Chapter 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

O ver the next week, they went to several balls and two dinners, one hosted in their honor. Her new husband was the epitome of a gentleman. He helped her upstairs, smiled and flattered her at every turn, and watched her lovingly across the room, yet she knew it was all a front. He was playing with her, attempting to right what he'd done wrong the week before.

The blaggard not only hinted there were ladies present at his card game but taunted her by not telling her what had happened. She did not need him to remind her of the ladies' wiles or their trade. She clutched her glass harder, hating the jealousy that burned through her at the thought of his disloyalty.

Lord Lennox joined her, handing her a fresh glass of champagne. Tonight, they were at her parents' grand London estate and enjoying their wedding ball, which her mama had painstakingly organized in record time just to ensure the ton accepted her marriage to Tyndall and no harm was done to her name due to the Gretna marriage.

Her poor mama really needed to stop worrying about what everyone thought. Her mother was the Duchess of Curzon. They only cared what she thought and would be guided by her in all ways.

Mr. Venzellons was of no consequence.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at the tall earl with striking blue eyes and blond hair that flopped over one eye. To be sure, he was a handsome man, but still, blast it all to Hades, not as attractive as her husband.

She darted a look across the room and found Beckett standing with Charlotte and Matilda, watching her. Even when he sipped the disgusting whisky he enjoyed so much, his gaze never left her.

What was the man thinking? He probably thought she was going to walk out in the gardens with Lord Lennox and allow him to have his way with her like some hussy with no morals.

Not that it wasn't tempting to see what Beckett would do should they move out onto the terrace. The doors to outside were just behind her, it would be so easy to suggest…

"I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage, Lady Tyndall, although for us poor souls, it's a sad loss indeed to society. Whatever shall we do when all three of The Graces are married?"

She laughed, possibly more pronounced than necessary. He'd not said anything overly amusing, but her husband did not know that. She let him stand across the room, glowering at her and wondering what she was talking about with this handsome young man.

And he was younger than Beckett, that was certain, closer to her in age than her husband.

"Despair not, my lord. I still have two friends who remain unmarried and are very much on the marriage mart."

His lordship glanced to where Charlotte and Matilda stood, now talking to each other. Her husband somehow squeezed between the pair. Could he not move? The sight brought a smirk to her lips.

"Ah, but did I not mention that I prefer redheads? I've heard a rumor that your hair under that elaborate, jewel-encrusted wig is that color beneath. Am I mistaken in that dream? Please do not tell me if I'm wrong. It shall shatter my illusions."

She bit her lip, heat blossoming on her cheek. "I cannot tell you that, my lord. That would be very personal, and only my parents' closest friends and myself know the truth."

"And no doubt your husband. I should imagine seeing you with your hair down would be quite the sight. I'm very much green with envy."

"A shame to be sure, Lord Lennox," Beckett said, startling Genevieve, who had not seen him move across the room to join them.

He took her hand, slipped it over his arm, and patted it, but in truth, he was keeping her lodged firmly at his side and in his hold. "If you wished for Lady Tyndall to become Lady Lennox, you ought to have asked her. She had been a thrice debuting debutante."

"I was not a thrice debutante. You can only debut once," she interjected, not liking Beckett referring to her as some recurring desperate woman seeking the affections of the opposite sex. Her friends and she had purposefully not married, and she had turned down many marriage proposals because none of them were suitable. None were love matches.

And still, she seemed to have married a man who was her enemy, not the love of her life.

Fool.

"Even so, if you should excuse us. I wish to have a word with my wife ." Beckett accentuated the word wife, and had it been a knife, it would surely have nicked Lord Lennox's chin.

They moved through the ballroom and into the foyer before Beckett started upstairs.

"Where are you going?" she asked, trying to pull him to a stop.

"Where is your room? We need to have a conversation."

She raised her brow, chuckling at his annoyed tone. "Really? What about?"

They made the top landing, and he looked left and right, debating which way they should go. Genevieve remained quiet, waiting for him to lose his patience and ask.

"Well, where is your room?"

"Left, my lord. Sixth door on your left."

He pulled her down the hall. Only a few sconces on the wall were alight in this part of the house. They entered her room, still the same as when she left it the night they had traveled to Scotland. Her mama not quite ready to admit that her daughter was now married and no longer living under her roof.

"Are you purposefully trying to cause another scandal? Lord Lennox was asking you about your hair. And you were taunting him, teasing him as if you're not already married to me."

"Well, are we married? You certainly do not act like it."

"And what do you mean by that?" He crossed his arms, glaring down at her.

She swallowed, hating that even when terribly angry with him, she was also terribly attracted to the man. It had been days and days since they'd been together intimately. A week at least, and her body craved him.

She would taunt him in any way she could to provoke a reaction from the beast. She may not like her husband, but she certainly lusted after the fellow. God help her wicked soul.

"We do not share meals or time alone after balls and parties. You do not share my bed. I feel like I'm living in some shared accommodation like an inn or finishing school. Tell me, because I'm certain it would be similar to how you lived at Eton all those years ago."

"Except when I lived with my fellow classmates at Eton, we were friends."

His words stung, and she bit her tongue to stop the tears that threatened. "If you seek and receive pleasure elsewhere, then so shall I. I will not die a shriveled-up woman of a lord who would not pleasure his wife."

She pushed past him, and he hauled her around the stomach. Her back pressed against his chest, and his breath tickled the whorl of her ear.

"You would not dare seek pleasure elsewhere."

"Would I not?" she taunted, turning her head a little to look back at him.

What she witnessed was wild, untamed, and too far gone to haul back, rein in, and control. Had she pushed Beckett too far?

His hand slipped over her breast, and he squeezed her flesh through her elaborate corset. Where there should be pain, only pleasure shot through her body, directly to her core. She squirmed, pressed into his hold, wanting more like some wanton.

Who was she when around him? She did not recognize herself.

"You're mine, Genevieve." His hand slid down her stomach to press the sensitive flesh between her legs through the yards and yards of cloth. Even so, she felt his touch as if there were no barriers between them.

She moaned, giving way to how he made her feel.

"Do you want me to prove my point?"

Did she? Her body ached and craved his touch. The release she had come to dream of could be but an answer away. She nodded, undulating in his hold as his hand stroked between her thighs.

"Do your worst, my lord. I doubt you have it in you to make me scream."

He chuckled, the sound full of dark determination. "We'll see about that."