Shameless (47 page)

“If he does not love you, he will.” As they reached Beth’s bedchamber, Claire stopped and took Beth’s hand. Her quiet voice was fierce. “No one who knows you could not love you, so you need have no fear of that.”

“You are the best of sisters, Claire.” Beth squeezed Claire’s hand affectionately and let it drop.

Claire still looked troubled. “Shall I come in with you?”

“No. I don’t need you. Besides, Twindle is waiting for you, and if you come in with me, you will undoubtedly bring her down on us both. That I don’t think I could face tonight.” She smiled at Claire and turned to open her own door, saying over her shoulder, “Go on to bed, goose.”

Claire appeared to see the force of Beth’s argument, because she
made no further protest, instead heading for her own chamber as Beth went into her room, which, she saw at a glance, was in the process of being prepared for the night. The bedclothes on the big mahogany bed were turned down, the fire crackled, and a can of water waited on the hearth near it, undoubtedly to keep warm until such time as she arrived. Her nightgown and wrapper had been flung over the back of one of the pair of big wing chairs that stood before the hearth; doubtless the intent had been to lay them out in the dressing room where they belonged, but that intent had not yet been carried out. Mary, whom she was training to be her own personal maid against the day when, as Marchioness of Durham, she would move into her own establishment and leave Claire’s servants behind, was most improperly seated in the other chair, her eyes closed, her head drooping against the wing, her arms hanging limply over the sides. Beth got just a quick look, because as soon as the door closed behind her Mary’s eyes popped open. Seeing Beth, she sprang at once to her feet, giving a twitch to her black silk skirts and straightening the fine lace cap on her head even as she greeted her mistress.

“Be ye ’ome, then, miss? Did ye ’ave a grand time? Eh, ye look a right treat.” Not having yet quite gotten over her delight at discovering Beth was a real lady, the daughter of an earl, the sister of a duke, Mary was quick and devoted, but still getting the hang of her newly elevated station.

“Thank you, Mary.” As tired and dispirited as she was, Beth managed a smile for Mary as she headed for her dressing room. “If you could just help me out of this gown, we can both be off to bed.”

“Looks like ye’d be wantin’ me to brush yer ’air out for ye, and rub lotion into yer ’ands, and mebbe ring down for some hot milk to help ye to sleep. I’ll ’ave ye know that that’s the sort o’ thing a proper lady’s maid should do, so I been told.” Coming up to stand behind her as Beth stopped in front of the tall pier glass at the end of the dressing room and kicked off her delicate dancing slippers, Mary shot a reproving look at her through the mirror.

“All I want is to be out of this gown so I may go to bed.”

“Tired, are ye? No surprise in that, the way ye’ve been gaddin’ about to all hours lately.” Mary unfastened Beth’s pearl necklet for her as she spoke. Removing the earbobs from her ears and handing them over to be stowed away with the necklet in the jewelry chest in the corner, Beth stifled a sigh. As fond as she was of Mary, she had a tendency to speak her mind that Beth sometimes felt was a most regrettable trait.

“Just unfasten my dress, Mary, would you please?”

Mary returned to get started on the dozens of tiny pearl buttons that did her gown up in the back. “Did ye get aught of supper, then? They was sayin’ belowstairs that ye didn’t eat so much as a bite afore ye went out.”

“I had plenty to eat. Mary . . .”

But what she was going to say was lost as they both heard, at the same time, the unmistakable sound of her bedroom door being opened and then closed again. Before they could do more than exchange surprised glances through the mirror, a firm tread could be heard crossing the bedroom floor. Clapping a hand to her bosom to hold the now partly unfastened dress in place, Beth turned to face the doorway just as Neil appeared in it. His mouth was hard, and his eyes were the gleaming black jet that she had learned meant trouble.

W
HY
B
ETH WAS SURPRISED
by his visit, she didn’t know. Clearly, she saw in retrospect, she should have expected him.

His gaze raked her, but neither of them had a chance to say anything because Mary was before them both, hurrying toward him, making imperious little shooing motions with her hands.

“I dunno what ye think yer doing in ’ere, but ye’ve no business in Miss Beth’s bedchamber, and that ye know as well as I do, yer worship. And there’s no manner of sense in ye giving me the evil eye, either, a-cause I know what’s right and what’s expected as well as the next person.” Having nearly reached him, Mary stopped, put her fists to her hips, and glared, because it became obvious that he was not going to be shooed away.

“I need to have private speech with Miss Beth, Mary.” He stepped out of the doorway and into the dressing room, leaving the way clear for her to depart. “You may go on to bed now.”

“Hah! No chance o’ that! If you think I be goin’ to abandon—”

“It’s all right, Mary. Please leave us,” Beth said. Neil’s eyes met hers again, and she held that hard glance without a flinch.

“But, miss, your gown be ’alf undone, and—” Mary said in a scandalized undertone.

“Go, Mary,” Beth said.

Mary looked from her to Neil and back, and her expression turned aggrieved. “If ye say so, miss, I’ll go, but ye know as well as I do that this ain’t a bit respectable. And as for ye, yer worship, I’d take shame on forcing myself into a lady’s bedroom.” As Beth did not relent, but instead gestured at her to be gone, Mary moved with obvious reluctance out of the dressing room, expostulating all the way. Neil followed her, and for a moment Beth stood as if rooted, listening to Mary’s fading protests. “This be the ’ome of a real, ’onest-to-goodness
duke,
ye ken, not some ’urly-burly establishment where anything might ’appen. ’Tis all very well for ye to behave so free with miss when we was all trapped in a cave, but—”

The sound of the bedroom door opening and then closing again cut Mary off in midspiel. The click of the lock shooting home startled Beth out of her stillness, and she turned to face the mirror, still holding her loosened gown up with one hand pressed to her bosom. A glance at her reflection told her that she was wide-eyed and pale, nervous-looking, even, so she lifted her head and firmed her lips and was in the process of using her free hand to disengage the rose from the bright waves of her hair when Neil came back into the room.

“I take it you’ve come to rake me down?” Beth asked coolly as Neil came up behind her, looking very tall and dark and formidable as she viewed him through the mirror. The rose came free, and she set it aside on the small table that was within reach of her left hand.

He laughed, and his hands closed over her bare shoulders. They were warm, with the suggestion of calluses on the palms and pads of his fingers, and she was acutely conscious of their size and strength. Their eyes met through the mirror.

“You’re very brave, Madame Roux, I’ll give you that.”

“You don’t frighten me, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’ve made that very clear.”

His hands left her shoulders. She shivered involuntarily as she felt a warm finger trail down her back.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” she asked sharply, unable to see.

“Unbuttoning your gown. That’s what Mary was doing, wasn’t she?”

She drew in a quick breath as he took hold of the sides of her bodice and gave them a less-than-gentle tug to bring the edges together sufficiently for him to free the first button. Her heart, she discovered, was beating way too fast. Her knees felt unaccountably weak. She could feel his hands moving down her spine, and the tiny buttons falling prey to them at an alarming pace.

“And what if I were to tell you to stop, and go away?”

“You could try it, and then we’d see.”

“I tell you to your head, I have no intention of explaining my conduct to you.”

“Have I asked for an explanation? Let go of your gown.”

With the last button undone, the fragile garment sagged. Only her hand pressed to her bosom kept it from dropping at her feet.

“Let go of your gown, Beth,” he said again, very softly, his hands sliding inside the opening he had made to rest on either side of her slim waist. She could feel them clear through the layers of her shift and stays.

Their eyes met in the mirror. At what she saw in the glinting black depths, her breath caught. Her heart fluttered. Holding his gaze defiantly, she nevertheless allowed the gown to drop and stepped out of its gleaming folds.

“That’s my girl.” As he shoved the garment aside with his foot, Beth was left to look at herself in the mirror. The creamy globes of her breasts spilled over the gossamer top of her chemise, and beneath them her stays closely hugged her rib cage and nipped her in at the waist until the circumference was so impossibly small that the big, dark hands that rested so possessively there could probably have spanned it. Below her stays, the single petticoat she had most scandalously
dampened hours earlier, though dry now, still clung tenaciously to her legs so that their outline and slender shape might be clearly seen.

He said, “I see a damped petticoat works best when you’re wearing only one.”

He was looking at her through the mirror, too, she saw, and felt her cheeks begin to heat as his eyes lingered on her legs. His hands tightened on her waist, and her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. Then his gaze moved to something behind her back, and his hands moved, too, and she felt him untying the knots that held her stays.

“If you have something to say to me, I wish you would say it and have done.” Her tone was cross as she felt the knot come free and her stays loosened.

“What would I have to say to you?”

Her stays fell into his hands. Dropping them on the floor, he reached for the tapes of her single petticoat.

“It’s perfectly clear that you are angry about . . . what you saw.”

The petticoat dropped next, to be stepped out of and shoved aside. She was left to face the mirror in nothing but the filmy chemise that ended at the tops of her thighs and the white silk stockings that were tied up with blue garters above her knees. To her mingled shock and dismay, she felt her nipples tighten and saw that they now jutted wantonly through the thin fabric. Watching his eyes slide over her, she felt the beginnings of the hot, sweet quickening he had ignited in her before, and fought the urge to wet her lips. That he meant to undress her down to the skin now seemed perfectly clear. At the thought, her breathing grew erratic and her fingers curled into impotent fists. She didn’t know whether to stop this right now or not. She didn’t know if she wanted to stop it. She didn’t know if she could.

“Let us be precise, if you please. Cluny kissing you is what you’re referring to.”

Crouching behind her, he slid a stocking down her leg, garter and all. Through the mirror, Beth looked at his dark, bent head, and the breadth of his shoulders, and the powerful lines of his arms and legs, and felt her pulse go haywire.

“Step out,” he told her in an aside as the stocking reached her ankle, and she did.

“Very well, then, it’s perfectly clear that you’re angry about Cluny kissing me.” She kept her head high and her voice strong as he did the same to her second stocking. The feel of his warm fingers sliding so intimately down her bare leg sent swarms of electricity coursing over her skin.

“You will at least own that I have every right to be angry.”

He straightened as he spoke, and their eyes met again in the mirror. He moved closer to her until she could feel his big body against her back. His hands slid slowly down her arms and back up again.

With his gaze on her, she barely repressed a shiver.

“I do not own that at all,” she said, her voice a cold counterpoint to the waves of heat that now undulated inside her.

“Then your notion of how a wife—particularly my wife—is expected to conduct herself as regards other men needs some adjusting.” His hands closed without warning on the hem of her chemise, and he pulled it up and over her head. “But then, we haven’t been married very long, have we? I’ve no doubt you’ll soon get in the way of it.”

“I don’t . . .”

As she caught the first shocking look at herself in the mirror sans chemise, what she had been going to say was lost. Her immediate impulse was to jerk free of the black-clad arm that was now curved firmly around her waist and find something, anything, with which to cover herself.

“No, don’t pull away from me.” There was a sudden husky undertone to his voice that caused her loins to clench and release in a hot, convulsive rhythm. The arm circling her waist tightened, but there was no need. After that first abortive attempt, she didn’t try to get away from him again. “Look in the mirror.”

She looked, heart pounding, at herself standing there naked in front of him, facing the mirror and held in place by his hard arm circling her waist. Then she looked past herself to his tall form, still fully clad in the evening clothes he’d worn to Almack’s, so much larger and
stronger than she was that the idea of any physical contest between them was laughable, and met his eyes.