“Besides, I am very much enjoying making my friend James jealous,” he added dryly.
Beatriz chuckled softly. “I trust you understand I am not doing this to be cruel or coy?”
He sobered. “Of course, and I feel nothing but admiration for you for doing so. Love is…far more precious than any jewels.” He glanced across the room at his wife. “But I know from loving Victory that it also has to be earned, as well as appreciated and treasured. Always.” Blackborne smiled down at her. “Trust me, by the time we are finished with James, he will not know whether he is on his feet or his arse!”
Beatrix burst out laughing at this unexpected crudeness from the duke, drawing the attention of several other couples dancing, and—Beatrix noted from beneath dark lashes—the increasingly narrow-eyed scowl of James as he now stood distractedly on the edge of the circle of their friends, openly staring at them.
Gabriel grinned down at her. “I blame Victory for my more colorful language nowadays.”
Beatrix continued to chuckle. “I like your wife very much.”
“As do I.” He nodded. “Not least because she can swear like a London dockworker when annoyed or angry. She is also the reason I bother to wake up in the mornings and has become both the sun and moon to me.” He ghosted his fingertip across Beatrix’s painted jaw.
“That is how love should be,” Beatrix approved. “Not an offer of marriage”—she glanced across the room to where James stood—“accompanied by the assurance that gentleman will protect me, and my scars, from the world, and he does not mind at all forgoing being a part of Society.”
Blackborne raised one dark brow. “Is that how James proposed to you?”
She smiled at the disapproval in his tone. “It is. And perhaps he had reason to feel he must offer for me in that manner. But it is not how I wish to become any man’s wife. There must be mutual respect as well as love. I am sure that James does respect me,” she assured as the duke would have spoken. “But I wish to be my husband’s equal, not his burden. I hope that this evening is the start of James realizing how little I am in need of that type of protective love.”
Beatrix knew that, as much as James might proclaim his love for her, he must learn she was not just a ripe plum available for the picking and his marriage proposal would be eagerly accepted because no other gentleman had offered or ever would offer for her.
She truly believed James loved rather than pitied her, but she also believed that a fruit so easily plucked would not be valued as it should be. As such, she had decided James needed to at least think he was not the only gentleman who wished to win her heart.
A harsh lesson, perhaps, and extremely difficult for Beatrix to leave the protection of Surrey to achieve it, but also necessary. Beatrix truly believed James must be made to fight for the love she already felt for him if he were ever to value her as a whole person.
* * *
“If it is bothering you so much, then ask her to dance yourself,” Benedict drawled mockingly.
James barely glanced at the older man at his side as he continued to glower at Beatrix being twirled about the Blackbornes’ dance floor by yet another buck flirting outrageously with her. As had been the case for the past two hours or more. No sooner had Beatrix danced a set with one young gentleman than another or several were lining up to take his place.
This evening, Beatrix had become, James recognized, all the rage, as both women and men watched her with admiration and wished to be part of her social circle.
James did not begrudge her that success. He just wished she would allow him to be a part of it.
He turned briefly to give Benedict a scowl. “What makes you think anything is bothering me?”
“Possibly because of the way you are gripping the delicate stem of one of my grandfather’s valued champagne glasses so tightly, you are like to snap it at any moment.” Blackborne, having joined them, now plucked the glass from James’s clenched fingers and handed it to a passing footman. “Why have you not yet invited Beatrix to dance?” he prompted curiously.
“Probably because her dance card already appears to be full!” James only just stopped himself from gnashing his teeth together in disapproval of all this other male attention being directed toward the woman he loved.
“I am sure Beatrix would happily spare one dance for an old friend—”
“I am not her friend!” James snapped. “Nor do I require her to dance with me because she pities me.” He was aware he sounded and was behaving like a spoilt child whose coveted prize had been usurped by another.
Possibly because that was how he felt!
He had met Beatrix during her seclusion in Surrey, and he had enjoyed having her to himself during that time, between their long conversations as they got to know each other and also singing with her when she played the piano. They had even played chess together a couple of times. At the time, James had believed Beatrix had enjoyed doing those things with him too.
He had certainly fallen in love with her over the course of those few days they had spent together.
He had thought Beatrix had grown to love him in return, and instead—
“Pity, no matter what the reason, is usually unwanted and will almost certainly be rejected,” Benedict acknowledged softly.
James eyed Beatrix’s brother searchingly. Surely Benedict did not mean… His friend could not think…
Dear God, did Beatrix think James had asked her to marry him out of a sense of pity?
Benedict quirked one dark and pointed eyebrow before turning to once again watch the couples moving about the dance floor.
James wasted no more time on brooding or jealousy as he strode determinedly through the dancing couples to where he could see Beatrix being twirled about in the arms of Lord Leopold Shepherd, wealthy heir of his father, the Earl of Twyford.
Chapter Three
Beatrix had been aware all evening of James’s glowering presence on the edge of the dance floor, a frown marring his brow as he glared at whichever young man was her current dance partner.
She would be lying if she didn’t admit to enjoying the attention and compliments of those other gentlemen. But that was all she felt, her heart already given to the stubborn and scowling gentleman who seemed unable to take his gaze off her but made no effort to approach or speak to her himself.
A stubbornness which now seemed to have come to an end as James strode forcefully across the room, his gaze fixed very determinedly on her and the man with whom she was dancing.
“I am so sorry,” Beatrix now told that young gentleman as she stopped dancing and stepped back. “I believe I am in need of some fresh air.”
“I will accompany you outside—”
“No need, I shall only be but a moment or two,” she dismissed. “Nor would it do for an unmarried gentleman and lady to step outside and be alone together.” She made no reference to the fact it was also unacceptable for an unmarried woman to venture outside on her own.
Instead, Beatrix turned and hurried toward the doors she already knew led out onto the terrace, having visited Victory Templeton here earlier in the week in the company of the other ladies.
If James wished to speak to her, then he must follow her outside.
* * *
James barely spared the abandoned Shepherd a glance as he instead veered to the right in pursuit of Beatrix. He cleared the throng of people just in time to see the swish of Beatrix’s midnight-blue skirts disappearing out the doorway leading onto the terrace, that door having been held open for her by one of Blackborne’s footmen.
What the hell she thought she was doing, venturing outside alone and in this brisk March weather, James could not surmise. Anyone could follow her outside—
He was following her.
As he was meant to?
Could there be something in what Benedict had implied? Could Beatrix believe James regarded her with pity rather than love?
If so, it was time for Beatrix to learn the depth of the love James felt for her. To also
realize that love included making her aware of his displeasure when she did something that might endanger her or her reputation.
“You may close the door behind me,” James instructed the footman as he stepped out onto the terrace.
Several strategically placed lamps along the balustrade lit the way for any who dared venture outside in this cold weather.
James was pleased to note no one else was doing so right now.
It did not please him, however, as he approached Beatrix standing at the end of the terrace, to see that she was shaking from the cold. Not surprising when she wore no outer garments over her gown.
“Are you trying to catch pneumonia? If so, you are going the right way about it,” James barked his disapproval as, having removed his evening jacket, he now placed it about her creamy shoulders.
She glanced at him. “Now you are the one who is going to be cold.” But she made no effort to return the jacket to him.
“I do not care.”
She gave a gracious inclination of her head. “Thank you.”
They stood in silence for several minutes, until James could stand the awkwardness no longer. “Beatrix.”
“Yes?”
He forced his voice to remain calm. “If I have done something to offend or upset you, I apologize.”
She gave a quizzical frown. “Without knowing what that offence might be?”
“Yes, damn it!” James began to pace.
He carefully avoided walking into any of the wooden benches placed along the terrace. No doubt they were there so that during the spring and summer months, one might sit outside and admire the beauty and serenity of the garden.
Luckily, it was March, as James had no patience for such things at present. “I had thought the two of us were friends, at least,” he accused.
“We are.”
“Friends do not ignore one another.”
“I have been far too busy dancing this evening to spare the time to ignore anyone,” she dismissed coolly. “As I have not seen you dance even once, what is your excuse for not speaking to me?” she challenged.
James thought back to his conversation with Benedict a short time ago during which Benedict had implied Beatrix might have turned down his marriage proposal because she believed it to have been, at least in part, made out of pity.
James did not pity Beatrix. He loved and desired her, and more than anything, he wished her to become his wife. To that end, he would do, and had done, whatever was necessary in order to achieve that goal.
He stopped his pacing directly in front of Beatrix, forcing her to either lift her chin or continue staring at his chest. As expected, she raised and tilted back her head, dark eyes meeting his blue ones.
The tightness eased in James’s chest when he recognized the defiance in that gaze. As if daring him to do something. “I have no idea what Benedict is about this evening.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “But I have found your behavior with so many of the young gentleman present to be unacceptable.”
Her eyes widened with indignation. “Luckily, you have no say in what my behavior must be, as a friend or anything else.”
“I have a duty, as one of Benedict’s friends, to ensure his sister’s behavior is above reproach.”
“How dare you imply— James!” she cried out in protest as, his shoulder pressing against her abdomen, she was suddenly lifted off her feet, and James’s evening jacket fell from about her shoulders and onto the floor.
James ignored Beatrix’s protests as he carried over to one of the seats before sitting down and then holding her face-down across his thighs, with a firm hand pressed against her spine. “Is this what you want from me, Beatrix?” he challenged as his other hand came down to land with a resounding smack on her covered bottom. “Do you wish to be treated like a woman who has pushed the man who loves her to the limit of his endurance?” he demanded as he spanked her again.
He continued to spank her as he waited for her to answer, each one becoming increasingly harder.
Beatrix had never felt both so humiliated and outraged in her life. James was spanking her, as if she were a naughty child in need of guidance.
Or because he believed her to be a defiant woman in need of discipline…?
Perhaps, but neither of those things was acceptable as a reason for his spanking her out here on the Blackbornes’ terrace, where any one of the other guests could come outside and witness her humiliation.
Even more mortifying, she was starting to enjoy those sharp and resounding smacks. The flesh beneath her gown and drawers felt hot and tingly, and there was an unaccustomed heat spreading through the rest of her body. It caused her breasts to ache, her nipples to engorge, and between her thighs to feel swollen and hot.
Beatrix believed it to be her first time experiencing complete physical arousal. Which, in itself, was wonderful, especially as it was with James. But allowing him to know his effect on her would do nothing to further her cause of wishing him to see her as a fully mature woman, capable of taking care of herself, if necessary, and more than worthy of a man’s complete devotion.
She tried to wriggle around on his thighs, to deny him further access to the already burning flesh of her bottom, but the firmness of his hand on the center of her back prevented her from doing so.
She had not realized James was so strong, or that he could behave with such a lack of decorum as this.
But she should have. James had confided in her weeks ago that he had spent years living in London’s slums after his uncle believed he’d had James killed so that he might rob him of his fortune and the Ipswich title. She knew James had not survived those years by behaving as a gentleman, and that he still spent much of his time with the three young men who had been his partners in crime.
Beatrix huffed out an indignant breath. “If you were ever hoping to persuade me into changing my mind regarding your marriage proposal, then this has only confirmed that my first decision was the right one.”
He gave a dismissive snort. “If that is the case, then I have absolutely nothing to lose by continuing your chastisement.”
But instead of continuing to spank her bottom, as Beatrix had expected him to, James lifted and then turned her until her thighs were straddling his in a most unladylike manner. This new position also put pressure upon her already stinging bottom, increasing that physical ache inside her. It also parted her thighs shamelessly, making her aware of the heated throbbing there, and also that her drawers were becoming damp from the juices of arousal escaping her channel.
That pleasure continued to course and pulse through Beatrix’s body, making it difficult for her to even breathe. “James—” Her words were cut off abruptly when James’s lips claimed hers.
Not in a chaste or exploratory kiss, but one full of frustrated and demanding passion.
It was everything and more Beatrix had wanted from James. For him to see her as a desirable woman rather than one who was damaged and in need of his protection. She wanted him to view her as a woman who no longer wished to be hidden away from the world and treated with kid gloves. One who was not afraid to feel and return the same passion and desire as he did.
She entwined her arms over James’s shoulders, able to feel the muscular heat of his body through his shirt and waistcoat as she returned the passion of that kiss. She inwardly cursed the fact she still wore her lace gloves, because they prevented her from feeling the soft and silky darkness of James’s hair as she ran her fingers through it.
He placed his hands upon her stinging and hot bottom to pull her even closer to him. Allowing Beatrix to feel the bulge of his arousal pressing against her own heat. She might have chosen not to enter Society before this, but that did not mean she was ignorant regarding desire and procreation. Her mother had spoken to her of such things before she died. Of the passion which existed between a man and a woman, and the changes that occurred in their body during that arousal.
James was definitely aroused from kissing her!
; The length of his rod resting against her belly told her that it was at least seven, possibly eight inches in length, and that it was at least four inches around.
Her back arched, pressing her thighs closer to his, but also allowing easier access as his warm and silky lips explored the tops of her breasts. Beatrix held her breath as she willed him to pull the material of her gown down and suckle one of her nipples into his mouth—
“James!”
The two of them broke apart guiltily at hearing the hissing reproof of James’s name. Beatrix buried her hot and embarrassed face against James’s shoulder, leaving him to be the one to turn and look at his sister, Bethany.
“People noticed the two of you leaving the ballroom within minutes of each other, and they are now starting to talk,” the countess told them regretfully.
“Who gives a fuck— I apologize for my unsuitable language, ladies.” James drew in a deep breath before gently but firmly lifting Beatrix from straddling his thighs. He straightened his own clothing over the bulge in his breeches as he rose to his feet. “I suggest Beatrix return to the ballroom with you, and I shall leave through the side gate in the garden leading out onto the street.”
Beatrix turned from straightening her gown to stare at him. “But—”
“I bid you good night, ladies.” James gave a terse bow without looking at either Beatrix or his sister before retrieving his jacket from the ground and striding purposefully away into the darkness.
Seconds later, there was the sound of a gate opening and then closing as he departed.
Beatrix was now the one who felt frustrated and annoyed, and for an entirely different reason than James.
Chapter Four
“Is there a reason why, for the past half an hour, you have been glaring daggers at me whilst attempting to pummel me into the canvas of this boxing ring?” James mocked Benedict as the two of them sparred at their usual boxing saloon on the Monday afternoon nine days after the Blackbornes’ ball.
James's Lady (Regency Club Venus 5) Page 2