Michael hesitated for a brief second as he looked down at the woman beneath him, as he tried to puzzle out her expression. Her eyes were dark with passion, her breathing shallow, but he couldn’t see into that mind of hers. Did she sense how monumental this moment was for him? That there was nothing that could keep her from being his? That this moment with her warm and willing beneath him was their future? Could she see he had found his home in her arms?
Beth smiled at him. “You feel so good against me. It’s been so long.”
Michael pressed his mouth to hers, gently. “I’ve missed your lips.” He kissed her again taking it deeper, his tongue rubbing against her own. “I’ve missed this part of your neck,” he whispered as he tasted that curve where her neck met her shoulder. Beth squirmed against him. “Your scent is strong here.”
“I’ve really missed these,” he whispered against her pert breasts. Her nipples were pale rose, turgid, waiting for his mouth. She arched her back slightly inviting him to feast. And feast he did. He swept his tongue over each of her nipples before pulling one breast into his mouth and suckling deep. She arched her back urging him on. He suckled her other breast hard.
“Michael!”
He placed his fingertips gently against her lips. “Shhh. You want your mother to hear us?”
Beth’s eyes widened with fear and she began to push against him. “Good God, my mother. What if she catches you here? You have to leave.” Her voice was a raw whisper. “She’ll expect —things.”
He was tempted to let her mother find them. It would solve more than a few issues for him, but Beth’s panic pushed back the thought. Just as she would not trap him, he couldn’t do the same. “If you are quiet, she won’t hear us.” He kissed her hard and quick. He couldn’t leave her now, not when she was in his arms again, not when he hadn’t tasted her fully yet. Not until he’d shown her how much she meant to him. “Now where was I?”
Michael kissed his way down her torso and ran his tongue around the indentation of her navel, remembering she was sensitive there. He smiled as Beth giggled. “I like it when you laugh.” He teased her navel again. “Though laughing right now isn’t really good for my ego.”
“It tickles.” Her voice was breathless. “And your ego can handle it, my lord.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps. I like it when you squirm,” he whispered against her skin.
“You are tormenting me, Michael. Get on with it,” Beth said, her skin flushed. “I need you.”
He pushed up on his arms a bit to look at her, so lost in passion. His heart thumped, his need to push himself deep inside her so strong. “I love it when you call me Michael.”
Her lips softened into a smile. She touched his face with her fingertips. “Michael, are you going to make love to me or spend the rest of the evening teasing me?”
Michael grinned and nipped at her hand. He was hard as stone but he still needed to please Beth, to see her come, to watch the pleasure flush her skin. “There is no rush, love. We have all night.”
“That’s not like I remember it,” she teased.
He nuzzled the smooth skin of her stomach. “What do you remember?”
“How quickly things went. It seemed over in an instant.”
Michael snorted. “I hope I will make this time much more memorable, Miss Bishop.”
“Then proceed, my lord. Let’s see how you do.”
He nipped at the skin of her hip. “Be sure to take notes, Miss Bishop. I wouldn’t want you to forget anything.” He trailed his fingers through her curls to her sex, finding the bundle of nerves. He teased her, watched her push against his hand.
“Michael, please,” her voice was breathless, rough.
He allowed his hands to moved down her hips and push her legs farther apart. He bent and blew against her curls. “You will like this, love.”
“Like what? What are you doing?”
Beth had to cover her mouth with her hand to mute the scream as Michael’s mouth pressed against her sex. Who knew a man might do this? “Is this normal?”
“It’s not only normal, my love, it’s required,” Michael said softly.
Beth could not keep her hips still. The pleasure was too much, so intense. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he pressed his finger deep inside her while his mouth worked her. She gasped against the pleasure as it coursed through her like fire to paper. Her hands found his hair. “Come to me, Michael.”
Michael moved up her body, his mouth hot against her skin. She felt him hard against her entrance and her breath quickened. Her eyes drifted down as his mouth found hers in a hot, deep kiss. She returned his kiss, wanting more, so much more.
He slowly pushed into her and she winced, she’d forgotten how large he was. The pinch cleared some of the passion that fogged her brain. Common sense rushed in and she tensed.
If he came inside her, she could get pregnant.
He held himself still above her and brushed his lips against hers. “Are you all right, love?”
“Wait.” She pressed her hand to his lips. “You must promise me something, Michael. You must promise not to spill inside me.”
Michael stopped and glared at her. “What?”
“I cannot get myself with child.” She knew her voice was panicked, but she couldn’t help it. She was already damned for allowing this twice, but to bring a child into it, was not to be born. She brushed her hand over his cheek. “Please.”
A strange expression passed over his face. One she couldn’t read. It was almost disappointment, but he jerked his head in agreement and thrusted deep. His hand moved between them to touch her. Pleasure pushed out the fear and Beth let it carry her along seeking the release again. It washed over her in waves and she embraced it knowing that at this moment, she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t lonely.
Michael’s thrusts became stronger, less deliberate. His eyes closed, and he bit his lip as he finally pulled out of her and spill his seed on her belly, his body jerking. Beth clung to him, knowing it made her desperate, but she couldn’t help it. Tears stung her eyes as all her shields were laid bare by the pleasure they’d just shared. Only with Michael did she feel she was home, safe and secure. It would always be only Michael for her. Even when she knew this would end any hope of marriage for her, leave her a spinster, she held onto him, creating memories to comfort her through the lonely times ahead, only this man, this beautiful man.
He kissed her softly, gently, his hands moving against her skin as if he couldn’t move away from her. “Let me up, Beth,” he whispered against her skin.
Beth released her hold on him and watched as he rose. She wished she could draw him nude: all sinew and muscle, his sex heavy as he returned to their bed with a soft cloth.
“Let me take care of this,” his voice was soft. He wiped his seed from her stomach. “How did you know to tell me to do that, Beth? To pull out of you?”
There was a tone in his voice that made her feel ashamed, and Beth fought the urge to cover herself as she sat up. “The ladies at the Theatre talk, my lord.”
He would not meet her eyes as he set the rag down on the floor beside them. Beth felt the moment changing, slipping away from her. He was slipping away.
“I would marry you, Beth, if you were with child.”
His words were soft, but there was an edge to them as if she had affronted his honor. Beth retrieved her chemise from the floor and slipped it on, needing to hide. The topic of marriage and their past understanding crowded into the space between them, pushing out the euphoria she’d felt after they’d made love. “I would not force you.”
He stood and stepped into his trousers and pulled on his shirt, his movements jerky. With each piece of clothing he put more distance between them.
“Don’t be angry, Michael. It is better we take precautions.”
Michael glared down at her. “How can you think I would leave you alone and with child?”
His words stabbed at her heart like pins, each prick sharp and twisted. “I kn
ow you wouldn’t, but I also know a marquis does not marry a girl who paints sets at Drury Lane.”
“What do you see between us, Beth?”
She pulled her eyes away from his, afraid he’d see the tears welling up. His question was sound, but she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t put into words the only future they were allowed to have.
“Beth—” Michael’s hand tucked her hair behind her ear before she could jerk her head away.
His tenderness and pity were the last things she wanted. She choked down the tears and faced him. “It’s late, Michael, you should probably go. You never know when the gossips will be riding around Holborn and see your carriage in front of our house.”
“I doubt that.”
“Still, anyone who saw you walking with me from Drury Lane will talk.”
He glared at her with cold, dark eyes, his face every inch the entitled marquis. “You’re sending me away.”
His voice held a note of disbelief. Did no one put the arrogant man in his place anymore? Beth grabbed a shawl from the back of the only chair in the room and wrapped it around her, chilled by the glacial look in his eyes.
“Yes.” She tore her gaze from his and pressed her lips together. “I cannot have the gossip get back to the theatre. It would cost me my position.” She hated seeing the frustration and anger in his face. “One of us needs to be realistic, Michael”
Michael grabbed his wrinkled cravat from the floor. “You sound like my father when you say that.” He tied it in a simple knot around his collar. “I would marry you, my father be damned.”
Beth shook her head, her shoulders slumped. “Poverty is a hard life filled with difficult choices. Choices you’ve never had to make. It kills hope and love and leaves misery in its place. I cannot stand by and watch you become bitter and miserable because of me.”
He leaned into her face, his eyes reflecting the pain she was feeling. “Do you really think we’d be miserable?”
Beth sagged, suddenly tired of pushing against the ever-present wall that separated the marquis and the set painter. “I don’t want to fight with you, Michael. I don’t want to ruin a lovely moment.”
“Too late, Beth,” he growled. He opened the door and crept down the steps.
Beth followed, thankful and hurt he was making an effort not to wake her mother. The last thing they both needed was for Mother to discover his presence in the house this late. And given her dishabille, Mother would have a right to demand marriage. Or call her a whore.
Beth rather felt like the latter.
Michael stopped at the door, turned to her and kissed her hard, leaving her weaving by the door. “This isn’t over. You are mine.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m afraid it is, Michael. Good-bye.”
Michael gripped her chin, to capture her attention. “We will be together, Beth.”
She jerked her chin from his grasp. “The only way for us to be together is for me to become your mistress. Regardless of how I feel about you, I cannot sink that low.”
Chapter Fourteen
Beth locked the door behind Michael and rested her forehead against the rough wood. She gave in to the tears at last, letting the pain wash over her. She cried for the loss of Michael. She cried for the loss of her dreams of marriage. She cried because letting him inside her body made her something she didn’t want to be, yet she couldn’t say no. And if he chose her as his mistress, she didn’t know what she would do. She loved him too much to let him go again, but wasn’t sure her pride would permit her to just be a small part of his life.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her wanting to hold Michael’s scent and the feel of his touch just a little bit longer. She wanted to remember this for the long road of lonely years ahead of her. He would go on and marry. She would sink lower into poverty. The veneer of hope finally cracked and the future was frightening and lonely. Beth needed her room, to curl into a ball and cry for the loss of all of it: love, hope, the future.
That this would be the last time she’d know the loving touch of this man, that she’d feel the warmth and belonging she felt with Michael twisted inside her like the cut of a knife. She would lick her wounds tonight and get on with the business of surviving.
“Well, dear, that was quite a performance. One would think you were the one spending time on stage rather than in the background creating sets.”
Beth closed her eyes, squeezing them tight to stop the tears. She wiped her tears from her face and turned. “It’s late, Mother. I really don’t want to discuss this now.”
Lady Bishop moved down the stairs, her silk robe trailing behind her, her arms crossed. “My daughter has become mistress to a man and she doesn’t want to talk about it? Beth, how could you?”
“I’m not his mistress.”
“Then, what are you? Not a virgin given the state of your undress. That man has ruined you.”
Beth said nothing as the only answers that came to her lips were damning. She’d done this to herself because she couldn’t resist Michael. She couldn’t resist the passion, the feelings he stirred inside her, the feelings that gutted her now.
“Langston is soon to be engaged to Lady Cassandra Hamilton and her fortune.”
“Well, it shall be undone. I will not have that libertine treat my daughter in such a manner.”
Beth stared at her mother for a long moment as the anger warred with sadness and disappointment across her mother’s face. It was her own fault. She treated her mother as if she were a child to be protected rather than the other way around. How many times over the years had Beth taken charge when things needed to be done? How many times had she longed to be held close by her mother, be on the receiving end of care rather than the caregiver. She, in her stupidity, thought that taking charge was a way to be noticed by her absent-minded parents. “Mother, don’t you think if Langston had any intention of marrying me, he would have done it by now?”
“He should be made to marry you. He should be made to pay for taking your innocence. How dare he come back into your life and do this.”
Beth said nothing, knowing that her silence was damning. She watched her mother’s face fall as she figured it out.
“This isn’t the first time, is it?”
Beth shook her head.
“Oh, Beth.”
The disappointment in her mother’s voice thrust into her soul. All Beth wanted was to lick her wounds, not keep hurting those she loved. “It wasn’t like that. I thought we were…” Beth’s voice broke.
“In love? You thought he loved you? He is just like all those other great men who think they are entitled to just take what they want and damn the consequences.”
The bitterness in her mother’s voice cut into her. “I told him to leave.”
“Beth, why would you do that when he was our only hope of escaping all of this?”
“Because, if he marries me, he sinks lower. I cannot pull him down into poverty with us.”
“Then why did you give yourself to him?”
Tears welled up in her eyes and streaked down her face at the soft tone of her mother’s voice. “I couldn’t help it. I thought I was over him. I thought I could move on, then I saw him at the Royal Academy and it all came back, only worse.”
Lady Bishop came to the stairs and took Beth’s hand. “What was the real reason you went to the Royal Academy?”
“I wanted to see if I could enter my painting in the Royal Exhibition,” she sniffed. “I just wanted those pompous fools at the Academy to recognize my talent. That I was as good as Father. I wish I had never gone there.”
Beth let herself be pulled into her mother’s arms and let the tears come. She cried for the child who had longed to be held but hadn’t been. She cried until her head felt fuzzy and her eyes burned. Lady Bishop rocked her, stroking her hair, holding her tight. Beth gripped her mother’s robe in her fists like a child. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you.”
“Darling girl, you have nev
er been a disappointment to me. This isn’t your fault.”
Beth pulled away from her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear.” Lady Bishop brushed Beth’s hair from her face. “Go up and get some sleep. You have to be at the theatre tomorrow.”
“Mother if you plan to blame Michael for this, you are wrong. I wanted him.”
“He has wronged you.”
“He has been nothing but honest with me. I knew what I was doing.” Beth pulled out of her mother’s arms. “Please tell me you will let this go. You won’t do anything.”
“Sweetheart, I have to protect you.”
Pain sharper than the loss of Michael stabbed at her. She closed her eyes at the depth of wounds from the words she’d always wanted to hear from her mother. Beth stepped away from her mother. “Why now? You didn’t seem to be in any rush to push five years ago.”
She hated seeing the guilt in her mother’s eyes, but she needed to understand. For years, her parents had expected her to take care of the mundane things so they could live their lives as they wished. Her father had his art and her mother, her society friends. So much of Beth’s life had been to take care of her parents when all along it was supposed to be the other way around.
Lady Bishop’s eyes teared up. “Your father was ill. There was so much happening. I didn’t take care of you. That’s my fault and I have to make this right.”
“No, Mother, you don’t. I don’t want you to do anything. I won’t see him again.”
“What if you are with child? What then?”
Beth winced. “We took precautions, Mother.”
“Oh, dear God, how do you know about that? It’s that theatre. If you hadn’t started working there, you wouldn’t know these things. Or is this part of his treatment of you? Make certain he doesn’t get you with child so he has no bastards running around.”
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 9