The Devil May Care Page 13

  “Good night, Beau,” she said, sounding more cheerful than she had all day.

  Beau reached out and caught hold of her hand, and she looked down at it and then at him. There was tension in her posture, he could feel her desire to pull her hand free and leave the room. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see anything in him that she wanted?

  “Are you really so terribly pleased?” he demanded, stroking his thumb against her palm in a tender caress.

  “P-pleased?” she stammered, and he could see the panic in her eyes clearly this time. “About what?”

  “About winning the damn bet!” he shouted and then cursed himself for losing his temper. “Why are you so afraid of me?” He took a step closer to her and put his other hand to her cheek, barely touching her skin and finding it like warm silk beneath his fingertips.

  She shook her head, he imagined to contradict him, but the way she was breathing, harsh and shallow, the look in her eyes ... all of it made her look terrified indeed.

  “Would it have been so terrible ... to kiss me?” he asked, wondering if she could see the hurt he felt.

  “Beau, please ...” she said, her words faint, pleading in her eyes. “We are friends, y-you said ...”

  “I know what I said!” he snapped, frustrated. “But I don't feel I have even that to call upon any more. You won't let me!”

  He dropped his hand and released her, walking back to the table. He leaned upon it, his head bowed and closed his eyes. He was tired and he didn't know what to do. He'd never had difficulty in getting a woman's attention before and had often had cause to curse the swiftness with which they tended to fall in love with him. Well there was no such problem with his wife, he thought bitterly. “Goodnight, Milly,” he said, too depressed and dejected to pursue the subject any further.

  He heard the door close with a quiet click and poured himself another drink.

  Chapter 15

  “Wherein a dashing new acquaintance is made.”

  Milly awoke feeling dull-eyed and tired. She had slept badly, too troubled by last night's scene with her increasingly unhappy husband.

  She just didn't know what to do and she no longer knew what it was he wanted from her.

  It had been impossible to mistake the hurt in his eyes, though why he should feel so strongly she couldn't fathom. His intentions had been made very clear at the outset. He would continue seeing his various mistresses and his lifestyle would be in no way modified for her. Yet they had been married a little over five weeks and to her knowledge he had only spent one night away from home. She had steeled herself for his being occupied last night, assuming he would take advantage of being in town to avail himself of whatever amusement's had been usual for him, but he hadn’t.

  The harder she tried to keep him at a proper distance, where they could have established a polite and cordial friendship, the harder he seemed to rail against it. And the more he tried to push past the walls she built to protect her heart the harder it was to bear the disappointment in his eyes.

  But it wasn't fair! He was changing the rules. How was she supposed to be his friend when he had begun to treat her as a wife? And how was she to be his wife when she knew the moment he had gained what he wanted he would grow bored of her and her heart would be broken for good.

  For if she let him into her heart, if she gave herself to him completely, she could never live with the idea of him with another woman. It already tore at her soul to know that he didn't and wouldn't ever belong to her. How much worse would it feel when he knew she had given him everything and had still turned away from her?

  She was no fool. Men wanted what they could not have and it was only her continued rejection of him that had somehow peaked his interest. Perhaps his pride was hurt. But she held her own pride dear enough not to give it away simply to soothe his ego.

  She felt she was poised on a knife's edge and if she fell in either direction she would ruin everything. Somehow she had to get them back to the place where they had been when all this began. She needed to be his friend as she had promised. It was true she had been avoiding him and had not spoken to him as she would once have done. That would have to change. No matter how hard it was to be around him, no matter that her skin ached with longing whenever he was close to her, she would have to endure it. Closing her eyes for a moment she remembered last night and the moment he had asked for a kiss as his prize if he'd won the game.

  She had wanted so badly to tell him that he needn't win a game to kiss her. Her skin had seemed alight, her nerves all afire, simply for the fact that he had spoken the words. But if she'd let him win he would know, he would know how she felt about him. There was no way she could hold back the tide of her own desire if he tore the tiniest hole in her defences. If she let him take the merest inch, the whole of her reserves would crumble and she would fall into his arms like any common petticoat, and that she could not allow.

  But she did owe him something.

  If Mrs Goodly noticed she was uncharacteristically quiet, she said nothing, just helped her to dress and ready herself for her outing to the museum. She selected a simple but elegant cambric gown with a narrow muslin flounce in a soft cream colour. It was worn with a high collared spencer of twilled sarsnet in Egyptian brown that was actually rather becoming with her dark colouring.

  Sitting down at the dressing table for Mrs Goodly to attend to her hair she hesitated before asking her astonished dresser a before unheard of question.

  “Edith, do ... do you think perhaps you could do something ... different ...with my hair?”

  Mrs Goodly looked back at her, betraying only the briefest sign of surprise. “Well of course, love. A change is as good as a rest I always say.”

  It took perhaps a little longer for her to finish her toilette than usual, not least because having come so far, Mrs Goodly wasted no time in pushing the point and suggesting just the faintest touch of Rose Lip Salve.

  On the point of refusing Milly had remembered the hurt in Beau's eyes and knew she needed to do something to make amends. The least she could do was make an effort with her appearance. With a little tremor of nervousness she realised that this would in fact be the first time they had been out in public together.

  Taking a deep breath she put her bonnet on and made her way down the stairs to meet her husband.

  ***

  Beau waited in the foyer of the hotel. When he had knocked to see if Milly was ready Mrs Goodly had said she'd be down in just a moment.

  She hadn't joined him for breakfast. A fact that was making his shoulders tight with apprehension. Last night had not gone as he'd hoped it might and he was afraid he'd made things rather worse instead of better. She probably wasn't speaking to him at all now, he thought with a sigh of frustration.

  He looked up to discover an attractive woman staring at him quite unashamedly. He recognised her as Lord Ormsted's wife and nodded in greeting. The look in her eyes was provocative, pure invitation, but then he noticed movement on the stairs behind her and saw Milly coming down.

  Lady Ormsted was immediately forgotten as he took in the change that had come over his wife.

  It wasn't anything drastic. It wasn't as though she had changed her manner of dress or done anything as shocking as tying her garter in public, but the change made his throat tight. He couldn't see exactly what she had done to her hair as the rather charming straw bonnet covered most of it, but glossy dark curls framed her sweet little face and highlighted those large, dark eyes. She was no stunning beauty his wife, he knew that, and yet he couldn't take his eyes from her. She'd done that for him, to show him that she did trust him, and he felt a glow of warmth in his chest.

  “Milly,” he said, quite unable to keep the warmth from his voice or the stupid smile from his face. She looked up at him, clearly a little embarrassed.

  “Good morning,” she said, and he saw her cast a nervous glance in the direction of the beautiful Lady Ormsted who was still watching him with a covetous express
ion.

  Drawing her hand onto his arm, Beau took her attention. “You look perfectly lovely, little bird,” he said, with complete sincerity. But she gave a little disparaging laugh, glancing back at Lady Ormsted who returned a knowing smile.

  “You're very kind, Beau,” she replied, her voice dull.

  For a moment he wanted to shake her. He wasn't being kind, dammit, he meant it. Drawing her out of the hotel he turned back to her.

  “I thought we would walk as it's such a fine day. Do you mind?”

  She shook her head and looked up at him. “Not at all,” she said and he was relieved that she smiled at him. Her lips were glossy and pink and with surprise he realised she had applied a little make-up. “I rather miss my early morning walks in the park, especially the ones where I bumped into my dearest friend.”

  He paused in the middle of the street, ridiculously pleased by the comment and overcome with the urge to kiss his wife there and then in the middle of the street.

  “Beau,” she murmured, tugging at his arm and he realised they were blocking the pavement. He laughed, surprised at himself and Milly frowned at him, looking perplexed. Moving forward again he contented himself with raising her hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers.

  “I'm so happy to have you with me, love,” he said, settling her hand back on his sleeve and relieved by the flush of pleasure on her face.

  “I'm happy to be here, Beau,” she replied.

  They reached the museum in good time where a few people were awaiting the guide. The visits were arranged so that fifteen people were allowed entry at a time and shown around in three small groups of five. Of course Beau knew he could have easily arranged a private viewing but he'd felt that perhaps Milly would prefer this less formal arrangement.

  As eleven o'clock drew nearer the rest of the group appeared and he was hailed by a dashing young man with a hearty grin.

  “Beaumont!” the man said, holding out his hand and shaking Beau's warmly. “Dash it! No that's wrong. It’s Ware now, I collect. By God a duke, whatever next.” The young fellow's face dropped as he realised he might have caused offence. “Oh, of course, damned sorry about your father ...”

  Beau chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, save it, Aubrey, you know you can't open your mouth without putting your foot in it, but as it happens there's no love lost there.” He drew Milly forward. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Millicent. Milly, this is Mister Aubrey Russell.”

  Aubrey executed a charming bow and took her hand. “Enchanté, your Grace,” he said, his hazel eyes warm and friendly.

  “I'm pleased to meet you,” Milly replied and smiled back at him.

  “Good Lord, Aubrey, French? Céleste must be rubbing off on you.”

  Aubrey laughed and rolled his eyes. “Good God, I hope not. Dreadful creature.”

  Beau chuckled, knowing full well that he and the Lady Falmouth were very good friends. Though how he dared even smile at the woman who was married to the rather terrifying Lord Falmouth was beyond him.

  Aubrey returned to the small party of friends he was with and Beau looked back at Milly as she tugged on his arm.

  “Who's that?” she breathed in awe, eyes wide at the frankly stunning woman who was coming their way. The lady, admittedly past the first blush of youth and well into her forties was none the less capable of turning every head. Wearing a round dress of dove coloured sarsnet with a three quarter length pelisse of the most startling blue with a double flounce of white lace, she was hard to miss. Already a tall woman of generous proportions, her height was added to by an extravagant hat of black velvet with a full plume of white feathers. This glamorous picture was finished by gloves and shoes of the palest primrose kid and her lovely face crowned by thick black curls.

  “Good God,” Beau said in alarm. “Dasher!”

  To his relief the woman merely smiled and nodded at him and continued on the arm of her rather elderly companion.

  “Dasher?” Milly replied, eyebrows raised.

  Beau cleared his throat and wondered how to explain Dasher. “Err. Mrs Dashton,” he replied with a frown.

  “Is ... is she a High Flyer?” she asked, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

  He gave a startled laugh of surprise. “Where on earth did you hear such a term?”

  His wife gave a little chuckle. “I haven't had my ears stuffed with cotton my whole life you know. You'd be surprised the things people will say in front of someone they don't notice.”

  He frowned, a strange feeling of remorse coming over him. He'd no doubt been one of those people who hadn't noticed her.

  “Well is she?” Milly pressed and he turned his attention back to her.

  “Yes,” he replied, sounding rather gruff.

  “Do ... do you know her?” she asked, and the note of apprehension was clear enough in her voice.

  “No!” he exclaimed, and then amended. “Well ... yes, actually. But not in the way you were thinking.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding relieved, and then the curiosity was back in her eyes again. “But why not? She's perfectly lovely.”

  He stared down at her with his mouth open and then closed it again with a snap. “Not to my taste,” he replied, feeling rattled. He had, in fact, often haunted the kind of establishment that Mrs Dashton presided over. He went, however, for the gambling and the convivial atmosphere. Whores had never held any fascination for him. His father had filled their damn house with them when he was a boy and he had never seen the appeal of treading such a well worn path.

  “Can I meet her?”

  His head snapped around so fast he almost got whiplash. “The devil you can!” he retorted. “Good God, what are you about, Milly? As if I would allow it!”

  She frowned at him. “But where's the harm, Beau, you're with me.”

  “No, dammit!”

  “But why not? She looks fascinating.”

  Beau stared down at his wife and felt a rush of protectiveness akin to panic. She was too bloody sweet and innocent for the likes of Dasher. Not that Dolly wasn't a good sort of woman, in fact Beau liked her. He liked her more for the fact that she hadn't come up to him as she might have, knowing it was totally inappropriate. He wondered what it was that Milly thought so fascinating about her and why she would want to meet her. He would have expected a woman of her kind to be appalled and want to run a mile from such an obviously tarnished reputation. But Milly never ceased but to surprise him.

  To his relief Mrs Dashton was on one of the other tours and the other three people with their guide were a middle-aged couple with their daughter. The couple seemed in awe of their noble companions whilst the daughter ignored the ancient marvels and stared at Beau with frank admiration, much to his annoyance.

  “Perhaps I should have you mounted on a stand and charge admission?” Milly murmured in his ear with a teasing note. “We'd soon raise the funds to save Greythorpe that way.”

  Beau looked down at her and snorted. “Yes, I can imagine you'd think that would be my greatest contribution,” he replied, quite unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and cursed himself.

  “Forgive me, Milly,” he said, covering her hand with his own. “That was my conscience biting at me, none of your doing.”

  “But why would you think it?” she whispered as they fell back a little from the others.

  He shrugged and looked away from her. “Sometimes I see myself through your eyes. It isn't very encouraging.”

  “Beau!” she exclaimed, her hand tightening on his arm. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He shook his head and smiled at her. “Never mind, Milly. Not now. Look here is the great frieze. Apparently it depicts the Greater Panathenaic procession from the Leokoreion by the Dipylon gate to the Acropolis.” She looked up at him and the fond smile at her lips made him give a little laugh. “Even I can learn something from a guide book, love.”

  Her smile fell and she frowned for a moment. Reaching out she placed her han
d on his chest. “Don't do that, Beau,” she said, sadness in her eyes. “I know how much more there is than just that beautiful face. You don't need to prove it to me. Not to me.”

  The guide called them to come and see some point of interest and the moment was gone. Beau swallowed and they moved forward again, but he wished he'd been able to tell her - she was the only one he wanted to prove it to.

  The rest of the tour was a great success and Beau found he'd enjoyed it more than he'd thought he would. He even managed to impress the guide with his knowledge of the works and some pertinent questions that had made the rather severe and scholarly under librarian pause and look at him with rather more respect. Not that he cared for that, but he did care for the look of pride in Milly's eyes. He found he cared about that a great deal.

  After the tour they were allowed to wander on their own for a little while and he found himself drawn back to the East Pediment.

  “It's incredible,” Milly said, her voice full of wonder.

  He nodded, quite in agreement. “It's like a kind of alchemy isn't it?” he replied, staring at the monument and feeling really quite humbled by it. He turned around to see Milly looking at him with interest. “I mean, to carve something so fluid and alive out of cold, dead stone,” he added, trying to explain himself. Her expression changed and she smiled at him and then to his surprise, she drew herself up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  “Thank you, Beau, for doing this. I've enjoyed it so much. And,” she added, with a devilish glint in her eyes. “I thought you were much better than the guide.”

  He laughed at that and drew her hand through his arm, placing it on his sleeve. “Well, you have to agree Dionysus was the best of the gods. He brought us wine for heaven's sake!”

  She gave a delighted crow of laughter and they began to walk back to where the guide was waiting for them. To Beau's amusement the man sought him out to further a discussion they'd begun about whether in fact it was Dionysus reclining on his panther skin, or perhaps Hercules and a lion skin. Beau who thought Hercules was unlikely to have been present for the birth of Athena was happy to be drawn back into the debate. So enthused, in fact, that he didn't notice his wife slip her hand from his arm. When the fact occurred to him a moment or two later it was to discover with horror that she was deep in conversation with Mrs Dashton.