Yes, a child was surely the answer.
Still, he’d been rather difficult lately. He knew that. She deserved something for putting up with his ways. He pulled out a sheet of paper and hastily scratched out some instructions for his secretary, Mr. Boyle.
* * * *
Beth opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light. What the devil? Who had dared to pull her drapes open? The servants knew better than to disturb her before she called them.
“It’s a quarter of two, Mrs. Sexton,” Miss Fairchild said in crisp tones.
“Leave me in peace.” One of the benefits of being a refined lady was sleeping late into the day and waking up slowly while others waited upon her as if she were a queen. A lady must find her small pleasures where she could. She rolled over, her body seeming to sink deeper into the fine feather bed. She pulled the heavy coverlet over her head to block the light and the scent of stale sex that mingled with the lingering sweet lavender and starch on the sheets and overwhelmed her. Troubling images of the night before rose in her mind. She pushed them away and hugged her pillow until the softness of sleep began to slide over her once more. The covers were whipped away with a ruthless, snapping motion and cool air rushed over her, seeping through her thin lawn nightdress.
“You are expected at Mrs. Clark’s for tea,” Miss Fairchild said in a pitiless tone.
Tea? Today? Oh, devil take her, that was correct. Beth blinked, trying to focus her eyes as Miss Fairchild placed a tray before her with her customary breakfast of toast points and a cup of steaming chocolate. A small wooden box with shiny brass hinges lay beside her plate. Beth picked it up and opened it. Against deep blue velvet, diamonds and aquamarines sparkled like flames of color. She caught her breath and picked it up.
A butterfly-shaped brooch.
A very expensive butterfly-shaped brooch.
Sharp pain jabbed her finger. She dropped the brooch. A bright red droplet rose on her finger and she stuck it into her mouth and sucked. A metallic taste flooded her tongue. Her empty stomach began to burn—and not from hunger.
She knew exactly what Grey was doing. He was attempting to treat her like one of his kept women. As if all she wanted from him was jewels and luxury. If she’d wanted only that, she could have simply been his mistress and forgone all this tedious lady business.
As she stared at the brooch, the burn in her stomach increased and the smell of rich chocolate wafting up from her tray began to nauseate her.
Oh, this would not stand. She had put up with a lot but she would be damned if she would start accepting payment for services rendered in the marriage bed!
She snatched up her wrapper, jerked her arms through the sleeves, then bolted from the bed.
Miss Fairchild looked up from her work laying out Beth’s clothes and gaped. “Mrs. Sexton, where are you going? From the looks of you, it shall take me every second of the next hour to get you presentable.”
Beth ignored her as she tossed the brooch back into the box, snapped it closed and thrust it into her pocket. She hurried to the door.
“Mrs. Sexton, please—I cannot have you leave your chamber looking as you do. The other servants should not see you like this!”
Beth opened the door, left the room and stormed down the corridor to Grey’s study. He expected anyone, including his wife, to knock before entering. He’d made that politely but firmly clear. Well, today she didn’t give a damn. She turned the knob and flung the door open.
Odors of tobacco and coffee and the stale scent of dusty papers and books greeted her in a stomach-turning miasma. This chamber was dim, the walls covered with dull, deep green silk moiré with walnut wainscoting beneath the chair rail. Every stick of furniture was dark wood and stark plain in design and at least fifty years old.
She hated this room.
Grey sat bent over his desk, hastily scratching his quill over a ledger while a lone fly buzzed about a plate of congealing roast beef, peas and carrots and boiled potatoes.
The sight of it sparked her vexation to a whole new degree of heat. He ate so irregularly and poorly of late. She had specifically instructed the housekeeper that if he was home around the noon hour, he was to be sent a substantial meal. But what good did it do if he refused to eat it?
He hadn’t even heard the door open or, if he had, he was choosing to ignore whoever was so bold as to ignore his dictates. Above his shoulder, Asahel Prosperity Sexton gazed at her sternly from the large, gilt-framed painting.
She cleared her throat. “Grey?”
He looked up, his eyes slowly focusing on her. The sight of his handsome face, of his coal-black forelock falling over his brow, made her heart catch. A burst of affection warred with her anger. His brows drew sharply together. “You are up early today.”
His dry tone sent a small spiral of shame through her. It was true. She’d fallen into sleeping very late. However, now there was rarely anything to look forward to. She had never felt so useless in her life.
“What is it, Beth?” His voice sounded languorous. To someone else it might even have seemed slurred, as if with drink, but she recognized it for what it was—extreme fatigue. She’d awoken some time around four this morning and he’d been gone from her side. She doubted he’d gone to his own bed but, rather, had gone to prepare to leave for his offices on Washington Street and start his business day.
Now he would have just returned from the Exchange at the Tontine Coffeehouse, and likely was expected somewhere for dinner at four. Then he had an appointment at an all-male supper party tonight. He drove himself and drove himself and no one could reason with him over it. He seemed bound to kill himself through work before he reached forty.
Suddenly, she wanted only to persuade him to leave his desk and come to her bed. She would let him rest his head on her breasts and caress his furrowed brow until he slept. And she’d make sure he wasn’t disturbed until he’d slept that pale, tired look away.
Ha! He was as likely to allow that as he was to allow the British navy to take over Sexton Shipping.
“You should eat,” she said.
His jaw muscles tightened.
She nodded at his plate. “You need to eat.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk, slow and measured. Each rap sent a flare of pure irritation bristling over her nerves.
“Beth, I don’t need a keeper or a mother. I shall eat just as soon as I have reconciled the discrepancies in these audits. I am capable of keeping to a reasonable schedule. You’d do better to worry over your own habits.”
The censure in his voice reverberated guiltily in the pit of her stomach. She pushed a tangled lock of hair from her face. How dare this knotty-headed, impossible man criticize anything about her? Why should he care how late she slept or anything else she did when he’d shown her over and over how little she mattered to him?
For good measure, she lifted her chin and shot him a glare.
He didn’t see it. His eyes had already drifted back to the column of numbers he’d been scratching out on the paper. White-hot emotion and energy flared in her blood. Damn! Did he think she’d be so easily dismissed?
She studied that coal-black head bent over the desk. Yes, he did think she’d simply take his dismissal and be gone. The way everyone else in his world did. Well, devil take him! She wasn’t just anyone.
She slammed the box down on his desk, right under his nose. “You may take this back.”
He glanced up, his eyes distant, as if barely seeing her. He gestured at the box. “You would prefer something else?”
“I would prefer not to receive gifts as a substitute for your attentions—as payment for services rendered in my bed, sir.”
Some life flared into his eyes and his gaze intensified on her. “You’re rejecting my gifts now?”
“If you think you can ignore me for weeks and then placate me with something like this, then you are sadly mistaken, sir.” She let her lip curl.
He threw his quill onto the desk, leant back in his chair
and vigorously rubbed his eyes. He sighed loudly, the sound reverberating with such exasperation that she bristled all over.
“Can’t you understand? I am very busy today. We can discuss this later.” His dark brows drew together fiercely.
She’d had her fill of being the object of his irritation. “Stop glowering at me like that.”
“Beth, I have tried to explain. Things are very strained right now. It’s just the war. I shall have more time when things ease off.”
There will always be some business matter. I know his type of gentleman. Joshua’s words were an unwelcome echo in her mind.
Her throat began to burn and she waved her hand at the hated little brass-hinged box. “Just take that back, get rid of it—I never want to see it again.”
His face contorted with something that looked very much like contrition. The burn in her throat increased. She needed to get out of here before she fell apart. She took a few steps towards the door. “Just get rid of it.” Her voice sounded suspiciously high-pitched to her ears. God, she couldn’t—wouldn’t start crying.
He stood. “Now, Beth, please be reasonable.”
She blinked as her vision grew blurry. “Don’t tell me to be reasonable over something like this.” With her sleeve, she took several swipes at her eyes, then tossed her head back and glared at him. She would not show weakness. She would not.
He came to her, moving with such haste it seemed as though he’d taken only three steps.
She searched his silver eyes for any sign of the man who had once burnt with passion for her. All she saw was a grim, tired man.
He touched her shoulders and caressed them with gentle motions. “You know how precious you are to me, how much I love you.”
She took a deep breath, still struggling against the heavy lump of unshed tears in her throat. “Honestly, I am not quite certain any longer.”
“When things settle themselves out, we shall take a trip away from the city, just you and I.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “We’ll spend a month away from all of this.”
“But I don’t understand. Why can’t we just spend a few hours alone together in the evenings? Why must it either be that we are out at some dinner party or you go out alone and then, once you are back, you spend half the night working here in your office?”
He slackened his hold on her shoulders and sighed. “It is just that I am so absorbed with business matters.”
He possessed the uncanny ability to make her feel foolish and selfish… But no, not this time. This time he would not evade her. He would not manipulate her into believing she was the unreasonable one. “But surely you could spare me an evening or two a week?”
His silver eyes went glacial. “Beth, you won’t even try to understand.”
“But it’s not so much to ask.” It really wasn’t, was it? She bit her lip and shifted on her feet.
He smiled. Thinly. Her heart grasped at such a scrap and swelled with love. God, she was so pathetically eager for softness from him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not so much to ask. You can’t tell me it is.”
For good measure, she scowled at him.
He traced a finger between her eyes, his own silver eyes shining with sudden warmth. “Don’t do that—you’ll ruin your beauty.”
What good was beauty doing her? She might as well be an aged crone.
“I am dying, Grey—literally dying of loneliness. I do think you could spare me a little more time.”
“In the winter, we’ll go away. Alone. For a whole month.” His hard mouth softened into a slight smile.
A cold ache froze her heart. He was right here in front of her but she couldn’t reach him. It didn’t seem possible. And the hell of it was, she did believe him when he said that he loved her, that she was precious to him. But knowing that wasn’t enough. She needed him to prove it and to be present with her.
Against her will, her face crinkled up and the burning in her throat increased. She swallowed back a sob. The sound echoed like a choked gasp in the space between them.
“Now, Beth, don’t take on like this.” He reached for her again.
She uncrossed her arms and pushed him back. “Don’t—just don’t.”
“Now, my darling, just try to understand. Just let me—”
Tears blurred her vision—she couldn’t hold them back. Horrified at her own weakness, she turned and fled his study and ran down the hall.
“Damn it, Beth!” His voice sounded loudly behind her. “You won’t even try to understand!”
She ran down the hall, blinded by the tears that flowed freely now. She gratefully entered the privacy of her chamber. Beth jerked her arm over her eyes, wiping them on her sleeve. Miss Fairchild looked up from brushing the velvet nap of the gown she was preparing for Beth’s outing, her eyes as wide as the moon. And no wonder. Grey never raised his voice in this house. He maintained a polite distance at all times with his staff.
The slam of Grey’s study door resounded through the whole floor. That slam reverberated within Beth’s chest and she jumped in response. Miss Fairchild’s eyes went wider than ever. Then the woman hastily dropped her gaze and resumed brushing the gown, more furiously this time. Beth placed her hand over her pounding heart and leaned against her closed door. Well, at least she could still inspire emotion in the man.
She wiped at her wet face with her hand. God, she’d cried in front of him like a weakling.
Oh, devil take her!
What a disaster she’d made of things. In three and a half short months.
Chapter Thirteen
In Mrs. Nellie Clark’s lavish parlor, under that woman’s sharp gaze, Beth felt ill at ease. She looked so much like her sister, Mrs. Hazelwood, it gave Beth chills.
“You look pale, dear.”
“I am somewhat tired lately,” Beth admitted.
Nellie nodded and sipped her tea. Then she laid her cup down. “Mr. Sexton never comes here with you.”
“He is frequently busy.”
“Well, of course, gentlemen are always busy, but you must persuade him to spend some time with you. Newlyweds should spend time together.”
“I have no influence with him.”
Nellie nodded. “I know, dear—when I was a new bride I was confused, too. But every woman must learn to handle her husband and to be agreeable to his tastes.” She pursed her lips. “You stopped the teaching?”
Her stomach coiled so tight she feared she might be ill. But she knew society’s grudging acceptance of her into its midst was almost certainly owing to Nellie’s support and open patronage. And if she wanted to be the kind of wife Grey needed, then she must continue to listen to Nellie’s kindly counsel.
Beth folded her gloved hands and nodded. “Yes, I did. I turned the work over to Mrs. Van Dyke.”
Nellie sipped at her tea, then lowered the cup and nodded. “And you let the servants look after the house and you are properly demure?”
Yes, she’d been a model of demureness—unless one counted tossing Grey’s expensive gifts back in his face. Beth laughed softly. “I try to be.”
“Well, try harder, my dear,” Nellie said with a smile that was a replica of Mrs. Hazelwood’s pleasant tolerance.
Would Beth ever learn to face this new, proper life with such calm composure? Would she find contentment?
It didn’t seem possible.
The ever-present little lump of misery in her throat seemed to swell, threatening to gag her. She swallowed several times, trying to dislodge it. Then, on an inward sigh, she picked up her teacup and took a deep drink. Maybe that was why ladies favored tea so much.
* * * *
Grey’s hands shook with frustration. So now, she was rejecting his gifts? He stared into the mirror at the monstrosity he’d wrought tying his cravat. With a scowl at himself, he took two steps back from the washstand.
What the devil, she was rejecting his gifts now?
He hooked his finger into the knot and gave it several jerks until th
e cravat came untied. He turned and gestured impatiently to Will.
The short, wiry servant raised his brows. It wasn’t like Grey to tolerate—much less request—help tying his neckwear.
“I haven’t got all evening,” Grey said tersely.
Will approached him with a guarded expression and carefully timed pace.
Waiting for Will to finish, Grey took a deep breath. His head was starting to pound in earnest.
Beth refused to understand.
And wasn’t that just like a woman?
But tonight’s dinner party was important. Vitally important. He needed to be there to make contacts with financiers and politicians.
She wanted him to skip an evening’s outing and she thought it was no small matter.
But she just didn’t understand.
The current situation changed, it seemed, by the hour. He needed to gain the latest news of the war so he could stay abreast and make the best decisions. Day by day.
“There you are, sir.” Will stepped back, his eyes lowered, presumably to hide his curiosity over his employer’s unusual variances of mood.
Grey remembered his earlier outburst when he had given his study door a good, sound slam. It had felt astonishingly good to release his temper in that fashion. His father would have never, ever done such a thing. He would never have revealed his emotions to the world in such an undignified manner. It was unbefitting a gentleman, a rational, cool-minded man of business. It disturbed the servants and disrupted the balance of authority.
It had felt damned good to slam that door.
He had not lost control over his temper like that since his youth. Since the early part of his marriage to Juliana. Such a reckless display of emotion was nothing to take any pleasure in. It was a matter for personal shame. Mindful of his head, Grey poured himself a conservative portion of brandy and drank it without tasting it.
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