Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The baron’s wickedness knew no bounds
Elizabeth poked her chin with her quill, hemming.
The story was barely an outline in her head, directionless.
It needed both defining and fleshing out.
Yet it helped distract her from the wicked thoughts she would not admit to having.
It was not she who’d dreamt of the brooding baron’s lustful touch, but the ruined lady in her story who could not resist her evil captor.
She reread her last line, picking up where she’d left off.
The baron’s wickedness knew no bounds, for this time he’d bound the lady’s wrists, her tears flowing down her pale
“Drat.” Elizabeth’s ink smeared; she blotted the line as best she could, realizing she’d used the word ‘bound’ twice.
“Lizzie!” Annabelle’s voice carried up from the foyer into Elizabeth’s bedroom. “The Baron has sent more flowers. Red tulips this time!”
Elizabeth steeled herself for another of her betrothed’s wretched notes, in what was becoming a tired joke. She sprinkled pounce on the page, shook it back into the pot, then laid the sheaf atop her stack and headed down to breakfast.
My dear Elizabeth, I have determined a ride about the park with my betrothed in my new phaeton suits today’s fine weather. I shall arrive at two and expect you, this time, to be punctual. —Milton
Punctual! she fumed. Well, two could play at this. She would indeed be punctual. In fact, she’d be more punctual than he would.
Elizabeth carried the man’s disgusting, ‘declare-his-love’ tulips to the front entrance and dumped the lot upon the step.
Milton drove his new phaeton toward the Winthrop residence with uncharacteristic unease.
He’d not intended to reveal his past to his betrothed so soon, but the way she’d taunted him at lunch, flaunting her birth in his face, had been insufferable.
Miss Winthrop had demonstrated precisely what he hated about her class—and the very reason he needed her for a wife.
That he’d had to buy his title was a necessity he’d long resisted, because by rights a far greater title ought to have been his at birth.
Some gentry chose to elevate their bastards’ stations in life, but his spiteful sire had not.
Milton’s father was a different sort of ‘bastard’ altogether: a legitimate bloody prick.
No doubt sweet Elizabeth had been repulsed by his sullied lineage and gone crying to her papa last night to insist he dissolve their engagement.
Only Winthrop would do no such thing; Milton had the man by his cobblers.
It mattered little which daughter he wed, though Elizabeth’s fierce glare atop her aristocratic neck, starkly profiled on Li’s dais, had made his own bollocks ache.
He was still picturing Miss Winthrop’s charms when he pulled up before her father’s townhouse and lashed the phaeton’s horse to the post. As he approached, he noted petals again stained the ground.
He stepped over the blooms in his boots and was about to rap the knocker when the door opened to Miss Winthrop herself, dressed smartly, and on time.
“Why, Miss Winthrop, you—”
Her frown was severe. “You are late, sir.” She pointed to the foyer’s ticking long-case clock. “It is a minute past two and your note stressed punctuality.”
He hid his grin behind a cough. “Elizabeth, your timeliness astounds, truly. I am so pleased you accepted my invitation for a drive, though I see my bouquets continue to—” his eyes flitted to the red dusting beneath his feet—“disappoint.”
“Indeed, sir, coming as they do straight from a hothouse rather than from true-heated sentiment.”
“Then I shall endeavor to do better.” He extended her his arm. “Shall we?”
Miss Winthrop accepted. As they neared his gleaming phaeton, however, she abruptly stopped. “Goodness, I have forgotten my parasol, and it is much too bright to go without. I shall be but a moment, sir, forgive me.” She headed back inside, leaving him to wait.
And wait he did, for the lady took her time to fetch said parasol, making Milton remove his timepiece from his pocket more than once.
At a quarter past two he began to suspect she’d not taken yesterday’s lesson to heart.
When she at last emerged, she apologized profusely for the delay, though as he handed her up into his phaeton, she waved her parasol all too enthusiastically at the woman next door.
“Hello-o, Lady Stanton! I say, good day to you! Have you met my intended? Do come and greet him. I simply must show him off.”
Miss Winthrop swiftly stepped back down from Milton’s vehicle, took his arm again in grip, and marched him determinedly in the direction of her neighbor.
What the devil did she have up her sleeve this time?
“Why, Lizzie!” the lady exclaimed. “Intended?” She clutched her hands to her formidable breast. “Since when are you betrothed, my dear, and to such a handsome gentleman?” The matron bent to scoop a wriggling pug into her arms, but not before giving Milton a saucy wink.
Christ, had he serviced her in past? Milton winced at the thought, realizing his wife would have to navigate a host of former clients he’d once taken for pay.
“Lady Stanton, this is my betrothed, Baron of Milton. He has offered me a ride in his fine new phaeton, is it not exquisite?” Elizabeth caught his eye, making Milton bite his tongue at her boldness.
“It is indeed a fine carriage, most fine.” Lady Stanton appraised the vehicle. “Though I admit, I am not familiar with the Milton Barony. Is it—?”
“It is a Scottish Barony.” Lizzie spared him further explanation, exactly as a wife should. “And how is Sir Wigglebottom today, Lady Stanton?” She tickled the rotund creature’s chin, neatly changing tack.
“Naughty as always, Lizzie. Very naughty, aren’t you?” Lady Stanton proceeded to regale them at length about her pet’s adventures, making Milton’s ears twitch. If there was one thing he hated more than pugs, it was ladies who waxed on in excruciating detail about their pets.
Not to mention fiancées who deliberately stalled.
He pulled out his timepiece, noting it was now a full five minutes past the half hour. He snapped it shut with a click loud enough Miss Winthrop flinched.
About time she noticed.
“Lady Stanton.” He tucked Lizzie’s arm in an iron-proof clasp. “I am exceedingly sorry to interrupt your stories of Sir Wigglebottom, but I really must see Miss Winthrop escorted to the park.” He gripped her close. “I’ve a surprise planned for her, you see, which simply cannot wait.”
“Oh?” The lady’s eyes twinkled. “But of course, sir, don’t let me detain you. It has been a pleasure to meet you.” She extended him her hand, which he refused to kiss, it having been slobbered on by pug.
“Lizzie, dear, you must call on me posthaste, that I learn all there is to know about your handsome Baron.” The matron shot him a sly, parting glance. “Tea perhaps, tomorrow?” she hinted, while he all but hoisted Miss Winthrop back into his phaeton.
“Tomorrow would be lovely, Lady Stanton, shall we say two o’clock?” Lizzie’s eyes met Milton’s and did not blink.
Devil take this girl, she needed training like he needed air to breathe. And he needed to regain control fast. He steadied his nearly shaking hands as he climbed atop and took the reins to urge the phaeton forward, at last.
He drove them in stony silence.
“You are quiet today, sir.” Elizabeth attempted conversation even as she nervously licked her lips. Milton chose not to respond. She did not know him nearly well enough to be testing him at so furious a pace, which is why he let her stew a while longer in silence, in anticipation of his ‘surprise.’
Milton had not intended to surprise Miss Winthrop today with anything but a leisurely drive about the park, to show her off to the Ton’s promenading gossips.
He’d purchased the phaeton for this express purpose, finding carriages like these ridiculous, but lords and ladies liked to show off their wealth, so he behaved just as frivolously.
He snuck a peek at his betrothed, who still worried her lips.
He imagined nibbling her plush pout until he had her panting beneath him like the pug had panted at Elizabeth’s touch.
Her thigh bumped his on the high, narrow bench, making his breeches pull taut.
He gripped the reins tighter as she shifted in her seat, heat sparking.
But when her palm abruptly landed on his leg he jerked, snarling, “Hands off!”
***
“Oh I—forgive me, I did not mean to offend.” Elizabeth was quite caught off guard, for the Baron seemed unduly upset by her simply steadying herself.
He pulled the horse up, grinding the phaeton to a stop. “Did I not tell you never to touch me unless I gave my permission?”
“You did.” She gulped. “Sir.”
“And did I not express my preference for punctuality but yesterday too?”
“You did, Baron. I—”
“Yet you continue to do everything in your power to show me the very opposite of obedience and respect.”
Too late, Elizabeth realized playing with fire would likely get her scorched.
“I do not think you understand what I expect of a wife, miss.” He hopped down from the phaeton only to haul her from her seat and drag her in the direction of the woods, straight toward a thicket.
“Baron, please, you cannot—” She looked in desperation all about her, but not a couple or carriage was in sight. He marched her deeper into the trees where no one would notice them, find them, come for them. “Sir—”
“Not a word more, Elizabeth,” he ordered harshly, “or your punishment will be that much more severe.”
“Punishment?” she exclaimed, and immediately shut her lips. She must lessen, rather than fuel, this man’s wrath, though her own wrath bubbled just below her fear.
He dragged her into a small clearing, then plunked himself down atop a fallen tree trunk and hauled her, head down, across his lap. He raised her skirts full over her waist and gripped her bottom, causing Elizabeth to freeze, her mind falling blank.