* * *
Lizzie found she was expected to eat while seated next to the viscount at the center of the long, red-lacquered table. She noticed he did no more than pick at his food.
Bertram Felmont had taken Aunt Clarissa down to the furthest end of the table, away from Mr. Rackham, to persuade her to unmask and eat. The poor lady was quite mad. She wore her disguise to pursue men, breathing noisily as she neared them, certain no one could recognize her.
Eating was impossible. Lizzie sipped tea from the only dinner service left in Felmont’s Folly after the Beast’s father had looted the place. Her mother’s Sèvres and Meissen were long gone. The Chinese famille rose plates bore the Felmont coat of arms—a serpent devouring a winged victory. It had given her nightmares during her childhood. No doubt that was the sole reason it remained at the Folly.
Harry and George, two young cousins of Dace’s, sat across from him and questioned him about the Battle of Waterloo. He swore he remembered little of it and instead told them stories about dueling and regimental contests. Though why anyone risking life and limb in a war would then fight duels was beyond her.
The words Wellington’s pet drew her attention for a moment, until she heard damn near cut off my own leg.
How were you wounded?” Harry asked.
“I can only surmise from my situation when I recovered my senses that the cannonball had lost most of its power before it went through poor Chestnut. I awoke to find myself pinned under his carcass and that part of the battlefield deserted.”
George asked in an awed voice, “Was it very painful?”
“Do you know the worst of it was not the pain, for I felt little. I suppose I drifted in and out of consciousness, I had a great bump on the back of my head. The worst was the thirst. Terrible thirst. Damned hot and dry place, a battlefield. I awoke to find a body beside me–” He stopped when he noticed she was listening to him. “Sorry Lizzie, let us just say half a man. I took his water canteen and poured a little into his mouth, then drank the rest.”
“Surely he was dead?” she blurted out.
“Eventually. Begged me to do it but I could not oblige him. He did not survive the next wave of dragoons galloping over us.”
“Please don’t tell us any more, Felmont,” begged Lizzie.
Brutality always amused men. She tried not to listen, and resorted to the useful trick of counting her heartbeats, as she had during her stepfather’s slow demise. The lingering effect of laudanum made the beats harder to find.
“My love.” The Beast nudged her, sending a pulsing warmth from his arm to hers. He whispered in her ear, “Remember Lizzie, you are my loving wife. I am waiting for you to show me your affection.”
A dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. He lifted her chin to make her meet his gaze. An unholy gleam lit his eye. The sudden thought that he might be having a lustful urge made her forget to count her heartbeats. She dared not push his hand away. Without the pact to protect her, he had the right to drag her away to sate his licentious urges before midnight.
“Are you cold, my dear,” he asked. His warm fingers stroked her cheek.
Lizzie struggled for words. “No,” she said, as her face warmed against his palm. How was she to discourage his interest while keeping their pact? “N-not cold, dear husband.”
He spoke in the same low tones he had used last night when she’d dreamed he had touched her, in a voice that reverberated through her, tainting her with his wickedness. “Then you shiver from excitement at my presence? How delightful.”
To her relief, Harry claimed the Beast’s attention.
After breakfast, the dining room emptied of most of the Felmont family. Lizzie made polite conversation with the lingerers, as she had in the weeks since the Beast’s father had died and the family had descended and refused to leave.
The sun shone in the windows, banishing the morning clouds. It had a mesmerizing effect. Lizzie watched the glow until her eyes closed and it continued on her eyelids.
Some time later when Lizzie awoke, the servants were clearing the tables. The Beast had gone, leaving her among the debris like a lost shoe. A few amused glances from the remaining family mocked her. Bertram Felmont watched from afar, as he always did. She rose with as much dignity as she could muster and left the dining room to walk towards the great hall.
The family took its leave over the next few hours. Lizzie took up her place under the portico next to Lord Felmont and shook hands with each one. Aunt Clarissa wanted to take Mr. Rackham home with her, but that gentleman could not to be found. Harry coaxed his mother away with a promise to help her find the gentleman later.
Bertram Felmont came to stand in front of Lizzie. He pleaded for her to release his son. Lizzie declined with firmness. He took his leave with his customary nonchalance and limped down the stairs.
The viscount bent to whisper in her ear, “You do know, dear heart, he begs you to release his scapegrace son only so you will remember to keep him imprisoned. If you want to annoy Bertram, you only have to let Con go. With luck they’ll kill one another.”
Lizzie rubbed her ear to stop the tickling sensation caused by his voice. “No doubt they get on as well as you did with your father. I wonder why you want children, dear husband.”
He swiftly bent his head to kiss her cheek. Warm lips, just a hint of rasp from his shaved chin, made her body tingle.
“My love, are you as eager as I am to make a baby?”
Lizzie started back from him. “You are only to speak to me about domestic matters, dear husband.”
“Dear heart, what can be more domestic than talk of children?” His smile was anything but innocent. Lizzie wished she knew how to gird her loins against him. Felmonts debauched anyone they touched. Look at what had happened to her mother. Dead from it!
Lizzie shook hands with the last of the family. When they stopped to chat with Lord Felmont, Lizzie made her escape. Her limbs were stiff from tension caused by standing beside him. She shuffled into the long gallery to rest, out of sight, on a carved chest. She must have dozed off again for she awoke to voices close by.
James spoke in a low voice, “If you ask me, you are playing with fire. What will the gossips make of it?” His voice carried to every part of the great hall by the dome above.
The viscount’s answer was lost in a low rumble of laughter.
“Go,” said James. “Get your hugs and kisses from Ma, but think well about the other, our Dace.”
“Try to calm my wife,” murmured the Beast. “She likes you, she trusts you, she has obviously never heard about half your tricks. See if you can get her to eat something. I’ll dine with Ma.”
Lizzie ventured out into the hall. James whispered in the Beast’s ear as he stood by the door dressed to ride in dark buckskins and jacket.
The viscount saw her and strode over to her, his footsteps echoing on the golden floor. “My love, the day is yours. I have business at the Priory. Don’t fret, I shall return before midnight.”
He hesitated as if he’d like to say more but thought better of it. A gloved hand turned her face upwards. “Remember, my wife, you are to pretend you love me. When I tell you I am leaving, you must cling to me and beg me to kiss you goodbye.”
She would not cling to him. She would not beg. To keep the pact, she said in cool tones, “A kiss before you depart, dear husband?”
His lips brushed her cheeks. His face showed not a trace of warmth. Why should it? He cared nothing for her. Perhaps he was leaving to begin his debaucheries. The thought cheered her. She smiled at his back, because she only had to catch him in the act to be free.
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 9