She drew back and put her arms about her. “With a bad arm? I’ll take my chances walking.”
Arthur saw her swimming in regret. The concerns that made her decide to end the engagement were still there, unresolved. “Ester, you chose me. I’m not ignorant to think it was my charm alone. You agreed to spite your father.”
She put a finger to her full lips as they entered the inn. “Shhh. Not now.”
Old man Smythe, who’d doctored his shoulder, looked over his glasses and pushed a pile of coins at him. “Your father-in-law paid for your room and the keep of your horse, even the repairs. Interesting he’d do that for you. I never forget a face or the likeness of a captain. A Liverpool captain.”
The man knew or suspected. Well, his uncle’s trial had been big news for areas close to here. Picking up the money, Arthur braced and puffed out his chest. “I think it was a gift for his daughter.”
The old man shook his head. “I think you should be inclined to leave tomorrow. We don’t want no trouble.”
Slinging his coat back over his hurt shoulder, Arthur nodded and absorbed the warning. “We need to head back to London as soon as possible.”
He put Ester’s arm on his and led her to his room.
He closed the door and leaned against it. “Well, it’s done, Mrs. Bex.”
“Yes.” She stood with her back to him, inches from the bed. She sank onto it softly then sprang up as if it were hot coals. Pushing at her shawl, not catching his gaze, she looked miserable with a frown almost as wide as her thin face. “It is done.”
She looked miserable. Time to make it better.
“Tsk. Tsk. I always thought the future Mrs. Bex would seem happy about our nuptials. That she’d be waiting for me with open arms, not a refuse bucket ready to vomit.”
Ester looked at him then crumpled onto the bed, crying.
His attempt at humor had the opposite effect of what he wanted. A rose only needed so much water to bloom. Flinging his coat to the chair, he sat beside her. With his good hand, he stroked her back. “Time will make things right with your parents.”
“Bex, how do you know this? Have you ever had to reconcile with your parents?”
“No, but then, I was orphaned at six.”
Chin lifting, she curled toward him. “Then you don’t know.”
Her pretty eyes, large topaz-brown pools with flecks of henna and gold, had said so much on their journey, but now they read of pity and disbelief. He didn’t want that from her. She, of all people, had to believe in him, in their union.
“Ester, I do know that sometimes there is no reconciliation. Sometimes the crimes are so great you have to part ways.”
“Crimes? Bex, now you are being dramatic. We’ve done nothing heinous by marrying. And I suppose they’ve done nothing heinous by cutting me off.”
This wasn’t how he wanted to broach this subject of his past. She deserved to know, and there was no one he felt like telling, ever, except Ester. “They’re very upset, but you and I, we are family now. It’s us against the world.”
“Us Bex? Us against the world?” She wiped at the tears staining her face. “Some wedding day.”
Ester was miserable. He’d signed the marriage certificate with the name he’d chosen and had made famous, not his birth name. If he couldn’t make her happy, he’d tell her so she could annul the marriage for fraud. It was her only way out of this situation. But Arthur felt he could make her happy. He’d captivated her on stage, and he could captivate her now. “Today was not all bad. I met your parents. They allowed us to marry. Then there was that moment when you kissed me.”
She tugged at her shawl, her fingers tensing on the folds. “I think it was you who kissed me.”
“What? My bashful bride… You seem to not have a long memory. That might be good for us.”
“Maybe that means you will never be bored with me.”
He looped his fingers with hers, stilling her fidgeting. “Not likely. You’re an enigma, changing from shy to bold, from scared to brave. Enigmas are hard to take hold of.”
Her face had dried, and she looked as if her mood had lifted a little. “What do we do now?”
There were plenty things that came to his head, with Ester the incredible kisser sitting so near him on the very comfortable mattress. “Ester, I told you that I wanted a full marriage.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Yes.” Her voice sounded strained as she smoothed the hem of her skirt. “I suppose it is too late to get to know one another better.”
“Bashful again.” He kissed her fingers. “That skirt has been beaten of wrinkles. Don’t be frightened around me. I can be a patient man.”
“Bex. I… You said if I asked you anything, you wouldn’t lie.”
With a brow raised, he sobered his expression and nodded.
“Why did you marry me? Do you love me?”
He didn’t know how to describe what he felt—part gratitude, part hope, part glad to be chosen—that she cared so much for him. He stood up, pulling her to her feet. “I care for you more than myself. Perhaps that is love. I know what it cost for you to go through with this wedding and to even jump through that window. Your reasons for saying yes matter less to me, only that you did say it.”
She hooked her hand about his neck and draped her head against his bum shoulder. “What does matter to you, Bex?”
“You. You do, Ester.”
She peered up with her mouth slightly open, maybe in want of him.
He put his hand in her hair and flung off the bonnet that covered her tight curls. Grabbing hold of a loose tendril, he drew her face to his. “Say yes again, Mrs. Bex.”
“What are you asking, Bex?”
Part of him wanted everything, but she was far too wary. Like an audience on opening night, she needed to be cultivated, made aware of his presence, enraptured by his words until she asked for more. “Tonight, it is yes to a kiss. Let’s congratulate ourselves on the opening act of this marriage.”
Her eyes were wide and glossy with tears, but then she closed them and leaned in. “Yes.”
Smiling inside, he dipped his head and removed the space between them. He had intended for the kiss to be small, chaste, but Ester was too delicious. Her curves against him felt so fine. She molded to him in all the right places. He loosed the shawl from her shoulders and exposed smooth, creamy skin that his fingers would explore if not for the high lace at her throat. That wouldn’t do. “Let me undo the laces of your dress, so you can change for bed. We leave here early in the morn.”
He spun her and loosed the bow her mother had tied.
She bounced away. “I can handle the rest. Remember, I changed in the woods.”
“Yes, with that lovely dance.”
She pulled a dressing gown from her bag then stared at him. “Are you going to step out?”
“No, but I’ll turn.” He faced the door as he had before. “Ester, I have a two-room flat, probably as small a space as the warehouse you once lived. I’m frugal with my money, so you’ll have to become used to me. You need to become used to me.”
He heard her rustling and watched her engaging shadow on the wall.
“I’m done, Bex.”
He turned to find her in another high-necked gown of cream. Graceful and demure, and his pulse raced at the site of her.
Holding her party gown, she began to fold it. “This is so delicate. I shouldn’t have worn it. I washed, but I haven’t had a bath.”
“You were lovely in it, and your lilac soap is quite distinctive on your skin. I could inquire with the innkeeper about a bath in the morning.”
She shook her head and sat on the side of the bed. “No, Bex. Don’t. I’ll be the last to use it. The negress wife of an actor ranks the lowest. The tub will be horrible and dirty before it’s my turn.” She offered a nervous giggle. “I’ll stick to my bucket and pretty soap.
His heart broke for her. The life he had to offer her was so different from the life to which she’d grown accustomed
. “That’s why you originally changed your mind? The changes you’ll have to go through to be with me?”
She shrugged. “Yes, and the changes you will have to endure for marrying me. I’m not sure either of us is ready.”
He crossed to her side and saw her clutching the blanket. It wasn’t in anticipation. Fear was not a good lover. “Do me a favor, Ester? I need you to free me of this shirt and the bandage. I have to get my arm moving.”
Ester was tentative in touching him, but she lifted his shirt with great care. Still looking like a scared rabbit, she undid the knot on his bandage.
“I’m free. Thank you, Ester.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
Her eyes were wide as she stared.
Flexing his arm, he leant over and blew out the candle. “You go on to sleep. I’m going to practice my lines. By the time we are back to London, I’ll have missed most of the rehearsals.”
She inhaled deeply as he moved to the small desk. “You’re Arthur Bex. You will be wonderful.”
If she believed that about him completely, she wouldn’t be digging her fingernails into the blanket. “Get some sleep.”
She lay back and maybe released a yawn from her lungs as she hit the mattress. “Good night, Bex.”
“Good night, my dearest Ester. You can call me, Arthur. It’s allowed to be more familiar with your husband.”
He sat at the desk and drew the script from his bag to study his lines.
“You don’t have to be quiet, Bex. I love your voice. It will help me sleep.”
He pushed his arm out of the bandaged sling she’d loosened and stretched it. He needed it strong and flexible, to do everything to woo his wife and make Ester love him as she loved his characters on the stage. Yes, he was ready to take on his greatest role. For Ester was his, and she needed to want him whether his name was Arthur Bex or Oliver Arthur Bexeley. Once he was sure of her love, he could tell her the truth and not fear losing her.
Losing a woman who’d just given up everything for him should never happen.
…
With wide-awake eyes, Ester watched Bex and listened to his dreamy voice recite Shakespeare. His tones were clear, and her heart pounded when he said words of love. Like in the theater, she imagined that it was her name he said, not Cleopatra’s.
She wanted Bex to love her. Then she wouldn’t feel so fretful, so vulnerable. Then she wouldn’t be concerned about him straying like Papa, or worse, abandoning her like Ruth’s beau had done.
Everything still ached from the lies and revelations. She smiled at her husband pacing and saying lines. He was the only one who hadn’t lied.
Her breath caught when Bex stretched and yanked off the remaining bandages. Bare from the waist up, he groaned as he flexed his shoulder. Another small moan ushered from him as he rotated his hurt arm. “Don’t fret, Ester. It’s better, just a little stiff.”
Having been caught gazing, she closed her eyes but remembered how she and Ruth had peeked at Papa’s workers through a knot in the floorboards at the warehouse—sweaty bulky arms in all shades, from beige to deep ebony, lifting crates and drying wool near the big furnaces.
Through her lashes, she glanced at Bex again. He was a sight to behold, tall with a lean stomach and solid muscles in his arms and chest. The bulky costumes of the stage hid much of his masculine beauty.
Bex moved to the fireplace. With his hurt hand, he clasped the onyx poker and stoked the flames. The odds his shoulder would be permanently lame had diminished. With no lasting damage from this escapade, Bex, a thing of beauty, would remain whole.
Ester tried to roll over, but she couldn’t help herself, watching him stir the fire and recite his lines. This was her husband. She had chosen him, and he’d chosen her. Could their attraction grow into something more? Could they both be faithful to their marital promises, even if they had been made under duress?
Bex came over to the bed. “Have you fallen asleep?”
“No.” Her pulse ticked up.
“Good. I won’t feel bad when I force you to scoot over.”
He sat on the side as she shuttled to the other edge.
The mattress wasn’t so big, so he’d be touchable. “You’re going to sleep in this bed?”
He slid on his nightshirt, grunting as he lifted his hurt arm. “That is where one sleeps.”
“But.”
He lay back and took the pillow from her. “And I hear that married couples do that all the time. It is a rumor. I haven’t confirmed it.” He touched her cheek. “Your skin does flame when you blush.”
When he moved back to his side, she missed his gaze upon her.
“Good night, Ester,” he said.
It took a moment to become used to the way the bed swayed when he moved, for he shifted the bedsheets and then ended up very near her side.
“Bex, you will do well as Antony. You have nothing to fear.”
His hand found hers, and he tugged her so that she shared the pillow. “There is always something to fear. Sometimes fear is good. It tells you what to value. Makes you hold on tight to the good in your life.”
“Well, Arthur Bex will be brilliant. On the nights I can go, I’ll be cheering for you. I’ll talk to my friend Frederica Burleigh. Her father, the Duke of Simone, lets us use his box.”
“Nights you can go? By us, you mean your friends Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil and Miss Burleigh? You’ll have seats opening night, or maybe you can sit off stage.”
“No. No. I’ll be too nervous for you. I’d rather watch you like I always have, at a distance. You’ll be so great.”
He sat up, hovering over her, and was so close she could trace the curl of dark hair over the night shirt. If she sketched Greek statues, Bex could be an excellent one, and she was within touching distance, her to him, him to her.
“Ester?”
“Yes.” She blinked away her distraction by the muscular lines of his form. “Yes. Bex.”
“You want the truth, Ester, but I expect the same about anything I ask.”
She pulled at the blanket as if he could see through her robe. “Yes.”
“It’s not that you would be nervous for me. It’s that you don’t think you belong, and you are trying to protect me again, this time from the reaction of others.”
Ester closed her eyes for a moment. “This marriage cost me my family. I don’t want it to cost you your profession or your reputation. If Arthur Bex is destroyed because of his wife—I’d never forgive myself.”
“You’re a queen, Ester, but not an untrustworthy Cleopatra, not the way you keep trying to shelter me.”
Still hovering above, he touched her cheek again. “Warm again. A blushing bride. Well, I believe someone thinks I should be well rested before we start back to London. I’m surprised you hadn’t already insisted.”
“It’s good to see that you learn quickly.”
Chuckling, he punched the pillow then reclined, reciting lines the whole way down. Then his voice grew louder. “Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall: here is my space…next to you.”
The resonance in his voice, the clarion call of Bex claiming his spot, the space next to her, made her toes wriggle. “You sleep, Ester. We’ve a long way to go.”
He started practicing Shakespeare again.
Ester loved it. It was a performance just for her. Right now, Bex was just hers, not shared with the world on stage.
When his voice grew lower and slowed, she couldn’t help herself, moving a little closer to hear each word.
His fingers clasped hers. “Ester, if reciting Shakespeare is what it takes for you to be at ease, I’ll willingly become hoarse.”
“Then I’ll make you more chamomile. Good thing you’re not that manipulative, Bex.”
“Good thing your toes are warm. They are touching my shin.”
“Oh, I …”
“Don’t move a muscle. That’s your place now, at my side. I’ll have to get you to say Arthur and learn how to make you
love saying it.”
That sounded like a challenge, and that should bring her some concern, but she was too comfortable sharing Bex’s pillow to look for trouble. It would find her soon enough. It always did.
Chapter Sixteen
A Simple Life
The final leg of the trip to London was slower than Ester wanted, for the familiar buildings of the city made her anxious. When the scent of the Thames, the tart fog with the hint of horses’ leavings greeted her, she relaxed on the seat. The city was safer for Blackamoors, so it had to be better for her and Bex.
Yet, her husband didn’t look relieved. He seemed cross, with a deep frown on his face.
She put her sketch pad onto her knee, her charcoal into her bag, then linked her arm about his. “Bex, we are back in London. Is it much farther to your home?”
“Not much farther.” He patted her hand but pulled out his pocket watch. This was the second time.
“Well, I’ve missed rehearsal again. That four-hour wait to change horses at the last coaching inn has done me in.” His smile was thin but there for her. “I hate missing appointments. I gave them my word. I sent a messenger from our stay in Newcastle, saying I’d return today. I don’t break promises easily.”
Their marriage had already started to cost him. She fretted for him but tried to encourage him with another squeeze to his forearm. “They’ll understand. You’ve just come back from a wedding trip. Funny, I always pictured sailing away on a boat.”
“No. No boat for you…or me.”
His tone had sharpened, but he kissed her hand before she could pull away. “I don’t like missing appointments. My word is all that I have. I committed to being there.”
“They’ll understand. It’s not as though they’ll give your role away to someone else.”
He tugged on the reins, and the lead horse pranced a little faster, but there was no room to move with the other carriages. “You don’t know how fast someone can turn on you.” He rubbed his neck and glanced again toward the road. “There is always a new bright light, some new actor waiting for a chance.”
“No one can replace you.”
“Let’s hope that’s always your take on things. I seem to be replacing your pillow at night. Maybe I could compete with a blanket to keep you warm. London nights can be cold ones.”
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