Company Of Rogues: An Unwilling Bride Part 6

The d.u.c.h.ess smiled. "It does not seem so to us, I suppose. It is just the family."

"But what of all the servants?"

"I suppose they are family, too. What would you have us do? It is impossible to run this place without an army of servants. Should we pull it down? But it is very beautiful, and the staff loves it as much we do. They feel privileged to share it with us."

"What of the footmen standing idle in the corridors hour after-hour?"

The d.u.c.h.ess laughed. "When the day comes you need something at the other end of the building or a message sent or someone found, you will be grateful, I a.s.sure you, Elizabeth. Actually, I recently suggested an improvement. I wanted to give the men chairs to sit on and books to read as they wait. They were most indignant. They felt it would lower the dignity of the house. But they are not ignorant, you know. One of them told me that he always stations himself in front of a good picture and enjoys the time to study it. We have compromised. They have agreed to be changed upon the hour. They are mostly from families who have served Belcraven for generations."

Beth put down her cup untasted. "Perhaps it is necessary to be born into this life, at whatever level."

The d.u.c.h.ess looked at her. "From what little I know of you, Elizabeth, you pride yourself on your education and your ability to handle your life. Why then can you not handle this?"

Beth stiffened under the attack. "I did not say I could not. I said, I think, that it is pointless."

The d.u.c.h.ess's eyes were kind as she said, "First prove you have the courage to face it, my dear, and then change things if you can."

Before Beth could point out that she wanted nothing to do with it at all, the gentlemen joined them. Though there were no servants present, the a.n.a.lysis of affairs on the Continent continued. Beth wondered whether anything might be achieved by an impa.s.sioned comparison of her own oppression and conquest with that of Europe, but guessed that it would not. This was the duke's plot, the d.u.c.h.ess appeared to endorse it, and the marquess had agreed.

The marquess, therefore, must be her target. She took to studying him.

He held his own in the discussion, but she sensed tension in him. He was not warm or relaxed with his parents and at times seemed to take a point of view just to oppose the duke. Beth wondered if this was because of the present situation or typical of this family. It would hardly be surprising.

The duke was not Arden's father and they all knew it. She was the duke's b.a.s.t.a.r.d and they all knew that, too. Both she and the marquess were being forced into a distasteful marriage. When Beth considered the tangled relationships within the room she was surprised there was any elegance at all.

After a while, music was suggested, and they moved into a music room with a domed ceiling painted like the night sky. The d.u.c.h.ess played beautifully on a harp and then Beth was persuaded to show her skill on the pianoforte. Next, to her surprise, the marquess took up a silver flute and played a duet with his mother. She would not have thought him a man to bother with music.

He must have noticed her surprise, for when he had finished he came over and said, "I have a poor singing voice. When we were all younger, my mother organized many musical evenings and insisted I do my part." His manner was pleasant. In no way was it loverlike, but then there was no reason here to act.

"You play very well," she said honestly.

"I enjoy it, but it's not a talent I advertise. It's not in fashion these days for young men such as I." There was even a touch of humor in that. "The French doors open onto the east terrace. Would you care to walk a little in the fresh air? The evening is quite warm."

After a slight hesitation, Beth agreed. For a moment she had begun to thaw, to react to his easy manner, and that would be fatal. The duke and d.u.c.h.ess, the house and the servants, created such a solid fabric of decorum that it would take a cruder spirit than Beth's to rip it in public. She needed to be private with him.

"Perhaps you will need a shawl," he said, glancing at her bare arms. She would have sent for one, but the d.u.c.h.ess indicated the one she had laid aside and he brought it for her. It was a beautiful Norwich silk which had doubtless cost more than Beth's entire annual expenditure on clothes.

As the marquess placed it on her shoulders, his fingers brushed against her nape. Beth shivered. Their eyes met and there was a moment of intimate awareness, a moment which frightened Beth to death.

She had to escape. She could never, never do this thing.

Beth hurried towards the doors, which he opened for her.

A three-quarter moon bathed the stone terrace, illuminating the sculpted urns set at regular intervals along the top of the bal.u.s.trade. Ivy trailed from them and plants were poking up but there were no flowers as yet. The smell of the air was just the freshness of the country, and the sounds, too, were all natural-a few rustlings of small creatures and, once, the hoot of a hunting owl.

The air had a slight chill now the sun was down, but, as he had said, it was warm enough for her to be comfortable. She shivered all the same and drew the shawl closer around her shoulders.

He broke the silence. "It is a very beautiful house. Can you not find some pleasure in living in it?"

"How would you feel, my lord, living in the palace of an Indian maharajah?"

She saw his teeth flash white in a grin. The moon had turned his hair to silver. "I might be interested, at least for a while."

"So might I," said Beth coolly, "if this were a temporary diversion."

He broke a spray of ivy from an urn and twirled it in his long fingers. "I do understand," he said gently. "You have to stay here for a while, however. It shows clearly that you are accepted by my family. My mother will introduce you to the people hereabouts. You may find it easier when we move to London for the wedding-"

"I didn't know we were to be married in London!"

He shrugged. "My father... the duke is masterminding all this. His intentions are good. He wants you to be fully accepted by Society."

He was being so reasonable Beth was almost falling into the trap. She forced herself to fight. "But I do not want that, Lord Arden. I have a better idea. Why don't we elope here and now and live as social outcasts?" There. That should shock him.

If so, it was not noticeable. "Because I do not want that."

"And what you want will always come first?"

He turned sharply to her. "I give you fair warning, Miss Armitage. I have a temper. If you persist in snapping like a spoiled brat, I am likely to treat you like one."

"If there's a spoiled brat here," she retorted with a sweeping gesture of her arm, "it is not I, my lord. I am the poor working girl, remember?"

"You are a spitting cat looking for someone to scratch. Go scratch the duke and I'll defend you. Don't rake your claws at me."

Beth turned away. This bickering would never serve her purpose. "Your father said much the same thing," she admitted. "But it is you with which I am entangled."

"So it is with me you must negotiate," he said more moderately. "Let us find a middle path. I have no intention of having the world think me a fool. Let them wonder why I've chosen a poor woman of insignificant birth for a wife. I want no suggestion that I'm forced to this, or that you are displeasing to my parents, or that you are unsuited to your role."

His wants. His intentions. She turned back to him. "Or that I am unwilling? How, Lord Arden, do you intend to make me show myself willing?"

She saw him suck in a breath, perhaps in anger. Then he walked slowly towards her, smiling. "Perhaps, Miss Armitage, I can seduce you into willingness."

Beth's nerves gave a shock of warning as she saw where her words were leading. "You would a.s.suredly fail, my lord."

She only got out a squeak before she was in his arms and his mouth covered hers. His arms imprisoned, so struggle was pointless, but he did not hurt her. One hand cradled her head, making it quite impossible to twist away, and his lips, soft and warm, only pressed enough to stifle protest. Beth was totally helpless. She had always known in theory that men were strong; until this moment she had not realized how strong.

Then his tongue slipped through to touch against her lips. She tried to protest and found it against her teeth, tickling against the inside of her upper lip. A quiver of something pa.s.sed through her. She was alarmed by a sensation of dizziness. With sudden resolution she parted her teeth, prepared to bite. His mouth pulled back and he laughed.

"Life with you is going to be intriguing," he said, eyes gleaming. "And dangerous."

Beth realized with despair that she had somehow stirred his interest.

Still holding her, he said lightly, "Will I have to search our marriage bed for a stiletto?"

"If you handle me like this, my lord," said Beth fiercely, resuming her struggles and getting nowhere, "there will be no such thing. Let go of me! Being an admirer of Mary Wollstonecraft does not mean I give my favors to any man who grabs me!"

He froze. "Do you know what you are saying?" he asked softly, and Beth realized how he had interpreted her words.

Beth swallowed and pasted a bold smile on her face. "Of course I do." If she could make him believe this she'd be sent back to Miss Mallory's tomorrow. In one piece? she wondered.

One large hand gripped her chin as if to prevent her from turning away. His voice was hoa.r.s.e. "How many have there been?"

Beth tossed her head saucily. "If you will give me a list of your conquests, my lord, I'll oblige you with a list of mine."

He released her so suddenly she staggered. "G.o.d!"

Beth turned and leaned on the bal.u.s.trade, feeling sick. Could she go through with this? But only a few moments more and she would be on her way home. What could the duke do if his son simply refused? And he would refuse. No man would stand for this.

Her shoulders were caught and she was spun roughly to face him again.

"I don't believe you," he said.

"Why not?" It was an honest question. Beth needed to know why he doubted her if she was to act convincingly.

"You and Miss Mallory run a select ladies' seminary. You could hardly succeed in that with a smirched reputation."

Beth schooled her features to project insolence. "I am discreet, my lord."

It was hard to look bold. The man looked positively murderous. He was searching her face as if reading a book. Beth tried to look as an unrepentant exponent of free-love would. Had not Mary Wollstonecraft's daughter, Mary, recently eloped with Percy Sh.e.l.ley-and him a married man? The marquess need never know that this escapade had horrified both Miss Mallory and Beth.

Suddenly he pushed her hands behind her, took her two slender wrists in one hand, and held them there. Terror shot through her at this bondage, and she twisted wildly. She was shocked to find she could not break that grip.

"Don't struggle," he said coldly, "or I'll have to hurt you."

He wasn't going to hurt her? She'd thought he was going to beat her at the very least. His words might rea.s.sure, but his expression did not. Her heart was racing, and it was all she could do not to beg for mercy.

If he wasn't going to hurt her, what was he going to do? She supposed a bolder woman would know. Could he see her pounding heart which seemed to be somewhere up at the back of her throat? She longed to take her words back, but that would be to lose her chance of freedom. She could not stop the trembling, however, which was shaking her whole body.

He pressed his hard body against her, against her legs, her hips, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s... It was an intolerable invasion of privacy.

G.o.d in Heaven, was he going to rape her?

"Why are you so frightened?" he asked silkily. "You surely know I do not intend to hurt you, my dear."

"I am outraged," Beth forced out. "I am furious!"

His free hand came up and stroked her cheek. Beth flinched. "Why, I wonder? In what way were your other lovers so superior to me?"

Beth saw a weapon and grasped it. "Does your pride smart, my lord? They were men of sensitivity and intelligence, and they were my own choice."

"I'm sorry," he said with a lightness which did not hide the fury in his eyes. "By my code it is not intelligent or sensitive to take the virginity of a lady without marriage, yet one of those paragons must have done that."

"It was given my lord," she spat back. "Given. It was not taken, nor was it sold for a few guineas or even a wedding ring!"

He caught his breath in shock. His hand momentarily tightened on her wrists so that she could not stifle a cry of pain. The pressure immediately lessened, but she could feel in the air around them the intensity of his control and the peril of its loss.

What now? Beth knew something else was going to happen. Something terrible.

His face was a stony mask, but his eyes burned. He watched her fixedly as his hand slid down the side of her neck to her shoulder. She quivered. He moved his imprisoning body away and Beth took a deep breath of relief. Then his hand moved down to settle cupping her left breast.

Gasping, Beth started once more to struggle. Surely any woman, no matter how experienced, would struggle when so handled against her will. It was impossible to break his iron hold.

Beth remembered her purpose and stilled herself. Victory was so close, and she must not quail now. What was he watching for? What would betray her ignorance and virtue?

She felt his thumb begin to rub lightly over her breast, over her nipple. Even through her light stays was a shocking sensation. She closed her eyes before they betrayed her desperation. Extraordinary things were happening in her body.

Instinct told her she could improve her impression of boldness by responding, by kissing him perhaps. He would hate a display of wanton l.u.s.t. But she simply could not, nor did she know how to do it right.

Instead she wanted to scream and fight. She wanted to escape. If she screamed, his parents would come and stop this torment but would that gain her end?

She forced herself to stay as still as her trembling body would allow as she racked her mind for a way to use this moment. To use it to give him such disgust of her that he would never consider marrying her, no matter what his parents wished. And quickly. She could not endure much more of this without betraying something.

She remembered, long ago, eavesdropping on a conversation between two of the middle-aged daily maids who cleaned the school. They'd been talking of their husbands and the marriage act, and though Beth had scarcely been able to understand them, the words came back now.

"He's a good enough man, my Jem, and l.u.s.ty, but he does so like to make a meal of it, and there's times I'd just rather have it done and get me sleep." Now she had a glimmer of what "making a meal out of it" might mean.

Summoning up her courage, and with a prayer to whatever deity looked after poor beleaguered women, Beth opened her eyes and drawled, "Do you always make such a meal of it, my lord? Can't we just get on with it?"

He released her and stepped back. There was in his face all the revulsion for which she could wish.

They stared at each other in silence. His face looked white, but that could be the moonlight. Beth thought not. She wondered if she'd live to make the journey back to Miss Mallory's.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked bluntly.

"Of course not!"

"Can you be so sure?"

Beth clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. "Yes."

He took a visible breath. "Will you give me your word," he said carefully, "not to... not to indulge your pa.s.sions before the wedding. I think there are enough b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in this affair already."

"Really, my lord-"

"It's a little late for offended delicacy, Miss Armitage. I want your word." His lips tightened with distaste. "If your needs are so great they cannot be controlled, I will, with reluctance, accommodate you before the wedding. Any child you bear will be mine."

"You still wish to marry me?" asked Beth in horror.

"I never wished to marry you, Miss Armitage," he said. "Now I would give a fortune not to have to touch you. But I have no choice, for though I would give a fortune, I will not give up my heritage. My father will leave me only the property without the means to maintain it unless I marry you."

A great chill washed over Beth, and she wondered if she would faint. "So you are helpless, too," she whispered, wondering how she could undo what she had done.

"But not powerless. I will not acknowledge b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and I will not be cuckolded. I think I am able to keep you satisfied. I will beat you silly and lock you up with a keeper if you show any sign of going to another man. Do you understand me?"

Sick with horror at what she had done, Beth could only whisper, "Yes."

"Now get out of my sight." He turned away from her.

Beth stared at his back. "My-my lord...."