She wanted him to spill his seed inside her, to stay inside her. She wanted him for always. Oh God, what was she thinking?
She must not let such foolish longings take root. She firmed her legs and smoothed her skirts. ‘I suppose you are trying to make Mr. Conk jealous, but what about my reliquary?’
‘Patience, my love.’ His fingers brushed her skirts as he buttoned his breeches. ‘Allow me to kill two birds with one stone. Conk asked me to use any means necessary to induce him to propose. I want this ridiculous matchmaking over with so I can leave tomorrow.’
She ignored the sadness washing through her; in the morning, they must go their separate ways. ‘That’s all very well, but these tactics are useless as long as Eudora has the reliquary.’
‘Not at all. While I work on her in my insidious way, preparing her to hand it over, she appears to obey her mother, thus, er, maintaining family harmony.’
Beatrix groaned; like all males, he didn’t believe in the reliquary’s powers. For him, this was just a game. ‘Don’t you understand? Even if Mr. Conk proposes to her, she will be unable to accept as long as she holds the reliquary. I must have it back, or they will never marry!’
‘For someone who disapproves of marriage,’ he said, ‘you’re unexpectedly keen on seeing Eudora marry Conk.’
‘I don’t disapprove of marriage.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, twirling it into a knot. Half the pins seemed to have fallen out. She would never find them on the floor in the dark. How could she have been so lost to commonsense as to let him take her, just like that?
She tried to move away, but he wouldn’t let her. He pushed up her chin. She felt his eyes on her even in the darkness. His lips brushed hers. ‘Don’t you want a home of your own and children?’
Yes! No, no; the risk to everything else that mattered to her was too great. She twisted away. ‘Not at all.’ Anguish poured icily through her at the thought of returning to her aunt and uncle, of the relentless pressure they would put on her to marry some rigidly controlling man of their choice. ‘What if she refuses to give the reliquary back?’
‘She won’t, but it’s a valid question, and the answer is that you will learn to live without it. The rest of us do fine without saintly intervention.’
‘I shan’t do fine! My aunt and uncle will make my life miserable.’
‘Why not marry, then? It can’t be all that bad.’
‘Not bad? I shall never, ever marry.’
‘Not even if you fall in love?’
‘No!’ Why must her voice shake so? ‘I made up my mind years ago about that. Eventually, I shall buy a house of my own and keep cats.’
He made a rude noise. ‘Why, for God’s sake? Marriage might be good for you.’
She gritted her teeth. ‘You’re as bad as my relatives. I know what I want, I have made my plan, and I’m sticking to it.’
For once, he said nothing.
‘Men are useless creatures, so I don’t want one. We’re here to talk about Eudora’s future, not mine.’ She paused. ‘I’ve searched everywhere. I believe she keeps the reliquary on her person all the time.’
‘I expect so.’ He kissed her forehead in a brotherly way and then let go. ‘Don’t worry, love. Simon’s here, and useless male though he may be, he has enough nerve to make up for it. I’ll get St. Davnet’s bone back tonight.’
She spent the rest of the day in mingled hope, anticipation and dread. If Simon succeeded in getting the reliquary, she would have to pay him for it in bed. She would fall deeper and deeper into love while he merely frolicked, and her heart truly would shatter. Family harmony wouldn’t be much comfort whilst one nursed a broken heart.
But by evening, there was no sign of the reliquary. Delbert Conk returned so morose and monosyllabic that Beatrix longed to slap him. After dinner, musicians set up in the large salon by the terrace, and Simon asked Eudora to dance. Meanwhile, Mr. Conk leaned against a wall, glowering.
Beatrix approached him. ‘Why didn’t you ask her to dance?’
‘Er… I beg your pardon?’ Mr. Conk said.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t understand me. You love Eudora, and you should have offered for her months ago.’
‘Er, yes,’ he muttered, reddening. ‘I know.’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Beatrix said. ‘You have been so caught up in your own anxieties that you failed to consider her feelings, and she now believes you don’t care for her.’
He hung his head, but muttering and head-hanging would get them nowhere.
‘Your time is running out. Lady Ottersby told Eudora to stop moping about you, and it looks like she has done so, don’t you think?’
He goggled. ‘Eudora moped about me?’
‘For months, while you did nothing! Now Lady Ottersby has ordered Eudora to do her best to attract Mr. Carling.’
‘The devil she has!’ He went even redder and begged Beatrix’s pardon.
‘And Eudora, who is an obedient, respectful daughter, has agreed.’ This was too close to a lie for Beatrix’s comfort; she was already in hot water with St. Davnet. ‘Very reluctantly, I might add. With tears in her eyes.’
A spasm of misery crossed his face. ‘I shall ask her to marry me…tomorrow.’
Beatrix huffed. ‘How many times have you told yourself that?’
Mr. Conk’s shoulders drooped.
‘You must act now,’ Beatrix said, ‘or it will be too late.’
‘In the midst of an evening party? Tomorrow will do. Simon isn’t truly interested in Eudora.’ Still, he looked vaguely uneasy.
Beatrix pounced. ‘No, but he may forget himself and take advantage of her. You know his reputation!’
‘He’s my friend,’ Mr. Conk said reproachfully. ‘I trust him.’
‘Do you trust Lady Ottersby? She’s been like a cat at a cream pot all evening. She will do her utmost to trap Simon into marrying Eudora.’
The music had ended. Mr. Conk scowled. ‘Where are they?’
Simon and Eudora were nowhere to be seen…while with a smug smile and narrowed eyes, Lady Ottersby watched the double doors that led onto the terrace.
Oh, no! ‘They’ve gone outdoors. You must act immediately!’
Mr. Conk squirmed. ‘Right away?’
‘Yes! It is your duty to save Eudora!’
Still he dithered, the fool. Beatrix threw up her hands. ‘Very well, I shall save him! I mean her.’ Trying to remain unnoticed, she sidled along the wall toward the terrace doors.
The dance ended, and Simon steered Eudora off the floor. ‘Let’s go onto the terrace,’ he said. Her eyes strayed, betraying her. ‘Don’t look at Conk!’
‘Why is he talking to Miss March?’ she said. ‘He should be watching me! This isn’t working!’
‘On the contrary, it’s working very well indeed.’ Simon ushered her through the terrace doors.
‘But what is the point of my going onto the terrace with you if Mr. Conk isn’t even looking?’
‘Because it is time for us to have a little talk,’ Simon said.
‘About what?’ She glanced nervously about. ‘If my mother catches us alone here, she will say you compromised me!’
‘Then you will be in a pickle, because I certainly shan’t marry you. More important, nor will my friend Conk when he learns you’re a thief.’
‘What?’ She gaped, as he paused to let that sink in.
‘Conk’s a very upright fellow. Even now, he may be learning the worst from Miss March. It’s her duty to tell him, don’t you think? He wouldn’t like to be married to a thief.’
‘I—I don’t know what you mean!’
‘Tsk. He doesn’t like liars, either.’ Simon extended a hand. ‘Give me the reliquary, and I shall ask Miss March not to tell Conk what you really are.’
‘But—but…’
‘Be quick, now. This very minute, she may be destroying your life.’
Eudora cast a desperate glance toward the doors.
‘And if sh
e isn’t, I shall,’ Simon said inexorably.
Her face crumpled. ‘You’re horrid!’ She burst into noisy sobs.
‘Indeed,’ Simon said. ‘Which is it? Give up the reliquary and get Conk, or give it up and lose him?’ He paused. ‘You’re dishonest and not very clever, Miss Ottersby, but I don’t think you’re foolish enough to make the wrong choice.’
She hiccupped, dashing away the tears. ‘You’re a b-beast, and I don’t know how Del stands you, but you may as well take it. It’s not doing me the least bit of good!’ She reached into the bosom of her gown.
Too late!
Lady Ottersby shrieked, ‘Where is my Eudora?’ and scurried toward the double doors. Beatrix gave up trying to be unobtrusive, picked up her skirts, and ran. Lady Ottersby burst onto the terrace, with Beatrix right behind.
Eudora turned, the reliquary in her hand, poised above the bosom of her gown.
‘Give it to me,’ Simon said, but Eudora dropped the reliquary back into her bosom and froze, staring at her mother.
‘Dastard!’ Lady Ottersby cried. ‘What have you done to my daughter?’ A crowd of guests gathered behind them. Lord Ottersby squeezed through, but instead of doing something useful, he fiddled with one of the lamps ringing the terrace.
Lady Ottersby clasped her hands dramatically to her bosom. ‘My poor, innocent Eudora was deceived by your wicked wiles!’
Beatrix groaned. I told you, she mouthed at Simon.
Simon growled at Eudora, ‘Give it to me, or I shall take it.’
But Eudora didn’t move. Couldn’t, because the toe bone wouldn’t let her. ‘Don’t you understand?’ Beatrix said. ‘She can’t.’ When Simon shot a glance at Lord Ottersby, she said, ‘Nor can he.’
‘Vile seducer!’ Lady Ottersby’s voice throbbed. ‘Eudora, your papa and I will protect you. You will marry Mr. Carling!’
Eudora wrung her hands, but her head bobbed like a puppet’s. ‘Yes, Mama. I shall do whatever you wish.’
Simon rolled his eyes. How dared he be amused?
Beatrix started forward. ‘This is precisely the scene I hoped to avoid.’
‘Perhaps the toe bone felt it was necessary,’ Simon said, laughing. Delbert Conk plunged through the crowd and stopped dead. Simon poised his fingers above Eudora’s bosom.
‘Carling, you’re a dead man!’ Conk roared. ‘Miss Ottersby is mine!’
‘At last.’ Simon plucked out the reliquary and tossed it to Beatrix. She closed her fingers about it in relief. Mr. Conk lunged forward and clipped Simon hard on the chin. He tumbled to the flagstones, laughing still.
‘Delbert Conk?’ Lady Ottersby shouted. ‘Impossible. You may not marry Eudora. I forbid it.’
Lord Ottersby bustled forward. ‘Nonsense, my dear. I can’t think of a better choice for her. I’ve dropped hints for months.’
Mr. Conk went very red, but his eyes never left Eudora’s face. ‘Miss Ottersby, I apologize for not asking you earlier and in less public circumstances. I love you. Will you marry me?’
‘Yes!’ Eudora flung herself into Mr. Conk’s arms.
‘And they lived happily ever after,’ Simon said, cradling his chin.
Beatrix came over. She slipped the chain over her head and tucked the reliquary into her bosom. ‘You deserved that, but thank you! Thank you so much.’ She was quivering—with relief, he supposed.
He stood. She would be quivering with wrath later tonight, but what choice did he have?
‘I’m free again,’ she whispered, closing her eyes. ‘Oh, thank God, I’m free.’
Simon knew a brief pang of remorse, but set it aside. He knew what he had to do.
Lord Ottersby bustled over. ‘Miss March, I hear you are to leave us on the morrow. I shall be sad to see you go, but be assured you will receive your pay to the end of the quarter and an excellent letter of reference. You’ve been very good to my daughters.’
Beatrix thanked him, positively glowing now.
He leaned closer, whispering, ‘Don’t worry about my wife. She will write what I tell her to.’
‘Thank you,’ Beatrix said again, glowing less now. A tiny line appeared between her brows.
Lord Ottersby bent a severe eye upon Simon. ‘As for you, young man, what did you so improperly pluck from my foolish daughter’s bosom?’
‘A talisman,’ Simon said, ‘which she borrowed from Miss March in the hope of attaining true love. Miss Ottersby was understandably reluctant to part with it, but since Miss March is leaving, I took it upon myself to recover it for her.’
‘I see.’ Lord Ottersby frowned. ‘With an eye to taking advantage of Miss March’s gratitude, I suppose.’
‘Not at all,’ Simon said. At least, not the way Lord Ottersby meant.
His host harrumphed. To Beatrix, he said, ‘You are under no obligation to this young man—none at all. Do not let him convince you otherwise.’
Beatrix thanked him a third time, her glow fading even more.
‘Come drink a toast to my daughter and her betrothed.’ Lord Ottersby hurried off to shoo everyone back into the house.
‘You see?’ Beatrix said. ‘Now that I hold the reliquary, everything is back to normal. I shall be fine now.’ She straightened her shoulders and went indoors. Simon considered consulting his conscience, but decided not to risk it.
Shortly after one, the house finally quieted down, and Simon made his way to Miss March’s bedchamber. Silently, she motioned him inside and shut the door. She wore the same nightdress, with the reliquary hung around her neck. She had bundled a shawl about her shoulders and breasts. It wasn’t cold, so why?
‘Regretting your promise?’ he drawled. ‘The truth.’
She bit her lip. ‘Yes and no,’ she said softly, fingering the reliquary. ‘I don’t think St. Davnet would approve, but I must keep my word.’
Was that the whole truth? He didn’t think so. ‘Indeed you must, but you needn’t clutch your shawl quite so tightly. I don’t intend to undress you.’
‘You don’t?’ She blinked, surveying the room with heightened colour. ‘You wish to take me against a wall again?’ She gnawed her bottom lip, her fingers tight around the little silver box. ‘Perhaps that would be best.’
It would certainly be quick. Did she want to get rid of him? ‘I wish to take you any and every way, but that is not what I have come to ask of you.’
‘It’s not?’ Did her tone signify disappointment, relief, or neither? No matter. She would rage at him next. ‘Then what?’
Simon braced himself. ‘I want you to marry me,’ he said.
Her mind went utterly blank. For a long, queer moment, she thought she might faint.
Then anger and fear lunged into her throat. ‘No,’ she choked out. ‘No, I won’t!’
Simon crossed his arms, male and implacable. ‘You’ll break your promise?’
‘No,’ she said, her mind running wild, her heart beating so fast it hurt. ‘I mustn’t do that.’ And yet she had to; she couldn’t allow herself to be trapped like this. She couldn’t bear it. She would rather die.
No, perhaps not die, but she felt as if she were dying. Disappointment and misery welled up inside her. ‘I liked you, Simon. I trusted you. How can you do this to me?’
‘For your own good?’ he quipped.
With a howl of fury, she ripped the reliquary from around her neck and held it out, her hand trembling. ‘I won’t take it. You retrieved it, and now it’s yours.’
He grimaced, shaking his head. ‘I don’t want it. What would I do with it? It’s yours, love.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she raged. ‘You know nothing of love.’
‘On the contrary, I believe I do,’ he said, so placidly she wanted to scream. ‘I love you, Trixie, and I think you love me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. One doesn’t fall in love just like that.’ At least, seasoned rakes didn’t. A foolish virgin might well convince herself she had, but such an infatuation would pass with time. Tears burned behind her eyes; she force
d them back, but a few found their way out and dripped onto the little silver box.
‘Oh, Trixie,’ Simon said. ‘Don’t cry. It’s not the end of the world.’
It might as well be, as far as she was concerned. Without the reliquary, years of unbearable strife stretched ahead. ‘If I break my promise, I can’t keep St. Davnet’s bone. I shan’t be worthy anymore.’ In despair, she almost flung the reliquary away, but she couldn’t; she had too much faith in it, too much reverence for it. She laid it on her dressing table. ‘I shall have to give it to my aunt,’ she said numbly, while her heart cringed at the thought, and her fingers yearned to take it again. She would be lost without it. She clenched and unclenched her fists, hurt to the core that Simon would do this to her, yet knowing it was partly her own fault.
‘No,’ Simon said. ‘I want you, Trixie, but not at such great cost.’ He picked up the reliquary, running the chain through his fingers, and set it gently in her palm. ‘Keep it.’
Beatrix closed her hand about the little box. She should be relieved, but her mind wouldn’t stay still. She wanted to thank him; she wanted to rage at him. He had tricked her, and that was wrong, but she had broken her promise, and that was wrong, too.
He said he loved her. What did that mean coming from Simon Carling? Her fiancé had said he loved her, too. Luckily, she’d realized it wasn’t the real Trixie he’d loved, but the proper, boring, stifled woman he’d wanted her to become.
She was near tears again, but that would never do. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her shawl, folded her hands over the reliquary and sat very still, waiting for the next blow.
‘I apologize for jesting at such an inopportune moment,’ Simon said, ‘but I really do believe that marrying me would be for your own good.’
Rage roiled up; she set the reliquary down.
‘And mine.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m definitely thinking of my own good. I’ve been contemplating marriage lately, but never dreamed I’d find the perfect woman so soon.’
The rage went out of her with a whoosh. He didn’t know what he was talking about, but how could she remain angry at such sweet words?
‘However, perhaps you aren’t quite what I thought. Judging by the sort of friends you claim to have, I expected you to be open-minded. More given to thinking and less to reacting.’
The Unrepentant Rake Page 5