Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

by Secret Cravings Publishing

  “You are quite wicked, you know that, don’t you?” she said, but to his relief, there was now laughter in her voice.

  “Entirely.” He grinned up at her from between her silken thighs, his mouth mere inches from her quivering center. “Now, my sweet angel, lie back and let me see if I can make you come a third time.”

  * * * *

  Elizabeth almost lost count of how many times she reached her peak as night turned into early morning. As she lay thoroughly sated in the circle of Lord Rothsburgh’s muscular arms, breathing in his now familiar masculine scent, she marveled at the fact that her body was capable of feeling such exquisite sensations over and over again.

  All thanks to James—she was almost used to calling him by his first name now. He was…a miracle. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe him after what he’d done for her.

  Equally amazing to her was the fact that she had been able to completely satisfy a man like him—the very epitome of masculine virility—in return. Her lips curved into a soft smile against the warm, smooth flesh of his bare chest as she recalled how he’d seemed more than happy with her efforts at love-making during the night. She hadn’t known that it was possible for a man to be so aroused for so long. It seemed as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He made her feel wanted. And powerful in a wholly feminine way, like she was the most desirable woman in the world.

  Elizabeth felt like she had been made anew, that she truly was a different creature; that she was indeed deserving of the title Lord Rothsburgh’s mistress.

  She’d managed to push away all of her troubled thoughts for the last few hours as she’d given herself over to the completely addictive pursuit of giving and receiving physical pleasure. And given that she could barely keep her eyes open, she was not likely to think about anything at all for a while longer.

  The fire in her room was now no more than a pile of red glowing embers, and all but one of the candles had burnt out. Despite the coldness of the predawn, she was warm and content. She snuggled further into James’s embrace and let delicious exhaustion begin to claim her.

  “Beth.” James kissed her temple. “As much as I’d love to stay with you all night, I really should go, my angel. Before the staff are up and about.”

  Her eyes flew open, all traces of sleepiness gone. “Of course,” she said, starting to disentangle her legs from his and push away from his side. It wouldn’t do for Lord Rothsburgh to be seen exiting her chamber. As it was, there would undoubtedly be raised eyebrows about the injudicious use of candles. James had been able to save the sheets of her bed by catching his seed with his shirt. Though she really didn’t want to think about what Roberts would make of the garment’s state.

  Rothsburgh caught sight of her naked breasts as the gold damask counterpane fell away and he growled, pulling her on top of him. “On second thought, I don’t think I can let you go just yet—”

  Panic fluttered in her belly. “James, you’re right. You can’t stay.”

  He chuckled softly and brushed a loose strand of her hopelessly disheveled hair behind her ear. “I know, I know, sweet Beth.” But he didn’t let her go. The amusement in his gaze suddenly ebbed away to be replaced by some other emotion that was more serious, and intense. Intimate. “I want you to know that I don’t want to leave this bed. I do it only because I know your reputation matters so much to you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to go either—”

  He suddenly dragged her down for a ravenous, open mouthed, soul-searing kiss. When he pulled away, his gaze locked with hers—his eyes were a burning, ferocious black. “Then let’s leave here, Beth. As soon as the tide is out, let me take you away from here, to Edinburgh or Bath or London—wherever you want to go, my love. Then we needn’t give a toss about what anyone else thinks. I will buy you a house, jewels whatever your heart desires. Let me worship you, Beth.”

  Terror seized her. She couldn’t leave here. Here was safe. Here she was hidden. Even though James was looking at her with such expectation and wonder, she just couldn’t accede to his request. The risk of discovery was too great. If anyone from the ton caught a glimpse of her…Hugh would find out. And he would come for her.

  But James wanted to treat her like a queen, a goddess…

  No. No, matter how tempting his offer, she couldn’t accept. Not when certain danger and ruin lay ahead.

  Oh, but how hard it was to turn her back on the gateway to Paradise.

  “Beth?” James caressed her cheek with gentle fingers.

  She felt breathless, as if there was a great weight upon her chest, but somehow she managed to drag in enough air to speak. “I…I am honored, my lord…I mean, James. But living like that…in such prominent splendor. That is not me…I don’t think…I mean, I can’t do it…I’m sorry…I just can’t do it.”

  James frowned. He raised a hand and cradled her cheek. “Shhh, my sweet Beth. It’s all right. If you want to stay here, we will…for now. And I promise we’ll be careful around the castle staff.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m afraid you’ll soon realize that I’m a very selfish man though. When I want something, I set out to get it. And make no mistake, it won’t be long before I’ll want you in my bed every night, all night. Hell, to be perfectly honest I’m going to want you all day as well, bed or no bed.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip and his voice, when he spoke again, was husky with need. “I just want you, Beth.”

  He kissed her again, but tenderly this time and rolled her body beneath his. She felt his manhood harden against her belly, but he didn’t press her for more. Even though she was grateful to him for being so solicitous, part of her—the wanton part—wanted him to stay.

  “Goodnight, or should I say good morning, my beautiful mistress,” he murmured against her cheek. He raised himself and rolled away from her, and she immediately noticed the absence of his warm lean body. It was as if a piece of herself had suddenly been detached.

  The cold light of early dawn was already beginning to gild the edges around the curtains, as she watched James pull on his breeches and boots.

  “Stay in bed for as long as you like today,” he said, retrieving his crumpled and well-used shirt from between the twisted sheets. “I’ll tell the staff you’ve had a relapse.” He then flashed her a wide grin. “I want you to regain your strength for tonight, my sweet Beth.”

  She pushed herself up and reached out to touch his jaw, enjoying the heat of his skin and prickle of stubble against her fingertips. She couldn’t deny she was beginning to care for this man, far more than she should. And she suspected he felt the same way. It seemed as if there was nothing that either of them could do to stop themselves from slipping beneath a rising tide of uncontrollable emotion. And for her, despite all of the risks, the urge to dive in was irresistible.

  She suddenly wanted James to know something about her that was true. She caught his gaze. “Elizabeth,” she whispered. “My given name is actually, Elizabeth.”

  He smiled with such tenderness, her breath hitched. “Hmm. Be that as it may, I think Beth suits you better, my love.” He kissed her once more, with gentle swiftness, and then he was gone.

  My love. How many times had he called her that tonight? That was something she had definitely lost count of. As she curled up in the bedclothes still warm from where his body had just lain, she suddenly wished with all her foolish heart that it really could be true.

  That she could actually be, his love.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the next week, despite her nightly lack of sleep and subsequent exhaustion, Elizabeth knew that she glowed with a certain indefinable something. She saw it when she looked in the mirror after she’d woken every morning—her grey eyes shone softy, as if lit from within, and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  Others seemed to notice the change in her too. Mrs. Roberts smiled at her knowingly whenever Elizabeth went into the kitchen to discuss the day’s menu. Roberts even winked at her when he passed her in
the hallway one day. Of course, Elizabeth had blushed, but it truly did seem that Lord Rothsburgh was correct when he had originally asserted that his staff would not condemn her. It felt quite bizarre that others would be so accepting of the fact she was the marquess’s mistress, especially when she could hardly believe it herself.

  Thankfully, James did not press her again on the subject of quitting Eilean Tor and installing her somewhere else as his mistress proper. Instead, they had fallen very quickly and easily into a mutually satisfying pattern of existence. James spent every night in her bed—although sleep was the furthest thing on both their minds—until the morning light began to creep into her room. Then she would rise late, and go through the charade of pretending to be just the housekeeper with only domestic matters on her mind, when really all she could think about was James and his love-making.

  But then James gave her little time to think of anything else. Highly important and ‘confidential’ discussions on household management behind locked doors invariably turned into something else entirely. She quickly learned that one didn’t just make love in a bed, but that desks, dining room tables, window seats, battlements and even piano stools could all be used in a number of unconventional ways to perform sexual feats that she had never dreamed of.

  Elizabeth had also given up using a copious amount of hair pins to secure her coiffure; braiding and twisting her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck with only the barest number of pins turned out be the only sensible way to ensure she didn’t leave a trail of them all over the castle. Not that it really mattered, given it was obvious what James and she were up to. But the conservative side of her still wanted to pretend she was a decent woman.

  One of the unexpected delights of this arrangement was that Elizabeth experienced—for the first time in her adult life—the simple pleasure of being with a man who obviously enjoyed her company. James regarded her as an intelligent equal in conversation—her opinion mattered to him. Sharing banter, engaging in discussions about anything and everything, even trying to trounce James at chess—he was a formidable player—all were equally stimulating and enjoyable. Hugh had rarely even given her the time of day.

  The only testing part of the whole scenario was taking care to avoid slips of the tongue about who she really was. She had manufactured a history for herself—that she was the well-educated, middle class daughter of a university lecturer from Oxford. When she came of age, she had then married the younger son of an equally middle-class family—Lieutenant George Eliott. However, she needn’t have worried. Despite James’s pronouncement that he wanted to know everything about her, he never pressed her for information and she never volunteered more than the barest and vaguest of details. And that suited her no end.

  Her secrets were safe.

  As for Lord Rothsburgh—James—he seemed…smitten. She could think of no other word to describe the way he looked at her, although she tried to tell herself it was only ever lust she saw in his gaze. His appetite for her seemed insatiable, like he was a newly wedded groom. He was everything that she had once hoped Hugh would be—attentive, witty, teasing, tender…loving. The irony that James was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband was indeed bittersweet.

  If only these halcyon days could last.

  That was the thought that drifted through Elizabeth’s bliss fogged mind as she lay spent and gasping upon one of the chaise-lounges in the drawing room, her skirts pushed indecorously up around her waist. James’s head lay upon her naked lower belly, his warm breath caressing her oh-so sensitive flesh. She pushed her fingers into his silky black hair and caressed the nape of his neck, enjoying the feel of bone, and strong muscles and tendons beneath her fingertips.

  It was early afternoon and their lunch lay cold and neglected upon the small dining table in the library. She rather doubted that it would get eaten at all. Who needs food when one can feel like this?

  But she shouldn’t feel like this. Despite the untold, heady satisfaction she derived from being Lord Rothsburgh’s mistress, her guilt—for forsaking her marriage vows and deceiving James—followed her like an ever-present shadow. She was able to push it aside temporarily whenever she and James made love. But in quiet moments such as this, after the ecstasy had ebbed away, and sanity returned, it settled over her again like a heavy pall.

  Before her troubled thoughts could envelope her completely, James sat up and leant over her to place a lingering kiss upon her mouth. Raising his head, his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent, and she knew he had something else in mind to while away the afternoon.

  “I think, my sweet Beth that we should—”

  An unexpected knock at the drawing room door, made her start. James scowled.

  “Damn,” he muttered when the knocking continued and Roberts’s voice could be heard.

  “Forgive me, milord. I wouldna interrupt unless it ‘twere of some importance.”

  With an exasperated sigh, James helped her to stand and straighten her skirts back into place. Elizabeth then quickly adjusted his cravat and smoothed his rumpled hair.

  “Thank goodness we didn’t undress,” she whispered with a smile, attempting to lighten James’s mood.

  “Hmph. Roberts better have a good reason for this,” he said gruffly. He kissed her cheek then called out. “I’ll meet you in the library in a moment, Roberts.” Clasping her face between his hands, he kissed her again, soundly. “Stay here, my love, while I sort this out. I promise I won’t be long.”

  After the connecting door to the library clicked shut, Elizabeth wandered over to one of the windows to gaze at the vast, lonely expanse of sea and sky. It was a blowy, overcast afternoon and the sea’s dull pewter surface was broken by choppy white-capped waves. The elements and the sea seemed as unsettled as her thoughts.

  Pressing her hand to one of the smooth diamond panes, the biting cold of the day penetrated the glass and made her shiver. She suspected it wouldn’t be long before the first snows fell. It would undoubtedly be a bleak and cold existence here during the seemingly endless winter—unless you had a lover to keep you occupied.

  But how long should she stay? The question weighed heavily upon her, perhaps even more heavily than her guilt.

  When she’d impulsively given into the temptation to become James’s mistress, she had told herself that this affaire should only be short-lived. But now that winter was coming, she needed to seriously contemplate the question—how long should she remain at Eilean Tor? Or more to the point—how long should she continue to be James’s lover? Another week, two weeks? Should she go before the castle became snowbound and it was impossible to leave for months? Months in which her entire existence would become so enmeshed with James’s that when it was time for her to go—she knew it would hurt both of them—deeply.

  Perhaps she should go now, before the fallen woman she was, fell any further in love.

  There. She’d finally admitted it to herself.

  She’d fallen in love with Lord Rothsburgh. Hopelessly, foolishly, madly.

  She’d tried so hard to deny the emotion building up inside her since she’d arrived—was it only three weeks ago? But now, she just couldn’t. It suffused her being, had changed the very fabric of who she was. Although she’d become James’s mistress to experience fulfilling sex at least once in her life, it wasn’t just about that anymore. And because she cared so deeply for this man, she suspected that was why her deceit bothered her more than ever.

  Part of Elizabeth prayed that she would soon hear word of another governess’s situation from James’s sister Lady Maxwell, because then she would have no choice but to leave. Even though it would be difficult, she knew that ultimately it was best for her sake as well as James’s if she did just that—go—sooner rather than later.

  Before James felt too much for her as well. Because nothing could come of this. Because she wasn’t free. To wish for anything more was like wishing for the stars, the sun and the moon to be laid at her feet.

  It was quite sim
ply, impossible.

  Tired of staring at the grey day with only her circling, troubled thoughts for company, she abandoned the window seat and seated herself at the pianoforte. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind and let her fingers find the notes for her favorite Mozart piece—the second movement of his hauntingly lovely Piano Concerto No. 21.

  She’d perhaps made her way through the first half of the piece when she was suddenly roused by the sound of unfamiliar voices—loud male voices—that carried to her over the sound of her playing, through the closed door to the library. As she paused to listen, the door burst open and an unfamiliar young man virtually fell into the room. He grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling, then eyed her with a peculiar mix of male appreciation and consternation.

  “Good God, Rossburgh…Where’d the hell didshou find this beauty?”

  James suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking like thunder. “Blaire,” he growled and seized the obviously exceedingly drunk gentleman by the scruff of his neck like a stray cat, before thrusting him back into the library.

  He then turned and bowed his head to Elizabeth. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Eliott, for Lord Blaire’s…interruption,” he said quite loudly, then he mouthed, “Are you all right?” His gaze lingered on her face, assessing her, his brow furrowed with concern.

  Elizabeth forced herself to appear outwardly calm, relieved that the piano shielded her white knuckled grip on the edge of the keyboard. “It’s quite all right I assure you, Lord Rothsburgh,” she said stiffly; although, she was quietly amazed that she could speak at all given that panic had stolen her breath, and her heart had leapt into the vicinity of her mouth.

  Were these men James’s friends? Friends from the ton? Good Lord in heaven, did any of them know her? The name Blaire seemed vaguely familiar. Elizabeth prayed he wasn’t one of Hugh’s cronies that she may have met before. She hadn’t immediately recognized the inebriated, disheveled nobleman who had so unceremoniously burst in. Nor had he seemed to recognize her. But then he was horrendously drunk.