Jo Beverley - [Malloren 01]

by My Lady Notorious

Chastity swallowed and tried not to show the horror she felt.

  His eyes met hers. “That’s my life. Could you share it?”

  “Sleep among corpses?” It came out rather squeakily.

  He laughed shortly. “They’re actually more peaceful than rats or fleas . . . But no, I don’t suppose it would come to that. But I make no promises.” He put his knuckles under her chin, preventing her from looking down. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

  “You can’t marry Chastity Ware.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before. There’s no one to stop me from doing whatever I want.”

  “What about Rothgar?”

  “Not even him. I’m of age and my income, limited though it is, is beyond his control.”

  “Are you warning me you’re poor?”

  Humor twinkled in his eyes. “An impoverished Malloren. Heaven forfend! We’ll have enough for a life of genteel comfort, when war allows us to enjoy it. Marry me, love.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she protested. “I was a ruined woman before I met you. I look a freak—”

  His lips silenced her, gently at first, then heatedly, hungrily. Her response was powerful, and frighteningly beyond her control.

  His clever lips released her, and his breathing was as unsteady as hers. “You are not a freak, Chastity Ware, unless that’s to mean you are unique. Your hair, if that’s what bothers you, will grow. I like it as it is, but if you want, you have the wig.” His hand traced her face. “I am not offering you marriage out of duty. You are beautiful. You are more beautiful to me than any other woman, even unadorned. You are brave. You have quick wits and a lively tongue. You are the only woman I have ever met who can match me in spirit.” He grasped her hand and pressed it against him. “You rouse my desire in a way that is both frightening and wonderful. Do you remember that first day?”

  The feel of him hard under her fingers flooded Chastity with a multitude of memories, making her hot and aching, but she remembered him spread-eagled on the bed. She nodded.

  “Even then,” he said, “my body knew.” Absentmindedly she stroked him. He shuddered. She snatched her hand away and pulled out of his arms.

  “It’s just lust,” she said. “It will pass.”

  “There’s no such thing as just lust. Lust is a dirty word for desire. I suppose in time all things will pass, but my desire of you will not soon fade.”

  “Do you know how little time we’ve known each other?” she demanded, fighting both herself and him.

  “All my life,” he declared.

  “Five days,” she pointed out grimly.

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I was new-born the day I met you.”

  “Will you be serious?”

  “No,” he said with a flippant gesture of his hands. “I tried serious. It’s clear I’ll have to tease you into marrying me.”

  She found the strength. “I’m not going to marry you.”

  He just shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  She wanted to throw things again.

  He saw her glance at the jam-pot and moved to block her, laughing. “Are we going to conduct our fights as well as our love with food? I can think of any number of variations on the theme. Honey, for example, would be better than butter. So sticky. It would take a long time to lick away . . .”

  Part of Chastity wanted to hit him over the head with the poker. Most of her wanted to surrender to this blissful insanity for the rest of her life.

  “You’re messy too,” he pointed out.

  Chastity looked down and saw that her clothes were now smeared with butter. “But not wet,” she countered.

  He felt his soggy coat. “True. I’d better change back into the clothes you are wearing, then. It’s time you became a woman again.”

  “I won’t wear those indecent clothes.”

  “Of course not, though they’ll perhaps do as undergarments. I’m sure we can buy you a gown.”

  He was shifting the ground under her unsteady feet. “But I’m supposed to be a man.”

  “There’s no reason for that anymore.” He smiled with startling sweetness. “I want to travel with you as a woman, love. If you’re really going to give me my congé, it’s the least you can do, to give me a few brief hours of truth before we part.”

  A few brief hours of truth before we part. It was a concept of such sweetness, Chastity surrendered. “How do I ride?”

  “Astride if you want, like a country woman. Or we can see if there’s a side-saddle to be had.”

  Chastity wondered whether skirts would make matters more comfortable. Then she saw his face, and saw that he had read her again.

  He took her right hand and studied it. The mark had faded a little but was still red and tender. “Time for you to tell me everything that happened to you, Chastity.”

  She pulled away, but he wouldn’t let go. “It’s not important,” she said. “We should be on our way. Verity and Nathaniel could be waiting.”

  “It’s important. It’s hurting you to ride, isn’t it?”

  “I’m just not used to so much riding.”

  “Or . . . lovemaking. Is that it?”

  Her color was rising again. She twisted against his hold. “Why are you tormenting me like this?” she protested. “I can ride.” Then she was free. She headed to the door.

  He blocked her. “You’re lying to me.”

  Chastity cursed the fact that she seemed never able to deceive him. “If I want to lie to you, Cyn Malloren, I will.”

  “Not about this.”

  Now he was as serious as anyone could wish, and formidable too. Chastity turned away, refusing to speak. She hated the memory of Lindle’s hands on her, of being whipped like a child. She wouldn’t speak of it.

  Cyn’s hands came to rest on her shoulders, gently, cherishingly. How could still hands express so many wonderful things? “You must tell me,” he said softly. “It will be all right, Chastity. I promise you. Trust me.”

  She could not resist that plea. “He caned me . . . On my thighs. It wasn’t much, but it hurts . . . It should be a little better by now . . .”

  His hands tightened, then slackened. He turned her and searched her face. “Is that the truth?”

  “I don’t seem to be good at lying to you.” He laughed, and she could hear the relief. “What did you think?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He moved away and it was her turn to block him. “Oh, no, you don’t. You bullied the truth out of me, Cyn Malloren, and now you’ll pay for it. What did you think?”

  He met her eyes. “I thought perhaps you hadn’t escaped the brothel.”

  She stared at him. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  She didn’t want to complete her sentence, but she knew he’d be back to bullying in a moment. “But I wasn’t that sore yesterday. So why would you think . . . ?”

  He shook his head, but tenderly. “You’re an innocent, my darling. I rejoice, and prefer to leave you thus.”

  He would have returned to the table, but she held on to his coat. “Oh, no, you don’t. Educate me.”

  A light flashed in his green-gold eyes. “Ah, I intend to. All in my own good time.”

  Chastity wouldn’t be diverted. “Tell me.”

  He gave in. “If you’d been used in the brothel, or raped elsewhere, you’d be in pain, perhaps even torn.”

  “Torn,” she said blankly.

  “You see why I can’t leave you unprotected in this cruel world, my love. You’re too innocent.” His kiss spoke of fear and the need to protect. The buttons of her waistcoat surrendered to his fingers. Her breasts felt their gentle worship . . .

  A choked sound made her jerk away.

  They turned to see the innkeeper at the door.

  Chastity flashed Cyn a horrified glance, but he was grinning, not at all abashed. “Ah, we are discovered. It is as you suspect, my good man, we are runaway lovers. May I hope you look kindly on Cupid’s victims?�
�� This hope was accompanied by a guinea.

  The guinea disappeared and the innkeeper nodded, still goggle-eyed.

  Cyn smiled at Chastity. “My lady needed these outlandish clothes to escape from her tyrannical parent, but she would be more comfortable in a gown. Are there any about for sale?” He held up another guinea.

  The innkeeper nodded. “Yes, milord. I’ll see to it, milord.”

  “And a room in which we can change. As you see, I had a small accident.”

  The man took in the butter and milk, and his eyes widened even more. “Of course, milord.”

  “And, in the unlikely event of anyone asking questions about us, either now or later, you and your people will never have seen us.” This statement was not accompanied by money. The tone was enough. It was all Malloren, and said clearly that he’d be back like an avenging angel if the man caused trouble.

  Soon they were in a bedchamber, with warm water to wash with, and a blue closed gown for Chastity. It was probably some servant’s best, for it sported a few ruffles and some crude embroidery, but it had a tired, well-worn look.

  Cyn held it against her. “It should fit. But one day soon, my love, I want to see you in finery of your own.” He smiled slowly. “Then I want to strip it off you, layer by silken layer.”

  Chastity blushed, and couldn’t stop a betraying glance at the bed.

  “Yes,” he said softly, and began to take off his clothes.

  For a moment Chastity wondered if she’d misunderstood, but when his drawers came off, she knew she hadn’t.

  He stood before her, hands on hips. “Well?”

  “Well what?” she asked, clutching the gown in front of her like a shield.

  “I want to make love to you, honestly, openly, in the light of day. No masks, no disguises.”

  He was erect with desire, but made no move toward her. If she balked now, she knew he would let her.

  But Chastity also knew this could be their only chance for an honest mating, and since he knew about Chloe . . .

  It was weak, but she couldn’t summon back the strength to resist. His plans for marriage were impossible, and she didn’t think she could live with any man in sin. By tomorrow they would be parted forever, and now—ah, now, she wanted him with soul as well as body . . .

  With trembling hands, she struggled out of her clothes, but she held the last item, his drawers, as an inadequate shield. She couldn’t seem to raise her eyes to his.

  She heard his soft exhalation. “Do you know,” he said reverently, “there is nothing the least boyish about you.”

  Chastity could feel the rosy heat creeping over her body. She didn’t know what to do.

  “Come to me, darling, of your own free will.”

  She looked at him then, and the tender love in his eyes broke through her fears. With a choke of embarrassment, she ran into his arms. He held her tight, and she could feel the shuddering emotion in him too.

  “Dearest one,” he murmured. “Sweetheart. Dear heart. Don’t cry . . .”

  Chastity looked up at him. “This hurts too much!”

  He laughed, but shakily. “We can handle part of the hurt, I think.”

  “Cyn!” she protested.

  He silenced her with a kiss and carried her to the bed. But when he placed her there, it was face-down, and when she would have rolled, he held her.

  She bit her lip at this silence, then his hand and lips brushed over her welts.

  “What kind of man is your father?” he asked quietly.

  “A dangerous one. Don’t cross him, Cyn.”

  “I will kill him if I get the chance.”

  This time he let her roll over and she stared at him. “You won’t get the chance.” But she wasn’t sure. She had never seen him like this. Even with those boors who’d been fighting over her, he’d not been like this.

  “I’ll make the chance.”

  She grabbed his rigid arm. “No. Leave it be. He has the right to chastise me.”

  “He has no right to terrify you.”

  Chastity took a deep breath. “Cyn, I want your word that you’ll not go after my father in any way.” She saw no flicker of weakening on his face, and pushed harder. “Or I’ll leave this bed and get dressed.”

  He moved back slightly. “Go then.”

  Chastity felt chilled, abandoned.

  He stood. Left her. “I can control my need of you. Your father deserves to die, and not just for that beating, and the clothes he gave you, and the threat to put you in a brothel. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  The sharp question took her unawares, and she knew she’d answered without words. His resolve frightened her, and she dreaded what would happen if he tangled with her father, but his leaving hurt the most. His need of her could not, after all, be as great as hers of him.

  He read her again. He had picked up his drawers. He let them drop and came back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her. “I ache for you.” Then he was gone.

  She leaped up and grabbed him around the waist. “Then love me. Please.”

  He turned slowly and looked at her, shuddered as he let his control slide. His kiss was so drowningly deep that when she found herself on the bed, she didn’t quite know how she came to be there.

  It was a tumult this time, but a gentle one, as he soothed every hurt, eased into every movement with perfect care.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right. You won’t hurt me. Come to me. Come to me.”

  She adored his body with her own, twining around him as supple as a vine, hardly able to tell his touch from her own. His hands and mouth were everywhere, as were hers. Their joining had the sweetness of the right key in a fine lock, and it opened the gates to a heaven beyond scandal, beyond duty, beyond pain . . .

  But then, inevitably, Chastity was dropped back into bleak reality, and the knowledge that this was one moment in a life that would be without him. She flung an arm over her eyes and fought a silent battle against tears.

  His right hand continued to cherish her. “Chastity.”

  She had to move her arm and meet his eyes—his darkly serious eyes.

  “I need to know,” he said. “You were not a virgin the other night. Who was it? Where? How?”

  “How many?” she asked bitterly.

  His hand soothed her. “No, Chastity. This isn’t an accusation. I just need to know. I need to know everything about you.”

  “Am I allowed no secrets?”

  His expression softened. “We’ve had this conversation before too, haven’t we? I don’t want us to have secrets. I’ll tell you all my lovers, if you’ll tell me yours.”

  Chastity fought a rear-guard action against his insistence. “I’m surprised you can remember all yours.”

  He kissed her. “Don’t leap to conclusions. I’ve never made love to a woman lightly, and I don’t use camp followers. Anyway, I suspect your story is important if we are to unravel this mystery. Tell me what happened to you.”

  Chastity didn’t want to, quite desperately. It would make him even angrier with her father, and she had to wonder what his reaction would be to discovering Chloe had been a virgin. In all seriousness, he’d promised to beat her.

  He frowned at her silence. “Don’t you trust me? I give you my word, nothing you can tell me will make me love you less. If you were taken by a regiment, I wouldn’t hold you in less honor. Trust me, Chastity. Please.”

  “It’s an unfair weapon, that,” she muttered, but she told him—about Henry Vernham’s proposal, the pressure put on her to marry the man, the bed incident, the beatings, and the forced breaking of her hymen.

  Her voice faltered at the growing fury in his face.

  “He will die,” he said. “Vernham too.”

  “No!” She grabbed at him. “Leave it, Cyn. Nothing can mend it.”

  “I will find a way to mend it, and avenge it.” But then he leashed his fury and gently ruffled her dampened hair. “But for you, Chastity, not for myse
lf. I love you and my love is greater for knowing what you’ve endured.”

  At this tenderness, tears finally escaped her.

  He held her close. “Don’t cry, love, please. It’s over. You’ll never have to be afraid, or alone, again. I promise you that, and I always keep my word.”

  She wished she could believe him, but she had learned her cruel lessons well. She pushed away from him. “How?” she demanded. “You’re a wonderful man, but you are just one man. You can’t change the world, and my father will crush you.”

  Humor flickered in his eyes and spread to a grin. “My dear, have you forgotten I’m a Malloren?”

  She stared at him. He leaped off the bed and pulled her to her feet. “Dress, wench,” he said, and landed a light but stinging slap on her behind. When she spun to glare at him, he said, “That’s for lying about being a virgin. And,” he added tenderly, “to show that I always keep my word.”

  He began to pull on his own clothes and so, in a daze, she followed his example. She slipped into the grubby pink chemise, the gaudy petticoat, and then put the blue dress over all. Without her asking, he came to help her with the back fastenings. Sweet, casual intimacy.

  Chastity went to the small mirror and put on her wig. The dress was plainer than any she’d worn as Lady Chastity Ware, but it was decent, and in its simple way, not unbecoming. Her wig made of her hair, her own wavy, honey-brown curls, seemed to wipe away the past months. She smiled wryly. As if anything could.

  Cyn moved behind her and put his hands at her waist, stroking her sides. “No whalebone,” he said approvingly.

  “I don’t have stays or I’d wear them.”

  “Shall I promise to strip you if I ever find you in any?”

  She turned. The incorrigible teaser had returned. “Idiot. How could I wear a fashionable gown without stays or stomacher?”

  “Ah,” he said triumphantly. “So you are coming around to the idea of fashionable life again.”

  “No. It’s impossible!”

  “Nothing is impossible.”

  Chastity gave up the argument. He’d realize soon enough. Let them once come up with anyone from Society, or let Rothgar get wind of this attachment, and it would be crystal-clear that Chastity Ware would never be accepted in Society again. “We must go,” she said. “We’ve let too much time slip by as it is.”