Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1)

by Michelle McMaster

  He wanted to laugh at himself. He already had so many regrets, what was one more?

  Chapter 2

  As the coach turned onto Covington Place, Beckett ran his hands over his face, trying to wake himself up. The coach came to a jolting halt in front of the townhouse, and Beckett stepped out. He reached back in to receive the girl’s feet as Alfred lifted her shoulders. Finally, they managed to get her out and into Beckett’s arms. Alfred paid the coachman while Beckett headed up the walk.

  The ornately carved door of the townhouse opened silently, as if by magic. Beckett’s valet, Hartley, stood behind it as they entered the foyer. Since Beckett could only afford one manservant, the long-suffering Hartley assumed the duties of butler, as well. Sitting on the man’s shoulder was Beckett’s African gray parrot, Caesar. Both looked at Beckett with interest.

  “Who is the lady, sir?” Hartley asked.

  “A poor woman in distress. Let’s get her upstairs.” With a nod to the valet, Beckett commanded him to light their way.

  “Hello. You’re a pretty bird,” said Caesar.

  “Hello, Caesar,” Beckett replied as they trudged up the staircase. He said to Hartley, “What’s he still doing awake?”

  “Still awake,” said Caesar.

  “I put him to bed, sir,” Hartley explained, “along with Master Monty, Miss Cleo and the puppies—as you instructed. But Master Caesar simply would not keep quiet. He kept screeching and jabbering until I could take no more. I’m afraid he does that when you are out late at night, sir.”

  The familiar clicking of twenty toenails accompanied them on the stairs, and Beckett glanced down to see his mongrel, Monty, bounding up beside them onto the landing. “Come to see the new addition, eh, Monty?”

  The big brown dog panted up at him in response, his thick, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

  “What luck, Monty,” Alfred whispered. “Your master has found you another playmate!”

  “Hartley, we’ll need fresh linens for our wayward miss. She’ll sleep in my room tonight,” Beckett ordered.

  “Your room, my lord?” Hartley asked, an eye-brow raised.

  “Yes, my room,” Beckett said. “And don’t look at me like that. I’ll sleep next door in the sitting room. I want to keep an ear open if she awakens. She may be frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings.”

  Hartley nodded and said, “This must certainly be the most interesting stray you’ve rescued, my lord. But I’m afraid she smells as bad as the rest of them put together.” He walked down the dark hall with Caesar still on his shoulder.

  Beckett looked at the unconscious girl in his arms and took another whiff, turning up his nose. “My word, I think he’s right.”

  Alfred nodded, stifling a yawn. “Why can’t you rescue sweet-smelling females?”

  “I’ll try harder next time,” Beckett replied, adjusting the girl’s weight in his arms.

  With Monty at his side, he walked down the short hallway to his bedchamber. Once inside, he carefully laid the girl’s limp body on the huge bed, while Alfred followed him and lit the candles.

  The girl’s hair spread around her shoulders like a halo on the pillow. Beckett pulled the covers around her and watched her for a moment. No, she certainly wasn’t a trollop, so what was she? Who was she?

  Hartley hurried into the room carrying linens, towels and blankets, then returned again with a pitcher of warm water. Crossing the room to the washstand, he poured the water into a blue porcelain basin.

  “Thank you, Hartley. That is all,” Beckett said, and the valet took his leave.

  Beckett set the linens on the edge of the bed. “She may not awaken this evening—we shall try to solve the mystery tomorrow.”

  “Well, Beckett, I shall leave you to it,” Alfred said. “Alas, I’m not interested in playing nursemaid this evening. I’ll just have a look at her tomorrow when she’s cleaned up.”

  Beckett felt his eyes grow heavy as he stared at Alfred. “I wonder who she is, really….”

  “You always did love a good mystery, old man.” Alfred started for the door. “I’m going downstairs and have myself another drink. Then I am going to sleep in my usual spot: The Blue Room.” Alfred chuckled, saying over his shoulder, “You know, I just thought of something—if you ever call her ‘my pet,’ it won’t be the least bit of a lie.”

  The door closed and Beckett turned his attention to the unconscious girl lying in his bed. Normally he might have been more excited at the prospect of seeing a beautiful woman in his bed, but he was so tired, he just wanted to go to sleep.

  Monty scooted himself closer to the bed and put his chin on it, his big, black nose sniffing energetically at the myriad smells covering the unconscious girl. His tongue snaked out and licked her hand.

  “Monty, no!” Beckett said, frowning. “I need you to act as chaperon. It is your duty to make sure nothing untoward happens to our guest, understand?” The dog continued to look at the girl as if she were the sweetest-smelling thing he’d ever encountered.

  Beckett tapped his chin and surveyed the situation. The fact remained that someone needed to get her out of that damp, soiled nightdress and dry her off. There were no female servants to ask for assistance. The cook wouldn’t arrive for a few hours yet, and even so, would balk at such a request.

  There was nothing for it—he would have to do it himself.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d undressed a woman with his eyes closed, Beckett told himself, though he’d usually be kissing the woman at the same time.

  He felt his way to the buttons down the front of her dress. There were so many of them, and the damn things were as tiny as pebbles. This was not going to be a quick job….

  When he was finally through them all, he eased the garment from her shoulders. It would be all he’d need for her to awaken right now, while a strange man was undressing her. How on earth would he explain that?

  He worked as quickly as he could, peeling the dress off her warm, wet torso and down around her legs. Beckett reached for one of the blankets Hartley had brought to the room and covered the girl with it. He opened his eyes, sighing with relief that he’d managed to complete such a sensitive task while behaving as properly as he could.

  She moaned and turned her head on the pillow.

  Beckett leaned over to check her pulse and found it still strong. There seemed to be no problem with her breathing, and now that she was out of the cold, her color was improving.

  He wondered what had happened to her. Had some dastardly man drugged her…? He’d heard of such things before, though the thought of it disgusted him. Hopefully, the morning would find her in a better way.

  He had known other women before…hell, he’d even fancied himself in love with Cordelia. And yet there was something about this mysterious girl which got under his skin.

  He yawned again and crossed the chamber toward the adjoining sitting room. The sofa there would suffice. He beckoned to Monty. “Come on, boy.”

  Panting calmly, the dog showed no signs of movement.

  “Monty, come,” Beckett commanded. In response, the dog moved to the foot of the bed and flopped down on the floor.

  “You’re right, Monty,” Beckett said. “You should stay here and protect her. Good boy.”

  Beckett made his way toward the sitting room sofa, weariness dragging at him like a clinging child. Resting the candle on the table, he struggled to remove his boots, which hit the floor with a dull thud.

  Finally stretching out on the firm sofa, Beckett let sleep take him where it would.

  Chapter 3

  Beckett rolled over, his eyes still closed. Half-awake, he flung his arm out and it landed on something soft and warm. It felt like a…

  Please, please don’t let that be what I think it is.

  Beckett opened his eyes.

  It was what he thought it was.

  A warm, naked breast. And attached to the warm, naked breast was a warm, naked woman.

  It quickly all came
back to him—he’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the next room as planned, but had must have wandered back to his own bed while half-asleep. Now he was in a very compromising position with the mysterious girl he and Alfred rescued from the street the night before.

  Gingerly, he removed his hand from the girl’s chest but it was too late.

  She opened her eyes, a look of terror in their golden-brown depths. Then she screamed.

  Beckett sprang from the bed like a cat. The girl jumped up as well, not realizing her nakedness until she was standing. She screamed again, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it hurriedly around herself. She stared at Beckett as if he was the devil himself.

  Monty skittered up, and tail wagging, barked at all the commotion.

  “Who are you?” she shrieked, grabbing a nearby candlestick. “Stay away from me—or I swear I’ll bash your head in!”

  “Please refrain, madam,” Beckett said. “You will ruin my coiffure, not to mention my health.”

  “I said, stay away!” she yelled, brandishing the candlestick when he took a step closer.

  “I’m staying away” Beckett answered. “Far, far away over here. Now, be a good girl and put that thing down.”

  “Why? So you can ravish me again?” she shrieked incredulously, pulling the blanket closer around her naked body.

  “Ravish you? No, no—you misunderstand. I can explain everything, but you must be quiet!” He half-shouted, half-whispered his words, not wanting to wake the household.

  “I will not be quiet until you explain who you are and why you’ve brought me here! And what have you done with my clothes?” she demanded.

  “Ah, yes,” Beckett replied. “Your clothes… I’m afraid they’re not here at the moment.”

  “Not here?” she said. “I suppose they grew tired of my company and simply walked away?”

  Beckett tried not to laugh, but the effort seemed to rile the girl’s anger even more. She grabbed a little clock and launched it at his head. Beckett ducked, and just missed having his face rearranged by the marble timepiece.

  He stood straight again and whistled. The girl had an impressive aim.

  “So you intend to keep me prisoner like this?” she asked heatedly. “Am I to spend the rest of my days naked in your rooms?”

  “Don’t put ideas into my head,” he answered smoothly.

  Hartley’s voice echoed in the hallway, “No, no, Lady Thornby, don’t go in there!”

  The door creaked open. In his strangest nightmare, Beckett could not have imagined what he would see there, standing in the hall behind his worried valet.

  His mother and his solicitor.

  They stared with pale, bloodless faces at the scene before them. Beckett realized what it must look like, standing there with a beautiful, half-naked woman in his bedchamber. Of course, that fact that he was bare-chested himself wouldn’t help, either.

  “Oh,…” his mother cried, her hand to her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted in a heap of ribbons and lace.

  As Hartley quickly attended to Lady Thornby, Mr. Livingston of Livingston, Farraday & Peel stared at the shocking scene with bulging eyes, and Martha, the portly cook, covered her mouth with a flour-stained hand.

  Alfred appeared in the hallway as well, and seemed quite amused by the scene.

  Monty skittered around the room, still wagging his tail and barking at the girl in the blanket. She fearlessly brandished the heavy candlestick, sizing up the new arrivals as if to choose who first to clobber.

  “Monty, quiet!” Beckett said.

  The dog hushed, but everyone else seemed to take it as a cue to pelt Beckett with questions, though Lady Thornby was still out cold.

  “—What is going on, sir?” said Livingston.

  “—Oh, m’lord, who is that lady? What shall we do?” said Martha.

  “—I demand to know who all of you people are!” shrieked the girl.

  “I said, quiet, all of you!” Beckett commanded. “Martha, would you take the young miss into my chamber and try to quiet her nerves?”

  “My nerves don’t need quieting,” the girl retorted, eyeing the cook distrustfully.

  “Come on, now, miss,” Martha said. “Just do what the master asks.”

  “He’s not my master,” she said haughtily. “He hasn’t even told me who he is.”

  “Lord Beckett Thornby, at your service,” Beckett said, and made a grand, sweeping bow.

  “That name means nothing to me,” she replied, hotly. The blanket slipped farther down her shoulder, and she fought to pull it up. “How do I even know that you are who you say you are?”

  “I can vouch for Lord Thornby’s identity, madam,” Mr. Livingston said. “I am his solicitor, and have been for many years. He is of the utmost character and breeding, I assure you.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the regent himself,” the girl replied. “He has brought me here against my wishes, and now I want to leave.”

  “No one is stopping you, Miss…” Beckett prodded.

  She sidestepped the question. “You know I can’t leave. I haven’t any clothes—thanks to you, Lord Thornby.”

  “We shall procure you some clothes, then,” Beckett assured. “And you may do as you wish. But I insist that you stay for breakfast. My reputation would be ruined if it became known I didn’t properly entertain my guests.”

  She seemed to weigh her options, then nodded her agreement.

  “A pot of strong tea for our guest, then, Martha,” Beckett said.

  Still clutching the candlestick, the girl followed Martha from the room.

  “And you thought bringing her home was a good idea,” Alfred whispered into Beckett’s ear.

  “It seems I’ve made nothing but a mess of this,” Beckett observed.

  “I did try to warn you,” Alfred said, grinning/

  Beckett glared at his friend. “I’m glad you find this amusing.” Then he asked his solicitor, “Livingston, what exactly are you doing here, at this hour of the morning?”

  “My lord,” offered Mr. Livingston. “It is well past noon. I met Lady Thornby as she was coming to your door. It was then that I was able to share with her the good news.”

  “What good news is that, Livingston?” Beckett asked, thinking he was due for some.

  “Why, of your inheritance, my lord,” the solicitor replied.

  “I haven’t got an inheritance, man. That’s my whole problem.”

  “Oh, but you do, sir,” Livingston said. “Your mother’s cousin, the Earl of Ravenwood, has died without any heirs of his body, leaving you the next in line.”

  Beckett shook his head. “Lord Ravenwood has both a son and a grandson, Livingston. You are terribly misinformed.”

  “Actually, my lord, I am very well-informed,” Livingston said, unfazed. “The earl’s son, Lord Haughton, was killed in a boating accident only days before Lord Ravenwood’s own death. Unfortunately, Lord Haughton’s only son was with him and also perished in the accident. I have the honor, my lord, of naming you heir to the sixth earl of Ravenwood.”

  Beckett stood back on his heels. “Is this some kind of joke? Alfred, did you put him up to this?”

  “I assure you, it is not,” the solicitor replied.

  “Oh… I have swooned…” Lady Thornby murmured, regaining consciousness.

  Beckett crouched down beside her, assisting Hartley as he struggled to raise Lady Thornby to a sitting position.

  “Mother, are you alright?” Beckett asked, daintily adjusting her lace cap from where it had fallen over her eye.

  He was rewarded with a hearty slap across the cheek. Well, he thought, as he rubbed the stinging flesh, at least his mother was feeling better.

  “I am not alright, Beckett,” Lady Thornby said haughtily. “Thanks to you and your disgraceful shenanigans.”

  The portly lady rose to her feet with much grunting and groaning, pushing away those who tried to help her.

  Lady Thornby pointed an accusing finger at her son
. “I want to know one thing. Who is that disgraceful woman?”

  “How do you know she’s disgraceful?’ he asked, purposely trying to irritate his mother.

  “Because she was not wearing any clothes, Beckett. She was clad in only a bed sheet!” Lady Thornby retorted.

  Beckett shrugged. “Newborn babies arrive into the world unclothed. If your theory is correct, then babies are also disgraceful, simply because they do not yet possess a wardrobe.”

  Lady Thornby’s eyes narrowed. “This is no time for your silly games, my boy. You are trying to distract me from the problem at hand. I saw a half-dressed hussy in your bedchamber. What in the world should I think?”

  “The opposite of what you are thinking,” Beckett said dryly.

  Lady Thornby huffed, saying, “You have not yet answered my question, Beckett. Who is that woman, and how did she end up in this house?”

  “The girl was unconscious when we found her,” Beckett explained. “Alfred and I brought her home and we took her straight to bed—I mean, put her straight to bed. I went to sleep in the sitting room, but I must have returned to my own bed without realizing.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” his mother asked.

  Beckett continued, “I expect you to trust me, yes. I don’t know who she is, but I’m sure of one thing—she’s no strumpet. She obviously doesn’t live in the street, or she would have been in much worse shape. Her dress was not in tatters, but looked quite finely made. It was merely soiled.”

  “That only proves that she’s new at the profession and she has a skilled seamstress,” Lady Thornby replied peevishly.

  “You’re wrong, Mother,” Beckett said “and I won’t apologize for my actions. She may have died if we had left her in the street. You know I can’t abandon a creature in need.”

  “You want me to believe she’s another one of your strays?” Lady Thornby shrieked, disbelief in her eyes. “I am getting old, but my brain is far from addled. I saw what I saw. And what’s worse, Mr. Livingston saw it as well.”