Beauty in Breeches

chapter Three


Julius was deaf to the collective gasps that followed this statement. Suddenly his entire body tensed. His fists clenched on his riding crop and then convulsively tightened. His features, about to relax into lines of arrogant satisfaction, froze and his face became a hard, cynical mask.

‘Either you are carrying pity for me in losing the race to an unbelievable extreme, or else you’re not playing with a full deck.’

‘I am neither dim-witted nor crazy,’ Beatrice stated, ‘and pity has nothing to do with my reasons for wanting this marriage.’

‘Marriage? Come, Miss Fanshaw. Think about it,’ Lord Chadwick intoned in silken menace, as though his brooding eyes and smooth voice and his slight, dark smile could mesmerise any unsuspecting female. ‘Admit it. You were having a lark.’

‘Oh, no, Lord Chadwick. I never lark about, as those who know me will tell you.’

Gazing at her directly, Julius searched her face for some indication that she was joking, but her expression was completely unemotional. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved, vaguely smiling. It stirred his imagination no small amount.

‘Despite what you say, I think this really must be some kind of charade you play. You are asking me to do the impossible.’ She remained silent, holding his gaze, and the fire that had sprung in her eyes convinced him that this was no charade and that she was deadly serious. ‘Good God!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise he simply stared at her. Then the corner of his mouth twisted wryly in a gesture that was not quite a smile. ‘I suppose I left myself wide open for that.’

As everyone looked on with shocked, incredulous expressions, he smiled coolly. ‘You must forgive me if I appear shocked. Naturally I am flattered by your proposal, Miss Fanshaw—in fact, I am quite blown away by it. Well—if this isn’t the most peculiar marriage proposal I have ever heard. You are without doubt a most shameless, impulsive creature.’ He was now amused. ‘You expressed admiration for my horse earlier. Will you not take him instead?’

Beatrice shot him an indignant look, straightening her back. She recognised that her impromptu proposal had taken him completely unawares, but she played the game on. She shook her head, tossing the curling tresses that had become loosened by the race enticingly.

‘Please have the good sense to take me seriously. Am I so ugly, sir, that you would prefer to rid yourself of your precious horse than to be wed to me?’ His bold gaze stirred something deep within her and the sensation was not unpleasant.

‘On the contrary,’ he answered with an apparent ease he was far from feeling, ‘your beauty so blinds me, I fear I must be led to the altar by the hand—should I accept your proposal. Now, about my horse. What do you say?’

Disregarding the sarcasm in his tone, Beatrice pinned a brilliant smile on her face. ‘But I couldn’t possibly take your horse. I recall you saying that you could not possibly part with him, in which case I would not dream of taking him from you. So I will settle for you instead. Come, Lord Chadwick? What do you say?’ She flicked a glance around the bystanders within earshot. They were waiting to hear what he had to say with baited breath.

Julius let them wait a while longer as he faced the open challenge and measured the power of her will in her green gaze. There was plenty that he wanted to say, but not here, not now. In her resentment, if this young hellion thought to make a fool of him and believed she had him cornered, then she didn’t know who she was dealing with. She would find out, but in the meantime he would play along with her game—for knowing how she held him in absolute contempt, that’s all it could be. However, he was intrigued, all his senses completely involved with her. There could be worse things than being married to this beautiful, feisty firecracker.

‘Then what can I say except that I consider myself fortunate to find myself betrothed to the most beautiful young lady in Essex.’ Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, and in so doing played the forfeit, as if young ladies proposed to gentlemen in this way every day of the week.

After a good deal of laughter, disbelief and hesitant congratulations, Julius and Beatrice, accompanied by a thoroughly bemused George, rode back to Standish House.



Clattering into the stable yard, the two men swung from their saddles and Julius tossed the reins to George, who led both horses away. Beatrice turned in the saddle, but before she had a chance to dismount, Julius’s hands closed, strong and sure, about her waist. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child, lowering her slowly until her feet touched the ground.

Beatrice felt a blush tinge her cheeks—it was all she could do to meet his gaze fleetingly. It was the first time a man had touched her, had dared take such liberties.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said tightly, ‘but the time has not yet come when I cannot get off a horse without assistance.’

Julius looked down at her, his tone slightly acid. ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Would you deprive me of that?’ He stepped away from her. ‘We need to talk.’

‘Yes, we do.’

‘Now would be as good a time as any.’ His eyes held hers. His face was a taut mask of controlled anger. For an instant he thought she would argue—he was relieved when she tightened her lips and inclined her head in apparent acquiescence. ‘Come, let’s take a walk.’

With studied calm Beatrice allowed him to place his hand on her elbow and escort her out of the stable yard and into a quiet part of the gardens. There was a controlled alertness in his manner, like that of a large cat, its strength ready to explode, but for the present docile. She was reminded of a large black panther she had seen on her visit to the zoo at the Tower of London with Astrid. In repose the panther’s sinews had flexed and stretched in a fantastic rhythm of life that mesmerised. Julius Chadwick was slim, yet sturdy, and moved with almost sensuous grace. There was a sureness in his stride as if he carefully planned where to place each foot. At the moment he appeared relaxed, but Beatrice knew that he was aware of her and everything around him.

His grip felt strong and steely. A host of unfamiliar sensations passed along her nerves and her heart turned over distractingly. Such unexpected susceptibility was not, to her mind, a helpful development. She had never before been so afflicted—she hoped the effect would fade quickly. To her chagrin it did not go away when he removed his hand.

‘I don’t think we’ll be disturbed here.’

His tone, clipped and dry, had Beatrice shifting her gaze to his face. He was a towering masculine presence in this quiet corner of the garden. ‘What is it you want to say?’ she asked, beginning to feel the first pangs of discomfort with the dark way he was regarding her, his gaze narrowed and assessing.

The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I don’t intend to harm you.’ Looking down into her wide eyes, Julius saw speculation leap in their depths only to be replaced by wariness. His gaze locked on hers. ‘I believe it’s time for a little plain speaking.’

Beatrice stiffened. ‘On what subject?’

‘On the subject of your ridiculous forfeit—our future.’ In an endeavour to disguise the tension that had gripped him and the way her nearness was affecting him, how he found it nigh impossible to look away from her golden hair lightened by the sun, her unfathomable green eyes and beckoning fragrance, he took a couple of steps away from her and gazed over the gardens. ‘Am I honestly supposed to take you—I mean, this proposal—seriously?’

‘I assure you, I am completely serious.’

‘Then do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

‘Ask me anything you like.’

He tilted his head to one side, his face a mirror of bewilderment and disbelief. ‘Are you, by any chance, under the influence of drink, Miss Fanshaw?’

‘Absolutely not. I rarely drink anything stronger than watered-down wine.’

‘Then am I supposed to believe that at some point you might have fallen in love with my larger-than-life reputation? That is what it would have to be since, to my knowledge, we have never met.’

‘That scenario is as ludicrous as the one before it.’

‘Then it can hardly come as a surprise to you to learn that I might have some objections to the proposal.’

‘It wasn’t a proposal.’

Julius’s contemplation was steady. ‘What was it, then? An order?’

‘No.’ The word was out before Beatrice had considered it. She tried to erase the admission with a casual wave of her hand. ‘That is…’

‘Plain speaking I believe I said. I don’t like being forced. It goes against my grain. It is a most unwise thing for you to do. Most unwise. How dare you compromise me in this manner?’

Beatrice lifted her chin. ‘I had hoped you were too much of a gentleman to renege on your word.’

‘I don’t have to be a genius to work out that you planned this. What concerns me now, what we need to discuss, is what comes next.’ Leaning against a low stone wall and resting his arm on the top, letting his hand dangle limply, he caught her glittering gaze and held it. ‘Tell me. When do you want the wedding to take place?’

‘Why, I…’ Feeling heat wash over her face, she faltered, taken off guard.

‘Come now,’ he pressed. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it out. One day? Two days? A week—a month? How long?’

‘As soon as possible was what I imagined.’

‘Well, imagine again. If you imagined I’d meekly consent to this madness, you were far off track.’

‘If you recall, my lord, you did consent to it. Very well, we will wed at your convenience, I suppose.’

‘And I suppose that would be never.’

‘You mean you will go back on your word?’

‘You can bet your damned life there is nothing that would please me more. But were I to do that, I would blacken my reputation. The short of it is, Miss Fanshaw, I don’t want to marry you—and if you know what is good for you, you wouldn’t want to marry me either. Which is why I am leaving it up to you to cry off.’

She gaped at him. It was her turn to be nervous. ‘Cry off?’

His eyes mocked her. ‘That’s what I said. It’s very simple. You can let it be known that your forfeit was a joke, that you did it for a laugh, that you had no intention of holding me to my word. You will have to be the one to say it. Everyone must hear it from your own lips.’

‘But I can’t do that.’

‘No? Pray tell me why not?’

‘Because it would be a lie.’

‘You mean you actually do want to marry me?’

She looked at him surreptitiously. ‘Yes,’ she replied—not that she had any idea what marriage to him would entail once she had caught him. ‘I will not withdraw the forfeit.’

She would not beg him to wed her. Nor would she back down. But what a disaster she had made of it. She must have been out of her mind to think she could manage this. With that characteristic recklessness with which she tackled everything in her life, she had rushed to accept his wager without much thought to how he would react should she win the race and request his forfeit. But it was too late now. She had set the ball rolling, so to speak, and she would not back out now.

‘When I named the forfeit, why did you concede by going so far as to announce our engagement?’

‘Because at the time I did not take your proposal seriously. I thought you were playing some kind of mischievous game—that it was some light-hearted jest, that in some twisted way you were trying to get back at me for what you accuse me of doing to your father. I merely entered into the spirit of things. Naturally I believed you would withdraw your ridiculous proposal and it could be laughed off with no ill feeling.’

Beatrice met his look squarely. ‘You do not know me. You were wrong to think that.’ She glared at him. ‘It was no twisted, mischievous game, Lord Chadwick. I have thought long and hard about this. Perhaps now you will realise that I was being deadly serious. Besides, after asking you to marry me in front of an audience, the scandal will be being broadcast throughout London as we speak. If you refuse to marry me, I will have ruined any chance I might have had of making a suitable marriage.’

‘That is unfortunate for you, but it is entirely your own doing. It does not concern me.’

‘I accept that, but you could do a lot worse than marry me. I have nothing of my own to bring to a marriage, but both my parents were well connected. I meet a gentleman’s criteria of youth, good health, breeding, I am reasonably pretty, or so I’ve been told, and I have an unblemished reputation.’

Julius raised a sardonic brow at her self-praise and contemplated her wickedly gleaming green eyes. ‘I am impressed, but you failed to mention problematical, as bold as brass and as determined as they come.’

She smiled. ‘I admit that I can be troublesome on occasion, but on the whole, you can have no objections to my suitability.’

Julius’s expression was one of disbelief. He looked her over carefully, as if to judge her for her worth, and appeared dubious as he crinkled his brows. ‘No objections—’ he retorted sharply, then bit back the rest of his words, clenching his jaw so tightly a muscle jerked in the side of his cheek. ‘I have plenty, Miss Fanshaw, and I can imagine Lady Standish will have some of her own to add. How will your esteemed aunt receive your outlandish proposal to me?’

‘She will be livid, I expect. You see, where my aunt is concerned, as an impoverished orphan she has never had any regard for me. I am a duty she is forced to endure. In her world, marriages are arranged for consequence and money. She has you in her sights for Astrid. Not only are you outrageously wealthy, but you are also a marquess and we haven’t had one of those in the family before, so she sees it as advancing the family cause.’ She cocked her head on one side and looked at him steadily. ‘Would you have offered for Astrid? Did my aunt read your attentions toward Astrid correctly?’

‘Good Lord, no. Miss Standish is exquisite and quite charming, but she is not to my taste.’ Julius meant it. To anyone with experience, Astrid Standish’s mere prettiness could not hold a candle to Beatrice Fanshaw’s raw kind of beauty. Miss Standish could prove troublesome in her own way, but she was very definitely not the same sort of trouble Miss Fanshaw would be. He would never be bored with her, that was for sure. ‘In any case, you have spiked your aunt’s ambitions well and truly with this outrageous escapade.’ Suddenly curious to know more about this self-contained young woman, although he couldn’t for the life of him think why, he said, ‘Why does she resent you?’

‘I think she sees me as some kind of threat to Astrid. Against her wishes, my uncle took us in when my mother and I had nowhere else to go. To add to our difficulties my mother was very ill. Her illness began immediately after my father died. Aunt Moira didn’t go out of her way to make us welcome. When my mother died she would have turned me out were it not for my uncle.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Julius said, his tone suddenly sympathetic. ‘That must have been an awful time for you when you lost your mother. I am not unacquainted with death and loss,’ he said, thinking of the loss of his own mother. ‘I have not forgotten the pain of it. How was your relationship with your uncle?’

‘He always treated me kindly. Before he died he made Aunt Moira promise to do right by me: to maintain me as one of her own children, to bring me out into society and to ensure that the man I married was suitable. I suppose she considers she has kept this promise as well as her nature will permit, but as soon as my uncle died she made it plain that I should not think myself on an equal footing with my cousins. How could she like or accept an irksome alien, someone inferior and unconnected to her by any tie, an intruder on her own family?’

The softening of her manner enhanced her beauty and Julius boldly and appreciatively stared at her hard for several moments. There was a forlorn, lost look about her and he sensed she bore a deep inner pain and bitterness that had driven her to where she was now. In fact, he saw in her that which was in himself, and that something stirred, something moved that had not moved in a long time. It came unbidden, unexpected, born of the bleakness of his own life. Over the years he’d stifled that feeling as best he could, but it had been there just the same, telling him how he felt, and it was ridiculous, totally ridiculous, for with so much to do his life was full. But always there was something not quite right, something missing from his life.

‘I can see your life at Standish House has not been easy and that you do indeed need rescuing,’ he said softly.

‘I have become accustomed to it.’ She gave him a sideways, almost coy look. ‘Will you be my rescuer, Lord Chadwick?’

He considered her remark in silence. Perhaps he should rescue her from her predicament. After all, if it wasn’t for his father, she wouldn’t be in this position, so maybe he should accept her marriage proposal. ‘Tell me. Why do you want to marry me so badly?’

‘You know why. Because you own Larkhill.’

‘Yes, I thought that might have something to do with it,’ he remarked drily.

‘But I have no money. I can’t afford Larkhill. I have nothing save what my aunt chooses to give me, which is very little, therefore it is up to me to provide for myself. I will no longer be a burden to my aunt. I can no longer submit to her opinion as a matter of course. In short, Lord Chadwick, I have decided to be my own advocate and make my own case.’

‘Will that be such a hardship for you?’

Beatrice detected a mild concern in his voice. ‘I hope not. I am indeed at your mercy. After this I cannot stay here. My aunt will cut me off from all connection with her family because I dared ask you to marry me. If you refuse to do this, I shall have to find somewhere else to live and an occupation to support myself.’

His eyes held hers in an enquiring glance. ‘What you really mean is that your pride won’t let you show defeat.’

She bristled at his light, mocking tone. ‘After this I shall be regarded as low as a fallen woman—a helpless and defenceless female.’

Her words were so inappropriate he laughed out loud. ‘Helpless and defenceless be damned. A woman who can ride as you do and beat me at my own challenge, a woman who can ask a man to marry her and when he rejects her can still lift her head with fire in her eyes, is not what I would call helpless or defenceless. I salute your courage and your boldness, Miss Fanshaw. You are undeniably brave—and reckless. But you are being selfish in throwing your desirable self at me, daring me to take advantage of you because you want something badly enough. You are playing with fire and it is inevitable that at some time you will be burned. I am unwilling to satisfy your wicked schemes and am most reluctant to take advantage of you—though God knows I would like to and you fully deserve it.’

‘I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted by that remark, Lord Chadwick,’ Beatrice retorted, her cheeks flushed with indignation.

‘Take it either way. It is immaterial to me. So, it all boils down to the fact that you want to marry me for my money.’

‘Your wealth does make marriage to you more palatable.’

‘You don’t have to go to such lengths as to tie yourself to me for life to return to your former home. When I asked you if you would demand Larkhill as the forfeit I recall you saying it would be nothing as fine or as grand as that—which makes me feel decidedly inferior that you consider me less important than a house.’ He gave her a steady look. ‘Why settle for me?’

‘Because I need you—your money—to restore Larkhill to what it was. You have neglected the property sorely since you took it from my father.’

Shrugging himself away from the wall and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he began to pace. ‘I understand your resentment. It can’t be a comfortable situation for a woman like you, a young woman robbed of her own family, yet with your whole life ahead of you. While ever you live with your aunt you are in Astrid’s shadow—you, who are the more beautiful of the two.’

Beatrice was so humiliated by his reference to her plight that her heart clenched with the truth of it. It was such a bleak and accurate summary of her life that she almost choked at the future that opened up before her. ‘That’s how it is for a lot of women,’ she said, stung into honesty, ‘especially when a woman finds herself without a family of her own. It’s not what one would choose. I don’t like it and I decided long ago to find my own way out—hence the wager. Do you have family, Lord Chadwick?’

He shook his head. Pain and desolation entered his eyes, but it quickly disappeared and his expression was suddenly guarded. ‘No, Miss Fanshaw, I do not. From the moment I saw you I realised that we might have something in common. Like me, you like to make your own choices. I owe no man a living and I owe no woman a duty. In short, I am my own man, free to do as I choose. That’s the way I like it and how I want it to remain.’

‘It’s different for a woman.’

‘I know. But if all you want is to return to Larkhill, you don’t have to marry me.’

‘No?’ She looked at him warily. ‘It seems to me, Lord Chadwick, that you are trying to wriggle out of your promise. You really are going to renege on your word, aren’t you?’ She took a deep breath, her eyes flashing daggers. ‘Very well. I can’t force you to marry me. Now, I think you’d better leave.’

When she tried to sweep past him, his strong hand gripped her arm and spun her around. He hadn’t known her twenty-four hours and yet somehow she already showed a talent for clouding his cool calculation. He shouldn’t be angry with her—not when he was the one hiding too many dark and brooding secrets. It was himself he should be angry with.

‘Devil take it, woman, I don’t want to marry you! I’m not the marrying kind. I’m no good for you. Can’t you get that through that beautiful head of yours?’

Suddenly he seemed enormous and very close to Beatrice. His powerful body emanated heat, matching the heat that was rising in her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to marry you, either. You are nothing but a—a barbarian. But I will not withdraw the forfeit. I will not make it easy for you. It is up to you to extricate yourself in whichever way you see fit.’

His eyes blazed. ‘Barbarian? Lady,’ he warned, his voice hoarse with fury above her, ‘as yet I haven’t even begun to act the barbarian. If you insist on marrying me, then let me warn you in advance that I have learned from an expert how to make a wife’s life a living hell.’

His hold on her arm tightened and he looked at her for a long moment. She was so lovely, cool, virginal and stunningly arousing—and the most hair-raising woman he had ever met. He could feel himself responding, a fact that only inflamed his anger. Slowly, with menacing deliberation, he backed her against the shadowy garden wall. His grip wasn’t painful, but the casual strength in his fingers was unyielding and made it impossible for her to escape his grip despite her struggle. ‘Take your hands off me,’ she snapped to cover her growing alarm. Giving up her futile struggle, she glared murderously at the angry light glinting in his eyes. ‘How dare you call yourself a gentleman when you go around molesting women?’

‘Only those who stupidly believe they can get the better of me,’ he said between his teeth. ‘I’m merely trying to assure you that you don’t want to be my wife—to give you a taste of what you will be up against if you continue with this farce.’

One hand rose to grasp her chin, but Beatrice turned her face away, eluding capture. When his hard fingers at last closed over her jaw, she gasped with fury. ‘Stop it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare hurt me! Kindly take your hands off me!’

Julius stared down at her. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes, or the fright. ‘I’ve never hurt a woman in my life. But I mean to convince you to reconsider the forfeit you demand from me.’ His gaze dropped to her soft lips, then slid lower, following the line of her throat down to the tantalising mounds beneath the soft fabric of her shirt. With her head thrown back, they quivered and thrust forwards invitingly, emphasising the undeniable fact that she was an alluring woman.

As he released her chin, his fingers unintentionally brushed her breast. He was instantly aware of the contact. So was she—he could tell by the furious blush that rose to her cheeks.

Beatrice tried to ignore the effect of his touch.

‘Release me this instant,’ she demanded heatedly. ‘Kindly remove your hands.’

It was a supremely proper response—prim, restrained, ladylike, just the kind he would expect from a woman of her social standing, who had been taught to hold the physical side of marriage in aversion. ‘Why? Don’t you want me to touch you?’ he murmured, deliberately running his fingers along the line of her jaw. She was so close that he could smell the fragrance of violets in her hair. ‘Don’t you know that as my wife I shall be able to touch you where I like and when I like, that you must accept my attentions no matter how repugnant you find them to be? Shall I give you a taste of what to expect when I exert my husbandly rights?’

Drawing her rigid body closer, he pressed it against his, and the sensation of her soft body and her slender legs encased in breeches moulded to his own acted on him like a powerful aphrodisiac. Desire surged through him, heating his blood, sending it singing through his veins, and then his mouth crushed hers with a controlled expertise that left her gasping, shocking her with his arousing warmth.

Julius finally raised his head. ‘Consider it, Miss Fanshaw. You will have to learn to enjoy my lovemaking,’ he warned, ‘to be available to me whenever I want you, so if you still insist on being my wife, perhaps you should start enjoying it now.’

Still reeling from his devastating kiss, Beatrice stared up at him, two bright spots of colour highlighting her cheeks. His voice had suddenly grown husky with sensuality.

Julius’s smouldering eyes stared back at her. She knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. If he was trying to destroy her resistance, he was succeeding. When he fitted his body to hers, she tensed with a mingling of dread and wanton longing. She hardly had time to catch her breath before his mouth descended on hers once more and his tongue plundered the inner softness in a fierce, brutal kiss that was meant to punish and humiliate her.

Rigid with fury, she clawed and squirmed against him, trying to break his hold and to drag her mouth away from the fierce possession of his lips. Her struggle only seemed to encourage him on his course of persuasion and he deepened the kiss. His arm went around her, his hand cupping her buttocks to bring her hips even closer to his. Raising his head a fraction, he murmured, ‘I would take my pleasure of you any time, at my leisure, any time I choose. I would make you moan for me,’ he rasped against her lips, ‘moan with pleasure.’

Beatrice shuddered, seeing something primitive and terrifying flare in his eyes as his arms tightened. She jerked back, a protest rising in her throat, but his lips stifled her voice with a demanding insistence that stunned her into immobility. She had never even imagined what it would be like to be kissed—at least not in the way Julius Chadwick was kissing her, with his mouth moist and parted, warmly tasting hers, his tongue parting her lips to probe and explore with a hungry ardour and an inflaming expertise that rendered her weak.

Mindlessly she slid her hands up his chest, trying to cling for support to the very object that was destroying her balance. Confused and lost in a haze of nameless yearnings, she raised herself up on her toes, responding to the forceful pressure of his arms.

Julius groaned in response, deepening his kiss as she moulded her body against his. Her breath was so sweet, the feel of her so good he felt himself respond with that part of him that didn’t give a damn about his mind, which was telling him to tread with care. In his mind he knew that what he had intended wasn’t working. He was driving himself insane and losing the battle for control.

Recollecting herself when a small lance of sanity entered her mind and made her wonder at her behaviour, Beatrice tore her mouth free. She was horrified by what was happening, what he was doing to her. She should have found his kiss repulsive, but in truth she found it wildly exciting and found it hard to keep her world together. It was as if she had drunk too much wine and was giddy from it. What was the matter with her? She was neither a tippler nor a woman of easy virtue. She was a virgin, for heaven’s sake. In her fury she pushed against him with all her strength. She must be out of her mind to think she could do this, could manage this charade—and him. Julius Chadwick was more than she’d bargained for.

‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘You filthy beast.’ As she wiped the moisture from her mouth with the back of her hand, sparks of indignation flashed in her eyes. ‘How dare you lay your hands on me?’

Julius stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was wide eyed and vulnerable and trembling. And lovely. Dear Lord, she was so damned lovely. He wanted her with a fierceness that took his breath away. His strategy to make her change her mind had backfired with a vengeance. He had begun by trying to frighten and threaten her and had ended up with his own resolutions threatened instead.

‘Come now, Miss Fanshaw,’ he managed to say mockingly, laughing lightly, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘You needn’t be so indignant or feel insulted.’ A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘It was only a kiss. You must have been kissed before. I told you, if you really do want to be my wife, that is something you will have to get used to. It’s as well you know that I’m an amorous man. I would not take kindly to having a cold and unwilling partner in my bed.’

He still had his arms about her and he could feel contempt written in her straight back and imperious head. At that moment she was feeling insulted and degraded and her posture was implying that if he knew what was good for him he would go away and never come back. But no matter how much she wanted to utter the words, too much was at stake for her to utter them.

Julius let her go so abruptly that she staggered back a step, then he drew a long, audible breath. She glared at him. ‘How dare you do that to me? No doubt you will say I was asking for such treatment.’

His mobile mouth twisted into a grim smile and Beatrice had the fleeting impression that he was struggling for composure, as she was. Before this he had been a man unknown to her. She had not thought of him as anything but the man who had ruined her father and taken Larkhill and how she could use him to get it back. She’d had no reason to think of him in intimate terms. Now she saw him as a strong, attractive man who was unsettling her. For the first time in her life she felt unsure of herself.

Julius studied her, grudgingly thinking how magnificent she was. Her mouth had been sweet, warm and moist, and he was impatient to repeat the kiss. In her madness she had fought him like a lioness, and yet there had been a moment in that frenzied kiss when she had leaned against him as though the strength had gone from her and he had felt her hands, instead of clawing at him, hesitate and then slide up his chest and cling to his shoulders as though to steady herself in the havoc that washed over them both. He felt slightly bewildered by her now, almost bewitched.

‘You made a grave mistake when you asked for my forfeit,’ he said finally. ‘However, after saying that, I don’t think either of us can deny that we are drawn to each other.’ Forcing himself to remain calm, he caught her glittering gaze and held it. ‘I think we both know what we want, don’t we?’

Beatrice scrutinised his expression warily. Her feelings were nebulous, chaotic, yet one stood out clearly—frustrated desire. She hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her. But she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. Holding his gaze, she drew in a slow breath, then shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Liar,’ he uttered quietly. ‘Your eyes tell a different story.’ Turning from her, he took a moment to reflect on her strong will, a quality he admired. He could not escape the fact that Beatrice Fanshaw had intrigued him from the moment he had laid eyes on her. She had no artificial airs and graces and possessed a kind of courage about her that was unusual in a woman. She was also proud and independent, with bold, forthright ways, but he considered that in the matter of the forfeit she had acted foolishly. Looking at her now, Julius felt her breathtaking beauty quicken his very soul, stirring his mind with imaginings of what life married to her would be like. He was fiercely attracted to her, yet because of the secrets he was carrying he would have to try to fight the attraction.

‘There is another alternative to you becoming my wife. I have an offer to make to you.’ He saw her eyes cloud with wariness and distrust at the word ‘offer’. ‘It is a proposition of a different kind. Once you’ve considered it, I think you will agree that it would be a sensible arrangement for us both.’

‘What sort of proposition?’ she asked with clinical, cautious calm.

‘That you become my mistress.’

Beatrice was so surprised that all she could do was stare at him. After several moments of digesting what being his mistress would involve, she fixed him with indignant, angry eyes. ‘You want me to become your mistress?’

‘Good Lord, no!’ Julius took a deep breath, trying to keep his calm. ‘I don’t need a mistress any more than I need a wife. But I feel obliged to offer a solution to the dilemma you have so foolishly created for us both. Do you think I consider this lightly?’

His contemplation was steady. He remained silent when she moved away from him, giving his proposal careful thought. She moved with the natural grace of one who led an active life and bore nothing of the affected daintiness and fragility so often displayed by beauties of the ton. There was a sureness in her stride that lent smooth, fluid grace to her every movement. Julius admired everything about her; he had already set a price in his mind and only waited the moment.

At length she turned back to him and scowled. ‘So I was right. You are trying to wriggle out of it,’ she accused sharply.

‘I am merely suggesting another option, one in which neither of us has to commit ourselves. I am sure that despite our many differences we would be compatible sexually. You share my bed and in return for that you will have your own house and carriage and horses. You will have your own maid, a butler and servants, gowns and expensive baubles by the dozen. In short, I will be most generous. While you remain my mistress, you will have enough money to live like a queen—providing no other man gets to share what I am paying for.’

‘I don’t care for baubles,’ she said at length, ‘although a house of my own appeals to me. Kindly enlarge on that?’

His eyes were intent. ‘I would give you your heart’s desire: Larkhill. Mistress or wife, you could live there—if that is what you want. What’s the difference?’

Her smile was cynical. ‘You may have lost the wager, Lord Chadwick, but you still have a winning way with words. There is a vast difference. As your mistress you could kick me out on a whim. My answer is no. You insult me. My aunt would be scandalised and would never allow it. And I could never accept being any man’s mistress.’

He lifted his broad shoulders in a slight shrug and said in an indifferent voice, ‘That is your prerogative.’

‘Exactly. Lord Chadwick, are you or are you not going to honour your word given to me in the presence of others?’

His eyes boldly roamed over her body from head to toe and back to her face. ‘I’m beginning to warm to the idea. Married to you, life would never be dull. When you are near me I feel there is but one thought on my mind.’

In that moment her thoughts were far from Larkhill and how her aunt would react to what she was doing; instead, they centred on the turmoil within herself. A strong feeling of doubt blasted her confidence and she was suddenly unsure of her ability to deal with Julius Chadwick.

Julius moved to stand close to her. ‘Do you mean to bait me? Do you seek to punish me and, in so doing, extract your revenge for my past sins? If that is your game, then lead on. I will welcome your attention and the challenge.’

After a moment, Beatrice realised he was looking at her with a strange and tender smile on his lips. Her curiosity was piqued at his apparent ability to turn circumstances to his benefit.

‘There is one thing I would like to know. What forfeit would you have asked of me had you won?’

‘That was it.’

‘What?’

‘That you become my mistress.’

Beatrice was about to vent her indignation in his face, but suddenly his laughter rang out once more and brought quick death to her words. Strolling away from her, clasping his hands behind his back, he was as relaxed as if he were drinking with his friends in a gentleman’s club. Still chuckling derisively, he turned and strolled back to her.

‘I thought that might make you see the real price of your predicament. What would you have done? Would you have honoured your forfeit and become my mistress had you lost the race?’

Beatrice was surprised and shocked and intensely relieved that she had escaped such a fate, but did not show it. Taking a deep breath she nodded. ‘Yes. I may be many things, Lord Chadwick, but I always abide by my word. I can only thank God and my own skill that I beat you.’

‘No man or woman will ever master me, Miss Fanshaw.’

He stood gazing down, holding her eyes in a wilful use of power. Unable to look at him any longer, Beatrice averted her gaze.

‘Look at me.’

Unwillingly she turned her cool, questioning eyes to his once more and found a slow lazy smile that seemed to mock her. Leisurely he passed a knuckle along the fragile bone of her cheeks. His voice was soft as he continued, but it held a note of determination which in an odd way both frightened and angered her.

‘Whatever madness has driven you to this, one thing I can promise you is that the misery you have endured since your father lost Larkhill will be as nothing compared to what your life will be like married to me. Consider it and think on it carefully. As my wife you will be at my beck and call night and day—in my bed and out of it. You will be my wife not only in the eyes of the law, but in every other way as well. So between now and the day when we say our vows, ask yourself if that damned house is worth it.’

Beatrice watched him walk away. Slowly, a warm flush of triumph permeated her being. She had achieved her object, and however Julius Chadwick viewed her, he was not a willing suitor. But as she walked back to the house her thoughts were jumbled, for despite his role in her misfortunes, she had a grudging admiration for him. He was not a man to flinch from duty and that was why he had achieved so much in his life.

Despite her anger and resentment she had to concede that courage and strength ran through his veins, a strength that was in his character as well as his body. She had come away from their encounter with a feeling that he was an isolated, lonely figure without a family of his own. Surely such a handsome man should not be alone. Well, maybe it was high time he had a wife, and, with that thought and a reputation for walking on the wild side, she fully intended to turn his life upside down. If this was how she would get her revenge, then there could be worse things.

But, she reflected, despite their unsatisfactory exchange, she owned he had many good qualities, and deep down she was quite excited at the prospect of being his wife.



George told Astrid about the outcome of the race and the forfeit Beatrice had asked of Lord Chadwick. Appalled and deeply concerned by what her cousin was doing, Astrid went in search of her. Not until the salon door had closed behind them did she speak.

‘I know what happened. George told me. But—Lord Chadwick? How can you possibly marry him after the harm he has done you in the past?’

‘I know, but I am going to marry him, Astrid. He agreed to the forfeit.’

Astrid frowned as she tried to comprehend Beatrice and her actions. ‘But—you could make Larkhill your forfeit without going to such lengths as to marry him to get it.’

Beatrice looked at Astrid with something like pity. ‘No, Astrid. What good would that be? Unlike you I have no dowry and am loathe to let your mother pay for one. She is determined to make me see my place. To obtain Larkhill I must first make myself Lord Chadwick’s wife. Without wealth of my own, in no time at all I would be forced to sell it. This way I can have it all: money and Larkhill.’

‘And Lord Chadwick? You speak as if he has nothing to do with it, yet he will be your husband—a man who will be hard to ignore.’

‘You should look on it as a favour, Astrid. With Lord Chadwick out of the way, you mother will cease pressurising you on the matter. Although if she had succeeded in pulling off the match, he would have soon seen through you,’ Beatrice said gently.

Astrid’s head shot up. ‘Why, what do you mean by that?’

‘I don’t think he is the kind of man to marry a woman who is in love with someone else.’ Astrid blushed a deep scarlet. Beatrice smiled. ‘I thought as much. Anyone can see—and I know I am not wrong. You are glowing like a maid in springtime; every time Henry Talbot looks at you he looks as if he wants to eat you alive. I would put a fortune on you being in love with him. I am not wrong, am I, Astrid?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Henry and I have known one another all our lives, yet it is only recently that we have become close and acknowledged the depth of our feelings for each other. But with Mama being like she is, we have had to be careful not to show it.’

‘You’re to be congratulated, Astrid. Even I did not suspect—until your birthday party.’

‘That’s because your head is always filled with other things and you walk about in blinkers, seeing nothing but what is ahead of you.’

Beatrice lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry, Astrid. I don’t mean to. And please don’t be ashamed of me for what I am about to do. Where Larkhill is concerned, I am prepared to throw everything—even my immortal soul—into the battle to get it back.’

‘Your desire to have your home returned to you must be very powerful indeed if you will go to such lengths as to marry the man who took it away from you in the first place.’

‘You will never know how powerful. And as for you, you must talk to your mama. When she realises how things really are between you and Henry, perhaps she will relent.’

‘Thank you, Beatrice, but somehow I don’t believe Mama will consent to a marriage between us.’

‘Get George on side. He might be able to talk her round.’

At that moment the door opened and Aunt Moira came in. Her face was like a stone. Beatrice breathed in deeply. Best get this over with, she thought.