The Devil May Care Page 24

  "Damn Mrs Goodly," he replied in no uncertain terms, getting off the bed and striding towards her. "Milly, please tell me what the problem is. Is it this ball tonight, or have I done something to upset you?"

  "N-no," she stammered, needing to get away from him and gather herself. She couldn't think when he was so close and so ... so ... Catching his reflection in the mirror across the room she hauled in a breath. Not fair. It wasn't fair for a man to look like that.

  Reaching for her chemise she began to pull it over her head, only to have it snatched away from her.

  "Beau!" she exclaimed as he threw it to the far side of the bed.

  "Talk to me, Milly." His jaw was set in an uncompromising line, his muscular arms crossed over that fine chest. Really it was impossible to think straight when he wasn't dressed.

  She went to walk past him and huffed in annoyance as he side stepped to block her path.

  "There is nothing wrong," she muttered, knowing it was an outright lie but needing to get out of his company before he hijacked her. Somehow she knew the conversation would either veer off track or stop completely before she got to the point if they began it in these circumstances.

  Frustrated for too many reasons, she changed tack and headed to the large wardrobes that held his clothes. Opening one after another she searched until she found a large, brocade smoking jacket and pulled it on.

  The arms fell to her knees, but it covered everything vital for a dash back to her own room. She just had to pray the servants didn't see her.

  She walked towards the door but it was foolish to believe he was just going to let her go.

  "I like the way that looks on you," he said, grinning at her before his eyes grew serious. "Milly, I'll look after you tonight. I promise. And you need only tell me if someone upsets you. I promise you they won't try it again."

  She shook her head, frustrated that he felt the need to molly coddle her. His duchess should be able to hold her own among the ton, she shouldn't need his protection.

  "I can't expect you to hold my hand all night, Beau. I have to hold my own with these people. You know that. Don't you think I can do it?"

  Bitterness at the path her tangled thoughts had led her down since waking lent her words an accusatory tone she hadn't really intended.

  "I think you can do anything you put your mind to, love," he said, his eyes wary. "But that doesn't mean you should have to do it alone."

  "Well I can hardly expect you to protect me from the women can I, and it's them that make me nervous."

  She crossed her arms and stared at the floor, wishing she hadn't said anything.

  Beau walked closer and put his hand under her chin, raising her face up.

  "You have nothing to fear from any of them, Milly," he said, his voice soft. "They can't hold a candle to you, little bird, and don't you forget it."

  She laughed, only too aware it sounded bitter, but knowing he was only being nice and trying to give her confidence. He was kind like that. But she didn't want kindness, she wanted to know she didn't have to watch as women slipped him notes or whispered arrangements for some romantic tryst in his ear.

  "It's true, Milly," he protested, and to his credit she had to say he sounded sincere a least. But then she imagined he'd had a lot of practise consoling hysterical women.

  "Yes, Beau," she replied, hearing the dull tone of her voice herself and unsurprised when his eyes darkened.

  "You don't believe me," he replied, the hurt behind the words perfectly audible.

  She turned away from him and headed for the door. She couldn't do this now. Last night had left her emotions too near the surface, too raw.

  "Milly!" he said, his voice worried now, as he moved to stop her again. He reached out to her, clearly intending to pull her into his arms, but she was too close to crying to let him comfort her. Indignation at the way her blasted emotions ruled her made her angry.

  "I saw Mrs Hadley, Beau, I know exactly what I'm up against," she snapped, jerking out of his hold.

  "You're not up against anything, love," he protested. "Please, Milly.'

  "Dammit, Beau!" she exclaimed, shocked by herself but too overwrought to stop now. "Don't you have any idea how it will feel to face all those women and wonder how many of them have shared your bed? Just how many of them are going to smirk at me because they know your tastes better than I do? How many of them have you made love to like you did to me last night?"

  She didn't give him a chance to respond, too afraid to see the answer in his eyes. Instead she just flung open the door, slammed it behind her and fled back to her room.

  Chapter 28

  "Wherein a hero is required."

  Beau paced his study, feeling his face had set in a permanent frown. He'd tried to speak with Milly several times during the day but Mrs Goodly had appeared each time to ward him off.

  Milly was tired, she said, and if he wanted her to attend tonight's ball she must be allowed to rest.

  Personally Beau wanted to damn Lady Allen's ball and condemn all present to hell but he knew better than to suggest they wouldn't go. He had no doubt Milly would be furious for him for trying to protect her.

  It had never really occurred to him what she might suffer because of his past. His future, that he could change. He was ready to tell her that she was the only one, that no one else mattered or ever would. He could promise that there would be no one else, but he couldn't change his past.

  Women could be cruel. He knew that well enough. Anyone who had ever scorned a woman or crossed her in love would bear the scars to attest to that. But it wasn't him who would bear the brunt of it now. That he would be subjecting Milly to face it herself was not something he'd ever thought about.

  The only thing he could do, the only thing he wanted to do now, was answer her question. "How many of them have you made love to like you did to me last night?"

  None. Not one. Not ever before.

  He looked up as the door opened and Milly came in with a rustle of silks.

  Something caught about his heart and held it. A pressure squeezing that poor unused organ as these new emotions battered it and left it bruised and defenceless.

  She wore a round dress of embossed gauze, which gave her an ethereal, otherwordly appearance. It covered an under dress of white satin and was trimmed with peach-coloured satin roses. Her thick, chestnut hair was piled upon her head except for some artful, glossy ringlets that framed her sweet face and made her dark eyes look wide and vulnerable.

  For once the dress was cut low and exposed a tantalising expanse of creamy white bosom, and Beau wished with all his heart that she'd say she didn't want to go.

  Instead she gave him a slightly uncertain smile.

  "I hope you can forgive me for being so ... so foolish this morning. I beg that you will forget it. I am quite well now and you mustn't worry. I am perfectly content to meet your friends."

  He sighed, only too aware that the words had been well rehearsed. The calm smile couldn't disguise the troubled look in her eyes, or the tension in her stance.

  Holding out his hands to her he drew her closer.

  "I can't change the past, little bird. But I promise to do everything I can to make sure the future holds no fears for you."

  She looked up at him and he saw surprise in her eyes. Wanting to say more, he opened his mouth but was interrupted by Rexom announcing that the carriage had been brought out and was waiting at their convenience.

  "We should go," Milly said and he nodded. Perhaps now wasn't the time. But by the end of tonight she would know what she meant to him.

  "Wait."

  She turned and looked down at the slim leather case he held in his hands. Opening it with care he revealed a parure set of diamond jewellery.

  Gasping her eyes lifted to his in astonishment.

  "F-for me?"

  "Well I don't think they'd suit Rexom, love," he said, chuckling at the depth of her surprise, and then he sobered as he realised, no one would ever have given he
r jewellery before.

  "They were my mother's," he said, taking the slim Riviera necklace and placing it around her neck. "I want you to have them now."

  He handed her the ear bobs and watched as she put them in, and then he clasped the diamond bracelet around her slender wrist.

  He looked up and saw tears sparkling in her eyes and felt his breath catch.

  "I wanted to make you happy, love, not make you cry," he said, frowning at her with concern.

  She laughed and waved her hand at him. "I am ... I can't help it, b-but I am. Thank you, Beau. It's so very beautiful."

  He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, lingering for a moment and cursing Lady Allen and her wretched invitation all over again. "You are beautiful, Milly, and I won't be looking anywhere else, I can promise you that."

  He wished he had more time to make her believe those words as her eyes looked so uncertain even now. Instead he put her hand on his arm and vowed not to let her out of his sight. He would make her believe him. If it was the last thing he did.

  ***

  "The Duke and Duchess of Ware."

  Milly felt a shiver of undiluted fear as they were announced and every head in the entire, vast ballroom turned in their direction.

  "Just imagine them all naked," Beau muttered under his breath and she caught her breath, laughing at his outrageous words despite her terror.

  His hand covered hers where it rested on his arm and she glanced up at him. The look he returned was warm and so very loving that she felt a lump in her throat. Was it really possible?

  She was forced to look away to concentrate on negotiating her way down the steps to the ballroom without tripping over her own feet.

  "It isn't helping," she whispered as the judging eyes of the ton looked her over and no doubt found her wanting.

  "Then don't look at them at all, look at me."

  She glanced up at her husband and almost caught her breath all over again. He was dazzling. With that glittering blue sapphire glinting in the snowy white folds of his cravat and echoing the blue sparkle in his eyes he was exquisite. The severe black of his fitted coat only highlighted broad shoulders and an exceptional physique. She thought it would make it's creator, Mr Weston, weep with joy. With a rush of mingled pride and terror, she knew her husband was without question the most desirable man in the room.

  "I think I could manage that," she said with a wry smile. Knowing he knew damn well he was the handsomest devil here.

  He chuckled and raised her hand to his lips. "Sweet little bird, I'm all yours."

  She stared back at him and he returned her gaze unblinking before the great and the good bore down on them.

  Milly found herself surprised by how kind and welcoming many people were. Perhaps she had misjudged them she thought, feeling guilty for her lack of faith. But then the title of duchess did strange things to people. She'd been out in society so little she'd had no real opportunity to witness it first hand before now. Here though there were certainly an abundance of toadies and flatterers.

  One such, an obsequious lady dressed in pink with too many frills and around half a dozen daughters trailing in her wake, did become a bit tiresome. Milly bore with it, however, doing her best to keep up her side of the tedious conversation. The poor woman obviously had a tough undertaking to dispose of so many daughters well, when they clearly lacked much in the way of obvious assets. Milly understood enough to know that being favoured by the Duchess of Ware would improve their social standing. So she did her best to encourage them to dance and chat to their friends, instead of standing staring at the floor and looking like wallflowers.

  The irony of it wasn't lost on her.

  But among all the vacuous smiles and dull conversations she thought she sensed some genuine people who did really smile and seem to accept her, albeit with a little surprise mixed with those friendly expressions.

  To her amusement her husband glowered down all but the most persistent suitors who wished to dance with her. Monopolising her himself he seemed uncaring of the gossip that would undoubtedly be the result of it. Cynically she assumed it would probably be that they believed he was afraid to let her out of his sight in case she embarrassed him by having a fit or doing something foolish. So when she heard someone musing about how remarkable it was that the duke had fallen in love with his own wife, she was unprepared for the shock of it.

  On overhearing the conversation Milly had blushed and been too flustered to say a word, though it was clear Mrs Lacey, a newly married and cheerful woman she’d been speaking to, had heard the comment as well as she had.

  "You're a lucky woman," she said, her cheeks dimpling as she cast an admiring look at Beau. "Though I wouldn't swap my John," she added in something of a hurry much to Milly's amusement.

  It appeared that her husband was deep in conversation with Beau about some new buildings he was putting up on his land and so she allowed Mrs Lacey to bear her off in search of refreshment.

  Once fortified with a glass of Champagne, a pleasure previously denied to Milly before she was married, they began to return to their husbands.

  "Letty, is that you?"

  A moment later Mrs Lacey was engulfed by feminine squeals as some of her old friends fell upon her with delight. Feeling slightly out of place among such vivacious familiarity, Milly excused herself, wanting very much to see her husband again. The idea that she hadn't misinterpreted the look in his eyes earlier, the words he had spoken promising to make sure her future held nothing to fear ... they had all touched her deeply. But she hadn't dared to believe it meant anything more than a growing affection. But if others could see it ...

  Dazed and with the first real tremulous hopes flickering to life in her heart she didn't at first recognise the glowering presence of her cousin, Mr Brownlow.

  She paused, looking around to see if another route could be found or if anyone else was about but she appeared to be alone. He strode up to her, an unpleasant look in his eyes.

  Milly put up her chin and reminded herself that she was the duchess of Ware. Beau was here, as were a great many others. He wouldn't dare lay a finger on her in front of so many people.

  "Well, well, look at this. Little Millicent Sparrow all done up in her finery and pretending to be a lady."

  Milly sent him a look of utter loathing and tried to walk past him but his thick hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged it through his arm. Anchoring her to his side Milly felt the first flicker of alarm growing in her chest.

  "Unhand me, Mr Brownlow. I am no longer yours to abuse as you see fit."

  The words were worth it for the look of fury that glittered in his eyes. If she'd seen a look like that in the past she'd have received a slap that would have sent her to the ground. But he couldn't touch her any more.

  "Oh, yes, you think you're a grand lady now, don't you, Milly?" She realised now that he'd been drinking, the smell of liquor clung to him and she knew well enough how unpredictable he could be when he had a few glasses of brandy in him. He licked his thick lips and Milly shuddered as he pulled her closer to him. "I have to admit, I should have let you have some new clothes. If I'd known such delights lay under those shabby gowns I might have found ways to be nicer to you."

  He leered down at her, staring at her cleavage as Milly gasped in horror and tried to tug her hand away from him, but it was held fast.

  "Yes, you've put some weight on too," he added as he reached out and squeezed her waist. "I was foolish not to see what was under my nose, wasn't I?" His voice was low now and threatening, and Milly shivered in fear. "But not to worry," he added, sounding suddenly jovial. "We can always make up for lost time."

  "No!"

  Torn between disbelief that he would dare make good on his threat, the appalling idea of making a scene and knowing just how bad an idea being alone with the man really was, she tried to get free as he bore her towards a closed door, away from the main ballroom.

  She struggled to get away as panic began to claw at her thr
oat. "Let me go!" But his hold on her was too fierce and the panic began to grow in her chest. This man had bullied and abused her for most of her life and she knew the cost of trying to fight back. She felt faint, the first stirrings of that strange disconnected feeling stealing over her that heralded the onset of a fit.

  "Take your hands off my wife, you bastard!"

  Relief such as she'd never known flooded her as her cousin released his hold on her. She ran back to Beau who caught her in his arms and put his hand to her face. Looking up at him she was taken aback by the sheer fury in his eyes.

  "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, his voice rough.

  To her shame Milly found she couldn't answer, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of her husband. In all the time she'd lived with Mr Brownlow there had been no one to save her. But now there was.

  Her silence was answer enough for Beau.

  It was only then that she realised Mr and Mrs Lacey had seen everything that had passed. As Beau released her she was handed into Mrs Lacey's plump arms and had no time to protest before Beau had crossed the floor and hit Mr Brownlow in the face.

  As large a man as Brownlow was, he was no match for Beau. He hit the floor with all the grace of a sack of coal while Beau stood over him glowering.

  "Name your seconds, you bastard."

  Milly felt her heart plummet in her chest and ran to Beau, clutching at his arm.

  "No! No, Beau you mustn't, please ..."

  "L-listen to your wife, man," Brownlow stuttered, suddenly very aware of just how dire his situation was as blood dripped in a steady stream from his nose. He held up one fat hand, a pleading gesture that fell on stony ground as Beau had murder in his eyes. "It was just a misunderstanding."

  It had been the wrong thing to say.

  Beau reached down and hauled the fat man to his feet and hit him so hard he went down and didn't move.

  It looked very much to Milly like he was dead. Panic rose in her chest again and this time she couldn't fight the onset of the fit. She gasped, fighting for breath as her knees gave way, and fell.