Beatrix hesitated outside the door of Eudora’s chamber, her eyes still on Simon. His appearance was faultless: his cravat snowy-white, his coat perfection across his wide shoulders, his buff pantaloons snug on well-formed calves, but underneath…oh, underneath those clothes he was doubtless a fine-looking man as well, and she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. Inside, then. Inside, he was a Bad Man.
Bad or not, he would undoubtedly approve Beatrix’s choice of shawls for Eudora, once he saw how the new one would clash with her evening gown. Why Beatrix should care what Mr. Carling thought, she had no idea, but as the ill-assorted pair rounded the corner, he turned and flashed her a wink.
A little thrill tingled inside Beatrix’s belly. Resolutely, she ignored it. He probably winked at every attractive woman who crossed his path. Determination simmered inside her. She’d begun to pity Eudora, thief though she was, and she couldn’t let her life or the lives of her younger sisters be ruined by this callous rake. Lady Ottersby might think she could trap him into marriage with one of her daughters, but Beatrix knew better.
She folded the old shawl and put it away, got out the new one, and glanced into the adjoining dressing room. Yes! There were a number of boxes on the shelves which might contain personal items. All she needed was another chance to search before she lost her temper and her job.
By professing to know nothing about music, ignoring his hostess’s machinations, and doing some insistent shoving, Simon maneuvered Delbert Conk into turning the pages of Miss Ottersby’s music. At this rate, he would have to propose marriage for Del as well. He stepped a little behind the circle of guests standing around the piano, pondering whom to choose for his next victim. He’d ogled every female guest, but apparently he would have to try harder to convince Lady Ottersby, or at least her daughters, of his lecherous nature. Their father seemed hardly aware of their existence, so he could expect no help there. A married guest might be more useful than a maid, as long as she could be counted upon to shriek at his effrontery and vilify his character to all the other guests. Oh, and as long as her husband didn’t take offence and try to kill him.
There weren’t many to choose from. He was taking stock of the female guests, wondering which might prove most high-strung, when he found himself trapped: Miss Helena Ottersby sidled up on his left flank and Miss Louisa on his right. On the far side of the piano, a little smile played about their mother’s mouth. As if at some invisible signal, the two girls—ridiculously young at sixteen and seventeen—moved closer. Helena put her hand on his arm and smiled archly up at him, while Louisa’s hip bumped his and stayed there.
Simon began to be annoyed. Such blatant tactics merited an equally crude response.
Miss March appeared in the doorway. He smiled at her, and she stared haughtily back, but he didn’t miss the flush that rose to her cheekbones. Now, this was a woman worth pursuing. He’d noticed her in London a year earlier, but rake though he might be, he didn’t seduce virtuous governesses.
Pretty, but not in the common way, with lush chestnut hair and an elegant figure, she was far more of a lady than his dragon of a hostess. Although her simple gown befitted her occupation, its excellent cut and expensive fabric spoke of money and taste. A cast-off from a previous mistress, perhaps, but that didn’t explain her poise. She held herself with too much confidence for a semi-servant, and she had a temper. She hadn’t hesitated to say what she thought of him, and she’d been within Ames’-ace of retorting to Lady Ottersby. It seemed she was appalled as he at the idea that he might compromise one of her charges, although for another reason entirely.
How amusing. He followed her graceful figure as she edged around the room, trying to be unobtrusive. He chuckled. She wasn’t meant to be invisible. She reminded him a little of a courtesan he’d once known, not beautiful as much as fiercely alive, and a tigress in bed.
She hovered against the wall with the Norwich shawl over her arm. It would look atrocious with Miss Ottersby’s pink gown. Poor Miss March must be humiliated at the prospect of draping it over the girl’s shoulders. He would give her something more interesting to think about and have some fun as well.
While Eudora pounded out page after page of a sonata, Simon whispered to one sister and the other, back and forth, making progressively more improper remarks about the sort of pleasures a rake enjoys. Louisa moved an inch or two away. Helena’s hand dropped from his arm. He didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know how intensely the governess watched him or to sense her gradual approach.
‘Come to think of it,’ he said a little louder, running a finger down Helena’s spine, ‘I should like to do it to both of you at once.’
Helena gave a horrified gasp and sprang away. Louisa merely froze, so he snaked a hand behind her and pinched her bum. She shrieked, and at the same instant Miss March slipped neatly between them, and his wayward hand brushed her breast.
Beatrix hissed. Mr. Carling’s fingers slid gently down the edge of her breast, sending an inconvenient thrill directly to her core. How could she be attracted to such a devil?
‘Feeling neglected, Miss March?’ he murmured. ‘So sorry, but I only have two hands.’
She wanted to slap him silly, but the music had stopped at Louisa’s shriek. Everyone turned their way. ‘It was a rat,’ Beatrix said quickly. ‘Are you all right, Miss Louisa?’
‘Of course she is,’ said her mother. Lord Ottersby had fallen asleep on the sofa and didn’t even stir. ‘Such a fuss over nothing. Miss March, I can’t allow you to foster weakness in my daughters.’
Yet ruining their lives was perfectly fine? Marriage could be a prison even with a relatively decent man. Beatrix felt in her reticule for her vinaigrette and waved it under Louisa’s nose, as Eudora attacked the piano keys anew. ‘Rodents are disgusting, but unfortunately, they are to be found in even the best houses. Perhaps you should sit down for a while.’ She escorted Louisa to a chair and turned to make sure Mr. Carling hadn’t resumed harassing Helena.
He was right behind her, and she almost bumped into him. She moved away, but again he followed, so she stopped, refusing to let him intimidate her. Mocking blue eyes glinted down at her. ‘Touché, Miss March. You are not only an instinctive liar, but a clever one.’
‘I’d heard of your reputation, but you are far viler than I’d been led to expect,’ she muttered.
‘I did rather well, didn’t I?’ He smiled, lazily unrepentant. ‘But now I need not accost any more hapless maids. I’m safe from both Helena and Louisa, who would prefer suicide to marriage with me, unless their harpy of a mother convinces them what I suggested is normal wedded fare.’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Although to be entirely truthful—which you, as a governess, must surely appreciate—if I were married, it would be.’
Beatrix’s mouth had fallen open, but she mastered her surprise. ‘You needn’t waste your efforts on me. Kindly refrain from repeating that extremely crude performance with Eudora.’
‘There’s no need.’ He continued to smile, sending annoying little sizzles to her nether regions. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Miss Ottersby has eyes for no one but my friend Conk.’
That distracted her. ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘A few months ago, I thought he returned her interest, but tonight he had to be bullied into turning the pages for her.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘You bullied him! Why?’
‘Because he asked me here to push him into making his offer. I didn’t come for the company, believe me.’
She was staring at Simon again. She lowered her gaze to be able to think. In the blink of an eye, he had changed from an abominable lecher into a man trying to help a friend.
‘Although your intriguing presence has largely reconciled me to the stay,’ he added.
She huffed. ‘Just when I thought there might be some decency in you.’
‘Indecency is so much more fun,’ Simon said, reverting to lecher again. ‘Dear me, Lady Ottersby is scowling at us.’
‘Because you’re not supposed to notice th
e governess.’
‘You’re not like any other governess I’ve met,’ he said. ‘Will you take a switch to me if I’m naughty?’
She sputtered on a laugh. Oh, God, what a mistake. A respectable spinster shouldn’t understand the implications of such a jest. ‘Go talk to some other woman, for heaven’s sake,’ she hissed. ‘It will be disastrous if Lady Ottersby dismisses me.’
He didn’t move. ‘She must fear I’m more attracted to you than any of her insipid girls. How perceptive of her!’
‘You are attracted to whichever woman is next to you at any given moment,’ Beatrix retorted. ‘Mr. Conk is an estimable man. I have no idea how such an unlikely friendship as yours can have come about.’
‘We knew each other in school, but while I merrily trod the path to sin and degradation, Conk has the morals of a Quaker. Nevertheless, he believes I can advise him on how to court Miss Ottersby.’
‘All you’ve done so far is show how to make yourself objectionable!’
‘True, but since I succeeded in frightening off those dreadful girls, I don’t begrudge the effort.’ His blue eyes gleamed. ‘But not every woman here objects to me. Some would be thrilled if I crept into their chambers at dead of night. However, the most beguiling lady here is you.’
She cast her eyes heavenward. ‘I suppose that compliment falls into the same category as your winks. Every woman you encounter gets one.’
‘Admit it. You would love to dally with me if you thought you could get away with it.’
What unbelievable gall. Worse, he was to a shocking extent correct. ‘We’re not talking about me,’ she said repressively.
‘No?’ He laughed, and she felt a blush suffuse her face. Luckily, Eudora’s angry performance came to an end, so Beatrix escaped to give her the shawl.
As if Mr. Carling’s perceptive remarks weren’t bad enough, Lady Ottersby landed into her the minute the party was over. ‘I saw you flirting with him. Playing off your tricks, thinking you’ll take him out from under my daughters’ noses.’ Spittle flew from Lady Ottersby’s mouth.
‘No!’ Beatrix didn’t want to marry Simon Carling. Heaven forbid! But she had to admit, if only to herself, that in a dangerously visceral way she did want him. What a pity a governess had to be suffocatingly respectable.
She knew a fiery urge to throw her respectability—and along with it, her virginity—in Simon Carling’s path. She managed to suppress this dangerous train of thought enough to say indignantly, ‘I didn’t flirt with him. I told him he should be ashamed of himself.’
‘How dared you speak so to a guest of mine?’
Beatrix’s temper flared. ‘How could I not speak so to a man who had treated my charges so abominably?’ She tried to lighten her tone. ‘He didn’t mind in the least. He merely found it amusing.’
‘I don’t like him,’ Eudora said. ‘He frightens me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Lady Ottersby said. ‘You are a grown woman and cannot afford girlish megrims anymore. Tomorrow, you will cease sulking and make yourself agreeable to Mr. Carling.’
‘I don’t want to.’ Eudora’s lower lip wobbled, and she hung her head.
This was intolerable. ‘What about Mr. Conk?’ Beatrix said. ‘He will surely make an offer soon.’
‘Young Conk?’ shrieked Lady Ottersby. ‘He is nowhere near as wealthy, has no connections worth mentioning, and is stupidly awkward in company. My daughters deserve far better! I have borne enough, Miss March. You may pack your belongings and leave first thing in the morning.’
‘No!’ cried Eudora. ‘Please let her stay one more day. She dresses my hair so beautifully, and she hasn’t finished the new trim on my gown for tomorrow evening.’
Beatrix held her breath. Just one more chance to search. Please!
‘I need to look my best!’ Eudora said despairingly.
Lady Ottersby’s eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘Very well, I shall permit Miss March to stay, upon one condition—that you make a sincere effort to attach Mr. Carling.’
Eudora’s eyes flicked from side to side. She bit her lip. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. ‘Yes, Mother.’
By bedtime, Beatrix had a raging headache. It hadn’t abated when, just past midnight, she pulled on a wrapper and tiptoed down one flight of stairs to Eudora’s room. Eudora didn’t stir, and Beatrix got safely through to the dressing room. She closed the connecting door, as well as the door to the other adjoining bedchamber, and lit her candle. She searched quickly and silently but found nothing. She slumped exhausted into a chair, her head throbbing, wondering if she dared check under Eudora’s pillow. The reliquary was never there by day but might be by night, particularly given the girl’s despair this evening.
Help me, St. Davnet, she prayed, feeling perilously close to despair herself.
A groan, followed by the sound of retching, came from the room shared by Helena and Louisa. Next came Helena’s sleepy voice, more retching, and Louisa’s miserable wail. ‘Mama! Eudora!’
Panic swept over Beatrix. She cast about for a place to hide, but she couldn’t fit under the sofa or inside the wardrobe or behind the curtains….
The window! Outside, a narrow balcony ran the length of the house. Fumbling in her haste, Beatrix unlocked the window and threw up the sash. She blew out her candle and climbed through. A chilly breeze tugged at her clothing. She pushed the sash carefully down and sidled along the balcony. Oh, no! The edge of her wrapper was caught. She eased the sash up an inch, pulled the wrapper free, and set her fingers on the sash to close it again…
A door opened, and footsteps approached. Beatrix left the window open, gathered her wrapper close, and hurried away along the balcony. She pressed herself against the house and waited. Lamplight glowed behind the bedchamber windows, accompanied by muted wails and the sound of scolding. She shivered and waited some more.
‘Who left the window open?’ Beatrix jumped at the sound of Lady Ottersby close by in the dressing room. The sash banged down and the lock clicked shut.
Now what was she to do? She turned in the cramped width of the balcony and looked down. She couldn’t possibly jump that far. She would have to wait until they had all fallen asleep and break the window to unlock it, and if someone heard her…
‘Miss March!’ She would recognize that sly male voice anywhere. She glanced about. Where was he?
‘Beneath you,’ said Mr. Carling, stepping out from behind a bush.
‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘I’m in such a fix.’
‘So I see,’ he mocked. ‘A respectable guest would immediately wake the master of the household, since you are plainly up to no good.’
‘Hush!’ she hissed. ‘You’re not respectable, and we both know it. Help me, for heaven’s sake.’
‘I should be delighted.’ He paused. ‘At a price.’
Footsteps sounded in the room behind her, and candlelight flickered. Mr. Carling disappeared behind the bush again, and Beatrix held her breath. The footsteps died away.
‘What do you want?’ she whispered.
‘What are you willing to give?’
She hesitated. Through the window came Eudora’s sleepy voice and one of the maids replying. She’d be stuck out here all night if she didn’t accept Simon’s help.
Temptation uncurled inside her like a lush, red rosebud. He was a Bad Man without the slightest interest in marriage—the perfect choice for a woman who recoiled from marriage as well. She might never have such a chance again.
‘Anything you like,’ she whispered recklessly. ‘Just help me down!’
‘Anything?’
She scowled down at him. ‘Don’t tease me!’
He chuckled. ‘Stay right there.’ As if she had any choice! ‘I’ll be back in a trice.’
He returned promptly, carrying a ladder. He set it against the wall and climbed up. A frightening gap yawned between the top of the ladder and the balcony.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Climb over. I’ll catch you.’
Beatrix g
azed uneasily down. Her wrapper flapped in the wind. Her bare feet were well-nigh frozen. She put her hands on the rail and hitched one leg over the balustrade. Cold stone greeted her bare skin. She sucked in a breath.
‘I knew you’d have gorgeous legs,’ he murmured, and then his voice changed. ‘Courage, sweetheart. You can do it.’
She got the other leg over, clutching the railing for dear life, shaking to pieces inside.
‘Just a bit lower,’ he said. ‘Put one hand on a baluster and hold tight.’ She did. ‘Now the other.’ Her derriere was hanging out and her arms ached. ‘I’m going to put my arm around you. When I say so, let go. Trust me, I’ll hold you. You won’t fall.’
‘All right,’ she whispered, and prayed to St. Davnet to keep her safe.
Lord, she smelled delicious. Simon held her close as he carried her down the ladder. Such a warm, curvaceous armful! Her breasts swayed within her nightdress, brushing his arm, and her behind pressed lushly against his hip. He’d been strolling the grounds, enjoying the absence of predatory females. His luck certainly seemed to be in tonight. He set Miss March on the ground and let go, to see if she would try to renege on her promise.
Instead, she pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much!’
For a few speechless seconds he merely stared at her. He recovered himself and purred, ‘I wonder, will you be as thankful once I’ve claimed my reward?’ He would make sure she enjoyed herself, and he wouldn’t impregnate her or give her any diseases, but she would probably be plagued with foolish guilt until the end of her days. ‘Or will you be overwhelmed with missish regrets?’
‘It depends what you ask for.’ She folded her arms across her chest, which only made him more aware of the sweetly luscious breasts she tried to hide. ‘Hurry up, then,’ she said, entirely composed. ‘What do you want?’
What did he want? He wanted to lift her skirts and tumble her then and there. He ran his fingers gently along the line of her chin, dropped them to her nightdress, and skimmed them lightly down the fabric between her breasts. She shivered but didn’t shy away.
The Unrepentant Rake Page 2