The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [29]
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.”
“I will compete with you,” she said slowly, “but just not yet.”
“Very well. I agree, not yet. Now, let us see where this ancient leather scroll leads us, Miss Mayberry. As to the rest of it, I will let you know what I wish to do with you, and when.”
“Men love to be mastered more than women do.”
A dark eyebrow shot up a good inch. “Where did you hear such nonsense as that?”
“It’s true.”
“We will doubtless see. Someday. If I wish it.”
He had routed her. Helen had never before in her life been routed. She had never before met his like, either. He had reduced her to an idiot. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would improve matters, so she pulled Eleanor back until she was riding beside her father’s carriage.
Lord Beecham heard Lord Prith’s booming voice asking Helen what the devil she wanted with an old man like him when she could torment a handsome young devil like Lord Beecham. He didn’t hear Miss Mayberry’s reply, but he could not imagine that it was very complimentary to him.
He began whistling. It took him a good mile before he could get his brain back in harness and focus it away from