Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (32 page)

She pushed herself back against the
headboard and closed her eyes for a moment, her face pale and
strained. She was clearly struggling with all that he had told her.
And there was so much more she needed to know—even uglier truths
about her husband and Isabelle. He hated doing this—being the
bearer of such sick and twisted news—but as much as it would shock
her, she had a right to know.

He placed a hand over hers, and waited until
she opened her eyes before he spoke again.

“Love…I’m not sure if Hugh or Isabelle ever
really felt such a fine emotion for each other, Beth. What I do
know is, Isabelle certainly never loved me. In fact, the only
reason she married me was because she was pregnant…with someone
else’s child.”

As he expected, Beth looked utterly
horrified, her eyes widening as the import of what he’d just said,
struck her.

For a brief moment it seemed she was unable
to formulate words. “Oh…oh my God, James,” she uttered eventually.
“Does that mean…Annabelle…she’s not yours? Don’t tell me she’s
Hugh’s.”

* * * *

Elizabeth could barely speak…could barely
breathe. After everything James had disclosed, this…this was too
diabolical. To think that her husband had conceived a child with
another woman. And the man she loved had been forced to give his
name to a daughter that wasn’t his. She stared at James, her heart
seizing with anguished horror as he nodded his head, confirming
what she’d just asked him to deny.

“I’m sorry, Beth. But yes…Annabelle is
Hugh’s daughter.”

“Oh, James. I don’t know what to say,” she
whispered, her throat tightening with the effort it took not to
cry—for James, for Annabelle…and for herself. “What a terrible
burden you have had to bear.” She dearly wanted to comfort him, and
holding his hand suddenly didn’t seem like it was enough. But she
was faithless, and a liar, like Isabelle. She should be satisfied
that James tolerated her touch at all. Instead, she swallowed past
the ache in her throat and forced out another question. “Do you…do
you think Hugh knows?”

James met her gaze. “Yes, I believe he has
always known,” he said gravely. “Isabelle told him when she first
became pregnant. In fact, she demanded that he marry her. But at
the age of twenty-two your husband was a rakehell of the highest
order, and definitely not in the market for a bride. So Isabelle
had to settle for me to hide her indiscretion. Of course, I didn’t
know any of that at the time. Not until it was too late.” James’s
shoulders suddenly heaved with a great sigh and he ran a hand down
his face, but the action didn’t dispel the tension within him—a
muscle still flickered in his jaw as he appeared to gather his
thoughts.

“You see, when I first met her, she was the
incomparable Lady Isabelle March, grand-daughter of the Duke of
Sommersby, and in London for her second Season. She
was…extraordinary, captivating…and I fell in love with her the
moment I saw her, even though there were rumors about her having a
wild streak. But besotted sap that I was, I ignored the whispers
about her and Hugh. I suppose I just didn’t want to believe any of
it, and Isabelle denied everything when I asked her. Well, at least
until after we were safely married.”

He laughed then, a cold harsh sound like ice
cracking. “It wasn’t until a few months after Annabelle was
born—she was an early baby apparently—that I began to suspect she
wasn’t mine. But I was in denial at first. I didn’t want to believe
that Isabelle could have betrayed me so grievously, and I couldn’t
help but love Annabelle from the start. But as she grew into a
golden-haired, blue-eyed child, I could see she was someone else’s
daughter. Hugh’s daughter. And Isabelle—cruel witch that she
was—didn’t bat an eye-lid when I confronted her about it.”

James suddenly squeezed his eyes shut as if
he was in terrible pain. “Isabelle laughed at me, taunted me in
fact,” he whispered hoarsely. “I will never forget her words,
Beth—and please forgive my crude language, but it will give you an
idea of the sort of woman she was. She said,
‘What was I
supposed to do, James? You were in love with me and wanted to marry
me. And even though Hugh is a better fuck than you, and I’d rather
have wed him, he doesn’t give a toss that he’s fathered a bastard.
Needs must when the devil drives, my husband.’
”

Elizabeth bit her lip to stop the tears that
threatened to fall—for James and his emotional scars. And for how
black and bleak all the years of his marriage must have been. She
was about to throw caution to the wind and reach forward to touch
his tightly clenched stubbled jaw, but he opened his eyes.

His mouth twisted into a cynical smile.
“Needless to say, my love for Isabelle died the moment she uttered
those words. In hind sight, that only made it easier for me to cope
with everything else my wife did.”

“Everything else?” Elizabeth whispered.
How much worse can it be?

* * * *

Rothsburgh debated for a moment whether he
should divulge the rest of his wife’s sordid history to Beth. It
would be like baring his soul, to admit the most abhorrent secrets
of all. It was something that he’d never talked about to anyone
else before.

But he didn’t want any secrets between
himself and Beth. And perhaps if he shared this information with
her, she might understand why he had been so quick to condemn her
for being unfaithful when she had first confessed that she was
married. If she understood even just a little of the hell Isabelle
had put him through, then perhaps she would forgive him.

He searched Beth’s face. Although she was
still pale and clearly shaken by all that he had already told her,
he could also see compassion lighting her eyes. As if attuned to
his uncertainty, she squeezed his hand, silently giving him the
strength he needed to continue.

“After Isabelle and I married, I found out
very quickly that there was something not quite right about her.
She had a dark, hedonistic and completely unprincipled side. I told
you earlier she craved excitement and danger. Well, even having
Hugh as her lover wasn’t enough.”

“You mean she had other lovers?
James…that’s…it’s too horrible, what you’ve had to endure.”

He dragged in a breath. Swallowed. And
despite his resolve to be strong, his voice emerged with a hoarse
edge. “I won’t lie to you, Beth. It’s probably worse than you or
anyone else could even imagine. You see my wife, in some circles,
was known as the ‘whore of the
ton
’. She was without a
doubt, society’s best kept secret.”

Beth gasped.
“What?”

He rushed on—now that he had opened the
floodgate it seemed he couldn’t hold back the last of his dark
revelations. “Isabelle was mercenary in chasing her own pleasure,
Beth. She was a connoisseur of sexual indulgence. I seriously doubt
there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do. And she didn’t care that I
was the laughing-stock of the men she had hand-picked for her
exclusive male harem—usually the most dissolute rakes of the
ton
—year after year. Hugh was one of them of course. She
called her harem, the Sapphire Club and you could tell who was in
it, who she’d invited because she gave them all gold and sapphire
signet rings, or cravat pins to wear that were engraved with her
initials,
IH
. She wore a sapphire and pearl brooch herself
whenever she was inclined to indulge in…her excesses…to let her
fellow club members know she was available. You would have seen it
in her portrait.”

“I never knew any of this during the first
few years of our marriage. I knew about Hugh of course. But not the
others. Not until a friend, Lord Markham in fact—he has uncanny
intelligence that man—heard the rumors and told me. I confronted
Isabelle, but she didn’t deny the accusations I was making. Far
from it. She thought it was amusing that I had taken so long to
find out. But there was nothing I could do. Divorce wasn’t an
option—I certainly wasn’t going to parade the sickening and sordid
details of our private life through Parliament and the courts. And
Isabelle was independently wealthy—a bequest from her Ducal
grandfather—so I couldn’t control her by cutting off her income. So
with precious little options open to me, to spare myself the
ongoing humiliation, I simply decided to stay away—to withdraw from
most social spheres, and become a recluse for all intents and
purposes. I didn’t want to continue mixing with the men who were
doing over my wife.”

Beth raised a shaking hand to her throat.
“Hugh…Hugh has a sapphire cravat pin, and a signet ring. They’re
his favorite embellishments. I had no idea whatsoever what they
signified. How…disgusting.” She shook her head in apparent
bewilderment. “I don’t understand. How did Isabelle get away with
it? Surely, if word got out, she would have been shunned.”

Rothsburgh couldn’t hide the bitterness from
his voice. “I know it sounds incredible, but I suppose it was worth
the while of all her male entourage to keep her debauchery a
secret. I mean, why would they want to pass up the prospect of
getting an impromptu service from her in a darkened hallway at a
soiree, or in a deserted cloakroom at Lord and Lady Such-and-Such’s
ball? She was insatiable and would do anything, anywhere. Even at
Eilean Tor. That’s why I had the drawing room closed up. A year
ago, while I was away in Edinburgh on business, she brought two
young bucks there. Roberts caught her with both of them in the
drawing room, in the middle of the day. I just thank God that
Annabelle didn’t burst in on them. My wife had no conscience at
all.”

Rothsburgh glanced at Beth, wanting to gauge
her reaction to all that he had divulged. He was, in fact,
surprised she hadn’t run screaming from the room after hearing
about the foulness and depravity that had been part of his life for
so long. But she hadn’t even drawn away. She still held his hand
and watched him steadily.

As their eyes met, she gave him a small, sad
smile. “I don’t think Hugh has much of a conscience either, James.
It seems we both married unwisely.”

Rothsburgh nodded, wondering how it had
really been for Beth during the three years of her marriage. He
still wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t been mistreated by her cur
of a husband.

“I’m guessing you were like me, Beth and
that you were duped by Hugh,” he said softly. “I imagine that you
loved him at the start.”

“Yes,” she admitted, her grey eyes wistful
for a brief moment. “He was handsome and charming, and literally
swept me off my feet. I was twenty-one and imagined myself in love.
I’d done the rounds of the come-out balls for two Seasons running,
but no-one had piqued my interest until I met Hugh. But then our
marriage…Well, it was not what I thought it would be.”

“I know you’ve told me that he didn’t hurt
you. But did he Beth?” Rothsburgh felt his muscles bunch beneath
his coat, and his jaw tightened almost to the point of pain. He
knew where Isabelle’s tastes ran. The rougher and more perverse the
sex was, the better. He could imagine that Hugh could be a sadistic
bastard in the bedroom. He’d have to be to satisfy Isabelle.

But Beth was shaking her head, thank God.
“No…I mean he was never gentle, but neither was he physically
cruel. He just never seemed overly interested in me. Especially
after the first month or so of our marriage. I was like an
afterthought most of the time. It was almost like he didn’t see me.
Or he just couldn’t be bothered with me. It didn’t matter what I
did, I never seemed to please him. He told me once, after a year of
our marriage—that I was pretty enough, but far too dull
.
I
bored him. I think the only reason he married me was because I had
the right lineage, and looked the part. I was like a broodmare
really—just waiting in the stable until he decided it was time for
me to bear him pretty blonde children. Ironically, that only seemed
to be the case after he’d contracted syphilis.”

“Sweet Jesus, Beth. Don’t tell me he tried
to force you.”

“No. He might have, but I didn’t give him
the chance. The night that he suddenly showed an interest was
strangely enough, the last night that I intended to spend at
Harcourt House, our home in London. The nightmare I have—it’s about
that night. When Hugh came to my room and told me his
intentions—that he wanted to get me with child—I thought at first
he had discovered my plan to leave, and that perhaps he was
punishing me, by ruining me. I tried to hide from him…in a spare
room in the servants’ quarters. But he quickly found me.”

James’s gut clenched and he fought the urge
to slam his fist through a wall, imagining it was Hugh’s face. “How
did you get away?”

“Jenkins, our butler, was my knight in
shining armor that night. He heard Hugh trying to break down the
door. When he questioned Hugh, asked him if he needed anything,
Hugh swore at him and told him not to bother because he was going
back to his club for the night. He called through the door and told
me that he would deal with me in the morning. But Jenkins hired a
cab for me and I left Harcourt House before the sun had even
risen.”

“The other thing I remember clearly about
that night is how oddly Hugh behaved before he told me he wanted
to…bed me again. When he first came to my room, he was melancholy,
not himself. He looked like a man about to face the gallows. And
now I know why, James—he must have been mourning Isabelle. And from
what you’ve told me, I rather suspect that Isabelle is the only
reason I escaped unscathed.”

What?
Rothsburgh shook his head. “I
don’t understand.”

“I know you said Isabelle didn’t have a
conscience, but I’m wondering if she did have a trace within her.
The only reason I knew that Hugh suffered from syphilis was because
his mistress sent me a letter, warning me to take precautions. It
arrived in the post at Harcourt House, addressed to me, in the
first week of September.”