A Promise of More

by Bronwen Evans

  “No doubt you are deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable with your innuendo,” she retorted coolly, adopting her most regal air. “I’m twenty-five years old. I am not a debutante who will faint at the mention of sexual congress.”

  His smile flickered as if he were trying to hide his amusement. “ ‘Sexual congress’? How prim. How proper.” He reached across the small space to brush her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles. “Only a virgin could say ‘sexual congress’ with such disdain. Either that, or a woman whose lovers were completely inept.”

  Sebastian felt the animal stirrings of his body. Her lips parted and he heard her soft intake of breath. He’d obviously been without a woman for too long if he was lusting after Doogie Hennessey’s spinster sister. For all that, he felt his loins heat knowing she was naked under his blanket.

  She was passably pretty. Not a ravishing beauty, but then, very few women would look delectable after receiving a dunking in the Thames. Her hair clung in lumps to her head, the strands auburn-burgundy mixed with brown river sludge. Yet her eyes, the deep green of uncut emeralds, sparkled, probably with anger, and turned her plain features into something more. Her lips stretched taut with disapproval but their bow shape made him want to kiss her. To kiss away the bleakness on her face. That she did not wish to be here was obvious. Then why was she?

  He suddenly realized he had been staring at her for longer than was polite.

  “You need to get dressed,” he said more harshly than he intended. “You shouldn’t be here. Your reputation would be destroyed if it were known you were in this cabin, let alone in it with me, naked. I’ve done your family enough damage as it is.”

  She nodded. “True. But it’s that very reason that sees me take this desperate and abhorrent step.” She met his gaze. “Do you know what Doogie’s death has meant to our family?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I know the late Baron was to have married Penelope Gelher.”

  “And …”

  “And that the marriage would have settled your family’s financial problems.”

  “That marriage,” she corrected, “would have saved my mother, my sisters and brothers, and myself from the poorhouse.”

  The guilt rose to choke him once again. “I hadn’t realized it had come to that.”

  She looked away. “If not for the funds you arranged to send us while you were, shall we say, ‘rusticating’ in the Caribbean, my family would be there now. I used all of the money to clear my father’s and brother’s debts. But now there is no more.”

  He balked. “But I sent your family a small fortune.”

  She blushed to the tips of her petite ears. “What can I say? First my father and then my brother managed to take profligacy to a level Marie Antoinette would have applauded.”

  “Then might I suggest that you follow in your brother’s footsteps? Arrange an advantageous marriage.”

  She finally smiled and his insides froze as the reason for her presence struck his brain like a lightning bolt. Damn. No. No, no, no … He wanted to step away. He wanted to run. Sail back to the Caribbean.

  And then his worst nightmare put itself into words on those lips he’d recently thought so kissable, and he knew he’d be powerless to refuse her.

  “You’re correct, Lord Coldhurst. If I wish to save what remains of my family, my marriage to a wealthy man is now my only option. At my age, and with my prospects, I have no hope of securing such a marriage this side of never. Why do you think I’m here? Only desperation and the need to save my siblings would allow me to marry a man like you. A man responsible for the death of my brother.”

  Chapter Two

  “You expect me to marry you?” Even as he said the words, he felt the proverbial noose tighten around his neck. Her family was in this position partly because of him. However, he refused to take all the blame. He’d apologized to Doogie several times and tried to beg off the duel.

  She shrugged. “Beggars cannot be choosers.”

  The inner beast raged. She’d just insulted him. A marquis, a man who had many debutantes in London trying to trap him in marriage. Little did this drowned rat know, he had no intention of marrying until he absolutely had to, until he was old enough not to fall prey to that insipid disease called love.

  “Did you think coming here, maneuvering yourself on board my ship, would trap me? I hate to disappoint but many women have tried to ensnare me and I’ve never been compelled to wed them.”

  She sank down on the bunk. “No. I was hoping your warped sense of honor would prick what little conscience you have, and you would see this is the only way to help my family.”

  Her softly spoken words hit their mark. Visibly schooling his anger, Sebastian forced his mouth to remain closed. The curses he wished to issue stayed bottled within.

  He toyed with the idea of offering her a position as his mistress, something he’d never offered any woman before. However, a mistress would afford him no real benefit. He would still be hounded by mothers looking for a son-in-law, widows looking for security, and debutantes hoping to land the prize—a wealthy marquis.

  Whereas a wife would at least allow him some degree of freedom from husband-seeking females, without curtailing his other pleasurable pursuits. Then, of course, a wife could also provide his heir. If he had to financially support any woman, it would appear a wife would be the preferable option.

  “Don’t worry about having to force yourself to bed me,” she said. “This will be a white marriage, a marriage in name only. You may continue to take your pleasures elsewhere.”

  Of course he would. But force himself? She might be covered in mud but she was passably pretty. Pity he couldn’t persuade her to remove the blanket so he could inspect her, but this wasn’t a horse auction. He ran a critical eye over her.

  She wasn’t that unappealing. He was more thankful she wasn’t a stunning beauty who could tempt him to open his heart. He was determined to marry a plain woman. For then his family’s legacy of jealous rages would be unlikely to flare to life. What man was ever jealous over a woman others considered plain?

  Sebastian let out his breath slowly. It did not, however, release the tension knotting his gut. Ever since he’d learned his mermaid’s identity, his senses had been on full alert.

  “Well played, Miss Beatrice. You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “It was your friend Lord Fullerton who gave me the idea.”

  If he didn’t owe Hadley for securing his pardon, Sebastian would’ve certainly used his fists to demonstrate what he thought of Hadley’s advice to Beatrice. “Did he indeed?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I spoke with him after I received your letter and the generous blood money. I would never have had the courage to confront you if he hadn’t vouched for you and informed me you were the most honorable and kindest man he knew. He told me how you saved Millicent Stanners.”

  “I didn’t save her as such, I merely ensured she found an occupation more to her liking.”

  She gave her first warm smile. “You saved her from the brothel and obtained a good match for her. She is the respectable wife of the Vicar of Carthew.”

  What could he say? He had saved her. While he was a rake, and did frequent brothels, the night he went to Madam Dupery’s and watched as Miss Millicent, a daughter of a viscount fallen on hard times, was auctioned off to the highest bidder, he had immediately thought of his sisters and what could happen to them if he were not such an astute businessman. He’d seen the fear and loathing in Millicent’s eyes. He’d stopped the auction and taken her home, promising to help.

  “You found her an agreeable husband. You gave her a chance at a respectable life. One she was extremely glad to take. I know. I’ve spoken to her,” Beatrice said. “She thinks you’re a hero,” she added dryly. “So I thought you’d see that unless you marry me, I’ll end up a courtesan. I may be able to support my family, but I’d never be able to socialize with them, or see them again. I’d be all but dead to
them. Is that fair? Would you wish that on your sisters? To be shoved from protector to protector—”

  “All right. You’ve made your point.”

  He looked at the woman before him. Although he definitely wasn’t ready for marriage, he had always sworn to make a marriage of convenience. His convenience. Beatrice would certainly fit his requirements.

  Not beautiful enough to stir his passions to the point of obsession. She was certainly bluestocking enough to ensure they would share no common interests, and the crowning glory of their union would be the fact that Beatrice hated him. She held him responsible for killing her brother. No chance she’d fall madly in love with him.

  There would be no clinging emotional complications. No love.

  Perfect. If he married Beatrice, they could live their lives peacefully in separate homes, neither one caring what the other did. Neither caring whom he shared his bed with, or how he behaved in general.

  He was absolutely certain of one thing—she wouldn’t want him close enough to form any attachment.

  His parents’ marriage had been a love match, a fiery, jealous, rage-filled union that tore his family apart, and Sebastian swore he would never let his heart rule his head.

  As a gambler, he’d wager his family’s assets on the fact the woman sitting on his bunk would never own his heart. She did not appeal to him in any way, shape, or form.

  For the first time since hearing the word “marriage,” he managed to smile.

  “Unfortunately, my sweet, I’ll need an heir. At some point in our wedded bliss”—the sarcastic drawl appeared not to be lost on her—“you and I will have to share a bed, at least until you’re with child, and in the fairness of full disclosure, I want at least four children.”

  Her face paled. “But not immediately? I don’t really know you. You won’t expect me to share your bed as soon as we wed?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve sat in the Caribbean for several months and thought about my life. It’s time I had an heir. I’m the only remaining male in my family. I’ve neglected my lineage duties for far too long. If Doogie had killed me in that duel, my sisters would have been left in a terrible position. So my answer is yes, I shall expect you to perform your wifely duties on the day we marry.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to make this marriage idea intolerable.”

  Under different circumstances he would have found this conversation amusing. Most women flocked to his bed when he simply smiled an invitation, hence no need to ever employ a mistress.

  His eyes raked her from her petite ankles, clearly visible at the edges of the blanket, up to her face, where her eyes, which still sparked with anger, held his gaze. With a seductive brogue he said, “I doubt you’d find our marriage bed intolerable.”

  Her indrawn breath told him she was not as immune to him as she wanted to be. He continued, “I won’t force you into my bed. I doubt I’d have to, already I affect you.”

  She held his gaze, not bothering to hide the fire-breathing dragon hidden within. He saw her swallow tentatively.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’m simply nervous. It’s not every day a woman asks her brother’s killer to marry her.”

  She sat silently fiddling with the edge of the blanket, but he refused to say more. She had to come to a decision. Wed and then bed him, or walk away. He really didn’t care which option she chose. The latter preferably, but the more he thought about needing a son, the more he seemed to think this arrangement could suit them both.

  She licked her lips. “I hadn’t considered the need for an heir. Silly of me.”

  He watched her closely and saw her mind ticking away, frantically trying to work a strategy around this unpleasant realization.

  Beatrice Hennessey was a contradiction—surprisingly tough for a lady of her class and upbringing. But then, having a father and a younger brother such as hers had probably broadened her education somewhat. It was a terrible thing to say, but Doogie’s death would probably save the rest of her family. Knowing Doogie’s vices, Sebastian estimated he would have plowed through his little American heiress’s money within a couple of years.

  Finally her head rose and her neck lengthened, like a swan about to flap its wings. “If I am to share your bed, then our couplings will be brief, in the dark, and my nightdress remains on.”

  He was about to challenge her, but what did he care if she wanted to lie back and think of England instead of enjoying the pleasure he could give her? Did he really care how his son was conceived as long as it was his? In fact, a pious, frigid wife would likely mean she’d not take lovers. Unlike his father, he would know his children’s parentage.

  “If that appeases your sensibilities, who am I to argue?”

  She sighed. “As long as we are clear on our respective duties, we should rub along fine.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Our respective duties?”

  “Yours is to take care of my family, mine is to bear your children.”

  He let out a quick breath. “Of course.” For a minute he thought she was going to insist on fidelity. He would not promise that.

  “Give me a day to obtain the required special license, and we can be married. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for your family’s bills to be sent to me. You’ll stay in your home until we wed. Then you’ll move into Waverly Court, my London residence.” He turned to leave the room to afford her some privacy in which to dress. “I also need to talk with my sisters. I haven’t seen them in four months and they’ll be hurt if they hear of our situation from someone else.”

  “They will be surprised. What will you tell them?”

  His smile was genuine. He loved his two sisters. Would do anything to protect them.

  “The truth. Marisa is nineteen years old and a little hellion. She’s very intelligent, and began beating me at chess when she was fifteen. Helen is only just gone eighteen and is very quiet and shy. They are very different from each other. But I love them both.”

  He didn’t tell Beatrice that they looked nothing like each other because they were likely sired by different fathers. Some family secrets he would never share.

  She appeared to be surprised at his profession of love. Of course he loved. He simply refused to love a spouse. He loved his fellow Libertine Scholars, his family, his horses, brandy, and pleasure.

  “I’m responsible for my sisters and I take my guardianship very seriously. I will expect you to revere them as you would your own family.”

  Her mouth, which had fallen open, snapped shut. She sat in stunned silence for a moment before saying, “Of course. Marisa is a stunning beauty.”

  His jaw eased from its tight clamp. Like him, his two sisters had suffered greatly in the battle waged between their parents, and he would not have them subjected to further marital battles.

  As Sebastian opened the door Beatrice added, “I imagine Marisa has been inundated with offers. I suspect she’ll marry soon?”

  He hesitated before exiting the room but did not look back. “My sister has had many offers from men pledging their undying love, all of which she has declined. The girl is far too sensible to see love other than an evil to be avoided at all costs.”

  The door closed before she could scramble a reply. An evil to be avoided? At all costs?

  Is that why he had capitulated so easily? He did not expect or desire love? It was inconceivable to her that someone would purposely avoid love. As a girl she’d been denied love from parents who were cold and distant. As a woman of no great beauty or accomplishment, she’d never found love—well, one that had been reciprocated—and she understood now she was unlikely to ever know true love. Not with a man like Coldhurst.

  The churning in her stomach worsened. But love was the one thing she had vehemently desired all her life.

  Beatrice fell silent, considering all that had passed between them this morning. She finally gave a silent prayer of thanks. She’d done it. She closed her eyes and ran a shaky hand over he
r face. She had persuaded the ton’s most notorious rake to marry her, and saved herself from a monster.

  A little pang of guilt would not dim her victory. She had lied to Coldhurst. She wondered what price she’d pay for that lie.

  There was a suitor who had offered for her, the Earl of Dunmire. However, the thought of lying in his bed while he pawed at her—a shudder racked her nakedness. She’d prefer to drown.

  While it was true that Coldhurst was not likely to be much of a husband to her, he had enough experience and, if gossip was to be believed, expertise in the boudoir to make begetting a child less of an ordeal, perhaps even pleasurable.

  She clapped her hands to her flushed cheeks. Why had she thought that? She did not, and would not, allow herself to become enamored of a rakehell who had not only killed her brother, but who considered her little more than he would one of his horses—a means to breed. A woman he couldn’t care less about as long as she provided his heir.

  A cold chill seeped through the blanket. But he’s a far better option than Dunmire.

  Dunmire couldn’t touch her now. Not as the wife of the Marquis of Coldhurst.

  A surge of euphoria lifted her spirits and for a change she laughed. If Lizandra could see her now …

  Her laugh turned to a choking sob, and she buried her head in her hands and wept. Lizzy would never laugh again. The Earl of Dunmire had seen to that.

  Coldhurst may have killed her brother but it was in a gentleman’s fight. Dunmire had killed her best friend, Lizzy, slowly, as a cat played with a mouse.

  He’d taken advantage of a young girl and then left her in disgrace. Beatrice still, to this day, could not understand why her friend had not confided in her about Dunmire’s interest. She could have warned Lizzy about the type of man he was.

  She sighed and began to dress. Lizzy probably wouldn’t have taken any notice. She saw Dunmire as a way to rise up through society. Instead, her friend had been raped and discarded by a man who now had Beatrice in his sights.