Amazing was an understatement, she thought as she struggled to right her own breathing. She placed her hand on his chest and felt his pounding heart. “I agree,” was all she could manage, little zings of pleasure still zipping through her body. Nothing she’d done with William compared to the ecstasy she’d just experienced with Beau.
She turned to her side, her back to him, and he pulled her against his chest. His arms were around her, his big strong muscles enveloping her. She expelled a breath. The few times she’d laid with William, he had quickly dressed and left. This was different. Why was Nicholas—no, Beau—interested in staying, in holding her close? It felt…strange. But she also had to admit, it felt good. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to pretend for one moment that they were in love, that they were betrothed. That he wasn’t who he was, and she wasn’t who she was.
She allowed him to hold her…until the sweat on her body cooled, until she heard the crickets chirping in the meadow. She allowed him to run his fingers through her hair and kiss her ear.
They stayed that way for what felt like hours but was probably only half of one.
“Marianne?” Beau’s whisper finally filtered through the darkness.
“Yes?” she replied, hoping he wasn’t about to say something to ruin the bubble of intimacy that surrounded them.
“Will you tell me about your brother’s murder?”
She closed her eyes and exhaled her pent-up breath. Too late. The magic was gone. “No, Beau. I can’t.”
Chapter Nineteen
Beau could have kicked himself for bringing up Marianne’s brother in the afterglow of their lovemaking. He’d assumed, obviously incorrectly, that she might have been more willing to share some information after they’d been so close. Instead, all it had served to do was to close her up tighter than a wine drum.
She’d quickly slipped from his arms and the cot and pulled on both her night rail and her dressing gown. Beau had sighed and taken the hint. He dressed and left her bedchamber soon after, doing nothing more than giving her an awkward kiss on the top of the head before taking his leave.
It was probably a good thing he’d left when he had, however, because Kendall, of all bloody people, had come knocking on Beau’s door not an hour after he’d made it back to his own cot.
Beau had had to give the chap a talk that mainly involved advice regarding Kendall telling Frances Wharton, the woman he’d inadvertently fallen in love with at the house party, the truth about his identity as an earl, and to face the consequences of his lies. It had been a sensitive subject, as Kendall blamed Beau for his lying in the first place. After all, the entire pretend-to-be-servants plot had been his idea to begin with.
After Kendall had gone on his way and Beau suffered a nearly sleepless night, he had spent most of the day seeing to Lord Copperpot’s needs. In the afternoon, he’d ended up hosting an impromptu meeting of his friends in his bedchamber, where Kendall got drunk as a wheelbarrow and had even become a bit belligerent.
Turns out Miss Wharton hadn’t taken too kindly the news that Kendall was an earl—specifically, the earl whom she most disliked by reputation. To make matters worse, tonight at dinner, Miss Wharton’s parents followed through on a plan to announce her engagement to Sir Reginald Francis, after Beau had spent no inconsiderable amount of time last night and earlier this evening trying to convince Kendall not to give up.
Beau had remained the picture of his normal calm, collected self in front of his friends all afternoon, but he had spent every spare moment contemplating what had happened between himself and Marianne in her room last night.
He’d made love to her. Well, love was probably a strong word. But he’d never been one to casually sleep with any willing female, and that’s certainly not what this was; he wasn’t Worthington, for Christ’s sake. The duke was was known for his mésalliances, but Beau prided himself on both his discernment and his self-control.
Going for long times without bedding a woman wasn’t something that bothered him overly much. Spending the night with a woman—and normally he spent the entire night—usually led to feelings, and feelings usually led to complications, and if there was one thing Beau steadfastly steered clear of, it was complications. Of any sort. For any reason. They were messy, unruly things and he prided himself on a tidy, disciplined life.
Last night, however, he hadn’t even thought about the feelings or the complications. Normally he was tightly in control of his baser desires, and thought through the ramifications of any choices he made when it came to carnal pleasures.
But the moment Marianne had invited him to touch her—when she’d said, “now I know your name”—every responsible thought had scattered from his brain, and all he knew was that he had to make have her. Immediately.
And even in the harsh light of day, he couldn’t even say he regretted it. In fact, he wanted to do it again.
Marianne was passionate. Passionate and practical. Something told him that laying with her wouldn’t be like laying with anyone else. And he’d been right. The experience had been unlike any other in his life. But why? It made no sense. Why would a lady’s maid, especially one with an affected accent and who was lying to him, make him feel things he’d never felt before?
Not only was she lying to him, she’d tricked him into telling her his name. Somehow, she’d known his name wasn’t truly Nicholas, while she’d also known she wouldn’t be giving away much by admitting that he already knew hers. He did believe that her Christian name was truly Marianne, however. He could see the veracity in her eyes when she’d said it.
Beau shook his head. He had to admit it had been clever of her to trick him into revealing his name. Quite clever. She’d outmaneuvered him. And he wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered by anyone. Perhaps that was what intrigued him so much about her. He usually knew precisely who he was involving himself with. Marianne, however, was shrouded in mysteries. Mysteries that he greatly wanted to solve.
And one of the mysteries about her was what precisely had happened to her brother.
Whatever the story, it clearly wasn’t one she wanted to talk about much. Why not? Because it was so painful? Something told him it was more than just that.
It was not yet midnight when a knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he stood to answer it. No doubt it was Kendall again with more excuses about why he refused to fight for Miss Wharton.
Beau ripped open the door, saying, “You’d better get down there, no doubt dinner is mostly over.”
“Dinner?” Marianne stood there in her ubiquitous blue gown sans apron, a confused look at her face. “In the dining room? I have it on good authority that it ended quite abruptly this evening.”
Whatever she meant about dinner was quickly lost in Beau’s excitement that she had come to his room. After what had happened last night, he’d half-expected her to avoid him like a bug-filled mattress from now on.
As was their ritual, Beau glanced both ways into the corridor to ensure it was clear before tugging her softly into his bedchamber.
“You’re here,” he said inanely after he’d shut the door behind her.
“I am,” she replied, biting her lower lip and staring at him uneasily, as if she were prepared to bolt at any moment if he made a sudden move.
She stepped toward the cot and gestured to it. “May I sit?”
“Please do,” he blurted, taking a seat on the window ledge next to the bed. He wasn’t about to get too close and scare her off. He wanted to hear what she had to say.
Marianne lowered herself to the cot and expelled her breath. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.” Her voice was calm and even.
“The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted with a wry smile.
She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize…for running you off so quickly last night. The truth is…you frightened me.”
“Frightened you?” he echoed, leaning back into the window frame and propping up one knee. He needed to hear
her out, let her say whatever she needed to say.
“More than a bit,” she continued, smoothing her hands down her skirts repeatedly. “I’d never…” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink and she dipped her head. “I’d never experienced anything like that before and I…it frightened me.”
A frown marred his brow. What exactly what she saying? “You told me you weren’t innocent.”
“I’m not… I wasn’t.” Her blushed deepened, but she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “But what happened between us last night…was unlike any of the times before.” She finished by expelling her breath again as if she’d just made a distressing confession.
“I feel the same,” he said quietly, hoping to make her feel comfortable by admitting the truth as well.
She nodded and folded her hands together in her lap. Her blush had not completely vanished. “I don’t know why I acted so strangely when you asked about my brother,” she said next. “I suppose it’s because I’ve never really spoken about it with anyone before.”
He nodded too and slowly moved to sit next to her on the mattress. He tentatively reached out to lay his hand atop hers on her lap. “I understand, Marianne.”
“Have you ever lost anyone close to you?” she asked.
A vision of a night many years ago flashed through his memory, but he steadfastly shook it away. “No one close to me has ever been murdered,” he answered. “Last night you said you can’t talk about it.”
“That’s right.” She nodded.
“Can’t or won’t?” he prompted.
She lowered her chin to her chest. “Won’t…or at least I didn’t want to then.”
“You don’t have to now if you still don’t want to.”
She lifted her chin and he could see tears shining in her eyes. “My brother was shot, killed in the war.”
Beau nodded. “I see. I suspected as much, but when you said he was murdered, I wondered about the details.”
“He was killed in the war,” she repeated, staring straight ahead at the wall, unseeing.
Beau squeezed her hand. “I can see it’s difficult for you to talk about. I’ll walk you back to your room.”
She shook her head and met his gaze. “I don’t want you to walk me back to my room, Beau.”
He swallowed hard. “What do you want me to do?”
Marianne stared unseeing at the wall for several moments. She looked frightened, alone. He moved closer, pulling her to his chest for a hug. He wanted to hold her, soothe her. He caressed her arms, her back. He smoothed her hair before placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. All the while, he murmured words of comfort.
She turned her face up to him. “Kiss me again.”
He pulled back and searched her features. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes. When you touch me, everything else fades and there’s only you. Only pleasure.”
Beau went slowly at first. He lifted one hand to her neck, pulling her closer to his mouth as his lips descended to hers. But the moment their mouths met, Marianne didn’t allow him to be gentle. Her tongue pushed its way between his lips, and she began ripping at his shirt.
Only moments passed before they were both naked on the cot and Marianne laid down and pulled him atop her. “Make me yours again, Beau,” she breathed.
Beau’s hand moved between her legs to ensure she was wet and ready for him, but unlike last night, he didn’t spend time stoking the fire inside of her. They both wanted this fast and hard and he was prepared to give it to her.
He pushed her legs apart with his knee then slid inside of her, waiting for only a second to ensure she was settled, before sliding out and pumping into her again and again. Her head moved back and forth fitfully on the pillow. The tiny groans coming from her throat were nearly his undoing.
When she grabbed his buttocks and squeezed, that was it. Beau pumped into her again and again until he was on the precipice of one of the fastest, most fulfilling orgasms of his entire life. He pulled out of her swiftly and came on the mattress beside her hip, his breathing nothing more than a series of ragged gasps.
She had a satisfied smile on her lips when he leaned up to look at her face moments later. “I apologize for that,” he said with a sheepish grin. “That was rushed, and very bad form.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” she said, snuggling deeper into the cover, the grin still inexplicably riding her lips.
What was she grinning for? He knew he hadn’t pleasured her the way he had last night.
“I don’t understand,” he began.
“I loved it,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and turning so that her lips met his ear, “because I loved making you lose control.”
He had to chuckle at that. “Well, you certainly did that,” he admitted, before tossing the cover over his head and descending down the length of her body. “But I fully intend to make it up to you.”
As his tongue swiped between her legs, her eyes rolled back into her head and Marianne didn’t have another coherent thought for several more minutes, until well after she’d come so hard, her body lifted itself from the bed.
In the aftermath, she pulled the covers up to her underarms while she considered how truly skilled the man was with his tongue. It was amazing, really.
He pulled her into his arms and held her there tightly as he had the night before, and she pretended again that whatever this was between them was real.
She waited for several silent, satisfied moments to pass before she ventured, “Why…why did you…withdraw?”
“Excuse me?” His voice held a note of confusion.
“Please don’t make me repeat it,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I only ask because…William never did that.”
Beau pulled her close again and kissed her cheek. “Then William was a selfish ass. I did that so you wouldn’t find yourself with a baby nine months from now.”
Marianne nodded. Of course. And Beau was right, William was a selfish ass. Then again, at the time she’d thought they were going to be married, so a baby hadn’t been a fear; but he hadn’t ever asked her if she’d got with child. She hadn’t, of course, but William hadn’t known that.
She snuggled back against Beau again, pleased with the knowledge that he was taking measures to ensure their affair would not have unwanted consequences.
Several more silent moments passed before he said, “When you first arrived, you mentioned something about dinner ending early.” He nuzzled at her neck.
“Yes,” Marianne replied with a laugh, remembering the story she’d heard earlier. “According to Lady Wilhelmina, there was quite a commotion in the dining room tonight.”
Beau leaned up on his elbow and stared down at her. He had a sinking feeling he knew something about what had happened. “A commotion?”
Marianne nodded. “Lady Wilhelmina told me one of the footmen serving the table climbed atop the sideboard, ripped off his wig, tossed it in the soup, and revealed himself to be the Earl of Kendall. Then he proceeded to ask Miss Frances Wharton to marry him—and she fled the room.”
The hint of a smile tugged at Beau’s lip. “Is that so?” He shook his head. Good for Kendall. The fool had apparently listened to him after all.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, Marianne was up before the sun. Not that she had slept much. In fact, she’d hardly slept a wink. After she’d sneaked back into her own bedchamber on the far end of the hall, she’d climbed into her bed and laid there, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. What was she doing, going to bed with a man whom she didn’t even know? Beau. His name was Beau, and he was ‘playacting’ at being a valet. That’s all she knew. She had no idea otherwise who he was.
What had he done to rid himself of Lord Copperpot’s regular valet, Mr. Broughton? But more importantly, why? Why would Beau want to pretend to be a valet?
Whoever he was, she’d slept with him—not once, but twice. And she honestly had no other excuse for her actions beyond pure
animal attraction. The man made her throat tight and her heart pound. Kissing him and allowing him to touch her the way he had had been bold enough, but now she’d spent the night with him twice. And truthfully, she wanted to do it again.
God, just the thought of his tongue on her the way it had been last night made her break out in a sweat.
Of course, she wasn’t who she pretended to be either, but she had good reason for it. What reason did Beau have? The most frustrating part was now that they’d both told each other their names, neither seemed particularly inclined to say any more. The house party might well end with her not knowing who she’d had a passionate affair with. Apparently, she was willing to live with that, because it hadn’t stopped her from falling into bed with him again last night, had it?
She told him the truth about her brother, but not all of it. Frederick had been shot and killed in the war. But there was more to the story, and that was why she was serving the Copperpots as a lady’s maid at the moment. She still didn’t know Beau well enough to tell him the whole truth, however, which was why she’d stopped her story where she had.
Thank heavens, Beau had seemed appeased by that, or at least he hadn’t asked any more questions. God only knew if he’d ask more later. Given the fact that they were both aware they were lying to each other, she suspected he would. Just as she intended to ask him more questions about that letter he’d burned in his room several days ago. She still wanted to know what that had been about.
But Marianne was waiting for a letter, too—a letter she also intended to destroy. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d accused him of being a hypocrite, but she was one too. The worst kind.
She paced around her small bedchamber. It was too early to do much of anything. Lady Copperpot and Lady Wilhelmina would not be awake at this hour. But she could steal down to the servants’ hall and see about planning their picnic outing for today. Apparently, the members of the house party had picnicked earlier in the week and Lady Copperpot and Wilhelmina had missed the planned outing. They intended to make up for it this afternoon.
The Valet Who Loved Me Page 11