The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“It fair makes my scalp itch, my lord.”

Lord Prith actually shuddered.

About twenty feet ahead, Lord Beecham was saying to Helen, “What have you told your father about my entry into your lives?”

“I told him the truth, naturally. The only secret I have ever kept from my father was when I struck young Colton Mason across his shoulders with my riding crop because he had tried to take liberties with my eighteen-year-old person. It was the oddest thing—he really liked it, begged me to hit him again.”

“I have heard that some people, men mostly, like that sort of thing, particularly if a woman metes out the blows. If there is a desire for anything at all, you’ll find it in the fleshpots of London.”

“I believe that is where poor Colton ended up.”

“I hope you are not confusing that sort of strange sexual fervor with the application of good clean discipline?”

“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes twinkling wickedly at him. “I’m not a fool. At eighteen I realized I was on to something. Certainly whipping is part of it, but there is so much more, don’t you agree?”

He would have her explain that to him in great detail, later. “You told your father that I was a medieval manuscript scholar here to translate your leather from the iron cask to help you find King Edward’s Lamp?”

“Oh, yes. He just looked at me and finally said, ‘Lord Beecham has the look of a man with too much knowledge crammed into his head. I do not know just how ancient that knowledge may be. He is dangerous as well as valuable to you, my girl, make no mistake about that. He is bound to want something other than some dented, hoary lamp.’ ”

Lord Beecham laughed. “Not so much crammed in my head anymore.”

“I believe he was commenting on your current state of knowledge, my lord.”

“Fleshpots again.”

“Very probably. Do you think you will require something of me other than the lamp?”

He looked thoughtfully between Luther’s ears. The road ahead was straight and flat. On either side of the road, the fields were laid out like rich green and yellow squares on a nicely sewn quilt. Yew bushes lined the stone fences that marked the boundaries. It was a warm, breezy day. Every once in a while the strong scent of sheep wafted through the air, just to remind you that this wasn’t a beautiful painting or an idealized setting.

“Actually, truth be told, when I first saw you, I wanted you in my bed by early afternoon. It was sunny that day, and I had a very clear picture of you lying naked on your back, your arms out to me. However, when it did not happen, I was not cast down. I decided it would be all right to have you in my bed by nightfall. When that did not happen, I was forced to forgo poor Jerome’s remarkable smoked oysters, else I would have become quite mad with unfulfilled lust.”

She was laughing so hard that Eleanor whinnied in response and took several side steps.

“You find that amusing, Miss Mayberry? My physical discomfort doesn’t make you regret not complying with my very understandable man’s lust?”

“I am on the shelf, Lord Beecham. I beg you not to make such jests at my expense.”

“I really don’t believe you had the gall to say that. You, my girl, know very well that you are quite the most magnificent woman to grace three counties. Your pretense at old age makes me remeasure your level of guile.”

“I have no guile to speak of. I am straightforward. I will not give you coy speeches about bedding you at noon or at twilight or at the rise of the moon. No, I will tell you very honestly exactly what I thought when I first saw you, Lord Beecham. I saw you standing in front of me. I stripped off every article of clothing covering your doubtless magnificent self, beginning with that very artfully arranged cravat of yours. I was all the way to your boots before I was pulled from my very pleasant fantasies.”

His eyes were nearly crossed.

“Where is your father’s carriage?”

“Not more than twenty feet behind us.”

“There are quite a few maple trees off just to my left. We could find privacy.” Then he sighed deeply; he shook himself. “No, this is ridiculous. I am a man with a man’s control. I will not be drawn into your damned woman’s fantasies. I will enjoy my own. I can control them more readily.”

“Very well,” she said, her voice as demure as a school-girl’s. “Goodness, if I just close my eyes a moment, I see myself now bent over in front of you, and you are sitting down. Your left boot is in my hands and I’m nearly ready to pull it off. I’m looking over my left shoulder, smiling at you, and—”

“You will hold your tongue or I will send Flock out to ride with you and immure myself with your father.”

“Victory over a man is nothing at all,” she said, and began whistling. “You are such a simple species. Paint you one small picture and you are slavering and shaking, ready to swoon.”

He laughed, there was simply nothing else to do. Then he turned in the saddle and gave her a very slow smile. “Trust me, Miss Mayberry. When I have you away from your fond parent, I plan to introduce you to a very intriguing course of discipline.”

It was his turn to see her eyes go vague and watch her swallow. He picked a small bit of lint off his riding jacket. “I have always thought that ladies were such easy creatures. They think of me mastering them and I invariably find myself with a very excited female in my arms, begging me to do my worst.” He smiled at her. “You may be the discipline mistress of Court Hammering, Miss Mayberry, but I am the master of London. Don’t try to compete with me. You will lose.”