Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
When their carriage pulled up before Jasper’s posh diggings, Lady Milton’s words did not surprise Harris in the least.
“I shall see my sister home first, sir,” she insisted.
“Ma’am, I have every intention of—”
“No.” Her lips set. “You have damaged my sister’s reputation and schemed behind my back with my husband this entire night.”
“Lady Milton.” Harris was too tired for this fight. “I urged your husband to inform you of your sister’s situation and, I might add, I counseled your sister to do the same.” He shot Annabelle a look. “But neither listened, forcing me to take matters into my own hands tonight.”
The lady took pause. “I’ll grant they are equally pigheaded.”
From the corner of his eye, Harris saw Miss Winthrop flinch.
“But you deliberately compromised Annabelle this evening and that alone—”
“Lizzie, please,” Bella interrupted. “I should like to speak with Mr. Harris in private. I promise to call tomorrow and explain all, I swear, only give me this time with him, I beg.”
Well done, miss, Harris thought, for he doubted anyone else could have convinced Milton’s wife otherwise.
The lady did indeed capitulate. “Very well, Bella. But if I do not receive word from you by noon tomorrow, you can expect me on your doorstep.” She skewered them both with sharp glares before she disembarked from the carriage.
The driver drove on with the crack of his whip while Miss Winthrop wasted no time to launch her attack. “Arthur, why did you lie? Why tell everyone I’d accepted your proposal?”
“Why, t’ spare you more shame, miss. Turn ruination into celebration.” Obvious, weren’t it?
“No one was fooled, sir.” She seemed only more peeved. “In fact, that performance of yours made it all the less believable or honorable.” Her hands fidgeted in her lap like moths dusting cloth.
“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Y’ didn’t like me kiss.”
“It was most improper.”
“The best kisses always are, miss.”
Her hands began to bunch and knead her skirts. “You have placed me in an untenable position, sir, one which—”
“And I apologize for it, truly.” He donned, again, the guise of gentleman. “Annabelle, I’m afraid the only way forward now is for you to marry me, and fast. Because the jig is up. Finch is on to us. He’ll stop at nothing till he has you for himself.”
Miss Winthrop’s eyes widened, as if gears slowly turned in her head. A minute later, however, the lady had found her nerve again. “I am certain there is another way forward, Mr. Harris. Now that my sister and the Baron are aware of my situation, I’ve no doubt they will—”
“Bella, luv, I’m takin’ yer t’ Gretna, and that’s th’ end of it.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I am sorry it’s come to this.” He dropped the Cockney to ease her shock.
“It was never my intent. Had you not—” He stopped himself, for it mattered little what might have been.
All that mattered now was keeping her from Finch.
“Had things gone as I’d wished, we’d not now find ourselves in this predicament.
But the only way to keep you safe from Finch is to marry you myself.
Which is why I compromised you so thoroughly. ”
“You are mad.” She shook her head. “Mad to think I will marry you! I will find another way. I will—”
“Annabelle…”
“No, this is absurd.” She grew more agitated. “Utterly absurd. You will deliver me to my father’s house this instant, and tomorrow I will visit Lizzie and the Baron, and together we will—”
“Bella, I’m afraid there’s no other solution.”
“There is always another solution!”
He leaned across the carriage to take her hand. “It won’t be real, th’ marriage. I’m not that sort o’ man. We’ll have it annulled once Finch is dealt with.”
“Annulled? One does not simply annul a legal marriage with vows that bind unto death!”
“If the marriage is never consummated and one can prove coercion, then—”
Her doe eyes were large as an owl’s. “You do not wish to marry me at all.”
“’Course not.” He frowned. “I were simply doin’ Jasp a favor by—”
“Doing him a favor?” she burst out. “So he told you to give me your card at Lizzie’s wedding, did he? Told you to court me, told you to-to ruin me?”
“Well, no,” Harris admitted. “That last bit were my idea.”
“Let me out,” she ordered. “You let me out this instant. I shall find my own way home.”
“Bella, luv, now don’t be difficult. We’ll sort things out once we’re married.”
“There will be no marriage!” She wrenched open the carriage door, the night air hitting with surprising cold.
“Christ, woman, shut the bloody door!”
She moved to fling herself from the vehicle, but Harris hauled her to his seat, where she rained fists and words upon his person, demanding her release.
“Stop this carriage!” she screamed. “Let me go!”
Using torso and leg to pin her down so that he nearly sat astride her, Harris managed to free his hands to douse his kerchief with the small bottle he kept for just such purpose, shoving the fabric roughly over her nose.
He palmed her face with the cloth until she fell limp beneath him, cursing her for making him do precisely what he hadn’t wished.
Milton arrived home late wanting only his bed.
He handed his hat and cane to a footman and wearily climbed his all-too-grand staircase.
Tiresome enough to attend a coming out ball, but to deal with Finch of all evils—his gut did another nasty flip—not to mention Harris compromising Annabelle, and the pissant father, Winthrop. ..
He was exhausted.
But he’d find no rest with a wife such as his, oh no, for there she sat, propped atop his bloody bed with a book. Mutton warmed her toes, sprawled across the bedclothes where the blasted hound knew he shouldn’t be.
“Off!” Milton barked.
The beast slunk away, looking guilty as sin.
Elizabeth peered at him over her spectacles. “What took you so long?”
“Why are you in my bed, woman?”
“I am reading,” she answered pertly, “and waiting for you, of course.”
“Well in future you are to wait in your own damn chamber.” He unknotted his cravat. “You enter this room at my request only, as it is my private space.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, for assuming a wife, of all persons, is allowed entry to her husband’s bedchamber.”
He ignored her jab and began to remove his clothes, which felt stiff and sweaty from the evening’s upset.
Elizabeth watched him undress, her dark braid draped to one side of her neck which nestled nicely against his pillow, making him forget, for an instant, his irritation—until she opened her mouth again.
“What did you say to my father, sir?”
“That he is not fit to walk the earth for what he’s done to your sister.” Milton sat at the bed’s edge to pull off his hessians.
“And just what, exactly, has Papa done to Bella?”
“Traded her like chattel to the vilest man in London.” He dropped his boot. “And it is by the Grace of God, in the form of one Arty Harris, that she’s been spared that heinous fate.”
Her shock was great. So great, in fact, that she remained blessedly silent.
Milton stepped out of his breeches.
“You mean Mr. Harris deliberately compromised Bella in order to—”
“Arty contrived tonight’s scandal to keep her from Hieronymus Finch, yes.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, till he was clad only in smalls. He hoped his fine physique might distract her from more questions.
It did not.
“And just who is this Mr. Finch, Milton?”
“Lizzie, darling,” he drawled, “I have dealt this night with the taunts of society, the simpering of your father, the profound endangerment of your sister, and the one man in London who strikes fear in my breast. I should like to go to bed.”
“But Milton, you have yet to explain who this—”
“As I said, wife, I should like to go to bed.” He crawled in beside her. “And since you are here, you may as well ease my troubles.” He removed her spectacles from her face, snatched the book from her hands, and turned down the oil lamp.
“Milton,” her voice rose, “you cannot—”
“Be a good wife for once, Lizzie, and let me fuck you, please.”
“Of all the—!”
She silenced nicely, not only by his kiss but by his hand sliding the length of her night-rail to untie the silly ribbon at her neck. “Mmm, better.” He broke from her lips to nuzzle her neck, pushing the material off her shoulders to expose her breasts.
“Milton, I cannot forget my sister is in danger simply because you now choose to—”
“Mmm, yes, wife.” His hand pushed her night-rail to her waist, tugging it off her hips. “We shall discuss everything come morning, I promise.” He peppered light kisses across her belly.
“This cannot wait until—”
He swallowed her words once more with his lips, before he yanked the obnoxious gown free, leaving her bare atop the bedclothes.
“I’ll take care of everything tomorrow, luv. I promise to keep Annabelle safe. Now stop talking and”—his knee pushed her legs apart—“grant me this reprieve.” He entered her so swiftly all thought fled at how heavenly she felt, cocooning him in heat.
“Good girl,” he groaned into her bosom, beginning to gently rock and thrust against her womb. “You are so lovely, Lizzie, when you obey me.”
At last, all troubles eased, his head relaxed. Milton felt nothing but his wife’s sweet largesse.
Come morning, however, his oh-so-willing Baroness had become an all-too-intent bulldog who poked him beneath the covers. “Milton, I insist you now tell me—”
“Woman, can you not wait until after I’ve had my coffee?” He groaned into his pillow and draped his arm over his head.
“No, I cannot, because you distracted me from all discussion last night, and I must know how best to handle my sister’s situation.”
“You are not handling anything.” He rolled over to face her. “You will stay out of matters so that I may do my job.”
“Your job?” She appeared thoroughly put out. “Is Annabelle not my sister, sir? And should not any actions taken therefore include, nay, require my full participation?”
Milton wished to God he were still asleep.