett saw the worried look in Isobel’s eyes, and took her hand. “Isobel, you must obey me in this. We will be on the next ship bound for Barbados. It is the only choice we have. Besides, I believe the challenge of this situation is part of my earthly trials.”

Isobel smiled slightly.

“As for Alfred, he and I have been getting in and out of trouble together since we met at Oxford. And we always get out, don’t we Alfred?”

“Yes, but I do admit, this raises the challenge to new heights.”

Beckett laughed. “Alfred, please try to contain your confidence in our plan.”

“It is a forgone conclusion. Good will inevitably triumph over evil, and history proves my theory. At least I think it does. It should, or we’d all be in a terrible state. Why, just look at—”

“Oh, enough, Alfred! If I wanted a history lesson, I’d open a book.” He looked back at his bride, who seemed unaccustomed to making light of serious topics.

“Of course, we’ll be leaving London as quietly as possible. And we’ll book passage under assumed names. Alfred, I’ll need you to spread the word that I’ve gone off to Dublin. I shall have to return to the house briefly to have a trunk packed for my ‘trip to Ireland.’ That will include a few dresses for you, Isobel. But we must both travel lightly. You won’t be needing ball gowns where we’re going.”

Isobel smiled soberly. “You can be assured that fashionable dress is the furthest thing from my mind.”

Beckett turned to his friend. “Now remember, Alfred, I shan’t tell the new house staff anything. Sir Harry may find some way to get information out of them, and if he thinks they know anything he’s more likely to use stronger methods. The less they know, the better. I shall have to tell Hartley, though, as you may need his assistance in your investigation. We’ll spend at least a month or so in Barbados. When we return, hopefully you’ll have gathered enough evidence to refute this ludicrous murder charge against Isobel. And do me a favor, Alfred—look in on the pets from time to time, will you? I don’t want Hartley to get overrun. And Alfred. Be careful.”

Alfred chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, old man. You know it is Sir Harry Lennox who should be careful.”

Isobel inhaled the strong, clean smell of the sea. Overhead, the gulls’ cries made an eerie music.

How on earth had fate brought her to this place? Here she stood at the Portsmouth dock, about to journey to a tropical island with a man who had found her in an alley. Good Lord, what strange twists and turns life could take.

They boarded the ship, and Beckett introduced her to the captain, using their assumed names. They were travelling as Mr. and Mrs. Cox, well-to-do merchants from London. She had still been trying to get used to being called the countess of Ravenwood, and now she had another name to answer to.

At last, the ropes that moored them to the wharf were cast off and the ship was moving through the gray-blue waters. Isobel stood beside Beckett at the starboard side and waved goodbye to Alfred, who bid farewell from the dock.

So much of this plan rested on her husband’s friend’s shoulders. But Alfred, who appeared so light-hearted and genteel, had a mind as strong and sharp as a sword. Her husband had sworn to it.

Isobel would depend upon that sword to fight the battle for her here in England, while she was spirited safely away. It seemed strange that she no longer had to defend herself, and that others were willing to stand by her. But it felt good.

The ship’s captain, Mayfield, took them on a brief tour of the craft and Isobel was glad for the distraction.

She found herself fascinated with the rhythm of the huge vessel. Its sailors all seemed to work together effortlessly, as if they could hear each other without speaking. From time to time, the bosun would call out orders, and the sailors would respond with feline agility and grace. They flew up and down the rigging as if it were more natural to them than walking upright.

But more striking than the rhythm of the crew was something entirely different: a large black-and-white cat. She supposed that cats were not uncommon upon seagoing vessels, what with the mice, but this cat in particular seemed strange; it surveyed the crew as if it were his own. She wondered if perhaps the animal was friendly.

As she stood there, wondering at the beast, it met her eyes. The cat stared at her intently from across the deck, and Isobel felt strangely unnerved. She glanced away. Had that been intelligence in its eyes?

Obviously, her misadventures had to be taking their toll on her, if she were imagining such things.

When she looked back, the cat was gone. She returned her attention to Captain Mayfield.

At last the captain returned to his duties, leaving Beckett and Isobel standing together on deck. She looked up at her husband as he surveyed the ship. An uncomfortable silence thickened the air between them.

She wondered what would happen, now. Although he had assured her of his protection, she had sensed Beckett distancing himself from her since she’d explained Edward Langley’s death.

He hadn’t mentioned her guardian’s name since then, or the other sordid circumstances leading to this impromptu journey. And yet the silent questions stood between them like a wall. The jesting and flirting they had enjoyed at the Whitcomb ball were gone.

Certainly, he had not kissed her since.

The wind lifted Beckett’s hair with invisible fingers, taunting Isobel to reach out and do the same. But she knew that was impossible now. He had stood by her out of duty, not because of any feeling he had for her. It would do no good to become sentimental about a relationship that would never be.

As the ship left Portsmouth harbor, they were shown to their quarters. Their cabin was spacious enough to accommodate them both, though of course, it held only one bed. And though they had already shared a bed inadvertently, it would be very different indeed to sleep next to him tonight, now that they were man and wife.

Dinner was brought to their door and they ate it without ceremony. Then Beckett produced a deck of cards, and enticed her to play ecarte. With the maelstrom of thoughts that swam in her head, she welcomed the diversion.

They played countless games, until Isobel found her eyes watering as she tried fruitlessly to ward off the heaviness of sleep.

“You look tired, my dear.” Beckett put down his cards. “It has been a long day. Shall we go to bed?”

Isobel looked up at him, her blood suddenly racing. “To bed?”

“Yes. I am tired as well.” Beckett stood up, his expression remote. “I suppose it is a good thing that we are married, isn’t it—seeing as there is only one bed? We can sleep in it together with a clear conscience.”

Isobel stared at the bunk they were to share as if it were engulfed in flames. They had not shared a normal-sized bed as man and wife, and this one looked unable to accommodate two. Surely he would make some alternate arrangement.

She looked back at Beckett who was now pulling off his shirt. Though she tried to tear her gaze away, she couldn’t help but stare as he pulled the white shirt up over his head. The lamplight gave his skin a golden glow, and accentuated the powerful muscles of his arms and stomach. The sight of his body astounded her, sent waves of heat washing through her in a most distracting fashion.

“Come here,” he said.

Unable or unwilling to refuse, Isobel obeyed. He raised his hands toward her slowly, cupping her shoulders in a warm, solid grip. What was he doing? Their agreement was one of conven—

He turned her around, sliding his hands slowly down to the little cluster of buttons that fastened the upper part of her dress. He began to undo them.

“I thought you might need help, without a maid to undress you.” He eased the garment apart and slid his hands in, easing the dress down just over her chemise. Then he twisted her around again, and after an excruciatingly long moment, released her. “I think you can manage the rest.”

Confused, Isobel searched his eyes. He seemed to be holding something back, just behind the impenetrable walls of his stormy-blue eyes.

What did he want from her?

She turned around and searched for her nightdress, and finally found it. She hesitated for a long moment, but there was nowhere to hide in such limited space. Reluctantly, Isobel faced the fact that she would have to disrobe in front of her husband. As she squirmed out of her clothes, she felt her face flush with heat.

As fast as she could, Isobel shimmied out of her dress and chemise and threw the night rail over her head. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Beckett had climbed into bed. At least he’d had the decency to face the wall as she approached. Gingerly, she turned down the lamp. Feeling much braver in the dark, Isobel pulled back the covers and slipped between them as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Then she lay on her back near the edge of the bed and waited.

And waited.

She listened to Beckett breathing.

Her whole body seemed to be acutely aware of the hard warm masculine presence next to her. It was to be expected, she thought, having never slept next to a man before. But she would not let him know. Not after he’d made this whole business so embarrassing for her….

She heard her husband’s breathing take on a new tone. It was lower, deeper, and calmer.

Devil take him, he was snoring! Her husband, whose very presence made her tingle with awareness of this, their first night together in bed, was snoring.

Well, if that didn’t just take the flip. The lumping dandy-prat was asleep!

Beckett looked out over the railing, marvelling at the beauty of the ever-changing sea. It calmed him to watch the movement of the gray-blue water, whose only constant was its never-ceasing movement. Like life itself, it made no promises to anyone.

He turned his head and saw Isobel approaching. The sight of her, as ethereal as an angel, sent a wash of heat through his body.

Damn and blast!

She was his wife, a complete mystery who had been implicated in horrible goings-on, yet here he was mooning over her as if he were a youth and she a beautiful chorus girl.

She came to stand close by, favoring him with a smile and the sparkle of her warm brown eyes. Then she looked out over the beckoning sea, and let her arm brush against his as she leaned on the railing.

Beckett regarded her, so calm and composed beside him. At first glance she would seem the embodiment of innocence and purity, but was she indeed the innocent victim she appeared to be? There were certainly some claims that should make him question such a notion.

And yet, Beckett felt his gut tighten at even the notion of abandoning her. He could never fully dampen the flame of passion that she stirred in him, or fight the powerful conviction that because he had found her, she now belonged totally to him.

He would protect her.

Or die trying.

“There is something you never told me, Beckett.” Isobel’s voice came softly as the breeze itself.

He looked down at her. Against his will he reached for a golden tendril that floated in the wind. Then his hand cupped her face, and he brushed his thumb against her delicate skin.

“Told you what, Isobel?” he whispered.

“Why?” She looked up at him beseechingly, searching his face for the answer she sought. “Why did you bring me home that night?”

He saw something in her eyes that made a knot form in his heart.

Why had he helped her? He had asked himself the same question as he’d undressed and bathed her that night, and as he’d ducked from the clock she’d thrown at him, as he’d stood next to her at the altar and taken her as his wife.

And still the answer eluded him.

Was it her beauty that had captured him and taken him prisoner? It was more than his habit of helping strays, he knew.

He curved his arm around her narrow waist and pulled her close. He felt his passion flare as their bodies touched, and fought to control it. “Do I have to give you a reason?”

She nodded.

“Then perhaps it was because I wanted to hold you in my arms and do this.” He covered her mouth with his own, and felt her lips tremble as he kissed her. He felt his own desire building, and imagined what would happen if he let it run unchecked. He could take her down to their cabin right now. She was his wife. He had every right. And somehow he knew she would not protest.

He kissed her hungrily, as if she were the only nourishment his body would ever, could ever need.

Oh, how he wanted her beneath him, naked and open and weak with desire—desire for him.

It frightened him how much he wanted it.

She stirred dangerous feelings in him, powerful feelings—and if he fed them with the taste of her in his arms, shaking with desire as he loved her, he might lose himself.

He broke the kiss, but still held her close.

“There, Isobel.” He brushed away a silken curl from her cheek. “That is the only answer I can give you.”

She studied him for a moment with eyes that seemed to see far too much for his liking.

“Your answer only raises more questions, Beckett. For both of us.”

An uneasy silence remained between Beckett and Isobel for the remainder of the voyage.

As husband and wife, they maintained a cordial atmosphere that Isobel considered might be quite common to any marriage. But beneath that calm veneer lurked the shadows of the past, like a great sea-monster that swims below a ship—far too deep to be seen—and yet still posing a dangerous threat.