The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (16 page)

Miss Mountjoy’s hands had become claws, gripping the arms of her chair. Her face and neck had turned grey. In the space of moments, she had shrunk from a
handsome woman to a desiccated husk. ‘You are a devil! I hope you rot in hell!’

‘And you are—’ He gave a snort of mirthless laughter and shook his head. ‘No, we will not discuss that. So…what do you propose to do now?’

‘What choice do I have?’

‘None.’

‘You wish me to leave King’s Portbury?’

‘I do.’

‘Very well. I will go. I will leave before the next quarter day.’

‘That seems an eminently sensible solution. And the other matter?’

She seemed to shrink even more. ‘I will say nothing. You leave me no choice.’

‘Quite so, ma’am. Let me add, however, that if any rumours should arise, from any quarter, about the conduct of my late wife, the annuity payable to Miss Louisa Mountjoy—wherever she is and whatever name she may trade under—will cease on the spot. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes,’ she said, in a small, crushed voice. ‘There will be no rumours, and no gossip. I shall not trouble you again.’

Jon crossed to pull the bell, but thought better of it. His first marriage had been a disaster, largely because of Louisa Mountjoy’s liaison with his wife. But, even so, he could not parade her defeat before the servants. ‘You are distressed, ma’am, which is understandable.’ He could not help his icy tone. The woman would have ruined him if she could. ‘I will leave you here to regain your composure. My butler will return in a quarter of an
hour to show you out. I suggest we do not meet again.’ With a curt nod, he strode to the door and left her.

In the corridor outside, he almost fell over his wife. ‘Beth! I…I did not expect to see you down so early.’ She was looking remarkably alluring, in a gown of palest pink trimmed with flounces. Another one of those expensive fripperies he had encouraged her to buy in London. They all became her much too well.

She dropped him a curtsy. ‘Good morning, my lord. I wonder if I might have a word with you?’ She sounded unusually determined.

Jon wondered what had caused her change of mood. Last night, when they had been together in her chamber, she had been so soft, so yielding… Not at all like this stern young matron.

‘Might we go into your library? Where we may speak in private?’

That pulled him up short. ‘Er…no. Not the library. It is not— That is to say, Miss Mountjoy is in there.’

Beth stiffened and grew a little pale.

‘We were discussing a…a matter of business. She will be leaving in a few moments, once she has recovered—’ This would not do. He was tying himself in knots, and for no good reason. He refused to feel guilty about what he had just done to Miss Mountjoy. She deserved it all, and more.

Jon smiled down at Beth and tucked her hand under his arm. ‘The library is too gloomy this morning. Let us leave it to Miss Mountjoy. We can be private in the conservatory, and make the most of the light, besides. Madam, will you walk?’

Beth held herself a little apart as they walked through the house to the conservatory. She did not remove her hand from his arm—that would be much too confrontational—but she certainly could not relax into his touch.

Miss Mountjoy! He had been alone in his library with Louisa Mountjoy! What on earth had they been doing at this time of the day? And why did she have to be left alone there? To recover? From what?

The pictures racing through Beth’s imagination were far from comfortable. Although she had no reason to suspect that Jon and the Mountjoy woman were lovers now, she could not banish the suspicion that they might have been lovers once. Had she come to see him this morning, by appointment, before any of the guests was about? Before his wife was about? It did not bear thinking of. Beth fancied Miss Mountjoy was capable of anything, even seducing a married man.

In total silence, they walked through to the conservatory where Beth let Jon usher her inside. He had been right. By comparison with the rest of the house, it was full of light. It was warm, too, but the myriad of green leaves made it seem cool, and very restful to the senses. Jon pushed aside some of the overhanging branches and led her through to a small clear space where they could be private. There was a white painted bench to one side, but he did not invite her to sit. He simply stopped and faced her.

Now that they were alone, and the moment had come, Beth felt her courage ebbing away. How had she ever
thought she could challenge Jon? She struggled to put a simple sentence together, but no words came.

‘You asked for a private word?’ His tone was gentler than she had expected. Was that because he was guilty about Miss Mountjoy?

The thought of that obnoxious woman in Jon’s embrace gave Beth a degree of courage that surprised her. ‘I understand you have engaged a new valet, sir.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘As mistress of your household, I should have preferred to learn of such a change from you, rather than from the servants.’

He flushed. ‘Good God! First my mother, and now my wife! Since when do I need permission from the women of my household to decide upon my own manservant?’

He was angry. Yet Beth was beginning to know him well enough to suspect that this show of temper was partly a cover for his embarrassment. He must know he was in the wrong over this.

‘Might I ask why you have decided to make the change, sir?’ Beth asked innocently.

Her tone had its effect. He took a deep breath and, when he spoke again, his anger had been replaced by gruffness, as if he were explaining a lesson to a rather stupid child and working hard to control justifiable impatience. ‘I no longer have need of Vernon’s skills. He should serve a single man, the kind of employer who wishes to cut a figure in society. All well and good when I was just returned from Spain, but no longer.’

He reached for Beth’s hand and, to her surprise, raised it to his lips for a gallant kiss. Was that by way of apology for his show of bad temper?

‘Now that I am married, I plan to spend more time in the country.’ His voice was almost normal again. ‘There is much to do here, and at the other estates. A country gentleman has no need of a man like Vernon. Joseph’s skills will be more than adequate, even when I am in town.’

‘You call him “Joseph”?’ Beth said, surprised into betraying herself. Was Jon’s relationship with Joseph as close as Beth’s with Hetty?

He shrugged. ‘We spent a long time together in the Peninsula. For some reason, everyone there used his given name. I fell into the way of it. I accept that it is improper, but— Well, let us see what happens once he has arrived.’

Jon watched the play of emotions crossing Beth’s expressive face. She was clearly intrigued by what he had done and would want to learn more of his relationship with Joseph. What would she think if she learned he had done it for her? His mother had taken it almost as a personal insult. She had even accused Jon of abandoning his station in life. But Jon’s plan had worked. The Dowager was now training her fire on Jon rather than on Beth. Her disdain for Beth’s choice of lady’s maid had been forgotten in her anger at her son’s deliberate flouting of the standards she had instilled in him.

Jon allowed himself an inward smile. He had promised his mother he would deal with the situation. And he had.

At that moment, he became aware that he was still holding Beth’s hand. Shocked at his own weakness, he dropped it. Too abruptly.

Beth flinched as if from a blow. ‘Is Miss Mountjoy
ailing?’ Beth’s voice was cold. ‘Perhaps I should offer my help if she is feeling unwell.’

‘I am sure she will have recovered her composure by now.’ That was the truth, but it was not enough to restore Beth’s confiding mood. If he wanted that, he would have to unbend a little. ‘I must tell you frankly, Beth, that I do not think she would welcome an offer of assistance from either of us.’ There, it was done.

Beth’s eyebrows rose and her eyes widened in apparent disbelief.

In for a penny… ‘I do not wish to malign the lady. She was Alicia’s friend and they had…um…a great regard for each other. However, I find Miss Mountjoy’s continued visits here excessive.’

Beth glanced up at him in surprise and then quickly looked away. Strange. Surely Beth did not actually like the woman? There had been no sign that she did. Given the woman’s history with Alicia, Jon would much prefer to keep his wife and Miss Mountjoy as far apart as possible.

He drew himself up and said, ‘Miss Mountjoy will be leaving King’s Portbury before the next quarter day. I— She has decided that this area is no longer to her taste.’ He had betrayed himself, he realised. There had been too much venom in his voice.

But perhaps not? Beth’s shoulders were no longer so tense, and there was the beginning of a smile on her delicious mouth. The temptation was just too much, especially in a place like this where they could not be observed. Jon dragged her into his arms and began to kiss her.

She stiffened, but only for a second. Then she melted
into his embrace and returned his kiss with more skill than he had thought she possessed. This was not the innocent nymph of the Fratcombe folly. His wife had become a practised and eager seductress.

He knew he should break the kiss, put her from him so that they could resume their proper, public relationship, but her response was so passionate that he could not. Just a little longer exploring her luscious mouth, stroking her hair, her skin, the curve of her breast…Just a little more of the scent and taste of her…

She groaned from deep in her belly and put her hands to the waistband of his pantaloons, fumbling for his buttons. In a moment, there would be no going back.

‘No, Beth.’ He did not recognise his own voice as he pulled away from her. Since the day of their marriage, he had been telling himself to keep his distance from her. Closeness made a man vulnerable, and weak. And closeness to a woman was the most dangerous of all.

She had blushed scarlet. The fingers that had been trying to undress him just a moment ago were now twisting together in embarrassment. She was mortified by what had happened between them.

It had been his mistake as much as hers. ‘Sit down, my dear,’ he said, as gently as he could.

She crossed a little unsteadily to the bench and took her seat. She looked up at him expectantly. Did she think he was about to join her? Poor Beth, marriage had taught her much, but she did not fully understand what drove a man.

He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, best if I stand,’ he said, keeping his tone light. He would focus on practical
things until this interview was over. And then he would avoid Beth for the rest of the day.

‘Now that all our guests are here,’ he began, but stopped when she shook her head. ‘I beg pardon. I thought that—’

‘The Reverend and Mrs Aubrey will not arrive for a few days yet. Do you not recall? The rector wanted to be sure that his curate was not taking on too much of the Christmas burden.’

Jon had completely forgotten the Aubreys. Extraordinary that he should have done so, when he owed them so much. His preoccupation with his wife must be affecting his brain. He took a deep breath and began again. ‘Now that
almost
all the guests are here, we can direct the servants to bring in the greenery to decorate the rooms. The Yule log will wait until Christmas Eve, of course, but there is plenty of mistletoe to amuse the younger guests.’

Mistletoe.
The word hit Beth like a blow. It registered vaguely in her mind that Jon was still talking to her, but she could no longer hear what he was saying.
Mistletoe.
The word was pounding in her head like the crack of doom. With mistletoe in the house, something terrible would happen. She could not explain it, but she knew, for a certainty, that it would be so.

She sprang to her feet and ran for the door.

‘Beth? What on earth is the matter? Beth!’ Too late. She was gone in a flurry of pale pink skirts. Jon slumped on to the bench where she had been sitting just moments before and tried to piece together what had just happened. He had been talking about the Christmas festivities, the Yule log, the mistletoe. He had warned her
that he would be avoiding the mistletoe. Their kisses could easily become too passionate for any room but a bedchamber. It had happened here, only moments ago. If it happened in front of their guests, everyone would be mortally embarrassed.

Had she run from him because he refused to kiss her in public?

F
rom her place near the centre of the drawing room, Beth let her gaze travel round, counting heads. It was almost six. Nearly all the guests were assembled for dinner. Only the Berncastles were not yet down. For the first few evenings, they had been just a small party and conversation had been rather difficult. But tonight there would be twenty people sitting down to dinner. With so many guests, they should make a merry party, surely? And better still once the Reverend and Mrs Aubrey finally arrived.

Beth was trying to avoid looking up at the chandelier in the middle of the room and the large sprig of mistletoe that hung there. It seemed to draw her eye, even while it horrified her. It was full of sinister pearl-white berries. Their pallor was waxy, like the skin of a corpse. The very sight of them made her feel nauseous, and strangely guilty. But why should she feel guilty at the sight of mistletoe? What did it mean?

She shivered a little and backed away a step, straight into a man’s arms. She knew immediately, without turning, that this was not Jon. This man’s touch, and his scent, were repellent.

The man was not about to let Beth go. ‘A kiss under the mistletoe, sister,’ he cried gleefully, pulling her under the chandelier. It was George, of course, Jon’s disreputable brother. Beth tried to slide out from his embrace without seeming to struggle, but it was useless. He was quite determined on his prize. His mouth descended on Beth’s, his lips thick and wet. Where Jon’s every touch was wonderful, George revolted her.

She began to struggle in earnest, but George was holding her so tightly that she could not even pull her mouth away from his. Then his tongue tried to force its way between her lips. She clamped her jaws and teeth together as tightly as she could. She would not allow this…this beastly invasion.

At last, defeated, he let her go.

‘A great institution, mistletoe,’ he said with a lascivious grin. ‘Gives a man—and a gel—a chance to see what they have been missing.’

Beth could not suppress a shudder.

‘I think you should perhaps ensure your partner is willing before you indulge in such activity, brother.’

Beth whirled round. Jon was standing in the doorway. He was white with anger. For once, he had ignored the presence of the other guests. He was challenging George directly.

But George was not in the least put out by Jon’s rebuke. He casually reached up to pluck a berry from the sprig of mistletoe. ‘Plenty more where that came
from, eh, sister? And plenty more kisses for us both to enjoy, too, I’d say.’ He dropped his voice to murmur in Beth’s ear. ‘You don’t want to give ’em all to my prude of a brother, you know, m’dear.’

Beth gasped.

Ignoring her reaction, George turned to face Jon. ‘The ladies will have kisses a-plenty, for I have rarely seen mistletoe with quite so many berries. It is an invitation to Christmas mischief, and merriment for all.’

For a moment, Beth fancied that Jon was going to plant his brother a facer. There was a stunned silence in the room. But then Miss Rothbury broke it, stepping under the chandelier and reaching up to pluck mistletoe berries, one after another, counting them into her hand. ‘Look, Mama.’ She beckoned to Lady Rothbury who was standing by the fire, slack-jawed in astonishment. ‘They are just like jewels. I do like jewels so much, don’t I?’

Her mother rushed forward to grab her daughter’s hands and hold them still. ‘Enough, my dear, enough. The berries are to be picked one at a time, one for each kiss. And when they have all been picked, there can be no more kissing under the mistletoe. That is the tradition, you know.’

‘I may not pick them?’ Miss Rothbury sounded like a small child, deprived of a favourite toy.

Beth stepped forward to join the pair. ‘I am sure we can find plenty more sprigs of mistletoe if you like them,’ she said gently. ‘Shall we put a sprig in your bedchamber?’

Miss Rothbury’s beaming smile was all the answer Beth needed. She nodded to the butler, standing
impassively just inside the door. Goodrite would see to it. For now, Beth needed to distract her guests from these odd happenings until dinner should be announced. She sensed Jon’s large, reassuring presence only a few paces behind her. Yes, she could do this.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, shall we decide now on what we wish to do after dinner? Since it is Christmas, his lordship—’ she nodded towards Jon ‘—has a predictable fancy for telling ghost stories, but we would be happy to accept more energetic suggestions. Charades, perhaps?’

With a feeling of relief, Beth shepherded the ladies along the corridor to the drawing room. The dinner had gone remarkably well, helped by Jon’s excellent and plentiful wine. One or two of the older ladies were swaying a little and would probably soon be asleep in their chairs. No matter. The younger ones could play games at one end of the room while the older ones dozed.

How long would it be before the gentlemen joined them? Beth rather hoped they would not play charades after all, for drunken gentlemen could be difficult during such games. George had been downing bumper after bumper. That kiss under the mistletoe had been bad enough. What might he do now?

She told herself that Jon would ensure his brother behaved. If necessary, Jon would throw him out until he had sobered up. At least, she hoped he would.

When Beth entered the drawing room, she saw that Mrs Berncastle was holding forth from the centre of the room. She too had taken rather a lot of wine. She was not drunk, of course. No lady was ever drunk. But
she had certainly become more and more talkative and uninhibited as the evening wore on. Some of her earthy comments had put Beth to the blush.

At Mrs Berncastle’s side, Miss Rothbury was giggling, pointing up at the chandelier. Beth tried to ignore them and especially the mistletoe she so dreaded. Surely Goodrite would bring in the tea tray soon?

‘Mistletoe is lovely,’ Miss Rothbury crooned. ‘The berries are just like the finest pearls, don’t you think, ma’am?’

For a moment, Mrs Berncastle looked thunderstruck. ‘Mistletoe! Of course,
that
was it!’ She spun round and pointed accusingly at Beth. Her arm wavered slightly, but her voice was steady enough and full of outrage. ‘I
knew
you were familiar! I recognise you now. Under all that finery, you are nothing but a dirty little thief! You are that Clifford woman, who was companion to my great-aunt Marchmont. You stole her priceless mistletoe jewels, and then you fled the county to avoid being hauled off to gaol and hanged, as you deserved.’

Beth stood like a statue, transfixed by that accusing finger. Clifford! The name pounded in her brain. The barrier cracked. Her name was Clifford. Of course it was.

The room and everyone in it seemed to melt into a hazy, indistinct blur. She felt she was floating, revolving in a cloying mist. It was a mist of memories, and guilt, and unbelievable pain. A moment later, the mist dissolved as if drenched by a shower of sheeting rain.

She remembered it all now, every last mortifying moment of it. She could feel the shivers convulsing her body as if she were still ploughing on through that
freezing, howling gale. She closed her eyes for a second, but when she opened them again, nothing had changed. She was still freezing, still shivering. And the house guests were still staring at her as if she had sprouted devil’s horns.

Near the open doorway, Jon stood frozen, his face ashen. He must have heard it all. He had learned he was married to a thief, and the revelation had shocked him to the core. Such an honourable man would surely never touch her again. Beth could not blame him. She was to be an outcast. All over again.

Pain engulfed her. The familiar tunnel began to close in. She picked up her skirts and fled from the room while she could still see.

The headache had lessened but Beth had not slept.

She swung her bare feet to the floor and crept across to the window to peep out. Still much too dark. In half an hour or so, perhaps. At least she would not have to climb out of the window this time, as she had done from old Lady Marchmont’s house. This time, the key was on Beth’s side of the locked door. For the moment, she was still in control of her life.

She returned to the bed, checking yet again that everything was ready. She had laid out her simplest, warmest clothes. Her stout boots were on the floor alongside. And her little valise contained the few essentials she would need. She could dress in these clothes without Hetty’s help, and she would be gone long before anyone in the house was aware of it. Hetty would mourn, of course, and not only for the loss of her place. The girl had tried so hard to help and console Beth last night, even though
she had not understood the cause. She would understand everything by now. The news of the mistress’s disgrace must have spread like wildfire below stairs.

And Jon? What was Jon thinking?

It had been cowardly to lock him out of her bedchamber, to refuse to see him or speak to him. But truly, Beth had been unable to bear the thought of it. Jon had been plainly horrified to learn that his wife was a fugitive from the law. By now, his horror would have turned to disgust, perhaps even hate. Beth knew she could not remove the slur from her name. Nor could she undo their marriage. The most she could offer him was her absence, in hopes that, eventually, the scandal would die down and the gossips would leave him in peace. He would remain bound to her, however, and the brother he distrusted would be his heir. He would blame Beth for that. Rightly. She was guilty of so much.

But she had not known! She would never have married him if she had known the truth of her own past! She had tried so hard to warn him, but he had refused to listen. He had been so sure that the rank he offered was enough.

She dropped her head into her hands, but the cold metal of her wedding ring jarred accusingly against her skin. Why was she wearing it? She was taking almost nothing that Jon had given her. Her fine clothes remained in the dressing room, and her jewels were in their cases. He would have no cause to reproach her there. She would take a little money, but only just enough for her journey. Her wedding ring, however…

She turned it on her finger. Last night, she had taken it off and laid it aside, but then she had put it on again.
She had told herself that, if she was claiming to be a poor widow, she would need a wedding ring to prove her status to the world. But of course that was not the whole truth.

She twisted it off once more and laid it by the letter she had written to him. She had asked him not to follow her. But why should he want to, after all she had done? More likely that he would be glad to be rid of her.

There was no time now to start composing another letter. This one had taken hours, and many tears. With a sigh, she picked up the ring and slipped it back on to her finger. She could not leave it behind. It was the only thing she would have from him.

Time to dress now. Soon, it would be time for her to go.

‘Could you please cease this pacing, Jon? You are making my head spin.’

Jon sank on to the end of her
chaise longue
. ‘I am sorry, Mama, but I have to talk to someone about all this, and there is no one else but you. Beth has locked herself in her bedchamber. She refuses to admit anyone. I have been pacing my own floor for hours and it is driving me to distraction. I cannot think straight.’

His mother sighed. ‘You saw what happened, my dear. We all did. Beth fled from her accuser, without saying a word in her own defence. That had all the appearance of guilt.’

Jon ground his teeth. He had come to ask his mother’s help for Beth, not to hear yet more condemnation. He believed—no, he was certain—that his wife was innocent and good, but everything was so confused that
he was incapable of working out how to defend her. ‘Mama, I—’

‘In the end, it may be for the best,’ his mother continued quietly. ‘Indeed, you would be better off without her, were it not for the child. You could—’

‘What do you mean
child
, ma’am?’

‘There is no need to play the innocent with me, Jon. I know that she is breeding, and I know that she used it to entrap you into marriage. It is a sorry business, and if the child should prove to be a girl after all…’

For a moment, Jon was struck dumb. Then he began to laugh. He laughed until his whole body was wracked with pain. His mother looked by turns indignant and then hurt. Jon ignored her. At last, when the pain became too much, he dropped his head into his hands. His laughter cracked and stopped dead.

Jon felt the brush of his mother’s silken wrapper against his leg. Her soft hand reached out to cover one of his. ‘Jon?’ Her voice was low, the thread of worry clear. ‘I do not understand. It is as if you were bewitched.’

Jon flung himself to his feet and began to pace again. He could not endure her touch. There was only one touch he needed now.

‘Jon?’

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, planting his feet firmly and his fists on his hips. ‘You are wrong, ma’am. You could not be more wrong. You tell me that Beth is breeding, that she seduced me into marriage.’ He gave one last shout of bitter laughter. ‘If only you knew the lengths I had to go to, in order to persuade her to accept me.’

‘I do not understand.’ Her usual confidence seemed to have left her.

‘Beth did not entrap me into marriage, Mama. What made you think such a thing? It seems you have a very low opinion of my character.’

‘I am sorry, Jon. All the physical signs pointed to pregnancy—her tiredness, her sickness. Miss Mountjoy was quite sure of it.’

Jon clamped his jaws together. Miss Mountjoy again! But she was dealt with. He would not lecture his mother about her now.

‘And the fact that you, who are so very conscious of your position in society, should have rushed into marriage with a woman with no name and no family… How else could I explain it, but by your need for a legitimate heir?’ When Jon did not reply, she swallowed hard and added, in a small voice, ‘I have tried to like her, Jon, but I found it impossible to overcome my disgust of what she had done to you. Except that now you tell me it was not so?’