The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (149 page)

“And you were infatuated with Douglas when you were fifteen,” he said, staring at her, his fascination growing by the word. He forgot for a moment that he wanted to bed her by two o’clock in the afternoon.

This afternoon. No later than three.

“So you were the man who overheard Alexandra and me talking in the Sanderling’s library.”

“Oh, yes. Discipline is a subject that is dear to my heart.”

“I am not at all surprised.”

He was smiling at her, wondering if it was too soon to kiss her, perhaps lightly touch his fingertips to her throat, feel her pulse quicken.

“Yes, Douglas was a lovely young man. But that was a very long time ago. I have assured Alexandra that I am over my tender feelings toward her husband.”

“That’s good. It wouldn’t please your current lover all that much if you weren’t over Douglas Sherbrooke. Was Douglas your first lover?”

SHE GAVE HIM A COCKY smile. There didn’t appear to be a single embarrassable bone in her body. His fascination continued to climb. “Now, that is very straight speaking, Lord Beecham.”

“Of course. You strike me as a woman who prefers straight speaking.” He helped her into his carriage. He said to his driver, “Babcock, drive us to Gunther’s. I must feed this lovely lady an ice or two before she begins to fade away.”

“Aye, my lord,” Babcock said, eyeing Helen with awe since she was a good nine inches taller than he was. Lord Beecham noticed that Babcock straightened his shoulders as he jumped up into the driver’s seat.

“Hurry, Babcock,” Helen called out of the window, “It will be a close thing. I did not have my luncheon today.”

Lord Beecham laughed, he just couldn’t help it. Surely what she had said wasn’t all that funny. He coughed and followed it with a harrumph.

Helen settled herself opposite him, smoothing down her skirts. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. So you didn’t let Douglas bed you?”

“Actually, I fear he wasn’t at all interested.” She sighed. “I was just a little girl to him. I believed him a god. I would have gladly wiped a rose-water cloth over his brow, peeled grapes for him before respectfully popping them into his mouth. I would have—”

“That’s quite enough.” Lord Beecham frowned at her as he pulled on his soft York tan gloves.

She grinned shamelessly back at him.

“You were telling me why Douglas would be annoyed that you had found me,” Lord Beecham said. “You still haven’t arrived at the reason, what with all the drivel you’ve been spouting. Why did you bring up Gray’s name?”

“Douglas, Alexandra, and I were visiting with them. Alexandra brought up your name as being marvelously degenerate and lecherous, in short, a man of vast competence and talent. She thought you could take Douglas’s place in my mind. But Douglas said your reputation was exaggerated, that you purported to be a better lover than any dozen men combining their experience, but that it wasn’t true. You were, in short, a very distant second to him.

“When I looked even more interested, Douglas said in his lord-of-the-manor way that I was to stay away from you, that you would corrupt me and leave me in a ditch.

“When I pointed out that he claimed to be your superior in lechery and that he had not left Alexandra in a ditch, he said that she was simply too pathetic, that is why he’d had no choice but to remain married to her and keep her safe and smiling. He does, you know.”

“Does what?”

“Douglas keeps her smiling. Now, Alexandra likes you. She told me about how you wanted to be her shepherd.”

He whacked his cane against the carriage floor. “You damned women. You can’t wait to tell each other all about a man’s failures, you never forget them, even though this particular failure happened eight years ago. She was newly wedded to Douglas. He was being an ass, nothing all that unusual for Douglas. She was ripe for the plucking, so I thought. But instead, she clung to the tree. She was utterly green, naive, and, unfortunately, adorable.” He frowned over those words and shrugged. “Over the years we have gotten in the habit of exchanging friendly conversation. It is no longer as unnerving as it was at the beginning. I quite like her.”

“You mean you found it strange to like a woman you’d failed to seduce?”

He gave her a look of acute dislike and crossed his arms over his chest. It was intimidating, and he knew it. “Exactly. I can even pass a good half hour now in her company without staring at her breasts.” There, he thought, pleased with himself. He wasn’t going to let her be more provocative than he, the brazen twit. He would keep the upper hand. Time was growing short. Two o’clock in the afternoon was only an hour from now. He wasn’t going to have time to get her into his bed. He lowered the sun in the sky, thinking of twilight. It was a lovely time of the day, soft lights caressing a woman’s body. He cleared his throat.

“Thirty minutes?” Helen said. “Not a single look? For a man, that has to be close to sainthood.” She gave him another dazzling smile. “So you can see why I wanted to meet you. I want a man who can control himself, who can decide what to do and get it done. I want a man of charm and a bit of wit and endless experience. I want a man who can set a goal and figure out how to gain it, a man who can separate the chaff from the wheat.”

“What does that mean?”

“That, Lord Beecham, was a metaphor. It means you know what is important and what is not. Alexandra recommended you. You have just shown me that you are very comfortable bandying about women’s parts that no other gentleman of my acquaintance would bandy about in front of a lady, and that shows, I suppose, that you know you are fluent enough so that you won’t get shot. Actually, I do exactly the same thing with men and I haven’t been shot either.”

“You mean we are both fluent?”

“Oh, yes. I believe in fairness.”

He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He realized that she wasn’t taking in the passing view, no, she was taking him in. She was giving him a thorough examination from his ears, to the toes of his boots, to his hand holding the head of his cane.

“Alexandra told me you were handsome, not as handsome as Douglas, naturally, but still, more than adequate. She said you don’t have excess flesh as many men do after they pass their thirtieth year. Er, you have quite passed your thirtieth year, haven’t you?”

“I am thirty-three, two years younger than Douglas.”

“Douglas has no excess fat either. It’s refreshing to find at least two gentlemen who look quite well enough to encourage a lady to take a second look, perhaps even lightly place her palm over their bellies, to feel the hard smoothness of their muscles.”

It took all his control not to take her down to the floor of the carriage right that instant. He could have her breasts free of her gown in a second. Damnation—not in a carriage, not the first time he took her. He wanted her happy after they finished, not sore from being tossed about between two carriage seats.

He cleared his throat. He was being overly enthusiastic. At thirty-three years of age, he had sublime control. She’d said she knew he had control. Well, he did. What was happening here? “You must be from the country, where the squires parade around with their bellies sticking out.”

“Yes, indeed. I cannot tell you how exhilarating it is to be here in London.” She crossed her hands over her heart.

She had smacked him with a goodly dose of sarcasm that he undoubtedly deserved.

She leaned a bit forward now. “I do think that you, Lord Beecham, will be perfect for my purposes.”

He was the man. He was the hunter. He was the supremely experienced lover. Did this woman have no shame? No reticence? No modesty? It appalled him.

He knew that if she were married, her husband would be equally appalled. What would he say if he knew his wife wanted to seduce another man? He cooled down his voice to throw her off stride. “Look at me. Of course I’m not fat. Only a man who is a complete fool would have a paunchy belly. Ladies don’t like paunchy bellies.”

“That’s true enough.”

“What are your damned purposes?”

Babcock pulled up the carriage in front of Gunther’s on St. James. It was a narrow building, painted white, quite lovely in the bright sunlight—sunlight that was a relief, since they had endured solid rain for the past three days. Helen gave him her hand as he helped her down from the carriage. “This is utterly delightful, my lord. I thank you for so graciously accompanying me here. I do love the ices.”

She was wearing a rich emerald-green walking dress, very simple and elegant. She had a small bonnet on her head adorned only with three leaves from some bush or tree he didn’t recognize, all intertwined just over her left ear. She looked sophisticated, very much a lady, until you looked at her eyes. He saw intelligence, humor, and a good deal of knowledge. About her fellow man? He liked intelligent women, in small doses. They tended to want to examine things after lovemaking, pick things apart until he wanted to sink into a stupor. He also enjoyed humor in a woman, if it was a proper sort of humor—that is, a humor not directed at him.

Twilight, he thought. Twilight still looked possible.

He cleared his throat and escorted her into the charming interior. A young man wearing a huge white apron wrapped around his middle was immediately at their side, offering them a small round table. Lord Beecham helped her sit down. He smiled down at her, his eyes filled with the knowledge of her, a woman. “Don’t eat too much. A gentleman doesn’t like a paunchy lady either.”

“I never change size,” Helen said as she looked at the table next to them, not at the people, but at the ices in front of them. “Vanilla,” she said. “I adore vanilla.”

It was his favorite as well. He ordered chocolate.

He said no more until their bowls were set in front of them. He said no more until she had downed a good half dozen bites, closed her eyes, and moaned in bliss. He still didn’t say anything until he had finished his own chocolate ice. He wouldn’t mind at all feeding her an ice after making love to her. It would, at the very least, keep her quiet. The only thing was, he wouldn’t know if the ice gave her more pleasure than he did.

He said suddenly while she was looking about the room, “What purpose do you have for me?”

“You are much sought after, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

There it was again, this damned attempt to swamp his boat. He would not let her control him. “Use your eyes,” he said, his feathers all ruffled. He didn’t want her to know that she had riled him, and so he smiled at her, showing lots of straight white teeth. “Use your ears. You yourself spoke of my fluency. I am not a stupid man.”

“No, you are not at all stupid, are you?” Helen said after a moment. She was looking longingly at a huge bowl of some fruit-flavored ice set in front of a gentleman with a huge belly.

“Don’t even think it,” he said. “You have spooned quite enough down your white throat.”

“It’s the oddest thing,” she said. “Do you know that I become very relaxed when I eat a Gunther’s ice?”

Lord Beecham raised his hand instantly and called to the waiter.

He fed her two more bowls of ice cream. On her third spoonful of the third bowl, she said, “Who is that couple just over there? She is wearing that rather alarming blue dress and the gentleman is obviously displeased with her?”

Lord Beecham looked, then studied his nails. Finally, he said, a bit of tolerant contempt in his voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Crowne. Only a year they’ve been wedded, and yet they flay each other regularly, even in public. That is why, Miss Mayberry, a smart man never jumps into that black pit. Marriage is the end of the road, the end of reason, the end of any contentment a man may lay claim to.”

He looked as if he were suffering from excess bile when he said the word. Helen just smiled at him, understood him down to his socks, and was not only pleased but vastly relieved. She took another bite, savoring the lovely burst of cold filling her mouth and the cold, soft, slick cream sliding down her throat. “I quite agree with you, Lord Beecham. Marriage is only for weak-minded fools.”

He didn’t like that. A man, by his very nature, was supposed to evade marriage, but not a woman. He managed to keep his displeasure with her from showing. “Tell me, now. What is your use for me?”

“We do keep getting off the subject, don’t we?”

“Yes, but no more. Talk to me. Tell me what I may do for you.”

Helen wasn’t a fool. She saw clearly in his brilliant, dark eyes that he wanted nothing more than to pull her gown away and make love to her.

“You obviously find marriage distasteful.”

“Yes, as would any reasonable man. Unfortunately women must bear a man an heir, so at some date before his death, he must produce the requisite male child. I do not plan to pass to the hereafter until after my fiftieth year. When I am forty-nine, I will wed and beget an heir. Then I will die with a smile on my face. Perhaps my pregnant wife, who will be puttering around my country estates, will also have a smile on her face. The country estate in Devon. It is charming.”