The Wolfe's Mate Part 15

He brought his mouth down on hers with a movement so swift that there was no stopping him. Susanna's heart beat rapidly as a consequence of fear as well as of pa.s.sion. He was so big and strong, such a bear of a man, that she was momentarily afraid that his lovemaking would be as fierce as his name and appearance.

But no such thing. His mouth on hers was so tender and gentle, the big hands which rose to cup her face were so delicate in their handling of it that fright flew away and only pa.s.sion reigned supreme. She moaned again and raised her own hand to stroke his face, letting her fingers run along his jaw in line with the shadow of his beard which grew so rapidly that by evening he was compelled to shave again.

And then delicately, oh so delicately, his mouth teased hers open and Susanna was ready to swoon when his tongue met hers and made it dance in unison with his. Only the right hand that he had taken from her face in order to cup her head kept her on her feet.

Francis's few kisses, perfunctorily s.n.a.t.c.hed whenever, for a few moments, they were left alone, had not prepared her either for Ben's lovemaking or the strength of the pa.s.sion with which she responded to it.

'Please, yes, please,' she muttered hoa.r.s.ely and knew not for what she was asking, only that there was something more to come and that by contrast with what she had already enjoyed, it would be even more powerful and fulfilling.

He dropped his mouth to the hollows of her neck and began to celebrate them; at the same time his hand began to rove down her back to the base of her spine to cup her b.u.t.tocks, creating a sensation which made her writhe and twist against him.

This, in turn, had such a powerful effect on Ben that his rapidly slipping control nearly disappeared altogether, so that it was fortunate that-as though they were taking part in a bad French farce, by Marivaux, perhaps-the drawing door opened to reveal to Madame de Saulx that her two proteges were so closely entwined that they might as well have been one.

The sound of her entry and her muttered, 'Ahem', set them springing apart, rosy-face, dishevelled-and guilty.

Ben, who, for obvious reasons, remained half-turned away, said with great joviality as soon as he had physically recovered and had rearranged his clothing, 'My dear Madame, you will be delighted to learn that Miss Beverly has agreed to marry me-and as soon as I can acquire a special licence-and with as little flummery as possible.'

Susanna, who had been carrying out some rearrangement herself, to Madame's amus.e.m.e.nt riposted with, 'Oh, I'm sure I never agreed to any of that.'

'Indeed, but you did,' replied Ben. 'I distinctly remember that you said "yes". You did qualify it by remarking that, in effect, no one else would marry either of us-but that does not affect your agreement, as I am sure Madame understands.'

'And Madame will offer you both her congratulations,' said that lady calmly, secretly delighted that one of her fondest wishes was coming true. 'On mature reflection, Ben, I think that you will agree that your marriage must be no hole-in-the-corner affair, for that would reflect, not only on yourself, but on your bride. That does not mean that you must carry on as though you were one of the Royal Dukes tying the knot, simply that you must fulfil the duties which you owe to your station.'

Ben, busy thinking that hard though it might be to propose, the act of marriage itself seemed to be even harder, nodded a reluctant agreement.

'More particularly,' continued Madame, ignoring his reluctance, 'since, given your present situation of being under attack from Lord Babbacombe's spiteful accusations, you must not be seen to be afraid to appear in public.'

Susanna stifled a giggle at the expression on Ben's face indicating that to suggest that he was afraid of anything was a statement so monstrous that it was not worth contradicting.

Madame, seeing that Susanna was now composed again, moved over to her to kiss her on the cheek and whisper congratulations to her.

'He is a good man,' she said, 'and you have made a wise choice-as he has. I wish you well. You will, of course, be married from here.'

Somehow, until Madame uttered that last sentence, Susanna had not fully grasped what she had done in accepting Ben so lightly. It was as though they had been jousting with words quite bloodlessly and suddenly that joust had become a real, and not an imaginary, one and both of them had been laid low! So low that the carpet had nearly become their bed.

Thus, even before they had fully grasped what they had done, they had fallen prey to a mutual pa.s.sion so profound that had Madame not arrived when she did they might have consummated it on the spot.

Did she wish to repudiate her agreement to marry him? No, she did not. Unwise it might be, but her own reactions to Ben's caresses had shown her two things. The first was that, however fierce he might be, however like his namesake the untamed wolf which roamed the forests, in appearance and manner, his lovemaking to her had been both considerate and kind to the untried woman that he knew she must be. And secondly, her own response to it had been breathtakingly spontaneous. She had proved herself not only willing to meet and match him in the lists of love, but that she was ready to dare all in marrying him.

Their fiery coming together had shown how tepid her relations.h.i.+p with Francis Sylvester had been: a mere extension of friends.h.i.+p with no pa.s.sion in it.

She was prepared to be the wolf's mate-and would glory in being so.

Unknown to herself, her face told Madame everything. Later, alone for a few moments with Ben, she said to him with some severity in her manner, 'You must be kind to her, mon cher. Yes, I know she is a strong woman, but it is plain that she has not known what it is to be loved and cherished and you must supply that lack.'

'Oh, I will,' he told her, 'but, and I must tell you this, my own pa.s.sion for her frightens me. She is so small and delicate, and I am so large. Wolfe my name is, bear I sometimes feel myself to be.'

Madame smiled a subtle smile. One thing Ben Wolfe did not know of himself was how much his face changed and softened when he looked at Susanna. She was prepared to bet that the desire to love and to protect his mate was strong within him and would not be denied. She had long thought that the woman whom he married would be lucky-but only if she could meet his strength with her own quite different brand.

In Susanna Ben had met his mate and his equal and it would be her pleasure to see them flourish together, their respective miseries long behind them. She could only pray that the troubles which surrounded him would soon be over and that their life together would be set fair.

Chapter Twelve.

The buzz about Ben Wolfe's origins rose to a roar. Rumours flew about: that Lord Babbacombe wished to go to law, but pursuing a Writ of Ejectment through the courts would prove both long and costly and Babbacombe, unfortunately for him, was on his beam-ends. It was known that the moneylenders would no longer accommodate him and that no bank would advance him so much as a half-penny. He was in immediate danger of ending up in a debtor's prison since he had been living on tick and borrowed money for years.

Ben Wolfe, on the other hand, was rolling in it, as the saying went, and since possession was nine-tenths of the law, remained ensconced in The Den in the country and in his town house in London.

M'lord called in the Runners, but all their pus.h.i.+ng and probing gave him no harder evidence than he already possessed-other than that there had been a country rumour about the time of Ben's birth that his supposed mother was not his real one-but no reliable witnesses could be found to testify that this was true. Another rumour was that a child had been born to Mrs Wolfe but that it had died immediately and an orphan brat had been subst.i.tuted in its place to prevent Lord Babbacombe from being the then rich estate's heir. This, too, was supported by no witness whom a court of law might believe.

Lord Babbacombe, rolling his eyes and looking melancholy, said repeatedly to anyone who would listen to him that it was monstrous that a poor man like himself should be unable to do anything to right his wrongs, particularly when his enemy was so stinking rich.

'Ill-gotten gains,' he always ended mournfully.

He also stirred the pot vigorously by keeping the old gossip about Mrs Wolfe and Lady Exford alive.

Ben's defenders-who were not many, seeing that he was somewhat of an outsider owing to his strange career-were powerless to silence the uproar.

'You could bring an action for slander against him,' Lord Exford said, doubtfully, 'but once one goes to law the outcome is always uncertain.' He never ceased to believe in Ben, as did Jack Devereux who laughed scornfully at the very idea of going to law.

'Leave it,' he said. 'By next season there will be another on dit to engage the ton and by then Babbacombe should be safe in the Marshalsea-or worse.'

Ben, engaged in the preparations for his marriage to Susanna, was in agreement with Jack, although the whole rotten business distressed him, not for his own sake, but for that of his future wife's. He also thought that Babbacombe and his claque would not let the matter rest.

'It's point non plus for me, I'm afraid,' he told Madame and Susanna almost apologetically. 'There's nothing I can do to silence him, short of calling him out, and then he's likely to refuse to meet me on the grounds that I'm not really a gentleman, just some nameless b.a.s.t.a.r.d masquerading as one.'

'But Lord Exford says that you are the image of your father,' protested Susanna, Madame de Saulx nodding her agreement.

Ben grimaced. 'Oh, that proves nothing. Someone made that point to Babbacombe and his answer was that I was Charles Wolfe's b.a.s.t.a.r.d by a village girl who was conveniently handy for subst.i.tution. He has an answer for anything.'

'And many believe him,' said Madame sadly.

'Well, I don't.' Susanna was robust. 'You're not to let it worry you, Ben.'

But he did worry, all the same. He did not mind people giving him their shoulder, but it hurt him when they did it to Susanna.

He knew that Susanna had met Amelia Western at Lady Leominster's and that she had rudely accosted Susanna with, 'Can it possibly be true that you are about to marry that impostor Ben Wolfe?'

She shuddered delicately while murmuring, 'You must know that if you do I cannot possibly continue to receive you when I am married. I am sure that you are aware that I am promised to Sir Ponsonby Albright, who has the strictest notions of propriety-as I do, of course. I trust to your good sense to cry off before you become a social pariah.'

'Having been a social pariah once, and survived it, I don't regard that state with quite the same horror that you do,' returned Susanna drily. 'And as I happen to be marrying Ben because not only do I love him, but trust him, your notion that I should cry off is repugnant to me.'

Amelia sniffed. 'You never showed much common sense about these matters when you were my duenna,' she announced, 'so one can't expect you to display any when your fortunes are so unaccountably changed. We part, I fear, not to converse again.'

And what a relief that will be, thought Susanna, but did not say so.

'I don't think that I ought to marry you until this is settled one way or another,' Ben told her one afternoon in Hyde Park when a peer who had been one of his friends, and had dined with him several times, cut him dead.

'Nonsense,' she said. 'I don't value any of these people. Think how they all behaved towards me when I was in trouble.'

'Nevertheless...' He sighed.

'No.' Susanna was definite. 'I will not have my life-and yours-at the mercy of a spiteful old man. I know that you need to live in London, but it is populous enough for us to choose for our friends those who do not believe these slanders.'

She reflected for a moment. 'In one way,' she said thoughtfully, 'it might be better if Lord Babbacombe were rich enough to bring a Writ of Ejectment against you. The whole thing would then be decided one way or another.'

'Except,' said Madame, her face troubled, 'that it still might drag on for months or years and if the Writ by some mischance resulted in the court finding for Lord Babbacombe, Ben might end up in prison for personation for fraudulent reasons by falsely a.s.suming the Wolfe name in order to gain The Den and the remainder of the estate. Worse, he might also lose much of his hard-earned wealth by having to pay Lord Babbacombe heavy damages for depriving him of his property and forcing him to go to law to recover it.'

'Point non plus it is, then,' Susanna agreed ruefully.

It was not to remain so. The Duke of Clarence gave a great dinner for men only to which Ben, Lord Exford and Jack Devereux were invited. Lord Babbacombe was conspicuously not present. Before it, the Duke took Lord Exford on one side. 'What's this about my friend Ben Wolfe, what, what?' he demanded.

Lord Exford looked at him and wondered how to be tactful. Common sense took over. Nothing about His Royal Highness, William, Duke of Clarence, was remotely tactful. So as precisely as possible he informed the Duke of the rumours and slanders which Babbacombe was promoting, the possibility of his taking out a Writ of Ejectment, and the difficulty of silencing both him and his son.

'Never liked the man,' bellowed Clarence. 'Played cards in an odd way-didn't do to say so, what! So my friend is in trouble and no way out.'

'He's at point non plus, in this matter,' agreed Lord Exford, echoing Ben.

'And raising the old scandal about your poor mama. Can't do anything about that, but the other, yes. Have Erskine to dinner, lean on him, eh? Don't want any more n.o.ble scandals, eh, what? Public getting restive.'

By Erskine he meant the law lord who had once been Lord Chancellor and was highly respected in consequence.

Lord Exford betrayed his puzzlement. Clarence said, his rosy face beaming goodwill, 'A private court of adjudication, what? If Erskine thinks that Babbacombe has right on his side-which I beg leave to doubt-then I shall help him with his Writ. If, on the other hand, he finds for Mr Wolfe, then Babbacombe must apologise and withdraw. Simple, ain't it?'

One thing was to be said for him, Lord Exford decided. Downright and slightly simple he might be, but he ordered himself and his life better than his much more clever elder brother, the Prince Regent, who lacked the unselfconscious and childlike honesty which was Clarence's hallmark.

'And will Lord Erskine agree to preside over such an unofficial court?' asked Lord Exford.

'He'd better,' retorted the Duke with a twinkle in his eye. 'Both parties would have to agree that his decision would be binding, of course. Otherwise, no point.'

What he did not say was that if either party refused to agree to such a request their social ruin would be inevitable.

'An impromptu court of law. Trust Clarence to think of anything so unlikely,' was Ben's first remark when Lord Exford told him of the Duke's decision.

'Aye, but on the other hand it could bring the whole matter to a head. You would do well to prepare yourself for it.'

Susanna and Madame nodded their agreement. One way or another it would end what had become a constant irritant and would-if satisfactorily settled-mean that Susanna and Ben could be married without a shadow hanging over them.

'Suppose Lord Babbacombe does not agree?' Susanna asked Lord Exford. He shook his head before replying, 'He cannot gainsay a Royal Duke. The only way out for him would be to apply for a Writ of Ejectment immediately and he cannot afford to do that.'

'As for preparation,' Ben said, 'I have to tell you that I have had Jess Fitzroy and a couple of my most trusted men secretly investigating the servants and villagers who live around The Den to discover what they can about both the circ.u.mstances of my birth and the strange disappearance of my mother. I gather that Babbacombe has had a couple of Runners doing the same thing, but most of the local people are loyal to my family and have given nothing away. I ordered Jess to inform those whom he questioned that they must tell him the truth about these matters, however unpalatable it might be for me to learn it. I have no wish to be surprised by the revelation of events long gone either in a true court of law or an unconventional one such as the Duke proposes. I wish to know the worst, as well as the best, of my case.'

'Very wise,' agreed Lord Exford.

Susanna said to Ben when Lord Exford had gone, 'You are not happy about this, are you?'

'No,' he said, walking restlessly towards the window to look out of it at the busy street below. They were in a drawing room on the first floor of Madame's house near Regent's Park. Madame was seated on the sofa before an empty hearth. She watched Susanna walk to where Ben was standing in order to take him by the hand.

'Lord Exford believes that the Duke is doing this to help you. He calls you his friend, Mr Wolfe.'

Ben gave a short laugh and turned to look down into her earnest, anxious eyes. 'I am not sure whether he will help me. I believe in letting sleeping dogs lie. I do not think that Lord Babbacombe will be able to find any evidence substantial enough to help his cause in a court of law-should he ever get there. Given time the whole business would, I believe, have blown over of its own accord. It is thirty-four years since my birth and twenty-five years since my mother disappeared. During that time people's memories have faded and become unreliable-my own included. In a sense the Duke, although he does not mean to, is indulging Lord Babbacombe and keeping the scandal alive.'

'I know,' she told him simply, 'and I agree with you. Nevertheless, the thing is done, and there is, as Lord Exford told me yesterday, no gainsaying a Royal Duke, and perhaps Lord Babbacombe may not agree to submit to such a tribunal.'

'Perhaps-but I think that he will. Looking on the bright side, our mutual friend, Lady Leominster, who was the direct cause of bringing us together, has invited us to dinner in order to demonstrate her faith in us. And the fact that Madame-' and he turned to bow to Madame de Saulx '-as well as Lord Exford, continue to be my friend is a plus on my side.'

'And your own character,' added Madame rising to join them at the window, 'which is that of an honest man. One thing is significant: there have been no more attacks on you since the failed one.'

Ben smiled wryly. 'Oh, there are two reasons for that. Babbacombe hopes to destroy me by spreading scandal, and the fact that I never move without a bodyguard has spiked his guns.'

'And the Rothschilds are still dealing with you,' said Susanna who was beginning to take an interest in Ben's business affairs, 'which must stand for something.'

'Only that a good business deal takes precedence with them over the whim-whams of the ton,' said Ben cynically. 'Nothing must interfere with the making of money.'

'Ah, that is truly a case of the pot calling the kettle black,' commented Susanna, her face full of mischief, 'since I believe that is your motto, too.'

'Minx,' exclaimed Ben, bending down to kiss her soft cheek, regardless of Madame's presence-or rather because her presence meant that he could take his caresses no further. 'I see that I shall have a useful helpmate. If the future Mrs Wolfe is going to be as keen a businessman as her husband, I shall have to find her an office!'

'Which must wait until you are married.' Madame smiled.

'And that cannot be,' said Ben firmly, 'until this wretched business with Babbacombe is over. When I marry Susanna I want no cloud in my sky.'

'Which means,' said Susanna, 'that you antic.i.p.ate giving Lord Babbacombe a legal black eye in this odd arrangement which the Duke has set up!'

'Exactly,' said Ben, kissing her again. 'And now I must leave you both. I have work to do before I call on you to take you to Lady Leominster's.'

'Oh, I do hope that he is right to be optimistic,' Susanna sighed to Madame when he had gone, 'but I cannot help but feel that the Duke has made him a hostage to fortune.'

'No need to repine,' returned Madame, putting an arm around her shoulders. 'My instincts tell me that Babbacombe must lose. You see, I don't believe that he ever intended to go to court-he simply hoped that he could drive Ben out of society by blackguarding him so much that he would turn the whole town against him. The Duke has forced his hand, and now he must prepare to back his slanders with evidence. That, I believe will be difficult-and almost certainly impossible.'

Nevertheless, Susanna went off to dress for the Leominsters' dinner with a heavy heart. It was for Ben that she feared, not herself. She had been through the fires of rejection and knew how much they hurt, and although she had come through strengthened, she knew that the fires had burned and changed her.

Her love had had a hard life and it was time that he found peace. It would be her duty, once they were married, to see that he achieved it. She was only sorry that he would not marry her until the enquiry was over, for she wished to demonstrate to the whole world how much she loved him, and that no stupid slanders could affect that love.

The Duke's court of enquiry moved at a greater speed than the courts in which a Writ of Ejectment would have been debated. Lord Babbacombe asked for more time to prepare his case: Ben, having heard from Jess, allowed that he was ready at any time that the Duke commanded.

The Duke, wis.h.i.+ng to appear fair, gave Lord Babbacombe the extra time he asked for.

'But no more, mind,' he told m'lord sternly. 'I have set this court up to bring matters to a speedy conclusion, not allow it to drag on. It does society-and the country-harm to allow these matters to be aired so publicly and so lengthily.'

'Stretching it a bit, ain't he?' was one comment. 'What's Ben Wolfe's legitimacy got to do with the country's interests?'