The Devil May Care

by Emma V. Leech

  "Oh, who is she?" Milly asked, desperately curious.

  Dollie wagged an elegant finger at her and tutted. "I didn't get where I am by having a loose tongue, darling. Just leave it all to me. By the end of next week if you're not inundated by orders then my name's not Dollie Dashton."

  "Dollie, I hate to ask you, but ... do you think you could visit Mr Priestly and make the final choice for the glass containers for the cream. Only Beau ..." She paused and gave Dollie a rueful smile. "He's making it rather hard for me to see the man in secret."

  Dollie gave a ringing peel of laughter. "Oh, the poor man," she said, still chuckling. "Yes, of course, if you're sure you trust my taste."

  Milly laughed, sending a pointed look towards her friend's decadent outfit. "Oh I have the greatest confidence you'll choose just the thing."

  The rest of the morning passed quickly in Dollie's company and Milly had her eyes opened on a good number of subjects that she was rather keen to put into action. She was still anxious and sceptical but it was true that time spent with Dollie gave her confidence, and Dollie said sex appeal was a great deal about confidence.

  So when the carriage drew up outside the house on Savile Row, Milly tried hard to keep that in mind. Though it was harder than expected when confronted with Beau's furious countenance.

  He had clearly just sat down to lunch, rather later than was usual. She realised with a stab of guilt that he must have been waiting for her.

  "How kind of you to join me," he replied, his voice icy though she couldn't help but see the hurt in his eyes. "I wondered if perhaps you had returned to Ware, but far be it from your husband to be aware of your plans."

  She ignored his tone and gave him a cool smile, sitting down at the place at his side and placing her napkin in her lap.

  "You were sleeping so peacefully it would have been cruel to wake you and tell you where I was going," she said, reaching for a grape and popping it into her mouth. "Mmm, those are good, try one, did you have them brought up from Greythorpe?"

  "Yes," he replied, sounding impatient.

  She leaned across the table with a grape held out between her fingers. Beau stared back at her, his blue eyes suspicious as she moved closer and pressed the grape against his lips. Almost unwillingly he accepted it from her fingers and she allowed her gaze to remain on his mouth, her fingers just touching his lips before she drew her hand away.

  "Good, aren't they?" she asked, looking away and keeping her tone bland and innocent. She glanced up, curious to see his reaction and found his eyes on her with startling intensity.

  "Where were you, Milly?" His voice was low, an unmistakable reproach behind the words.

  For a moment she almost blurted out that she'd not wanted to go but that this was how she would feel every time he left her. These were the questions she'd want answered too, unless she could trust him. She wanted him to know how it felt, and maybe ... just maybe he wouldn't be so cruel again.

  "Oh, nowhere very exciting. A little shopping, visiting a friend, you know the kind of thing."

  "More shopping with no bags, love," he said, pouring himself a large glass of wine and curling his long fingers around the stem. "You really need to remember that if you insist on using it as an excuse."

  She laughed, genuinely amused by his annoyance. "But I didn't see anything I liked," she replied, one eyebrow raised. "Never mind, next time I'll force myself to buy something hideous just to please you."

  His jaw tightened and he glared down at his plate looking angry and miserable and she regretted being so hard on him.

  "What friend?" He looked up at her then, his blue eyes direct, staring at her with such anxiety her heart ached. Wanting to reassure him despite her good intentions about teaching him how his affairs would hurt her she got to her feet and moved to stand beside him. He looked up at her in surprise and she put one hand to his cheek.

  "No one who need worry you, Beau," she said, her voice low and then leaned down to kiss him. She had meant it to be a simple brush of her mouth against his but she hadn't allowed for the fiery sweep of desire that rushed over her as their lips touched. His hand raised, cupping the back of her neck and allowing her to deepen the kiss and suddenly it wasn't enough. She registered his free hand settling on her waist and the force of her hunger for him made fear flicker over her skin.

  Dollie's voice sounded in her ears, telling her to be bold and take what she wanted and raged against another sneering voice that whispered about notions of propriety and how young ladies ought to behave.

  For a moment she wavered, wondering if he would be more likely to remain happily married to a docile creature who did as she was told. But she realised with a flash of insight that she was never going to be that creature, her nature was too volatile, too restless for that. Besides she was a married woman now and this man her husband, and she was going to do whatever it took to hold onto him.

  In a decisive manner that shocked her as much as Beau she straightened and walked over to the door. Opening it she informed the butler that they were not to be disturbed, turned the key with a defiant snick that was only too audible and walked back to her astonished husband.

  "What ..." he began but didn't get any further as she hitched up her skirts and sat astride his lap, pulling his mouth to hers with some force.

  What came next was startling in its intensity as the surprise in Beau's eyes was rapidly replaced by a desperate hunger.

  It was like a kind of insanity as they snatched at each other's clothes, Beau's hands forcing her skirts out of the way.

  "The servants will hear us," he whispered, half laughing, half gasping in shock as she fumbled with the fall of his breeches.

  "Then be quiet," she replied, releasing the final button with triumph and sliding her hand around the sleek warmth below to caress him.

  He made a desperate sound low in his throat and shook his head. "I don't think I can." He pulled her mouth back to his, alternately kissing her and sighing against her mouth, murmuring her name.

  "Milly, oh, my sweet love ... I'll go mad ... please ..."

  He stood, awkward at first, almost knocking the chair to the ground as he took her weight with him and carried her, resting her on the very edge of the table, away from where the elegant setting for their meal had been laid. Throwing back her skirts with obvious impatience he glanced up at her with a look of consternation.

  "What the devil are those?"

  She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, trying not to laugh at his indignant expression. "Drawers," she said, biting her lip and then adding, "The modiste assured me that they're terribly fashionable.

  "Not in this house they aren't- throw them away."

  "Yes, Beau," she said, gasping as he forced the annoying material out of his way. She watched, captivated as he took himself in hand, guiding the warm, blunt head to push against her heated flesh. Hooking her heels around his thighs she had to force herself not to beg him to hurry and almost screamed with frustration as he paused, barely penetrating her.

  "Tell me I'm the only one," he demanded, his blue eyes glittering like stained glass on a church wall.

  She couldn't help it, she laughed. Of all the ridiculous questions.

  "Dammit, Milly, I know you've not taken him to bed, but promise me you won't."

  Startled she looked up at him. He was truly afraid she was interested in Mr Priestly. She wondered if this was the moment to demand that he never see Mrs Hadley or anyone like her ever again. But she didn't want to win by blackmailing him, she wanted him to not want them at all.

  Deciding on compromise she pulled his mouth to hers.

  "I want you, Beau," she said pressing kisses over his lips and tugging at his hips. "I want you so much ..."

  He groaned and sank into her. Milly clung to him as his large hands gripped her, pulling her further from the edge of the table. Too aware of the servants in the house Milly tried hard to keep quiet but the pleasure was too intense as Beau set a punishing rhythm, his o
wn breathing harsh and ragged. She lay back against the cold, polished surface of the table and put her fist in her mouth to smother the sounds but Beau forced it away, replacing it with his own mouth.

  The rest was hard and frantic and soon done as Milly smothered her face against his shoulder to muffle her cries and Beau followed her swiftly over the edge. Milly closed her eyes, dazed with pleasure that still hummed in her blood and just a little appalled. My God, had she really just seduced him on the dining room table.

  Once their breathing had settled a little Beau pulled her upright and held her close to him. Milly rested her head against his chest and wished that this might be her life now. If only she could make him see that she could be enough. If only she was enough.

  "We're going back to Greythorpe."

  Milly blinked and looked up at him. As much as she wanted to go back she had things that needed doing here. More than that it would have been nice to be asked rather than treated to that autocratic tone which made her feel more than a little annoyed.

  "But I don't want to go back yet," she said, looking up at him with a frown and wondering what excuse she could give that wouldn't make him suspicious.

  "That's a shame, love, because you're going." He stepped away from her and began to rearrange his clothing with meticulous care.

  "And if I refuse?" she demanded, feeling real anger surface now as she tried to rearrange her own clothing with rather less success.

  He looked back at her and she wished he wasn't so bloody handsome because he made her heart hurt.

  "You won't refuse, Milly. You are my wife." He said the words as if that gave her no possible argument and then stepped closer and pushed her hands away setting her dress back to rights with his deft fingers. Once he was satisfied he tilted her head back with one finger. "And don't think I'm going to let you get away from me again," he said, a warning note behind his words that was hard to escape. "I have every intention of keeping you very busy."

  "Oh?" she replied, and was dismayed to hear the breathless quality of what had been meant to be a sarcastic tone. But she was only too eager to know how he was planning on keeping her busy.

  "Oh, yes, little bird." To her annoyance he seemed to get the sarcastic tone right with no problem. "Because I'm going to make love to you in every room of that damn mausoleum until even the bloody ghosts are so shocked they'll up and leave me be."

  She couldn't help the startled laugh that left her lips, nor could she help but be charmed by the warm look of amusement in his eyes.

  "Yes, I thought you might approve of that, you little hussy." He stared down at her and she tried to read the expression in his eyes now. It was wary somehow, as though she was not what he had expected and now he didn't know quite what to do with her. The thought amused her as she felt much the same way. She'd always been aware of a simmering morass of energy and repressed emotions when she'd lived with her violent cousin.

  But fear had been too present in her day to day life to allow any other thoughts or feelings to surface. Now, though, now she realised that she was not the creature she had always believed herself to be. Now she didn't have to stay in the shadows, she realised how much she had resented being there. She wouldn't go back.

  He bent and pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her mouth.

  "Come and eat, Milly," he said, pulling her to her feet and favouring her with a bemused smile. "I get the feeling we're both going to need to keep our strength up.

  Chapter 25

  "Wherein five is a crowd, albeit a welcome one."

  Beau sat in the parlour waiting for Milly as their baggage was being strapped to the carriage. His body still thrummed after Milly's extraordinary behaviour at lunch time. Every time he thought about it his body grew tight, his skin heating with the idea that they would have a whole two hours alone in the carriage together on the journey back to Greythorpe. He had no intention of wasting it either. But he was more than curious to know if Milly would make the first move.

  He had been stunned when she had locked the door and climbed into his lap, bold as brass. He wasn't at all adverse to women taking the initiative, in fact he applauded the idea wholeheartedly, but he'd never reacted to one as he had done to Milly.

  Frankly it was a miracle he'd lasted as long as he had.

  He'd been so damned angry when she'd finally come home after leaving him alone in bed. The idea that she might have gone to see her friend Mr Priestly had been the first one to come to mind and it had tormented him. Even now jealousy burned in his chest, because she'd never answered his questions. He'd been too desperate to give into the need to possess her to force an answer earlier, but now, the fact that she'd evaded answering him ate away at his peace of mind.

  The truth was that he didn't know how to treat her. He wanted to tell her he loved her and that he wanted their marriage to be real. He wanted to forget the stupid plans they'd made ... he'd made, and start again. But there was something about this confident creature he was seeing bloom before his very eyes that made him afraid to voice the words.

  He was already so caught up in her, so desperate for her attention, he was afraid to give her any more power over him than she already had. Their first night together had been revelation enough. Milly straddling his lap in the middle of the dining room and leaving him in no doubt of what she wanted was enough to give him heart failure.

  He got to his feet as she came back into the room. Dressed in a carriage gown of faun-coloured cloth trimmed with pale blue silk he thought she had never looked lovelier.

  "That's a beautiful outfit, love, very becoming," he said, smiling at her.

  She returned a slightly sceptical look and walked to the mirror to put her bonnet on.

  Undaunted he went to stand behind her, placing his hands on her hips and watching over her head as she tied the ribbon beneath her chin.

  "With those big brown eyes of yours you look like a startled deer."

  She gave a little huff of laughter, looking at him as though she wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be startled about," she replied, apparently dissatisfied with the bow she'd tied and tweaking it into a better arrangement.

  "Well I'm sure I can think of something," he murmured, pulling her closer so that her bottom pressed firmly against him.

  She gasped and her eyes widened with surprise.

  "There you are." He chuckled as she wriggled away, scolding him for creasing her dress before she'd even left the house. Though he didn't think she seemed the least bit cross, and he had every intention of creasing it a great deal more before they got home.

  He escorted her out onto the pavement and was about to hand her up into her coach when a small voice piped up from a little distance down the pavement.

  "Ere, guvn'or, is you Mister Grace?"

  Beau looked around in surprise as three scrawny looking boys stared at him with large, hopeful eyes.

  "Get away with you, you filthy whelps!"

  Beau turned and grasped the butler's hand as he went to box the nearest child's ears. "Stop that!" he said as the butler stared back at him in shock, all affronted dignity. Beau released his hands and walked closer to the children who backed off a step in case he decided to belt them too.

  "I'm the Duke of Ware," he said, looking them over with curiosity. "Are you by any chance friends of Jimmy?"

  They nodded in agreement and the smallest boy who looked no more than six stepped forward and stared up at him.

  "E said you was a good'n, an' we got no place t' sleep tonight, an' no grub neither."

  "Oh?" Beau said with caution, and the creeping suspicion he might be about to get himself into a great deal of trouble with Mrs Buss. "Why is that?"

  "Burnt down," the older boy cut in. "Insurance," he added with a tap to the side of his nose. "An' tha's all well n' good but we don't 'ave another place an' Jimmy tol' us if we was in bovver to come to see 'is mister Grace."

  "I see," Beau said, frowning and rubbing the back of h
is neck, only too aware of the butler's look of outraged disgust that he should even be speaking to such filthy creatures. "And if I don't have any way to help you, what will you do?"

  The smallest boy looked up at him and shrugged while the older, who looked to be about Jimmy's age, took his hand and gave the other, silent child a push.

  "Come on, Charlie, tol' ye it was a waste o' time."

  They went to move off and he heard the butler let go a breath of relief. Turning he looked back to Milly and saw her smiling at him.

  "Wait," he called, watching as the boys turned back to him, the oldest looking suspicious. "Jimmy is living in the country now, on my estate. His brother is with him. He's going to learn to work with my horses. He has a place to sleep and plenty to eat but he has to keep clean and learn his letters and numbers, and mind Mrs Buss."

  He watched the three of them exchange glances and weighed up the appalling notion of keeping clean against regular meals.

  "Who's Mrs Buss?" the older boy demanded.

  "A very kind lady who'll feed you jam tarts and cake and clip you round the ear if you give her any cheek," he said, grinning and adding, "I know, believe me."

  There was a brief conference and a lot of speculative glances thrown back and forth to Beau before the older boy stepped forward.

  "I don't like 'orses," he said, a challenge in his voice.

  "Oh," Beau replied, smothering a laugh at this forthright piece of information. "Well, what do you like?"

  The boy shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets. "Dunno."

  "Well." Beau frowned and thought about the vast army of staff it took to keep Greythorpe running smoothly, and how many more would be needed when the farm got going. "I have a number of projects going on. Farming and agriculture, building ..."

  "Building?" The boy looked up, interested.

  "Yes, I'm going to need some new premises put up."

  That seemed to decide matters for everyone and the older boy strode forward and held out his hand. "I'm Fred, this littlun is Robbie an' that jaw me dead is Charlie," he said, pointing at the silent child.