Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

by Secret Cravings Publishing

  “Milord?”

  Rothsburgh smiled. “Roberts. I’d like to talk to Mrs. Eliott about tonight’s wine selection.”

  Beth was standing just behind the butler, her face hidden in shadow, but nevertheless, Rothsburgh thought he detected the hint of a smile on her sweet lips. Lips that he would soon be tasting. His heart began to pound, hot lust rushing straight to his groin.

  Roberts bowed and carefully placed the bottle he was holding back in the racks. “Of course, milord.”

  The clever man had taken the hint and quickly ascended the stairs without so much as a lift of his eyebrows, or a backward glance.

  The door clicked shut and Rothsburgh smiled with a deliberately wicked tilt to his mouth. “So what’s on the menu, Mrs. Eliott?”

  * * * *

  Elizabeth’s pulse leapt and her cheeks flamed as James shot her a clearly calculated, rakish grin. He was no longer the indifferent master—the role he’d been forced to adopt since the arrival of the hunting party. Her lover—her thoroughly disarming, deliciously sinful James—had returned. Even dressed in his hunting clothes—tight-fitting buckskin breeches that showed off his muscular legs to perfection, Hussar boots, a simple linen shirt, and a dark brown hunting jacket—he was utterly mesmerizing. There was no doubt that what was on his mind, right at this moment, wasn’t dinner or the wine that would accompany it.

  Not after she’d glanced at the front of his breeches.

  Elizabeth licked her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry with nervous anticipation—although how she could be nervous after everything they had shared, she didn’t know—and her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird within her chest. Perhaps it was because she still wasn’t used to being the recipient of such focused sexual attention. Or maybe it was because she and James were about to make love in the middle of the day whilst there were house guests about.

  Or maybe it was simply because she was still plagued by her conscience and her plans to leave him.

  Regardless of her qualms, it would not change what was about to happen between them. Despite her doubts and fears, she suddenly wanted James so very much—as much as he seemed to want her. She needed to enjoy these moments and live life to the full while she still could, because all too soon this would be over.

  “What would you like, my lord?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless, even to her own ears. That wicked smile again and she felt a sweet ache begin to pulse within her loins.

  Rothsburgh—James—held her gaze steadily as he descended, no almost prowled down the stone stairs. “Everything.”

  She gasped. “Everything?” Here in the wine cellar?

  He laughed and on reaching her, caught her hand and brought it to his lips. His kiss seared her knuckles making her shiver. “Don’t look so alarmed, my love. I know we won’t have time for absolutely everything. We’ll both be missed before too long.”

  He drew her in so that her hand rested against the hard wall of his chest. Even through the linen of his shirt, she could feel the heat of his flesh, the steady beat of his heart.

  “Whatever we do, I promise I won’t mess up your hair,” he murmured with a crooked smile as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear. His smoldering gaze then dropped to her mouth, and he brushed a thumb across her lower lip. Why was he waiting? She couldn’t bear the suspense.

  “James,” she breathed gripping his shirt—it was both a plea and a demand.

  “God, I miss you, Beth.” He groaned. And then his mouth was upon hers, his arms crushing her to the rock-hard length of his body. She opened for him willingly and tangled her tongue with his, desperately seeking the taste of him, rejoicing in the deep throaty growl he made as their kiss deepened, became wilder, more urgent. She’d missed him, too, missed this raw intimacy. How was she to survive when this was all over?

  All such thoughts soon fled, however, when one of James’s hands slid from the nape of her neck around to the front of her black wool bodice, and his fingers deftly flicked open the buttons, before sliding beneath her corset and shift to find her breast. He rolled her already erect nipple between his thumb and fingers, and she arched toward his hot touch, a low moan escaping her lips. The banked fire of suppressed desire flared within her, releasing her abandoned, reckless self.

  She wanted more, so much more. She reached downward to stroke the iron hard shaft of James’s erection—it pressed insistently against her belly, even through all the layers of their clothing. She desperately wanted to taste him, pleasure him there, until he lost control and cried out her name.

  As she fumbled for the opening to his breeches, he stilled her hand. “Not yet, my angel,” he murmured against her kiss-bruised lips. “I have something else in mind first. Are you wearing drawers?”

  Her pulse thrummed and the apex of her thighs was suddenly slippery with the dew of her increasing arousal. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice no more than a husky whisper. With so many male house guests it didn’t feel appropriate to be wandering around sans-undergarments.

  “Well, you won’t be needing those any longer.” He dropped to his knees and reached up beneath her widow’s weeds, his large warm hands sliding slowly over the thin cotton of her drawers from her calves, to her thighs to caress her buttocks, making her already sensitized flesh quiver. She closed her eyes and gripped his wide shoulders for support as one of his hands tugged loose the ribbon tie at her waist. Her drawers immediately slid to her ankles, and she rejoiced in the feeling of James’s hands on her bare skin. When had she become so willingly and shockingly licentious? She was about to have sex in a wine cellar in the middle of the day and she was breathless with anticipation.

  James helped her to step out of her drawers, then swiftly rose to his feet. Then, before she knew what was happening, he grasped her about the waist and effortlessly lifted her onto one of the sizeable wine casks that lay securely in a rack against the wall behind her.

  “What…”

  “Shhh,” he whispered, placing a long finger against her lips. “Trust me.”

  “I do…always,” she murmured and caressed his jaw with trembling fingers, holding his gaze steadily.

  I love you. The words Elizabeth could never say to him threatened to spill from her lips, so she leant forward and kissed him gently, trying to show him how she felt even if she couldn’t tell him.

  His firm lips slid tantalizingly beneath hers. He seemed content to let her lead for a few moments—until she teasingly ran her tongue over his bottom lip; she wanted to drive him wild again. He responded to her invitation immediately. With a low growl, he claimed her mouth, his tongue grazing against hers, and the firestorm of desire rose up again to engulf them both.

  He pushed up her skirts to her waist and the musky scent of her arousal rose up around them. Continuing to ravish her mouth, he slid a finger up and down between her slick innermost folds, as his thumb began to stroke her quivering, swollen center of pleasure. Leaning back against the rock wall behind her, she couldn’t resist the urge to part her thighs to allow him greater access. It was so wicked, so wanton…so wonderful.

  James dragged his mouth from hers. “Let me taste you, Beth,” he rasped against her ear, his fingers and thumb continuing to drive her need even higher. She made an inarticulate whimpering sound, perhaps she even nodded, as she opened her legs wider, straddling the barrel. Whatever she did, it was all the consent James needed. Bending forward, he dipped his dark head and alternately curled and flicked his tongue against her pulsating core. She began to shudder and gripped his shoulders with talon-like fingers as the exquisite tension began to build higher, tighter almost to the point of pain. An abandoned moan rose in her throat, and she mindlessly spread wider for him. He ruthlessly took advantage of her exposed sex—he slid his tongue deep into her inner passage, thrusting and retreating as her hips began to undulate back and forth, matching his rhythm.

  But she couldn’t take much more of this calculated torture—her breath was coming in short ragged bursts that she couldn’t
control. She was so close to her peak, so close it hurt. Perhaps James recognized she was at her extremity because his mouth suddenly returned to her core and he suckled her—hard. And she shattered. Incandescent light exploded behind her eyes and she bit her lip, attempting to stifle the hoarse scream that rose within her as her womb finally clenched, and spasms of blinding pleasure coursed through her entire being, rendering her senseless to everything else around her.

  Until James began to nuzzle behind her ear. Sighing, she arched her neck to allow his clever mouth and tongue better access to the sensitive flesh. She was well satisfied, but what about him?

  “James, I think it’s time that I returned the favor, don’t you?” Elizabeth reached forward to stroke his rigid cock through the leather of his breeches. He groaned and pushed his groin into her hand, his mouth seeking hers. She could taste her own, slightly salty essence on his lips and tongue. It fired her own desire again, the desire to please him as he had pleased her.

  “I want to taste you too,” she whispered and loosened the ties of his breeches. He sprang free and she grasped his hot, pulsing length, running her hand from base to silky smooth head, squeezing gently.

  “God help me…yes.” He lifted her down, and once she stood steadily, he released his hold about her waist and eased himself onto the barrel. Legs astride, he leaned back, his cock standing up proudly, whilst his eyes—now black as midnight—were completely focused on her. He was breathing hard, almost trembling with need, waiting for her to ease his agony, to pleasure him.

  A deep thrill coursed through her as she realized how much power she wielded—that at this moment, this virile, powerful male was completely hers, to do with as she wished. Yes, she would pleasure him. And she would savor every single minute of it.

  She licked her lips slowly—deliberately—and ran a finger over the slit at the end of his cock, smiling when James jerked and a droplet of moisture appeared. Bending forward, she placed one hand on his heavily muscled thigh, whilst the other cupped his swollen balls. As she began to stroke his hot, iron-hard shaft from base to head, she glanced up at him through her lashes—he was holding his breath, waiting for her to take him. But she knew that making him wait would make this all the sweeter.

  “Christ, Beth,” he gritted out, and she capitulated—she didn’t want to be cruel. She delicately flicked at the bead of moisture with the tip of her tongue, and he groaned. He tasted and smelled wonderful, the spicy scent of hot, aroused male filled her senses, and she could no longer resist the temptation to take him—as much as she possibly could—into her mouth. He gripped her shoulders as she bent her head and slid up and down his throbbing shaft slowly, almost languidly at first, taking her time, occasionally swirling her tongue around the slippery engorged head of his cock before returning to plunge rhythmically up and down again. Teasing him. Building the pace, increasing the pulling, torturous suction. Driving him wild.

  “I can’t…hold back…” His voice was a ragged gasp, and he started to thrust his hips to match her rhythm. Her heart sang; this was what she wanted—to push him over the edge, to take him to the heights of ecstasy as he never failed to do for her. He started to swell and she deliberately drew him in, as far as she could and sucked hard one last time—and as she’d anticipated, he erupted. His hot seed flooded her mouth and she swallowed again and again, until his shuddering eased and he was empty and spent.

  She released him and straightened, delighting in the glorious sight of him reclining upon the barrel, drowsy-eyed and loose-limbed. Satisfied. She would store this memory away as she had all the other memories of their love-making. When she was gone from here—as she soon would be—memories would be all that she had to sustain herself over the long lonely years ahead.

  She reluctantly stepped back and began to adjust her shift, and refasten her bodice.

  “Beth.” James pulled himself upright and slid to the floor, reaching for her. He pulled her to him, then cradled her face between his hands, capturing her gaze with his. His eyes, fiercely intent, searched hers. “This…what we have…we both deserve more than this. I don’t know how you feel, Beth, but I’m going mad not being with you. Not being able to look at you, touch you, kiss you the way I want to every moment of every day…it’s torture. As soon as I can send these friends of mine packing, I will.” Then before she could do anything more than cover one of his hands with hers, he kissed her—a deep searing kiss, a possessive kiss that she felt all the way to her bones. A kiss that touched her very soul.

  What we have…James’s words echoed in her mind.

  But what did James think they had? Was it more than just sex to him? After a kiss like that…Elizabeth knew with all her being that this man had feelings for her, deep feelings. And very soon, she was going to crush him.

  Earlier this morning—after she had finished assisting the other staff with clearing away the breakfast service—she had noticed an advertisement in one of the newspapers that had been left out on the dining table A middle-aged, dowager noblewoman, the Baroness of Dunleven, was seeking the services of a companion—a young woman of good standing with suitable references etc., preferably aged between twenty-one and thirty years of age. Applicants were advised to apply directly to a Mr. Innes, Lady Dunleven’s man-of-business in Dundee.

  Elizabeth had surreptitiously removed the page and secreted it in the pocket of her gown—the gown she was wearing now. She touched her pocket and felt the paper crinkle. A paid companion—how could she contemplate leaving this man, for that?

  But it was the right thing to do. For herself and for James.

  Drawing herself away from James’s embrace, Elizabeth fought to control the sudden prick of hot tears behind her eyelids. Unable to speak, lest she betray her emotions, she instead bent her head and helped James to fix his clothing. He likewise helped her to re-don her drawers, before stepping back to check the arrangement of her hair.

  “Hardly a hair out of place, Mrs. Eliott,” he said with a lop-sided smile and dark mischief glinting in his eyes. “No one will suspect a thing. I’ll leave first, and you follow in a few minutes.”

  She nodded and forced a smile in return. “I still need to choose the wine. Something to go with grouse, I believe.” She prayed her voice sounded light to his ears, not brittle and tight as it had sounded to her. But he was distracted now, glancing toward the door. One of the hounds was whining.

  “Yes. I’ll leave it in your more than capable hands, my love.” He kissed her quickly, yet softly. And then he leapt up the steps, disappearing through the door without a backward glance.

  Wine. Focus on that, Elizabeth. Not on the false reference you will write for yourself when you go back to your room.

  She retrieved the basket she used to hold the wine, and randomly chose two bottles of Madeira to go with the entrée of goose-liver parfait, and several bottles of Burgundy to accompany the main course of roast grouse. She would send Roberts back down later for the Champagne to go with the oysters—she really couldn’t carry anymore.

  The sound of the door scraping open and latching shut again caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she turned, expecting to see Roberts or James again.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was Lord Blaire.

  “Mrs. Eliott, fancy finding you down here.” A study in nonchalance—except for the intent expression in his eyes—Lord Blaire sauntered down the stairs toward her.

  Elizabeth swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat and tried to keep her breathing even. Be sensible, Elizabeth. You don’t know what he really wants.

  From what she’d already seen of him since his arrival, Lord Blaire seemed to be a man who was clearly fond of a drink or two. Perhaps he had just come in search of another bottle of his favorite spirit. But there was always an ample supply of port, whisky and brandy in the library and dining room…

  As the nobleman drew closer, his gaze lewdly raking over her—she couldn’t ignore the icy stab of fear in her belly. Just as she couldn’t ignore t
he fact that he had tried to inveigle her into his room two days ago on blatantly false pretenses. Roberts had later informed her that there was nothing at all wrong with the viscount’s bed, and there was certainly no draft. As much as she didn’t want it to be true, it was fast becoming apparent that Blaire was the type of aristocrat who did indeed like to harass the hired help for sexual favors.

  The question was—how far would he press her?

  She really didn’t want to find out.

  She started to move toward the stairs and the relative safety of the Great Hall above, but Lord Blaire was too quick for her, and within moments she found herself trapped up against a wine rack and a stack of port barrels.

  She cleared her throat. She needed to stay calm and talk her way out of this situation—just as she had talked her way out of a potentially deadly situation with Hugh in her bedroom at Harcourt House. But staying calm was proving difficult when Lord Blaire was standing far too close for comfort with a falsely casual smile on his wide mouth—a smile that didn’t quite reach his hazel eyes, as hard as topaz. Tiger’s eyes.

  And he’d been drinking brandy. Oh, no. She could smell it on his breath. It would be hard to reason with an inebriated man, especially one who was obviously so single-minded and egocentric. But the added problem was, she really didn’t know Lord Blaire, didn’t know what ploys would work on him. Fear of falling out with his host and friend perhaps? The threat of an untimely interruption?

  She had to try something—now—before her rising fear rendered her incapable of anything.

  “Can I help you with something, my lord?” she asked, failing to keep the telltale note of nervous breathiness from her voice. “I’m expecting Lord Rothsburgh at any moment to check on what Roberts and I have chosen to accompany tonight’s dinner. And Roberts—”