White Lace and Promises by Natasha Blackthorne

Note: Prologue omitted.

“You’re going to have to behave.”

His cool tone, with its undercurrent of tolerant amusement, made her bristle. She forced herself to relax and smile at him. Seductively. Dazzlingly.

Grey Sexton remained unmoved, his silver eyes distant, the skin over his angular cheekbones taut, his strong jaw jutting with as much arrogance as ever. Tension poured off him, making her own neck muscles tighten. She’d known him in many moods but never so completely unresponsive.

Silence fell between them. As the carriage clattered towards Third Street along the pebble stones , her stomach fluttered. What had happened to the uncontrollable passion that had always flared between them? For weeks he’d been so warm, so attentive, so affectionate, the way she’d only suspected he could be. That warm affection had melted the very last of her defences and made her fall utterly in love with him.

Now, his handsome, hard-boned features remained closed, controlled.

Like ice.

Like a stranger.

Maybe the attentive lover had been a façade on his part, designed to gain her trust and secure her commitment? Or maybe it was a dream she had conjured from her own imagination.

Maybe the man she had fallen in love with had disappeared forever. No, she couldn’t accept that. She simply had to try to break through his icy exterior to the warmth beneath. Warmth she needed. She put her hand on his leg, whence he had so recently removed it, and traced her fingers over the fine, soft wool of his pantaloons. His powerful thigh muscles tensed. She glanced up.

His gaze was fixed on her moving hand, his pupils dilated and the skin taut over his cheekbones. How well she knew that expression. She smiled and laughed softly. What a ninny she was to worry. Nothing had changed. He would not be able to resist twice.

She reached the growing swell at his groin. Dear God, he was so huge and hard—as he was always. Heat flooded her veins and a tingling ache spread into her loins. She pressed her thighs tightly together.

His hand swept down and clamped hers. She caught her breath and a shiver raced through her, making her nipples pebble and her breasts swell. His hands were so large and strong, his skin so deeply tanned against hers. She couldn’t glance at his hands without recalling how they felt, so sure and skilled on her body. Wetness flowed from her core. She crossed her legs more tightly, turned and leaned closer to him.

He lifted her hand away, not gently as just a moment earlier but with determination. At the terse gesture, her heart leapt into her throat. She glanced up at him. “Why?”

He kept his hand wrapped around her wrist, holding her hand to her thigh. “You’re not listening to me.”

Her spine stiffened. “Well, this is a chilly reception after a week’s separation. A whole week without—”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I sent you a message, explaining why.”

Her stomach began aching like the first indication that something she’d eaten had begun to sour. “Yes, and I am certain you put more warmth into your bank drafts.”

He tapped his fingers on her hand. “Beth, I was preoccupied. I shall often be engaged with business matters. You shall have to accustom yourself.”

A hot retort rushed to her tongue. She gritted her teeth to stop it. Yes, he was a man of business. He had important things to do, places to go and people to see. But surely he could have spared her an hour or two somewhere in those seven days to pen a decent lover’s letter. She had ached for his company—she hated to admit how much. She ached right now for his hard body, pressing hers down on the plush velvet seat cushions. She ached even more for the reassurance of his lips on hers, his soft words in her ear.

Why must he deny them? What had changed? He’d said he was over the issue with the money. He’d said it that night before he’d left the shop. And now again this evening.

All right, he was no longer angry over their quarrel. He was over it. Then so was she.

Only, he didn’t truly seem to be over it.

With her free hand, she cracked open her fan and drew it in front of her face. Then she threw him a deadly gaze over the painted yellow silk. “I don’t see why you must enforce this hypocritical chastity upon us.”

He laughed, low and sensual, the first real warmth he’d shown since he’d come for her at her brother’s Southwark cobbler shop that evening. “You will not arrive at the house of your former benefactress—at the ball where we shall announce our engagement to society—smelling like a brothel.”

The mention of the ball cooled her blood—considerably. She was dreading tonight, when they would announce their engagement. Yes, others certainly suspected, but she feared the grudging tolerance with which society had accepted her into its midst would suddenly evaporate when those suspicions were confirmed. She sighed and fanned her face. “I don’t see why we must make such a huge fuss over our engagement.”

“You wanted a proper courtship and marriage.”

She couldn’t deny that. At first he’d wanted her for a mistress, but she’d refused his carte blanche. Vexed he couldn’t gain her commitment, he’d cast their attachment aside. Thrown her over. But he’d returned within a matter of weeks and asked her brother’s permission to court her.

In the weeks of their courtship he’d been unbelievably generous with his time and money—and his body. Oh, definitely generous with his body. But maybe now the formality of becoming engaged had chilled their affaire. Changed it from something rooted in the most heated passion to something proper.

The word echoed in her mind, a mocking refrain. She feared she could no more transform herself into a proper lady than she could reinstate her virginity.

If he wanted a proper wife, then she had nothing to offer him. The thought made her blood freeze.

He took her left hand and lifted it. On her ring finger, a sizable sapphire on a gold band, along with its attendant circle of smaller diamonds, glittered in a shaft of light entering through a crack between the curtains. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lingeringly. A flare of fire melted the ice in her veins. Then he met her eyes and the severity in his piercing, silver gaze froze her anew. “You didn’t want to be my mistress. You wanted to be my wife. You must accept the responsibility that comes with your new status.”

His harsh tone cut into her. Why was he behaving like this? To hide her dismay, she curled her lip. “I am surprised you haven’t insisted on a chaperone for us.”

“There’s no need to ape a European’s ostentatious manners. It is just that I have an important place in the world. A reputation to protect. A certain level of conduct is expected of me. You shall have to adapt and adhere to it.” He dropped her hand back into her lap and the ache in her stomach increased.

Adapt. Adhere. Behave. Hurry.

He’d done nothing this evening but lecture her. She’d feared all along that letting him slip that expensive ring on her finger would bring out the tyrant in him.

“Where are your gloves?”

His deep voice held a slightly vexed note.

“What?”

“Your gloves, you must have them,” he said with the same implacable authority she could imagine him using when one of his clerks misplaced a decimal point that might cost him thousands.

“Oh, yes…” She hated wearing evening gloves, hated the way they rode up high on her arms, the tight silk stifling her skin. She’d jammed them in her reticule right before leaving her brother’s cobbler shop… But where was her reticule now? Heart racing, she darted her gaze all about the carriage seat. No sign of it.

Wait. She’d put it down on the front counter when she’d stopped to give her two nieces a kiss goodbye. And then Grey had been so impatient to leave… She’d forgotten all about it.

Why couldn’t she remember these details? Especially on a night like tonight when the stakes were so high. More proof that she’d never measure up as a lady.

He sighed, a long sound of exaggerated exasperation as he shifted in the seat and reached inside his dark blue cutaway coat. With an ironic expression, he unrolled two long, white silk gloves and handed them to her. “Why do I suspect this is going to become a habit with you?”

“It shan’t. I promise.”

He smiled thinly. The smile’s very thinness vexed her.

“I shan’t make it a habit,” she repeated forcefully.

“You needn’t get on high ropes with me, Beth.”

“But it is such a little thing…forgetting gloves.”

“Details are exceedingly important in society.” Sunlight from the window glinted bluish lights on his coal-black hair as he studied her for several moments. “You don’t seem very committed to learning how to get along in society.”

“I am committed. I am.”

“You refuse to attend to even the smallest detail.” His expression grew so stern that the hastily consumed dinner in her stomach turned to lead. “Beth, you must be sure you want to be married to me. In a matter of weeks, we shall be tied to each other for life.”

How could he even ask such a thing? Her mouth dropped open. “You are the one who wants to call off—all over missing gloves!”

He gave another exasperated sigh and shook his head slowly. “Good God, the things you say—your methods of reasoning are truly astonishing.”

“Don’t try to deny it. Your feelings towards me have cooled and you want to cry off.”

“I’ve committed myself—I wouldn’t cry off even if I wanted to. But I do not want to. However, I am afraid you are not ready for what is to come.” His gaze flickered over her. “I wonder if I haven’t done you a disservice in my greed to possess you.”

She turned away from him, flipped the curtain back and stared at the passing high, stone garden walls painted in rose-gold tones by the setting sun. “I didn’t know I was to be a possession. I thought I would be a wife.”

His long pause spoke volumes. She had managed to vex him. “It’s a turn of phrase, Beth, nothing more.”

“Well, it wasn’t so very long ago you did indeed want to buy me.” She kept her focus on the street, watching a small boy lead a puppy on a leash in front of one of the open gates.

How different the city looked from a carriage window. One did not notice the filthy gutters between the pebble streets and the brick sidewalks—nor the free-roaming pigs rooting there for scraps. One only saw the lines of trees shading the elegant mansions and neat little storefronts. Yet wasn’t it quite chilly in his elegant world? If she were outside, free and on foot, she would be able to feel the sun’s warmth on her face.

However, if Grey had committed himself in his pledge, she had committed herself in heart. Blood, bone and flesh. She loved him completely. She had known it would be that way with him. She would never be free now. But what if this cold stranger was the real Grey?

Oh, dear Lord, then she was so lost…

“Beth, why are you doing this?” Grey’s tone could have made snow fall on this June evening.

“Doing what?”

“Attempting to place a wedge between us.”

“You are the one who has insisted on placing a wedge between us, with your terse notes and your sudden penchant for propriety.”

In the silence, her heart thumped in her ears. Why wasn’t he replying? Had she finally pushed too hard?

“You’re nervous about tonight? Is that what this is about?” His voice sounded incrementally less chilly.

“I am nervous about us. What are we to each other now?”

“What the devil kind of question is that?”

Beneath his controlled tones rang real passion—what a pity it had to be ire.

Her dismal mood deepened. “We are no longer lovers and we haven’t known each other long enough to be friends.”

His breath caught slightly. She’d wounded him. She was beyond caring.

“We’re still lovers and we are friends.” His tone was severe, as if she were a naughty child he was reprimanding. “And, most importantly, we are soon to be husband and wife.”

“It seems so cold. I could face it all—all the things you shall expect of me and the changes I must make—but that was before, when I had the warmth of our passion. Now everything has grown so cold, I don’t know where I stand…” Her throat burnt like fire with suppressed tears. A whole week when he couldn’t be bothered to spare her more than the time it took to pen a curt note. A whole week full of the fear he’d become bored or displeased with her.

God, she hated herself for spilling her feelings and thoughts out. How pathetic and weak. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to make it worse by weeping.

He tried to take her hand but she jerked it away.

“I’d better get into these gloves, hadn’t I?” She busied herself donning them.

She wanted to be a good wife to him—the best of wives. She wanted to be worthy of him. But how could she ever be? He epitomised a New England merchant prince. He was one of the wealthiest men in the United States. Blue-blooded. Highly educated. Extensively travelled. Cultured. Handsome in an arrogantly patrician fashion. Heaven help her, he was leagues above her in every way.

One couldn’t turn a bastard-born, soiled dove into a lady just by putting her into a fancy ball gown and elegant silk gloves with pearlescent buttons.

“You are still vexed about the money I gave Charlie.” She took a fast gulp of air. “Charlie got himself into trouble. You don’t understand; he can’t help himself. I couldn’t tell him no.”

He raised a forestalling hand. “The less said about Charlie the better.”

“You are still vexed.”

He sighed—a deep, rumbling sound, pure masculine exasperation. “How many times must I say it tonight? At least three times and counting. Here’s the fourth. I am not vexed over the money. Not anymore.”

She released a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. Yet he still didn’t understand how hard it was for her to say no to her half-siblings. And her McConnell relations had never had much before now. They didn’t understand how to handle their new access to money. Well, pray God this was an end to it. She smoothed one gloved hand over her skirts and her heart raced in a hectic little scattering of beats. Oh Lord, if Grey should find out about—

“Beth, it’s going to be fine. You’ll do fine.” His voice cut into her fretting. “We’ll make the announcement tonight and things will be official. You’ll feel better, more secure. ”

Wary of his sudden change, she shrugged a shoulder to feign nonchalance. “I suppose.”

“You are so very agitated…” He touched her face. “I should remedy that.” His tone went all tender and intimate, almost coaxing, making her heart melt. He bent towards her.

Heart racing, she closed her eyes and accepted the touch of his lips to hers, expecting a chaste if somewhat condescending peck. But he moved his lips over hers with languid, sensual intensity.

God, he was relenting.

He reached down, a crisp rustling sounded and air rushed over her legs. He touched her knees, gently easing his way between.

He had relented.

She had broken through. She had won.

On a sigh, she let her legs part. He slid his hand up along the inside of her thigh, caressing and slow. Sudden weakness rendered her passive. Totally conditioned to him, her body responded instantly. Wetness flowed between her legs and her inner lips swelled into tingling arousal.

As he neared her apex, she held her breath. He slipped two fingers inside her slick depths with the sureness of a lover. She gasped and her cunt squeezed his digits tightly. At the fullness, pleasurable hunger swept through her.

“You are so luscious.” His breath tickled her cheek. “Like hot, wet silk.”

With his thumb, he brushed her erect nub then traced it in leisurely circles. She sighed, releasing all her pent-up tension. Dear heaven, he loved expertly, his aim and timing as precise as if he could read her thoughts. Arching her hips up, she gave herself over to his skilled touch. Her cunt clamped down on his fingers again and again. She moaned in pure surrender to the force of the spasms. He brought his lips down on hers, swallowing her cries as pleasure burst over her, intense, swift and sweet.

He continued stimulating her, not giving her even a chance to catch her breath. She moaned. She didn’t want to come again. Not like this. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to squeeze his thick length with her inner walls again and again until she drove him over the edge with her. To be one with him in pleasure, body and spirit. But the force of her impending orgasm was too strong to resist—her cunt contracted again, harder, deeper and longer lasting. She clutched his shoulders as shudders convulsed her body.

He lifted his head. With her loins still pulsing and ticking with the after effects of bliss, she opened her eyes and panted, her body limp against the velvet seat cushions. Her gaze devoured his visage, greedily lingering over his angular cheekbones and hard, arrogantly jutting, jawline. A hunger deeper than the sexual lit in her blood so strongly it threatened to consume her—a desire to share his pleasure and satisfaction, to possess him as much as he possessed her. She’d never known a feeling like this for anyone, never dreamt of feelings so intense.

He withdrew his hand and moved away from her. She caught her breath, waiting in fervid expectation for him to knock on the carriage wall and give the driver the signal to drive a while along the waterfront.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pulled her skirts back into place, taking a moment to carefully smooth out the wrinkles. Then he reached for her and pulled her along with him as he reclined against the seat, holding her against his side.

She released her breath and darted a glance at his lap. His erection was clearly pressing against his pantaloons—he was aroused.

She flicked her gaze up to his face and saw not a trace of heat there.

How could he possibly be so cool about it after a week apart?

“Just relax. Tonight will soon be over.” He caressed her back in a slow, easy motion. The very casualness of his gesture wiped away every iota of warm gratification. Uneasiness rushed back on her with stomach-lurching quickness.

He was so cold towards her now. He clearly wasn’t happy with her. And he’d said repeatedly it was not the money. What had she done wrong? A sick, scared feeling settled in her innards and she dreaded the evening more than she had imagined possible.

* * * *

Beth entered the ballroom on Grey’s arm.

Every gaze in the crowded room narrowed down upon them. Those who hadn’t been looking turned.

The crowd quieted.

Then the low rumble erupted—the whispered questions, the hushed speculations.

They had attended several assemblies, balls and soirées since their courtship had begun, and every time they had appeared in public together it had been this way. As if, despite her fine new clothes, everyone could tell at a glance she didn’t belong with Mr Asahel de Grijs Sexton.

Tonight, they could probably also sense how displeased he was with her.

Her breathing quickened and the tension in her belly intensified. Pretending cool indifference, she glanced around at walls draped with eggshell-coloured silk moiré, then up to admire the sparkling crystal chandeliers lit by so many candles. Their scent of beeswax and jasmine filled the air.

How odd to be attending a ball at Mrs Hazelwood’s house. She’d spent her childhood watching from the stairs, between the banister posts, while finely dressed guests had arrived. After she’d been put to bed in her chamber in the attic, she would sneak out past the maids. Then she would creep around in the bushes, peering into the windows at the dancing, laughing couples. Peering at a world that had been so close yet forbidden to her.

People had always seemed so happy at these events.

However, tonight Beth wasn’t happy.

Grey remained stonily silent at her side. She hated feeling so disconnected from him. She had to look away and, turning, she met Mrs Hazelwood’s sharp, ice-blue eyes, which seemed to say, “A lady never slouches. A lady never frowns.”

Beth automatically straightened and donned a pleasant expression. Inwardly, she bristled and balled her hands. I don’t care. I don’t!

Mrs Hazelwood’s eyes warmed with approval. Warmth spread over Beth and she relaxed.

The old woman never changed. Her gently faded beauty, her petite, birdlike build and white hair without a trace of yellow, peeking from beneath a bouffant, stiff-starched, white-lace-trimmed cap. A serene half smile curling her lips. All these things were engraved on Beth’s heart as a vision of home—the only home she’d known as a child.

A lump formed in her throat—a lump made of pure gratitude and something she didn’t have a right to. She didn’t even want to give it a name. If she’d ever had the right to these feelings, she’d long since proven herself unworthy. Mrs Hazelwood had raised her with better morals than to bed men without the benefit of marriage.

Well, at least she could stand up straight and be a lady for a few moments. For her benefactress’ sake.

“My darling girl,” Mrs Hazelwood said in her slightly gravelled tones. The familiar scent of lavender and ginger tea wafted over Beth as the woman came closer and took her hands. “How good it is to see you again. You’ve been hiding from me.”

“I have been so busy… The shop and the children…” Beth’s voice trailed off. Anything she ever said seemed so inadequate. She didn’t know why she avoided the kindly lady who had saved her from the foundling house. She just did.

The snapping, ice-blue eyes darted to Grey, where he had been drawn away into conversation with two older gentlemen. “I suspect you have allowed Mr Sexton to monopolise your time.”

The faint chiding tones pricked Beth’s ears. Mrs Hazelwood had privately made plain that she disapproved of Beth’s engagement. If there was one thing Mrs Hazelwood had endeavoured to imprint upon her youthful mind, it had been an admonition that she should never use her unusual beauty to try to aspire beyond the station of her birth. Wealthy gentlemen could only bring a girl of her origins disgrace and disappointment.

At the tender age of eighteen, Beth had disregarded this well-meaning advice and reaped unbearable heartache. Would Mrs Hazelwood be proved correct this time as well?

Mrs Hazelwood sighed, bringing Beth back into the moment. “Joshua says he cannot come tonight. Says the quinsy that is going around is keeping him too busy. I told him a good nephew would find the time.”

Relief washed over Beth. Thank God. He wouldn’t be here.

“You’ve gone a little pale, dear,” Mrs Hazelwood said, concerned.

Beth placed her hand at her throat and laughed weakly. “Oh, I just hate to think about catching a quinsy.”

It was a perfectly plausible explanation. She’d always had a tendency to tonsillitis.

Mrs Hazelwood’s thin, white brows drew together. “You haven’t been exhausting yourself, have you? You must preserve your health for your wedding day. I shall have Joshua come and have a look at you.”

Her heart began beating like a trapped bird. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense, we can’t be too careful with the wedding so close now. He can bring you some of those preventative elixirs he prepares. They kept me in fine form all last winter.”

“Everything looks so lovely,” Beth said, to change the subject.

Mrs Hazelwood beamed with pleasure. “Do you think so? I always work extra hard on my June ball—it’s a special occasion.” Sadness flickered in her eyes. “Today would have been my Peter’s fiftieth birthday.”

Peter had been Mrs Hazelwood’s brother, younger by twenty years. He had died when Beth was six, and he was no more than a shadow of a memory—a kind gentleman who had always had sweets for her. He must have been a saint, for he’d been canonised in the memory of Mrs Hazelwood in the way that only a childless woman could dote on a much younger sibling. The venerable old woman had lost her only daughter to the yellow fever years before.

Beth’s eyes burnt—she couldn’t help it. She’d always been envious of Mrs Hazelwood’s regard for her family, her deep love for both Peter and Joshua. At the age of twenty, the full shock of how little she fitted into this world had hit home in the most painful way possible. It had sent her running to her half-brother’s house. But she didn’t fit in any better there than she had here.

Perhaps, once she was wed to Grey, with her own home and children, she’d feel less envious of others.

* * * *

Just beyond the dividing wall, where the double folding doors had been pulled back to make the two parlours into one large ballroom, Grey stood talking with a Mr Phillips, a local wine merchant.

But the gentleman’s words fell on his ears unheard as Grey watched Beth.

She stood next to Mrs Hazelwood, in front of the open doors to the garden. The night breezes were gently ruffling the silver-gilt ringlets trailing down from the knot of hair pinned atop her head. A diadem of laurel leaves and pale pink roses adorned the crown. They gave her an innocent air. He adored her hair. She kept it longer than fashion dictated and, when undone, those silken tresses fell over his naked body like a shimmering veil of moonlight.

He wasn’t the only one admiring her beauty.

Though the ladies spared her no more than the barest polite attention, she drew glances from gentlemen of varying ages and marital status. Watching their eyes trail over her feminine curves, watching them fall prey to the same beguilement he had the first time he’d set eyes on her, he clenched his teeth. He wanted to go straight over and pull her away and out of the sight of the greedy vultures. Claim her for his eyes only.

He took a deep breath and forced the urge down. The last thing he needed was to start acting like a possessive jackass every time another man turned an appreciative gaze upon her. Good God, he’d be in a state of outrage all the time. Unless he hid her away somewhere…

The idea was tempting, damned tempting. But unfortunately it didn’t seem feasible. His mistress he might keep squirrelled away, but never his wife. He tightened his fists. He’d kill any man stupid enough to try to trifle with her.

The vehemence of his thoughts startled him. Such a charged reaction was the very thing he hated about this whole business of being besotted.

Yet he couldn’t fault her behaviour. She balanced the right amount of charm and feminine modesty. A perfect lady. Still, he’d begun to understand the idea behind Eastern harem walls.

He forced his attention back to Mr Phillips but couldn’t help taking glances at Beth out of the corner of his eye. Country dancing tunes echoed, deafening and discordant, in the stifling ballroom and settled on Grey’s nerves with all the stridence of a cat in season on a hot summer’s night. An hour crawled by. One by one, Beth’s admirers drifted away, either to join the dancing or to wander away to the card room. Mrs Hazelwood soon joined a clutch of turbanned tabbies but Beth remained staring out of the garden doors.

He crossed the distance between them, nodding and smiling a greeting as he passed several wallflowers sitting in the chairs along the walls. Then his gaze focused on the line of Beth’s back and moved down to her ass. Her softly rounded, gorgeous ass.

She turned. Her eyes, large and blue as the sky, were full of wistfulness. Melancholy. Any time they came to this house, she looked the same. A lump lodged in his throat. He wanted to eradicate that sadness. He wanted to give her everything her heart desired. He took the last two steps towards her and stopped.

“Are we still speaking to each other, Beth?”

“We must be; you are talking to me now.” Her chilly tone matched the lingering hurt in her eyes. She smoothed the deep blue satin sash tied beneath her breasts, a fidgeting move that bespoke her ill ease with the fancy gown. The gesture drew his attention to her lithesome curves. Her flat stomach fascinated him—he adored touching it, kissing it, pressing his cock against it and letting his seed jet all over it. And he ached to take her into his arms, but here, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even dance with her, for she had never been taught to dance.

He forced himself to focus on her face, his eyes falling softly over her angelic features. “We shall have to engage a dance master for you, once we are in New York.”

Her eyes turned glassy as she put a hand to her lips and nodded slowly. Her shoulders slumped a little. Well, damn. Was the prospect of learning to dance that daunting? What had happened to his fire-spitting little vixen? She was so unlike herself right now. Subdued, timid. She seemed almost a stranger.

His guts tightened. He knew better than this—they were too different and he was thirteen years older and far too set in his ways. He’d never had a relationship with a woman her age. Not even when he was her age.

He hated being hard on her, forcing her to attend society functions when he knew she’d rather not. But no matter how young or untried, she was going to have to meet the challenge. Once she was his wife, her behaviour would reflect directly upon him. It would affect his business relationships.

A girl her age deserved more coddling during this transition. Yet he had to focus on his business and he wouldn’t be able to give a wife the attention she craved. He hadn’t been able to give it at nineteen, so what made him think he would do any better at thirty-six? But he couldn’t help himself—he wanted her for his own.

Suddenly, he desperately needed a drink. A strong one.

“Come, let us get you some punch,” he said, taking her hand.