Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “Beth, what is it?”

  “I dismissed Mrs. Van Dyke.”

  “I know. She came by the offices today.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “I told her nothing. I instructed Mr. Heron to pay her three months’ wages and send her on her way.”

  “Oh.” Her pale brows drew together. Her body seemed to relax. “Well, then. Thank you.”

  “I told you before, Beth. The school is yours to run as you see fit. I’ll never interfere with it.”

  “I told the girls the school will be closed for at least a fortnight—until I can find a new matron to run things for me. Someone more suited to my ideas.”

  Irritation flashed through him. Why wouldn’t she simply run the school herself? He’d bought it for her because she needed something of her own. Because he knew she could make the school into something special. She needed to make something special in the world. But he had vowed never to tell her how to run the school. He couldn’t order her to run the school herself. Yet he couldn’t respect her if she didn’t. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Do as you wish with it. Close it down completely if you prefer.”

  * * * *

  The warmth of Grey’s arm beneath Beth’s hand offered her no reassurance. It was as though her hand belonged to someone else. They stood in the octagonal ballroom of Belvedere House in dignified silence. Bayberry and pine and other greens entwined around all the brass candelabras and framed mirrors. The sharp, clean scent cleared some of the fuzziness from her mind but her throat hurt as though she’d swallowed broken glass and she shook with chills. She needed only to hold together for a few more hours, then she could take to her bed.

  Slowly, the guests began to arrive. She smiled and said all the appropriate things and acted as though her whole world were not about to collapse on itself.

  I will not be my mother. I will not throw myself off a roof over my abandonment.

  Yet, right now, she wasn’t sure what she would or should do. She glanced at the elegant ladies in their colorful ball gowns. They smiled so brightly, chattering happily at each other. She didn’t understand how they’d found such happiness in their idle lives. She felt totally alien from them. Perhaps she should buck the whole social code of New York ladies and take an active role in the school.

  Perhaps she would.

  Her nape tingled and she turned to find a pair of sharp, ice-blue eyes—eyes so like her own—fixed on her. Dressed in a beautiful gown of pale blue velvet, Mrs. Hazelwood was one of the last guests to pass along the receiving line.

  Feeling as though her corset had suddenly gone too tight, Beth breathed slow and deep. Then, despite herself, fondness warmed her heart and a small smile curved her lips. Maybe things could be all right between herself and Mrs. Hazelwood again. Maybe her aunt would explain and things would make sense.

  “My dear girl, you are looking so well.” Mrs. Hazelwood beamed her characteristic pleasant smile. Acid rose in Beth’s throat, choking her. The woman acted as if no wrong or betrayal lay between them. Surely the woman realized how she must feel. Beth tried to hold herself back, to keep the need for a polite façade for the occasion foremost in her mind.

  But she couldn’t.

  “You never told me. How could you never tell me about Peter?” she said in a low voice.

  “Peter… Oh, that naughty boy. He did love a celebration.” Mrs. Hazelwood’s eyes twinkled and she glanced up at the many glittering crystal and brass chandeliers. “He would have loved this ball.” Her graveled voice suddenly sounded almost girlishly soft. “He used to call you his pretty little chit and give you sweets, do you remember? You were the child of my serving maid, but he doted on you. Peter was like that.”

  A lump lodged in Beth’s throat. “Later, can we go somewhere private and talk? I need to—”

  Mrs. Hazelwood kept on smiling and holding her gaze, her eyes shining as clear and cold as the aquamarines in Beth’s necklace. She squeezed Beth’s hand. “Yes, you’re looking so very well, Mrs. Sexton.”

  Beth reached out and grasped the woman’s small, gloved hand. “Please, I need to know we can talk about Peter. I need to understand why you kept this from me.”

  Mrs. Hazelwood’s eyes moved beyond Beth and her mouth opened. “Why, Miss Watson, that is such a lovely gown! You simply must tell me the name of your dressmaker. I intend to do some grand shopping while I am here.”

  She moved away, her hand sliding from Beth’s grasp. Her petite, birdlike frame blurred in Beth’s vision.

  Beth sensed Grey at her side. He took her by the arm and led her through the crowd towards the row of antechambers. Dazed by her mixed emotions, she followed him into one of them.

  She stared at the richly patterned carpet on the floor. It did nothing to ground her whirling mind.

  He touched her under the chin and tilted her head up. His silver eyes searched hers. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes…no…oh, I don’t know.”

  “Beth, she’s never going to change. She’s never going to admit anything or tell you the things you want to hear.”

  “She won’t acknowledge me. She never would.” She stared up at him. “She was all I had, and she wouldn’t acknowledge me. I have known it all this time—known I was really her kin—but I never wanted to admit it. Somehow, if it was my fault—my low birth—then it didn’t hurt as much.”

  “Oh, Beth.” The tender timbre of his voice hit her in the heart and the muscles of her face tried to crumple.

  She fought the impulse. She wasn’t going to cry. He was depending on her tonight to be his hostess. On top of everything else, she wasn’t going to fail him. However, she couldn’t hold back a last venting of her feelings. “I had no one. No one.”

  He made a sibilant sound and pulled her close, his hand holding the back of her head and pressing it to his broad, solid, muscled chest. His spice and citrus scent surrounded her. Comforted her. She wanted only to lose herself in him. To feel safe.

  “It’s all in the past.” His lips grazed her forehead. “It doesn’t matter now. You are Mrs. Elizabeth Sexton and you may have everything you desire.”

  Her sense of comfort faded. The whole world seemed cold and harsh and her husband was no exception. She knew him too well, now. She knew what he meant. He meant she could have anything he could buy or provide for her. She could live in luxury in the house he would have built for her on Long Island—live there alone with the children he would bestow upon her during his infrequent visits. Oh yes, the children. He was a man—he thought like a man. He wanted access to her bed. That was what this lingering tenderness was about. He wanted to have a wife he could treat as a mistress. This was the future he was trying to ease her into.

  But she couldn’t have what she really wanted—a real husband and a real father to her children. Therefore there could be no children. Pray God Joshua was wrong. Pray God she wasn’t with child now.

  She pulled her hand from his and his silver eyes went as cold as slate. “Do you know? It is not true, Grey.”

  He frowned slightly. “What’s not true?”

  “That I can have everything I want. I can have nothing I really want.”

  How can you say that?” He caressed her cheek and smiled slightly. “You still have me.”

  “You are sending me to Long Island, remember?”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Beth, this separation between us need not be emotional. It will be better for both of us. You can have your freedom. I can visit you at those times when I can be yours completely. You will be happier with the situation.”

  “Will I?”

  “Absolutely.” How confident he sounded. So confident that he could order his world to his liking.

  “You mean I shall be just like a mistress to you from here on out.”

  His brows drew tightly together, as if she’d just hurt him beyond bearing. How easily gentlemen faked emotion when it benefited their cause. She curled her lip.

  His gr
ip tightened on her hand. “No, Beth, no. Don’t do that. Don’t close me out and don’t choose to view this in the wrong light.”

  “How should I view it?”

  “You’re my wife. My wife. Nothing can change that.”

  “You would change it. If you could.”

  “No. I would not. I love you.” He dropped her hand, clasped her about the waist and drew her close. “I. Love. You. Why won’t you hear that and believe it?”

  All too aware of his male body against hers, of her softness and weakness towards him, she trembled.

  Oh God, please give me the strength to deny this man my bed, my body…this man that I love.

  “Are you ill?” Grey’s voice reverberated with concern and he pulled back from her.

  “What?” She followed his gaze and caught herself with her hand clutched protectively upon her stomach. Quickly, she dropped it. “No, I am fine.”

  He touched her face. “Do you need to go lie down? You look a little pale.”

  “I am fine,” she asserted, forcing her voice to be steady.

  He leaned close. The scent of his breath sent her heart fluttering. His lips touched hers, warm and firm. On a soft moan, she closed her eyes and her hands slid up his arms to grasp his shoulders.

  “Beth, Beth, oh Beth,” he whispered against her ear. “Let me come to your bed, later tonight. Let me show you that nothing has changed between us. Nothing that is truly important.”

  “No.”

  His body went rigid against her. “No?”

  She pulled away from him. Well, she had gambled on this marriage.

  And she had lost.

  It had been a risk she’d known from the very start. There was no one else she could blame. Now she had to be strong enough to do the right thing.

  “Why won’t you even try to understand me? Why won’t you let me love you the way I can?”

  “Grey, you refuse to allow me to share wholly in your life.”

  “I cannot help who I am. I cannot be exactly as you expect.”

  “And I told you before, I cannot risk making a child with a man who will not be a true father to the son he already has.”

  She glanced up into eyes turned to silver ice. His expression was closed off. “It’s your decision to view things as you do.”

  “There’s no other way to view them.”

  He studied her for a moment. Then his look hardened. “When you are apart from me, you may not take lovers.”

  She bit down hard on her tongue, determined not to let him drive her into saying anything foolish.

  “I mean it, Beth. If you do, I shall call them out. Even your precious Joshua. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, still biting on her tongue.

  His expression seemed to relax. He held out his hand and motioned quickly. Impatiently.

  “Well, come then, let us return to the ballroom.”

  “I’ll follow shortly.” She needed time to compose herself.

  “We have to dance.” His voice was firm. She bit her lip and gaped at him, unable to envision sharing a dance with him at this moment.

  “At least once this evening, Beth.”

  There was no escape. If they didn’t dance, people might talk. She wasn’t ready for society or Mrs. Hazelwood—good Lord, especially Mrs. Hazelwood— to know the truth of their marriage.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She allowed Grey to take her hand and draw her out to the ballroom floor. It was strange for him to hold her hand like that, decorously, as if they had never pressed their bodies together in the heat of passion. When the music started, they moved through the steps of a minuet without speaking. Her many hours spent with the exacting, prissy dancing master had paid off.

  At one point, she looked up as the movements of the dance brought them together and stared in confused wonder at the couple in one of the many brass-framed mirrors. The petite, silver-blonde woman and the dark, broad-shouldered man who seemed to tower over her. They appeared to be such a contrast, in every way possible. How could they have believed they could make a marriage together?

  It was like dancing with a stranger.

  She hated feeling that way about him. Hated the continuing disconnect between them. She had to get away from him. She had to get away from everyone and everything.

  * * * *

  “You look sad.”

  Jan sounded so concerned, Beth forced a smile. “I am fine, quite happy.”

  He raised his left brow. “If you say so.”

  Beth had escaped here to the balcony for a few moments’ respite. And wasn’t it just inevitable that Jan, of all people, would follow her? The one person she couldn’t bear to be short with just now.

  He pulled her wrap up over her shoulders. “It’s cold out here, Beth. Why don’t we go inside?”

  “I can’t bear it in there. It‘s too warm and it was making me ill.” Even now, she felt she still might faint.

  Jan reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I wrote this for you.”

  “What?” she asked, distracted by the queasiness in her stomach. Perhaps she’d drunk too much claret on an empty stomach. But it had only been two glasses over three hours—she could tolerate that much surely.

  “It’s a poem.”

  She forced her attention to focus on him. “A poem? I thought you were too practical for poetry.”

  The wind gusted and the paper crackled loudly. He struggled with it. Nausea washed over her, along with a bone-chilling sweat. The whole world seemed to rock in her vision and she grasped the edge of the stone bench and moaned in alarm.

  He clasped her shoulders. “Beth! What’s wrong?”

  “I just feel a bit fatigued.”

  “Well, let me help you inside.”

  She looked up at him. “Yes, I think I must go home. I suddenly feel so poorly.”

  * * * *

  “Mr. Sexton, I’d like a moment of your time.”

  Grey turned from the deep discussion of the recent American victory at the affair opposite Black Rock, New York, and focused on the tall, slender man with the dark red hair. “Dr. Wade.” He made no effort to hide his dislike. “I wasn’t aware you were on the guest list. Perhaps my wife neglected to tell me.”

  A thin smile played about the other man’s lips. “I am here in a professional capacity. Ruth called for me.”

  Grey frowned. Wonderful. All he needed was for Beth to be consumed with worry over her sister. “Ruth is ill?”

  Dr. Wade shook his head. “No, it’s your wife.”

  “My wife?” But he’d just seen Beth and, aside from being sad and stubborn, she had seemed fine.

  “Yes, she’s rather ill. She became faint and feverish and Jan accompanied her home in your carriage—”

  Wade’s words sounded in Grey’s ears. He knew their meaning and yet they made no sense. “Hold on… Jan took my wife home?”

  Why was Wade telling him this? If Beth wanted to go home, why wouldn’t Jan have come in here and fetched him?

  “Yes. Jan said to tell you he had left his curricle for you to ride home in. Don’t worry—I gave her some medication and when I left she was resting peacefully. Ruth is with her. But she really is very ill.”

  “Ill? I just saw her and she was fine.” He couldn’t keep the angry edge out of his voice. What the devil was Wade doing around Beth anyway? “I’ve told you before to stay away from her and if you don’t—”

  He glanced at the clock. Hours had passed since he’d been with Beth.

  Dr. Wade leaned in closer and spoke over him in low tones. “Can we go someplace else and talk?”

  Grey narrowed his eyes. “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do. I am trying to tell you, your wife is quite ill.”

  A visceral memory hit Grey. His lips on Beth’s forehead. How hot it had felt…but then the ballroom had been overheated. Her eyes had stared back at his, too brightly blue. She’d looked tired, pale. She had been clutching her stomach. He’d thought
her simply strained. She had shivered in his arms, then complained of the heat.

  Damn it, he’d asked if she was ill and she had denied it. Why?

  A strange haze of unreality seemed to take him and hold him in its grip. It wasn’t a surprise. All day, something had been niggling at him. A sense of something outside himself, greater than himself, working on him. Waiting to pounce on him, to steal his fragile hold over things. So here it was. Best to confront it and deal with it. He nodded numbly and turned and walked away without looking to see if the other man was following. He went to the side bar at the other end of the card room. With the others gathered around the tables, it was as much privacy as they were likely to get.

  As Dr. Wade approached, Grey offered him a glass of Scotch. Wade shook his head. With his own drink in hand, Grey leaned against the sideboard. “Now what’s this about my wife?”

  “You know how Be—Mrs. Sexton hides things. She’s falling into a despondency.”

  Grey frowned and paused with his glass held to his lips. “Despondency?”

  “Yes, you heard me.”

  “Despondency doesn’t cause a fever and faintness,” Grey snapped, and set his glass down without having taken a drink. Something uneasy snaked through his innards.

  “She also has the beginnings of quinsy, brought on by the despondency. She’s always had a weakness towards that sort of thing when her spirits are low.” The fond familiarity in Dr. Wade’s voice rankled Grey.

  “All right, Dr. Wade—thank you for seeing to my wife, but you can leave now. I have my own physician who tends my family.”

  Dr. Wade looked over his spectacles and met his eyes evenly. “Well, I am not done telling you how it is.”

  “Oh, and how is it?”

  “I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Sexton. I see a lot of wives of men just like you. Men of business who have no time for their families. I treat a lot of these types of despondencies. Beth’s not the kind of woman who can live with neglect. I understand that you’re planning a trip to Philadelphia soon?”

  “Yes, I have business there.”