My Lord Beaumont

by Unknown

  It was a polite euphemism, the suggestion that they rest as Lt. Holbrook's guests, while Oglethorpe was informed of their arrival and arrangements made to see to their comfort. To be more precise, they were suspect and under watch until their fate was decided. They were all well aware of it except, perhaps, Lavinia, who began to protest immediately, demanding to be taken to a place where she might freshen up, dine, and retire before she collapsed from want of food and rest. The lieutenant, a personable man of about forty and apparently possessed of a good deal of tact, managed to soothe her, escorting her to a bench, whereupon she proceeded to try her wiles on him.

  It might, Danielle thought with considerable amusement, have been more effective if she hadn't looked like a creature out of one's worst nightmares. Danielle found it difficult to comprehend that it didn't occur to Lavinia for a moment how ludicrous it was for her to flirt with the man, and expect him to flirt back, looking as she did just now. She settled back in a corner and prepared to be entertained.

  Adrian chafed at the wait but kept his silence. It had occurred to him long since that, arriving as he must, he could not command the respect and privilege due his station. He had nothing whatever to prove his claim other than his manner, and no one to vouch for him other than his fellow travelers, who were as suspect as he was. Moreover, he was well aware that, at the moment, he looked far more like a buccaneer than the son of a peer of the Realm, and knew that his manners and speech were not sufficient unto themselves to prove he was who he claimed to be.

  The day room where they waited was neither commodious nor particularly comfortable, but they did not have long to wait. Lord Oglethorpe, himself, came to greet them a short time later, graciously welcoming and full of profuse apologies for their cool reception. Even so, he favored Lord Beaumont with a rather piercing look.

  Adrian smiled faintly, fingering his beard wryly. "I'm well aware that I am greatly changed since last you saw me, but I confess, I had rather hoped that you would recognize me, Oglethorpe."

  Oglethorpe permitted himself a faint smile, his wintry aspect warming somewhat. "Indeed, I do, Beaumont," he said at last in the somewhat grating, rather high-pitched voice that was peculiarly his own. "You have the look of your sire, and I know him well, though, to be sure, he and I are not well acquainted either. How does he? And your lady mother?"

  "Well--at least when last I saw them. We had a rather extended crossing, and have been touring the countryside here about for nearly a month. I confess, I find this new land much to my liking, though I believe, in future, I will contrive to carry a few comforts with me when I travel it."

  Oglethorpe chuckled. "To be sure, it can be inhospitable when one is ill prepared. But it has potential, you agree? Great potential."

  "Most assuredly."

  Oglethorpe beamed, for he had great pride in his accomplishments with 'his' colony. "But, I forget my manners. Will you make me known to your traveling companions?"

  Lavinia stepped forward at once, extending her hand. "Mrs. Johnson," Adrian presented her laconically.

  If Lavinia was put out by Adrian's curt manner, it didn't show. Her gracious smile never wavered. "Formerly Lavinia Falk of the Yorkshire Falks, my lord."

  It must be granted that Oglethorpe possessed great address. Not by the flicker of an eyelash did he betray the least discomposure as he greeted the disreputable creature before him. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the fact that Lavinia looked as if she'd been dragged by the hair of her head from Spanish Florida. Danielle, knowing she looked every bit as bad or worse, and that one did not introduce such as she to lords of the Realm, did her best to fade into the background.

  Captain Tyler, who'd waited with ill-concealed impatience, presented himself next and was commiserated with over the loss of his command. It was a subject dear to his heart, and some time was spent in lamenting it and the loss of his crew. When that topic had been exhausted, Captain Tyler moved to the pressing question of when he might reasonably hope to catch ship northward.

  Perhaps in a few weeks, he was told vaguely, for an attack from the south was expected almost momentarily, and the few ships Oglethorpe had been able to assemble were strictly for military purposes at the moment. They would not be leaving the area before the enemy was engaged and hopefully routed.

  Having dismissed the Captain, Oglethorpe turned his gaze upon Danielle, to her dismay. "And who is this little fellow?"

  Danielle came to her feet, blushing fierily as she threw Adrian a desperate glance.

  "By Jove!" Oglethorpe exclaimed. "A thousand pardons, my lady. Dear me, I see you were reduced to dire straits, dire straits indeed. But, Beaumont, this can not be the Lady Amelia, your young sister, surely? I confess I haven't seen her in years, but . . . ."

  Adrian stepped forward and took Danielle's hand. "I have the honor to present, Miss Danielle Cooper. My ward."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Folding her arms on the windowsill, Danielle dropped her chin atop them, staring blindly at the widow Morris' garden patch in the early twilight. Her thoughts were not on those orderly rows, however, but wandered instead the paths of her mind.

  She felt no different, and yet she was a new person. She was Miss Danielle Cooper, the orphaned child of Captain Evelyn Cooper and his wife, Millicent. On their deaths in a yachting accident, lacking any close relatives, she'd been sent to the Christian Home for Foundlings, where she'd lived until Lord Beaumont had discovered the whereabouts of his old friend's only child. He'd taken steps then to acquire her guardianship and had her removed to a respectable girl's school, where he'd expected her to remain until he could see her properly settled. However, willful child that she was, she'd heard that he would be going to the Colonies and, fearing he would forget her once there, she'd fled the school and hidden herself aboard the Lady Dorinda.

  From there the story became a little vague, but it seemed she'd been occupying Adrian's cabin alone, posing as a servant in an effort to preserve the tatters of her reputation, while Adrian slept elsewhere. The vagueness resulted from Adrian's inability to pinpoint precisely when it was that she was discovered.

  The entire tale was scandalous, but then it was vaguely respectable, also, and Adrian had prevailed upon Lord Oglethorpe to give what aid he could in smoothing over the potential blight to her chances of a respectable marriage. Oglethorpe had generously agreed to help in whatever way he could and had left her in the care of Mildred Morris, an aging widow.

  It was not the sort of tale that could bear close scrutiny, but no one was scrutinizing it too closely with the Spanish virtually breathing down their necks. There was little chance either Lavinia Johnson or Captain Tyler would undermine it, for, after spending only one night at Frederica as Oglethorpe's guests, they had moved on early the next morning.

  It was quite a feat, and Danielle was yet amazed that Adrian had accomplished it. It seemed he'd gone early the next day to Darien and made arrangements with McDermont to have someone escort Lavinia and the Captain to Savannah and put them on a ship bound for whatever port was their objective. Lavinia, who'd been so dumbfounded at the announcement that she'd been unable to speak at all, much less to denounce it, had been given no other chance. The possibility of clean clothes, a bed, and warm food had diverted her the moment they were dangled before her. And by the time she rose the following day, the arrangements for her departure had already been made so that she'd been rushed away without having found the time to make mischief.

  Even so, it had been touch and go. Lavinia had been reluctant to be wisked away. Mention of the impending Spanish attack had, however, induced her to see the wisdom of departing posthaste, when it seemed there would be no other opportunity before the battle.

  Captain Tyler had never been much of a threat, for he was too conscious of the damage Adrian was capable of doing to him to have any desire to contradict him in any way. But Adrian had felt that it was safer to rid himself of both potential risks at once.

 
; She'd seen nothing of McDermont or Panther since the night they'd arrived, nearly a week earlier, for McDermont had gone away directly with Panther for Darien, without even returning with Oglethorpe to bid them adieus. She'd understood. He was concerned about Panther, who'd already shown signs of fever by then. He'd wanted to take Panther directly to his wife, Panther's sister, so that she could care for his wounds.

  Regardless, she couldn't think they would present any difficulties insofar as the tale went. They had become friends. And even if they had not, they were neither of them the sort to carry malicious gossip.

  Her pseudo-respectability was, therefore, safe for now. What she didn't understand was why Adrian had decided to elevate her from servant to young lady now that he'd decided to discard her.

  She frowned, realizing that wasn't a fair judgment. He'd told her from the beginning that he would not keep her for himself, that he would make arrangements for her once they reached the Colonies. It wasn't his fault that she'd allowed herself entirely false hopes. If she was to be fair, she owed him a debt of gratitude that she would never be able to repay, for this was not merely a new charade he'd forced upon her at whim. He truly meant to see her comfortably settled in a respectable marriage.

  She just wished she could feel grateful and not miserable about the whole affair. She wished she'd never allowed her guard to drop so that Lord Beaumont's careless affection could wreak such havoc within her. More than that, she wished she could've made him understand her feelings for Panther. But most of all, she wished she'd never ventured forth from the world she was accustomed to and found adventure and misery in equal parts in this

  She was on the point of retiring when she saw movement in the back of the garden. She frowned, trying to identify what she'd seen and finally rose and doused her lamp. Adrian was standing at the window when she turned, and she sucked in her breath on a sharp gasp. He put his finger to his lips, commanding silence and, after a quick look to see that he was unobserved, hoisted himself over the window sill and into the room. Danielle only stared at him, dumbfounded, as he moved across the room and latched the door.

  He turned then, his eyes glinting as they raked her from head to foot, taking in the thin, prim cotton nightdress she wore. He reached her in two strides.

  "What?" Danielle whispered, a little frightened by his secretiveness, wondering if their charade had been discovered.

  Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, parting the surprise-softened barrier of her lips and penetrating deeply, taking full, immediate possession. Astonishment held her briefly, but that momentary lack of responsiveness vanished at the first caressing stroke of his tongue across her own. Her heart quickened, her entire being leapt to tingling life, focused all upon the taste and feel of him and that one point of most intimate contact, sapping the strength from her limbs so that she collapsed weakly against him, sliding her arms around his waist and clutching the back of his shirt to hold herself upright. It was a kiss of long frustrated, ravening hunger, no initiation into that state, no gentle wooing to stoke cooled embers. It was like flash fire. Instantaneous combustion that sprang full grown into raging life, coursing through their veins like molten lava, wreaking havoc with their senses, so that, in moments, both trembled with a desperate need held barely in check.

  A tide of joyous welcome rushed through her, joining the explosion of long suppressed want, and Danielle kissed him back with a like frantic need, straining against him, frustrated when she could not seem to get close enough. He tasted, explored, caressed, possessed utterly. She surrendered utterly and completely, without a whimper of protest, without a hint of coyness, and, at his coaxing, explored his mouth in turn. She protested when he broke the kiss to chart new territory, subsiding only when she saw that that was his aim. "My lord . . . ah . . . my lord," she whispered, biting his shoulder gently as he nuzzled her throat and lifted his head to nip at her ear lobe and the sensitive area beneath it. "I feared you didn't want me any more."

  His words, meant to be wry, sounded harsh instead, for all his voice was husky with passion. It mattered little. He was beyond caring. "That makes two of us."

  She pulled away slightly, frowning up at him. "You doubted your welcome?"

  She saw the flash of his teeth in either a grimace or a smile. It was hard to be certain which, for when he spoke again there was both amusement and chagrin in his voice. "As you see, it didn't deter me," he said, reaching for the row of buttons on her gown and releasing them with fumbling, shaking fingers. He cursed softly under his breath when it seemed the tiny buttons would defeat his present dexterity, ripping the last few buttons from their holes and pushing the gown from her shoulders with unconcealed impatience, following the path he cleared with his mouth, down one shoulder and along that exposed limb.

  Danielle shivered in reaction, feeling an advancing horde of goose bumps leap to tingling life at the feel of his mouth along her bare flesh. "But I told you that I loved you," she whispered shakily, protesting his doubts.

  He straightened, skimming his hands up her bare arms to her collar bones, massaging brief circles there with his thumbs before he brought them down, passed her breasts, teasingly, along her sides to her waist and finally pushed the gown from her hips. His hands slid around her then, cupping her buttocks and pulling her lightly against him as he nudged her chin up for access to her throat. "Tell me now," he murmured there, against her throat. "Show me. Remove the doubts from my mind."

  He lifted his head at this last to look at her, his gaze challenging, demanding, and yet oddly vulnerable as well. She studied him for a long moment and finally reached up to remove his cravat as he shrugged out of his coat. Waistcoat, shirt, and boots quickly followed suit, in more and more frantic pace, for although Danielle delayed the process again and again to properly appreciate each new part of him exposed with kisses, nips, and caresses, the effect was to make him abandon all pretense of subdued eagerness. And when they both stood as God had made them, toe to toe, it was Danielle who reached out to him, skimming his torso and chest with her fingertips and finally locking her fingers behind his head. She smiled faintly then. "Ah, my lord," she said as she had once before, "your a hard man to convince." She pressed herself fully against him then, undulating her hips against his provocatively. "A hard man," she added impishly.

  He didn't smile at her lewd sally. Instead, he reached up to stroke her cheek gently. "Am I?" he said seriously. "But you do love me?"

  She closed her eyes, swallowing against a sudden tight, aching knot. She'd known he doubted her, but it hurt to hear it in his voice now. What must he think of her to believe she could give herself so fully, so eagerly, without loving him? "Adrian."

  He caught her jaw in a grasp that was almost painful, and her eyes flew open once more. "Say it or deny it, but no lies, Danielle. I've had my fill of women with their pretty lies, and be prepared for the consequences, for if you love me, I want it all."

  "And, if I give myself completely, give all I have to give, will this take away your doubts forever?" she asked, feeling a pang of anger.

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But give me peace now, for I've had none, and I very much fear I can not be held sane and accountable much longer if you do not give me surcease. I eat, and still I hunger. I drink, and still I thirst. I fear I'm bewitched, for I have fever and the source is you, no strange malady or illness. Give me sustenance. Give me your balm, love."

  The anger vanished at his words, and love and desire rushed forth to fill the chasm, and with it both surprise and understanding. He was as lost and in need as she was, only he didn't know how to be a supplicant for that boon. He demanded because he knew of no other way to ask, couldn't bring himself to ask for what he felt might be withheld. She could understand, could forgive the demanding tone, for his words asked, and it was hard for a man like him to humble himself even to that.

  She reached up to cover his hand with her own where it lay against her cheek, turning her fa
ce to kiss his palm. "I can not, my lord," she said quietly, gripping his hand when she felt him stiffen and begin to pull away. "I gave it to you already, all of it. It was never withdrawn, never. But I'll give you the words again, as many times as you wish to hear them, and I'll give of myself as many times as you have need." She took his hand and placed it over her heart. "This beats for you, so long as it continues to pump my life's blood. I love you, Adrian. More than I love anyone or anything else of this world or the next. I cherish you more than I cherish life itself."

  He stared at her a long moment, swallowing audibly, before he crushed her to him, loosening his hold upon her only to kiss her with a feverish intensity that made her knees buckle. He pulled away after only a moment, carrying her to the cot where she slept, pressing her down onto the mattress, following her down and covering her body with his own in one fluid movement.

  He consumed her then. There was no other word or description for it, for he tasted and explored her flesh to the point of excruciating sensitivity, with his hands, with his mouth, until Danielle was sobbing for breath and near to weeping with frustration. She murmured his name in a feverish haze, urging him on, begging him to stop, begging him never to stop. She didn't know what she said, and she was past caring, for it began to be almost more torment than pleasure.

  "You love me . . . only me," he said at her breast, his breathing as harshly ragged as her own.

  She nodded, moistening her lips to speak, but lost all train of thought as his mouth closed upon her breast, his tongue teasing the sensitive bud in a way that sent molten fire flooding through her. She cried out, arching off the mattress, uncertain of whether she wanted to escape the sweet, aching torment or not. When his mouth closed upon her other breast, she knew she could bear no more. She began to weep in earnest, begging him to stop.