Alex turned and looked at her, his gold eyebrows drawn together. He swiftly recaptured her hand and led her to the parlor.
As they entered, Willie barked. From the wingchair, Aunt Rachel glanced up. Her black hair was elegantly coiffed and she wore one of her best evening gowns of deep blue silk. Her face lit with surprise. “Oh, Emily, how lovely to see you back—Alex, I am so glad you’re home early. Look who is here.”
A short, dark-haired man and a raven-haired woman with warm brown eyes sat on one of the settees. A girl of about ten sat between them. Her hair was as golden as coins in the firelight. Alex’s muscles went hard as iron beneath Emily’s hand. A fine tremor shook his arm. An uneasy tingling centered on her navel.
A huge smile spread over the man’s homely face. “Alexander!”
Alex remained rigid, motionless.
The girl turned. Large, startling blue-gray eyes stared into Emily’s. They transfixed her for a moment. She tore her gaze away and glanced at Alex.
He’d gone white, like he’d seen a ghost. Emily felt ill, as though her senses had detected something her mind had yet to know. She felt as if she’d walked into a dream.
The short, dark-haired man rushed forward and reached his hand out.
Alex took it, his expression numb, stunned. “François.”
“Alexander, it is so good to see you.” He shook Alex’s hand vigorously.
The touch seemed to jolt Alex out of his daze. Genuine pleasure brightened his stony expression.
“Miss Eliot.” Alex turned to Emily and caught her eye. And she saw, underneath the charm, the tense, distressed expression in his gaze.
Always, when he called her by her formal name, it highlighted the fact that he was a gentleman, leagues above her and they were not married.
Maybe would never be married.
“This is my cousin, François, and his wife, Manon, and their”—did she imagine the catch in his voice?—“daughter, Aimee.”
“Alexander, you must be wondering what we are doing here in Philadelphia when we are supposed to be on our way to Montreal,” François said.
Alex stood there as though frozen. He blinked several times. Then he seemed to shake himself. “I think I shall have a brandy. Would you care for one?” Alex flashed one of his most charming smiles, his gray-blue eyes twinkling with all the warmth of the sun.
But Emily knew him well. It was a sure sign he was covering for something.
François smiled in return. “Your aunt has fed us quite well. I am satisfied.”
Alex nodded and did go and pour himself a brandy. And drank it immediately. He poured another and returned to the group. He’d said nothing to the girl. Yes, adults often did ignore children in company. But Alex was never like that.
Odd, very odd.
Emily stole a glance at the child, this time not so distracted by the piercing nature of those large eyes. She noted the beautiful features. Familiar features.
Aimee looked like Alex.
No. The little girl looked just like Alex. The resemblance was far greater than cousins, especially more distant cousins, usually shared.
At that instant, Emily knew. Knew in the pit of her stomach. The blood rushed from her head to her feet. She sank onto the settee and took a deep, steadying breath.
Alex collapsed beside her, his heavier weight rocking the cushion and making her sway a little toward him. Their thighs brushed. Belatedly, she remembered to act as though they were not intimate, as though his leg touching hers was not normal and natural. Awareness of him, of his masculine body, made her heart skip a beat, an echo of their earlier feverish passion in the carriage.
But his tension, his distress crackled along her awareness as though it were her own.
Emily darted a glance at Rachel. Surely the woman had noticed the girl’s uncanny resemblance to Alex and total lack of similarity to her parents’ dark coloring?
But Rachel had a pleasant, calm smile on her face.
“Our ship ran into a bad squall,” François said.
Manon released a ripple of musical laughter. “A bad squall! Would you listen to my husband? It was the worst storm I’ve seen.”
François waved her off. “It was not so bad. But the captain seemed somewhat, uh, caught off guard. And the ship was not built so well. But, alas, it was the best we could do. I wanted to get out of Jamaica. Those British make me nervous.”
François laughed and everyone else did, except for Emily and Alex.
Alex’s attention had drifted to the little girl and the skin tightened across his cheekbones. He took a deep drink of his brandy.
On second glance, the girl looked to be closer to eight or nine. It was hard to tell. Her frame was dainty, fragile and petite, and she might be small for her age.
Nine years ago, Alex would have been nineteen. Right in the midst of those lost years Peter had told her about. And Alex said he’d been in France. Oh, he had not been living any kind of unspeakable horror. He’d been entertaining himself with a mistress and had dumped the resulting child on to his obliging cousins.
Manon was still speaking. “The ship was damaged and the captain decided to divert to Baltimore. I told François we will not take chances. We will come to Alex and he will know the first-rate captains and ships.”
Alex tore his gaze away from Aimee, an expression akin to guilt embossed on his face. “Yes, certainly. In fact, one of Asahel Sexton’s ships is leaving in a month for Montreal.”
François turned to Emily. “We have family there. Aimee will have lots of cousines to welcome her.”
“Oh, very nice,” Emily replied automatically while she looked at Aimee and smiled, all the while wishing she could quell the rising sense of terribleness.
Alex was even more feckless than she’d come to know. He turn his back not only on the sufferings of the world but he could turn his back on his own flesh and blood.
And she’d almost given herself to him again. Had thought of reconciling herself with him. God. Oh, God. She released a hitching breath and shuddered all over with the realization.
Alex turned to her. The familiar beauty of his face struck her anew and tenderness consumed her. This was the man she loved above all else in this world. Had she judged him unfairly, so soon after vowing to be more trusting? Sinking, sickening guilt washed over her. She should trust him, no matter what. Oh, this was all so confusing. But that girl, she was his daughter, she must be. But maybe, just maybe, he had a very good reason for his actions? That had to have been the case—right?
Why had he kept such an important secret from her?
His gaze sharpened on her. “Miss Eliot, you should go to bed.”
“But, Alex—”
His gaze clouded and he turned to Aunt Rachel. “Miss Eliot became unwell at the ball and Peter wanted to stay and play cards. I brought her here to spend the night—she needs someone to look after her and I thought it best not to disturb Cornelia so late. She is not so young any more.”
Emily watched and listened as the lies rolled smoothly off Alex’s tongue. Lies meant to preserve her good name but still they made her uneasy.
Surely everyone saw right through them. But no, Aunt Rachel’s face wrinkled with concern.
“Of course.” Aunt Rachel rose from her chair and, in a rustle of deep purple silk and cream-colored lace, came to lay a hand on Emily’s forehead. “Oh, my dear child, what is it? Do you have a headache?”
Emily nodded. It wasn’t a lie. A steady throbbing had set up between her temples.
“You poor dear.” Rachel took Emily’s gloved hand. “Come with me now, I shall have you settled in a trice.”
****
Warm water vapor–filled air scented with rose and musk met Alex as he entered the private sanctuary of the women’s baths. It was early; the other women were not yet bathing. Not even a servant was in sight. He could be punished or killed for being here now.
But he had to risk coming, Catarina had been so down in spirits the last time he
’d seen her. When he’d gone to her chamber, she hadn’t been there. He’d checked her gardens and this was the last place he could think of where she could be.
He walked past the large bathing pools. Catarina was afraid of deep water. The devil that kept them enslaved here had commissioned her a special shallow and narrow tub for her private use. It had been tiled in her favorite colors of blue and yellow. She always kept a dozen or more candles burning around it on the wide shelves, all scented with rose and musk.
Today there was an odor beneath the perfumes. A metallic-coppery scent. The water vapor was collecting on the blue and yellow tiled walls, dripping down. It fascinated his eye and dizzily he glanced down at the tub.
The water in the tub was red. She lay there, her skin pale, oh, so pale, like alabaster, and her eyes were open and staring at him, unseeing.
“No!”
He fell to his knees, grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her up from the water. Her head rolled backwards and her mouth fell open.
She was dead. She had died a slave.
And it was his fault. His failure to get her out of this hell.
****
A chime sounded once in the dim light of the corridor. The clock in the vestibule marking one in the morning.
Emily took a deep breath, then rapped lightly on Alex’s door.
Barely daring to take a breath, she waited.
And waited and waited.
Her legs began to cramp and she flexed her calves, trying to stretch the ache away.
Had he gone to sleep so easily, then?
Hurt pricked her. She would have no peace or sleep until she heard his explanation. She put her hand on the knob and slowly turned it. The door came open and light spilled into the hall.
His candles still burned and his fire had not been banked.
So he wasn’t sleeping after all.
He stood, dressed in his banyan, staring out at the night, at the gentle rain that had begun to patter on the window.
“Alex?”
He didn’t even turn. Something twisted in her chest and she went to him.
She placed her hands on his back. The well-defined muscles tensed under her palms.
His silence stung.
She caressed the soft velvet, feeling his body’s heat. “Won’t you share your pain with me?”
“No.” She could hear how tightly he held his jaw in the terseness of his tone. “Go back to bed. I am not fit company for you tonight.”
“You have never trusted me.” She couldn’t keep the sadness out of her voice. His coldness hurt so badly. But it was hard to be so close to him, this man who had loved her so completely, so well, and not seek comfort from him. She nuzzled her cheek to his back. “Why won’t you trust me?”
He pulled away and she was forced to let go. He turned then stared down at her with a closed expression. ”Emily, you should go find your own bed.”
“I will—but first won’t you explain why you won’t trust me?”
“I asked you to leave and yet you stay.”
“I feel so distant from you. I don’t understand you. I can’t bear this. I’ll have no peace until—”
He came closer, put his hands on her bottom and jerked her to his body so quickly it made her catch her breath.
Her heart began to pound. “Alex?”
He shook his head. “You’re so stubborn.”
“I have to know why.”
“You always think you know best. You always just have to push matters to your own detriment.” He bent and put his mouth, hot and open, on her neck, his tongue flicking her and sending gooseflesh down her torso. Her nipples instantly beaded. Desire swept through her being like warmed honey.
“God, you taste like heaven.” He breathed against her neck.
Through her flannel nightgown and his banyan, his erection throbbed and its heat seemed to burn her. Her cunny contracted hungrily. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, trying to regain her mental bearings.
“Alex, I want to understand. That lovely little girl… How could you—?”
He swept her up and into his embrace so swiftly that the chamber spun by as she clung to him.
He carried her toward the bed. Her heart thudded harder. She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to go there and was excited about it or because she didn’t and was afraid of herself.
“But we have to talk—”
“Shh.” He put his lips to the side of her head. “Words only confuse the issue.”
He laid her on the bed.
Weakness overcame her and she lay passive, allowing him to roll her over on to her stomach. He stretched out beside her and swept her fallen curls off her neck. The act sent a wave of cooler air over her skin and she shivered slightly. Waiting…
He caressed her shoulders and back, while his lips came down to lay soft kisses on her nape.
Oh, but this was no good. She hadn’t come to his chamber for this. “Alex, we need to talk.”
“Shh.” His hands caressed their way down her back, slowly. “Talking is useless for us now, it just extends the dying process. Leave us some dignity.”
He caressed her bottom in circular patterns.
Heat slammed into her pelvic regions.
He stopped stroking her then his hand came down on her arse. Smack! The sound echoed.
She gasped, frozen in place. Her breathing quickened. Tingling fire spread between her legs and deep into her belly.
He delivered several more strikes to her buttocks. Then he pulled her nightdress upwards until cool air touched her heated flesh. He stroked her bottom again.
She was gushing wetness and she writhed beneath his touch. She couldn’t remember what had been so important. His hand on her arse was important, nothing else mattered.
Let him subdue her, tame her, claim her for all time. Let him leave his mark on her in indelible ink. She needed to be his in every way possible. No matter their differences. No matter the cost.
He spanked her bare cheeks until every inch was tingling and burning. She moaned and pressed her mouth into the coverlet to smother her cries. Heavens, she wanted him to be inside her, his hardness stretching and filling her. She wanted it now.
“Do you see how it is for us?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Even when you’ve nothing left for me but the utmost contempt, it’s still so explosive, it’s so irresistible and addictive.”
“Yes, addictive, that’s what it is.”
“But it’s just carnal compatibility, Emily. We’ve mistaken it for some deeper compatibility.”
His words sliced into her.
It wasn’t true. He’d shown her the difference between love and lust by letting her explore the issue with Peter. She wrinkled her brow. She tried to collect her thoughts, needing to refute him. There was far more between them than mere lust.
He thrust two fingers into her cunny directly without any other wooing. The immediate, deep fullness was divine. All her thoughts fled and she bit her lip and arched her hips backwards, trying to press his hand deeper. His thumb brushed her erect nub. Her inner walls contracted hard, the spasms taking her over. She bucked her hips wildly and she buried her face in the bedding again, crying out as she came.
She lay panting and, as clarity returned, his earlier words burned through her brain. “Dying, what do you mean?”
“Us, our love. We’re in the dying throes.” His voice was hoarse with desire. He withdrew his fingers. His cock touched her burning buttock.
“Then why are you…”
“Because there’s always this”—his cock touched her cunt—“and this.” He gripped her hips and thrust his hardness into her gently but firmly.
Chapter Nine
Emily gasped and twisted to face Alex. His expression was hard, determined, fierce. She had no thought to deny him.
However, she wished they could recapture the tender passion they had shared in the carriage. But he wouldn’t look at her; his eyes were fi
xed upon the juncture of their bodies. His hands were fastened on her hips and he kept moving into her, slow and measured, until he reached her limits.
He groaned and pressed firmly, rocking against the entrance of her womb, and his balls slapped her mons. Her burning arse nestled into his hard, muscled stomach, driving her insane with sensation.
“Alex? Why must it be like this? Why must our love die?”
Why had he been so unreasonable about her art? Why did he want to turn his back on the rest of humanity? Why had he abandoned his child?
Why? Why? Why?
“I am jaded. Hollowed out. This all there is for me.” He swept the mass of her hair aside and caressed her back and shoulders in a soothing fashion that was so out of tune with his words. “You—and your eternal optimism, your endless empathy, you had me believing things could actually be different for me with you, but I should’ve known better. I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry.”
He moved within her in a slow, methodical fashion, prolonging every sensation. The scent of sex and sweat permeated the air.
“This is the last time, Emily, this is our farewell.”
Her throat tightened.
She didn’t want to feel anything except the sadness.
Only the sadness was real. It would keep her sane in the face of his madness tonight. But it slipped away as each stroke of his cock stretched her, filled her.
He bent over her, bit at her neck lightly.
Dark pleasure pulled her under. She was falling, falling… She crushed her face into the pillow and cried out his name.
He withdrew from her—
She cried out his name again, this time with a sense of loss.
His hot seed rained down on her buttocks.
Another pang of loss hit her.
Of course. There could be no children between them now. The full depth of her sadness came back to her in a crushing wave, pulling her even more firmly down.
He rolled away from her, still panting hard, closing his eyes.
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