The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [84]
Lord Beecham didn’t come. She waved her fist in the direction of Court Hammering—and was relieved.
In the middle of the following night, when the chill was heavy in the air and the moon was starting to fall toward the horizon, there was a slight rustling sound just outside Helen’s bedchamber window. She stirred, but there was silence again, and she stilled, settling again into a dreamless sleep.
A black shadow filled the window. Slowly, ever so slowly, the window went up until the black shadow eased a leg over the casement and entered her bedchamber.
22
LORD BEECHAM RATHER liked the romance of wearing all black to kidnap the object of his affection. He smiled as he stood by her bed, looking down at her. Her beautiful blond hair was spread over the pillow. The moonlight made her face look luminous. Because he wasn’t a fool, because he knew well enough that if she were peeved with him, she could inflict a good deal of damage to his person, he dampened the white cloth he held in his hand with the contents of a small vial. He pressed the cork back into the vial, then he leaned over and pressed the cloth over her nose and mouth.
She came awake, tried to jerk up, but he had braced himself and so managed to hold her still for another ten seconds. Then it was too late for her because her strength was gone. She fell back against the pillow, seeing the shadow over her, feeling the sickly sweet scent fill her nostrils, seep into her mouth, filling all of her eventually. She wasn’t afraid, there was no time. Just this growing lassitude, just the slow, inexorable withdrawal of consciousness.
She sighed and closed her eyes.
Lord Beecham straightened, folded the small square of cloth and put it and the vial into his pocket. He looked down at the woman he fully planned to marry and smiled a man’s smile, a hard smile that was wicked and determined and shouted that he was ready to do anything to get her to a vicar.
He paused only twice while he dressed her, to kiss her breasts, finally, and to admire them as much as he was able in the shadowy light. He just couldn’t help himself. Her breasts were incredible, all soft and white, beautifully full and round—and her taste, it made his breath hitch. As for her belly—he had to kiss her belly as well, and he had to close his eyes because it was just too much.
And then she moaned softly deep in her throat, and he nearly fell on top of her.
It took another ten minutes to pack clothes in a valise. Lots of lacy silk things. Because he knew he couldn’t very well take her to the vicar wearing only her chemise, he selected a pale-yellow gown that he liked very much, a petticoat, and a chemise. He found a pair of slippers and stockings. He had done well. He was a man of experience and decision. The stockings even matched the slippers and the gown. He didn’t bother with a bonnet. Enough was enough. Both of them could be married bareheaded.
Yesterday had undoubtedly been the busiest day of his entire life.
He had thought about carrying his big girl and her packed valise over his shoulder and out the second floor window, three steps down the foot-wide ledge and then climbing down the sturdy trellis, covered with a thorny rosebush, without the both of them crashing down to the flower beds below.
Yes, he had thought about it and just laughed, but now he wondered if he would make it without killing both of them. He thought of the folded letter he had left on her pillow and smiled yet again. The romance of it should surely appeal to her father. If Helen wished it, he would marry her three times during their life together.
It was a close thing, climbing down that thorn-covered trellis with Helen slung over his shoulder, too close for Lord Beecham’s peace of mind, and when he finally got both his feet firmly on the ground, he raised his eyes to the heavens and offered up a very sincere prayer of thanksgiving.
He had his big girl. She wasn’t trying to kill him because she was blessedly unconscious. He realized he didn’t have all that much time. He didn’t want to tie her