by Jo Beverley
“Oh, yes!” Bella said. “If he’s still here, it’s Reverend Jervingham. A roaring parson, and a son of the Earl of Moncliffe, so not prey to local influence. He’s known for denouncing sinners from the pulpit, great as well as low.”
“I already adore him,” Thorn said with a satisfied smile. “With an audience of as many local people as we can alert, those three gentlemen should do the trick.”
“As long as the magistrates do behave badly.”
“According to Mistress Calloway, they always do.”
“Always?”
“Your brother is a habitual sinner, Bella. We won’t be catching him in one unfortunate lapse.”
“No, I suppose not. But . . . but they’re supposed to uphold the law!”
“Which never, of course, applies to them. So all we need is a signal. A way to know when to invade and raise the curtain.”
“Why not let one of the women do that?” Bella suggested. “I suspect they would.”
“And would be delighted to.” His eyes twinkled. “A strong scream would give me excuse enough to rush in, don’t you think?”
She twinkled back at him. “How could a gentleman do less?”
They toasted each other. It would have been a perfect moment, Bella thought, if their anticipated triumph would not signal the end of all her hopes.
For that was true. Her dreams of marriage were just that: dreams. Even with Augustus ground into the dust, she would still be ruined Bella Barstowe.
“I should return to the Oak to make the arrangements,” he said. “I apologize for my apparent misbehavior.”
“I will certainly have to play the sorrowful wife.”
He rose and came to kiss her, tasting spice with brandy, oranges, and nutmeg. “I wouldn’t go if it weren’t essential,” he said.
“I know.”
He kissed her again. “We both know that if this were reality, you’d wrap the poker around my head.”
She chuckled. “If this were reality, sir, you’d have learned to behave long ago.”
He laughed softly too. “I’m sure I would.”
Bella maintained her mask until he left, but then she had to dab away some tears.
The maid came in with supper for one and a dish for Tabitha. She gave Bella a pitying look, and Bella desperately wanted to assert that her “husband” would never be so disrespectful. That he had a noble purpose . . .
Oh, she was running mad, and she would keep all her attention on her revenge. That, at least, she could have.
After supper, Bella sat to sew, needing the calming effect. She’d almost finished hemming the gentleman’s handkerchief she was working on, and as she set the final stitches, she decided to give it to Thorn. It was a plain handkerchief, so he would not need to feel it was special, but she’d know he had it, no matter how things were in the future.
Chapter 20
Thorn returned within the hour, which was a secret joy.
“What a vision,” he said. “A lady sewing by candlelight.”
She gave him a look. “Strong daylight is preferable. I can do this only because my fingers know the work even if I were blindfolded. Did the women agree?”
“With pleasure, as you said. He really is disliked. He pays his fees but never more, and he . . . Never mind.” He sat opposite her chair. “I also learned the name of the third magistrate. Sir Newleigh Dodd. Another nasty specimen?”
Bella searched her memory. “He must have been appointed since I left. I don’t think I know him.”
“He’ll be from the same mold, or too weak to object. Here’s the sequence. The magistrates hold court and then dine. They’re generally half-drunk when the women arrive, and fully drunk later, but tomorrow night the women will add extra spirits to their punch to speed the process. Once the activities have reached truly scandalous dimensions, one of the women will shriek and I’ll rush to the rescue, with Fortescue close behind.”
“What about the spectators outside?”
“Mistress Calloway’s having a word with one of her customers who does a trade in wondrous nostrums. Tomorrow evening he’ll offer a demonstration of a new tonic against the rheumatism that can be activated only by moonlight. That will take place in the stable yard, outside the room where the magistrates sup.”
“That’s very clever.”
He inclined his head.
“What of the vicar?” Bella asked. “He won’t come for a patent medicine.”
“That will be less precise, but I’ve recruited the local grocer, a man called Colly Barber. Your brother had him put in the stocks for giving short measure, and he swears it was contrived because he wouldn’t supply Sir Augustus Barstowe free of charge. Whatever the truth of that, he’ll take a message to the vicar, summoning him here. The question is, what message?”
“Religious duty,” Bella said firmly. “He’d never ignore that. The message says that Squire Thoroughgood has taken a fit brought on by eating to excess, and is crying to confess his sins before he dies. He’s corpulent, so it’s believable.”
“Clever, Bella. Langham will probably come if he receives an anonymous message informing him that his future son-in-law is consorting with low whores. The stage is set.”
Bella ran over it all in her mind. She wanted this to work. “How will the grocer know when to take the message?”
“When he hears the scream.”
She shook her head. “That will be too late. Even though the vicarage is close by, Reverend Jervingham could arrive when everything is over. What if we check for the place closest to the vicarage that can be seen from the bedchamber? I’ll be in there, leaving you and Fortescue to your political supper. When I hear the scream, I’ll wave a candle to signal the grocer to go, cutting his journey by half.”
“As neat as your stitchery. Excellent.”
Bella basked in his approval. Before she could get maudlin, she said, “Speaking of neat, shouldn’t you shave if you persist in passing yourself off as the duke?”
“I’m Ithorne traveling incognito, remember? A duke can grow a beard as well as a peasant, and it serves to blur any differences in our features.”
She could only sigh. “And who am I if not Mistress Rose?”
“I’m afraid you have to be Ithorne’s chère amie.”
His mistress. But the French meant “dear friend.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. “You have become a dear friend, Bella, so it’s not a lie.”
That almost destroyed her composure, but she managed, “And you are a true friend to me. You’ve taken on my cause as your own. But, my friend, may I not play a part tomorrow apart from candle waving?”
They were still hand- locked, and she would not change that.
“You should keep to your room, Bella,” he said. “It could all be very unpleasant.”
“Good.”
“I mean, the sins could be.”
“I need to see the result,” she said.
“You might be recognized by any number of people.”
For a moment Bella balked. “But it won’t matter then. I mean, it won’t ruin the plan.”
“Your reputation?”
“We’ve dispensed with that long ago.”
His hand and features tightened, almost as if he were angry, but then he said, “By all means, rush down after me, then, and play what part you wish.”
“Thank you. I do believe this will work.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “It will work, for it’s my service to you, my lady.” He freed his fingers from hers, however, and stood. “I must leave you again in order settle a few final details. Not, I promise, at the Oak.”
“See that you don’t,” she said with teasing severity.
“I’ll send someone up for your supper dishes, and with your washing water.”
He left, and Bella realized he’d ordered her to bed.
How should she understand that?
When the maids had come and gone, Bella took off
her gown and washed, but then she looked at the bed, wondering what to wear. Shift and petticoat, as she had the first night? Nightgown, as she had last night?
She knew what she wanted in this bed this night, but she didn’t want to send too broad a hint, to make him feel he must, if he didn’t want to.
Her needs were wicked, but she didn’t care, for this might be their last night. Her needs weren’t wicked at all. She wanted to be the true wife to Captain Rose, his helpmate and companion, keeper of his home ashore, mother of his children, and lover in his bed.
She wanted that more than anything else she could imagine.
More, even, than her revenge against Augustus.
Yes, it would seem love was selfish, for if she had to choose between marrying Thorn and stopping her brother’s evil course, she’d marry Thorn and leave the world vulnerable to Augustus Sluggaby Barstowe.
She put on the nightgown. When she’d brushed out her hair, she plaited it and put on her nightcap. Then she drew the curtains around the bed and climbed into it.
It wasn’t long until he entered the bedroom. She listened to the sounds beyond the curtains, trying to hear eagerness or reluctance in them, and then felt him join her in the bed. She didn’t look. She didn’t want him to feel he must do anything at all.
He slid over, close to her. She turned her head to look at him then and saw bare shoulders. No shirt.
Her mouth dried. They were beautiful shoulders, and even in the dim light, she could make out the tattoo—the one of a black swan that she remembered from the Compass in Dover. She touched it, surprised to find it smooth. “Why have this done?”
“Sailors do. So their bodies will be identified if they drown.”
“Don’t speak of that.”
“It’s a reality of life on the seas.” He fingered the bow that tied her cap beneath her chin. “You permit?”
Bella swallowed, not sure what she was permitting, but she said, “Yes.”
He tugged it loose and then pulled her into a sitting position so he could take off her cap. Then he moved her entirely so her legs were on either side of him, so she was almost sitting in his lap, spread over him. . . .
He slid his hands behind her to undo the ribbon that held her plait in place and freed her hair, running his fingers through it. His touch against her scalp was so sweet she wondered why she’d never been aware of the possibility.
She realized that in this position she could do to him what he did to her.
She ran her fingers into his hair. “Does that feel as wonderful?”
“I hope so, for then I’m pleasing you delightfully.”
Shyly, she asked, “What else can I do to please you?”
“May I open the curtains and light more candles?”
“You left a candle lit?”
“How else are we seeing?”
She laughed at her folly. “Yes, I’d like to see more. Is that too bold of me?”
“Nothing is too bold, Bellissima. Nothing.”
He climbed out of her side of the bed, sweeping back the curtains to let in candle- and firelight. It gleamed on his naked torso. He wore only his linen drawers.
He’d brought a whole branch of candles into the bedroom, and now he lit them.
He’d prepared for this, which both shocked and thrilled her. Certainly he wasn’t reluctant. He wasn’t doing this out of obligation. That allowed her to eat up his beauty. Broad shoulders tapering down to trim waist and hips. Strong buttocks beneath fine lawn. Muscles everywhere. Sleek muscles, but powerful. She supposed a sea captain did more than simply shout commands.
He turned with the single candle, catching her ogling him, and grinned as he returned to the bed. Bella frankly appreciated the front view. The uncertain light of the wavering candle painted different contours on his chest. Different from her memories of him at the Compass. But if anything he was more beautiful.
He put the candle on the bed stand and sat before her again. “If I distress you, tell me to stop.”
“I can’t imagine you distressing me.”
“I can. In ways you will later like.”
She laughed. “That makes no sense.”
He smiled. “We’ll see.”
He unfastened her nightgown and spread it, but he continued to pull it down her arms, down until her breasts were completely exposed. She wanted to cover them with her hands but, at the same time, didn’t want to.
“Undistressed?” he asked, watching her.
“Disturbed,” she managed, “but not distressed. Does the sight of my breasts please you?”
“Immensely.” He leaned down and took a nipple between his lips, playing with it. Bella grew hot and tried to grip him, but her arms were trapped.
He sucked. Her body jolted.
“So responsive,” he murmured, kissing and licking his way to her other breast. “You have no idea how much it pleases me to reveal these delights to you. You are, I hope, delighted?”
Bella gasped. “I do believe I am, sir, but you have my arms trapped and I want to touch you.”
He worked the nightgown all the way off her arms, freeing her, exposing her down to her hips. He ran his hands over her, then around to her back. How could she not have known how sensitive her back was? She was complete sensitivity, humming with it. She slid her hands behind him, stroked him as he was stroking her.
She remembered hair, and raised one hand into his. Her fingers played against his scalp and then down the back of his neck, understanding what he’d said about the pleasure of pleasuring.
Perhaps he purred before he lowered his lips to her breasts again.
Bella ceased thinking as she tumbled into dark, heated passion.
She emerged hungry for more. More in all ways. She kissed his chest and then the dark tattoo. She drew a nail down his skin, watching the way the line was pale and then disappeared. She played with his body, and he permitted it, simply touching her, stroking her, in ways that seemed almost idle except for the way he kept her alive with sensation, and built more desire.
Then came the time when all their bedcovers were gone, and all their clothes were gone. The room was chilly, for the fire had burned low, but they had heat enough between them.
Bella studied his manly part, the way it rose up against him so long and stiff. She touched it. So hard. So hot.
She heard his breath catch and looked at him. He smiled and closed her hand around it. “You permit?” he said.
Bella inhaled. “Do you?”
“Of course.”
He put his hand over hers and moved her against him. “That pleases me, Bella, but only do what pleases you.”
“I am pleased by pleasing you.”
He grinned. “My view entirely. Please me, then.”
There was freedom in that, but challenge too, so Bella decided to do exactly what pleased her as she explored this new experience, and it seemed to work as he’d said, and please them both. Especially when she had the pleasure of watching him in his passion, literally at her hands.
He’d thrown the sheet over himself to catch the fluid. The fluid that should enter her.
If they were married.
This, she realized, was the height or depths of sin, but she didn’t care. She cradled his head and kissed him, a deeper, hotter kiss than ever before, and then he pleasured her again, and again, seeming to know how to send her to a point of destruction and then rescue her just before she died.
“I want to do that to you,” she mumbled, exhausted.
“What a delightful thought,” he murmured against her neck, and tucked her close against his body as she slid down into sleep.
She stirred as a clock chimed. Five times.
It was still dark. She was still held close against his glorious, naked body.
She thought of all the women who didn’t seem to experience this symphony of pleasure. Perhaps she should write a book. For the wives, or the husbands?
“Your thoughts?” he murmured, a skillful hand playing o
n her flank.
“Only of pleasure. Why isn’t it always like this?”
“You’re very responsive.”
“Is that why other women don’t seem to experience this?”
He turned her and teased her breasts again. They were sensitive, almost sore, but he seemed to know that. His touch was soft as a feather.
“You know the intimate secrets of other women?” he asked.
Bella realized she was close to things she didn’t want to talk about, but that she’d have to, and soon. There must be honesty between them. She pushed that aside for now.
“Women sometimes talk,” she said. “It’s clear many dislike their marriage bed.”
“And sometimes that’s the problem.” He swept fingers lightly down her naked body to end at the sensitive rim of her behind. “For some women nakedness itself is unpleasant.”
“Oh. But are all men as skillful as you at this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He chuckled. “What interesting conversations you start, my fascinating Bella. As well ask why not all cooks produce good food.”
“A matter of training?” she asked doubtfully.
“And perhaps natural talent.”
She rolled to meet his smile. “I should have expected you to claim that.”
“Talent and a great deal of training.”
Before Bella could ask her startled question, he kissed her into silence with too much talent for her to resist.
Chapter 21
Bella woke late and lazily, once again physically complete. She rolled to look at Thorn, beautiful in relaxed sleep. If only that had been their wedding night, sealing them together for eternity.
As it was, she felt it should be almost the same. How was it possible for them to have done such things and part? But he might see it differently, and she was aware that he had not taken her maidenhead. Such extraordinary care.
Might it mean that he wanted to be sure that they wouldn’t be tied by a child?
It hurt to think him so calculating, but in truth, it was sensible.
What did sense have to do with such things?