Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  “But shouldn't we wait...dinner is soon, and...”

  “No,” Michael said, unwilling to hear any excuses. She'd denied him in the boat thanks to the damned monster. There was nothing to stop them in their own bedchamber.

  “But, Michael, really—”

  “Really nothing. I need you now, Elizabeth Wetherby, and I intend to have you.” He pulled her sleeves down and planted tender kisses to her shoulders.

  “Yes, well, I think my brother intends to have Bonnie,” she blurted out, causing Michael to stop mid-kiss.

  “What?” He pulled back to look at her. “How would you know this?”

  “Because neither one of them could take their eyes off the other this afternoon. Bonnie came to fetch me for Mrs. Kerr, and then...Oh, Michael, I left them alone!”

  Michael wanted to laugh at the pained expression his wife wore. But he did realize it was no laughing matter.

  “I will go check on them—”

  “Oh, thank you, Michael!”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I wasn't finished with my sentence, darling. I will go check on them just as soon as I'm finished here.”

  Her eyes grew round as he began to toy with her nipple through the fabric of her gown. “B-but...they could already...”

  “What's that, darling?” he teased as he unclasped the back of her dress and released her breasts from their bindings.

  “I just...maybe...”

  Michael reached into the front of her chemise and ever so gently caressed a plump breast. Her nipple was hard and her breathing became shallow. “Mmm-hmm, go on.”

  She didn't go on, of course, because by this time Michael had her chemise over her head and was feasting on the taut bud. Within ten minutes, he'd cleared her mind of all her worries and left her to nap while he went to check on the status of the apparent lovebirds.

  ***

  Michael arrived on the landing to the servants' corridor to a great deal of giggling. Beth had left the pair of them well over an hour ago, so it stood to reason Bonnie should not still be with John. Especially not in his bedchamber.

  He stalked down the hall and stopped when he reached the open door. At least they had a little sense between the two of them.

  He knocked and they both turned, startled, to look at him.

  Bonnie's cheeks turned to scarlet as she dipped a curtsey and mumbled, “Milord.”

  “Bonnie,” Michael acknowledged. “John?” He raised questioning brows to the younger man.

  “I was just showing her this,” John explained, procuring a small round cylinder that Michael recognized immediately.

  “A kaleidoscope,” he observed, taking the toy from John. “Quite the invention, don't you think, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie looked up with a bashful grin and nodded.

  “Perhaps you should start preparing my wife's dinner apparel now, Bonnie.”

  The girl nodded again and beat a hasty retreat, not daring to glance back at John before she left the room. Michael turned to his brother-in-law, his expression stern and hopefully threatening.

  “I'm aware she is a mere servant and you, a future peer of the realm,” Michael began, letting his tone drip with censure and sarcasm, “but you will behave like a gentleman. Do you understand me?”

  A muscle twitched in John's jaw. Clearly he hated being told what to do or how to act—that was a trait that seemed to run in the family. But after a moment, he gave a sharp nod of his head.

  “If I hear of your entertaining her in your room again, I will toss you out on your ear without a second thought...no matter what your sister may have to say about it.”

  “I'm leaving tomorrow anyhow.”

  “So I hear,” Michael said as he walked through the door. “Until then, I caution you to behave like a gentleman. I'll have Mr. Kerr bring you a uniform. You will be serving at dinner.”

  ***

  The sight of her brother in livery, ladling soup into her bowl, was a bit unnerving for Beth. Part of her felt guilty for punishing her brother in such a manner. But another part of her knew it was completely necessary. She hadn't expected to have him serving her dinner, though. That was entirely Michael's doing.

  She'd imagined John tearing down cobwebs or scrubbing windows, not acting as a footman.

  “Thank you,” she said as he finished ladling and moved, with a foul expression on his face, back to his post at the edge of the room. “He may never forgive me for this, you know?” she said to Michael in a hushed tone.

  “He will, darling,” Michael assured her. “And in the meantime you can bask in the glow of my admiration for you.”

  Beth tried not to smile at his flattery, but it was impossible. What he said made her insides warm, and her lips curved automatically into a bright smile.

  “Oh, I almost forgot!” Michael pulled something from his breast pocket and handed it to Beth.

  It was a letter from home. “Oh, dear. Do you think it's possible they could have heard already?”

  “It's been well over a week, Beth. I'm certain all of London knows by now. Those Froggenhall sisters are ruthless.”

  Beth glanced over her shoulder to see if her brother was paying attention. His eyes stared straight ahead, but his nostrils flared in and out with obvious annoyance. She turned back to the letter and broke the seal. The letter was from her mother, which was rare, and her handwriting was barely legible. Clearly she was outraged.

  As Beth read the letter, it became apparent that more had happened than her brother wanted to admit. It was possible the ton had blown things out of proportion, but Beth had a feeling that this once, they may have been spot on. The woman, Mrs. Caruthers, had apparently been pregnant. However, word of a miscarriage had begun to spread. This wasn't all that surprising since the woman was near forty. But it of course raised speculation as to the paternity of the child.

  Her parents had not seen or heard from John in weeks, they said, and worried for his well being, despite the fact they planned to kill him next time he crossed their threshold.

  Beth sat back and let out a long breath before handing the letter to Michael. Her nerves were on end, and clearly he sensed it, for he dropped his fork and picked up her hand while he read the letter. When he was done, he folded it up, put it back in his pocket and turned to Beth.

  “It will all blow over soon, my dear,” he assured her. “Until then...enjoy your soup.”

  Twenty-Five

  Beth tossed and turned, unable to find rest after the day she’d had. Between the Loch Ness Monster and her brother, her mind was racing. Even the tousle she’d had with her husband earlier hadn’t helped to ease her worries.

  She looked over at him now; the moon cast him in a blue glow. He looked like a little boy when he slept, with his mouth hanging slightly open and head burrowed into his pillow. Beth smiled and then stretched up to plant a kiss on his cheek before climbing from the bed. She tucked her feet into her slippers and rushed to grab her robe, which lay over the back of the settee. The fire had died some time ago and a bitter chill pervaded her thin nightrail.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Not yet four in the morning. None of the servants would be up yet, but Beth’s stomach was demanding food. She lit a candle, and with a gentle hand, turned the knob on the door and tiptoed into the hall, being careful not to wake Michael. It was even colder in the hallway, so Beth quickened her pace in an effort to warm her blood.

  The house was quiet and the kitchen was empty, as expected. Beth had spent very little time in kitchens in her lifetime, so she wasn’t exactly sure how to go about preparing food for herself. She held up her candle and moved slowly around the room, opening cabinets and drawers, until she finally came upon a loaf of bread.

  “Now to find the butter,” she murmured to herself.

  Across the room, her eyes fell onto an icebox. She hurried to it and found exactly what she was looking for. Butter, milk, even cheese, stared back at her and her mouth watered as she removed them from the box. Ten minutes
later, Beth proudly sat before a plate of buttered bread and cheese and a glass of cold milk. She might have preferred it warm, but since she’d hardly even seen a stove until now, she thought it best to avoid it altogether. She could tolerate cold milk if it meant her home remained standing.

  When she was finished with her repast, Beth considered taking a walk to the west wing. It probably wasn’t the best idea to go traipsing about haunted rooms in the middle of the night, but her curiosity won out, yet again, over logic. So, she left the remains of her meal on the kitchen table and scurried through the house to the west wing.

  The temperature dropped considerably when she reached the top of the landing. The dark shadows of the abandoned hall sent shivers up her spine and told her to turn back, but she couldn’t. She wanted to find out more about her ghost and why she haunted that wing of the house.

  Besides, she told herself, a ghost can’t harm you. It’s not as if they can grab on to a candlestick and knock you over the head.

  This thought made her remember the night she’d thrown the candlestick at Michael. It wasn’t very well done of her, and she grimaced at the memory. Yes, she had been far too hard on him in the beginning. But things were better now. So much better.

  A smile came to Beth’s lips. They had certainly found common ground in the bedroom.

  As she approached the door to the antechamber where her ghost apparently spent most of her time, she realized she was trembling. It was cold, but even worse were her nerves. She really should have turned back to seek the safety of her husband’s arms, but she didn’t. Instead, she pushed open the door and stepped cautiously inside. The curtains were drawn, so the space was black as pitch, except for the tiny bit of light her candle put off.

  Empty. The space was completely empty. No sign of a ghost tonight. Beth let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment, before turning on her spot to leave the room. She hadn’t taken two steps before a gust of cold air came from behind her, extinguishing her candle.

  Beth stopped in her tracks and tried to calm her heart as the hairs on the back of her neck tingled and stood on end. She attempted to drag in a deep breath, but the air refused to go lower than her chest. She silently commanded her feet to move, but they remained frozen to their spot on the worn Oriental rug.

  “Elizabeth,” a feminine voice called to her. Though it sounded so far away and so close at the same time, she wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

  “Wh-who are you?” Beth asked, startling herself with how loud and present she sounded in comparison with the other voice.

  “Who I am is not important.”

  If the ghost would not answer one question, Beth would try another. “Then why are you here?”

  “Why do you not look at me, Elizabeth? I need you to look at me.”

  Beth began to shake almost convulsively with fear. She could do this. She could look at her, and she would be brave. With jerky movements out of her control, Beth turned slowly around. Before her floated the apparition of a woman—the woman she recognized from before. Her flame-red hair fanned into a glorious halo around her head and her white gown rippled about her transparent body. Beth stared at her, unable to take her eyes from the woman’s face, but then she spoke again.

  “Look at me, Elizabeth. Tell me what has happened.” The woman gestured to the lower part of her body and Beth had no choice but to look. But she wished immediately that she had not.

  The white gown that looked so ethereal on the upper half of her body, turned to a dark red below. It wasn’t difficult to see that it was blood that not only stained the gown, but that continued to gush forth, soiling the carpet of the antechamber.

  Beth could hear her own whimpering as she stared at the woman, horrified. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She could only stand there, staring, wanting to run, wanting to scream, but unable to accomplish either task. She felt as though the wind had been knocked clean out of her, and in the next moment, she was gasping for air, struggling to maintain consciousness.

  “Elizabeth…Elizabeth…”

  The ghost held her arms out to her, beckoning her to come closer. Asking for her help.

  “Elizabeth…Elizabeth…”

  “No!”

  ***

  “Elizabeth, darling, what is it?” Michael asked as he gently tried to shake his wife awake.

  Concern had settled in his belly as she cried and thrashed about against the kitchen table, refusing to wake from her apparent nightmare. But now her eyes were open and she was staring at him with a wild look that sent a shiver down his spine.

  “Michael?” she asked, as if they’d not seen each other in years.

  “Yes, darling, it’s me.” He shushed her and pulled her into his arms. “Mrs. Kerr came to find me after she saw you were sleeping on the table. What the devil happened?”

  “I...I don’t really know.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, but he refused to let her go. Her body still trembled with fright and cold. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came here to get something to eat.”

  “You must have fallen asleep, then,” Michael said, stroking her hair.

  “No.”

  Michael pulled back, astonished at the sudden change in her tone. She looked completely composed, as if she’d finally woken up. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean no. I didn’t fall asleep, Michael. I went to the west wing and...I saw her.”

  Her. “You mean the ghost,” he confirmed with a skeptical tilt to his question.

  “Yes, of course! Who else would I have seen at four in the morning in the west wing?”

  “Darling,” Michael said, softening his tone and leaning down so he could look her in the eye. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe she exists...I promise I’m not. But, perhaps this time, it was only a dream.”

  “But it felt so real,” she whispered, a terrified look in her eyes.

  Michael stared back at his wife, wondering how he could make her feel better. How he might take her mind from the horrific nightmare she’d just suffered. He didn’t have many options at his disposal. As they sat there in the kitchen, John was preparing to leave again for London, and Bonnie was moping about the house, looking like a corpse. How the devil had she formed such an attachment already?

  He had to tell her. She’d never forgive him if her brother left without her knowing, without saying goodbye.

  “I came to find you,” he said tentatively, “because John is leaving soon.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Yes. Remember? We gave him the choice to serve in our household or go back home. He’s apparently chosen home.”

  Beth put her hand to her cheek, the wheels in her head obviously in motion. “Home,” she repeated. “Yes, home. Of course!”

  She jumped from the chair and moved past him, her nightrail billowing behind her. He followed her out the door and up the stairs until they reached their suite of rooms, wondering what the devil she was about all of a sudden.

  “Beth?” He said her name several times, but she paid him no heed. She merely set about her chamber, pulling things at random from her drawers.

  “Please call for Bonnie,” she said.

  “Beth, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Leaving.”

  Michael’s heart stopped at that one simple word. Leaving. Leaving what? Him? And where was she going?

  He stalked across the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. For the first time all morning, she looked at him. Really looked at him. Not through him, which he assumed must be a good sign.

  “Please talk to me,” he begged. “Where are you going? And why?”

  “I want to go home.” Her lower lip trembled suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears. “I just want to go home.”

  Twenty-Six

  Michael stared at his wife, unsure of what to do. She wanted to go home? But this was her home. Their home! He hated to deny her, especially in her current state, but he couldn't acquiesce to this request. They hadn
't even been in Scotland for two weeks. They'd just hired a staff of thirty. And Lord knew what horrors would await them in London between their odd marriage and her brother's latest exploits.

  “I'm sorry, Beth,” he said quietly as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “We're not going anywhere.”

  “You may do whatever you like, Michael, but I'm leaving with my brother this morning. I can't stay here another night.”

  She tried to pull away from him, but he refused to let go. “Beth, listen to me. You had a dream. We are not going to flee the country—flee our home—because you had a bad dream.”

  Her lower lip began to tremble again and Michael felt like the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth. He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted and pushed away. She cried as Michael stood lamely by, wishing this horrible feeling of helplessness would go away. Wishing he knew just what to do or say to make her stop crying.

  “It wasn't a dream,” she finally said. “And if it was, then I'm never going to sleep again as long as I'm in this house.”

  My, but she had a way of piling on the guilt with completely irrational notions.

  “Beth, I think we need to talk about this. You can't just up and leave me. I thought...I...”

  She turned to him, blinking back more tears and wiping at the ones on her cheek with her hand. “You wouldn't come with me?”

  “No,” he said, moving to be closer to her, drawn by an innate desire to comfort her. “We have worked too hard to make this place feel like a home. I'm not ready to go yet.”

  “But—”

  “I love you, Beth, and I will do everything in my power to get you through the night, but I will not flee this house. And I will not allow you too, either.”

  “You can't stop me,” she blurt out defiantly.

  “Good Lord, Beth, stop this nonsense! You're a grown woman, yet the things you say sometimes make me think otherwise.”

  “How dare you!” Her face turned a bright shade of red and her eyes burned with animosity.

  Damn. If he wasn't careful, he'd get another candlestick thrown at him.

  “I will leave this morning with my brother, whether you like it or not. Now please remove yourself from my chamber.” She crossed to the door and flung it open with an angry flourish.