Company Of Rogues: An Unwilling Bride Part 18

He placed her gla.s.s on a table and caught her up, staying her with a hand on her arm. "I claim precedence," he said. "What's the matter?" He studied her features for a moment then said, "Ah, the dreadful prospect of the marriage bed. More maidenly modesty?" The familiar bitter edge was back in his voice.

"That is surely not unreasonable?"

"It's d.a.m.ned inconvenient," he said, and she could tell the use of the word d.a.m.ned was deliberate. "You will have to make up your mind, sweeting, whether you wish to be treated as a delicate bloom, to be protected from all crudity, even the need-especially the need-to think. Or whether you wish to be treated as an equal."

"As an equal," said Beth instantly. "But that surely does not disallow a little maidenly modesty, my lord. Does a man not suffer some qualms before a new event? A duel, for example?"

He took her at her word. "I'm a virgin," he said. "In the matter of duels, that is. Is that how you regard our wedding night? Pistols at twenty paces?" The mischievous twinkle she was coming to know too well entered his eyes. "Wrestling would be nearer the mark," he murmured. "Or a sword fight."

Beth could feel herself color but knew she had no right to complain. She'd asked for this. "I hope that peace, not combat, will mark our marriage bed."

He was serious again. "If you are as honest as you claim to be, Elizabeth, blood will mark our marriage bed. Blood is not usually a product of peace."

If she had been pink before, Beth knew now she must be pale. His words were perfectly true and yet there was a hint of violence, and a reminder of his lingering doubts.

He sighed and took her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. I've been trained to treat women one way, and you are asking for something different. No matter how much of a st.u.r.dy plant you wish to be, I think it would be wiser for me to treat you as a delicate bloom for a little while yet. You may be made of steel, but my nerves aren't up to the strain."

He led her into the ballroom where a county dance was in progress which could easily be joined. He wove them adroitly into the pattern.

"For a little while yet...." Until their wedding night was over, her composure ruthlessly reduced to wild l.u.s.t, her blood spilt, his doubts finally satisfied.

Beth fixed a bright smile and surrendered to the mindlessness of the dance.

From then on he treated her with a warm courtesy which at the same time was chillingly impersonal. Beth missed the brief moments of relaxed conversation but was willing enough to sacrifice them to avoid the quicksands.

Phoebe Swinnamer, too, seemed to have been routed and had all her attention fixed on the young Earl of Bolton who appeared to be as much of a cold stick as herself.

This was some relief, but Beth still had the endless daily round of entertainments at which she was always under curious scrutiny and must always appear to be a lover on the verge of marriage-in the most polite and decorous way, of course.

The marquess occasionally escaped to a club or time with his friends, but Beth had no such relief. One night, to everyone's amazement, she burst into tears as they were about to leave for the theater. Simply because he was closest, she found herself in the marquess' arms.

He settled her on a sofa and kept an arm about her. "Maman, this has to stop," he said.

The duke and d.u.c.h.ess shared a glance.

"Miss Armitage isn't used to this way of life," said the marquess. "It's a strain on me, but it must be far worse for her, surrounded always by strangers. It's less than a week to the wedding. Let her rest. Everyone will understand."

"If she appears to be sickly...." said the d.u.c.h.ess doubtfully.

"Is it any better for her to collapse in public than for her to miss a few events?"

By this time Beth had pulled herself together. "Please," she said, quite touched by the marquess' concern. "I am recovered now."

"No, you're not," he said roughly. "You're as white as a sheet and have black shadows under your eyes." With a touch of humor he added, "You're doing nothing for my reputation as a lover, you know. Go to bed and we'll tell the world you have a cold. Anyone can catch a cold."

Beth took out her tiny lacy handkerchief and blew her nose. "I sound as if I have one," she sniffed.

"Exactly," he said, providing a much larger and more practical one. "Tomorrow you can receive some callers, sniff a lot, and retreat again. If you rouge your nose a little to give it verisimilitude, it should gain you at least two days of peace and quiet."

Beth couldn't help it; she chuckled. "What a master of deceit you are, my lord," she said. She felt the temperature immediately drop.

"Aren't we all?" he replied coolly and rang the bell. Once she was safely in the custody of her maid, the marquess, the duke, and the d.u.c.h.ess took their leave.

Beth was left lying miserably on her bed wondering how every moment of harmony and kindness was soured. Was there any hope for them at all?

His plan did gain her the respite she needed, however. Beth spent two peaceful days in her room, reading and resting. By the time she was "recovered" there were only two more days before the wedding and the d.u.c.h.ess used that fact as a reason to curtail their social activities.

This did not leave Beth with time on her hands, for she was expected to a.s.sist the d.u.c.h.ess in supervising arrangements and had final fittings for her wedding gown. Also, a bewildering number of relatives began to arrive in Town and all paid calls. The only good point was that the marquess exempted himself from these occasions, saying blithely that he'd known all the old frumps from the cradle and had no need to be introduced. Beth was convinced that even if absence did not make her heart grow fonder, it provided fewer occasions for discord.

What that had to offer for the rest of their lives, she didn't like to think at all.

Beth's resting period also liberated Lucien. Once his bride-to-be was excused from the endless round of socialization there was not much point in his attending. He was not short of entertainment, for the Company of Rogues had a.s.sembled to bid farewell to Con and Dare, who were off to join Wellington's army on the very day of the wedding. The focus of the Company, as always, was the Delaney house in Lauriston Street. Nicholas and Eleanor had returned there after their family visit to Grattingley, and it was always open house for their friends.

Lucien spent most of his evenings there.

Three days before the wedding, Eleanor was bold enough to venture a saucy query. "Shouldn't you perhaps stay home with Elizabeth, My Lord Marquess?"

"Like G.o.dric and G.o.dgifu, sitting by the hearth?" he replied. "She's resting, and anyway, it would be no fit pattern for our elevated future."

Eleanor frowned slightly at his tone and he repented of the bitterness. But before he could say anything she summoned Nicholas. "Who were G.o.dric and G.o.dgifu?" she demanded.

He looked intrigued but said, "King Henry I and his wife Matilda. A somewhat sneering reference by the Normans to their domestic happiness and their attempts to Anglicize their court." He looked over at Lucien and added, "She refuses to buy an encyclopedia and just drags me around everywhere."

"I suppose a husband should be of some use," Lucien said and grimaced as he again heard bitterness ring through.

"Just consider," said Eleanor to Nicholas, smoothing over the moment, "if Miss Fitcham had been the kind of schoolmistress to actually teach her pupils something, I doubtless would have no use for you at all."

"Do you think not?" he said lazily.

Eleanor colored and rose to her feet. "If you are going to be bold, I'm escaping while I can." She turned and fired a parting shot at Lucien. "If it was good enough for the king of England, My Lord Marquess, I cannot see how it is beneath you."

"Broadsided, by G.o.d," said Lucien with a laugh and gave her the victory. He turned to Nicholas. "How do you live with a sharp-witted woman?"

"In constant delight. She is also warm-hearted. Is Elizabeth cold?"

This was the attack direct. "I don't know," Lucien said at last.

"Luce," said Nicholas, "you are rich, handsome, and the most skillful, the most outrageous, flirt in England. You even had Eleanor bedazzled in front of my very nose. How can you not know if your bride is warm or cold?"

Lucien realized he'd never flirted with Elizabeth Armitage. a.s.saulted her, yes, threatened and berated her. But flirted with her? No. It was not a matter he could discuss, even with Nicholas.

"How can I not know?" he repeated lightly. "Because she's a cactus and I'm an inflated bag of pride and consequence, and I'm afraid to get close enough to find out."

Nicholas's lips twitched. "There goes the de Vaux succession, I gather."

"Oh," said Lucien, "there'll have to be an heir for de Vaux even if it leaves me limp and useless...." Hearing his own words he burst out laughing.

"Perfectly natural," agreed Nicholas with a grin, "if only in the temporary sense. Don't I recall you saying once that your minions inflate your consequence with a foot pump every day? I'm gaining a whole new insight into the bed manners of the great."

"Have some reverence," Lucien chided, still fighting laughter. "Not that I've not always wondered about my parents...."

"Don't we all."

Thought of his parents-of his father who was not his father-effectively sobered Lucien. "Do you ever feel grateful," he asked, "not to have the responsibility of carrying on a line?"

"As my brother is disinclined to marry, I probably have that duty. I don't find it unbearable. But then, I'm not all puffed up with pride." He burst out laughing. "You know, I'll never be able to hear that phrase again without lurid imaginings." He shook his head. "Eleanor renders me limp with satisfying regularity but leaves her spines at the bedroom door."

"Eleanor has no spines."

Eleanor's devoted husband hooted with mirth. "Has she not, indeed! You got to know her when circ.u.mstances had her somewhat subdued. I tell her it's no wonder she was whipped so often as a child. The remarkable thing is that it had so little effect."

"How do you keep her in line, then?"

Nicholas grew serious in a way his friends had reason to know. "In what line?"

It was a challenge and Lucien reacted by stiffening. "Within the line of appropriate behavior."

Nicholas's warm brown eyes became remarkably cold. "I've never stayed within that line myself. Why should I try to impose it on anyone else?"

"She's your wife, d.a.m.n it."

Nicholas shook his head. "She's Eleanor. I never wanted to become the guardian of another adult human being and G.o.d was good and granted me a wife able to accept freedom. Are you going to try to keep Elizabeth 'in line'?"

Lucien knew he was already trying to do that. But what else could he do when heaven only knew what the woman would do if he let her loose? Wear rags. Hobn.o.b with the servants. Preach revolution. Give her body to any Tom, d.i.c.k, or Harry? He realized he didn't really care about the rest, just that. Even though she'd preserved her virginity-or so she said-what was to restrain her once that was gone? Mary Wollstonecraft's daughter was a prime example of where her mother's teaching led.

"Elizabeth is no Eleanor," Lucien said.

"No. I gather she's better educated."

"Crammed full of the Wollstonecraft's immoral teaching."

"Have you read it?"

"No."

"Come on," said Nicholas and rose to lead the way out of the room. Lucien was in the hall before it occurred to him that there wasn't one d.a.m.n reason in the world why he should follow at Nicholas Delaney's bidding. Except that he was Nicholas Delaney.

They went into the library. Nicholas lit a lamp and took two books from the well-filled shelves, finding them with ease. Mary Wollstonecraft's A Vindication of the Rights of Man and A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.

Nicholas touched the second. "Every man should read that, if only to understand. I think in your case you should read it carefully."

Even Nicholas could stir Lucien's anger. "I am supposed to convert to the cause of radical feminism?"

Nicholas smiled. "The earth would crumble at the shock. No, but at least you would speak the same language."

"It would be better if Elizabeth learned to speak mine. What do you think of Mary G.o.dwin's elopement with Percy Sh.e.l.ley?" Lucien challenged. "He leaves a wife and two children behind. And takes his mistress's friend along for variety."

"I think," said Nicholas seriously, "if I had met Eleanor when I was married to another.... But I'm not sure that applies here. I think all of them-wife, mistress, mistress's friend, and the poet himself-are quite mad." He shrugged. "I refuse to think of such strange poetical antics. I'm trying very hard to unload the world from my shoulders. It's not very fair to Eleanor to expect her to carry my weight and all that, too."

Lucien was pleased enough to have Nicholas change the subject. "And Napoleon?" he asked, to keep the talk drifting the right way.

"The same."

"And Deveril?"

At that name, Nicholas nodded. "I have a score to settle with him," he admitted quietly, looking every bit as dangerous as he could be. "But I won't pursue it. There's no good to be done. It would merely be revenge."

"Revenge can be sweet."

"I have never found it so."

"What about all our antics at Harrow?" Lucien put down the books in his hand.

"They weren't revenge. They were boyish stratagems."

Nicholas picked the books up and returned them to Lucien's hand.

Lucien met his friend's eyes for a tense moment but then gave in. He made sure, however, that the talk stayed off his business. "I was astonished to see Deveril in England," he said. "I thought he fled with Therese Bellaire?"

"Therese would deny anything so gauche as flight," Nicholas pointed out as he extinguished the lamp. "But yes," he said as they left the room, "Deveril was with us. An extremely unpleasant traveling companion." A flicker of something pa.s.sed over his face which made Lucien wonder about that strange journey when Madame Bellaire had kidnapped Nicholas. He had been kept with them for many days, then put on board another ship headed for the Cape Colony. It had taken him nearly four months to get home, during which time many people had feared him dead.

"If he's back," Nicholas continued, "she must have dismissed him. After all, he was never her lover."

They were alone in the hall. Lucien hazarded a question, for he had a morbid curiosity about the cold-hearted courtesan. "What exactly was he to her?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Someone who shared some of her tastes. Slimy things tend to huddle together. He has a crude, but vigorous imagination." He went on smoothly before Lucien could think of a comment or further question. "Being a greedy man, he was also very interested in her scheme. He traveled with us to be sure of getting his share of the money."

"He must have succeeded," said Lucien. "He was never poor but word is he's come back filthy rich-the emphasis as always being on the filthy. That's why he's got his toe back into Society. Money will always open doors."

Nicholas looked at him alertly. "Rich? There wasn't that much money, and Therese intended most of it for her own use."

"Perhaps he's just putting on a show. But he's taken a house in Grosvenor Square. He's driving some d.a.m.ned fine cattle-topped my price for Millham's bays and it irks me to see him out with them. He's a hard-handed driver. Rumor has it he's looking for a wife, and not an heiress. More a question of buying something to his taste."

Nicholas grimaced. "That any parent would sell their child to such as he.... But I wonder. Luce, where all his money comes from. I wonder, in fact, whether he didn't manage to beat Therese at her own game."

"Cheated the Madame out of her lucre?" asked Lucien with a grin. "You may say revenge isn't sweet, but I could relish that."

"Justice, not revenge," said Nicholas with a matching grin. "Fiat justicia et pereat mundus. It's not complete, though. I don't see why Deveril should enjoy the ill-gotten gains."

"Nor do I, by G.o.d. What shall we do about it?"

Nicholas looked at him. "Nothing for the moment. He'll keep. You are getting married, which takes a certain amount of concentrated effort. As I found out to my cost. You also have some reading to do."

Lucien looked at the books. "You expect these to make a difference. I think I understand Elizabeth perfectly. I just don't approve."

"And I took you for a man of sense. We never understand another human being and to think we do is the most dangerous illusion of all." Nicholas was completely serious and when that happened it was wise for all to pay attention. "I wish," he said thoughtfully, "we'd come back sooner and had an opportunity to meet your Elizabeth. I suspect she could use a friend or two."