Her Officer and Gentleman (16 page)

“Anything else?” Christian asked grimly, setting the billiard stick to one side.

“No. Not if you wish entry into Massingale House.”

Christian rubbed his fingers together, his mind working furiously. He had no wish to include Beth in all his plans. It was not only inconvenient, but it could also be dangerous. “What if I say no?”

“Then not only will I not help you, but I will go straight to Grandfather and divulge all you’ve told me.” Her gaze pinned his. “You will never, ever find a way into Massingale House if you don’t agree.”

“Damn you.” The words were out before he knew it.

She flushed, and he immediately regretted his temper. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You seem to think I’m out to harm your grandfather for no reason. I have no wish to hurt anyone other than the person responsible for my mother’s death.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I suppose I would do the same, if it had been my mother. At least we understand one another in that respect.”

“Then we are partners,” Christian said with a smile.

“Uneasy partners.”

“Oh, it will get easier. We have but to become used to one another.” His gaze fell on the billiard table. “Have you ever played?”

“What?”

“Billiards. Have you ever played?”

“Oh. There is a table at my grandfather’s, but I have not touched it in months.”

“Let us play then.”

She appeared aghast. “Now?”

“Why not? If we are to begin on an adventure together, surely it would behoove us to learn a bit more about one another. What better way than a game of billiards?”

“Westerville, you just told me you suspect my grandfather of sending false evidence to the Crown about your mother, evidence that put her in gaol where she eventually died. That does not make me want to play billiards.”

“Nothing can be answered at this moment, so you might as well enjoy a game of billiards with me.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the table. He was now directly behind her, the curve of her bottom beguilingly near. His legs brushed her skirts. “First lesson—how to control the stick.”

Christian reached around her and placed the pole in her hands, arranging her fingers to clasp it correctly. His body pressed intimately to the back of hers.

Beth had to fight a shiver as his warmth began to seep through her thin skirts. Her mind was awhirl with the accusations he’d made. The only reason she hadn’t raised her voice and called him a liar was his own calm, deadly sure demeanor. Wrong he might be, but he truly believed what he said. It was sobering and just the tiniest bit frightening.

She knew why he’d suggested the lesson in billiards; the silence had been just as difficult for her. But still, her heart was not in it. “My lord, I don’t really feel like playing right now—”

“Shush,” he said, one arm reaching around her to grasp the billiard pole. His hand closed over hers on the stick, his fingers warm against her bare skin. “It is an honor to assist such a lovely woman.” His voice brushed over her and sent a thousand trembles across her skin.

Beth bit her lip as she stared blankly at his hand where it encircled hers. Large and well formed, it completely engulfed hers. She moved her fingers the slightest bit and was rewarded when he rubbed her hand with his own.

“I-I—” Beth swallowed. “Your skin is rough, my lord.” She glanced back over her shoulder, up into his eyes. “They are not the hands of a gentleman.”

She hadn’t meant it as an insult. Indeed, she rather liked the feeling of skin that had experienced life and accomplished untold deeds to be bared against her own.

But his eyes flared at her words, his lips thinning ominously, his hand tightening almost painfully over hers. “I have the hands fate has given me.” With that he slid his hands off hers and below them on the stick.

That was all the explanation he proffered. All the explanation she was going to get. But somehow, she knew she’d wounded him and in a way that went far deeper than it seemed. Impulsively, she lifted the stick, bringing up his hand. She then placed her cheek against his fingers. Beth
closed her eyes and willed away the pain she heard in his voice, saw in his eyes.

For the longest moment, Christian just stared at her, too bemused to react.

He’d been with many women. Had shared laughter and talk among pillows and candles. He’d made love to them for hours on end and listened to their stories—sad and happy both. And yet no moment in all of those moments had he ever felt as close to a woman as he did here, now, fully dressed, and—so far—following the dictates of polite society.

It was the oddest, most painfully dear sensation he’d ever felt. All he could do was look down at her as she pressed her soft, warm cheek to the back of his hand, her fingers delicately latched on to the billiard stick below his.

She sighed, her breath sweet on his skin, then lifted her head, her rich brown eyes even darker now, filled with a mysterious emotion. “I am sorry. I did not mean to imply anything negative. I just meant that—”

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all,” he said, trying hard to get his bearings. What was he supposed to be doing here? Oh yes. He’d come to seduce her, to entrance her into giving up her secrets. Instead, he’d blurted out the truth and allowed her to set the terms of a partnership. And now he was losing complete control of his entire plan.

Shaking his head, he moved the stick until it pointed to the table. “Are you ready to play billiards? It is a confounded game, but addictive.”

Disappointment flickered through her eyes, but
she nodded, “Of course. I’ve played it before, though not often.”

“I will show you a few tricks.” He leaned forward slightly, his legs pressing against the backs of hers. It was funny, but she always seemed so much taller than she was. Her head barely reached his chin, the sweet fragrance of jasmine and lavender tickling his nose and making him want to bury his face in her thick, honey-colored curls.

In fact, as he leaned forward, he could just brush his cheek against her hair and—

Good God! What the hell was wrong with him? Christian grasped his wandering imagination and firmly put it back in place. He had things to do here other than seduce a maid for his own pleasure, damn it. If they were to work together and untangle the mystery of his mother, then the last thing he needed to do was make her feel uneasy in his presence.

“Westerville?”

Her voice was soft, diffident even. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent and capturing it for his own. “Yes?”

A twinkle lurked in her brown eyes. “Shall we make a wager? Ten pounds, perhaps.”

“On what?”

She pointed to the billiard table. “On this shot. It looks easy enough.”

He glanced down. “Though it may look like it, that is not an easy shot.”

“All I have to do is make the ball go over there”—she used the stick to indicate a spot on the
far side of the table—“and then roll over here.” She pointed to the leather netting that covered a corner pocket, her warmly curved rump rubbing against him as she did so.

It took Christian a moment to collect himself before he replied, “You can’t make that shot.”

She turned her head to smile up at him. “I think I can. Shall we wager? It will make the effort worthwhile.”

He had to smile at her innocence. “It’s far more difficult than it looks, but…if you insist—”

She bent, eyed the table, and then clicked the end of the pole into the ball.

It banked, spun, and danced into the corner pocket so neatly, he knew it could not be luck.

Beth turned then to face him, peeping up at him through her lashes, a devilish grin in her eyes. “You owe me ten pounds.”

He’d been taken. Robbed like a newly born babe left in the woods for the wolves to ravage. For a moment, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept it. Suddenly, he was back in the streets, a lost and frightened urchin of ten, fighting for every piece of moldy bread he managed to steal. He’d learned then about mockery and the coldness of human nature; he knew the devastating feeling of trusting someone, only to awake in the morning, what little you possessed gone.

He had fought tooth and nail to be the victor and not the victim. The thin veil of civility he’d been wearing for so long ripped into a thousand shreds. Suddenly, he wanted more. More than a smile. More than a kiss.

He pressed against her, pushing her back, against the edge of the table.

Her eyes widened. “Westerville, what—”

Christian kissed her. Not gently as before. This kiss was fueled by passion and need. By the fact that he’d opened himself to her and she had, in return, mocked his attempts. The kiss was harsh and passionate, a fiery outburst against the forces that had pressed his life into this vise of longing and lust.

Through a haze of red heat, he became aware of Elizabeth pressing back against him, clutching him with the same need and desperation. Her response rippled through him, fanning his passions to new heights, devouring his resistance and pressing him forward.

Her hands clutched at his coat. He splayed his hands over her back, then lower, holding her to him, pressing his erect manhood against her. Her breathing sounded harsh in his ear, matching his own. He lifted her, setting her on the edge of the billiard table, his thighs spreading hers.

She gasped against his ear and he bent his mouth to her neck where he traced a heated path down the sensitive line of her throat. Her head fell back and her knees rose the slightest bit. He pressed himself against her, his hand threading into her hair. It was savage, harsh. She was his, damn it. And always had been.

He could feel her thudding heart, the heat of her skin through the thin silk gown she wore. He wondered what she’d look like without the gown. He immediately had a picture of her reclining on
his bed, his pillows piled beneath her, her thick, blond hair curling across the mattress like a river of honey.

Her skin would gleam whiter than the sheets, her eyes dark with passion as he brought her to the brink of desire over and over and over.

Waves of heated lust rippled through him. And he traced a hand along her thigh, admiring the plumpness of her. She was a
lush
woman, this one. Delicious and ripe. Christian didn’t think he’d ever stop reveling in such richness. Such wanton passion.

He lifted his head long enough to look into her eyes, now smoky dark with passion. “This is why we were brought together.” He rubbed himself against her, pressing forward. “This is what we were made for.”

Beth gasped at the onslaught of heated desire that raced through her, robbing her legs of stiffness, imbuing her body with an insufferable heat. She should resist him. She knew it. But somehow, she could not. All she wanted was to feel him, experience the wildness he brought into her life, taste the freedom that rested always on his lips.

She pulled his mouth to hers, throwing herself into the kiss with a wild abandon that grew by the moment. At first, he’d been the one to press their contact, but within seconds, she was leaning toward him, pressing her hips to him, her hands sliding over him, restlessly tugging, pulling, moving. She didn’t know what exactly she wanted except that the kiss had ignited a fire. She wanted
more even though she wasn’t quite sure what that “more” was.

For his part, Christian was overwhelmed. She exploded beneath his ministrations, seeming to grow more powerful, more womanly with each touch of his lips and hands. It was intoxicating, maddening, and furiously sensual.

Christian knew he had to stop. But couldn’t. He was afire for her, burning inside and out for the taste of her. He moaned against her lips, sliding his hands around to cup her gently against him, letting her feel his erection against the soft planes of her stomach.

It was a bold move, one destined to make a timid wench turn and run. But Beth was not timid. Instead of recoiling, she moaned against his mouth and instinctively rocked her hips back and forth against his hardness.

Christian’s breath caught in his throat. By Zeus, but she was magnificent! He could barely contain his excitement, his desire.

Her hands tugged furiously at his waist, drawing him closer and closer still, unwittingly fanning his passion with her own. Her skirts ruched up, her legs locked about him. All he had to do was reach down, untie his breeches, release his manhood, and she would be his. He reached down to tug on the tie—

The door opened. “Good God! Unhand her, now!”

Christian pulled Elizabeth off the table, wrapping his arms about her and hiding her face, the
cloud of lust that had fogged his brain instantly dispelled. Standing in the doorway, eyes wide, stood Beth’s cousin with her husband at her side. Both of their faces mirrored shock and horror.

But it was the face that peered over their shoulders that made Christian grit his teeth. It was that of Sally Jersey, the ton’s worst gossip. She looked furious rather than horrified.

A tight, cruel grin touched her wide mouth. “Well, Westerville! Had I known you enjoyed billiards so, I would have offered to let you use the table at my house!”

C
hristian walked into his house to find the front hallway empty. He shoved out of his coat and tossed it on a chair, stalking to his library. “Reeves!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

A stately trod was heard almost immediately. Reeves appeared just as Christian reached his library. The butler followed him into the room. “My lord, we were not expecting you for hours yet! Has there been some mishap?”

Christian splashed a liberal amount of port into a glass and tossed it back. Then he poured another.

Reeves’s brows rose. “Well,” he finally said into the silence. “If it is that bad, perhaps you had best tell me what has occurred.”

Christian shot the butler a dark look. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“I see. So you called me in to watch you partake.” The butler composed himself, hands folded before him, an expression of extreme interest on his face. “Pray continue.”

Christian slammed his glass onto the table. “This is not a laughing matter. I did as you forewarned. I-I ruined her, Reeves.”

The butler raised his brows. “Lady Elizabeth?”

Christian nodded. “We were at the Devonshire Musicale and—” He slumped in his chair.

Reeves went to the sideboard and found a decanter. He brought it to Christian and refilled the glass, then placed the decanter at his elbow. “Here, my lord. Try this.”

Christian took a long pull of his drink—then promptly coughed, choking furiously.

Reeves thunked his back.

“Ow!” Christian glared at the butler. “Must you do that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Christian pointed to his abandoned glass. “What the hell did you pour in there?”

“Ratafia.”

“Rataf—Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?” Ratafia was a thick liquor that was overly sweet and shudderingly nauseating.

“No, my lord. I merely thought it unwise for you to visit the Duke of Massingale and request
his granddaughter’s hand in marriage while intoxicated.” Reeves replaced the stopper on the decanter and carried it back to the sideboard. “His Lordship would not appreciate such a display.”

Christian scowled. “I am not going to offer for Lady Elizabeth’s hand.”

“No?” Reeves’s gaze met his steadily. “What do you think the trustees will think of such behavior?”

Christian raked a hand through his hair. Damn the trustees. Reeves was right yet again, blast the irritating butler to hell and back. Christian had no choice, none at all. Within a day, maybe less, the Duke of Massingale would descend upon the Rochester London House and demand satisfaction, raising all sorts of racket. The entire town would know the story soon enough, anyway, unless Christian had misread the irritation in Lady Jersey’s eyes.

“Damn, damn, damn.” Christian covered his eyes with his hands. Why had he allowed his lust to rage out of control? To his chagrin, he found that even with his hands over his eyes and a good dose of port in his stomach, he could still see Beth’s expression as her cousin burst in on them in the billiard room.

What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, truth be known. Not a bit. He’d been led on by his urges, something he hadn’t allowed to happen since he’d been a youth.

He’d already won his battle in so many ways. Reeves had been right—telling the lady the truth had opened doors, not closed them. And what had he done but let his lusty thoughts overwhelm
him? Of course, when one was with a woman like Elizabeth—so lush and damned intelligent—it took more self-control than he possessed to keep his distance. She beckoned him with every sway of her rounded hips, teased him with every sharp comment and glance. It was more than a man could bear.

Christian scowled. “Reeves, I absolutely
detest
it when you are right.”

“Yes, my lord. It is a great burden to me, as well. However, I am certain that once you think things through you will realize it is not a matter for despair. Lady Elizabeth is a lovely woman. Most men would be delighted to form such a connection.”

“I don’t wish to marry,” Christian said stubbornly. “And if I did, she would not want such a thing, herself.”

“Why not? You are quite handsome, polite under most circumstances, and bathe more than any man I’ve known.”

“Thank you,” Christian said dryly. “Unfortunately, I also believe her beloved grandfather a liar and murderer.”

“And she knows this?”

“She does now. I told her everything and asked her to assist me in finding the evidence.”

“What did she reply?”

“She agreed, though her purpose is to prove her grandfather’s innocence. Still…I had finally gained my entry into Massingale House, and now I would that I had anything but.”

Reeves pursed his lips. “It is a very complicated situation.”

Christian gave a mirthless laugh. “Beth loves her grandfather dearly. I see it in her eyes every time she talks about him.” He looked down at his hand where it lay fisted on his knee. “She will not wish to be aligned with a man who feels thusly about her grandfather.”

Reeves paused, his blue eyes intent. “That concerns you.”

Christian didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Yes, it does, though I do not know why.”

An odd wave of loneliness swept over him, pulling down his shoulders. He wished his mother were alive; somehow he rather thought she’d have loved Beth. He frowned at the directions his thoughts were taking. Good God, but he was maudlin. “Enough of this.”

He stood and paced a short distance, then back. God, what a mess. What a horrid, awful mess. But there was nothing for it. He stopped before Reeves. “I shall go to see the duke this evening.”

“It will take a little over an hour to reach his home.”

Christian looked at Reeves.

The butler smiled and shrugged. “I made inquiries for the day you might wish to make the trip.”

“I will ride Lucifer. It will not take long then.”

“Yes, my lord. What will you say to the duke? You have ruined his granddaughter. He is not likely to welcome you with open arms.”

“He will rail, I’ve no doubt. But then he will accept my suit; her reputation is now in shatters.” Christian thought of Sally Jersey’s delighted
expression. Word was even now spreading throughout London. He, more than most, knew the price society could impose on those who had fallen from favor. He would not allow Elizabeth to suffer the ignominy of being shunned as his mother had been. “I will marry her as soon as possible.”

“But what if you determine that your suspicions about her grandfather are true? She may never forgive you.”

“Damn it, Reeves! Do you think I don’t know that? I have no choice in the matter and neither does she. If I do not bring my mother’s betrayer to justice, I will never forgive myself.”

Reeves pursed his lips. “My lord, may I make a suggestion?”

“Not after pouring ratafia into my glass.”

The butler smiled. He crossed to the sideboard, collected a fresh glass and a decanter of port, and set them on the table by Christian. “Allow me to make amends.”

Christian gratefully poured himself another glass of port, though only a little. He sighed as the liquid slid down his throat.

“My lord, I suggest you use the same strategy with Massingale that you used with his granddaughter. When you go to ask for her hand in marriage, admit your attraction for her.”

“I have never admitted to you that I find her attractive.”

“You didn’t have to. It was quite obvious in your voice. That was why I kept warning you of using innocents in your plan.”

Christian rubbed a hand over face. “I wish I’d
realized how strong that attraction was. I’ve never felt—Reeves, it is the most amazing thing.”

The butler nodded. “Love sometimes surprises us.”

Christian cut an amazed glance at the butler. “Love?” he snapped. “I didn’t say anything about love!”

“No, my lord. You didn’t. I believe that was my contribution.”

“I don’t need contributions like that.”

“Yes, my lord,” Reeves said obediently. “The duke will be angry with you for what has occurred with his granddaughter, but if you honestly admit your attraction to her, he will have to understand. I daresay he thinks as highly of Lady Elizabeth as she thinks of him.”

Christian sighed. “You are right. Damn it! This was not how I’d planned this.”

“No, my lord. You are far too intelligent to come up with such a hurly-burly plan.”

“Thank you,” Christian allowed a smile to touch his lips, though he knew it was bitter and hard. “This situation is temporary. Once I have proof of her grandfather’s perfidy, Lady Elizabeth and I will part ways.”

Reeves’s frown deepened. “My lord?”

Christian met Reeves’s gaze, a strange desperation filling his heart. “She will wish it no other way. Of that, I am certain.”

Harry walked back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Every third trip or so, he’d stop, look at Beth, close his
eyes as if to dispel her image, then glumly turn back to his pacing.

It was horrid. Each time he looked at her, Beth wished the ground beneath her chair would open and swallow her whole, but no such luck was to be had.

Sad as Harry’s reaction was, it was not nearly as bad as Beatrice’s. Upon finding Beth and Westerville locked in an embrace on the billiard table at the Devonshire Musicale, Beatrice had promptly gasped, screamed, and then fallen into a senseless heap at Lady Jersey’s feet.

Nothing could have been more ruinous. Beatrice’s scream drew attention and brought even more people to peek over their shoulders where Beth was frantically attempting to put herself to rights while Westerville glared at their audience with a white fury that even now sent a shiver through her.

He’d been horridly silent except when Harry had, in a rather stiff voice, requested Lady Jersey’s silence. The viscount had interrupted the request with a short, derisive laugh that had quite set up Her Ladyship’s hackles. It had been a very poor move for there was no hiding the malice that shone from Sally Jersey’s eyes at his dismissal.

The next hour had passed in a blur. Westerville had refused to acknowledge Harry’s demands for satisfaction, made a bow to Beth, told her that he would visit her soon, and then taken his leave. Slowly, the crowd had dispersed, including the horrid Lady Jersey. After taking a rather red-faced
leave of their host and hostess, Beth, Beatrice, and Harry had finally returned home.

Once there, they had retired to the sitting room, and there they’d been ever since, turning the horrible event over and over, wishing for a solution. None was forthcoming. Beth must face Grandfather and tell him the truth.

As bad as the night had been, today was going to be an even longer day. Beth did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she feared at any moment she might do both.

From where she lay on the settee, Beatrice moaned loudly, her smelling salts clutched in one hand. “I cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe this.”

Beth rubbed her head where it had begun to ache. She couldn’t believe it, either. She’d known she had to avoid the viscount. She’d known it and yet, somehow, she’d failed to do it. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that there was a deeply sensual connection between herself and Westerville. She didn’t really know how to describe it…only that it existed.

Still, that did not explain what had happened in the billiard room. Beth rubbed her temples wearily. What had happened was a mixture of passion, attraction, and—strangely enough—anger. It had been a heady, thoroughly irresistible mix.

Beatrice moaned. “I cannot believe this. All is ruined.”

“No,” Harry said, pacing wildly. “There must be something that can be done. I cannot allow that all is lost.”

“It’s lost, Harry,” Beatrice said, sniffing loudly, and waving her handkerchief as she spoke. “Lost, lost, lost! The second he hears what has happened, my great uncle will descend upon the house and—oh, I don’t know what he will do!” Tears threatened. “But he will be so angry with me for failing to take care of Beth!”

“He will not be angry with you at all,” Beth said quietly. “Nor you, Harry. He knows I am no milk and bread miss to be taken at a glance. What I did, I did myself, and no one else will pay for it.”

Beatrice’s lips quivered. “The duke will blame me for—”

“He will not! I will see to it that he knows this is entirely my fault.”

“No,” Harry said grimly. “It is Westerville’s fault and so your grandfather will say.”

“I am not a child to be led astray. I knew exactly what I was doing.” She’d been lost in a blaze of passion unlike anything she’d ever dreamed or read of. But had she wished it, she could have stopped the entire incident. Westerville was many things, but he had never forced her in any way. He may have been annoyingly
present
and perhaps a
little
demanding—deliciously so, in fact—but nothing more.

She sighed. “I shall speak to Grandfather and—”

“No!” Beatrice said, swinging her feet to the floor and slumping wearily against the cushions on the settee. “Let Harry deal with it. He will travel to Massingale House as soon as he’s had breakfast and will let the duke know what’s occurred.”

Harry stopped his pacing, turning to Beth. “Yes. I will tell the duke how that—that—that person tricked you into—”

Beth stood. “
No.
You will
not
tell Grandfather that because it would be untrue. I knew
exactly
what I was doing.”

Harry’s expression softened. “Beth, my dear, Westerville is an experienced seducer. You don’t know how these things work, but trust me on this, he is not what you think him.”

“I know enough to realize that what you are saying isn’t true. This was not Westerville’s fault at all. I just—”

“Beth!” Beatrice exploded, throwing herself to her feet. “How can you stand there and defend that man? Especially after the way he simply left? Without a word! Not even—an apology or—” Beatrice pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Do not look at me that way, Beth. I know what I am talking about. An honorable man would have been here first light, ready to make things right. But where is he, I ask you?”

“I don’t—”