The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Eight

She had planted him a facer.

Jon had been boxing for too many years to give in just because he had been floored once. He refused to quit, especially when his goal had suddenly become so much more important.

‘Look at me, Beth,’ he said, as gently as he could, reaching for her tightly clasped hands. She tensed for a moment, but then she yielded enough for Jon to take them in his. He did not attempt to pry her fingers apart. He simply lifted them to his lips and dropped a featherlight kiss on her skin. She was still staring at the ground, however. She seemed determined to resist him. Was she afraid, perhaps? ‘There is no need to be anxious. I know you for a strong woman who is afraid of nothing, and no one. I am your friend, Beth. Please look at me.’

It seemed the word ‘friend’ was able to reach her, where his touch had not. Without moving her hands in his, she slowly raised her head and her gaze joined with his. She was as white as her tucker; her eyes were huge and dark in her pale face. She made no move to speak, but she did not need to, for her emotions were written in her brilliant eyes. His proposal had injured her. Even if she now accepted that Jon was not mocking her, she was certainly not convinced that there was any kind of a future for them as man and wife. She thought Jon was too high, and she-a woman with a shadowy past and no memory-was much too low.

‘I can assure you, Beth, that you are wrong about marriage.’

‘I…I know I am not wrong about this one. It is impossible.’

‘I understand your reluctance, but I cannot agree with you. Will you allow me to explain why?’ He drew her arm into his-she had stopped resisting, he was glad to see-and escorted her back to the bench under the beech tree. He had a chance now, though perhaps not for long. He was going to have to be truly silver-tongued, for she was clearly set against him.

He took his seat beside her, still holding her hand tucked into his arm, but he did not sit too close. ‘I must ask you first, Beth, if you still think I am trying to play a base trick on you with my proposal?’ He had to know that she would listen.

She coloured a little and shook her head.

‘Good. That is a start.’ He patted her hand, just the lightest of touches. It was too intimate, it seemed, for she flinched. He felt the tightening of her muscles through the layers of clothing. He let his free arm drop back to his side. One more false move and she might run.

‘You think you may already be married. I can see why you would think that. For a lady, it is a logical assumption but, as a man, I can tell you that you are certainly…er…untouched.’ No married woman would have responded so innocently to Jon’s kisses. He was not mistaken there.

‘Untouched?’ She blushed, like a white rosebud caressed by the first rays of the early morning sun.

Jon cleared his throat. That had not been a good choice of word. There were some aspects of marriage that one did not discuss with a gently-bred, single lady. ‘Beth, you think you are not good enough to become a countess. To become my countess. Will you not permit me to be the judge of that? Believe me, your lack of memory does not matter. You are a lady, bred in the bone. It is clear in every word you say, in everything you do, in every step you take. No one doubts it. My wife must be a lady, I admit that. But you fulfil the requirement admirably.’

When she began to protest, he shook his head and continued without allowing her to speak. ‘Beth, I have had my fill of ladies of rank. My first marriage-’ He swallowed hard. ‘Normally, I would not discuss the failure of my first marriage, but you are entitled to know. My late wife was a duke’s daughter, with all the accomplishments her position entailed, but she brought me nothing. Another dynastic marriage to a chit out of the schoolroom could easily be just as bad. I want- I need a wife who will be a companion and a friend, a woman I can esteem, not an empty-headed child whose world revolves around balls and bonnets. You, Beth, are a truly remarkable woman. You care for others. You look to do good in the world. As my wife, you would be able to use my wealth and position to achieve all that you desire. Think what you could do.’

There was a small, sharp intake of breath beside him. Then silence.

‘My rank would protect you. And we would be comfortable together, I am sure of it. Imagine how our life could be.’ Jon waited. Had he said enough to persuade her? Would she at least consider his offer?

She withdrew her hand and clasped her fingers in her lap once more. Not a good sign. Was she going to refuse him again?

‘If I do not accept you, sir, what will you do?’

Another facer. ‘I would-’ His answer began automatically, but then he stopped short, trying to collect his thoughts. He owed her a considered response on something so important.

That was when he realised that he had no answer to give her. He had not the faintest notion of what he would do if she turned him down.

The silence stretched between them. Jon found that it was surprisingly comfortable to sit in silence with Beth, even when he was trying to decide how to reply to her searching question. It was just as he had supposed: she was a restful woman and an estimable companion. She was exactly the wife he needed. He could not afford to lose her. He must not.

That sudden urgency had started his mind racing, as if he were back facing the enemy. He was going to have to fight-and fight harder-to convince her to accept him. His tactics so far had failed. He needed-

A new idea exploded in his rioting thoughts. Now, at last, he knew how to begin. ‘I have a bargain to offer you, Beth.’

‘A bargain?’ Her voice had become hoarse. ‘I don’t understand.’

He grinned at her, feeling himself regaining control at last. ‘I have made you a sincere proposal of marriage. You have asked, reasonably enough, what I will do if you refuse me. I will answer you, and truthfully, but not now, not here. Tomorrow, if you agree, I shall call at the rectory to take you out driving. I will dismiss the groom as soon as we reach the park, so all our conversation will be quite private. Then, I promise, I will answer your question. And perhaps you, in turn, will give me your response to my proposal?’

‘I…I should not- You will not take my answer now?’

He shook his head. He allowed his self-assured grin to subside into a wry smile as he looked down at her, but he could see that her resolve was weakening. If he could make her wait, make her reflect, then all hope was not lost. ‘If you want to hear my answer before you speak, Beth, you will have to drive with me tomorrow. Do we have a bargain?’

She sat immobile for a long time, staring vacantly across the garden. Jon waited. The longer she thought, the better his chances, he decided. He would wait until darkness fell if that would help his cause.

Beth rose quite suddenly, in a single graceful movement. A well-bred lady’s movement. This time she did not stop him from joining her on the path. ‘Perhaps we should go in?’ she said, in what Jon could only describe as her company voice. ‘It is beginning to get a little chilly out here and Aunt Caro will be wondering what has happened to us.’

Without waiting to be asked, she tucked her arm into his. It was a confiding gesture, Jon thought. And hopeful.

They began to stroll towards the house. ‘Let us hope that the fine weather continues for a few days yet.’ She glanced up at the sky. ‘It looks to be set fair.’ She smiled at nothing in particular and twisted her head to look up at him. ‘At what time do you plan to call for me tomorrow?’

Beth began to pace up and down in the small free space between the end of her bed and the window overlooking the shrubbery.

Untouched. The word was echoing in her head like a drumbeat in an empty hall. Untouched. How could he know for certain? Surely he might be mistaken?

But did it matter, provided he really wanted Beth to wife? He said he did. And it was more than wanting. It seemed that he needed her. Beth had been wrong to believe he had loved Alicia. In fact, his first marriage had been a failure. He had no son. And she sensed that he was very lonely. He wanted a companion and a friend more than he wanted a wife. He had almost said as much.

Could she really be that woman? Wife to an earl? Would it be such a sin for a woman with no past to accept him?

It would be a sin to condemn him to loneliness. And it would be worse to condemn him to another marriage like his first. Perhaps he would prefer no wife, and no heir, to marriage to a woman he could not esteem? He did esteem Beth, for all her lack of family and history. He said there could be nothing truly wicked in her past, that he knew her well enough to make a judgement about her character. He was so sure of it that she had begun to believe him. But did she know him?

Yes, of course she did. He was a fine man, a man of integrity who cared for his tenants, and for all those who depended upon him. When he returned from Spain and discovered what his brother had done to the Fratcombe estate, he had set about putting matters to rights. The repairs had been done, the workers had received fair prices for their labours, and he had paid for the children to be sent to school. Yes, he was a good man. He did need an heir, certainly. Unless he married again, and produced a son, his heir would remain his younger brother, George, the man who had tried to bleed Fratcombe of every penny it would yield.

It had been so simple to refuse him when he first proposed. His offer had come as a shock, and her answer had been automatic. But it was not simple any longer. Was Beth truly the only woman he could bear to think of as a wife? She would not know the answer to that until tomorrow. If he said it was Beth or no one, would she accept him? She refused to think about that. Jonathan was a man of the world. He knew he had to marry. If Beth refused him, he would find someone else, surely? He would not marry a girl out of the schoolroom. That was abundantly clear. But there must be other women, other ladies, who were older, more knowledgeable. A widow might suit him, perhaps. Yes. A widow of rank.

Beth’s pacing had brought her back to the window yet again. She stopped. The sun was setting. The red-gold light was shining through the leaves of the huge beech, making them glow like amber jewels. In a few weeks, its branches would be bare. It was nearly winter. This golden autumn was a joy, but short-lived.

She pressed her palms to the panes, leant her forehead against the wood and closed her eyes. She tried to visualise Jonathan sitting in comfort by his fire, his new wife on the opposite side, calmly reading a book of sermons. The new countess’s face was hidden from Beth’s view. She was wearing a fine silk gown in a deep shade of red, her hair concealed by an expensive lace cap and her head bent as she concentrated on her reading. Was she reading aloud? It appeared not.

And Jonathan? What was he doing? He seemed to be leaning back, staring at the fire. His hands were resting on the carved wooden arms of his chair. He looked…he looked…

Beth could not decide. His expression was rather vacant. It was not happy, not even content. He was somewhere else entirely. And his wife, the high-ranking widow he had married, was quite oblivious of it.

‘Oh, it is wishful thinking!’ Beth exclaimed, exasperated at her own wilful daydreaming. ‘You want him. That is the truth of it. You have always wanted him. And you are looking for reasons to persuade yourself that he needs you, that you should not refuse him. You are a fool, Beth Aubrey, or whatever your true name is. You are a fool!’

But what if he really does need me? Just as I need him? What then? What if he might come to love me, as I love him?

Those forbidden words. She had spent so long trying to banish them from her thoughts. And now they had ambushed her. Did she really love him? She took one last look at the glowing golden tree and sank to her knees on the floor, pillowing her head in her hands. Of course she did. She wanted him in her heart, and in her bed. She wanted more than that one spell-binding kiss. And she wanted to spend her whole life trying to make him happy, to ease the loneliness and hurt from which he was suffering. Perhaps one day, he might even confide in Beth about what had happened when he was in Spain.

He had never said a word in her hearing, but she was sure that something he had done, or something he had seen in his time there, was at the root of what troubled him. The man who had carried a shivering foundling to the refuge of the rectory was a man who needed a refuge of his own. He seemed to be sure, in his own mind, that Beth was the woman who would provide the sanctuary he was seeking. Why deny him and, in so doing, deny her own deepest longings?

Because you have no right to inflict a nameless wife upon him, no matter how much you may love him. If you really loved him, you would not do so. Who knows what there is in your past? Who knows what men you may have known? Whatever he says, Jonathan cannot know that you are untouched.

That was surely the cause of her recurring guilt. Somewhere in her past, she had lost her virtue, perhaps even colluded in her own disgrace. No wonder her memory was blank. She deserved to be a nameless outcast. If she had done such a wicked thing, she was no fit wife for any man.

The dream had come so close, yet now it was floating away again like a soap bubble borne aloft on the tiniest breath of air. She could not do it. She must not. The Countess of Portbury must come to her husband untouched, and unsullied.

Beth could not swear to be that woman. And without that, she had no choice. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. It was no weakness to allow a single tear, or even two, for the man she loved and would have to refuse.

Beth could not sleep. It was not surprising, for her mind was full of tomorrow, what she would say, how much he would be hurt. She rolled over yet again and punched the pillow.

She was going to look a fright when he appeared to escort her to his curricle. Perhaps that would be some consolation to him. However estimable he thought her, he would not wish to marry a woman with black circles round her eyes and quivering limbs.

She pushed the coverlet down to her waist. It was remarkably hot considering that it was already autumn. Should she open the window? A little fresh air, even night air, would do her no harm. She could shut it again before Hetty appeared to berate her for doing something so foolish.

She crossed to the window to push the curtains back a little and then eased the sash up an inch or two, working slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaks that might disturb the rest of the household. There was a sliver of moon just behind the beech tree. Where earlier its leaves had been golden and glowing, they were now dark, cold shadows. There was no movement, no wind. The great tree was holding its breath, waiting for the embrace of winter, making ready to fall asleep. As Beth should sleep.

If only there were a way… If only…

From the fields beyond the glebe, the sheep were bleating. Strange, for the lambs were long gone. Was the ram back in the field to ensure next spring’s crop of lambs? The ewes would be ready, for they could certainly not remain untouched. That was the way of nature.

She shook her head. What a strange pattern of thought. She yawned. Good. At last she should be able to sleep.

Beth took one final breath and pulled the curtains closed, resolving she would rise early to shut the window again. She was sure she would sleep better with the sweet night air around her. She climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard was the bleat of the ewes beyond the glebe.

‘Miss Beth, you never slept with the window open?’

It was Hetty with her hot water. So much for Beth’s good intentions. She sat up with a jerk and put her hands to her hair, sensing something was amiss. Her plaits had come undone in the night. Her hair was a mass of tangles and her nightrail was all bunched up above her waist. The bedclothes, too, seemed to have tied themselves in knots. She-

Heavens, she had been dreaming about Jonathan! Again! This time, she had been in his arms while he covered every inch of her skin with passionate kisses. Every last inch. Her whole body had been hot and alive. And willing. It had been blissful. It was a wonder she had not torn off her nightrail along with the fastenings of her hair. In her dreams, she had been so very sure, so-

In your dreams, you were wanton. You should be ashamed.

Beth forced herself to ignore the warnings of her conscience. He would arrive soon. ‘Hetty, would you bring me a large jug of cool water please? I seem to have become very hot in the night. It would be best if I give myself a sponge bath before I dress.’

‘You’ve caught a fever, Miss Beth. On account of the open window.’

Beth shook her head. Her fever was not of the kind Hetty meant. Hetty’s fevers could be cured. ‘I am not ill. But I am going driving with his lordship this morning and I must be looking my best. Make haste with the water, if you please. It is going to take you an age to comb the tangles out of my hair.’

Hetty paused a moment, looking mutinous, but then she obeyed.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of bed, allowing the rumpled nightrail to fall back to her ankles. She was decent again. Outwardly. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her skin was still flushed, especially where the ribbon ties had come undone to expose her throat and breasts. Yes, he had kissed her there, too. And she had gloried in it.

In her dreams, she was not untouched.

And in her dreams, she had discovered what she must do.

It was a beautiful morning, more like late August than early October. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the slight breeze was warm. Only the turning trees betrayed how late in the year it was. Soon their crisp leaves would be heaped in the gutters and under the hedgerows, offering winter hiding places to small animals and rich food for worms and beetles.

Beth refused to think about the dead leaves that had saved her from oblivion, long ago. Better to think about her rescuer, the man who now sat beside her in the curricle, his lean hands guiding his matched pair along the curving path through Fratcombe Manor park. She and Jonathan were easy enough together, even though he had spoken barely a word beyond the normal courtesies. She was starting to wonder if he felt as tongue-tied as she did.

He had promised to tell her what he would do if she refused him. And she-heaven help her!-had promised to respond to his proposal.

She could not bring herself to ask him to begin. Once he did, she would have to speak, too. This was one confrontation she could not run from, no matter what was said. She had to trust him. She did trust him.

He spoke at last. ‘I thought I would drive you to the far side of the park this morning. For once, the track is dry enough to take a carriage.’ His voice sounded remarkably normal. How did he do that? Could he feel none of the confusion that was threatening to overwhelm her?

‘Usually the ground is too marshy for wheeled vehicles. Pray do not upbraid me, Miss Beth,’ he added hastily, with a hint of humour in his tone. ‘I do intend to drain that land as soon as I can. I am fully aware of my duties there, I promise you.’ He turned slightly. Beth saw that he was smiling.

She found herself smiling back. She could not help it. He was in control of this encounter and, strangely, it made her feel…protected. He was deliberately teasing her into relaxing with him once more. ‘Have I been such a termagant, sir? It was not my intent to badger you.’

‘No?’ He chuckled. ‘No, I am sure your reproofs were kindly meant. Such as when you told me to look to the repairs of my tenants’ houses. And to ensure that travelling gypsy bands could camp unmolested.’

‘Oh!’ Yes, she had done both of those. ‘I apologise if I overstepped the mark, sir. My intentions were of the best. I was trying to-’

‘You were trying to take care of others, to do good, as you always do, Beth, which is one of the reasons why I admire you so much. And why I want you to be my wife.’

Beth’s heart clutched in her breast. She could not breathe.

‘But before I press you for your answer, I owe you mine. A promise is a promise, especially between friends. Do you not agree?’ He waited a beat. When she said nothing, he continued, airily, ‘I have decided that, if you refuse me, I shall keep repeating my proposal until you accept. In other words, you might as well accept me at once.’ His voice dropped a little, to a deeper, more serious tone. ‘Will you marry me, Beth? Please?’

Beth had been screwing up her courage for this since the moment she awoke from that beckoning dream. She lifted her chin, focused on the horses’ ears and launched into her prepared answer. ‘I will accept your proposal, sir-’

‘Beth, that is wonderful-’

‘-but on one condition.’

‘Ah. Name it.’

She took a deep breath. ‘On condition that you prove to my satisfaction, and to your own, that I am still a virgin before you lead me to the altar.’

The noise he made sounded to Beth like the growl of a furiously angry bear, beset by slavering dogs.

‘If I am a virgin, I cannot have been married before. And I…I would not be dishonouring you by accepting your proposal. My plan provides the only sensible solution.’

‘And how do you propose, sensible Miss Aubrey, that I should establish your virginity? I take it you have a plan for that, too?’ His voice was very hard, very cold.

Beth shivered at the sound, but she would not give up now. She was mortified enough and already scarlet to her hairline, she knew. She had nothing more to lose. ‘I believe the only reliable method is the…the natural one. I…I will come to your bed and let you…let you-’

His string of curses included mostly words that Beth did not recognise. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said at last, recovering his control, though not his colour. He was sheet white under his tan. ‘You are proposing that I should deflower you in order to prove you are fit to be my wife? What kind of cold-blooded devil do you take me for?’

‘If you do indeed discover that I am a virgin, then I will marry you. But if you do not, if I am already…er…deflowered as you call it, I will not marry you, for that could be bigamy. It seems simple enough.’

‘Simple?’ He was having even more trouble controlling his temper now. That one word was a howl of rage. ‘Has it not occurred to you that, as a result of this plan of yours, you could end up carrying my child? Virgin or no, would you marry me then?’

‘I…I…’ In for a penny, in for a pound. ‘I am not totally ignorant of such matters, sir. I know how children are got. I do not know precisely how they are prevented, but I have heard that there are ways of…of ensuring that-’ She stopped and swallowed hard. She knew she had to go on with this, no matter what. She mustered all her remaining courage and dared to meet and hold his stormy gaze. ‘I know you to be a man of the world. I assumed you would know the way of it. Was I wrong?’