A Promise of More (29 page)

“Probably.” His eyelids began to droop and he muttered softly, “Did you enjoy the opera?”

Before she could respond, he slipped into the land of dreams; she smiled to think that his last thought was of her. She lay watching him sleep, her hand tucked under her face. Her corset was digging into her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave his side.

He looked so vulnerable, different from the confident front he showed the world, and she understood how fortunate and privileged she was to see this side of such a complicated man.

If only he would begin to see her the same way, but she feared his life was already so hectic that the only place he saw in it for her was in his bed to provide him children. Beatrice wanted more than that. She wanted to shoulder some of his responsibilities. She wanted to be there for him to lean on, to trust that she would always be by his side.

Perhaps if she helped solve the puzzle and caught the assassin, he’d look at her differently. Her mind once again turned to the niggling memory that she’d seen the initials H.B. before. But where? In her brother’s papers?

She ran her hand over Sebastian’s hair, feeling the silky softness beneath her fingers. He stirred but did not wake. She would ask Arend to escort her to her family’s home soon and help her look through Doogie’s papers.

Chapter Fifteen

The next two days were the happiest days of her married life because she had something to do. Sebastian remained in bed, not because he was poorly, but because of where the stitches were. It hurt to walk, as any movement pulled on the stitches. To say Sebastian was a terrible patient was an understatement.

On the second, particularly tense afternoon, Beatrice talked Arend into taking her to visit her family. They spent the afternoon going through Doogie’s papers but found nothing relating to H.B.

Hours later Roberts greeted her upon her return home. “The patient is requesting your presence.” His tone was nothing but polite; however, Beatrice sensed the tension beneath. “The doctor has visited and told him a few more days in bed.”

“I take it that didn’t sit well with his lordship.”

“He’s calling for his valet and is insisting on dressing and coming down for dinner. Perhaps you could offer support to Mr. Matthews.”

Beatrice hurried toward the stairs as raised voices came from above and the sound of a door slamming floated down to greet her as she raced toward Sebastian’s room.

“Bloody help me into my trousers or by God you’ll be looking for another position.”

Beatrice glimpsed Mr. Matthews’s exasperated face in the mirror as she entered Sebastian’s bedchamber. “What on earth is all this yelling? I’m surprised the whole street hasn’t heard you.” Her nod at Mr. Matthews was the valet’s signal to make his escape. “Please get back into bed, Sebastian, or at least lie down before I have to call the doctor back to redo your stitches and then you’ll end up in bed for another week.”

He stood glaring at her, naked, hands on hips. He looked like a bull about to charge. “Get Matthews back here, or I swear I’ll go down to dinner wearing a sheet.”

“If you’re lacking for company, I’ll arrange for all of us to have dinner in your room, as long as you get back in bed.”

“Don’t test me, Beatrice. I’m going stark raving mad shut up in this room.
Even you deserted me this afternoon.”

She moved to his side and gave him a little push back toward the bed. “Stop pouting like a spoiled child. It won’t be forever, just until the doctor’s sure the stitches will hold.”

He eased back down onto the mattress, but before she could turn away he pulled her down on top of him. “Where has my beautiful wife been all day? I missed you.”

Desire flared at the touch of his heated skin beneath her hands. He grew hard, his erection pulsing against her stomach, she could feel him, and his hand began wandering under her dress, his fingers caressing her thigh.

She smiled indulgently. “Behave. There is no way you’re making love to me. I’ve watched that gorgeous bottom of yours, and if you can’t walk you can’t—”

He stopped her words with a passionate kiss. He claimed her mouth, his tongue sweeping in, sending her senses reeling. Her blood ignited and a delicious shiver raked her skin. Before she knew what was happening, she felt his hands at her back releasing the hooks of her dress.

She tried to roll out of his hold.

He broke their kiss to inform her, “If I lie still on my back and let you do all the work, we can both find our pleasure.”

Beatrice was very tempted. “The doctor said—”

“Bloody hell, if anyone else spouts ‘the doctor said’ at me, I’ll shoot them. I want to make love.”

She pushed out of his hold, anger growing. He hadn’t even said “make love to you”—just “make love.”

“And of course you always get what you want,” she said.

“Why are you being such a shrew? You’ll more than find it pleasurable.”

“Oh, I’m flattered. My husband is bored, so I should pander to his need for sex.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and she saw his jaw firm. Silence echoed around the room.

“As I recall, your agreement is to pander to my desires. You agreed to share my bed, provide me an heir, while I agreed to pay for your family’s upkeep.” He lay back, his nakedness enticing against the silk sheets, his hands linked behind his head. “Go on, pander away.”

She sat still for a moment, stunned. She wanted to slap him. Pain lanced her insides, as if she’d been gutted by a dull spear. She had to turn away before he saw the tears welling in her eyes. She drew in a shaky breath and tried to push off the bed. She just wanted to escape. Never had he made it clearer how he viewed their marriage and her importance in it.

She heard him whisper, “Christ,” behind her back and her head lifted and her shoulders straightened. She kept her back to him and said, “You wanted to be friends. That’s what you offered. No friend would treat another like you just treated me. If sex is all you want, then perhaps I should call for Miss Hudson, because I’m suddenly feeling rather indisposed.”

With that, she stood and, without looking at him, walked to the door between their adjoining rooms. She hesitated before leaving, willing him to apologize, but as her hand turned the handle, silence reigned. “I’ll have your dinner sent up. Arend said he’d be along later to update you on Clarice’s lead. I believe Arend might have narrowed down the type of black coach her men sighted the night the note was delivered.”

The door closed quietly behind her, and Sebastian cursed himself a million ways to hell. He wanted to hit something—his face, if at all possible. He’d been a complete arse and he’d hurt her.

Beatrice was right, a friend would not have spoken like that, nor should a husband. He’d basically treated her like a whore. A bought-and-paid-for whore.

He ran a shaky hand over his face. He should apologize but he couldn’t walk properly, he wasn’t dressed, and he didn’t know what to say when he found her. She wanted something he refused to give—his heart.

He couldn’t very well drop onto bended knee and declare that he loved her. He knew that was what she wanted. He recognized the tenderness in her eyes every time she looked at him. Knew she imagined herself in love with him. He couldn’t stand to see the same look that his mother had on her face when she looked at his father. Couldn’t bear to see the pain in them every time his father let his mother down.

Safer to make her keep her distance, but his body still ached at the memory of her in his arms, soft, eager. And what irked him more was that he didn’t just want sex. He wanted sex with
her
. Only her. Making love to Beatrice sent him to another world. A place where nothing could touch them, where only they existed, and he’d missed that connection the last few nights more than he should. Was that why he hadn’t
spoken up when he knew Beatrice was waiting for an apology?

He’d been in a foul mood before their encounter; now he loathed his own company even more. This inaction would drive him mad. At least Arend, Maitland, and Hadley were carefully and discreetly making inquiries.

One of Clarice’s men had learned the note was delivered in an expensive black coach with a coat of arms on the side. The problem was the man could only remember about one quarter of the design. Arend was working with Clarice’s man, going through as many books as they could find with pictures of coats of arms, but still no result.

Perhaps he should stay in bed for another few days and put some space between Beatrice and himself. Just thinking about her sent need, hot and hard, ripping through his veins stronger than ever before. This urgent lust made no sense. Beatrice didn’t even come close to fitting the description of the women he normally found attractive. She was too intelligent, too bossy, too outspoken, but still he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in his life.

This was what came from spending too much time with one woman. They messed with your mind. Her forced proximity was compounding these feelings, making him want things he refused to face. In his previous dealings with lovers, he could walk away. How did one walk away from one’s wife?

Once he was mobile once more, then he’d find her and pretend that nothing had happened. He’d try to go back to the way it was—polite friends.

Beatrice avoided Sebastian over the following two days. She could not face him. Actually, for the first time since they’d married, she didn’t want to see him. She refused to be the one to offer the olive branch.

Aunt Alison mentioned that no man valued a docile beast, preferring the challenge of a spirited thoroughbred. She’d decided she was no longer going to put Sebastian’s needs first. She would not become his docile, tame beast. If he wanted them to be friends, then he’d have to earn her friendship. At the moment she didn’t particularly like him.

His sisters, however, Beatrice was quickly coming to love. After chaperoning
Lord Rothburg and Marisa in the drawing room for an hour that morning, Beatrice had just retired to the library with one of her latest Gothic novels and was having some quiet time to herself, when Roberts entered with a note on a tray. “A messenger is waiting for a reply, my lady.”

Beatrice hurriedly grabbed the note. Who could have sent it? She thought for a moment it might have been from Arend, telling her he’d found something and wished to talk to her about it. But her face dropped and her hand shook as she saw the note was from Monica. Henry was very ill and Monica needed her to come at once.

“I’ll give him my message personally—tell the lad I’ll be there in a minute.” At the butler’s stare she added tersely, “That will be all, Roberts.”

He bowed before leaving the room.

She sat for a moment clutching the note, almost crushing it in her hands. How was she to leave the house unnoticed? She couldn’t very well go and tell Sebastian she had to leave the house without explaining about Henry. Given their current estrangement, now was definitely not the right time to add more kindling to the fire, so to speak. She would have to sneak out and try to hail a hackney. The servants’ stairs would be the best track to take.

She went to the desk and wrote a note. Then she rose and made her way to the front door, where a young boy stood patiently waiting. Conscious of being overheard, she took him outside to the front steps and crouched down to eye level. “Tell Mrs. Devoroux I’m on my way, but first, please take this note to Dr. Jamieson over in Andover Street. Can you do that?” she asked as she pushed coins into his little palm.

“Aye, madam.”

“Good boy. Off you go.”

She stood, biting her lip, watching him race up the street. Now for the hard part. Sneaking out of the house without anyone seeing her.

Beatrice reentered the house and called to Roberts. “I’m having a rest in my room for a few hours. I don’t wish to be disturbed,” and she hurried upstairs to change.

That morning Dr. Jamieson had given his approval for Sebastian to be up and about.
He still had to be careful and walk in short, stiff steps, but at least he was on the mend.

He had a pile of correspondence awaiting him in his study and he was glad of it. He could avoid the conversation he must have with Beatrice. She’d surprised him with her estrangement. He had thought she’d come round but she’d not stepped a foot into his room in the last few days.