A Convenient Bride (20 page)

“Brenna,” he warned.

She did not stop until the bodice gaped open and her full breasts were teetering at the edge of spilling over her corset and chemise. His heated eyes were locked on her, his breathing shallow. She trailed her fingertips over the soft tops of her breasts.

“You want me,” she said, and pushed her gown down over her hips to puddle at her feet. She reached for the corset. Thankfully, this one laced at the front. Soon, the item joined the gown on the floor.

“You must stop this.” His protest was without bite.

“I will not.” She tugged at the chemise, and the straps fell down her arms. Her breasts were covered with only the thin fabric. She lifted the hem and removed her stockings. She thought she heard a low groan. Soon, she was wearing nothing but her chemise.

Slowly, and what she hoped was seductively, she strolled toward him, her eyes locked on his. “We will not leave this room until you have loved me passionately and thoroughly.”

He grumbled under his breath, but his eyes were already removing the chemise. She stopped and let one side of the chemise slip down, exposing one breast. Without hesitation, his hand closed over the rounded flesh in a firm caress.

“How thorough is thorough?” His mouth followed his hand as he bent and tugged her nipple gently between his teeth. She moaned and tangled her fingertips in his hair.

“At least once,” she breathed. “Possibly twice, if you are willing.”

Expelling an exasperated sound, he bent and carried her to the desk. “You are a temptress, a witch.”

Richard sat her on the surface and reached for the neckline of the chemise. Renting it easily with a jerk, the cloth fell away. A laugh-gasp escaped her. He leaned to kiss her other breast, kneading the first with his hand.

“You are a seductive rogue,” she countered, breathlessly.

The rain of kisses and caresses sent shivers through her as he moved eagerly down her body, like a man feasting after a long period of deprivation. He was no fop, her husband. His calloused hands, rough and certain, teased and tempted her, moving to places they ought not. When his fingertips found and breached her feminine folds, she nearly came off the desk.

“Richard,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

She was certain she heard him chuckle as he teased her to little delighted moans. When she climaxed, she slumped back on the smooth surface, watching him through half-open eyelids as he jerked off his cravat and his remaining clothes.

Before she could offer encouragement, he was inside her, holding her legs as he plundered her heat. She reached for him as he leaned over her, rocking against her, her eyes watching the passion build on his face.

For a second time, her pleasure peaked. She offered little nonsensical words of encouragement, giving a final gasp as they found release together.

Expecting him to close himself off from her as was his want, instead he reached to lift her into his arms and carried her to the rug before the fireplace. Lowering her onto the plush surface, he joined her, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Brenna curled up against him and laid her head on his chest. His hand caressed her back.

“We are quite a pair,” she said softly. “When I chased after you, I never expected this.”

“Our marriage of convenience is proving anything but convenient,” he agreed. “It would be better for us both if you went back to London. It would ease the temptation.”

Rising up slightly, she looked into his eyes. “I know you have doubts about me, our baby, everything. You steel yourself against us, unwilling to risk your heart. But I am not going back to London, not when I have everything I want here.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I do not ask for your love. I only ask that you give this marriage your full consideration.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I suppose I owe you that much.”

It wasn’t a declaration of affection or a strong affirmation that she was not foolish for thinking they had a chance at happiness. However, he wasn’t pushing her away and reaching for his clothes. That in itself was a victory.

Smiling, she rose onto her knees and straddled him. She leaned to press a light kiss on his mouth. Her breasts teased him, and she felt his cock twitch.

“I know we agreed to a marriage of convenience, yet I think denying our pleasure is foolish. It isn’t as though we risk a child. That deed is done.” Brenna wriggled against his erection. He reached for her breasts. “I will not lock my door. You are welcome to have me whenever you wish.”

Mischief welled in his eyes. “You may not want to make that offer, mistress. I can be most demanding.”

She slid her hand between them and eased him inside her. “I shall take my chances,” she said softly, and impaled herself on his manly sword.

G
ood evening, my dears, Richard.” The man paused and stared at Brenna, his handsome face showing his surprise. “And the lovely new addition to our supper table.” The stranger crossed the room and stopped beside Brenna’s chair.

Bending, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Had I known what was awaiting me at home, I’d have returned sooner.”

Knowing a rake when she heard one, Brenna accepted his attention with patience, as she suspected this was the missing George. Dressed impeccably in a dark blue coat and matching waistcoat, she wondered if her husband paid the bills for the expensive clothing.

“Please do tell me you have come to marry me and make me the happiest man in all England?”

Brenna resisted rolling her eyes. She suspected that there were dozens of women all over these fair shores who had received the same proposal. Still, he was charming.

This explained why Mrs. Beal did not like him. Effusive charm would not appeal to the sensible housekeeper.

“I fear you are too late,” she said, amused, as his face fell. “I am already wed.”

“She is my wife.” Richard’s voice was tight. Clearly, he did not appreciate George fawning over his wife. “Lady Ashwood, this is Mister George Bentley.”

With a most exaggerated sigh, George bowed low over her hand and returned it to her. “Such is the bane of my existence. I am always a step behind.”

A feminine cough from down the table saved Brenna from a response. She knew nothing about the man and wasn’t certain what to think of him or how to proceed without giving encouragement. She suspected he was the sort who’d not let marriage vows deter a courtship.

“Brother, do sit down,” Bethany said sharply. “You have already disrupted our meal.”

George glowered at his sister, who returned the gesture in kind. Then he claimed the seat across from Brenna and sat.

The rest of the meal was taken up with news of George’s adventure to Dover. While Richard scowled at his houseguest, the three women enjoyed tales of horse races and gambling and an ill-fated courtship; most of his animated buffoonery was directed at Brenna and the reason for Richard’s scowl.

Once his tale was told, his face grew grim. “Alas, there was one sad note, in an otherwise enjoyable adventure.” He paused dramatically until all eyes were upon him. “A maid was found dead at the base of the cliffs. The constable believed she either fell…or was pushed.”

Miriam gasped. “How horrible.”

“Indeed it was,” George agreed. “My friend Stewart, who lives in Dover, has promised to keep me abreast of the investigation.”

A sober mood fell over the room. Brenna leaned forward
and frowned. “Another maid was found at the bottom of the stairs in Bath last spring. It was determined to be an accident.”

“I remember that case,” Bethany added. She twirled a ring on her finger. “Do you think neither was an accident, and that a killer is murdering maids all over England?”

“Nonsense,” Richard interjected. “The two incidents were in two different cities, far apart. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman has taken a tumble down a flight of stairs or gotten too close to the edge of a cliff. To take a leap to a crazed killer of maids is ridiculous.”

“Still…,” George said low and for dramatic affect. “We must make sure our doors and windows are locked and our maids safely tucked in behind these walls at night, lest the grim reaper comes to call.”

Miriam’s eyes were wide. “I shan’t sleep a wink tonight.”

“See what you have done with your tale of murder?” Richard said, with his eyes hard on George. “Every time a shutter rattles, the hall will be filled with terrified female shrieks.”

Brenna reached for her teacup. “I promise I’ll not shriek over rattling shutters, if that sets your mind at ease.”

Richard motioned for dessert to be served. “Unless there is proof a killer is connected to the two cases, we should accept that these are two unfortunate accidents and be done with this silly speculation.”

Taken to task, the foursome let the matter drop. Still, even Brenna wondered how well she would sleep.

As a child, she had loved ghost stories and tales of the grim fates of unwary travelers who vanished on fog-shrouded roads. Still, no matter how much she enjoyed having her wits scared out of her, she could never sleep well for several nights after. And though what Richard said made sense, she suspected her night would be spent listening for those rattling shutters.

When the last dish was cleared away, the group gathered in the parlor. Bethany played the pianoforte with skill, and the rest of the conversations progressed on a lighter note.

Later, when Brenna was abed and Richard joined her there, she rolled onto her side and watched him stoke the fire.

“Isn’t there a small part of you who thinks a grim reaper
could be wandering around England killing unsuspecting maids?” she asked, drawing an exasperated stare. She smiled. “It certainly made for entertaining supper fare.”

“George is a dolt. He takes pleasure from commanding the attention of the room.” Richard stood and walked barefoot, and naked, to the bed. Brenna watched him, admiring his perfect male form. He climbed in beside her. “When I was a child, my uncle used to tell us tales of young boys gone missing on moonless nights, to keep us from sneaking out of our beds and making mischief. Not once do I recall a single missing boy, here or elsewhere.”

He lowered himself over her and kissed her nose. Brenna circled his neck with her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. Richard grinned under her seeking mouth.

“If you promise not to talk about murder, I promise to give you something else to occupy your mind.”

When she nodded happily, he did as he vowed, and later, she slept quite soundly.

B
renna spent the rest of the week certain she was dying, while Lucy assured her that the nausea would pass and all would be well. Richard removed anything pickled or curdled from her sight, but nothing eased her symptoms.

“You are not dying,” Richard assured her.

Lifting the damp cloth from her face, she narrowed her lids. “You do not know that.”

He tried desperately to keep a sober expression. “Unless you are crushed beneath a tipping chamber pot, we can assume you are in no immediate threat of expiration.”

Groaning, she dropped the cloth back over her eyes. “I can see I’m to expect no sympathy from you.” She felt the bed move under his weight. He lifted a corner of the cloth.

“I would take your misery upon myself if I could.”

His sincerity touched her. “I believe you mean what you say, Husband.”

“That I do.” He patted her thigh and took his leave. Brenna replaced the cloth over her closed eyes.

A few minutes later, Lucy climbed onto the bed with her. “I see there will be no more pickled eel.” She sighed deeply. “I do adore eel.”

Brenna grumbled. “How much longer can I keep the babe a secret? George, Bethany, and Miriam didn’t seem to notice
the change in fare, but the maids will begin to wonder why my stomach ailment has no end.”

“Thankfully, as a new member of the household, you can eat as many pastries as you wish without drawing notice.”

Brenna tossed the cloth away. “Though I am still slender, the laces of my corset do not cinch as tightly as before. By my calculation, it won’t be long before I can no longer hide beneath high waistlines and a flowing skirt.”

Lucy pulled her from the bed, and they left the room. “You will strain His Lordship’s purse strings with the excess cloth needed to make your gowns.”

“I do not find you amusing. I cannot imagine waddling about the house like a pregnant bovine,” Brenna groused, as she and Lucy walked down the staircase, arm in arm. Richard was talking to a maid in the foyer. “My cousin Eva is barely able to rise from a chair without a pair of footmen and her husband helping her up.”

Lucy gave her a sidelong look. “I am certain that is an exaggeration.”

“Not by far.” Brenna looked at her husband, casually dressed in dun-colored trousers and a deep blue coat. Her breath caught. Then, “My mother said she could clear a wide path when she was pregnant with me. I expect to be the same.”

“You will be lovely.”

Brenna smiled for Richard as they neared. “I hope my husband thinks so,” she whispered.

Richard stepped forward. “I know what will lift your mood, Brenna. A picnic. It is a fine day, and I have advised Cook to only pack the blandest food available.”