“T-that's quite alright,” she stammered, hurrying past him in an effort to get to the door. He gritted his teeth as he noted how bloody desperate she was to get away from him. “I was just looking for a book,” she added, though he wasn't entirely sure he believed her.
“Oh,” he replied and gestured to his desk. “I left one out for you as I said I would.” He paused for a moment but she just muttered a word of thanks and gave him no sign of wanting his presence, so he excused himself and left the room.
He was half way back up the stairs before he remembered he'd left the book of erotic etchings on his desk too.
Expecting at any moment to hear a maidenly scream of horror, he ran back down the stairs and crossed the hall, only to grind to a halt in the doorway. She hadn't heard him open the door and he stood with it slightly ajar and looked in astonishment at his wife staring at the book of etchings.
She didn't look horrified. She didn't even look shocked. She looked ... flushed ... and curious and ... intrigued. His mouth grew dry as he watched her turn the pages and gasp, her slim fingers covering that lovely mouth, parted in a little O of astonishment.
In that moment Beau thought he would happily have given up everything he owned to know what bloody page she was looking at. With each second that passed he expected her to throw the book aside in disgust, but it never happened. She just continued to turn the pages, her eyes wide, her breathing growing increasingly ragged, and Beau was so hard it hurt.
He forced himself to walk away from the door and took himself back to the dining room to pace in private until his body was under some semblance of control. Clearing his throat loud enough to be heard as he went back to his study, he opened the door.
To his amusement Milly had scrambled to her feet and managed to cross half the room before he walked in. This time at least he knew why she looked guilty. And flushed. And her eyes were so very dark.
Oh God, and he wanted to show her what those drawings meant when they were more than ink on paper.
“Are you alright, love?” he asked, keeping his voice soft. He turned and closed the door behind him before looking back at her.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, sounding more than a little breathless. “Quite alright.”
He crossed the room to her and stood close so she was forced to look up at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, studying her face, and then took her chin between his finger and thumb, turning her face to the light.
“Are you sure, little bird?” he asked, using the tone that brought most women of his acquaintance to trembling. “You're looking really rather flushed.”
She stared back at him, looking like a startled fawn. “Quite well,” she repeated, her voice little more than a whisper. He stepped a little closer and noted her breathing grow faster.
“You're not feeling ... unwell?” he pressed, raising his free hand and laying the back of his hand against her forehead.
“N-no,” she said, staring back at him. Her brown eyes filled with panic.
“Strange,” he murmured. “You don't seem to have a temperature but you look positively feverish.”
“Perhaps I ... need ... some fresh air?” she suggested, with such a tremor in her voice Beau had to swallow down a bubble of laughter.
He moved his other hand from her chin, his fingers following the contour of her jaw with a barely there touch.
“What lovely skin you have, Milly,” he whispered, surprised when she uttered a little huff of laughter.
“So I'm told,” she said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. He frowned a little at that, wondering who the hell had told her such a thing and when? Not that it wasn't true, but he was struck with a sudden and unwelcome rush of possessiveness. What in God's name was wrong with him?
He allowed his hand to drop, to slide down from her jaw, beneath that infuriating collar, to rest gently around her slender neck. He could feel her pulse beating an erratic tattoo beneath his thumb where it caressed that tantalising little hollow that had captivated him at breakfast.
“Then perhaps I should take you out?” he said, and watched her forehead furrow slightly with confusion. “For some fresh air,” he added gently, amused by her distraction. Well at least his ego was soothed a little. She wasn't totally indifferent to him. Unless of course it was simply the fright of being almost caught looking at indecent images that had made her so breathless. The idea didn't appeal to him and he refused to believe that was the only reason.
To his chagrin, at that moment she seemed to take control of the situation and stepped away from him.
“Actually ...” she said, avoiding his eyes. “I was hoping to go to London today. There are some items I need and I ... I wanted to do some shopping. With your permission of course,” she added, though quite obviously as an afterthought.
He frowned, suspicious and unsettled for reasons he couldn't fathom. Except that she'd never expressed the slightest desire to go back to London or to go shopping ever before. She had only been here a matter of weeks of course, but ... that explanation didn't satisfy him. He had the disquieting sensation that Milly wasn't being entirely honest with him.
“Well that's perfect then,” he said, watching her reaction with interest. “I'll drive you. I noticed my father's got a rather fine looking Curricle and I've been wanting to see those greys of his show their paces, so I'll go with you.”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed and then looked mortified. “I ... I mean ... it only seats two.”
“And you don't wish for me to go with you,” he added, unable to keep a slight thread of anger entering his voice.
“I didn't mean that!” she replied, looking increasingly flustered. “But you won't wish to shop with me I'm sure.”
“On the contrary, Milly,” he said, a dangerous note in his voice as he stepped a little closer to her. He gritted his teeth as she scurried twice the distance away and closer to the door. “I'm sure I know all the most fascinating places for a young woman to shop. Rather better than you do I fancy.”
“Oh well, I know that!” she snapped with sudden rancour and then looked immediately contrite. “I beg your pardon,” she said rather stiffly before he could react to her outburst. “It’s just that Mrs Goodly was looking forward to going and I should hate to disappoint her.”
“As it happens, Purefoy mentioned that he needed some items in town,” he said, with complete dishonesty. “So he can convey Mrs Goodly with him and I will take you with me. You and I shall have lunch together and then you and Mrs Goodly can spend the afternoon shopping. We'll stay overnight at The Clarendon and return in the morning.”
Without allowing her a moment to contradict him he strode to the door. “Be ready in twenty minutes please, Milly, or we shan't reach The Clarendon in time for lunch.”
Chapter 12
“Wherein a tragedy is revealed.”
Never having been in a - frankly terrifying - curricle before, it was sometime before Milly was calm enough to be able to speak. She was soon brought to realise, however, that Beau was, in common parlance, a notable whip. He handled the horses with what even to her untrained eye was a light and masterful touch and after a while she unwound a little and began to enjoy the ride.
She had begun the day flustered in any case. Full of excitement for their new venture, she had sat up for hours with Edith the night before making plans, estimating costs and just how far her money would take them without further investment. She had hoped to find information in Beau's study that morning about how one went about starting a business when he had startled her.
It had never entered her head to confide in him. If it was one thing she knew about men, and she would be the first to admit it was about the only thing, it was that their pride was something to avoid bruising at all costs. The idea that Beau might welcome the idea of her risking her own slender finances in a bid to make enough to help him save Greythorpe was not one she had the slightest bit of faith in. He would be outraged and probably hurt and forbid her to spend a penny of her ow
n money on anything other than fripperies and furbelows which interested her not one bit!
So it would be her and Edith's secret, but she hadn't had the slightest concept of how difficult that secret would be. Beau was already suspicious but that was almost entirely the fault of that scandalous book!
To say she had been shocked was something of an understatement. She had been given an accurate if disheartening and brief outline of what went on between a man and a woman by Mrs Goodly some years before. The poor woman had blushed and stammered but made it through her dire explanation ending with the chilling epithet, “And you just hope it doesn't take long really.”
Milly had been given to believe that it was a thing only to be enjoyed by men. Excepting perhaps women of a certain ... low character. Poor Edith had failed to capture anything that came close to the skin heating eroticism of those images that still lingered behind Milly's eyes.
With consternation Milly wondered if she belonged to that class of low women herself, because the idea of doing anything of that nature with her husband made her feel quite giddy with longing. Fighting a blush she felt Beau's eyes on her and looked up.
He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, making her heart do a little unsteady dance in her chest.
“You're still looking a little flushed, love,” he said. “Are you sure you are well?”
To her confusion there was amusement lurking behind those cool blue eyes and she turned away from him.
“Quite sure,” she said, banishing the wretched pictures from her mind with difficulty. He shifted in the confined space of the curricle, his hard thigh pressing against hers. Panicked, she forced herself closer against the side and away from him. Oh good Lord, she had to endure two hours of this. She needed to think of something to talk about. She wanted to ask him why he'd been looking at the blasted book. Hadn't he been satisfied by his lover's attentions? Heaven's above, it was hard enough being around him as it was, but in the light of those images and everything they conjured up ... Oh stop it!
“Stop what?”
She looked up in alarm, so distracted she hadn't realised she'd spoken aloud. Blinking she tried to find an answer.
“Nothing,” she said hopelessly, casting around for a topic of conversation. “Tell me about your brother.”
For a moment he looked at her in surprise and then warmth lit his eyes and a broad smile crept over his handsome face. Unwillingly she caught her breath. My God he was beautiful.
“Edward,” he said, with affection. He thrust the reins towards her saying, “Hold these a moment.”
“What?” she exclaimed in horror, but he just laughed at her.
“It's a straight road, Milly, they know where they're going, just hold them and don't pull.”
She did as he asked, looking anxiously over the broad backs of the lovely grey horses trotting before them. A moment later and he took them back, much to her relief, and handed her his watch. She realised he must have been unclipping it from the chain and fob and looked at him in surprise.
“Open it,” he said.
Milly slipped off her gloves and put them with her reticule so she could open the shiny golden face of the watch.
“Oh,” she breathed, staring at the tiny painting on the inside of the watch. “How lovely.”
It was the delicate image of a little blond boy with blue eyes. He was obviously fragile, far thinner than Beau and with far from the same perfection of features. But his eyes were lively and his smile warm and the resemblance to his brother unmistakable.
“He was my twin,” Beau said, his voice low. “I had that copied from a portrait of the two of us a few years ago.” The smile fell away from his eyes as he spoke. “I felt like half of me died too when he went.”
“What was he like?” she asked, her heart aching to think how lonely Beau must have felt, all alone in the vast gloom of Greythorpe Hall without his twin. No wonder he hated it so.
He smiled again at her question. “He would have loved you,” he said, his voice warm. “He was clever like you, you see. Astonishingly so. He left me standing at lessons, even the tutors had seemed in awe of him. Such a funny little fellow too. He made me laugh so much.”
His smile was still warm but his eyes glittered brightly and she saw his throat working with emotion. Despite her promise to herself she reached out and clasped his hand.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ...”
Beau shook his head and cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “No. I want to talk about him. I want ... I want to remember him and ... and make him a part of Greythorpe.” He frowned and looked back at her, holding her hand a little tighter. “Does that sound mad?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, feeling her heart swell and wishing her husband wasn't so damned lovable. “Not at all.”
“It's just that he was always shut away. Hardly anyone even knew he existed and I was forbidden to speak of him.”
Milly looked at him in horror. “Why?”
“Because our bastard of a father despised him. He was ashamed of him because he'd been malformed at birth. He couldn't walk you see and he ... he had fits ... like ...”
“Like I do,” she finished for him. Milly felt her heart drop in her chest. Suddenly everything made a great deal of sense. That was why he was so kind to her. He was doing it to honour the memory of his brother. At once she was overcome, both with sadness for his loss and heart break that it hadn't just been her friendship he'd valued enough to make her his wife. Of course she'd known he'd been motivated by pity, but she'd thought that ... She pushed her own feelings aside.
“How old was he when ...”
“Eight,” he replied, his voice rough.
“I'm so sorry, Beau.”
He shook his head, frowning, his posture stiff and unnatural. “It was my fault,” he said in a rush, such pain behind the words that she moved closer to him. “It was all my fault.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, looking at him in concern.
He didn't say anything for the moment but guided the horses off of the road into a little clearing that led into woodland. He sat in silence for a moment, staring out across the countryside and the pretty pattern of patchwork fields with unseeing eyes. Turning back to her he held his hand out and she placed the watch in his palm.
She watched as he opened it, touching a reverent finger to the delicate image before closing it again and fastening it back to its chain.
“I'm the oldest. It was my job to protect him and I knew he needed to be kept quiet, not to be distressed. Those were the times he was most at risk. I knew that.”
He stopped and she slid her hand back into his, not saying anything, just waiting for him to continue.
“I was always dressed up and paraded before company. As father's heir I was expected to be charming and impress everyone you see. But he didn't want Edward. Edward was crippled and had to be carried, Edward was an embarrassment to him. As though his infirmity was somehow a reflection on my father's virility or something.” He said the words with disgust and such fervour that she got a glimpse of the depth of his hatred of the man who'd sired him.
“He could never see that Edward was the better of us. It was ... it was as though there was only enough energy to do one thing or another you see,” he said, turning to her, his eyes full of puzzlement. “That's what I always thought. That instead of making his body whole, the energy went into creating this astonishing mind. He was a gift ...” he said, his voice growing thick. “But that stupid bastard could never see it. He could never see that he was better than both of us.”
Milly felt tears prickle behind her eyes. Quite unable to stop herself she shifted closer to him and pulled his hand into her lap, holding it between both of hers.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Friends of father's came to visit,” he said, the words expressionless. “We were in lessons when he came in. He said he wanted me to come right away. But I sa
w Edward's face. He didn't look up when our father came in. There was no expression. But I knew. I knew how much it hurt him to be shut away and ignored, to be forgotten. Worse than that, to not let anyone know that he damn well existed!” His voice had grown strident and he took a breath, trying to calm himself as Milly clung to his hand. “I said I wouldn't go with him. Not without Edward.”
Milly blinked hard, feeling as though her heart would break. Even then he had been willing to stand up for someone weaker than he was, to face down a bully.
“I'd never seen father so angry,” he said, his words barely audible. “But I was angry too. I could hear Edward shouting at me to stop, to do as I'd been asked. It's alright, bruv, he said. You go.” His voice faded and he sat staring out at the fields for a moment before turning back to her. “He would usually call me bruv,” he said, his smile heartbreakingly sad. “It was our joke you see. We had a stable lad, a jolly chap from London. We picked up the most appalling slang from him. Drove father distracted, which was of course why we did it. Go an' see to yer bruvver, Master Beaumont.” he said, in a fair imitation of a cockney accent.
Returning to a sombre expression, he continued his story. “I was the only one Edward would let fuss over him. He preferred it if I carried him wherever we were going and I didn't mind. He didn't weigh anything, and that way we could escape. We didn't always have to have his nurse trailing after us.”
He looked up, his gaze following the wheeling patterns of swallows, their sleek silhouettes darting through a summer sky that looked insipid against the vibrant blue of his eyes.
“I should have stopped,” he said, his voice bleak. “I knew father would never change his mind and Edward was upset. But then father slapped me and said I was an ungrateful brat and I just ... snapped. I flew at him, hitting him and shouting that I hated him ...” he said, his voice growing angry, clinging to Milly's hand. He let go of her abruptly and put his head in his hands. When he spoke again the words were muffled. “Between the tutor and father they pulled me off him, but when I turned around Edward was on the floor ... I could see it was a bad attack.”
The Devil May Care Page 10