Shameless

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  “It is indeed,” she agreed gaily, and placing her hand on his arm, she allowed him to lead her away without a backward look.

  For the rest of the evening, she was at her sparkling best. She laughed and chatted, flirted and danced, and in general seemed to be having a marvelous time. What she didn’t do was dance again with Neil, who in any case seemed to have disappeared, or respond with more than a toss of her head and a smile to Claire’s whispered demand to be told what in heaven’s name was the matter with her, or attend to Aunt Augusta’s quelling glares and grimaces with more than a hunched shoulder and a deliberate glance away.

  The knowledge that Neil was prepared to make the best of their marriage stung worse than anything she could have imagined. It bruised her heart, and flicked her pride, and made her wild.

  Eventually, so much vivacity took its toll. She developed a headache. Escaping to the ladies’ withdrawing room, she washed her hands, then, shooing away the attendant, bathed her temples in cool water, which helped. Finally emerging into the dim hallway that led back into the ballroom, she discovered Cluny waiting for her.

  “I saw you go in,” he said by way of explaining his presence. “I thought you looked pale, and stayed in case you should wish me to fetch your sister to you.”

  “I missed our dance, didn’t I?” She recollected that it was to him she had promised the boulanger, the last notes of which she could hear just fading away. Holding out her hand to him, she gave him her bright smile. “I do beg your pardon. I seem to have most stupidly developed a headache.”

  “Shall I go for your sister?”

  She shook her head. “I’m better now, thank you.”

  He took her hand and pulled it through the crook of his arm, but instead of escorting her back to the ballroom, he stayed where he was, putting his hand under her chin and turning her face up to his. His gentle blue eyes swept over her face. Then, before she knew what he meant to do, he pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm, and a little dry.

  She was so surprised that in that first instant she remained unmoving. A gasp from somewhere close at hand made her start, and recoil. Cluny’s lips no longer touched hers; indeed, like she, he had already stepped back and was looking around toward the source of the sound.

  Claire stood there, just inside the hallway, looking stricken, with her bronze silk cloak tied over her sumptuous amber gown, doing her best with her slender person to block the view of those behind her. But Aunt Augusta, who was also wearing her cloak, was too tall to have her vision blocked, and her puce face and bulging eyes told Beth that she had seen all. Taller still was Neil. He stood in the doorway behind Aunt Augusta, as still as if he had been carved from stone. His jaw was set, and his mouth had an ugly twist to it that she had not seen there before. The look in his eyes sent a shiver racing down her spine.

  “I brought you your cloak—you looked as though you weren’t feeling well—I thought you were probably ready to go home.” Poor Claire was the first to break the silence, and Beth saw that her blue cloak with its swansdown trimming indeed lay over her sister’s arm.

  “It was my fault.” Cluny’s voice was jerky. “I beg your pardon most earnestly, Lady Elizabeth. Your Grace, please inform your husband that I will call on him tomorrow, with the object of asking permission to pay my addresses to your sister.”

  “Oh, no,” Beth said. Tearing her eyes away from Neil’s was difficult, but she did it and managed a rallying smile for Cluny, who was looking rather pale himself. “You must not offer for me, because we would not suit, as you must know very well. You’ve no need to look so guilty! It was only a very little kiss, after all. I would prefer to forget it, if you please.”

  Cluny’s lips compressed, and then he bowed. “If that is what you wish.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, let us get out of this hallway before someone else comes this way.” Aunt Augusta sounded as if she labored under a severe strain. “Claire, hand Beth her cloak. My nerves can take no more. We shall go home.”

  More than ready to fall in with Aunt Augusta’s wishes, Beth moved, heading for the doorway. Claire, falling in beside her, draped the cloak around Beth’s shoulders and tucked her hand in her arm. This silent gesture of support was accompanied by a quick, apprehensive look at Neil’s face, after which Claire hurried into speech.

  “Richmond is playing cards, so we will leave him, I believe. Durham, if you would be so kind as to tell him we have gone home, I would appreciate it. You two can take a hackney, perhaps, or a chair. Or—”

  “I’ll take the message to Richmond, and we will both manage to get home.” Neil broke in on this nervous speech as he stepped back into the ballroom to let them pass, Beth and Claire first, with Aunt Augusta and Cluny bringing up the rear. “Don’t trouble yourself about it, Your Grace, or anything else.”

  Beth, giving him a quick look as she walked past him, saw that his face was utterly expressionless now, and she was maddeningly conscious of feeling a little nervous herself. Then she straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine and gave him a defiant stare. If Neil didn’t like what he had witnessed, then all she could say was he must look away. She would not study to please him, no matter how grim he looked.

  He left them then, she supposed, to carry Claire’s message to Hugh. Cluny melted away into the crowd, and she, Claire, and Aunt Augusta were left to climb into the barouche, which had already been brought round to the door.

  Once inside, Beth threw herself into a corner, resting her head back against the sumptuously upholstered squab and closing her eyes. This did not prevent her from having a peal rung over her, as she had known must happen. No sooner did the carriage lurch into motion than Aunt Augusta launched into speech.

  “Well. You have certainly gone your length tonight, miss. I declare I was positively in an agony of embarrassment over your conduct! To appear—at Almack’s of all places—in that shocking gown! To damp your petticoats—and don’t you tell me you did not! To positively invite the attentions of every gentleman in the place! To behave with such an utter lack of decorum, such a disregard for your own reputation—which can’t bear much more, as well you know!—such a want of concern for my feelings, or your sister’s, or, indeed, those of anyone who wishes you well! You might as well have tied your garter in public as behave as you did tonight! Then to let Cluny kiss you! And Durham to see! Well. ’Twill serve you right if you come by your just deserts at last, and that is all I have to say!”

  But it wasn’t, of course. Beth kept her eyes shut and maintained her silence as a scant moment later another wave of recriminations broke over her.

  “Never would I have believed it if someone had told me this was how we would end up. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I can no longer avoid facing the fact that you are, just as everyone is saying, an incorrigible flirt. And if anyone knew the truth! You are married, Beth, married! For a married woman to behave so with a man who is not her husband is not done. It would ruin you if word of it ever got out! And Durham—did you see his face? I would not play fast and loose with such a man were I you, missy. And I imagine he will have a few words to say to you presently himself. Did you—”

  “Pray stop, Aunt Augusta,” Claire intervened wearily. “You have said quite enough. If Cluny overstepped the line tonight, it was not Beth’s fault.”

  “I make every allowance for your natural partiality for your sister, Claire, but . . .”

  Beth opened her eyes. Gentle-natured Claire would defend her to her last breath, she knew, but the battle was hers. “It’s all right, Claire. I am sorry if I embarrassed you, Aunt Augusta, and I will endeavor to behave better in the future. There, how is that?”

  Aunt Augusta snorted. “If you think to turn me up sweet with that paltry excuse for an apology—”

  The carriage jolted to a halt. Aunt Augusta broke off in surprise. The journey to Richmond House usually took twice as long.

  “This is your house, Aunt Augusta. I instructed John Coachman to set you down firs
t,” Claire said as the door was opened and the steps were let down.

  “Well.” Aunt Augusta stood up. “You are fortunate in your sisters, is all I can say, Elizabeth.” And with that parting shot, she took the hand the footman held up to her and descended majestically into Berkeley Square.

  “I must say, that was very clever of you, Claire,” Beth said when the door was closed and they were once again on their way.

  “Oh, I knew she would scold.”

  The inside of the carriage was dark save for flashes of light as they passed the street lamps that illuminated many of the corners and squares, but she could see that Claire was regarding her with worry in her eyes.

  Beth sighed. “I behaved very badly tonight, didn’t I?”

  “Not so very badly.”

  Beth gave her sister a wry smile. “Yes, I did, and I know it. Indeed, I meant to!”

  “Oh, Beth, why? I knew there was something wrong. I’ve known it for a while. Is it that you are married? If you are regretting it, you can tell me so, and perhaps—perhaps something can be done.”

  “Nothing can be done—and I am not regretting it. Precisely. Oh, don’t worry about me! I will come about.”

  “Is it Neil? I like him, you know, and I was beginning to feel that you would suit most wonderfully. But it is easy to forget his past, and what he was. If you are afraid of him, Bethie, pray tell me.”

  Beth gave a little laugh. “I am not in the least afraid of him.”

  Claire looked at her earnestly. “He did not like to see Cluny kissing you. I am afraid— Oh, Beth, shall I have Hugh send him away? I fear he means to confront you about it, and. . . and . . .” Her voice trailed off, but it was clear that visions of beatings and worse danced in her head. Once again Beth was reminded of Claire’s terrible first marriage, and she felt a wave of protectiveness toward her sister.

  “He will not ill use me, Claire, I give you my word, however angry he may be. Despite his past, he is very much the gentleman, I promise you.”

  Claire frowned. “Then why on earth are you behaving as you have been? Aunt Augusta was a deal too harsh, but she was somewhat in the right of it, you know. You have been positively encouraging Cluny as well as a great number of other gentlemen to dangle after you. I don’t quite understand, since you are wed to Neil and say you don’t wish to undo it—”

  “He doesn’t love me,” Beth broke in quietly, the pain in her heart spilling over under her sister’s compassionate eyes. “He is all that is kind to me, and says he is perfectly content to be married to me, but—Oh, Claire, I want him to love me! The way Hugh loves you. The way Nick loves Gabby. I want to be the most important thing in his life. I want him to think the sun rises and sets in me. I want—I want him to love me madly! And the sad truth is, he does not.”

  “Beth . . .” Whatever Claire was going to say was lost as the carriage clattered to a stop in front of Richmond House. Following her sister down the steps and into the house, Beth, already sorry she had said so much, handed her cloak to Graham, who had already taken Claire’s, and made desultory conversation for the benefit of the servants as she and Claire went together up the grand staircase.

  “If he does not love you, he will.” As they reached Beth’s bedchamber, Claire stopped and took Beth’s hand. Her quiet voice was fierce. “No one who knows you could not love you, so you need have no fear of that.”

  “You are the best of sisters, Claire.” Beth squeezed Claire’s hand affectionately and let it drop.

  Claire still looked troubled. “Shall I come in with you?”

  “No. I don’t need you. Besides, Twindle is waiting for you, and if you come in with me, you will undoubtedly bring her down on us both. That I don’t think I could face tonight.” She smiled at Claire and turned to open her own door, saying over her shoulder, “Go on to bed, goose.”

  Claire appeared to see the force of Beth’s argument, because she made no further protest, instead heading for her own chamber as Beth went into her room, which, she saw at a glance, was in the process of being prepared for the night. The bedclothes on the big mahogany bed were turned down, the fire crackled, and a can of water waited on the hearth near it, undoubtedly to keep warm until such time as she arrived. Her nightgown and wrapper had been flung over the back of one of the pair of big wing chairs that stood before the hearth; doubtless the intent had been to lay them out in the dressing room where they belonged, but that intent had not yet been carried out. Mary, whom she was training to be her own personal maid against the day when, as Marchioness of Durham, she would move into her own establishment and leave Claire’s servants behind, was most improperly seated in the other chair, her eyes closed, her head drooping against the wing, her arms hanging limply over the sides. Beth got just a quick look, because as soon as the door closed behind her Mary’s eyes popped open. Seeing Beth, she sprang at once to her feet, giving a twitch to her black silk skirts and straightening the fine lace cap on her head even as she greeted her mistress.

  “Be ye ’ome, then, miss? Did ye ’ave a grand time? Eh, ye look a right treat.” Not having yet quite gotten over her delight at discovering Beth was a real lady, the daughter of an earl, the sister of a duke, Mary was quick and devoted, but still getting the hang of her newly elevated station.

  “Thank you, Mary.” As tired and dispirited as she was, Beth managed a smile for Mary as she headed for her dressing room. “If you could just help me out of this gown, we can both be off to bed.”

  “Looks like ye’d be wantin’ me to brush yer ’air out for ye, and rub lotion into yer ’ands, and mebbe ring down for some hot milk to help ye to sleep. I’ll ’ave ye know that that’s the sort o’ thing a proper lady’s maid should do, so I been told.” Coming up to stand behind her as Beth stopped in front of the tall pier glass at the end of the dressing room and kicked off her delicate dancing slippers, Mary shot a reproving look at her through the mirror.

  “All I want is to be out of this gown so I may go to bed.”

  “Tired, are ye? No surprise in that, the way ye’ve been gaddin’ about to all hours lately.” Mary unfastened Beth’s pearl necklet for her as she spoke. Removing the earbobs from her ears and handing them over to be stowed away with the necklet in the jewelry chest in the corner, Beth stifled a sigh. As fond as she was of Mary, she had a tendency to speak her mind that Beth sometimes felt was a most regrettable trait.

  “Just unfasten my dress, Mary, would you please?”

  Mary returned to get started on the dozens of tiny pearl buttons that did her gown up in the back. “Did ye get aught of supper, then? They was sayin’ belowstairs that ye didn’t eat so much as a bite afore ye went out.”

  “I had plenty to eat. Mary . . .”

  But what she was going to say was lost as they both heard, at the same time, the unmistakable sound of her bedroom door being opened and then closed again. Before they could do more than exchange surprised glances through the mirror, a firm tread could be heard crossing the bedroom floor. Clapping a hand to her bosom to hold the now partly unfastened dress in place, Beth turned to face the doorway just as Neil appeared in it. His mouth was hard, and his eyes were the gleaming black jet that she had learned meant trouble.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  WHY BETH WAS SURPRISED by his visit, she didn’t know. Clearly, she saw in retrospect, she should have expected him.

  His gaze raked her, but neither of them had a chance to say anything because Mary was before them both, hurrying toward him, making imperious little shooing motions with her hands.

  “I dunno what ye think yer doing in ’ere, but ye’ve no business in Miss Beth’s bedchamber, and that ye know as well as I do, yer worship. And there’s no manner of sense in ye giving me the evil eye, either, a-cause I know what’s right and what’s expected as well as the next person.” Having nearly reached him, Mary stopped, put her fists to her hips, and glared, because it became obvious that he was not going to be shooed away.

  “I need to have private speech with
Miss Beth, Mary.” He stepped out of the doorway and into the dressing room, leaving the way clear for her to depart. “You may go on to bed now.”

  “Hah! No chance o’ that! If you think I be goin’ to abandon—”

  “It’s all right, Mary. Please leave us,” Beth said. Neil’s eyes met hers again, and she held that hard glance without a flinch.

  “But, miss, your gown be ’alf undone, and—” Mary said in a scandalized undertone.

  “Go, Mary,” Beth said.

  Mary looked from her to Neil and back, and her expression turned aggrieved. “If ye say so, miss, I’ll go, but ye know as well as I do that this ain’t a bit respectable. And as for ye, yer worship, I’d take shame on forcing myself into a lady’s bedroom.” As Beth did not relent, but instead gestured at her to be gone, Mary moved with obvious reluctance out of the dressing room, expostulating all the way. Neil followed her, and for a moment Beth stood as if rooted, listening to Mary’s fading protests. “This be the ’ome of a real, ’onest-to-goodness duke, ye ken, not some ’urly-burly establishment where anything might ’appen. ’Tis all very well for ye to behave so free with miss when we was all trapped in a cave, but—”

  The sound of the bedroom door opening and then closing again cut Mary off in midspiel. The click of the lock shooting home startled Beth out of her stillness, and she turned to face the mirror, still holding her loosened gown up with one hand pressed to her bosom. A glance at her reflection told her that she was wide-eyed and pale, nervous-looking, even, so she lifted her head and firmed her lips and was in the process of using her free hand to disengage the rose from the bright waves of her hair when Neil came back into the room.

  “I take it you’ve come to rake me down?” Beth asked coolly as Neil came up behind her, looking very tall and dark and formidable as she viewed him through the mirror. The rose came free, and she set it aside on the small table that was within reach of her left hand.

  He laughed, and his hands closed over her bare shoulders. They were warm, with the suggestion of calluses on the palms and pads of his fingers, and she was acutely conscious of their size and strength. Their eyes met through the mirror.