Chapter Seven
John regarded Beatrice steadily. It was nice to see her clearly, unimpeded by that blasted cowl.
She was staring at him with wide brown eyes. The spray of freckles that he had found so charming ten years ago was still scattered across her nose.
The seconds ticked on, but she didn’t say anything. John cleared his throat. “I believe I have resolved your concern about whether I can afford to support you in a suitable style.”
She crossed the room in two brisk strides, clenched one hand into a fist, and pounded it against his chest.
The impact of this act of violence was diminished when she buried her face in his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me at once?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He wrapped his arms around her. It felt wonderful to hold her the way he had always wanted to. “I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I would receive. I failed to keep our meeting, after all.”
She snuggled against his chest. “Yes, well, I’m still vexed with you for that.”
“Allow me to explain. I came home that evening chattering excitedly about the marvelous girl I had met. As soon as my father realized I was referring to Sir Laurence Wheatley’s daughter, he ordered our trunks packed and then dragged me off to Oxfordshire.”
He felt Beatrice deflate in his arms. “I suspected as much, once I found out who you were. Naturally, your father would want to avoid any connection.”
“My father was wrong,” John said firmly.
“Not that his opinion about your father was unfounded. The way Sir Laurence treated your sister confirms every bad thing I’ve ever heard about him.
But Father was wrong to run away. Your father might be an odious fool…
” he stroked his fingers behind Beatrice’s ear, “but you’re worth any amount of trouble. ”
She said nothing, but suddenly she was trembling in his arms. John wondered if he had said the wrong thing.
He cleared his throat. “Returning to your list of objections—you have now seen my face, and you know my last name. I assume you have no objections to ‘Penrose’?”
Beatrice muttered something into his chest. He decided to interpret it as agreement.
“Excellent. Let’s see, you also wanted to know why I assumed the guise of the headless driver. That is a simple one.” He quickly explained his plan to scare off the thieves who had been stealing his tenants’ farming equipment.
Beatrice did not answer. After a moment, John continued, “What else was there? Ah, yes—you did not wish to marry a man you had only known for six weeks. Happily, that one has resolved itself. It turns out we’ve known each other for years.”
Beatrice finally stirred, if only to glare up at him. “That hardly counts! You’ve only added one additional encounter to our ‘acquaintance.’”
John tutted. “Well, that’s your fault for not being more specific, now, isn’t it?”
She started to protest, but he charged on. “And that brings me to the condition that is my personal favorite—capable of pleasuring wife.”
Beatrice swallowed thickly. “I should not have said anything about that.”
“No, it is an entirely reasonable concern.” He pulled her closer and flexed his hips so she could not fail to notice his current state of arousal. “One that I look forward to addressing.”
She began to tremble again, and John wondered if he had pressed too far. “Beatrice,” he said gently, “I’m speaking in jest. As you have no doubt divined, I want very much to make love to you. But we don’t have to do anything tonight.”
“I want to,” Beatrice snapped. “It’s just…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is all happening very quickly.”
John rubbed her back. “It’s all right. You get to decide how far we go tonight. I am entirely at your disposal.”
She fell silent. After a moment, John said, “May I kiss you?”
“I want to do more than that,” Beatrice said in a rush. She ducked her chin, but he could see a flush of pink on her exposed cheek. “I’ve been having this…problem.”
His voice was deep. “Go on.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. “Every time you’ve kissed me, it made me feel strange inside. As if I wanted something, except…”
He stroked her back. “Except?”
“Except I don’t know what it is that I want,” she muttered, not looking at him.
Ah. John had a fair guess what the problem was. “My kisses made you feel restless. As if you could crawl out of your own skin.”
“Yes.”
“They left you tossing and turning in your bed, and in the morning, you noticed a strange slickness between your legs.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “How did you know?”
John couldn’t help it. He smiled.
“The good news is, I know both the name of your ailment and its cure.”
“What is it?” Beatrice asked guilelessly.
“Desire.” John couldn’t resist giving her a squeeze. “For me.”
She stared pensively across the room and muttered, “I had a feeling that was it.” She looked up at him, her jaw set. “What can we do?”
Smiling like the cat who got the cream, he scooped her into his arms and strode toward the bed. “My darling Beatrice, allow me.”
He set her on the edge of the bed and sat beside her. Taking her hands, he said, “In order to relieve your condition, I will have to touch you, at a minimum, between your legs.”
She nodded tightly. “That makes sense. That’s where the throbbing is, after all.”
John was starting to think this might not be so difficult after all. “In order to produce the best result, and by best, I mean the one which you will find most pleasurable, I would need to remove all of your clothing and touch you everywhere.”
She began loosening the ties of her dress before he even finished the sentence. “Very well.”
John couldn’t believe his good fortune. Was seducing a gently bred young lady really this easy? He felt a pang of guilt, which he promptly quashed. He was planning on marrying her, for Christ’s sake!
He was distracted from these ruminations as a creamy shoulder came into view. “Beatrice,” he murmured. “My God. So beautiful.”
He reached to help, making appreciative sounds as her body came into view, inch by tantalizing inch. When she was down to a translucent, snow-white linen shift, he kissed her. “This is good. Let’s stop here for a minute.”
Beatrice responded eagerly, kissing him back. She lay back on the coverlet, pulling him down on top of her. “Show me, John. Show me what comes next.”