Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals)

by Janice Preston

Bickling came in, treading quietly, and drew the curtains across the window before lighting the candles. He mimed eating and Vernon nodded again, blessing the man’s forethought and understanding, and his lack of questions or, indeed, of censure. Vernon’s behaviour had gone way past censure. Whether she liked it or not, Thea would be his wife. He would not leave her to support her parents on her own, nor to try to keep their manufactory running without her brother’s support.

  Bickling soon returned with a platter laden with slices of cold game pie, cheese, bread and cold beef and a tankard of ale. Vernon eased Thea from his lap. She frowned and grumbled under her breath as he moved her, but she soon settled again.

  ‘Thank you, Bickling.’

  ‘Shall I bring some wine, m’lord, in case Miss Markham awakens? And maybe fruit?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  When he returned, Vernon said, ‘I cannot leave her alone tonight. Tell Horwell Master Theo is ill and that you and you alone are to enter this bedchamber in case of infection.’

  ‘Yes, milord.’ Bickling slipped from the room as quietly as he had arrived.

  * * *

  It was a little before three in the morning before Thea stirred. Vernon, dozing next to her on the bed—his senses alert for any sound from the woman by his side—came fully awake immediately. She moaned as she surfaced from the depths of her sleep and tossed from side to side, her arms flailing. Vernon caught her in his arms and held her tenderly, cradling her skull as he gathered her to him. He knew the instant she remembered, her muscles rigid with shock as she sucked in a sharp breath.

  ‘Shh. I am here.’

  ‘Tell me it was a dream. A nightmare.’ Her voice sounded harsh in the hush of the night. A tremor shuddered through her. ‘No. It was real,’ she muttered almost immediately. ‘He is gone. Daniel is gone.’ She pushed free of Vernon’s arms, sitting bolt upright. ‘I need to go home. I have to tell Mama. And P-Papa. Oh! Wh-what will this d-do to them? H-how can I t-tell them?’

  ‘You can do nothing right now, Thea.’

  Vernon stroked, tracing the delicate bones of her shoulders through the coarse linen shirt she wore as Theo. So fragile. She would not bear this burden alone. He vowed to stay with her. Protect her. Help her. Avenge her and her brother.

  He levered himself off the bed and crossed the room to pour a glass of wine. There was food still on the platter, but it looked unappetising after several hours. He selected a dish of berries to offer her, but she shook her head.

  ‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ she said. Her voice quavered. He could see the effort she made to keep her emotions in check. She took the glass from his hand and drank, draining the glass.

  She is stronger than I think. It is not all about physical strength, or how could any female bear the sorrows that assailed them?

  She had such resilience, a mental strength that he could not but admire—an admiration that had grown throughout their journey together. He would give anything to protect her against this devastating blow but, no matter how he raged against God, it was not in his power to make such a gift.

  Thea held out her glass and, wordlessly, Vernon poured more wine. Again, she tipped the glass back.

  ‘Steady on,’ he said. ‘Getting foxed will not help.’

  She stared up at him, her eyes glittering. ‘Then what will?’

  Vernon turned away, suddenly uneasy at her mood, at the intent in her gaze. ‘Time.’

  ‘Hah! Time. I do not want time. I want to forget. Time means nothing—it can be gone in the blink of an eye. Or the flash of a knife...that bastard Jasper... I’ll...’

  She banged her glass on the nightstand and scrambled from the bed.

  ‘Hi! Where—?’ Vernon ran after her and stretched his arm above her head, propping his fist against the door to hold it shut.

  ‘Let me out!’ She tugged at the door.

  ‘No.’

  She leant back, putting all her weight into her effort to open the door but it did not budge. She released the handle and turned to Vernon, stamping her foot.

  ‘I want some fresh air.’

  ‘You do not.’

  She stepped very close to him, her body brushing his. ‘Do you call me a liar, Lord Vernon Beauchamp?’

  Her voice was silky, challenging. Her upturned face was close—temptingly so. Vernon hauled on the reins of his control, reminding himself why they were there...what this conversation was really about.

  ‘You know I do not, but I shall not let you out. Besides, you have bare feet.’

  She looked down, studying first her feet, then his. She lifted one foot and stroked it over his.

  ‘So do you,’ she whispered.

  Heat spiralled through his body, sending shocks of desire and tingles of need radiating to every cell. Every organ.

  She captured his gaze again, placed both hands, very deliberately, on his chest and stroked, then slid her hands to his shoulders. His belly clenched and he grew harder still.

  ‘Thea—’

  She lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

  He closed his eyes, tilted his face to the celling. He knew where this was going. Knew what she wanted. What she needed. Could he withstand her? That was a question to which he feared there was only one answer.

  As if she sensed his weakening resolve, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and went up on tiptoes, fitting her body into his. Her fingers speared through his hair, drawing his head down.

  Their lips met in a storm of urgent need. Tongues tangled and quiet moans punctuated the night’s silence. Without volition, his arms wrapped around her and she leapt, her legs encircling his hips, her heat driving him wild. He stumbled to the bed, lips locked to hers, and lowered her to the mattress, following her down. She tugged at his shirt and he broke away just long enough to pull it over his head, then gathered her to him again, reclaiming those soft, sweet lips and surrendering to the demands of her tongue.

  His hands swept lower and encountered the coarse weave of her shirt, the stiff bindings beneath. A woman such as Thea should be dressed in satins and silks. He lifted his torso from hers and tugged at her shirt, pulling it over her head before taking her lips again. Blindly, he fumbled with the knot that held her bindings in place.

  She tore her mouth from his. ‘Let me,’ she breathed, and in seconds the knot was loose and he unwrapped her, his eyes riveted to the prize as small, perfect, pink-tipped breasts bounced free. Her skin was hot and damp and he blew gently across the slopes of her breasts, watching her nipples tighten as his breath cooled them. He massaged and plumped, as he had done in his fantasies, and then he lowered his head, his tongue sweeping across her tender flesh.

  His heart pounded with a primal need as he forced himself to go slowly...to give her the pleasure she deserved.

  His hands skimmed lower, following her curves to the fall of her breeches. In seconds, they were off and he played his thumb around the rim of her navel and then circled her flat belly with his palm, pressing lightly. Her hips lifted helplessly, pushing against his hand, as he licked at her taut nipple then grazed it lightly with his teeth. She moaned, clutching at his hair.

  ‘Hush, my sweet,’ he whispered. ‘Lie still. Let me pleasure you.’

  Her hands came between them then, to his chest, and pushed. He pulled away, disappointment flooding him as he looked down at her.

  ‘Do you want me to stop? You only have to say the word.’

  Dazed hazel eyes searched his face. Then she levered herself up on her elbows and looked down, her eyes locking on the erection that strained his breeches.

  ‘No. I want to see you.’

  He hadn’t thought he could get any more aroused, but he was wrong. He had thought to give her pleasure and to sacrifice his own but...once his breeches were gon
e...

  ‘Thea—’

  ‘I want you.’

  ‘You do not know—’

  ‘I do. Mama told me. The night before my wedding. I know, Vernon. And I know that I want you.’

  She sat up fully now. Her hands splayed against the muscles of his chest, then moved lower. Not hesitantly, but sure...determined... She unbuttoned his breeches and then slipped her hand inside and grasped him. He could not contain his groan of pleasure as he seemed to swell even more at her touch. She stroked and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away.

  ‘Not yet, sweetheart, or this will be finished before we start.’

  And Thea—and how was he still surprised when she took control like this?—scrambled on to her knees and pressed her mouth to his in a hard, demanding kiss.

  ‘Then let us start,’ she said, and lowered her head to nip at his nipple, sending shock waves rippling through him.

  He stood and took off his breeches—her wide-eyed stare sending his pulse soaring even higher—and then lay her back on the bed, kissing her lips as his hands again traced the curves and hollows of her body. He followed the trail of his hands with lips and tongue, lower and ever lower, lingering at the sensitive spots where she arched and moaned, seeking her scent—not the floral, summer garden scent she had worn as Thea, but the scent...the essence...of her.

  The scent that was driving him wild.

  Her thighs parted as he stroked the soft cleft hidden between and he slipped a finger inside. He groaned out loud.

  So hot. So wet. So ready.

  He hauled on the reins of his control and stroked and played, finding the little nub that would help her find her release. Soft, feminine gasps and moans accompanied the arching of her body as she pressed into his touch. He trailed his lips down the silken skin of her stomach and then traced a path with his tongue through crisp auburn curls to her swollen lips. He pushed into the wet folds and licked, teasing her tender flesh and sucking lightly.

  Dear God!

  Her evocative scent triggered an eruption of hot molten desire within him. He moved, covering her, his leg between hers, and he cradled her face, kissing her open-mouthed, his tongue pushing inside. She moaned, clutching at him, and he shifted, settling between her widespread thighs. He flexed his hips and nudged into her, then pushed steadily into the welcoming heat, stretching her. His jaw clenched with the need to go slow. To take care.

  * * *

  He was taking too long. She wanted...she needed...she tilted her hips as she clutched at his hips.

  Come on!

  ‘Please! Vernon?’

  She rocked her hips against him once more and, with a loud groan of surrender, he pushed fully into her, stretching her more than she ever thought possible. He lay still then and she could feel her throbbing flesh tighten around him.

  Is that it?

  There had been no pain, as Mama had warned, just a little discomfort. But...instinctively she knew there was more...just out of her reach. She lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around his hips, rocking her pelvis again. And then, he began to move and those feelings...those wonderful, elusive, exhilarating feelings...surged again. They grew and they swelled, and she reached and she yearned, higher and higher until, with a helpless scream, her entire body went rigid before exploding into a thousand brilliant, white-hot stars—scattering and soaring, up and up and up into a vast nothingness. Pulses of pleasure radiated through her entire body as Vernon drove into her harder and faster than ever. Then he, too, tensed, as he roared his climax. She felt his seed pump into her as she drifted, dreamily, back down to earth.

  Vaguely, she was aware of Vernon kissing her and then settling down beside her. She snuggled into his warmth and slept.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thea woke with pain stabbing at her temples and a mouth that tasted like...well, she did not want to think what it tasted like. Something nasty. That was as far as her sluggish brain would allow her thoughts to stray. She rolled on to her back and her left shoulder wedged up against something solid. Something warm and solid. Her breath seized. She cranked one eyelid open. She knew what she would see before she turned her head. Who else could it be? The huff of quiet breathing reached her straining ears. He still slept. She swallowed and moved her right hand over her own body. She swallowed again, her heart pitter-pattering, as she encountered her naked belly.

  Memories—hazy and disjointed—floated, disembodied and surreal, through her thoughts: memories of kisses, caresses, murmured endearments. Her fingers sought the triangle of soft curls at the apex of her thighs and heat flooded her as she remembered the touch of his hand, his...her brain stumbled over the memory...his mouth. The memory of him inside her, covering her. The weight of his body on hers. And the memory of pleasure. Intense, glorious pleasure.

  Nerves now invaded her stomach. She had enticed him. Just as with that kiss. That memory was the sharpest yet. She had needed him so badly: needed his comfort, his reassurance, needed something...anything...to ease the pain of losing Daniel. This was no seduction of an innocent, even though she had been an innocent. She had known what she was doing.

  Thea’s fingers again strayed to where her thighs joined and to the soft, secret folds hidden within. She felt a little sore, but she remembered no physical pain from last night, only pleasure. There had been a momentary discomfort as he entered her...stretching her...but that was all. She shuddered in remembered delight.

  The bed rocked.

  ‘Good morning.’

  She snapped her head to her left, feeling the flush of embarrassment flood her face as she met a pair of smiling green eyes. Vernon had turned to face her, propping himself up on his elbow. She managed a faltering smile in response, battling the urge to allow her gaze to roam that wonderful chest, bared to her eyes as the sheet slipped to his waist.

  His hand cradled her cheek. ‘How are you? Head sore?’ He sobered. ‘Heart sore?’

  She nodded. He eyed her thoughtfully, then put his arms around her and pulled her into his chest.

  ‘I wish I could protect you from the pain of the next few days, weeks and months, sweetheart, but I cannot.’ He stroked her hair back and tilted her face to his. ‘Thea...last night... I should not have given in—’

  Thea, beginning to relax against him, stiffened and pulled away. ‘You do not have to explain. It was my fault. I do not blame—’

  A large hand covered her mouth and he laughed, shaking his head at her. ‘Thea. Please will you allow me to finish? I was about to say I shouldn’t have given in to my base desires.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘You were vulnerable. I took advantage.’

  ‘No. No, you did not. I—I wanted you. I do not blame you.’

  He smiled, a devastatingly smile full of charm that set her heart racing. ‘And I wanted you, my sweet. In fact, I want you again, right now—’ he moved his hips and she felt the proof of his desire ‘—but I shall resist.’ He lay back and lifted her across his chest, and he kissed her, slowly and dreamily, his eyes closed as his hands gently caressed her back and bottom. All too soon, he ended the kiss, settling her back on the mattress by his side.

  ‘I must return to my room before the maids are up and about or we shall start the scandal of the century.’

  He brushed a kiss to her cheek, then rolled away, pushed the blanket aside and left the bed. Thea’s gaze roamed his body—the broad shoulders, slim waist, firm buttocks—and her mouth dried as she realised she wanted him, too. But he was right. It was too risky.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and picked up his boots and the rest of his clothing. ‘It’s still early. Try to sleep. We will talk later.’

  And he slipped out of the door, closing it softly behind him.

  Sleep was impossible. Thea lay on her back, staring up at the
now familiar stain on the ceiling, as she moved the tips of her fingers in circles over her temples. Her spinning thoughts steadied, seeming to mirror the movement of her fingers. She slowed the speed at which she rubbed her temples and the words, images and fragmented thoughts whirling around her brain began to coalesce into comprehensible sentences.

  Daniel was dead. Nothing could change that. And it must fall to her to tell her parents. But, first, she would confront Mannington. Jasper Connor. And he would pay for what he had done.

  * * *

  Later, over the breakfast table, Thea buried her awkwardness at facing Vernon again and she told him her intentions as he tucked into a plate of ham and eggs. A single slice of toast, barely nibbled at, lay disregarded on the plate in front of her.

  ‘Will you come with me to face Mannington? Now?’

  Vernon frowned. ‘We need to discuss this. It will do no good rushing in at half-cock.’

  ‘But he must pay for what he has done.’

  ‘The only way he will pay is for the law to convict him.’ He reached to take her hand. ‘Thea. Sweetheart. Think! If we were to confront him this morning...where is our proof? All we will do is warn him that we are on to him. A man such as he might produce any number of men prepared to attest to his character or to give him an alibi on the night Daniel was attacked.’

  ‘But you can expose him as a fraud. He is not Henry Mannington.’

  ‘He is not Henry Mannington, cousin to the Duke of Cheriton. But I cannot prove he is not called Henry Mannington. We can only expose him as a liar...a man who has claimed an important connection that is not true. That will destroy his credibility, but it will not convict him. He will be free to move elsewhere and to continue with his fraudulent ways.’

  ‘But he cannot deny he stole from Papa...’ She stopped. He could. Of course he could. ‘We need proof he is really Jasper Connor.’

  A brief smile curved Vernon’s mouth. His eyes were sympathetic. Thea sipped at her coffee, quelling her irritation. She did not want sympathy. She wanted justice.

  She sucked in a deep breath. ‘What do you suggest then?’