With This Ring

by Amanda Quick

  “It is the notion of how it has been used in the course of Clarinda’s career that bothers me. In any event, I am not the least sleepy. I will be happy to stand watch if you would care to rest.”

  “I am not tired either.”

  “Oh.” She gazed down into the street. “Well, then we shall keep the watch together.”

  Leo braced himself against the windowsill and studied the empty street. The silence grew.

  “Beatrice?”

  “Yes?”

  “About the incident in the carriage just before we were obliged to leap out into the street—”

  “There is no need to discuss it, my lord,” she said stiffly. “I quite understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, of course. There is no need to say anything more on the subject.”

  He turned slightly, trying to make out her features in the shadows. “On the contrary, madam. There is every need to talk about it, because such incidents are going to happen again.”

  There was an acute silence.

  “They are?” Beatrice finally said in an odd voice.

  “For God’s sake, woman, do not play the naïve, empty-headed innocent tonight. I am not in the mood for it.”

  She rounded on him without warning. “Do not dare to lose your temper with me on this subject, sir. I am the one who has a right to be annoyed. One moment you kiss me as though you are consumed by passion, and in the next you break off the embrace on one pretext or another.”

  Leo felt his jaw drop. “One pretext or another? Madam, tonight I broke it off because we were in the process of getting ourselves kidnapped.”

  “Very well, I will concede that you had an excuse this evening.”

  He clamped his teeth together. “Thank you.”

  “But yesterday you kissed me merely so that you could spy on that man who watched our meeting with Madame Virtue. Do not deny it.”

  “I am not going to deny it.”

  “There. That is twice in a row. I perceive a pattern here, sir.”

  He took a step closer to her. “What of that first kiss in my library? You were the one who broke it off, not me.”

  Her chin came up proudly. “That one does not count, my lord.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “You were not yourself. You were likely in shock as a result of your wound and you’d had a great deal of brandy to drink.”

  “The pain wasn’t that bad and I hadn’t had that much to drink.”

  “My lord, I will not tolerate any more of that sort of thing.”

  He could not believe his ears. “That sort of thing?”

  “If I fail to excite your passions, say so and be done with it. I assure you it will not affect our business association.”

  He closed his hands around her shoulders and pulled her hard against him.

  “Leo?”

  “You excite me, Mrs. Poole. Hell’s teeth, you excite me.” He yanked at the knot of his cravat until it came free. Then he pulled Beatrice back into his arms.

  He saw her eyes widen just before he crushed her mouth with his own.

  “Leo.” His name emerged as a muffled shriek.

  Desire flashed through him, as hot and intense as a bolt of lightning. He turned, pressed her against the wall, and stepped between her legs. The folds of her cloak fell away. In the shadows Leo saw the soft, gentle curves that swelled above the low neckline of her gown.

  He worked the silk bodice downward until he could cup one breast in his hand. He skimmed his thumb across the taut nipple. It grew full. He bent his head to take it between his teeth.

  Beatrice gasped. A tremor went through her. He realized that if he had not held her against the wall with the weight of his body, she would have slipped to her knees. He traced the line of her spine with his fingers and gloried in the shivers that followed.

  Beatrice fumbled with the fastenings of his shirt. “Every day I am tormented with thoughts about how you looked that night in the library without your shirt, my lord.”

  “Every day I am tormented with memories of how good your hands felt when you touched me. I thought I would go mad if I did not feel your fingers on my bare skin again.”

  She slipped her fingers beneath the edges of his linen shirt. Her palms were warm and infinitely soft.

  “You are so hard.” She sounded awed. “So strong.”

  Dear God, she wanted him. He could hear the passion in her voice. He felt it in the delicious little shivers that coursed through her. She wanted him as badly, as achingly, as he wanted her.

  He managed to get the front of his breeches undone. She reached down to encircle him with her fingers, and he thought he would spill his seed into her hands. He fought to control himself.

  “Oh, Leo.” She sounded breathless. Her hand tightened around him. “This is amazing.”

  He groaned. “I shall disgrace myself if you continue to do that.”

  “You could never disgrace yourself. You are magnificent, sir. Absolutely incredible.” She rained urgent little kisses on his throat and shoulders. “And to think that you do not even find it necessary to fortify yourself with brandy and erotic etchings.”

  “Brandy and etchings?” He raised his head from her breast. “Damnation. Is that what your husband used before he came to your bed?”

  “He said it was the only way he could force himself to do his husbandly duty. He did not love me, but he wanted a son. It was the only thing he wanted of me. And it was the one thing I could not give him.”

  “Beatrice, listen to me.”

  “Never mind, Leo.” She released him to clench her fingers in his hair. “It no longer matters. Please, kiss me again.”

  “I need nothing more than the thought of you to arouse me.” His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. “I have wanted to make love to you since the moment I met you.”

  He kissed her again. Her lips parted beneath his. He sank his teeth gently into her lower lip.

  When she gave a soft cry of surprise, he grabbed a fistful of her skirts and shoved them up to her waist. She was wet and hot and infinitely inviting. The scent of her was the most potent of elixirs. He wanted to lose himself in it.

  He grasped one firm, rounded thigh and pulled it snugly around his waist. Then he lifted her other leg and folded it into position. He braced her firmly against the wall.

  “Dear heaven, Leo.”

  She sounded both horrified and unbearably excited. It was the most erotic music that Leo had ever heard. Her knees tightened convulsively around him. Her hands clenched his shoulders. Exultation roared through him.

  He stroked her until he felt her start to tremble, until his fingers were drenched, until he could no longer stand the torture he was inflicting on himself. He cupped her buttocks and planted his shaft at the entrance to her damp passage.

  “Dear heaven.” Her voice was only a breath of sound in the darkness.

  He urged her relentlessly downward. He felt small muscles tighten along the way, at first in resistance and then in snug acceptance.

  And then he was deep inside her.

  The sizzling shock of the union went through both of them simultaneously. For a few seconds it was all Leo could do to stay on his feet.

  Beatrice opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

  For a timeless moment they stared at each other in the darkness.

  “You are so tight,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “It has been so long.” Her fingers clenched in his hair. “And it was never like this. Indeed, I did not know it could be like this.”

  “Neither did I,” he groaned.

  He steadied her against the wall with one hand and reached down with the other. He found the firm bud and tugged gently.

  She sank her nails into his shoulders. He moved once, twice, three times. Her whole body tensed around him. Her mouth opened on a soft, soundless scream. And then he felt the tremors of her release.

  It was too much. He crushed her against the wall and pumped himself into
her.

  SOMETIME LATER, STILL pressed against the wall, Beatrice stirred.

  “There is something I should tell you.” she said quietly.

  Leo held her steady with one hand and planted his other palm flat against the wall. He eased himself slowly, reluctantly, away from her.

  “What is that?” The room reeked of spent passion, he thought. Hardly for the first time.

  The reality of what had just happened hit him with a force that left him stunned. Bloody hell What had he done?

  It was not possible. Surely he had not just made love to Beatrice for the first time in a harlot’s bedchamber.

  She would likely never forgive him for this.

  “I lied about my marriage,” Beatrice said very precisely.

  “I beg your pardon?” A sense of desperation clutched his insides like a vise. He must, indeed, be mad.

  She cleared her throat. “Contrary to family legend, my marriage to Justin Poole was not a perfect, harmonious’ union of the physical and the metaphysical.”

  “I see.” Leo, steeled for her withering outrage, stared at her blankly for a moment. Then the full import of her words struck him. Out of nowhere, he felt laughter well up inside him.

  “Leo?” She gave him a small shake. “What is it? I do not see anything particularly amusing in this situation.”

  “Your husband must have been a bloody idiot, Mrs. Poole.”

  “You do not understand. Justin was a man who experienced passion and desire in a way that few can. He had the soul of a poet. His only crime was that he loved too deeply.”

  “But it was not you he loved?”

  “No. He gave his heart to another woman before he met me. But she was forced to marry a man who was old enough to be her grandfather. Justin could not bear it. On our wedding night he called out her name. And then he wept. I was obliged to comfort him until dawn.” Beatrice paused. “Things never improved in the course of our marriage.”

  “I was right,” Leo said dryly. “He was a dolt.”

  “I tried to save him from his obsession. But in the end I failed.”

  “What do you mean, you failed?”

  She sighed. “I told you that Justin was shot dead by a highwayman, but that was not true.”

  “How did he die?”

  “At the hands of a jealous husband. Her husband.”

  “The elderly man who was married to the woman he wanted?”

  Beatrice nodded. “The husband collapsed immediately after he pulled the trigger. The doctor said the cause was a surfeit of unhealthy excitement. It affected his heart. The whole thing was hushed up, of course. The widow, who inherited a vast estate, had no more interest in having the truth come out than anyone else.”

  “Who invented the highwayman tale?”

  “I did.”

  Leo could not help himself. He started to laugh again.

  “It is not amusing.” Beatrice said reproachfully.

  “I know it is not.” He laughed harder.

  “Really, Leo.”

  “I shall tell you something even more entertaining,” he said when he finally got control of his laughter.

  “What is that?”

  “I also have a confession to make.” He paused to kiss the tip of her nose. “I, too, lied about the state of my marriage. It was not a model of connubial bliss.”

  She searched his face in the shadows. “You said she was perfect in every way. An angel.”

  “She was.” He smiled briefly, ruefully. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Do you have any notion of how bloody difficult it is to live with a paragon? She was as fragile and delicate as fine porcelain. I was obliged to watch every word I said for fear of sending her into a spate of tears.”

  “I see.”

  “My physical passion shocked her to the core. She found that side of marriage dirty, unpleasant, and unsatisfying. The more I tried to please her, the more repulsed she was. But she did her duty.”

  “Your sons?”

  “Yes. She gave them to me and I shall always be grateful to her memory. But I was consumed with guilt and anger every time I went to her bed, and I shall never forget that either.”

  “You need say no more, Leo.” Beatrice put her fingertips on his lips. “I understand far better than you can possibly know.”

  He caught her fingers in his own and kissed them. “She would have fainted if I had brought her to a whore’s room and taken her against the wall.”

  “Good heavens. That is precisely what has happened, has it not?” Beatrice stepped away from the wall and hastily jerked her bodice back into place. “I will say one thing, sir. Life is never dull in your company.”

  He smiled slowly, his eyes on the pale apple of her breast as it disappeared into the top of her gown. “Oddly enough, Beatrice, I was about to make the same observation of you.”

  Chapter 11

  The specter hovered there, mouth agape in silent warning. But it was too late for a change of heart.

  FROM CHAPTER ELEVEN OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK

  The three short knocks came less than fifteen minutes later. Beatrice was not startled. She and Leo had watched the lanterns of the returning searchers moments earlier.

  Pistol in hand, Leo went to the door and opened it. Beatrice shook out her crumpled skirts. She felt as if she had just been caught up in the vortex of a ferociously exciting storm. She feared that she also looked that way. She still felt warm and flustered and she knew that her hair was in a dreadful tangle.

  Leo, on the other hand, looked the way he always did, casually, effortlessly, elegantly in control. His clotting did not even appear to be rumpled. It was not at all fair, she thought.

  “Whew.” Clarinda wrinkled her nose as she walked into the small room. “Thought I’d aired the place out after my last customer. Sorry, I didn’t do a proper job of it. Ye should have opened the window. Oh.” She broke off to give Beatrice’s disheveled figure a quick, knowing survey. “Well, now. Looks like the two of ye found a way to pass the time while I was gone.”

  Leo glided smoothly in front of Beatrice, shielding her from Clarinda’s view. “What did you learn in the tavern?”

  “Yes, Clarinda.” Beatrice stepped out from behind Leo and smiled at the other woman. “Any useful news?”

  “One or two things.” Clarinda tossed aside her worn cloak, plopped down on the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes, and began to massage one stocking-clad foot. “Ye can rest easy. The hunt is over for the night. Ginwilly Jack’s assistants lost interest once the fog sank into their bones. They’re all back in the tavern, warming themselves with ale and gin.”

  “Ginwilly Jack?” Leo repeated softly.

  “The coachman what tried to nab the two of ye. His friend is called Ned Longtooth. Ned’s not too bright, if ye take my meanin’.” Clarinda tapped her head. “He does whatever Ginwilly says.”

  “Did they go back to the tavern with the others?”

  “Ginwilly Jack did. But he sent Ned off to retrieve the coach and team they had to leave in the street when they followed ye.” Clarinda chuckled. “I doubt Ned will find the carriage waitin’. Not in this neighborhood. Ginwilly Jack will have to steal another one. He won’t like havin’ to go to the trouble, I can tell ye.”

  “This Ginwilly Jack,” Leo said slowly. “Do you know where he can be found?”

  Beatrice glanced at him sharply but said nothing.

  Clarinda shrugged. “Don’t know where he keeps his lodgings. But I know where he’ll be for the rest of the night.”

  “The tavern?” Leo asked.

  “Bloody right. He ain’t named Ginwilly for nothing, ye know. After a job, he likes his gin.”

  “I see.” Leo produced a few more banknotes and handed them to Clarinda. “You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be on our way now.”

  Clarinda fanned the money. “For what ye’ve paid me, yer welcome to spend the night.” She winked at Beatrice. “Both of
ye.”

  “Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Leo said. “Now that our pursuers have abandoned the search, I think we can safely find our way back to a street where we can hail a hackney.”

  Clarinda looked dubious. “Ye can no doubt pass for just another drunken rake on the prowl, m’lord. But ye’d better do somethin’ about yer friend here. Mrs. Poole looks much too fancy to be workin’ in this neighborhood.”

  Beatrice looked down at her own attire. “You’re quite right, Clarinda. Would you care to trade cloaks? You may keep mine if you will allow me to keep yours.”

  “Done.” Clarinda scooped up her cloak and handed it to Beatrice.

  The exchange took only a moment. Beatrice sniffed surreptitiously and caught the smoky odor of the tavern on the folds of her new garment. She put it on and fastened it at her throat. When she was ready, she looked at Clarinda.

  “Will I do?”

  Clarinda stroked her new handsomely embroidered cloak as if it were a beloved kitten. “With that cloak ye won’t be able to pass as one of the fancy sort what caters to the high-class trade, so ye’d better keep yer mouth closed. If someone hears ye talk, he’ll know yer not from this part of town.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Beatrice promised.

  “Just giggle and laugh a lot.” A shuttered expression crossed Clarinda’s face. She looked down at the new addition to her wardrobe. “The gentlemen always like to think that yer enjoyin’ yer-self when yer with them.”

  “Even though you hate every minute of it?” Beatrice ignored Leo’s impatient frown.

  “Aye.” Clarinda squared her shoulders. “But business is business.”

  Beatrice moved closer to her. “If you ever think of changing careers, present yourself at the back door of Madame D’Arbois’s shop. Do you know it?”

  “That place they call The Academy? Where they teach French and show ye how to be a seamstress or a fancy lady’s maid? Aye, I know it. A friend of mine went there. Works in a grand house now, she does. But it’s not for me. I’ve got other plans.”

  “What other plans?”

  Leo moved. “Beatrice, we should be on our way.”

  “As it ‘appens,” Clarinda said with growing enthusiasm, “I won’t be in this line of work much longer. One of these days I’ll have enough blunt to buy the Drunken Cat. I won’t have to toss up me skirts for any man ever again.”