The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

Chapter Nine

At that moment, Jon could have strangled Beth Aubrey, even if he had to swing for it. Luckily for her, his hands were fully occupied in controlling his horses. They had sensed his anger and were becoming extremely restive. He must calm them, or they would probably bolt.

It took more than five straining minutes to ensure that his pair-and his unruly temper-were back under control. He did not dare to speak until they were. In fact, he did not dare to speak at all. What an extraordinary proposal, from an innocent young lady. And yet…

And yet her logic could well be less flawed than Jon’s. How could he truly be sure she was unspoilt on the basis of one single kiss? Beth’s test was a surer touchstone than Jon’s. How much courage it must have taken for her to propose such a thing. And to go further, to speak of preventing pregnancy… It was utterly outrageous.

It was one of the bravest things he had ever heard.

It appeared she was indeed willing to accept Jon, but only if there was no risk to his honour. His honour, not hers! As if she cared more for Jon’s honour than he did himself.

He risked another quick sideways glance. Beth’s shoulders had not drooped even a fraction from her normal upright carriage, and she was staring down at her gloved hands. She was implacable. He could see that in every line of her tense body. Either he accepted her offer-her extraordinary plan-or she would be lost to him. That must not happen. In the course of this summer and autumn, Beth Aubrey had become the woman he wanted. He would not part with her. He needed her beside him. And so he was going to have to accept her terms.

She would come to his bed and let him-

Poor Beth. She had been unable to say the word. Yet it had taken courage to go as far as she had. She was as brave as any comrade he had served with.

She would come to his bed…

Oh dear. He laughed aloud, his black doubts disappearing with the sound. Poor Beth, indeed. Her carefully constructed plan was going to be her undoing.

‘You find my question amusing, my lord?’ Her tone was frosty.

‘No, Beth. Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, but at the extraordinary predicament in which we find ourselves.’ He slowed his horses for the sharp bend in the track. The right fork led round the back of the stable block to the furthest parts of his land. The left fork led to the lake and the tamer parkland beyond, where the folly lay hidden. ‘You asked me about…er…prevention. Yes, I do know how it can be done.’

‘Good.’ She nodded. ‘Then there is nothing to stop us from following my plan, is there?’

The die was cast, by her own hand. Jon turned his horses towards the lake.

She glanced sharply up at him, her eyes questioning, but she did not speak. Unlike most of her sex, she would be content to wait in silence.

‘Your plan, ma’am. I think it needs to be…er…fleshed out a little. You said you would come to my bed. Believe me, I am honoured by your offer. Might I ask, though, how you were…um…planning to manage it?’ He was having trouble keeping the laughter out of his voice. His mind was filled with the ludicrous image of his butler announcing Beth at his bedchamber door. Miss Aubrey is here, my lord. To be deflowered.

Beth gave a gasp of horror and began to cough, trying to cover her acute embarrassment. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have believed a lady could turn that particular shade of vermilion.

Yes, the die was cast. And the play was his.

Jon relaxed and let the horses have their heads up the gentle slope. The path was clear. Beth would have her assignation. On Jon’s terms.

‘Someone is living here!’

The folly consisted of a single square room. Beth would have expected it to be empty, or to contain a few chairs, at most, where guests might sit to recover after the long climb up from the house and past the lake. Instead, it looked like the cluttered living quarters of some rich young buck with an extremely idle servant. There was a fireplace, with a kettle suspended, but the fire had burned down long ago, and the ashes had spilled out over the small hearth. In front of it were comfortable chairs and a table strewn with used plates and glasses. There was at least one empty wine bottle on the floor.

Beth turned away. She had seen quite enough. The only part of the room that was not at sixes and sevens was the desk, where a neat row of books stood propped against the wall. Next to them were several leather-bound notebooks, a pile of writing paper and an inkstand. The desk was so tidy, it could have been in the rector’s study. But the rest-!

‘No. Not living.’ He gazed round, apparently trying to view the chaos as Beth had just done. ‘I use this place from time to time for…er…my own pleasure. It is totally private. The servants are not permitted to enter, even to clean and restock it, without special leave. And as you can see-’ he waved a hand in the direction of the tumbled cushions and the dirty plates ‘-I have not yet given them leave today.’

‘You were here last night?’

‘Yes, I was here. I prefer solitude when I want to think. Besides, it was a splendid night.’

She frowned. A splendid night? What on earth did he mean? Glancing round again at the mess and at what, she now realised, was a kind of bed in the far corner, she decided that she did not wish to know.

He was smiling down at her. It was the kind of superior, knowing smile that made her want to slap him. He was waiting for her to ask. Well, she would not. Whatever his splendid nocturnal activities might be, he could keep them to himself. ‘Might I ask why you have brought me here, sir? It is barely minutes since you said you would drive me to the marshes. The marshes you have promised to drain,’ she added, with emphasis. That wiped the superior smile from his face, she was glad to see.

From mocking to serious in an instant. ‘I brought you here to make plans. I understand now-forgive me, I did not understand before-how strongly you feel on the subject of our…er…possible union. I understand, too, that the condition you have laid down is absolute.’ He took her right hand in his, holding it lightly. ‘But I think you must now realise, Beth, that meeting your condition will be far from easy. I cannot simply walk into your bedchamber, nor you into mine.’

Beth felt herself colouring yet again. It seemed she had done nothing else since the moment he had arrived at the rectory door. But he was right that she had been a fool. Society, especially in villages like Fratcombe, was arranged precisely to prevent such carnal assignations.

Jonathan led her across to the desk and invited her to sit. There was only one chair. Once she was seated, he let go of her hand and leaned nonchalantly against the corner of the desk. ‘Our meeting cannot be at the rectory, clearly. Nor at the Manor, for there are too many servants with prying eyes and long noses. Did you imagine you could come there, alone, and be admitted by my butler?’

‘I…um…’ Beth fixed her gaze on the tooled leather of the notebook.

‘I have a better plan to propose. First, you must be conveyed from the rectory to our meeting place. You cannot be expected to go on foot, alone, in the dark. I suggest you slip out and wait behind the beech tree. At the appointed hour, I will meet you and bring you to our rendezvous. You have only to leave the rectory without being seen. And to return again before first light, of course. Do you think you can do that, Beth?’

‘I…I…’ This was no time for missishness. Jonathan was providing a practical plan that would allow the condition-Beth’s own condition-to be met. ‘Yes. Yes, I can do that.’

‘Beth.’ He reached for her hand again and held it in a strong clasp. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? It is not necessary, believe me. I really do want to marry you, and I require no such demonstration of your virtue beforehand. What’s more, I am sure you would be easier if our first lovemaking took place when we were already man and wife.’

‘No,’ she declared stoutly. ‘That cannot be the way of it, for the reasons I have given you. I will not risk bigamy. Nor your honour. Unless we fulfil my condition, there will be no marriage.’

He shook his head. ‘You are a stubborn woman, Beth Aubrey. Very well, it shall be as you wish. You may leave all the arrangements to me. Apart from one thing. You must be sure to be warmly clad and sensibly shod, for I will not be able to bring a carriage for you. That would attract too much attention, even in the dark. I shall come for you on horseback.’

She could see the sense in that. She nodded. ‘Do I need to ride, too?’

‘No. Saracen is more than capable of carrying us both.’

He was going to take her up before him and ride with her in his arms, close against his powerful body. The prospect sent a delicious frisson down her spine. Especially as it would be followed by… Oh dear. A virtuous lady should not be thinking of such things, but she could not help it. She wanted him so. ‘Will you bring me here?’ she asked quietly, trying not to dwell on the sensual images that were invading her brain. She glanced round the room. Unfortunately that added even more wanton thoughts, for the room had an air of wild abandon.

‘Yes. For it will be quite private.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I will have it set to rights before you arrive. There will be nothing to offend your delicate sensibilities, I promise you.’

Nothing except what they were going to do in this private place!

Jonathan’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. Her face must have given her away, yet she could not bring herself to be angry with him this time. After all, the condition was hers. And he had found a way of making a reality of it. If he was teasing her a little in the process, she would not object. Better to respond in kind. ‘I should hope so, indeed, sir,’ she said brightly, reaching out to run a gloved finger along the window sill behind the books. She examined it closely, shaking her head in mock disgust. That window had not been dusted for some time. ‘A lady likes to meet her…um… A lady likes to go to an encounter with a gentleman knowing that all her needs will be met-warmth, comfort, and cleanliness.’

He chuckled. ‘I promise you that all your requirements will be met.’ He raised her hands to his lips, kissing each in turn. ‘All of them. Now, if you are content, ma’am, I suggest we continue our drive.’

How very matter of fact he was about such a momentous thing. Yet those kisses on her hands had not been matter of fact, or even necessary. She sensed they were his way of sealing their very special bargain.

She nodded. She would try to sound as normal as he had. ‘Yes. By all means. Let us view your marshes.’

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started for the door, stopping there for a last swift glance back at the room. ‘It will be transformed, I promise you, Beth. Meet me behind the beech tree at a quarter to midnight and you shall see for yourself.’

Tonight? It was for tonight?

He was smiling down at her. It was not a leer, nor anything like. It was a smile of encouragement, the kind of smile Beth often used in the schoolroom when a child was facing a new and daunting task. ‘Courage, little one,’ he said softly. ‘A quarter to midnight.’

She met his gaze bravely. ‘A quarter to midnight? So be it.’

The big bay stopped by the entrance to the folly. The whole park was in darkness except for a single candle glowing through the slit window alongside the door. In the silence, a long shiver passed down Beth’s body. Jonathan must have felt it, for he pulled her a little more closely against his body. He made no comment. He had made clear from the outset that this condition of hers did not need to be met. He had repeated it as he pulled her up before him and settled her into his arms. She had only to say the word, at any stage, and he would return her to the rectory.

She did not say the word now. And he did not hector her. He was paying her the compliment of treating her like an equal, able to make her own decisions. If she changed her mind, he was trusting her to say so.

‘You are chilled,’ he murmured against her ear, his breath caressing her cheek. ‘You must go in to the warm.’ He dismounted and helped her down, holding her close against his side. Then he led her to the door and reached for the handle. ‘Go in. Make yourself comfortable. And warm. I will join you in a moment, once I have seen Saracen safely bestowed.’

Beth glanced back at the horse which stood motionless, waiting patiently. ‘He looks as though he would stand there all night.’ She was trying to inject a degree of lightness into her voice.

Jonathan chuckled. ‘Aye, he would. But I think he deserves a net of hay, and to be rid of the weight of the saddle on his back.’ He opened the door for Beth and pushed her gently inside, closing it behind her.

The room was transformed. A few hours earlier, there had been chaos and abandon. Now everything had been set to rights; it was warm and welcoming. Indeed, as a venue for an illicit tryst, it seemed a little tame. A good fire was burning in the hearth and the kettle had been swung close enough to sing, though not to boil. The fire, an oil lamp on the desk and that single candle by the door provided the only illumination, although several branches of new, unlit candles had been set around the room.

Beth risked one quick glance at the bed in the far corner. It had been piled high with cushions so that it looked more like a sofa than a bed. Almost unthreatening.

She shivered again. She must be cold. There was no other reason for it. She was not being forced. Everything that took place now would be by her own choice and her own will. Crossing to the fire, she stripped off her gloves to warm her hands. Ah, delicious. It was only then that she noticed a tea tray standing ready on a low stool by the hearth. Tea? After midnight? And at an assignation?

She began to laugh. If she had been afraid, even a very little afraid, she was so no longer. She was here, tonight, to be in the arms of the man she loved. It was a time for anticipation, not for fear.

In that moment she knew that, whatever the outcome of this encounter, she wanted it. More than anything. Even if they parted after this one night, she would cherish every second of it, for the rest of her life.

Jon gave Saracen one last pat and left him contentedly munching hay in the lean-to behind the folly. The big horse was well used to being left there at night, while Jon enjoyed the peace and isolation of the place.

Jon slowly made his way round to the front. He could see through the small window that Beth had not lit any of the candles inside. What was she doing? Would she now finally realise what a momentous step she had chosen to take and change her mind? He hoped so.

And yet he hoped not. The thought of making love to Beth Aubrey-the woman he fully intended to marry-was an arousing one. She was everything a sensible man could want in a wife: kind, generous, thoughtful, dedicated to doing good in the world. She was restful, and beautiful, too. She would grace his arm and his bed. God willing, they would make fine children together, children a man could be proud of. It would be a solid, reassuring union. As a woman, she could never be a trusted confidante, of course. Such was the reality of life. In public, they would have to be distant and formal, as their rank demanded, but in private they could be comfortable companions. It was more than he had dared to hope for in a wife.

Just at this moment, however, his body was telling him that a comfortable companion was not what he sought. His purpose now was to introduce Beth-his innocent Beth-to the joys and delights of lovemaking.

At the door he paused to look up at the night sky. No wonder it was so cold. There was not a single cloud. The great upturned bowl, the colour of deepest indigo, was spattered with the points of light he knew so well. This picture was eternal. These same stars would blaze down on Beth and Jon’s children, and on their children’s children. Nothing would change.

And yet, tonight everything would change. Children…He had told Beth that he knew the way of preventing conception, but she had not asked him to promise to use it. If Beth were not a virgin, she would never agree to marry him, so he was duty-bound to ensure that no child resulted from what they did together this night. He owed her that. But what if he found that he was holding a virgin in his arms? He fully expected it to be so. What then? She had promised to accept his proposal if there were no risk of bigamy. And the purpose of marriage was children, was it not?

He shook his head. High above, the dog-star seemed to wink at him. ‘Yes, I know,’ he murmured, gazing up at it. ‘I am trying to find an unselfish reason for following my own selfish desires. And yet, the risk of pregnancy could make matters easier, later.’ He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts. This was no time for logic-chopping.

He allowed himself one last glance up at the star-mapped sky. ‘I will make it good for her. I promise.’ He turned and opened the door.

She had put back the hood of her cloak and was kneeling on the rug in front of the hearth. Even across the full length of the room, he could see that her shoulders were shaking. Poor girl, she must be terrified. And he had been communing with the stars?

He closed the door quietly, not to frighten her, before setting down his hat and whip and striding across the room to kneel beside her. ‘Oh, my poor Beth,’ he began gently, putting a comforting arm round her shoulders.

The face she turned up to him was not stricken, not in the least. It was alight with laughter.

‘Beth?’

‘Tea!’ The single word was barely a croak. She was laughing too much to be able to control her voice.

He looked down at the tea tray he had ordered. It was unusual, to be sure, but it had seemed a good idea. Comforting, unthreatening.

‘Tea!’ she said again, on a throaty chuckle.

He was trying very hard to keep his face straight, but he knew he was not really succeeding. ‘I thought you might be glad of it, after our cold midnight ride.’

‘And indeed I am, sir. See, I have set the kettle to boil.’ She had swung the kettle fully over the fire. ‘But I must tell you that this was not quite what I was expecting.’

‘Oh?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘I had imagined champagne, or something equally decadent.’

‘You may have champagne, or brandy, if you wish. I have both here. I could even make you hot rum punch if you had a fancy for it.’

She shook her head, trying not to smile.

‘No, I thought not. Remember that we are friends, Beth. After this night, we will soon be man and wife. And still true friends.’

Her expression became more serious, but she did not protest. They both knew the condition. There was no point in belabouring it.

‘True friends enjoy each other’s company and seek to provide for each other’s comfort. In your case, tea seemed to be the ideal solution.’

Beth touched her hand to Jon’s arm. ‘You are a good friend, sir.’

‘No. No, I will not permit that. Not when we are alone. You will not call me “sir” as if you were an inferior. You are to be my wife, my countess. My name is Jon. Jonathan if you must, but I should prefer Jon.’

Her eyes widened and misted for a moment. ‘Jon,’ she said slowly, lingering over the sound as if testing it, tasting it with her tongue. ‘For this night at least, it shall be as you wish.’