dispense with clothes altogether. Goodness, what an outrageous thought! It must be the effects of all the wanton things that she and Jon had been doing together. She snuggled a little closer and tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, tiring day but she was not yet ready for sleep. Not when Jon’s naked body was so tantalisingly close.
He dropped a kiss on her hair and rested his cheek against it. ‘After London-where our visit must be very brief-we shall be at King’s Portbury until after Christmas. In January, I shall have to be in London when Parliament reassembles, but there is no reason for you to leave the Abbey until just before the Season starts. We probably shan’t be able to return to Fratcombe until the summer. Can you wait until then for your lessons?’
‘I…’ He had her life all mapped out. And large parts of it seemed to involve leaving her alone in a house where she knew no one, except Hetty Martin. Thank goodness Beth had had the strength to insist that Hetty should serve as her lady’s maid.
Jon stroked a finger down her neck and over her breast. His touch was magical. Her body took fire instantly. She reached up to pull his mouth down to hers. ‘The lessons I need, husband,’ she said huskily, ‘are here and now.’
Jon lay motionless until he was sure that Beth was sound asleep. She was a wonderful bedmate, so generous, so passionate. He would never have believed that a virgin could turn into a seductress in such a short space of time. But she had. If he were younger, and less conscious of his position, he would remain in her bed for a week, at least. But that would shame them both before the servants. He could not do that to Beth. Their intimacy must be reserved for the hours of darkness.
He allowed himself to drop one last kiss on her curls and slipped out from under the covers. His heavy silk dressing gown was as he had left it, draped across the chair by the bed where he could easily lay his hand on it in the dark. He let it slide over his body. The silk felt cold and stiff compared with Beth’s soft, caressing touch, but he fought down the urge to return to her.
He padded barefoot to the connecting door. The way was clear, for he had been careful to ensure there was nothing he might trip over. He had even counted the steps.
He left Beth’s bedchamber without looking back.
Beth was finding London something of a trial. Since Parliament was not sitting, most of the great families were on their country estates, slaughtering birds. Jon had taken rooms at Grillon’s Hotel, in order-he said-to avoid opening up Portbury House. He was also avoiding any formal announcement that the Earl and Countess of Portbury were in residence in town, and ensuring that Beth could go about the business of acquiring a new wardrobe without having to receive calls from sharp-eyed town tabbies, eager to find new material for tittle-tattle.
Unfortunately, Beth’s shopping expeditions had been lonely ones, for Jon would not accompany her. A man was worse than useless on such occasions, he maintained; besides, he had business affairs to attend to. Beth was prepared to accept that his business might be more important than his new wife’s wardrobe, but did it really have to occupy every waking hour? Did he have to be so distant?
After three days with only Hetty for company, Beth concluded her husband was avoiding her. There was no other possible explanation. Why, they had dined together only once, and he had left again immediately, without a word of excuse.
On the fourth day, she woke with a pounding headache and the old familiar nausea. Her nightmares had returned to point accusing fingers at her guilty past. Had she been wrong to let Jon persuade her into marriage? He had been adamant that her past did not matter, that his great position would place his wife beyond criticism. Yet he himself was now avoiding her. Was he having second thoughts about his hasty proposal and their even hastier wedding?
She tried to push the drumming guilt away. She had not deceived him. She had refused him. But he had ignored her objections and then used wicked-wonderful-persuasion to change her mind. He was still doing so every night.
He could not make love to her with such tenderness if he regretted their marriage. She would not believe that. He was distant because…because he was always so, with everyone. She refused to believe that he might be ashamed of her. But he certainly wanted to establish her at King’s Portbury, and with his family, before they entered London society as a newly-wed couple. Was that also why he planned to return to London alone, in the New Year? He must know that she was haunted by guilt about her mysterious past. He had thrown the protective cloak of his rank around her, but that would not stop the whispering, malicious gossip. Was it to save Beth from wicked tongues that he was leaving her behind?
But no, that could not be the way of it. He had announced his intentions on the very day of their wedding. It was not out of concern for Beth’s sensitivities that he planned to go to London without her. He had not considered Beth’s preferences at all.
She was being unfair, and she knew it. Jon was not callous in that way. He simply stood aloof. He was sure of his own judgement and consulted no one before making decisions. He was convinced that Beth would soon find herself very much at home at King’s Portbury. Why should his wife wish to exchange such a comfortable situation for the cold and clamour of London in early January? The weather would no doubt be foul, and the roads quite appalling. It would never occur to him that his wife would gladly endure hours of freezing travel, and damp posting-house beds, in return for just a few hours a day with the husband she loved.
He did not know, he would not ask, and she could never tell him.
The private parlour was heaped with packages. Poor Hetty was trying to unwrap and arrange the contents in piles suitable for packing, but even so, there was barely space to sit down.
‘Good Gad, ma’am! More purchases?’
Beth spun round. Jon was leaning against the door jamb, surveying the chaos through narrowed eyes. A thread of anxiety began to uncoil in her stomach but, this time, she refused to let it grow. She was awake, and in control of her doubts. This was Jonathan, her husband, the man who came to her bed and took her to paradise. He was not hostile to her, and he did not seek her humiliation. His public manner was only a mask he wore, to protect them both from the barbs of the gossips, inside or outside their household.
She had learned one way of cracking his mask during these last few days in London. ‘I have a confession to make, my lord.’ She bowed her head meekly. ‘I think I may have bankrupted you.’
He roared with laughter and started towards her. Hetty, eyes demurely downcast, sidled out behind him and closed the parlour door.
Beth raised her head again, and gazed at Jon. When he had first appeared in the doorway, she had thought he looked worn, but now he seemed alive again, almost carefree. ‘This is the last of them.’ She gestured towards the piles of expensive clothing he had urged her to buy. ‘We may leave London as soon as you wish.’
‘Excellent.’ He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, but pulled it away hurriedly before it could touch her skin. He flushed very slightly, as if embarrassed by what he had almost done.
Beth held his gaze unwaveringly. She had finally come to accept, reluctantly, that he never made gestures of affection, even when they were alone. It was as if he expected an interruption at any moment. In her bedchamber, it was different, but only there. And he never, ever, stayed with her till morning.
‘Everything is ready for our journey,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, I think. I have arranged for Portbury horses at all the staging posts, so we should not be delayed.’
Beth tried to keep her expression neutral. She disliked travelling in such pomp, with servants bowing and scraping at every turn. She had been surprised that Jon chose to do so. At Fratcombe, he unbent a little, at least with the Aubreys. The moment he left it, he donned this starched-up, aristocratic manner with everyone. Sometimes, she was not sure what kind of man she had married.
He was spelling out the route they would take. ‘We will travel light. Any extra baggage may follow on behind.’
‘Hetty will take care of it.’
‘No. Your maid will travel with you, ma’am, in your carriage. The Countess of Portbury does not travel alone.’
‘You…you do not accompany me, sir?’ Beth did not quite manage to control the tremor in her voice.
‘But of course. However, I plan to ride. I have taken far too little exercise while we have been here in London.’
He was avoiding her company, even more than on their journey from Fratcombe. It must all be part of that confounded mask he would not discard. But why? What could he possibly be hiding from?
‘We shall reach King’s Portbury in a few days, if the weather holds. Then, at last, we will be able to settle down
