A Most Delicate Pursuit

by Pamela Labud

  He grasped her hand and gave it a good squeeze. “I’m not lying. I’ve only taken three women to my bed. Ever.”

  Leaning forward, she challenged him. “Name them.”

  He bit his tongue. Never had anyone ever questioned him about his love life. In fact, he was quite sure no one ever really cared. Except for Ash, that was. He knew all about Michael and was as tight-lipped as a French spy about it. But this? To be called out about his personal life?

  Well, he supposed it really was his fault. He shouldn’t have allowed the gossips to extoll on his raunchy behavior. Though, he had to admit, he’d enjoyed playing the rogue in public. It kept the old biddies of the marriage mart off of his coattails at the least.

  But now? He couldn’t help the rising tide of guilt and shame that washed over him. Of all the things Michael considered himself to be, a coward wasn’t one of them. Still, her keen focus set him off his guard. More than that, Beatrice’s respect meant a great deal to him. If it meant he had to take responsibility for his actions, then so be it. He would open himself to her and damn the consequences.

  —

  “Name them,” Beatrice repeated. She couldn’t help herself.

  Of course, she hadn’t really wanted to call him out like this. After all, how could she hold the man accountable for things he’d done before they were together? Was it really representative of how he would behave during their marriage? Or was he a changed man?

  Bea chided herself. Of course everyone knew men followed patterns in their lives. While she’d heard tales of his exploits at every turn, it was usually from sharp-tongued natterers who never spoke well about anyone.

  The truth was, there was only one man she truly respected. Ash. He was so deeply in love with her sister that any ninny could see he would never stray from their bed. As evidenced by the next child they were expecting.

  Still, that was her brother-in-law and not the man in front of her. She needed to keep her mind on that.

  “Miss Lucinda Dalton,” he said.

  His words smacked against her. An image of a common, heavily painted lightskirt instantly jumped to her mind. Scantily dressed, she’d have tight red curls and cruel green eyes, and would be leading Michael around by his cravat.

  “Tell me about her.” She crossed her arms and stared at him, patiently awaiting his answer. She meant to call him out, after all.

  Hearing him groan, she gave him her most patient expression. She was, after all, the guiltless one. Or, nearly guiltless, that was.

  “She was a lovely girl. Very sweet and most anxious to get on with our engagement.”

  “You were engaged to her?”

  “I meant to marry her, yes. She completely beguiled me, especially after one starry night at her family’s country house. We’d gone out for a day of riding and when we’d returned to the stables to put away our mounts, she let me kiss her. Quite scandalously, in fact. Then, we found ourselves in a corner of the barn, on a fresh pile of hay.”

  Bea gasped. “You ruined her?”

  He laughed. “More like the other way around. She’d far more experience than I. It was my first time with a woman.” He sighed. “Sadly, her father thought she could do better. He refused my offer of marriage and the next day sent her to Spain, where she wed a very wealthy landowner.”

  Bea blinked. “But, you’re a peer. Surely a title would be more desirable than the life of a farmer’s wife.”

  “You would think so. It didn’t matter. My father was against it from the beginning. He thought the girl was just after my money. So he drained my accounts to the last farthing. Said if I was going to carry on with rubbish, I needed to make my own fortune.”

  “Oh.” She looked at him, feeling a bit the shrew. Still, she wanted to know all about him.

  “Whom else have you had an affair with?”

  “Lady Elizabeth Penn. Viscount Davenport’s oldest daughter.”

  “How did you meet?”

  Michael smiled. “We met on our wedding day.”

  “And your father approved of her?”

  “More like he approved Davenport’s deep pockets. Thought he might make a bit of coin at my expense. It was arranged before I’d even known about it. I’d been at Eton with Ash one day, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged back to Vanguard Hall for a quick wedding, bedding, and holiday. It happened very fast.”

  Bea heard his voice trail off and felt more than a little stung to think that he might have cared so much for another woman.

  “I see. Did you love her?”

  He gave her a half smile as an answer.

  “Not at first, but after we married we were happy enough.” His expression darkened. “Or, at least I thought we were.”

  “Go on,” she said, although somewhat less enthusiastically than before.

  He shrugged. “Shortly after our marriage, she managed to get herself caught behind closed doors with a randy young gent. Of course, there was a scandal. She was so humiliated that she killed herself two days later.” He shook his head. “Turned out, she’d rather been dead than married to me.”

  Bea now really felt terrible. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You needn’t be.” He waved her off. “It was a very long time ago.”

  She couldn’t blame him for that. “You were very young.”

  He sighed. “So, I make poor choices, duel far too much, and I’m a womanizer. Those are my faults. Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. I’m penniless. Most women would consider that a fault, I suppose.”

  As if she didn’t feel horrible enough. “What happened to your inheritance?”

  “My father gave what remained of his estate to a distant relative of ours. He signed it all over on his deathbed, so I had nothing to inherit when he died. Part of his plan of ‘making me a better man,’ you see.”

  “You’re an earl and you’ve no money?”

  “Barely a farthing. Except for Vanguard Hall and my good name, that’s about all you’d get by marrying me, my dear. That and the protection I can give you. I’m pretty handy with a weapon, you know.”

  She raised her gaze and pointed to his missing eye but remained silent.

  He shrugged. “Well, I’m not as good a shot as I used to be, but I will fight with my whole heart and lay down my very life if need be.”

  “Thank you for your good intentions. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  He nodded. “Of course, you already know about my former lover, Lady Merriweather.”

  “Yes, of course.” She let out a breath. “In spite of all you told me, you do have feelings for her, don’t you?”

  He smiled again, but his face was unreadable.

  Could it be he was still in love with Lady Merriweather? Was it possible that she would comfort him once Bea had gone?

  Of course, she wanted him to be happy. That was what she’d hoped for, right?

  And, in that hope was the tiniest bit of sadness that he very well might. She spared a glance at him but saw by his downward-cast expression that the woman meant more bad feelings than good.

  He took one breath, and then another, before he spoke.

  “Connie is a lovely woman and, for a time, she was just what a ragged, heartbroken man needed. I’d come home from the war, was pushed into an arranged marriage, blamed myself for the disaster it became, and there she was. It was as if she were throwing out a tender bit of beef to a scrawny, starving mongrel.”

  He laughed, though Bea didn’t detect a bit of humor in his voice.

  “She took you in.”

  He looked up at her, his glance sharp and cutting. She hoped he knew that she wasn’t trying to hurt him with her words.

  “Yes.”

  She chewed her lip, waiting for him to say more, but he remained silent. Thoughtful, even.

  Clearly, he still had feelings for the woman.

  “I see,” she said at last.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. I’ve been honest with you. I just don’t feel my time
with Lady Merriweather needs to be further discussed.”

  A part of her wanted to know more about the woman and her influence on Michael. “I apologize. I’ve no right to ask such things.”

  To her surprise, he turned away. It was full dark now, the landscape all but invisible on the moonless night. When he spoke again, he remained facing the other direction and his voice was a tone deeper and a bit thicker than when he’d spoken earlier.

  “I’ve long enjoyed our acquaintance, Beatrice, and to be honest, I was more than pleased when Ash asked me to help.” He turned back to face her. “While I had no illusion that we’d be a love match, I’d hoped that you’d see the sense of it and agree to become my wife. But, whatever comes of our friendship, I won’t speak of Lady Merriweather again.”

  With that, he turned back to the trail and fell silent.

  Bea stood quiet for a time, not knowing what she should say. His pain was palpable and she knew she was responsible for it. Well, perhaps not all of it.

  “She hurt you, didn’t she?”

  Michael sent her a sharp look. “Nothing more than I deserved. Our affair didn’t fall to the stabs of jealousy or indifference, you know. She was a balm to my injured soul and when my brokenness healed, after a fashion, I no longer needed her. So, if you must know, it was I who left her. And she’s never forgiven me for it.”

  It was a dangerous thing, but somehow his heartache had become hers as well. She wanted to hate and despise the woman who’d hurt him.

  “Michael,” she said at last.

  “Yes?” He answered but didn’t turn around.

  “I’m sorry. You’re a good man, protecting her like that. I know how fortunate I’d be to have you as my husband.”

  He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “And I, to have you as my wife.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, she placed her hand on his arm, absorbing the heat of him and reveling in it. She knew what her actions might lead to, but in that moment, she no longer cared. His pain matched her own, somehow. Both of them had known disappointment and, for some odd reason, that formed a tenuous bond between them.

  When he slowly turned toward her, she wasn’t really surprised. Nor was she at all bothered when he leaned down and kissed her, slow and gentle at first.

  Something unexpected happened.

  More than the previous night’s passion flared between them. It was deeper and stronger than the feelings she’d had for him thus far. Before she knew what was happening, she was opening herself to him.

  In that very instant, she wanted him more than anything else in her life—more than a life of freedom, more than a promise of adventure. For the future didn’t matter and the past was unchangeable. All thought left her and nothing else existed but the man in her arms.

  For when he touched her, it was more than just a meeting of bodies, more than an act of capturing the moment. They both had hopes and dreams, bobbing precariously like bubbles on the ocean, threatening to disappear into the void of the nothingness beyond. She would worry about that later, she told herself. For now, it was enough to love this man and to have him love her back.

  She doubted that she’d ever get the chance again.

  It wasn’t until after their passions had ebbed, and they lay together on a patch of grass at the edge of the forest, that she realized where they were. A few hundred feet from where they’d settled stood the thick, squat figure of Slyddon Castle, looking very much as it must have in past centuries, a medieval fortress rising up out of the darkness to stand guard against enemies and friends alike.

  Turning over, she felt him spoon behind her and enjoyed the feel of him against her backside. How she longed to make this night last forever and they could stay, two lovers alone in the forest. Closing her eyes, she let herself pretend for just a while longer.

  —

  It was just before daylight when she felt him stir beside her. They’d formed a warm pocket between them, huddled in the tall grasses, impenetrable to the chilly winds around them.

  “Time to get you to a proper bed, my girl,” he said.

  She meant to rouse, to tell him no and beg him to stay still, his arms around her, his body keeping her warm. “Not yet,” she begged.

  He chuckled beside her. “And have you catch your death? It’s going to rain soon. I can feel the change in the air. Best to get you indoors. We’ve barely eaten or had anything more than a few swallows of water since we left the cabin.”

  “A few minutes more…” Bea yawned.

  “You rest,” he muttered over her. “I’ll get you inside.”

  The next thing she knew, he was kneeling beside her, lifting her into his arms, and carrying her like a small child. She settled her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. It felt good, being carried by him, but not so good that she didn’t want to stand on her own as well. Exhaustion and the chilly wind kept her still in his arms.

  “Well,” she said, closing her eyes, “maybe this one time…”

  Chapter 11

  Michael awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the shade gently flapping against the window frame, and Beatrice resting quietly beside him. Gently turning over, he meant to awaken her with a tender kiss, but seeing her huddled into a ball made him decide against it. Her beauty never waned, and she looked just as beautiful as she did in the first light of day. And yet, as he looked closer, he could see she wore a frown and was turned away from him, curled up in herself.

  “How odd?” he muttered. Should he wake her and ask her what was the matter?

  Scooting from the bed, he gently pulled the quilts up and watched as she cocooned herself within them. He’d the feeling he was the cause of her unsettled slumber.

  Perhaps she was just overtired and he was looking for ghosts that weren’t there.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling and he realized that if he didn’t eat, the ruckus would likely wake her.

  Very well, he thought. To breakfast.

  Doing his best to not awaken her, he donned his shirt and trousers. After pulling on his boots, he tread lightly out of the room. Once in the hall, he rang for the valet.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Winston said. “I thought you might not want to disturb the lady, so I’ve set up a dressing room in the spare room across the hall. His Grace said to give you complete access to his wardrobe.”

  “He’s arrived from London, then?”

  The man shook his head. “He sent news that he’d been delayed and should be here within the week. Something about obtaining certain documents…”

  Michael waved him off. “Thank you.”

  Half an hour later he was shaved, dressed, and on his second biscuit when the doorman, Mr. Jamison, came to the dining room.

  Bowing deeply, he removed his hat. “Begging your lordship’s pardon, sir. But, Sir Oliver Cardiff has just arrived.”

  “Cardiff? I thought he was spending the season on the Continent.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. He’s come with a lady who is requesting an immediate audience with you.”

  “Lady?” Michael’s stomach tightened.

  “Yes, my lord. A Lady Merriweather.”

  “By the gods.” He nearly choked. “What in blazes is she doing here?”

  The servant leaned forward. “She says it’s urgent and that the two of you have ‘unfinished’ business, my lord.”

  Michael groaned as the biscuits turned to lead in his belly. This was just the sort of confrontation he’d hoped to avoid. “Very well, show her to the library. I’ll be there directly.”

  What in the devil was she about? Hoping to sabotage his new relationship with Beatrice, no doubt. Well, he’d send her packing.

  —

  “Hello, Michael,” Constance Merriweather crooned as he walked into the library. Wearing a bright yellow gown, her dark brown hair swept up and neatly tucked beneath a flowered hat, she looked as fresh as a spring field of daisies. Her cheerful ruse hadn’t fooled Michael. H
e knew it was the way she dressed when she wanted to lay siege to a room.

  “Hello, Connie,” Michael said. He walked to the liquor cabinet, opened the door, and pulled out a bottle of brandy. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but in truth you are the last person I wanted to suffer a visit.”

  Her smile didn’t waver. “Michael, how can you be so cruel?”

  “How can you be so brash to visit me when I’m on holiday?” Michael didn’t want to be rude, but the woman had to be dealt with.

  “You know I only have your best interest at heart. I have news to share with you, and I recommend you don’t take it lightly.”

  Michael poured the drinks thoughtfully. He knew she was not happy with his refusing her attentions. But such things had never stirred her interest before. So why now? Was it that she was still angry with him for his refusal of her marriage proposal? Or was there something else?

  Smiling at him, she held out her hand for the glass. “I told Lord Cardiff that we might want to send a calling card first, but he told me that His Grace was a personal friend and had extended him an open invitation to visit Slyddon. He’s seeing to the carriage now, if you’d like to speak to him.”

  “Why are you here?” Michael asked, handing her a glass and then downing the contents of his own in a single swallow.

  “I’d heard that you’d been forced to abscond with the duke’s sister-in-law,” she said, sipping her brandy daintily and batting her eyelashes at him. “Everyone in the ton is practically in a whirl about it. Some say the two of you have run off to Gretna Green. But I knew better. My Michael would never do something so impulsive as that.”

  Michael let out a breath. He was fast becoming tired of her games. “That’s all quite nice, but I ask again, why have you come?”

  “Why, to rescue you, of course. Just in case you’d been foolish enough to consider wedding that woman, I thought it my duty as your old friend to make sure you knew the truth about her.”

  “The truth?”

  He looked at the woman and perhaps saw her for what she was for the very first time. He realized that the angles in her face, a sign of classic beauty for most, were a bit too sharp. Her thin, lithe form was far too harsh and unforgiving. Worst of all was her green gaze, which he now saw as dark, calculating, and cold. A shiver went through him as he considered how close he’d come to being caught in her vicious web.