Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (39 page)

“Yes, milord.”

Ignoring the pain in his torso—Rothsburgh
suspected he had at least one cracked rib—he threw on a coat, then
raced out of the front door of his town house. At the bottom of the
stairs waited a plain black carriage—a carriage that was quite
possibly the same one that had spirited Beth away only hours
before.

Seeing no sign of the thugs that had beaten
him earlier, in or outside of the conveyance, he leapt in. The
liveried footman slammed the door and he momentarily hoped to God
this wasn’t another trap. But then, for Beth, it was a risk he was
more than willing to take.

For her, he would do anything.

Hugh had permitted her to take a room at the
White Horse Inn, Edinburgh’s largest coaching inn at the bottom of
the Royal Mile, but a stone’s throw from Holyrood itself. Too
restless to sit, her body a mass of raw nerves and strange jitters,
Elizabeth paced the relatively well-appointed room—ironically it
was the inn’s bridal suite—praying that James would come.

What if his injuries were worse than Hugh
had let on? What if he hadn’t been at home when Hugh’s servants had
delivered her message? What if he’d had enough of the whole sordid
business and of her?

She could understand if James had. But to
the depths of her bones, she knew that he would come for her. Try
to rescue her.

But that was impossible.

There was no chance that she would be able
to escape from this room, let alone this inn. Hugh had covered
every contingency. All of the inn’s exits, including the mews
directly below the second-story window of this room, were being
discreetly guarded by his henchmen, all of them armed. Unless James
brought half the garrison of the Scots Guard with him, there was no
way out for her.

But then, after receiving her note, James
wouldn’t have had time to assemble his own men anyway. And Hugh’s
staff were under strict instructions to abort the whole plan if
they suspected that James had done so.

Hugh would not be duped again.

While she waited, she fell to contemplating
just how she was to explain the real reason for this meeting. Her
note had provided the scantest of details, and James would have
questions. He was too canny to accept her written reason for the
assignation—that Hugh had graciously permitted her a chance to bid
him a final adieu—at face value. He knew Hugh too well to believe
such a bald-faced lie.

Her gaze fell to the rather large
four-poster bed in the center of the room where her discarded
gloves, veiled bonnet, and cloak lay scattered across the scarlet
counterpane. Could she actually tell James,
my husband wants to
make sure you have impregnated me because he cannot?

She shuddered just thinking about what James
would make of that. Of the dark thunder that would appear in his
eyes.

At that moment, her agonized musings were
interrupted by the sound of male voices in the corridor. The lock
was tumbled and as the door swung open, her breath hitched.

“Beth.” James appeared in the doorway, his
dark eyes grazing over her with unconcealed emotion—relief, hope,
hunger…

And then before she could draw another
breath he was on her, his arms crushing her to his chest, one hand
pushing into the loosely arranged bun at her nape as his mouth
covered hers. Claimed her again.

He was all right.

She sagged against him, relief and desire
making her head spin. Her hands fisted into the lapels of his coat
and she kissed him back, their meeting such a frantic tangle of
tongues and mashing of lips, she was barely conscious of the door
being closed behind them. Of the scrape of the key as Hugh’s
servant locked it from the outside.

But the noise seemed to rouse James. He
dragged his head up and brushed the back of his bruised, split
knuckles against her cheek. “I don’t know what is going on right
now. But I’m just so damned grateful to see you, at this very
moment, I don’t care.”

“I feel the same way.” She reached up and
lightly traced the strong angles and planes of his face with
trembling fingers, noting a cut through his left eyebrow and
bruising beneath the stubble along his jaw. A split and slightly
swollen lower lip. “I thought those men were going to kill you,
James.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, pressing his
jaw into her hand. “So did I, when I first saw that pistol pointed
straight at my chest. But I’ve learnt a thing or two on the
battlefield, thank God.”

“So it would seem,” she said, continuing to
catalogue his injuries. She pushed her fingers into his dark, silky
hair, noting that he winced a little when she found a rather
sizeable lump on the back of his head. “And considering what was
done to you, you’ll be pleased to know that MacSweeney—the man from
the park—he’s now sporting a broken nose and his accomplice has two
black eyes.”

“Excellent.” James’s mouth tilted into a
brief half-smile before he opened his eyes. His expression sobered.
“Tell me what this is all about, Beth. None of it makes sense. That
Hugh would permit this…this meeting, after going to the trouble of
snatching you back like that. I don’t understand.”

“I know.” It was difficult to hold his gaze.
She didn’t want to tell him the truth. But she would.

James frowned, his eyes narrowing as he
searched her face. “He hasn’t hurt you has he? Because if he
has—”

“No. He hasn’t,” she said hastily, caressing
his hand as his grip tightened on her shoulder. “And he’s assured
me that he won’t. He’s unwell. He knows he can’t be…with me any
longer.”

A muscle worked in James’s lean jaw. “I wish
I could believe that. If I had my way, you’d never have to suffer
his presence again.”

“James—”

“It’s all right. As much as I’d love to put
down your cur of a husband, I won’t…” His expression suddenly
changed, his brow creasing with exasperation. “How did he find you,
Beth? He must have been looking damned hard to locate you so
quickly. You’ve only been gone a few months. And you’ve been so
careful.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “I’m afraid it was
Blaire. When he first arrived at Eilean Tor, I wondered if we’d
perhaps met at one time. I wasn’t certain. But he obviously did
recognize me, and told Hugh when he returned to London.”

James nodded, his mouth a grim line. “I
should have called the bastard out.”

“It’s too late now,” she said with a small
shrug. “What’s done is done.”

“Yes. But what now, Beth? I still don’t
understand why Hugh has allowed this…” he flicked his gaze around
the room before returning to her, “…at all. What’s the catch? You
and I alone, under lock and key. What is your husband up to?” He
suddenly released her and began to stalk about the room like a
caged beast, testing the door handle, flicking the blood-red damask
curtains aside to look out the window before turning back to
her.

She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and
met his gaze. Now for the hard part. If he decided to leave
now—even though she would likely shatter into a thousand pieces as
soon as the door closed behind him—she would understand.

“Hugh wants an heir…desperately,” she
admitted, her heart beating strangely, an erratic nervous
stuttering in her chest. “And as you know, he can no longer produce
a healthy child.”

A muscle flickered in James’s jaw again and
his eyes darkened. “So your husband wants me to be the stud bull,”
he stated flatly.

Her voice was the faintest of whispers.
“Yes…”

“Sweet Jesus.” James ran a hand through his
dark hair then sought her gaze. “I haven’t asked you this
before…but are you already with my child, Beth?”

And there it was, the question she had
longed to be asked by him, and to answer, but now hid from.
Elizabeth’s hands fluttered involuntarily to her stomach, and
James’s gaze followed the movement. Admitting such a possibility
felt like a betrayal of the worst kind, now that she was returning
to Hugh.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said, as heat
suffused her cheeks. This should be a joyous moment, this sharing
of special, secret knowledge. But it wasn’t. Hugh had twisted
everything. Put a stain upon it. “There’s a chance I might be. But
I won’t know for certain for another week or so.”

He nodded once. Looked away. Swallowed.

God, why doesn’t he say something?

* * * *

“James…” Beth’s voice trembled and the sound
of it pierced his heart.

He was being an ass, letting her hang like
this. None of this was her fault. But to think that Beauchamp had
stolen her back, simply to use her and the
perhaps
of a
child—their child—for his own selfish purposes.

He wouldn’t allow it.

He clenched and unclenched his fists,
relishing in the pain as the torn flesh across his knuckles
protested. He wanted to hit something, break something. If he could
find out where her husband was staying he would take great pleasure
in eviscerating him. Slowly. Preferably with a blunt
instrument.

“I will find a way to get you out of this,”
he grated out, hating the fact that he sounded so tense and angry,
that he was hurting Beth. But he couldn’t help it. There was a
darkness in him that he couldn’t suppress. It squeezed his chest,
crushed the air from his lungs, turned his blood to hot acid.

Beth shook her head, her grey eyes as
tormented as the sea beneath Eilean Tor, her mouth a sad, tight
line. “How, James? There’s no possibility of escape from this inn.
Will you kidnap me on the road back to London? Snatch me from
Harcourt House in the dead of night?”

“If I must.”
God, I have to or I’ll
die.

“Hugh will have me watched and guarded night
and day. Any plan you devise will end in certain disaster.” She
took a shaky breath and lifted her chin, her eyes shimmering with
tears. “You must forget me, James. There is nowhere that we would
be able to go that he wouldn’t follow. Not Scotland, not France,
not Italy. It was one thing to be your mistress…in secret. But Lady
Beauchamp cannot run off with Lord Rothsburgh. Think of the
scandal—”

“I don’t care about the opinion of
society—”

“But what about your family, James? Your
sister and brother-in-law, and their children? Annabelle? They
would be subjected to untold censure by the
ton
. They don’t
deserve that.”

Rothsburgh ran a hand down his face,
fighting against a rising tide of bitter anguish. She was right. He
hadn’t considered them before, but now that he did…

Damn her husband to hell.

“James, I understand that you’re angry. And
you have every right to be, given this new scheme of Hugh’s is
nothing short of…diabolical.” Beth’s voice was low and breathless,
her cheeks wet with tears that now spilled freely. She closed her
eyes and her throat worked before she spoke again. “If you’ve had
enough of this. If you want to leave now…”

“God in heaven, Beth. Of course I don’t want
to leave,” he cried, lunging toward her, grasping her shoulders.
“Don’t you understand? I never want this to end.”

For one fraught, suspended moment, he stared
at her; her grief was starkly etched across her face, mirroring his
own emotions exactly…

And then he was kissing her, his mouth
hungry and demanding, his entire body aching with need for her,
this woman like no other who was being torn away from him. His
hands grasped her head, his thumbs angling her jaw upwards to
better plunder her mouth. It was a hard, angry, uncompromising
kiss, but she didn’t seem to mind. He felt her grip the back of his
head, dragging him closer as she moaned into him and lashed her
tongue against his. Only when he needed to breathe did he break the
rough, desperate clash of their mouths and instead rained kisses
over her face—her eyes, her cheeks, her temple, her jaw. Tasting
her sweet alabaster skin, the salt of her tears.

It wasn’t enough.

He drew back. “Before I say goodbye to you
tonight, Beth—not forever because I will
never
concede
defeat, my love—then I will have you, in every way I know.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flashed silver, their
expression fierce. “Whatever you want, James…” She began to pull at
the knots of his cravat, her lips hot and demanding on his jaw,
nipping down his throat as she exposed the sensitive flesh beneath.
He shuddered beneath her onslaught. But he needed more. Of her.

“Wait…” He shrugged off his coat and hooked
it over the doorknob to the room, then pushed a rolled-up rug
against the bottom of the door. He did not want the prying eyes or
ears of Hugh’s minions bearing witness to what he and Beth were
about to do.

She’d clearly thought that he would be so
disgusted by her husband’s nefarious plan that he would walk away.
He had to show her that he would never, ever do that. That his life
began and ended with her. But he only had tonight.

Rothsburgh turned back to where she stood by
the fireplace watching him with her beautiful eyes, arms clasped
about herself as if she was already bereft. He couldn’t bear it. He
closed the distance between them and kissed her again, backing her
toward the wall beside the hearth with his forward momentum. Pushed
a leg between hers and was rewarded with the sound of her moaning
again as he ravaged her neck with rough kisses. She would have a
rash from his stubble and bruises from where he sucked and nipped
at her. Good. The thought filled him with immense satisfaction,
fuelled his already rampant arousal. She was his and he wanted to
leave his mark.

Her hands clawed at the front of his brocade
waistcoat and linen shirt, fumbling with buttons and ties. When she
pushed her hands beneath his shirt and raked her fingers across the
bare skin of his abdomen, he hissed with pleasure. He wanted his
flesh to be branded by her too.