Chapter Twelve #2
A stack of invitations and calling cards sat in the foyer, and three of them were actually for her.
A walking invitation from a Mr. Vincent Mainer that sounded …
less than proper, a carriage drive invitation from Lord Bernard Paples whom she couldn’t recall ever meeting, and an invitation to the widows’ tea from the Duchess of Richmond.
She wanted to dump them all into the wastebasket, but no doubt her aunt would fish them out and complain about her lack of ambition in netting the duke.
Sighing, she shifted them to Margaret’s stack and headed upstairs.
Over dinner Edmund continued to complain about Delilah. “Did Lady Pauline bite you?” Iris asked, sipping at her ratafia when she would much rather have been drinking whiskey or brandy in the garden with Beckett. “You still seem very angry at her. Delilah wasn’t her fault.”
“She’s—She’s a … a taker.”
“Lord Hentrose must have said something previously to make her think she would be receiving a gift, or she would have had no reason to make that assumption. So at worst, this was a matter of confusion. If you want to remain friends with Becks, you’re going to have to be able to be polite to the woman who’s going to be her mother. ”
“Stepmother,” he corrected.
“Yes, stepmother. Now. If you’re going to continue to sulk, please go to your room and read one of your books. I’ll tell you goodnight later.”
He stood up, his shoulders squared. “You don’t need to do that. I can put myself to bed. I’m not a baby.”
Well, that hurt. She had tolerance for two men in her life at the moment, and one of them evidently didn’t need his sheets tucked in any longer. The other one, she wanted to untuck. “Certainly. I’ll see you in the morning, then. I love you, Pickle.”
He stopped in the doorway, his back to her. “I love you, too,” he grumbled, and left.
And now she felt better again. If children had any idea how much their happiness and well-being affected the moods of their elders, they would rule the world. Which would be interesting, but also too full of ponies and sewer tunnels.
She finished her dinner alone in the small dining room.
Tonight, Grove House felt like a trap, a place where the walls pushed closer and closer together until she didn’t have room to breathe.
Going for a walk would clear her head, but doing so by herself after dark would have been worse than stupid.
Instead she paced the length of her borrowed bedchamber, sending Polly away when the maid came to help her change into her night rail. She didn’t feel ready to give in to the evening just yet. The second she caught herself looking toward the window she knew why she felt so restless.
Grabbing a shawl, she made her way downstairs and out the garden door. Raines House was as quiet as Grove House this evening. Beckett was more than likely at a dance or dinner elsewhere, as she was aware of at least a half dozen of those going on tonight.
Even so, she walked over to the gate and put her hands on the railing. “I don’t suppose anyone is over there,” she muttered, on the chance that someone—he—was.
A half-full bottle of wine appeared over the top of the fence, and she reached up to take it. “I started without you,” the marquis said.
“I’m not about to complain.” She took a swig, leaning back against her side of the wall. “That’s a fine wine.”
“It’s Spanish. Made from black currants.
I have no idea what happened this morning, Iris.
I would have headed Pauline off, but then you went and said that I’d bought Delilah for her.
Now Rebecca isn’t speaking to me, I had luncheon in a public room of a crowded establishment with Pauline’s grandparents, the word ‘marriage’ twittering through the air, and I’m going to Lord and Lady Ramsey’s home for dinner tomorrow night.
Those are her parents, you know. No doubt they’ll be shouting that word at me, as well. ”
“Are you going to ask Lord Ramsey for permission to marry Pauline, then?” The words tasted foul, so she drank another large swallow of wine to dispel them.
“I’m meant to, certainly. I dislike being cornered, though, and so I expect I’ll be obtuse about it. Next week, perhaps, or the week after, but on my schedule. Not her family’s.”
Good. “Your courtship has been quite orderly, when you consider it,” Iris commented, handing back the bottle. “First a luncheon with her, then a dinner with her sisters and brothers-in-law, luncheon with the family patriarch, and next dinner with her parents.”
“It is orderly, isn’t it? I smell my mother’s hand in it all, and that annoys me. I’m not certain why, because Lady Pauline is literally everything I said I want in a wife. And then some.”
“Perhaps it’s easy because there’s no emotion involved,” she stated. “Courting is supposed to be about falling in love, and that is chaotic and mad. This is a business agreement. Which is what you’re after, yes?”
“Yes. It still feels like it shouldn’t be so … simple. I don’t even have to lift a finger. Just go along with her suggestions, and I’ll be married before I realize it.”
“And that is your complaint?”
“I’m being foolish about it, I suppose, but…” She heard him move, and then he slipped through the gate to join her in the Grove House garden. “I keep coming back to that same word. Trap.”
“I do know what you mean.” Iris looked at his profile as he sank to the ground, knees bent and back against the wall.
A moment later she joined him. At least no one would be looking for them tonight.
“Trent is not something I would even have imagined. In fact, the idea of remarrying at all, even to some wealthy gentleman, never occurred to me. I’m not looking forward to a union, but there’s a certain amount of sense to the match. ”
He passed the bottle back to her. “How was Edmund? He looked angry when I left.”
“Oh, he’s been growling at me for hours. I should have challenged Lady Pauline to a duel, evidently.”
Beckett snickered. “I might have enjoyed seeing that.”
She knocked his ribs with her elbow. “I attempted to explain that yesterday I didn’t own a horse and this evening I don’t own a horse, so essentially nothing has changed, but he has a strong sense of justice.”
“He leads with his heart. Which is very refreshing.”
A tear filled one eye and spilled over. “It’s remarkable, considering the absolute volcanic ruin of his life so far.”
“No. He had you. The ruin might have been all around him, but you kept him safe, kept his world in balance. Anything doing damage to you, therefore, is unacceptable.”
“Well, that’s very insightful of you.” She glanced sideways at him, to find him already gazing at her.
Slowly, clearly expecting her to stop him, he leaned sideways until his mouth caught hers.
Immediate, heady arousal winged through her, hot and wet.
She couldn’t put it to the wine, because she’d imbibed barely a glass’s worth of the stuff thus far.
No, she wanted him. She wanted to forget the mess that remained around her life for a few blasted minutes and just …
enjoy being with someone who wanted her.
Sliding her hand into the thick dark hair at the back of his head, she kissed him back, twisting to face him and half closing her eyes at the warm, hard heat of him. Both of them could be engaged within a week, but they weren’t promised to anyone tonight.
“Iris, are you—”
“Don’t ask me if I’m certain,” she interrupted, going up onto her knees and yanking her dress out from under her legs. “Just … don’t talk.”
“I can manage that.”
“Good.” She swung her right leg over his, sinking down onto his thighs. The two of them together unfastened his trousers, and then he lifted up on his hands as she tugged them down to his knees. And oh, he was gloriously aroused.
With a small smile of satisfaction she raised up again, shifted forward, and then slowly, very slowly, lowered herself onto him, sinking down around him until his hard cock filled her completely.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.
Beckett tilted her chin up with his fingers, kissing her open-mouthed, tongues tangling.
Even as she considered that she would rather be naked and rolling about in a comfortable bed with him, he shifted beneath her and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning aloud.
His gaze on her face was intense and amused and aroused, and with a breathless smile of her own Iris lifted up a little, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and sank down again.
His jaw clenched, his head falling back a little.
Beckett splayed his big hands on her bare thighs, holding on to her as he thrust up into her the next time she lowered herself on him.
In a moment they’d found their rhythm, bouncing up and down on the side of the garden beneath the wall, the chirps of crickets and frogs and their heavy, deep breathing the only sounds.
Beyond the wall carriages and carts rolled by, someone announced they were going to White’s, and dogs barked farther up the street.
Iris dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding him hard as she climaxed, spasming and euphoric, with a held breath.
Good heavens. Not being able to make a sound somehow made it …
more. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her back arching, and in response Beckett grunted, pushed up hard and fast into her, and then came, himself.
Sitting up straighter, he caught a hand around the nape of her neck and brought her face down to kiss her again, deep and slow.
Iris wanted to melt, to sink into him and simply stay there.
In the garden. Their lower halves naked.
“Good heavens,” she murmured, kissing him back.
He lifted an eyebrow, his other hand stroking up her thigh, and she chuckled. “You can speak now. Quietly.”
“I think we spilled the wine.”
She looked for it, finding it a foot away and still upright.
With a grin she picked it up and took another drink, then handed it off to him.
The idea of them remaining there, him still inside her, made her want to rip off all his clothes and her clothes and do things with him. More things. Naughtier things.
Scooting his bare backside back toward the wall a bit, he drank, as well. “I’m glad I stayed home tonight,” he whispered, lowering both of his hands to her thighs now and still being very distracting.
“So am I. I needed this.” She’d needed him, actually, because she couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Especially not with that person whose name and face she didn’t want to conjure right now. He would likely break a hip doing this, anyway, and she didn’t trust him. She trusted Beckett.
“Well. Given Delilah’s loss, it’s only fair that you ride me.”
“Hmm. Until the engagement announcements appear in the newspaper, anyway,” she muttered, kissing him until she realized she would never have her fill.
Reluctantly she lifted off him. Standing, she shook leaves and dirt off her skirts and settled the material back down around her again.
Her knees felt a bit wobbly. Her insides felt a bit wobbly, and her thoughts were infinitely wobbly.
It was those blasted daydreams again, and at this moment, she could almost taste them.
“There’s a stone under my arse,” Beckett muttered, and climbed to his feet, as well. Shoving his shirt back into his trousers, he refastened them. He looked a little disheveled, but not so much that anyone else would notice, she decided. She more than likely looked precisely the same.
“I should go.” Handing him the wine, she turned away.
“If Rebecca would like to come over for Edmund’s rhyming lessons tomorrow, she’s more than welcome.
At ten o’clock?” She looked over her shoulder at him, deliberately giving him a head-to-toe glance, pretending that she wasn’t one whisker away from falling to the ground with him again.
“You may attend, as well. I’ll have tea and biscuits. ”
“I may just do that.” Beckett caught her hand, drawing her back in so she had to put her free palm against his chest to keep her balance. Bending his head, he kissed her again, slow and soft. “I needed that, as well,” he murmured. “Good night, Iris.”
Now her face felt hot; she seemed to be blushing. Wonderful. “Good night, Beckett.”