Her heart battered wildly against her ribcage and cold sweat broke out over her body.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Mr. Thomas Watson, one of New York’s most up-and-coming merchants. Here. In the days before Grey, she’d counted Watson as one of her finest sexual conquests.
Chapter Six
Beth leant back against Grey, wishing with all her heart that she was in her bed and that this was simply a bad dream.
But it wasn’t.
Thomas Watson focused intently on her.
Black splotches marred her vision as he stood there, staring at her as if he were bound to smoke holes through to her very bones. She suppressed a small whimper but the energy of the sound trembled through her nonetheless.
Thomas Watson kept staring at her, his features twisting into a sneer.
Her neck muscles were so tense she could barely turn and meet Grey’s eyes, as frosty silver as December.
A cold, hard lump fell into her stomach and the little she’d eaten threatened to rebel against her.
Yes, he knew. Of course he knew. The people passing by probably knew. Even a blind man would have felt the discordant dislike crackling between herself and Thomas.
Watson had been a patron at Mrs. Bickle’s Inn, where, until recently, she had played the piano in the afternoons. She’d seduced him once and then never deigned to see him again. He’d proved most troublesome then. He’d aggressively attempted to attain a second tryst with her, sending her notes and gifts, all of which she had returned to him. The victory of his pursuit in the face of her rejection had tasted so damned sweet at the time, but now it only added to the horror of this moment.
Had the momentary excitement, the thrill of attaining the ardent attentions of a powerful, wealthy gentleman, been worth the price she was paying now? Now, when suddenly she had everything she really wanted? No—and she’d undo it all if she could and wait and hold herself pure for Grey. However, the past couldn’t be undone. And only Beth, the worldly seductress, could have attracted his attentions—good, dutiful Elizabeth would have bored him.
All she could do now was play brave Beth to the hilt and move through this moment as gracefully as possible.
“This is very sudden, is it not?” Watson’s voice, like ice, seemed to be directed at Grey, but he didn’t look away from her and his eyes narrowed accusingly. As if she were a dirty, diseased, dockside doxy. Beth wouldn’t cower. She lifted her chin and met his gaze levelly. She forced her expression to be cool.
Grey pulled her closer and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Beth, allow me to introduce a good friend of mine, Mr. Watson. Miss McConnell is my fiancée.”
Her knee joints weakened. Thank God. Grey wasn’t going to throw her over because of Watson—at least not at this very moment.
Watson blinked hard. “I suppose congratulations are in order. When is the wedding to be?”
“Four weeks from today, at Christ Church,” Grey replied.
Watson tore his eyes from hers and he handed Grey his newspaper. “A declaration of war passed in the Senate—all that’s left is for President Madison to sign it.”
Beth’s stomach seemed to plummet and she drew in her breath. So this was it, then. War.
Her mouth went dry. She’d heard all the stories from the last war with the King of England, of how the British had invaded and occupied Philadelphia, Boston and New York. How bad would things become this time? She inched closer to Grey.
He released her hand, slipped his arm about her waist and drew her to his side. Right there on Main Street. At the warmth of his strong body her muscles relaxed.
“Is there any doubt Madison will sign?”
With his free hand, he took the newspaper and looked at it.
She watched his face as he gazed at the paper. His eyes didn’t move. A sick realization swelled in her innards. He’d known when he’d come to take her out that Congress had finally declared war on Great Britain and it had obviously weighed heavily on his mind, yet he hadn’t chosen to discuss it with her.
Why wouldn’t he share all of himself with her? Would he ever? And what of Thomas? Would Grey speak of his feelings or would he just close her out? She wasn’t looking forward to the carriage ride home.
* * * *
“Shouldn’t we talk about it?”
Beth’s words pulled Grey out of his thoughts of the war and what it would mean for Sexton Shipping. In fact, he’d been so far away that for a moment he wondered what this beautiful young woman was doing in his carriage.
He took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry. The war won’t affect our plans. It will take time for the British to mount an attack. They’re an ocean away.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean…well, you know what I mean.”
A burning knot formed in his chest. She meant Thomas. Damn it, he’d known he might be faced with some of her former lovers. He’d thought himself prepared. But now he knew there was no way to prepare for or accept the pain of it. “I thought we agreed last night that we wouldn’t accuse each other with our pasts?” he said.
“I know you don’t really feel that way…not inside. Not truly.”
He took a deep breath and reminded himself—for surely the thousandth time since he’d met her—that his jealousy wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t hold her past against her. And he didn’t. Not truly. But…
“He’s a close friend, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes, he is. A very close friend.” Christ. It had never occurred to him that one of those nameless, faceless men she’d been with might be Thomas. That burning knot twisted in his chest like someone turning a knife. But what good did such feelings do? The past couldn’t be changed, and the future was too threatening. Too uncertain.
War was a reality now.
He didn’t need this distraction.
Thank God he had not yet promised to speed things up and wed her tomorrow.
He was still due to leave. He could get his head clear from the pull of his attachment to her, be free of her insecurities and constant testing for a couple of weeks and take care of what needed to be taken care of.
When he came back, they would be married and these disturbingly raw, masculine inclinations, the need to claim and possess her, would be appeased. Then he would have control over his world again and he could focus on what was truly important.
It was really a short time now.
But just how many men had she been with?
A fresh surge of jealousy sent his blood seething and his senses churning.
Once again, his gaze traveled over her angelic features and pretty, perky breasts showcased to perfection in the white muslin gown with its lace-trimmed bodice and fetching pale blue sash tied beneath.
This time, he saw not a virginal vision, but a temptress.
God, she was so beautiful, so young, so captivating—every man who saw her couldn’t help wanting her. Who was he trying to fool? A wedding ring wasn’t going to dampen any of their hopes.
But wait—he wasn’t being fair to her. He had every reason to trust her. She was loyal to her family to the point of self-abasement. Though it had maddened him at times in his quest to possess her, that very loyalty had been one of her most endearing traits. She would give that same loyalty to a husband. He knew that, elsewise he would never have considered marrying her.
He loved her. And even though his proud, self-protective girl wouldn’t yet say the words, rationally he knew she loved him, too. That was all that mattered.
He must remember.
“He’s going to tell.”
Again, her soft voice cut into his thoughts. “What?”
“He’s going to tell everyone.” She sounded absolutely miserable. It tore at his gut.
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze to reassure her. “Relax. He’s my closest and oldest friend. He’ll tell no one.”
She raised a pale brow. “You sound so confident.”
“I am. Thomas won’t tell.”
Her forehead took on a vertical crease as her brows drew together. “But what if—if he thinks he is doing you a kindness by revealing my past?”
He gaped at her. “Where the devil would he get an idea like that?”
“I don’t know…he just might.”
The illogical slant of her thoughts spoke of just how upset she was. He fancied he could smell her fear on the warm air of the stuffy carriage interior. Tenderness melted away all his selfish jealousy. He moved closer and touched her shoulders. They were as hard with her tension as floor planks and he paused to caress them with sensual motions. “He won’t, I assure you.”
“How can you be so certain?”
Because if Thomas were actually that unwise, Grey would simply meet him at dawn in Weehawken and settle things. He’d done it often enough when Juliana’s flirtations had got her into yet another scrape with an overzealous would-be Lothario. Of course, after that last bastard had crossed the line, no one else had dared test his patience over Juliana.
But he didn’t tell Beth that. Instead, he bent down, placed his mouth to hers and kissed her. He caressed his tongue against hers in slow, sensual sweeps. Her shoulders relaxed under his hands and inwardly he smiled. She was so very susceptible to sensual pleasure. He lifted his head, then tipped her chin up until she opened her eyes. “We have to have faith in each other and focus on the future, not the past. Will you promise me you’ll do that?”
“I’ll try,” she replied.
He only hoped he could do the same.
* * * *
When they arrived at Mrs. Hazelwood’s, the woman greeted them at the door, a pleasant half-smile on her face but her eyes focused sharply on Beth. “A Mr. Nelcour came to see you, young lady.”
“Oh,” Beth said, laying her hand over her stomach, which suddenly threatened to float away.
“Oh, indeed. I had to pay him two hundred dollars to get him to leave.”
“He ought not to have demanded that of you.”
“I do not appreciate having a moneylender show his face here, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Hazelwood’s lips compressed. “If you must support Charlie McConnell’s bad habits, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my good name out of it.”
“I didn’t tell Nelcour about you—he must have found out from elsewhere. And the money wasn’t for Charlie, it was for Ruth.”
Mrs. Hazelwood turned to Grey. “Do you see what I mean about this girl?”
His handsome face granite hard, he nodded. “Come, let us discuss this.” He took Mrs. Hazelwood’s arm and led her to the front parlor.
* * * *
Beth sat in the window seat in her childhood bedchamber in Mrs. Hazelwood’s house, watching the huge, old oak tree swaying in the gusting wind, against the backdrop of a fast-darkening sky. It suited her mood quite aptly, for she was fuming inside.
Mrs. Hazelwood had firmly ejected Beth from the parlor and closed the door. And Grey hadn’t said a word against it.
“Go along up to your chamber. I shall deal with you later.”
His coolly uttered words had been the final strike against Beth’s temper. Yes, he had right to be angry about the moneylender and the amount he would feel obligated to pay Mrs. Hazelwood. But he ought to deal with her alone over this. They were both treating her as if she were thirteen, not twenty-three.
Still, she would not show anger towards Grey in front of Mrs. Hazelwood. She’d never embarrass him like that.
Oh, but those unlikely allies, Mrs. Hazelwood and Grey, had joined forces against her. They wanted her to be something she could never be. A lady. She curled her knees to her chest and groaned with the unfairness of it all. Why did she always have to want the love of those she could please the least?
She had no right to complain. She’d made a bargain with him in the beginning, when she’d agreed to accept his court. She’d agreed to become a lady, at least in outward appearances.
Maybe he’d been right. Maybe she ought to have been merely his mistress. Maybe it would have been all the luxury and pleasure without all this pain.
But there could never have been children. She couldn’t have allowed it. And she wanted children.
Her little china clock chimed out three o’ clock. Heavens, he’d been in there for over an hour now. What could they possibly have to discuss for that long?
* * * *
“Beth.”
She awoke to Grey’s silver eyes staring into hers, tender and warm. She moved her legs and they tingled painfully from being curled beneath her. Her mind worked slowly, hampered by sleepiness. “What time is it?” she asked.
“A little past six.” He sat beside her on the window seat.
She tried to focus her sleepy mind. “Mrs. Hazelwood knows you’re in here, in my chamber?”
“She all but pushed me through the door.”
“I can’t picture it.”
His gaze had fallen from her face and become fixed, his pupils dilating. She glanced down at her herself. In the heat of the afternoon, in the privacy of her own chamber, she’d stripped down to her chemise. Her nipples showed clearly thorough the thin, lace-and-ribbon trimmed, low-cut garment.
He bent towards her and put his lips to hers. The taste of his mouth and his spice and masculine scent filled her senses. Her sleep-warmed, limp body seemed to grow even more languid. He cupped her breast and she arched her back, trying to get more sensation. Her sex tingled with hunger. She pressed her thighs together and wetness seeped from her core.
“We can’t…Mrs. Hazelwood…” Her voice rang as soft and unconvincing as a moan in her own ears.
“We’re engaged.” His thumb rubbed over her nipple, sending ripples of delight shuddering through her. “She thinks we’re talking, I assure you. I’ve just put the last of her doubts in my intentions to rest in terms she can definitely understand.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he pressed his hand against her belly, sliding lower until the heel of his hand pressed into her nub through her clothing. Sensation shot down her legs and up through her stomach.
His mouth covered hers again. Something niggled at the corners of her mind. Oh yes…she was angry with him. For excluding her from his conversation with Mrs. Hazelwood.
For being an arrogant, autocratic jackass.
But the taste of his tongue and the scent of his breath intoxicated her sleepy senses. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts. Wanted to feel his mouth on her pebbled nipples.
Well, devil take it, couldn’t she be angry and quarrel with him later?
She arched her back again to bring her breasts, with their stiff, straining peaks, to his attention. God, she ached for his mouth upon them.
But he moved down her body, then knelt between her legs. She cupped her own breasts, rubbing her palms over the tight peaks through her thin chemise, frantically trying to gain the sensation she hungered for. She wanted him so badly. She wanted him now. Wanted his muscled chest crushing her breasts as he mounted her, his body hair abrading her nipples as he thrust into her. Wanted him to take her hard and fast.
Just like that morning.
She twisted her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and moaned softly.
He pulled her skirts up in a swift, crinkling rustle. Dying to be closer to him — as close as she could get — she spread her legs wide to hug his body. He stroked his hands along her inner thighs, sending sparks of fire up to her sex.
He touched her inner folds with a fingertip and the jolt of sensation made her hips jump off the window seat. She cried out, the sound echoing loudly in her chamber.
“Shh,” he warned, his eyes intent upon the place between her legs.
She laughed softly.
He traced his fingertip along her folds, starting at the wetness flowing from her channel’s entrance and moving forward ever so slowly. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. He did it again, drawing the moisture over her fast-stiffening nub. She bit her lip, harder this time. God, God, God, it was so good. No ma
n had ever made love to her like he did—like it was some kind of fucking art.
He circled her sensitive bud in a leisurely way, drawing the sensations out until the very soles of her feet tingled with the pleasure and the anticipation of more to come.
“Oh heavens.” Her whisper shook with her trembling.
“You like that?”
“God, yes.”
“And what about this?” He lowered his head and pushed his tongue into her channel.
“Oh my…” She twined her fingers into his hair and arched her hips towards the mouth that tenderly ravished her.
He eased back the hood on her nub and stroked slowly, firmly, with his tongue, up along her nub’s hidden length. The pure bliss vibrated through her belly and she shuddered and moaned. He repeated the move again and again, holding her there, right on the edge.
“Please, please,” she whispered.
He suddenly stopped, moved up and took her straining nipple into his mouth.
God, God, God.
She writhed and twisted and pressed her breast into his mouth, clutching his head. He took her other breast and squeezed. She moaned—a little too loudly.
He pulled away and moved up to face her. His eyes shone like silver coins and his angular features were sharp with arousal. “If I let you come, you’ll scream, won’t you?”
She shook her head. “No, no, no—I’ll be quiet.”
He laughed softly. “Beautiful little liar.” He kissed her nose.
“I swear, Grey, I’ll be quiet—so very quiet.”
He took her lips in a heated, hungry kiss. The taste and smell of herself, of her arousal on his lips, drove her insane with need and she writhed against him even more frantically.
He entered her with two fingers, feeling along her forward wall until he found that certain spot, and pleasure went stabbing through her. She shuddered and arched against him and cried out into his mouth. He worked his fingers rapidly inside her, pressing her there again and again. Deep, impossibly sweet pleasure went vibrating through her. Her tension crested, then broke over her in a wash of pure delight. She cried out and he sucked the sounds in, muffling them with his mouth.
Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle Page 24