Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Annabelle Winthrop twisted her skirts with unease.
The festivities had grown only more unruly since Elizabeth’s parting words, leaving her unsure how to conduct herself, or whom she might even converse with.
She wished Lizzie had not abandoned her, but as the bride, her sister was expected to broadly socialize.
Annabelle hid herself in a corner of the room, awaiting Papa’s return, when a man sidled up, weaving on his feet.
“An’ why ain’t you partakin’ in no fun, miss? Why, you’re prettier’n all th’—”
“She’s not one of Li’s,” a gruff voice interrupted. “Christ, man, have some sense.” Annabelle’s tawny-haired savior sent the drunkard stumbling with a firm shove. “Not the brightest chap, I’m afraid,” he apologized, straightening his suitcoat.
“I am in your debt, sir.” She’d not felt her heart thudding till now. “And am grateful for your assistance.”
The gentleman flashed her a sparkling smile. Not only was he smartly dressed, he did not reek of drink. An anomaly in this crowd.
“And as you are clearly not one of Miss Li’s ladies, I presume you are with the bride’s party instead?”
“I am her sister.” Annabelle was relieved to be conversing in a civilized manner.
“Then I shall remain steadfast by your side Miss—Winthrop, is it?—to scare off further untoward advances.”
He charmed her not a little with his fine manner of speech and equally fine appearance; she suddenly found her heart thudding for altogether different reasons.
“Thank you, sir. I am sure my father shall return shortly.”
“Lord Winthrop, I presume?”
“Do you know him?” Annabelle was instantly suspicious. Papa knew too many gentlemen of a certain type.
The man’s lips twitched. Sculpted lips, neither thin nor thick. She really should not notice.
“I do, Miss Winthrop, as he regularly frequents my establishment.”
“Your establishment?”
“Yes, I own a—”
But he was cut short by Papa himself, who’d appeared like a burr at Annabelle’s side.
“Bella, we are leaving.” Her father took her arm in a close grip. “I’ve bid farewell to Lizzie and the Baron so we needn’t—”
“Lord Winthrop.” The gentleman stepped forward. “I was just making your daughter’s acquaintance.”
Papa seemed instantly on his guard. “Harris, I did not expect to find you here.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No, I—”
“The Baron and I are old friends, sir. Business partners. Surely you knew that.”
Her father’s face flushed. “If this is a matter concerning my account—”
“No, no, not at all,” the gentleman assured Papa but met Annabelle’s eyes.
“I never mix business with pleasure, my lord, though meeting your daughter has been a singular pleasure indeed.” He took Annabelle’s hand and smoothly kissed it, her father’s face a cloud of fury.
She felt a hard edge press her glove as the gentleman kept her hand prisoner a moment longer than was necessary.
And then Mr. Harris smiled pointedly at Annabelle.
His teeth were slightly crooked, one jagged, as if he’d bitten off something hard. It gave him a slightly feral look, though not menacing. Intriguing.
“I hope we meet again, Miss Winthrop.” His eyes locked on hers. “Happy to be of service, should you ever find yourself in need.”
She flushed as he released her hand, then quickly slipped his card into her dress pocket to hide the indiscretion. Mr. Harris clearly knew her father, and knew him in a way she felt sure was not entirely above board.
***
Harris stepped away from the girl and immediately sought Jasp, who took one look at him and asked, “You met the sister, then?”
“Oi.” He nodded. “Jam tart, that one.”
Jasper’s brow furrowed.
“Not that I were lookin’,” he added. “But I see yer concern. You sure about this, Jasp? Meddlin’ in some lord’s affairs rarely leads to—”
“Arty, you know the girl’s addle-pated father, and you’ve just met my wife. What do you think is going to happen to Annabelle Winthrop if I don’t intervene?” His face soured.
Harris chewed his lip. “I’ll keep me eye on ol’ Winthrop, but I can’t be there at every turn.”
“I simply need you to keep her safe until I can arrange a proper marriage.”
Harris shook his head. “Inform yer lady wife, Jasp. If she’s not in the know then—”
“If Lizzie is at all in the know things will go south decidedly fast. You’ve no idea the temper on that woman.”
Harris laughed. “Temper? You, Jasp, marry some blueblood with a temper? Why, this day can’t get no better!”
Jasper glowered, like he usually did, but Harris took no heed. He’d known his best mate all his life, having grown up with him in the East End, a whoreson like himself.
And he made damn sure Jasper Audrey never forgot it.
Because climbing ranks was something Harris had never understood, though to be fair, he didn’t know his own sire, and frankly, didn’t care.
Still, Jasp had enough blunt now to live the lap of luxury.
Hell, he’d set Harris up in business, God bless.
But marrying this fancy lady and interfering in the fancy sister’s affairs wasn’t right.
He’d do his bit to help his friend, but he didn’t have to like it. Though he did like the look of yon miss—some toff was sure to snatch her up. Jasp would have no trouble marrying the young lady off, provided her old ‘pot and pan’ didn’t auction her to a high bidder first.
Elizabeth felt dizzy. She longed to lie down and escape the boisterous voices which all clamored for her attention. Hadn’t Milton promised her a rest before dinner? Were all weddings so exhausting? She’d lost count of how many colorful ‘characters’ she’d met.
She edged her way toward a door, hoping to find a room she might lie down in. She slipped inside, eyes landing greedily on a chaise. She headed straight for its soft cushions when noises ground her steps to a halt.
Two guests pressed into a corner seemed wholly unaware she’d entered the room.
Worse still, they looked as if they were, well, rutting!
A man stood behind a woman, skirts lifted to her waist, his hands angling her hips as he thrust against her in that same rhythmic motion Mr. Damon had used to avail himself of Evie’s mouth at Madame LeBrecht’s.
A hand clapped over Elizabeth’s lips as her husband’s voice whispered, “Come away, wife, give the lovers their privacy. There’ll be time enough to watch some other day, time enough for our own play.”
That same hand left her lips to brazenly trail its way to her bosom, making Elizabeth arch her torso back against his own. He lowered his head to her neck as he ground his hips into her bottom, palm gripping her bodice.
“Lizzie, you wanton—” Milton broke off, his breath hot on her skin. “Come away now, quick, before I lift your skirts too. Let me show you to your bedroom, though God knows I ought to find someone else to take you there instead.”
Their walk upstairs passed in a haze, Elizabeth’s senses remaining heightened from the encounter, though Milton did not speak or touch her more. He merely showed her inside a room.
“You may retire here until dinner. Your lady’s maid will rouse you when it is time to dress.” He began to undo her wedding gown’s numerous hooks.
“I’m sure I can manage, sir, you needn’t—”
“Allow me to assist you, wife.” His tone, as usual, commanded.
Elizabeth ceased further protest, for why should she now resist? As husband he’d every right to undress her, every right to take her right this minute if he wished. She flushed to recall what she’d seen in that room, the sounds made, the motions of bodies in sway.
Her dress fell to the floor as Milton gently unlaced her stays. Before she knew it, her corset slipped free and her head fell back against his chest, his chin resting atop her head.
***
Milton held his wife a moment longer before he scooped her up and laid her on the bed. His eyes traveled up her white, stockinged legs to the V visible beneath her all too sheer, clinging shift.
He wrenched his gaze to her face to remove her spectacles, then pressed a kiss to her brow and a firmer one to her lips. And then he stepped from her room into the hall, directly into Li’s path.
The lady took his arm. “I feared you were up to no good.” She marched him down the hallway, and then down his grand staircase, one blasted step at a time. “Patience is a virtue Jasper, you of all men know this.”
“I am not without willpower, Li.”
“When it comes to your bride, I fear you may be.”
He harrumphed as they entered the ballroom, Li making a moue as she surveyed the guests cavorting about, some of whom careened unsteadily across the room.
“This is not at all what your mother and I envisioned.” She angrily snapped open her fan.
“Honestly, Li, can one expect anything less from a party of pirates, whores, and thieves?”
“I suppose not.” She grimaced. “Though thankfully this is a private party devoid of gossip rags.”
“Who said I didn’t invite the rags?”
“Jasper!” She smacked him with her fan. “You will ruin your poor wife’s reputation before she’s even—”
“Elizabeth’s reputation was ruined the moment we wed. It is better this way. Let them know whom she married, and let her know who her husband is.”
“Yet you take offense when they snub you—as they’ll snub her now too.” She huffed. “There is a proper way to go about these things, yet time and again you choose the opposite.”
“I’ll not hide who I am.”
“No one is asking you to, Jasper, but—”
“No.” He cut her short. “My father will acknowledge my existence.”
“But Jasper, the man will never—”
Milton walked away from Li. She believed he was intentionally making things difficult for Elizabeth. What she didn’t understand was that he needed his wife to succeed, to triumph in her role.
Everything he did was to prepare and protect her, because everything he’d long sought was at last within reach: title, wife, influence, heirs. He’d never be a duke, but he could run in dukes’ circles, use his wealth to thwart endeavors, access persons of importance in ways previously denied him.
Milton could and would make his sire sit up and notice, and then he’d make that man’s life a living hell.
In the meantime, he was rich enough to throw himself a goddamn party, the sort of party befitting of a whoreson.
The few toffs who’d deigned to accept his invitation would tell those who had declined just how filthy rich he was, rich enough to flaunt his illegitimacy in their faces.
Besides, even if he’d done every last thing right, put on the most proper wedding dinner and dance in all of London, they’d still have scoffed behind his back, tittered behind their fans. The Ton found fault no matter how hard he strived to fit in. Why not give them what they already all assumed?
His wife would win them over. She’d add the poise he lacked. Elizabeth would put them in their place and shine where he did not.
She was crucial to his plans. He needed her like he needed air.
Dinner devolved quickly into dancing, only it was not the sort of dancing Elizabeth had been taught. This was peasant dancing at best, and at worst, drunken tromping about. Guests who were also musicians had struck up a jig, to which couples leapt and twirled about.
“Word of warning, my dear: prepare to be manhandled.” Madam Audrey had appeared at Elizabeth’s side. “It’s tradition amongst our folk for a man’s bride to be passed between his friends.”
“Passed?” Elizbeth was appalled. “Why, I’ve never heard tell of such custom as this, madam. I most certainly will not be—”
But already she’d been nabbed, her mother-in-law’s parting smirk flashing.
Elizabeth was suddenly tossed across the floor, spun silly in various men’s arms. A hand at her waist, a hand on her arse, she was flung this way and that, like a ragdoll.
Pulled to men’s legs and tighter still to men’s chests, the speed of the jig increased the room’s shouts and stomps to an alarming, fevered pitch.
Until she fell into familiar hands.
Milton righted her in his grasp, snapped his fingers above his head, and the music changed at once to a slower, more sultry tune. It was no song she knew, but her husband’s sure feet led her in step.
The lyrics, however, were another matter.
“Sir,” she hissed. “This song is … Why, it’s—”
“The Lusty Young Smith.” Milton chuckled. “’Tis played at all weddings.”
“Milton, no such song is played at all weddings.” Her cheeks scalded as the next verse rang out.
Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire,
And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so.
Quoth she, “What I get, I get out of the fire,
Then prithee, strike hard and redouble the blow.”
With a jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle,
With a jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle, hi ho!
He lifted her high at hi ho! and grinned for exertion. “Well, ’tis sung at our weddin’, darlin’. Our guests’ll expect I strike hot at yer forge!”
Elizabeth’s ears burned at her husband’s crass language, while the song’s verse, and tempo, grew bawdier still.
Six times did his iron by vigorous heating,
Grow soft in her forge in a minute or so,
And as often was hardened, still beating and beating,
But each time it softened, it hardened more slow.
With a jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle,
With a jingle bang, jingle bang, jingle, hi ho!
Again, she was lifted, and when brought down, tipped low. “And I’ll not apologize fer wantin’ to show off me new wife neither.” She gasped as her husband pulled her up fast, the audience roaring with hoots and hollers. “Shall we give ’em a taste o’ what’s t’ come, luv?”
Milton looked like the devil, his blue eyes bright gems, speech slipping into that of a wholly different person.
She tried to protest, but he flipped her over his shoulder and cupped her arse with his palm.
The room erupted in whistles and laughter as he spun her rump high overhead in his arms, the verse now altered so the Smith was named Jasper, his damsel named Lizzie.
The tempo reached its peak as Milton landed her on her feet, then bent her back in a kiss that was … masterful.
Elizabeth’s head reeled.
When he finally let up, he bowed to his brethren, the room awash with fresh cheers. “To Jasper!” they shouted. “The bastard’s done wed! Huzzah to the Baron, our whoreson, our lad!”
Milton again threw Elizabeth over his shoulder, bidding the crowd good night. He carried her off, to complete the final act.