Always the Bridesmaid

by E K Murdoch, Emily

  “There are things about my family…” Axwick coughed and shook his head. “My mother was a good woman. She deserved better than my father. He drank, Miss Chesworth, and far more than was good for him.”

  Tabitha saw the pain in his eyes and knew if she were to speak, he would stop.

  “She had but three consolations in life, and they were her children,” Axwick said with a wry smile. “Arnold, Charlotte, and myself. My brother ascended to the dukedom three years ago and repaid my mother’s love, care, and concern with the decision to not only follow in my father’s footsteps, but to add gambling to his list of sins. We almost lost everything, and my mother…she died two years ago from a broken heart.”

  Tabitha’s heart broke in turn. There was such tenderness in his voice, such heart-wrenching sadness as he spoke about his mother—and such controlled fury as he spoke of his brother.

  “The more I examined my family history, the more I saw it,” Axwick continued bitterly. “Every man in the Axwick line was weak, and either drink or gambling was his downfall. No more. There will be no more Axwickes after me.”

  Tabitha attempted to collect her thoughts and consider what the best thing to say was. She opted for the truth. “You surprise me,” she said softly. “I have never heard anything about this.”

  Axwick laughed. “Yes, I have spent much time and a little coin in hiding the truth from society, but some news always gets out. The last three years have been consumed with tracking down all of my brother’s debts and paying them off.”

  “That was most noble of you. You were under no obligation to do that.”

  She watched the twin emotions of pride and shame battle across his face.

  “It was a debt of honor,” he said finally, “and I could not allow it to continue—just as I will not allow the male line of the Axwickes to continue. It ends with me.”

  Tabitha smiled sadly. “And that, I think, is a great shame.”

  “You think so?” Axwick stared at her with an appraising look and took her hand in his. She tried not to gasp aloud at the spark of heat pouring into her body as he continued. “But that does not mean I cannot have any…fun, Miss Chesworth.”

  She wrenched away her hand, scandalized at his insinuation—and even more troubled to find herself intrigued by his words. If only there was a way for a gentlewoman like herself to find out more of what he meant without opening herself to accusations of wantonness.

  “Come now, Tabitha,” Axwick spoke low as he stepped forward, “let us be people of the world.”

  She stepped back, eyes locked on his, unable to look away, and felt the cool marble of the wall behind her. She was pinned against it and was even more trapped when Axwick raised his left hand to the wall beside her.

  “I knew from the first instant I saw you that I wanted to make love to you,” he murmured, moving so close, she could not move an inch without pressing up against him.

  She gasped at his words and attempted to brush past him.

  “Axwick, let me—”

  “Richard,” he whispered, and the single word caused heat to wash over her. “Call me Richard, and I might let you go.”

  Tabitha licked her lips nervously, and he groaned, leaning toward her and pinning her against the wall. She could feel the strength of his body, the heat of it, and desire poured from his eyes.

  “Richard,” she said clearly. “Please let me…”

  But her words were stopped by a finger he placed on her mouth. “You will bring someone over here if you are too loud, and how would we explain this?”

  His voice was caressing. Her pounding heart battered against her chest. Heat and desire were washing through her body. It was thrilling, being penned in like this by his strong arms, and it stirred something disgraceful in her imagination.

  “Better.” Axwick removed his finger and placed his hand on the wall again, trapping her more completely.

  She wanted to be free but also wanted to be close to him.

  “I am not interested,” she said in a shaking voice, “in one night of passion.”

  Axwick smiled deliciously. He shifted his stance so that he was leaning against her.

  “That is not what I offer,” he whispered. “One night of passion? Tabitha, you are worth far more than that. No, I want to bed you night after night, bringing you to endless pleasure. Pleasure you have never known before. Pleasure you may never know again.”

  She licked her lips once more, but this time, unconsciously at the thought of Axwick’s hands on her.

  “This is a serious offer, one I am sure you will not refuse.”

  Her head arched away from him. The feeling of his breath on her neck was overwhelming, and she tried desperately to think, but all she could do was feel him pressed up against her, feel the hardness between his legs against her stomach. It was impossible to breathe at the thought of him pleasuring her.

  He moaned and dropped his head. “Oh, God, Tabitha, I could give you such pleasure. Why not let me show you?”

  Before she could say anything, before she could even think, he pressed his lips against the side of her neck, just below her ear. Something broke between them, and his hands dropped from the wall and grasped either side of her waist.

  “Tabitha, I want you,” he moaned into her ear. “Let me make love to you. I can make you cry out again and again until…”

  She broke away, twisting and almost stumbling. Her body was on fire for him, but she could not let him say such things.

  She put a hand to the pillar to steady herself and saw the untamed desire in his eyes.

  Axwick leaned against the wall as though exhausted, a curl of hair falling across his face. “That is my offer, Tabitha, and I beg you to take it.”

  She swallowed and managed to say before she strode away to the safety of the dancing, “If you want to make love to me, you will have to marry me first.”

  Chapter Six

  Richard coughed. A carriage rattled behind him, and a gust of February wind blew through him.

  This was ridiculous. What on earth was so difficult about taking a few steps?

  But it was more than that, he reasoned with himself. Seven steps, to be exact. He had calculated the number in the ten minutes he had been standing here like a complete fool. Yet, those steps into the Pump Room were the longest distance in the world.

  He could not remember being nervous like this before. Even being the lead pallbearer at his brother’s funeral had been easier.

  A pair of ladies stared, curiosity etched across their faces. One of them looked back after they passed him.

  Richard nodded curtly. Before, he would have taken a good look at a pair of young ladies.

  Now, all that consumed his mind was two nights ago at Lady Romeril’s ball with Tabitha. He did not even need to close his eyes to be taken back. She had quivered against him, and he had felt her repressed desire, her fear, her anticipation of what he would do next.

  She had been in his power, and the certainty of her determination not to be seduced by him… It was intoxicating, every second he shared with Miss Tabitha Chesworth. He had wanted to follow her, but something had held him back. It had taken all of his self-control to prevent himself turning up outside her home the next day. It would not have taken Matthews long to discover her address, but what then? No, restraint was the only choice, for who knew what he may have said, may have promised, in that heady intoxication of her body.

  Today was today, and he was sure she—like all good society wintering here in Bath—would be attending the Pump Room.

  He had always been sure of what he wanted and taken it. Or it had been offered to him.

  If only Tabitha would accept his offer.

  “Excuse me, sir, but is the Pump Room closed?”

  A gentleman he did not recognize was staring with a concerned furrow of the eyebrows.

  “Closed?”

  “Closed,” repeated the gentleman with a confused smile. “Have they not opened the doors?”

&nb
sp; Before he could reply, the doors opened and three ladies left, inclining their heads to Richard and the stranger.

  Richard smiled weakly as they passed, but instead of returning his smile, the man stared at Richard as though he were weak minded and stepped around him and into the warmth of the building.

  “God’s teeth,” cursed Richard under his breath, shaking his shoulders to try and keep them warm. He was not a coward; none of his acquaintances would ever describe him as such. If he wanted to bring Miss Tabitha Chesworth to his bed, then he needed to move.

  “Richard St. Maur, the sixteenth Duke of Axwick,” boomed the Master of Ceremonies as he finally entered the rooms nearly thirty minutes after he had arrived.

  Each person who entered was announced. But since his name had not been spoken there in years, heads turned, and a group of gentlemen from Oxford beckoned to him, but Richard barely noticed them. He was scanning the crowded space to spy just one person. When he found her, she did not react to his presence at all.

  Tabitha was wearing an elegantly fitted, cream muslin gown with a matching bonnet, earnestly in conversation with a young man he did not know. Rage flooded into his mind, heart, and stomach, which wrenched at the sight of her with another man.

  Why did she not want to speak with him? Why didn’t his name, called out across the room, cause her to turn around? It was a blow to his pride.

  The gentleman said something, and Tabitha laughed. Richard clenched his hands with irritation. Who was this stupid man? A brother, a cousin?

  If only it could be so. That was a very unbrotherly look he was giving her.

  Unable to think and filled with a possessive need to be with her, Richard tried to collect his wits, but damn the man to hell, even if he did have the right to speak with her. She was not the duke’s to protect, but he wanted her to be. By God, he wanted her to be.

  “Axwick, I thought it was you!” Josiah Stanhope, Earl of Chester, strode toward him with a smile. “I did not know you were in Bath, though I did hear some chatter about you standing up at a ball! Tell me, is it true?”

  At any other time, Richard would have grasped the hand of his old friend, or at least given a deep bow to Chester.

  But not today. Tabitha was being utterly charmed by another man, and he would not stand it. He strode past Chester without acknowledging him, his need to be with her completely overwhelming.

  It took less than a minute to wend his way through the crowd, and as he reached her, he said without thinking, “Tabitha.”

  “—and I said—oh. Good morning,” she said.

  The gentleman stared at Richard, evidently astonished anyone could be so rude as to march up to a conversing couple, ignore the gentleman, and blurt out the young lady’s name without a hint of decorum.

  Richard did not care. All his attention was on Tabitha, and she colored at the intensity of his gaze and curtseyed.

  “Your grace,” she said demurely, eyes downcast.

  “Your—your grace?” The gentleman looked from one to the other and stiffened as he took in his expensive, silk cravat, elegantly styled hair, and gold signet ring. “To whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

  Richard’s eyes snapped to the gentleman in surprise, as though suddenly realizing he was there, but he said nothing.

  Evidently, this was expected of nobility by the gentleman, as he did not seem offended but rather impatient to make his acquaintance.

  “Mr. Charles Lister, your grace,” he said, bowing deeply.

  Richard took in the nouveau riche waistcoat, the collar points clearly attached to the shirt through buttons rather than a true linen collar, and the hints of ink around his fingertips. Trade, then, most likely an educated one.

  He turned back to Tabitha. “Miss Chesworth, I must speak with you. Now.”

  Her green eyes sparkled as she said with an obvious attempt at blandness, “Ah, but I am currently speaking with Mr. Lister.”

  Her hands were clasped before her, holding onto her reticule, and she gave a hint of a smile, telling him she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Richard grinned, a smile which had felled and bedded several women in the past. “I would appreciate it, Miss Chesworth, if we could speak alone. Just for one minute.”

  “And I would appreciate it if I could continue to speak to Mr. Lister about the fascinating trip he took with his aunt just last month to Newcastle, your grace.”

  God in heaven, but there was no one like her. Her eyes shone with amusement as he struggled with his emotions. Richard could not manage the conflict warring inside his heart, yet was impressed at how content she was toying with him in public.

  He had forgotten this feeling, this flurry of emotions, the thrill of the chase. As a duke’s son, then a duke’s brother, and now a duke himself, he could not recall the last time he had struggled to convince a beautiful woman to give herself to him.

  Until now.

  “So, tell me, Mr. Lister,” Tabitha said, turning back to the man. “What response did you receive when you made the offer on the racehorse when you were in Newcastle?”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Lister, a little unsure as he looked between them, but Tabitha was smiling with such sincere interest that he had no choice but to continue. “Well, I made sure my offer was intentionally low at the beginning of the conversation, naturally, to give myself more room to bargain later, and—”

  “That was a risk,” Richard interrupted, his eyes not moving from Tabitha. “Not every offer can be made twice.”

  Tabitha glared at him with an eyebrow raised and turned back to Mr. Lister. “And what happened next?”

  Mr. Lister stared at Richard, trying to understand the interruption. “But your grace, I fully intended to make the offer again. You have to assume any offer made to you will only be made once, that is common sense, but I always intended to keep offering slightly higher if I had not been accepted. The horse really was a champion, sired by—”

  “I think you and I are very different,” cut in Richard. “When I make an offer, I expect it to be accepted. I am not in the habit of making second ones.”

  Mr. Lister gaped. “But…well, your grace, if I may say so, I would consider that short sighted.”

  “I could not agree more with you, Mr. Lister,” said Tabitha smoothly, her eyes flickering to Richard. “Do you expect, your grace, that your offers will be so superior, they will never be turned down?”

  Richard took a step forward, desperate to be closer to her and hating the dratted Mr. Lister’s presence as Richard and Tabitha secretly spoke of his offer made to her just two nights ago.

  “Naturally,” he countered. “My offer has never been turned down before.”

  Tabitha laughed. “There is a first time for everything.”

  “And yet, denial has merely made me more determined to be accepted,” he said, his voice dropping in volume.

  Tabitha stepped toward him. “You must set much by your powers of persuasion.”

  “I have never found myself very persuasive,” said Mr. Lister helpfully, attempting valiantly to rejoin the conversation, but it was impossible. Richard had only eyes for Tabitha, and she was utterly bewitched by him.

  “I am more than ready,” Richard was speaking in such a low voice full of meaning that no one save Tabitha, could hear him, “to rise to the challenge to ensure my offer is accepted.”

  “I think you should be prepared to be disappointed,” she said.

  “Actually, I was not disappointed,” said Mr. Lister, assuming her comment was addressed to him. “Because the horse dealer—”

  “Because there are very few offers which cannot be ignored,” continued Tabitha with a wry smile. “And I doubt whether you, Axwick, could make one.”

  Richard could feel the ache for her growing, and he could no longer continue with this battle of wits and words before the ignored Mr. Lister.

  “Tabitha, please, may I speak with you?” he hoped the desperation he felt was not discernable in his words. He just fel
l short of pleading.

  “No,” she said simply. “There. Another way for you to accustom yourself to being disappointed. Your grace, you may not know me very well, and so I shall forgive you your ignorance, but you will soon learn I am not to be easily defeated.”

  No, you are not, Richard thought in wonder. What had merely been a pretty face was now turning out to be something far more interesting. A woman with intellect, wit, and no compunction in holding her own.

  “I have come here on purpose,” Richard found himself confessing, “to speak with you. Just five minutes.”

  She gazed at him appraisingly, and he saw a flicker of curiosity spark in her eyes, but before she could respond, another voice spoke.

  “Actually, your grace,” said Mr. Lister more sharply than before, “I would like to speak with you. For five minutes? Outside?”

  Richard stared in astonishment. In all his exchanges with Tabitha, he had forgotten Mr. Lister. Intrigued by what this man could possibly want with him, and frustrated by Tabitha, he nodded.

  “Five minutes,” he said curtly and turned to Tabitha. “And then I will be back for you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tabitha stared curiously as the two gentlemen wove their way through the crowded room, disappearing from sight through the impressive doors.

  Sparring with Richard for five minutes had given her more joy than speaking with Mr. Lister for the last twenty.

  Raising a hand to her chest, she ignored the inquisitive looks wondering why the two gentlemen who had been conversing with her had abruptly departed together.

  A duel, perhaps? Tabitha almost laughed aloud. Gentlemen did not fight duels, not anymore, and certainly not over ladies they had only just met! So why the conversation outside, and without her? She had not thought they were acquainted, and yet something had obviously occurred that required Mr. Lister to speak with the duke privately.

  She was starting to draw attention to herself by standing alone. After a genteel cough, Tabitha promenaded around the room, joining the flow of the crowd, but the conversation she was not part of never left her mind.