Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

She would never be the same after, could she?

  Simon unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and dropped them. Instead of being bare underneath as she’d expected, he faced her in a pair of short drawers. Bending down, he slipped his knee-high stockings down his calves.

  Jenny noted with satisfaction he had put on enough weight in the passing weeks to no longer look the part of an underfed captive.

  “Your turn,” he prompted, when she remained frozen. “Maybe this will help,” he added, blowing out half of the many candles that were dotted around their bedroom. “I think the staff got carried away with romance.”

  A nervous laugh escaped her as she undid her corset with practiced hands and let the garment drop, followed by her waist-to-ankle petticoat. Then, she reached up under her shift and untied the ribbons of her stockings before undoing her garter.

  “May I?” he asked.

  Nodding, she pointed the toes of her right foot toward him, allowing him access under her shift. As he slid the stocking down her leg, he softly, sensually caressed her from thigh to ankle. Her knees wobbled, and she grabbed for one of the bedposts before holding out her left foot and inviting him to do the same again.

  “Nearly done,” Jenny muttered, taking the hem of her shift in her hands.

  “Let me,” he said, approaching her and pulling her into his strong arms. However, instead of removing the last barrier on her body, Simon kissed her thoroughly until she felt her toes curl into the thickly woven carpet.

  The pulsing heat returned, causing areas of her body to throb, chasing away any fears until she was more than ready for him to claim her as his own. When he started to tug at the hem of her chemise, she raised her arms to assist him.

  In an instant, Simon had whisked the white cotton over her head and tossed it with the rest of their clothes upon the low divan.

  Taking her hands, he held her away from him and looked down, appearing to feast with his eyes.

  “You are magnificent, a diamond of the first water.”

  His words warded off the blush that had threatened her cheeks, and for once in her life, Jenny merely accepted the attention without embarrassment. After all, under his worshiping gaze, how could she be embarrassed? She felt like a queen.

  Clearly, he liked what he saw. And exactly as Aristotle’s Masterpiece had predicted, Simon’s yard rose to its duty, tenting the front of his drawers.

  Boldly, she stepped forward and tugged at the small satin drawstring bow, releasing his last undergarment, which slid down his muscular legs.

  “Oh,” was all she said. “You are the one who is magnificent. Truly.”

  And those were the last words she spoke as he smiled, drew her to the bed, and proceeded to make love to her.

  Even without parsnips, he seemed quite up to the task. More than once, in fact.

  After the second culmination, lying entwined with her husband, still breathing heavily and feeling a sated heaviness to her limbs, Jenny knew she could stay awake hardly a moment longer. She had to tell him what she’d discovered between his taking her virginity and both of them spending—first her, with an astonished cry, followed by his guttural groan as he pumped into her tight sheath.

  “Simon.”

  He ran a fingertip between her breasts. “Yes, Genevieve.”

  She giggled at her own name, giddy with happiness, still marveling at the unimagined pleasure.

  “I love you.”

  She heard his breath catch.

  For a moment, he said nothing.

  And then she heard the sweetest response, his voice choked with emotion.

  “I love you, too, wife.”

  *

  In her dream, Jenny walked in a field of wildflowers, the sun was shining brightly, and she was warm and happy. Simon was on the other side of the pasture beckoning her. Crossing beneath a copse of drooping willows, to Jenny’s horror, the snaky branches seemed to tangle around her slender neck and tighten. The more she struggled to escape, the tighter they became.

  “Simon,” she screamed to him for help. “Simon!”

  Hearing his answering yell, she awakened at once. However, the pain at her throat did not diminish. Fighting for air, she reached up to feel her husband’s hands at her throat. Too strong for her to break his hold, his grip was not loosening, and she hadn’t the breath to scream again.

  Clawing at the backs of his hands as blackness seeped into the edges of her vision, she then pummeled him with her fists, and finally, as her last strength left her, she managed to slap his cheeks.

  All at once, the tension in his hands ceased, though for a moment, Simon still didn’t release her.

  “Jenny,” he said, his voice groggy and confused. “What is happening?”

  She could only groan in response. Realizing their situation, he pulled his hands away from her as if scalded.

  “What in the hell?” he swore, sitting up and grabbing a flint to light a bedside candle.

  She didn’t move but simply remained lying on her back, her own hands pressed against her aching neck. Stunned terror still trembled through her.

  As Simon realized what he’d done, a moan of anguish escaped him. When he reached for her, she flinched without meaning to, and he swore again. As he slowly moved toward her again, however, she let him take her in his arms, smoothing her hair behind her shoulders before propping the pillows up for her to lean on.

  “Dear God, I don’t understand,” he ground out.

  Swallowing painfully, she coughed to clear her throat. Snatching up a glass, he poured her some wine. Gratefully, she sipped at it, keeping one hand on her tender neck.

  “You didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered at last. “I could tell. You were completely asleep.”

  Gingerly, he lay his hand on the counterpane where it covered her lap.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Yes. “No,” she assured him. “You stopped nearly as soon as I awakened.”

  Silence. Then he rose from the bed, unmindful of his nakedness. “This is not good.”

  “I’m sure you were having a nightmare. It isn’t your fault.”

  “Fault, be damned. What matter fault if you are hurt?”

  “I will be fine. I am fine.” She hoped the painful ache would go away soon.

  Pacing in front of the bed, Simon was not growing calmer.

  “I was having the same dream of Burma. I’ve awakened before with all the bedclothes not only in disarray but on the floor as if I had been violent. I’ve even found myself on the floor, as I told you once, yet with no memory of falling out of bed. Yet I never thought I could do something so brutal as try to strangle you. It’s madness. It goes against the natural order of how I should protect you.”

  Setting her wine glass on the bedside table, she crawled to the end of the bed.

  “Simon, please. Do not berate yourself. You are neither mad, nor unnatural. Simply troubled. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  Reaching her arms toward him, ignoring her own unclothed state, she hoped he would settle down and return to the bed. Moving into her embrace, he held her, her check pressed against his warm body.

  “Everything is fine,” she soothed. “Come back to bed.”

  He stiffened. “No. Not tonight, Jenny. I can’t.”

  “Please.”

  “I will sit in the chair by the fire. I can sleep there as easily, and I can also be assured I won’t harm you.”

  “Tsk, you won’t—”

  “I already did!” He released her. “Let me do what I must. I will watch over you until you fall asleep. Come now,” he circled the bed and patted her pillow. “Try to go back to sleep.”

  Feeling miserable at the unthinkable turn of events, she settled her head on the pillow, wishing her husband’s side of the bed were not empty and already growing cold.

  “Take a blanket off the bed,” she insisted as Simon tucked her in.

  “Yes, wife.” He smoothed her hair off the side of her face and leaned down to kiss her. “I’m so ve
ry sorry,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  In the next moment, he blew out the candle and plunged the room back into the pre-dawn darkness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Jenny awakened the next morning, it took her a moment to remember. Sure enough, Simon was not in the bed, but he also was not in the chair. She was alone. Hurrying with her toilette, merely washing her face, using her tooth powders, and brushing her hair before twisting it into an easy chignon, she then dressed in traveling clothes, the easiest to fasten by herself.

  After a quick stop at the water closet, she descended to the main floor and went to the dining room in search of her husband. It was empty. As was the parlor, the drawing room, and the conservatory, and every other room she searched. Where was that man?

  Not knowing enough about her surroundings to risk venturing outdoors alone, she instead found the kitchen by following her nose toward the smell of coffee and sausages.

  Simon was not there, but a round woman with a ruddy face was seated on a stool drinking coffee.

  She jumped up as Jenny entered.

  “Oh dear, it’s the countess,” the cook uttered before bending into a low curtsey from which Jenny feared the woman might not easily straighten. “You should have rung the bell, my lady.”

  “Sorry to bother you,” Jenny said, causing the cook’s eyes to bulge at her apology. “I smelled the coffee, and also, I’m looking for Lord Lindsey.”

  “Let me pour you a cup, dear.” The woman was staring at her now with unfeigned interest. “I did see his lordship a couple hours ago. He took his coffee in the parlor, and I believe he went out riding, my lady.”

  The cook set the cup and saucer on a tray, her gaze still fixed upon her new mistress. “We don’t keep a big staff here, my lady, unless someone from the family is staying for an extended period, if you see what I mean. I do apologize for not sending a maid to your room.”

  Jenny wondered if she could take the coffee cup off the tray, but had a feeling that would not make the woman happy.

  “No matter. I appreciated the chance to sleep in.” How was she going to get the hot beverage before it was stone cold?

  They stared at each other. Finally, the cook said, “Will you take your coffee in the dining room or the parlor, my lady?”

  Jenny sighed. “I suppose the dining room, if you please.” Then, realizing she was hungry after her night of being turned from maiden to wife, not to mention the startling event afterward, she asked, “And I would like eggs and sausage.”

  At the door, she glanced back. “Perhaps a couple pieces of toast, too. With preserves if you have any, or honey will do.”

  At that moment, the maid entered and froze stock-still upon seeing Jenny in the kitchen.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, curtseying even lower and more agilely than the rotund cook. “My lady.” She also stared at Jenny as if she had a squirrel on her head.

  “Tilda, take her ladyship’s coffee to the dining room and come back for her breakfast.”

  Thus, Jenny found herself being trailed by a maidservant carrying a large silver tray with only her saucer and cup of coffee. Once in the dining room, she took a seat on one side of a long redwood table with gold inlay, waiting while the girl set down her beverage before her.

  “Sugar, my lady?”

  “Yes, please,” Jenny said, and the maid grabbed a glass bowl from the sideboard and set it down before her with a spoon. “I’ll go grab your breakfast, my lady.” The girl backed out of the room, keeping her eyes fixed on Jenny the entire time until she turned and ran down the hallway.

  Instead of the girl’s light tread, however, it was Hessians she heard upon the floor, and suddenly, there was her new husband in the doorway.

  Unable to keep from smiling, Jenny stood and held her hands out to him.

  To her dismay, his expression went from pleasant to thunderous in an instant, and he strode over to her.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, peering closely at her neck. “I should send for a doctor.”

  With her hands fluttering up to her neck, Jenny shook her head. “Whatever for?”

  “Don’t you know? Can you not feel your own injuries?”

  “My injuries?” Glancing around the room, she spied a looking glass artfully placed behind crystal decanters in one corner, causing the light to sparkle wildly and brighten the space.

  Hurrying toward it, she hardly dared to look at herself. When she did, she gasped.

  Craning her head to the right and left, she was amazed at how bruised her neck was, with red patches and some already deep purple. Anyone could see she’d been nearly strangled to death. Why, there were even fingerprints. Oh dear! What must the staff think? No wonder they had stared.

  “Honestly, it is a little tender,” she admitted, turning to Simon, whose stricken visage tugged at her heart, “but I certainly don’t need a physician. What could he do? Perhaps your cook has some arnica infusion.”

  Just then, the maid returned, stopping short at the sight of the earl. An expression of fright crossed her face, and Jenny wished she had the words to protect him. What could she say? She’d become tangled in the bed clothing?

  Better to simply ignore the bruising and ignore the staring.

  “My breakfast?” she prompted the girl, who gave Simon a wide berth and set down the tray overflowing with food.

  “Will you eat with me, my lord?”

  “I have no appetite,” he said tightly.

  Jenny decided she’d ignore him as well. Simply let everything return to normal.

  “That will be all then,” she said to the maid. What was her name? “Tilda, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied again and left, her glance going from her new mistress’s colorful neck to her lord’s fearsome expression, until she rounded the corner.

  Jenny sat down and finally sipped her coffee. Lukewarm but still delightful. She picked up her silverware and tucked into the hearty breakfast. However, as she chewed and swallowed the first bite of juicy sausage, she halted. Chewing was easy but the swallowing was a painful process, made worse by her attempting to hide how difficult it was.

  Of course, Simon’s scrutiny saw everything. “I knew it. You are injured. You cannot even eat.”

  “Of course I can,” Jenny said, proving she could by taking another bite. Chewing as long as she could, at last, she had to swallow. Coughing, she took another sip of coffee. That went down fairly easily, at least.

  Simon yanked so hard on the bell pull, Jenny feared it would come away in his hand. In mere moments, Tilda had returned.

  “Ask your cook if she has any arnica. And we will need only soup for the rest of the day.” He looked at Jenny again as she pushed the eggs around her plate. “Most probably for tomorrow’s breakfast, too,” he muttered after the maid had disappeared.

  “Breakfast?” she exclaimed. “I thought we were going to the first of your holdings today.”

  Simon sat in the chair beside her. “We should wait until you heal.”

  “Nonsense,” she uttered. “Let us forget this matter and continue our journey. I have no intention of hiding out here.”

  He sighed and grabbed a piece of toast from her plate.

  “Very well. However, you must wear something high-necked or wrap a shawl around the mess I made of your lovely skin.”

  “If only I could wear a cravat.” She laughed.

  He didn’t even smile. “There is nothing humorous about this.”

  “Perhaps not. Yet it is not the end of the world either.”

  Deciding she’d better buck up before her new husband decided to put her on bedrest, Jenny forced the fluffy eggs down her aching throat, swallowed the last of the coffee, and rose to her feet.

  “I will check on the arnica and then dress in such a way no one else will even notice, I promise.”

  With her husband’s distraught expression haunting her, Jenny left to prepare for her first trial as an overseer.

&nb
sp; *

  Simon wanted to break something. Something valuable, as if breaking something expensive he could pay for would absolve his sins. Glancing around at the modest furnishings, he noted there wasn’t a vase that looked expensive enough to bother hurling across the room. However, the blasted mirror in which Jenny had seen her injured neck, he could cheerfully toss onto the floor and crush beneath his boots.

  He didn’t do anything of the kind, of course. He’d never been a violent man. Thus, waking up with his hands choking the life out of his wife—the kindest, most helpful person he’d ever known—had shaken him to his core.

  And mere hours after having made love to her, the most intense, fulfilling sexual encounter he’d ever experienced. His practical Jenny was also fiercely passionate. He’d deflowered her, and then he’d nearly snuffed out her vitality.

  Nauseated by his thoughts, his stomach churning, Simon knew he was going to be sick. A delayed reaction, he considered, as he ran out the back door into the garden and lost the toast he’d only just ingested.

  That’s what came of tamping down the terror of what he’d nearly done. Moreover, he’d been holding that fear in check ever since his new bride had gone back to sleep trustingly, while, filled with horror, he’d sat in the chair staring into the darkness.

  It had been too easy to think himself healed.

  Wiping a handkerchief across his mouth, Simon stared up at their bedroom window. With Jenny by his side, he’d known a smug satisfaction that everything would be well. Indeed, he’d thought he had conquered the demons inside him. At last! He would be utterly normal again. And, of course, he had looked forward to their wedding night with particular glee after a long period of abstinence.

  Bah! What a fool! Perhaps he was cursed.

  Unexpectedly, Jenny appeared at the window, looking out over the garden and his breath caught in his throat. He saw the moment when she spied him. A smile lit her lovely face and she held up a hand with a slight wave.

  He waved back. He would do anything to protect her, even from himself.

  *

  Oh dear, was Simon brooding again? That was definitely not good for him. Jenny had seen him in the garden looking pensive before they left. Now, he leaned his head back in the carriage but didn’t look peaceful.