The Taming of the Rake. Kasey Michaels
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Especially that business about sitting forward to call up more hot water. As if she could do any such thing. And if part of what she’d missed was an offer by him to do it for her, well, she would have ignored that anyway.
“Let me know when you’re finished being an ass,” she told him, the tickling bubbles forcing her into the unladylike gesture of sticking a finger in her ear and wiggling it to stop the itch. “I don’t frighten easily, you know. If you had attempted any such idiocy with another female, she would have swooned straightaway and drowned. I, however, am made of sterner stuff, Oliver.”
She turned her head slightly, just in time to see him wince.
“Beau, please. Or even Mr. Blackthorn. No one calls me Oliver.”
“I will call you a lot worse if you don’t leave this room,” she warned. “Oliver.”
“You were an insufferable brat at fourteen. Now you’re rather amusing. And, as I believe I’ve already mentioned, I seem to have you where I want you at the moment.”
“In your tub?” Chelsea glanced down at the bubbles, blowing out her breath in exasperation. Pop. Pop. Pop. She took in a breath, but slowly, so as not to move her chest up and down too much. “You are no gentleman, Oliver.”
“Yes, I think we established that rather forcefully seven years ago. If I were, I’d be your brother-in-law now, wouldn’t I? But we need to talk, and since you aren’t in a position to run away if you don’t like the direction our conversation will be traveling, I repeat, I have you where I want you. Which is rather novel for our short and unpleasant acquaintance, you’ll admit.”
“You want me to go away, don’t you? I’m back in London, and now you want to be rid of me, having decided that Thomas is too much for you, that he’ll find you and kill you. You’re going to take me back to Portland Place and my horrible fate.”
“Actually, I was going to suggest that you retire early, as I would like to be once more outside of London before the sun rises tomorrow. However, if you’re intent on sermons and the always-wet mouth, yes, I can have you taken home. Nobody can say for absolute certainty that you were here at all.”
She looked at him, expecting to see proof that he was lying to her. “Really? You’re not going to renege on your promise?”
“Promise? I may have been fairly deep in my cups earlier today, Chelsea, but I’m certain I’d remember something so binding as a promise. But no, I won’t take you back to Portland Place. However, please don’t read too much into that, as I wouldn’t send a dog to Portland Place. Well, perhaps I would, were it rabid. But that lovely thought to one side, I’m here to offer you a third alternative.”
Chelsea bit her bottom lip, as the water was growing cooler, and soon she’d not be able to hide the fact that her teeth were showing a tendency to chatter. “You’ll agree to take me to a nunnery?” she asked him, all but sneering the words.
“Would you go?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Do I seem to you the sort of person who would do well in a nunnery?”
He smiled, the smile reaching all the way to his rather marvelous blue eyes. “You could found your own order, I would think. The Holy Sisters of the Ridiculous Assumption. No, Chelsea, I would not inflict your brother’s plans on you, nor would I inflict you on some poor females who don’t deserve to have their faith tested by dropping you in their midst. I was thinking more of simply remaining here in London, purchasing a Special License—I have the necessary funds—and presenting our marriage as accomplished fact by the time your brother returns from hunting half of England for us.”
“You could do that?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But that would mean appealing to the archbishop of Canterbury, wouldn’t it? Even if you paid twice what is usual, would he countenance a marriage between a … well, you know.”
“A lady and a bastard,” Beau supplied flatly. “That is potentially troublesome. And therein lies the risk, I’m afraid. If we are denied, we could still be in residence here when your brother returns.”
“The alternative being flight to Gretna Green, with Thomas and his minions in hot pursuit. I will admit to being terrified today when we saw his men on the road. No, if I have a choice, and I think you’re saying that I do, I would rather leave for Scotland as soon as possible. Is that all? Because I really must insist that you go away now. Trapping me here in my bath—your bath—is no longer amusing.”
He got to his feet and replaced the chair against the wall. “It could be,” he said, able now to see over the high rim of the deep tub and raising one eyebrow at what he saw. “At least in another few minutes it could be. But at least now you are thoroughly compromised. In fact, I could join you, as being hung for a sheep seems more sensible than dying only for a lamb.”
“I liked you better young and nervous,” Chelsea told him, crossing her arms over her breasts beneath the water, too fearful to actually look and see what he might be seeing.
“Young and nervous and stupid, you mean. You also probably liked me better half drunk and dull with the headache. For myself, I liked you better when—no, I can’t say I remember liking you in the least. However, since there is no going back, not for either of us, we’ll simply have to make the best of things, won’t we?”
“I do not consider having you accost me in the tub as making the best of things.”
He raised that same maddening eyebrow once more. “Ah, I thought that bubble would never pop. A suitable reward for a patient man. Very pretty, Chelsea. Very pretty, indeed. Why, that might even make it possible for me to overlook a veritable multitude of your failings.”
Chelsea gasped and quickly submerged. When she surfaced once more, pushing her long hair out of her eyes, he was gone.
She wasn’t quite sure exactly what had just happened. Fatigue had probably dulled her wits. But one thing was certain. If they had been challenging each other to see which was the stronger, she knew that the first round of the battle had gone to him.
“But one battle is not a war,” she reminded herself, picking up the sponge and continuing with her bath.
“AH, THERE YOU ARE,” Puck said, taking up his seat on the facing chair in front of the fire, across from where his brother sat sprawled, resting most of his weight on the base of his spine as he held a snifter of brandy in his fist. “I would have thought you’d be swearing off strong spirits for a space.”
“If I’m to be married to that piece of work, I may have to purchase my own vineyard,” Beau grumbled into the silken collar of his banyan. “But this is all my fault, I suppose. Whatever in hell’s name was I thinking, playing with Brean like a cat toys with a mouse? And, worse, how did she find me out? It’s as if I personally handed her the ammunition she would use to shoot me.”
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