Marrying the Rebellious Miss Read online

  Bea laughed. ‘Yes, I know.’ She counted them daily, ran her finger along his gums to feel for new ones pushing through. It was nice to think someone else celebrated those little things, too. That the person to do so was Preston Worth, was more than nice. She felt another tear slip. She hastily brushed it away, but Preston noticed.

  ‘What is it, Bea?’ He shifted Matthew to his other arm to give her his hand.

  ‘You two. Together.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s silly. But recent events have been rather overwhelming.’ He would think she meant their earlier conversation. The centre of a ballroom, surrounded by workers and commotion, wasn’t the place to tell him that walking into the busyness of Worth House, of seeing him with Matthew in the middle of it all, was like coming home. She didn’t dare give any man that much power, not even if that man was Preston Worth.

  * * *

  The feeling of homecoming persisted in May’s big bedroom where the girls gathered for the fitting. Evie had outdone herself, having taken a dress from a trunk in the Worth attic and refashioned it. ‘Oh, Evie, it’s spectacular.’ Bea reached out a hand to touch the rich, red-silk damask.

  ‘Red for joy, red for love, red for boldness, for showing everyone this widow has thrown off her weeds.’ She winked in conspiracy. ‘Not to mention, it’s just spectacular with your dark hair,’ Evie said, showing off the sloped styling of the shoulders and the vee-necked bodice, all original. ‘The lace is new and I tailored the skirt so it isn’t quite so full, but more like the style now.’ But it was still full enough, Beatrice noted, to sway against one’s ankles and to bell out when one danced. She didn’t mind, she liked the fuller skirts.

  She let Evie help her into it, slipping it over her head and doing up the red ribbon laces at the back. She liked how the fuller skirts made her waist look a little trimmer, her hips a little less wide. When she said as much, Evie and May shushed her, insisting that she’d always looked fine. ‘Quiet, Bea. Just look.’ May’s hands were at her shoulders and the three of them looked in the long mirror together, not at her or the dress perhaps as much as looking at themselves, the three of them together.

  ‘We’ve come a long way since last year, Bea,’ Evie said softly, squeezing her hand. It was hard to say who had come the furthest. Each of them had overcome significant obstacles, not just to catch a husband, but to find themselves again. ‘I can’t believe you and May are going to be sisters, real sisters.’ Evie’s happiness for her was transparent. ‘It’s the most perfect ending I could devise—you marrying Preston.’ Evie gave a little sigh. She truly believed in the engagement. She’d poured that belief into the dress.

  May hugged her shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror. ‘It is a real engagement, isn’t it, Bea? We’ll truly be real sisters?’

  Evie looked stunned and Bea wanted to kick May for voicing the doubt. ‘Of course it is,’ she said crossly. ‘You don’t think your brother is in the habit of making commitments he doesn’t intend to keep.’ Bea stepped away from the mirror and began picking at the laces she could reach. She had to be compelling and nothing was more compelling than the truth. ‘Things changed on the trip home from Scotland. It was like we were seeing one another for the first time.’

  May gave a misty smile. ‘Good. It’s really a romance. I just want the two people I love so much to be happy together. I know circumstances aren’t ideal and I feared—’

  Bea cut her off with a squeeze of her hand and a smile. Bea didn’t want to hear what May feared: that behind the decorations, the flowers and the gaiety downstairs was a lie, the engagement a sham, the whirlwind romance around town a sham. All too soon, May would discover she was right in her concern. May would be hurt—hurt that there was no romance, hurt that Bea had not confided in her. Unless she chose to change the outcome. In those moments, something began to change in her. If she wanted happiness, she would have to claim it.

  Preston’s words came to her, ‘There is something more I want,’ and the sight of him with Matthew in the ballroom. Bea recalled the motto of the Left Behind Girls Club: nothing changes until you do. She could continue to resist Preston’s offer, could continue to be stubborn, and it would cost her, or she could change. She could make the sham into a reality by accepting that she deserved Preston, that she deserved love and passion, that Alton didn’t define the full potential of that experience.

  It was a rather big challenge she was requiring of herself. Those were not ideas she could easily accept. The idea that she needed to be alone had been her armour and her obstacle for a long time. She’d used it to keep people at bay, even her friends. It was time for a change, starting tonight with Preston. There’d been enough lies told for her protection. Love could only be built with truths.

  * * *

  The hallway clock chimed the last of midnight as Beatrice slipped into the room at the end of the hall: Preston’s room. A frisson of excitement shot through her at the prospect of what awaited. She approached the bed, letting her dark wrapper fall to the floor, the cool air on her bare skin as she whispered his name. No response. Nothing, not even the rustling of bedclothes in the dark. Something was wrong. Bea reached out a hand, unromantically groping for a body. There was none. Beatrice threw back the covers, disappointed but not daunted. She’d come this far. She wasn’t turning back. She could wait, and she would, right where Preston was sure to see her. In his bed.

  * * *

  There was something, someone, in his bed. Preston let his eyes adjust to the gloom. There was just enough light from the lamp beside the bed to make out the form—a lamp he’d not left burning. He felt a wicked smile play at his mouth as he took in the dark hair spread on his pillow. Beatrice. His body began to rouse at the thought. If he’d known she’d be here, he would have come up earlier. As it was, he’d selfishly kept Dimitri and Liam up way past their bedtimes, knowing his own sleep wouldn’t come easy knowing that Beatrice slept down the hall from him. Part of him still wanted to hunt down Alton and make him pay for assaulting her. She was his, no matter what she thought to the contrary, and no one harmed what was his, not while he lived and breathed.

  Preston undressed quietly, sliding beneath the blankets to wrap an arm around her and pull her warm body into the cradle of his. ‘Bea, wake up.’

  ‘Hmm...?’ She sighed, her buttocks wiggling teasingly against his hips. Now, she really was going to have to wake up. How he loved this woman, her passion, her strength, even her stubbornness because that’s what made her unique. He kissed the column of her neck, waking her with the slow lovemaking of his mouth, his hands on her body. He felt her stir, felt her become aware of him and where she was.

  She rolled in his arms, turning to face him with a teasing scold. ‘That’s not fair, seducing a girl in her sleep...’ her hand slid low between them, cupping his arousal ‘...especially, when I came here to seduce you.’ Her voice had gone smoky, low and throaty in the interval.

  ‘Made your decisions, have you?’ He’d thought it would take her longer. He was glad it hadn’t, but he’d like to know what they were. What had brought her to his bed?

  She stroked him in answer and he gave a growl, letting her flip him on to his back. Apparently verbal answers were going to have to wait. She slid down his body, breasts brushing his chest in the lightest of touches, her mouth at his navel, her breath feathering his skin until it rose for her. Her hands were at his thighs, parting them, her hands tangling in the dark thatch of him, while her mouth sought him, found him.

  She looked up once, dark eyes flaring with desire, hair loose about her shoulders, a potent stare, from a potent locale. He was nearly lost then. Whoever argued fellatio made the woman into a sexual subordinate was patently wrong. He was entirely at her mercy, his pleasure at her pleasure. She bent to him, her tongue making one long, licking pass at his length. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate, and, oh, how he wanted to last, wanted to enjoy ever
y minute of this. He reached his hands overhead and gripped the headboard with all his remaining strength.

  The headboard became his only ballast in the wake of Beatrice’s seduction, all that kept him anchored as her mouth teased the tender tip of him, her hands on his length, caressing, cupping, until he tightened, his release beyond his control, set into motion by the physics of his body. He could no more hold himself back than the moon the tides. The point of no return had been met and exceeded. Beatrice moaned, the act exciting her as much as it excited him. She had him in her hand as he bucked in climax, his heart pounding as release swept him. Had anything he’d ever singularly experienced been as powerful as what had just happened?

  Beatrice wasn’t done with him. She slid up his body, her nipples grazing his chest, her mouth finding his in a long kiss. He could taste the sex on her, his body answering the invitation. She was going slowly with him, teasing him, tempting him while he recovered. Which wasn’t going to take long at this rate. Thank heavens, because she was talking to him now, her smoky voice as it whispered decadence at his ear in words he didn’t think a lady knew, but probably should. It made sex so much more exciting. All he wanted was to roll her over and take her, hard and fast until she cried out, until she admitted she wanted this beyond the night. For ever. With him. Not because of fear, not because circumstance demanded she accept him. Not because Alton had pushed her to this, but because she wanted him. Only him.

  She put a hand on him, testing his readiness, a wicked smile on her lovely mouth when she found him hard. He felt inordinately pleased with himself as she straddled him, her hand on his erect phallus. Beatrice brushed her hair over one shoulder, a beautiful, naked Godiva riding him astride. He put his hands at her hips, steadying her as she began to ride, a slow steady pace, one in which they might have some conversation before he lost himself body and mind.

  ‘What decisions have you made, Bea? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ Perhaps in the dark, they could be honest with their words as well as their bodies.

  ‘I deserve happiness and I deserve you for as long as I can have you. May helped me see that today. Nothing will change until I do. I’ve been the biggest creator of my own obstacles. I made a mistake with Alton and I continue to make myself pay for that.’

  ‘I’ll have to remember to thank her for it.’ Preston strained forward, catching her lips in a kiss. He didn’t fool himself that the rightness would last, but for now all was right with the world and he’d take it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The rightness she’d felt in bed with Preston lasted well into the next day through a constant parade of workers in and out of the town house, through another night beside him and sneaking back to her own room at dawn, through the knighting ceremony in a stifling drawing room and the reception that followed. That well-being lasted, in fact, right up until the evening of the ball. She’d put on Evie’s delectable red creation, fastened her pearls and done up her hair when the knock on her door came.

  ‘Miss, you’re wanted in the blue room right away,’ a maid said with an urgency that worried Beatrice even as she repeated her new litany silently in her head: she deserved happiness.

  It was hard to maintain that degree of optimism, however, with everyone assembled in the drawing room. The families had been together all day to celebrate Liam’s title. But these were not the expressions of celebratory people. Her mother rose and took her hand. ‘My dear, I’m afraid something’s happened.’ Bea’s gaze went instantly to Preston, who stood at the fireplace already dressed for the evening in dark clothes. It wasn’t her mother she wanted, it was Preston.

  ‘It’s Alton’s latest salvo.’ He waved a paper, his jaw set. ‘He wants the engagement announcement cancelled.’

  ‘Or?’ Beatrice prompted. It seemed an odd request since there was no monetary gain.

  ‘Or, he’ll send information to the gossip rags about your previous marriage, calling it a fake to cover up for the illegitimacy of your child and alluding to the baby’s real father.’

  ‘He has no proof,’ Bea argued.

  ‘Gossip columns don’t care about proof. Speculation is good enough for them, good enough to start a scandal,’ Liam pointed out.

  ‘The one thing we wanted to avoid,’ her mother replied sharply.

  ‘Why would he do this?’ Beatrice was still stuck on motive.

  ‘Petty revenge. There’s no money involved, so one must speculate it’s just the first of a series of moves he plans,’ Liam hypothesised. ‘And of course, if he could win our concession, it keeps you away from the altar. It gives him another chance at you, I suppose.’

  Right. The forced-marriage gambit. She looked for confirmation from Preston, who nodded. ‘I agree with Liam. Those are likely his motives. Whatever his reasons, though, we have to decide how we want to meet this latest threat. I say we call his bluff. It worked once. It will probably work again. The man’s a coward at heart.’

  ‘Risk those things being printed about Bea, about us?’ Her mother found Preston’s idea appalling.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll send the information to the papers,’ Preston replied firmly, fixing everyone in the room with a hard stare, taking in each by turn. ‘Why would he? He gains nothing that will help him in settling his bills.’ Liam was the first to nod, followed by Dimitri, the agreement of the two men helping to sway the others in the room.

  Bea wished she felt as sure as Preston. She stood and waited for the others to leave the room before she voiced her doubts. Preston took her hands, kissing her lightly. ‘Relax, Bea. This is nothing more than a spoiler’s trick. He wants to ruin our big night because it’s all he has left. He has tried blackmail and threats and nothing has thwarted us.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll come tonight?’ That was perhaps her worst fear. She didn’t want to be looking over her shoulder the entire evening.

  ‘If he comes, he won’t leave. He knows that. He won’t show. It’s not in him.’ Preston raised her hand to his lips with an admonition. ‘Tonight, we’re going to dance and smile. We’re going to celebrate our friend’s good fortune and ours.’ She felt his eyes on her, lingering and warm. ‘You look stunning. Is this the dress Evie did? It’s spectacular. I hope it’s not too hard to get out of?’ he teased wickedly.

  ‘Not if there’s two of us working at it.’ Beatrice laughed, wanting the rightness back, wanting the surety that came with it, but no matter what assurances Preston gave her, she knew she wouldn’t relax entirely until the papers came out the next day and there was no mention of her indiscretion.

  Preston stole a kiss. ‘Remember what you said last night, Bea? You deserve happiness. I’m going to make sure you get it.’

  * * *

  Preston did his best, working hard to be his charming self, never leaving her side, and she managed to dance and smile her way through the night. It helped to remember the night wasn’t only about her and Preston, but more importantly about Liam Casek. The ballroom at Worth House reflected that. It had been transformed by hundreds of white roses and impossible-to-imagine yards of royal-blue fabric and bunting. The immense crystal chandelier, pride of Worth House, hung blazing in the centre of the ceiling, presiding over it all, its dazzle only superseded by the dazzle of May’s and Liam’s smiles as they sailed past on the dance floor with eyes for each other alone.

  ‘Maybe we should wait,’ Beatrice whispered to Preston as her two friends swung past in a wild turn, May laughing up at her husband, heedless of their recklessness. ‘This is their night.’ She didn’t want to call attention away from them.

  Preston grinned, turning her sharply on the dance floor. ‘No, we’re committed now. I don’t want Alton to think he has any grounds with us. Besides, May and Liam are counting on it. This, here...’ he waved a hand to indicate the decorations ‘...is as much for them as it is for us.’ The music ended, the evening approaching midnight
. Preston winked. ‘Stay close, Bea. This our moment. We’ll be needed shortly.’

  Bea caught sight of his father moving towards the dais, giving a discreet signal to his wife, May and Liam, her parents, and Evie and Dimitri, gathering allies. With the customary ease of those used to being obeyed, Albemarle Worth gestured to the musicians in the balcony above to ready a waltz and Beatrice felt her palms go sweaty. Her pulse started to speed as she looked at Preston, who was irritatingly cool.

  ‘Aren’t you nervous?’ she whispered. The engagement suddenly seemed real. Too real.

  ‘No.’ He grinned down at her, his confidence infectious. ‘Why should I be? I am about to be engaged to an incredible woman.’ She wasn’t sure if he was teasing or if he was serious and that troubled her. It wasn’t part of the deal she’d made herself. Her happiness could be had up until it infringed on another’s. Understanding she could have Preston as long as she could did not preclude him taking the post in Greece. But she worried Preston didn’t see it that way. Perhaps he thought there was room for negotiation when it came to the truth of their engagement.

  Around them the crowd fell silent and Preston’s father began, his voice devoid of any of the misgivings that had created tension between him and Preston. ‘Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate the knighting of Sir Liam Casek, my son-in-law.’ Albemarle Worth flashed a wide grin in Liam’s direction and Beatrice’s heart soared for him and for May. The two of them had fought hard for this moment. ‘Sir Liam is a man I could not be more proud of if he were my own son.’ There was a loud outbreak of applause. Liam was well liked. Preston’s father continued when it died down, ‘Speaking of my son, we have another announcement to celebrate tonight. I am proud to share, with all of our friends gathered here, the engagement of my son, Mr Preston Worth, to the lovely Beatrice Penrose. May the sorrows of her past year be replaced by years of happiness starting tonight.’ It was neatly done, reaffirming her status as a widow in case anyone had forgotten, or in case anyone had the audacity to wonder.