White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Beth turned back and seized another cup of punch. She was going to need it.

  * * * *

  “A lady lies passively and accepts her husband’s will.”

  Mrs Hazelwood’s pleasant voice held a rare edge. Beth buried her flaming face in her punch cup.

  “Are you listening, my girl?”

  Beth lowered the cup to her lap and focused her eyes on it. “Yes.”

  “I wanted a different life for you.”

  Beth traced a finger around the empty cup’s rim. God, she ought to have brought two cups. Or three. The whole damned punch bowl. “Yes, I know.”

  “A minister or a schoolteacher would have suited you better. You could have helped him with his work and kept busy. You tend to hold too tightly to your own will.”

  “Grey says I may occupy myself. He says he will found a charity school where I can teach the piano.”

  Mrs Hazelwood scoffed. The uncharacteristic utterance brought Beth’s head up and she gaped at the older woman.

  “Well, you must put it right out of your mind.” Mrs Hazelwood’s voice was firm.

  “But why?”

  “Because a New York society lady does not work.”

  “Grey says he does not mind.”

  Mrs Hazelwood waved, a sharp, cutting gesture. “What does a man know of what he wants in a wife? Nothing. He wants his wife to be a special, fragile creature. Someone softer, purer than his life in the world. He doesn’t want her coarsened by working. If he cannot place her on a pedestal, then he will lose respect for her. Once he loses respect, the loss of his affection shall soon follow.”

  “I can’t believe it is that way. Not for Grey.”

  “He was born into a society family. His mother was a de Grijs—a true, genteel lady. He will have the same inner expectations as any gentleman. Maybe he is not aware of it now, but it is there, believe me. And if you fall short, God help you, girl. You’ll shame him to the core and he’ll resent you for it. This is why I didn’t want you to marry him. You’re ill suited for his life. I can’t even imagine a girl more unsuited to be Mrs Asahel de Grijs Sexton. But now you have made your choice and you must play your role to the best of your honest ability. You will not shame him or this house you were born into.”

  * * * *

  In the carriage, Beth became aware of a throbbing in her head and realised it had been there, at a lower level, for quite some time—since that moment with Jan at the side bar. The tiara weighed on her head like lead and she longed to take it off but did not, lest Grey think she was rejecting his extravagant gift.

  They were riding from Mrs Hazelwood’s house to the mansion Grey had rented for the next week on the banks of the Schuylkill River.

  “What’s the matter?” Grey asked, tracing a finger down her forehead and between her eyes. “You are frowning.”

  “I am simply tired. It has been a long day.” She rubbed her temples.

  “Here,” he whispered in his deep, smooth voice. He lifted the tiara off her head and set it on the seat beside them. Then he shifted his position and urged her to lie down. She put her head on his muscular thigh, the velveteen softness of his dove-coloured knee breeches caressing her cheek.

  “You were a vision today.” He threaded his fingers into her hair and moved them in slow circles. “A vision of beauty spun from pure, white sugar and champagne.”

  His words, so reverently uttered, made her laugh, but the sensation of his fingers on her scalp lulled her. She sank deep into dark, warm waters. She swam, the waves lightly bouncing her. Vibrations came from deep within—laughter from the merworld maybe? She tried to look deeper into the darkness.

  “Yes, a very long and tiring day.” Grey’s voice drifted to her from a distance.

  She stared up. Wooden beams moved by in her vision, making her slightly dizzy. She was turning. She reached out and grasped handfuls of superfine cloth. Warm, firm muscles rippled beneath. Grey’s scent surrounded her. He was carrying her. They must have arrived at their destination. Had she slept through being carried from the carriage to here?

  “I want hot water to fill the brass tub, and have them send some cheese and bread and claret. Then you may go to bed, Will.”

  “Aye, Mr Sexton.”

  A soft squeak of hinges, then the soft glow of light. They were entering a bedchamber. “Grey?” she murmured.

  “Shh, my darling.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. He lowered her and a plush feather bed seemed to rise up and welcome her limp body. It was pure bliss after such a long, exhausting day. She moaned softly and rolled onto her belly, nuzzling her face into a soft, woollen blanket. She rode a cloud, staring out at the vivid blue sky passing overhead. She looked down and saw miles and miles of green meadow passing beneath.

  “There are so many pretty flowers. Poppies, buttercups, daisies…all in bloom. If I only had a basket I could pick them all and make chains. Miles and miles of them.”

  Grey’s laugh echoed to her. “I didn’t realise you’d had so much to drink but, of course, all the toasting to our health, and the heat…” He spanned her waist with his hands. “You’re actually a very petite person—it would take very little to intoxicate you.”

  She raised her head and peeked around with one eye at the strange bedchamber. She lay on a large bed with a dark walnut frame hung with wine-red velvet curtains and sheer, snow-white mosquito netting. “I don’t think I am drunk.”

  He laughed softly. “I think you might be quite thoroughly foxed.” He stroked her bottom, his hand gliding smoothly over the rich satin dress. “You’d better stay right there.”

  “You won’t…won’t leave me because I am drunk?”

  His hand paused on her buttock. “Good heavens, why would I ever leave you?”

  “Because you said before a gentleman never beds a woman when she’s intoxicated.”

  “I think an exception can be made for one’s own wife on one’s wedding night. Especially,” he leaned into her ear and lowered his voice, “when her husband is just about as drunk.”

  She smelt his breath, heavy with spirits.

  “They were toasting me in the card room long before we ever saw the cutting of the cake,” he said.

  She laughed. “I wasn’t aware you ever got drunk.”

  “Well, now you know, vixen.” He gave her behind a quick, harsh slap.

  Sudden, sharp desire flooded her, tingling low in her belly and drenching the folds of her cunt. He traced a finger between her buttocks and her hips arched up seeking greater contact. But he withdrew his finger. She moaned, low and longingly.

  Oh, God help her. Only Joshua had known her like that. She’d kept her secret tight ever since. No true lady would ever allow this, much less feel she was dying of pleasure. But after yearning for this for so long, she had no will to demand he stop. She sank her face into the bed, feigning a deeper drunken delirium than she felt.

  The bed rocked. Cool air touched the backs of her legs, her ass, followed by the warmth of his hand on her buttocks. He traced his finger between them again, ending at her quim’s entrance. She lifted backwards and arched as he slid his fingers in. He unerringly found the most sensitive spot. His breath blew against the base of her spine, then velvet slickness traced from there downwards as he parted her bottom. From where the crease of her buttocks began, his tongue traced a line of wet warmth, moving lower by gradual degrees.

  All her internal muscles clenched hard, but surely he wouldn’t—

  No, he wouldn’t. No one would possibly do something so debauched, especially not a gentleman like Grey.

  Her heart pounded in anticipation anyway.

  His tongue brushed her anus in soft, feathery strokes, circling the sensitive, puckered ring. She caught her breath, helpless as dark delight swept over her. Even Joshua had never been so daring. So wicked. So sublimely sinful. She’d never known a sensation like this. Cries forced themselves up her throat and she shoved her fist into her mouth.

  His thumb circled her nub an
d his fingers thrust within her channel. His mouth lifted and a finger from his other hand touched her anus and gently pressed into her, entering slowly until the tight ring of flesh finally gave way. He pulled out, then pushed two fingers back into her anus and held them there while his other hand worked inside her channel, pressing that sweet place within. Her cunt and anal muscles contracted over and over in a swift, fierce storm of intense pleasure that left her gasping and weak.

  “Damn.” He growled the word. “You are so deliciously wanton.”

  The bed rocked again as he moved over. He touched her neck, brushed her hair aside, and his breath tickled her for a moment before he nipped at her neck. His erection, warm, velvet-covered steel, pressed against the crease of her bottom, rubbing teasingly. She arched and writhed, mindless words of need spilling from her lips.

  He took hold of her hips and impaled her cunt, suddenly, savagely. White-hot lightning bolts of pleasure shot through her belly.

  “Oh God, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she sobbed.

  He grabbed the back of her hair, his lips fastened on her neck, and he thrust in and out of her, fast and furious. The tremors started deep within her, her cunt contracting harder than ever this time. He covered her mouth with his hand a second before the maelstrom of light, heat and energy swept her away.

  * * * *

  Grey panted, catching his breath after the furious outpourings of his ejaculation. He brushed her hair off the side of her face. “Beth, my darling.”

  She didn’t respond. She barely breathed. Alarm cleared some of the haze from his brain. Had he been too rough, done her some harm? He caressed her face and his chest ached. What so often drove him to be so rough with this woman he felt so much tenderness for?

  She stirred and gave a soft moan.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Christ,” he swore. The bathwater. How had they managed so fast?

  He quickly pulled the blankets over her inert form, then buttoned his breeches, though he suspected there was no hiding that he’d thoroughly fucked his bride within the first few moments alone with her.

  He grinned as satisfaction took hold of him. He’d fucked her in the beautiful gown. The sight of her in it had driven him insane with desire all day.

  She was his. She was finally his.

  * * * *

  “Oh God…I want to die.”

  Grey caressed Beth’s back with a light touch as another heave racked her body. Guilt sliced through him. He ought to have stayed by her side and made sure she didn’t drink too much. His legs cramped. He shifted his knees and rebalanced Beth’s weight across his legs. Her head hung over the pot on the bed beside him. How had they got into such a position? He couldn’t even remember.

  He glanced at the clock. Four in the morning. About an hour of this so far. It was for things like this that he had employed Miss Fairchild, a woman with enough backbone and tact to deal with a young woman like Beth. To handle her and ease her way into her new society life. Certainly holding her head over the chamber pot would be a task better suited to a lady’s maid. And his own head didn’t feel well at the moment. He’d drunk a prodigious amount of champagne punch himself, on top of port and brandy. He longed for a cup of coffee and a cigar. To be alone with his thoughts after such an intense and emotional night.

  However, he hadn’t been able to leave Beth.

  “Oh, you must despise me.” Her words came out a miserable moan.

  Tenderness overwhelmed him. He caressed her back and laughed softly. “A fine start you’ve made this night on your new life as a lady.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Beth eyed the pink roast beef with its perfect, crisp, browned edge on her blue and white china plate with a queasy eye. She’d got drunk on claret countless times before and once on Scotch, but never on sickly sweet champagne punch as she had last evening. But Mrs Hazelwood had admonished her that a lady drinks punch. The results had not been favourable. Grey had been most sympathetic and solicitous during those miserable morning hours.

  She was still feeling quite wrung out. However, Jan had arrived and she couldn’t possibly have stayed in her chamber. That would have been too rude.

  Now she glanced across the table at her new husband. Candlelight played on the angles of his face, making them softer than normal. After last night’s madness, he knew her for the wicked girl she really was. A girl who delighted in doing the dirtiest of things. That Grey had done them to her didn’t matter. He’d been drunk. He’d admitted it. And any man faced with a woman who enjoyed perversions would be too tempted not to partake. Joshua had explained it to her.

  But, until last night, Joshua had been the only man to know her darkest secrets.

  Now Grey knew.

  “A lady lies passively and accepts her husband’s will.” Mrs Hazelwood’s words echoed in her head. Beth doubted that meant letting Grey bugger her with his tongue and fingers while she convulsed into a screaming climax.

  Grey’s soft laugh echoed in her ears. “A fine start you’ve made this night on your new life as a lady.”

  Oh, if only she could pass last night off as a drunken lapse, God, she’d do anything. Anything. But what if she couldn’t? What if she lost Grey’s esteem and respect? His affections would follow quickly. Her throat went dry and her stomach lurched. She dropped her fork to her plate. The small clang echoed in the dining room. She looked up instantly.

  Looking far more mature than his age in a dark plum evening jacket and a haphazardly tied cravat, Jan turned his attention to her. His pale grey eyes raked her disdainfully. “You look green as a caterpillar.” He raised a brow. “Too much punch?”

  Grey cleared his throat. “Jan,” he said sharply.

  Jan’s sensual mouth quirked up at one corner. “When Father received that note from you, I was sure you were crying off. But I should have had faith in the power of Father’s money to always secure him what he wants.”

  She looked down at her plate quickly, a heated flush spreading over her face. She might be lowborn, a servant’s bastard, but she’d never met such an ill-mannered young man in her life. Well, Jan was Grey’s son—she’d better let Grey handle this in his own way. She would never dream of trying to exert authority as a stepmother over a boy but six years younger than herself.

  ”That’s enough,” Grey said.

  “It’s simple logic, Father. For what other earthly reason would any woman want to marry such a joyless gentleman?”

  Silence fell over the table, a somehow deathly, tense silence.

  Jan chuckled softly.

  The little Beth had eaten threatened to sour and she looked away from her plate. “Please pardon me, I think I shall go lie down for a while.”

  Grey held up a hand. “No, wait.” He looked to his son. “Jan, you owe my wife an apology.”

  “I won’t apologise for voicing the simple truth.”

  “Then you may leave. One wonders why you even bothered coming to Philadelphia for my wedding at all.”

  Jan laughed in cynical tones. “Can’t you guess? I have run myself short, yet again. Some bad luck at cards. I had thought to play the good son and get in your better books, but I find I cannot stomach this farce another moment.”

  Beth glanced up at Grey, open-mouthed. His dark brows drew together and he focused his gaze sharply on Jan. “Go, then, and pack your things.”

  “Grey, don’t make him leave.”

  Grey kept his eyes fixed on his son. “On your way back to Harvard, you may stop in Philadelphia and see Mr Heron. He will provide you with additional funds.”

  “Well, you see, Father, I am not going back to Harvard.”

  “You’re not?” Grey said.

  Jan tossed his napkin to his plate and sat back in his chair. “I have been expelled.”

  “Expelled?” Grey said tonelessly.

  “Aye.” An expression of pure satisfaction crossed the young man’s face, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to voice these words.

  “
Why?”

  “Because the stiff-necked masters have no sense of humour.” A smile curved Jan’s lips. “I suspect the dean’s letter is awaiting you on your desk, in New York.”

  * * * *

  “I couldn’t ask a mother to give up her child.”

  Beth sat on the bed, watching Grey’s tall, broad-shouldered back as he stared out of the window.

  “I allowed Juliana to take him with her to her father’s house. But I was young and foolish. I didn’t realise what it meant to let a son go to another man’s house, the distance it would create. I ended up with no power to discipline him or to have any say in how he was raised.”

  “So why don’t you cut off his funds now?”

  “Because I don’t want him dealing with moneylenders.” He sighed and turned to face her. “But let’s not spend our second night wed speaking of my difficulties with my son.”

  He came to the bed, sat and pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Are you feeling better?”

  “For the most part,” she said.

  “Beth…about last night.”

  She caught her breath and the chamber seemed to swirl about her. Her stomach lurched. “Last night?”

  He looked down. His eyes glittered like silver stars and held hers captive. A burst of warmth, pure love, blossomed in her heart.

  He caressed her cheek. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She glanced down and a shaky laugh forced itself up from her lurching stomach. “Oh, last night… Well, you see, I am afraid I don’t remember too much about it.” She smoothed her hand over his velvet banyan, feeling his chest muscles rippling beneath. His steady heartbeat. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. Oh, let her think of the right thing to say.

  Please God, just let me pass last night off as something out of the ordinary. I’ll do anything. I’ll devote myself to being a true lady in every sense of the word. I just don’t want to lose his love.

  “I’d had so much to drink.” She bit her lip and held her breath. And waited. What was he thinking? Why was he taking so long to answer?