Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

F or a moment, Stephen stood where he was, dumbfounded, like a statue. Beatrice was storming away, her head down, her shoulders hunched, clearly furious.

To his surprise, he felt angry—angry on Beatrice’s behalf. The simple pleasures of the day—the birth of Anna and Theo’s baby, their trip to Almack’s, the stars—they were all ruined. Ruined because of her.

He turned to face Cornelia, who was standing in her flimsy, frilled pink dress, her arms folded across her chest, unrepentant.

“Why did you do that?” Stephen ground out, his voice flat and hard. He didn’t waste time trying to intimidate or glare at Cornelia. It wouldn’t work on her.

Cornelia’s eyebrows rose. “Because you owe me, Stephen. You can’t just cast me off like an old shoe.”

“I did not cast you off, and not even a fool would consider you an old shoe . You’re a famous woman—and a rich one, into the bargain.”

“That is not the point. I don’t like to be betrayed.”

He growled. “I did not betray you.”

“Then what is she? Hm, Stephen? You said you’d never marry. That is what you said, over and over again, and now you marry some plump, little spinster? She was an embarrassment even before you ruined her in front of the ton.” She paused, taking a step forward. “We never talked about that, did we? About her ruined wedding, and your part in it.”

“And we never shall,” he shot back. “Listen to this, Cornelia.”

“I am frankly shaking in my boots,” she snarled. “What fearsome threats have you for me now?”

In a flash, Stephen was on her, his face inches away from hers. He did not raise a hand, not so much as a finger, but Cornelia flinched back automatically.

He spoke quietly, his voice low and harsh. “No threats, only promises. Leave Beatrice alone.”

Cornelia scoffed and made to turn away.

“I should listen to me if I were you. I cannot give you what you want, and I won’t allow you to destroy me. You may think you have power, that you can scare me, but you don’t.”

She rounded on him, her hand flying through the air, ready to deliver a slap. His hand came up at once, catching her wrist, his fingers tightening to prevent her from pulling away.

“Leave me alone,” Stephen growled. “I believe this is something I’ve requested more than once. Leave me alone, leave my family alone. I wish you had stayed in Paris.”

Cornelia only stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. It was almost ludicrous to him now that her lack of expression, her coldness and haughtiness were what had once attracted him to her.

She was beautiful, of course—nobody could ever deny that—but there was a coldness to her beauty, and that coldness repulsed him. He found himself looking at her much-complimented flaxen hair and imagining torrents of red, differently shaped eyes, a round figure, and an easy smile and wry expression.

In short, he imagined Beatrice.

Stephen allowed his eyes to flutter shut as realization dawned on him.

I’m a fool. I have allowed myself to get too close. Why oh why did I not simply stay away?

When he opened his eyes, Cornelia was still staring at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Does she know you at all? Your little wife, that is? Does she harbor dreams of romance and domestic bliss? Of children ?”

He clenched his jaw. “That is nothing to concern yourself with. You’re to stay away from her, Cornelia. Do you understand me?”

“Or what?” Cornelia snapped. “You’ll have me thrown into the Thames?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Will you investigate me and expose all of my sins and vices in broad daylight, like you did with the Marquess?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In his peripheral vision, Stephen could see Beatrice disappearing into the distance. If he let her go now, she might run into luck and find the coachman with the carriage, and that would be that. She’d go home, and they might never discuss the matter.

No.

“Our conversation is over, Cornelia,” he said shortly. “You’ve said often enough how much you hate London. Perhaps you should leave. In fact, I encourage you to leave. Any relationship between us is over, irrevocably over, and nothing will change that.”

Her eyes hardened even more than before.

He pointedly turned his back on her, his eyes fixed on Beatrice. As he watched, she lifted the champagne bottle to her lips and took a long gulp.

“You should not have come back, Stephen,” Cornelia said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

He glanced back at her. “Nor should you, Cornelia.”

He didn’t wait to hear her response. Frankly, he was too tired. He’d had enough arguments. At the moment, all he could think about was Beatrice.

Keeping his back turned, he strode off, leaving Cornelia behind.

“Oh, do leave me alone,” Beatrice snapped as soon as she realized that the Duke was following her. “I’ll send the carriage back for you if your lady-love won’t drive you home. I don’t want to see you at the moment, Stephen. I’m not going to be a good conversationalist. Frankly, I’m tired and would like to rest.”

“Beatrice, you are mistaken.”

The carriage was in view by now, dark and silent, in a row of other carriages, their crests glinting in the occasional lantern light.

Beatrice could have kept going— should have kept going. But no, she seemed to have a wish to cause herself as much pain as possible.

What did you expect? asked a mocking voice in her head. You knew what he was. You agreed to this, for heaven’s sake!

She whipped around to face him. “I’m not a fool. I agreed to this, but I thought we had a rule that you had to be discreet. What about this is discreet to you? At the very least, tell her not to meet you too openly. Perhaps we should revise our rules a little.”

She didn’t let him respond, instead turning on her heel and hurrying towards the carriage.

The driver was gone, of course. He had, quite rightly, expected that his masters would be in Almack’s for a while—a few hours, at least—and had likely gone to a pub for a pint and a pie. There were plenty of scruffy young boys hanging around the entrance to the venue, keen to run down to the pub and fetch so-and-so’s coachman for a penny.

Beatrice found herself longing for the dark cold of the carriage interior, with those lovely plush seats and wide, deep footwell. She might even lie down and rest her eyes while Stephen fetched the coachman or perhaps spent some time with Miss Thompson. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that Miss Thompson and her carriage were nowhere to be seen.

She had just about reached the carriage when Stephen scuttled forward, stepping in front of her and forcing her to stop.

“There was a time when Cornelia and I were more than friends,” he said, his voice low. “But believe me when I say that there’s been nothing between us these six or seven months at the very least. I am happy to remain her friend, but she is… well, she is not content with that. I think she imagined herself as the Duchess of Blackwood. She’s a calculating woman, and I imagine she showed up here to embarrass me and warn you off. She’ll stop at nothing.”

Beatrice regarded him flatly. “How inventive.”

He clenched his jaw. “I am not inventing anything. It is the truth.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, please . Stephen, look. I meant it when I said that I wanted you to be yourself with me, not Lord Blackheart. ”

“It’s Duke Blackheart, actually.”

She looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or slap him. Perhaps she felt inclined to do both.

“I am well aware,” Beatrice said, choosing her words carefully, “that you have had, and intend to have, affairs. Even without our rules and your very frank explanations, I knew it already. That is none of my business. But we agreed upon discretion. You are the one who put these rules in place. Just because you will never be attracted to me the way you’re attracted to them, just because you find me repulsive, does not mean that you can treat me with disrespect, Stephen!”

She made to move past him, intending to duck under his arm and into the carriage, to the dark, cool safety. But Stephen grabbed her by the upper arms as though he were going to shake her, and pulled her close to him, very close, so close that the tips of their noses almost touched.

“Repulsive?” he echoed as if sounding out the word in his head, almost disbelievingly. “ Repulsive ? You think that I find you repulsive?”

She clenched her jaw and tilted up her head. This close, it was hard to look the Duke in the eye—or rather, it was hard to focus on his face.

“Perhaps that is a strong word,” she acknowledged, trying not to think about how good his long, cool fingers felt on her. “But the point stands. Your obvious lack of attraction?—”

“Ah, you think I am not attracted to you.”

There was a sort of wildness about him now, something wide-eyed and vivid, something that made Beatrice’s breath hitch in her throat and that uncomfortable tightness return to her gut.

“I…”

“Those rules that you speak of so disparagingly,” he continued, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable, “are to keep me in check, my dear little wife. How would you feel if I told you that, since the moment you burst into my study to request my help, I have thought of little else beyond unlacing the front of your gown? I have given the matter a great deal of thought. These things cannot be rushed, after all. All of your clothes would need to come off, naturally, and your hair would be down, and I would have you naked all day long, and all night long, and all day again. Some people balk at making love in the daylight, but I can assure you that a little light only enhances the pleasure. What would you say to that , Duchess?”

There was a long, tense silence. Beatrice stared up at him, wondering why her limbs seemed to have ceased working and her heart was trying to claw its way up her throat. Desire pulsed through her, wrenched out of her by a few smooth, confident words.

She swallowed hard, aware that he was waiting for her to respond.

“My… my dress laces at the back,” she stammered.

Stephen went still. “I beg your pardon?”

“My dress. It laces at the back, not the front.”

He tipped his head back, squinting down at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a most infuriating wretch?”

She grimaced. “Frequently.”

“Hm. Then let me be the latest. However, first…”

Sliding his cool hand around the back of her neck, his deft fingers leaving shivering paths behind them, Stephen pulled her close, fitting his mouth to hers as if they’d been melded together.

It was, by Beatrice’s calculations, their third kiss. She thought that perhaps she was getting better at it by now.

Her arms went around his broad shoulders without her having to even think about it, her fingers curling into the short, thick fuzz of hair at the nape of his neck. His free hand, the one not at the back of her neck, was everywhere at once. It wound around her waist, pulling her close, sliding up her ribs almost to the underside of her breast. She felt his teeth gently scrape her lower lip—nothing painful, but rather an explosion of sensation, a feeling that plunged straight through her abdomen to the apex of her thighs.

Crash.

They both flinched apart at the sound of the champagne bottle slipping through Beatrice’s fingers and shattering on the ground.

“What a waste,” Stephen sighed.

Beatrice twisted her head, gasping for air, giddy with desire. Fingers digging into his shoulders, she steadied herself.

“If… if you cared for me,” she gasped, feeling as though she’d just run a mile, “if you wanted me, why go to all that trouble and make me sign that list of rules?”

His cheek was pressed against hers, and she could hear his ragged breaths, as well. His hips were angled to hers, and she could feel something hot and firm pressed against her. Beatrice had read enough books to know what that was, but it didn’t stop the curiosity bubbling inside her.

Stephen shook his head. “Never mind that, Duchess. For now, I only want to hear the sweetest sound of all from you, and it requires no words at all.”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out in a moment. Into the carriage, wife.”

Beatrice prided herself on rarely doing what she was told, but she found herself scrambling to obey this particular order.

The carriage rocked and bounced on its springs as she climbed inside, barely able to draw breath, shivering with anticipation and nerves. Stephen crawled in after her, closing the door and briskly drawing the curtains.

“Too dark,” he said with a sigh. “Still, a lit lantern would only attract attention, which is the last thing we want. Before we continue, Beatrice, I should ask whether you have been experimenting in my absence.”

Color rushed to her cheeks. “I should say not!”

“Not even by yourself?”

“By my… what do you mean? I thought you weren’t interested in conversation. If all you wanted was a nice chat, we might have remained outside.”

His expression darkened, thrillingly so, and Beatrice knew she’d said the right thing to make him act.

In the blink of an eye, Stephen was on her, his lips devouring hers, his broad chest pushing her down onto the carriage seat. He was careful not to crush her or knock her head as they went down, of course.

Beatrice was left to clutch at his shoulders as best as she could, gasping for breath. Her skirt rucked itself up between them, and she had no idea that Stephen had slipped his hand underneath the layers of fabric until she felt cool fingertips graze the back of her knee.

Beatrice drew in a sharp breath, her eyes flying open.

“Steady, darling,” Stephen murmured, his lips grazing the side of her neck. He nipped her, giving her the tiniest, sweetest pain, and she shuddered.

His fingers traced higher and higher, following the curve of her inner thigh. It was almost like a dance, his fingers tip-tapping and stroking their way upwards. When his knuckles brushed against her sex, Beatrice was sure that she stopped breathing altogether.

He traced a line upwards, slowly, lazily, as though he had all the time in the world, even though Beatrice felt as though she were dying.

“How is it?” he asked, smiling against the side of her neck as though he were asking for her opinion on a particularly delicious soup.

Beatrice opened her mouth to answer, but then Stephen twisted his hand, touching a place inside her that made her jerk and cry out, the moan echoing around the small space.

“I see,” he responded, lowering his head to press a kiss to the tops of her breasts, pressed against her daring neckline.

He sped up his movements, falling into a clearly practiced rhythm, which Beatrice tried not to think about as she careened helplessly towards a climax. The pulsing desire coiled tighter and tighter in her gut, the feeling of want so very, very near to being sated.

At the peak, that urgency exploded, and Beatrice’s mouth fell open. She had a strange vision of herself going over a waterfall and falling down, down, and down—but that didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

It took a moment or two for her to return to herself, gasping for breath and blinking like a newborn.

“That was…” she managed, not quite able to find the words.

Stephen was sitting back on his heels, more disheveled than she’d ever seen him. His breaths were coming hard, his cheeks flushed, but he looked almost triumphant.

“I may not be a man of many talents,” he said when their eyes met, “but I have one talent in particular.”

She struggled up, resting on her elbows. “Let me… I ought to help you.” She nodded her head towards the bulge in his trousers.

He followed her gaze, chuckling ruefully. “It’s not necessary, my dear, but thanks for offering.”

She sat up properly, “No, I’d like to. It’s only fair. You might need to show me what to do, but I’ve… I’ve read books, you know. I’ve seen pictures .”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, if you’ve read books… ”

Without another word, Stephen took her hand and drew it to the placket of his trousers.