Page 27 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)
Chapter 26
Aftermath
D espite the trauma of the crime committed against her, Bea slept well. Roger had introduced her to a brand-new world full of promise. The horror of Peter’s betrayal and her duel with death had been banished by the prospect of a future with a loving husband who knew how to bring her to sexual rapture. Roger had awakened the woman within.
She wrestled with a dilemma. She longed to rise and find Roger. On the other hand, she wanted to lie abed, luxuriating in crisp, clean linens—and perhaps investigate the sensitive part of her most private place she hadn’t known existed—wicked!
She stretched, feeling again the pulsing need deep within that she’d experienced last night.
A tap at the door heralded the maid, arms full of clothing. Wickedness had to be postponed.
“Tha’s awake, I see,” the smiling servant said.
“Yes, and I apologize that I’ve forgotten your name.”
“I’m nay surprised after what tha went through yestereve. It’s Emily, miss, and I’ve brung fresh togs. Th’ lass what does washin’ is sortin’ yer things."
“That’s kind, but not really necessary.”
“If tha’s a mind, the family's asked thee to join 'em for a late breakfast. Mr. Sandiford’s there already.”
The decision was easy. She longed to see Roger again. “I’m famished. Breakfast sounds good.”
“Aye, I’m sure food’s the reason tha’s out o’ bed sharpish,” Emily teased.
* * *
The men rose as soon as Beatrice entered the breakfast nook. She bestowed an arousing smile on Roger when he took hold of her hand. She looked remarkably well for a woman who’d undergone a terrifying ordeal. He wondered if anyone else saw what he saw on her face—the look of a woman who’d shared her first intimate interlude with a man.
He wanted to beat his chest and smugly proclaim to the world he was that fortunate man.
“All things considered, you’re looking well, my lady,” Thaddeus Barton declared. “I trust you slept well.”
“I did,” Beatrice replied.
Did the Bartons suspect the reason for her blush? “By the way, I’m not a lady,” she said as Roger held out her chair.
“I understood from Mr. Sandiford that you’re the daughter of the new Baron Belmont.”
“Yes, but I’ve been Beatrice or Miss Parker all my life.”
“As you wish,” Mrs. Barton replied.
“We cannot thank you enough for your help,” Roger told them. “We might still have been stranded had you not come along.”
“That’s doubtful,” Barton replied. “It’s a fairly well-traveled highway.”
“Well, it’s our good fortune it was you who came to our rescue,” Beatrice said. “And that you were able to put that poor horse out of its misery.”
“Glad we could be of help,” Barton replied. “My men have taken Odlum’s body to the mortuary. Let’s hope we soon have news of your cousin and the missing money, Miss Parker.”
“Retrieving the money would be a bonus,” Roger said. “I’m just relieved Beatrice wasn’t seriously injured.”
“Just a few cuts and bruises,” she agreed. “Should we inform Odlum’s employer of his death? He was a clerk for my father’s new solicitors.”
“I’ll take care of that as soon as I have the details,” Barton replied. “And I’ll be in touch with the sergeant from Bolton regarding the new information about the murder at your mill.”
“I’m glad you two will have your happily-ever-after,” Mrs. Barton remarked. “It’s plain to see you were made for each other.”
“Thank you,” Roger replied, quite certain Mrs. Barton sensed he and Beatrice had shared intimacies.
* * *
There was discussion at the breakfast table about Roger and Bea’s return to Bolton. The Bartons apologized that their carriage was unavailable. “Beatrice and I can’t ride Midnight,” Roger said.
“You could ride home alone and send your carriage back for Miss Parker on the morrow,” Mrs. Barton suggested.
Bea didn’t want to be separated for Roger for even a day, but it would be rude to say so in front of their hosts. “I’ve yet to meet this horse that carried you to my rescue,” she said. “Will you show him to me?”
“Of course,” Roger replied, rising to assist Bea with her chair. “If our hosts don’t mind.”
“You young people go off and enjoy yourselves,” Barton said. “I intend to see how the search is progressing. We’ll work something out with regard to transport to Bolton.”
Wishing they could, in fact, go off and enjoy themselve s, Bea took Roger’s arm, clinging to him as they made their way to the back door of the kitchen, across the windy yard and into the stable.
“I love the feel of your breasts pressed against my arm,” he said close to her ear.
This new, intimate aspect of their relationship was secretly thrilling. “You’re making me blush,” she replied.
Extricating her arm from his, he narrowed his eyes, making her nipples tingle when he cupped her breasts. “I’d like to know if these beauties blush too.”
“You’re naughty,” she retorted with a grin.
“And you like it.”
“I do,” she admitted, surrendering to his kiss when his lips met hers.
“’ow do,” a gruff voice interrupted. “Hast come to see yon bugger of an ’oss?”
* * *
“Gilbert!” Roger exclaimed, irritated the elderly ostler had interrupted the kiss. Then he chuckled inwardly. He’d never before been caught in a compromising position—too rigidly strict with himself—until Beatrice. “Has he given any trouble?”
“Trouble’s ’is middle name,” Gilbert replied, removing his cloth cap and scratching his bald head as he led them to Midnight’s stall. “Wants to be out gallopin’.”
Beatrice pulled back when she saw the huge horse. “You rode that beast?” she asked.
“I had no choice,” he replied, relieved when Midnight allowed him to stroke his nose. “Seems he remembers our frantic ride.”
He didn’t blame her for keeping her distance. He could scarcely believe he’d ridden the black devil. “This is the young lady you helped me rescue,” he told Midnight. “Her name’s Beatrice. She’s going to be my wife.”
The horse eyed Beatrice.
“He’s trying to decide if he likes me,” she said, coming a little closer.
They both laughed when Midnight nudged her shoulder, but he shied away, snorting when the sound of carriage wheels on gravel disturbed the heart-warming scene.
Surprised to hear his mother’s voice, Roger hurried to the door just in time to see Arthur Parker and Glenda alight from his brougham. “We’re in here,” he called when Lucinda marched toward the house.
He might have expected both parents would come as soon as they heard what had happened, but their arrival sounded the death knell for any further intimate interludes with Beatrice.