The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [28]
“Consider it done, my lord,” Flock said, looking out the carriage window to see Miss Helen laughing now, her hand on Lord Beecham’s arm. He didn’t think the sunny day was the main reason for Miss Helen’s high spirits. Lord Beecham was a man of vast experience, a man who knew what was what, particularly when the what had to do with women. On the other hand, it didn’t make much sense to worry about Miss Helen. She had three fellows working for her at her inn. All of them held her in awe. All of them, he suspected, were also deliciously afraid of her. If there was going to be any goose or gander sauce, he would lay his groats on Miss Helen.
He turned back to his lordship, whose head was only half an inch from the ceiling of the carriage. Whenever the carriage hit a rut, there was a pained grunt.
“I hope that damned Frog chef, Jerome, isn’t sniffing after our trail, eh, Flock?”
“I left the Frog in his kitchen, my lord. I doubt he will intrude on us again.”
“Delicious oyster dishes he prepared, though,” Lord Prith said, and sighed as he folded his arms over his chest.
“His aim with the oysters wasn’t your culinary pleasure, my lord—rather it was his attempt to seduce Miss Helen.”
“I know that, Flock. The poor fellow. My father used to say that you should always be careful what you wished for. Just imagine Miss Helen setting her eye on the Frog because he got her attention with his oysters.”
“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