The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“Look, Douglas. All you can see now is my fist closing over my cloak. May we return to more interesting matters now?”

“The gown isn’t cut all that low, Douglas,” Lord Beecham said mildly.

“Just how the hell would you know that, you damned scoundrel?”

“I swear to you I am jesting with you, nothing more.”

“I don’t believe you. If by some small chance you are telling the truth, it would mean that you are clearly not yourself, Heatherington. Something is wrong with you. Come, what is it? I know it can’t be this lamp business. I still don’t believe such a thing can actually be real—real, as in you and I could actually touch it and make something incredible happen.”

“I’m not sure that I believe in it either, but it makes me furious to know that scoundrels are now on the scent. You know Crowley. If he even had only the veriest smid gen of belief, he would go after anyone. I know he would find out about Helen.”

Douglas eyed him for a while longer. “You are really worried about this?”

Alexandra eyed the two men and said, “In all truth, knowing Helen, she will take one look at Crowley and put him in the stocks she has at the back of the stables.”

“Stocks?” Lord Beecham said, staring at her. “As in a man or a woman has to put his head and his hands through these holes and is locked in? And he or she has to just stand there in the middle of a street for all and sundry to come by and taunt him or her?”

“Oh, no,” Alexandra said, and giggled “the stocks are behind the stable, not in the middle of the street. Helen says taunting is nothing, it is far too lenient a punishment.”

Both men’s eyes were nearly crossed, particularly since Alexandra had flushed to her hairline.

“No,” she said firmly. “We can discuss stocks once this is over. Now we will figure out what to do. I am worried about Helen as well, despite her prowess. What if there is some danger? Since things are now getting about, what if some bad man goes to Helen’s house to force her to tell him about the lamp? Perhaps Spenser is right. We need to protect Helen. She is still at home?”

“She is at home, minding her inn and setting up a marriage between the butcher’s son and her maid, Teeny. Flock, who appears to do everything for Lord Prith, is very loud in his pain over this. My valet, Nettle, must needs share in this unrequited love with Teeny, and he looks like a wounded dog.

“Helen is fine, Alexandra, surrounded by more people than any of us ever are. I imagine she is trying her very best to decipher the leather scroll.” He paused just a moment, then added, his eyes narrowed, “She is very smart. Given time, I’d wager she could do it.”

Douglas said, grinning, “Helen could snap the neck of just about any scoundrel I could pick off the streets in Soho. This stock business, Alexandra, I do want to speak more about this later, perhaps tonight in bed, perhaps—” Douglas cleared his throat, then continued, “Besides being beautiful and big and strong, Helen is also smart. I agree with you about that.”

“What is this, Douglas?” his wife said, coming right up to him, rising on her tiptoes and staring at his chin. “You’re going on and on about Helen again, and it dis tresses me. I know you admire her, Douglas, but it would be wise of you to keep it to yourself. But I will still know even if you do keep it to yourself because I am a part of you, so you must get Helen once and for all out of your mind. Forget about stocks and Helen. Do you hear me, Douglas?”

Douglas was staring at his wife’s once again open cloak. He swallowed, lightly stroked his fingers down her nose, and said, “I know where my bread is buttered, my sweet. I am merely attempting to reassure Heatherington here.”

“I don’t need any reassurance,” Lord Beecham said. “Well, I do, and I shall write Helen this very day and warn her to take care. Besides, I have been gone from her nearly two weeks now, and I have learned quite a lot. Perhaps it is time I returned to Court Hammering. Then we will decide what to do.”

“Not until you tell us all about what you and Helen have discovered.” Douglas began to elbow Lord Beecham along the walkway toward his carriage. “You can even ride with me and Alexandra.”

“I want to know why Helen isn’t with you, Spenser,” said Alexandra. “I cannot imagine she would let you out of her sight if it came to her precious lamp.”

“It was a close thing,” Lord Beecham said. He wasn’t about to add that Helen wasn’t with him because he needed time alone to come to grips with himself about her. He had made up his mind. Since he did not yet want a wife, since Helen was a lady, since he could not continue making love to her three times a day, he had to remove the lustful part of himself from her beautiful premises. He had to become her partner, pure and simple. He had thought about it a lot. He knew he could do it.

Well, damn. He had been gone from Helen for nearly two weeks now, and no matter how busy he kept himself, he still felt, at odd moments, like he had left part of himself back in Court Hammering—possibly the most important part, which was ridiculous. He was simply suffering withdrawal pains, and that didn’t mean a thing in the long stretch of things. Still, it was disconcerting. He would avail himself of an opera girl, perhaps this very evening, and take her until he fell down dead. It wouldn’t be three times either, it would be five, perhaps even six, which would surely ensure any man’s demise, including his.

It was the newness of Helen, the splendor of her magnificent legs and—he had seen her breasts only once, in that rotted relic of a cabin when he had helped her to strip off her wet clothes. He nearly swallowed his tongue remembering that day. He had been so frantic he hadn’t even kissed her breasts. He had to stop this. Tonight, he would sate himself with someone new. Three times at least, in fifteen minutes, no more.

Lovemaking, once a favorite sport, was fast losing its joy. Lovemaking should not be hard work, and suddenly he realized he wasn’t looking forward to any new girl, to taking her three times. He sighed, dropped his chin onto the top of his cravat—not so perfectly tied today, since Nettle was distraught over losing Teeny and wanted his master to be well aware of it.

“Spenser, what is the matter with you? You’re looking off at that lamppost and there is this strange expression on your face.”

“He is probably just thinking about his latest conquest,” Douglas said.

“Actually, he’s right,” said Lord Beecham. “Now, I have an appointment with Reverend Mathers at the British Museum. Since the good reverend talks in his sleep, it also might be wise of me to send him to Grillons’ Hotel, so if he babbles in his sleep his brother won’t be anywhere near to hear him. Douglas, Alexandra’s gown doesn’t need hoisting. If you wish, I will see you two later and tell you more about that bloody lamp.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Heatherington. You move one step and I’ll flatten you.”

17

ALEXANDRA CLEARED HER throat. “Actually, Spenser, what Douglas would like to say is that he and I would both like to accompany you to see Reverend Mathers. We would very much like to insert ourselves into your adventure.”