by Jade Lee
"Debra," she said rather too abruptly, "I believe we could become real friends. Or at least I hope we can."
The woman smiled warmly at her. "I hope so, too. And now perhaps I should tell you something you don't already know about Edward."
Gwen brightened, not at all surprised that Debra had figured out her intense interest in Sir Edward. "Yes?"
"Before his father died, Edward was much more of a rapscallion than people thought. I only know because Connie told me, and Connie doesn't think she knows a tenth of the things he did."
Gwen wasn't really surprised. After all, the man had climbed into her bedroom. "Did he get in trouble?"
"That's just the thing. He never did. All the adults loved him."
"Of course they would. There's nothing the least bit objectionable about him."
Debra waggled her eyebrows. "Or so they believe. See, that's what I wanted to tell you. If I ever chose to do something wicked, well I would look to Edward. He would know just how to do it without getting caught."
"Really?" Gwen was simultaneously horrified and intrigued. After all, she had let the man into her bedroom. And done a great deal more than that with him. Where was this headed? To disaster or something far better?
"Damn the man for being gone!" she abruptly huffed.
"Don't worry," Debra said with a giggle. "He'll be back soon and with some new plan. He always has one, you know. And they always turn out fun. Not always well, mind you, but they're always fun."
Chapter 7
Lady Gwen was sobbing. The sound was clear as could be to Edward as he stood beneath her window and listened. But it wasn't just sobbing. It was more like the heartbroken cries of a woman at the edge of madness. It gave him chills to hear and made him re-think again whether he should be visiting in the dead of night.
He shouldn't, of course, but was he going to let that deter him?
After two maddening weeks at home with a sulky sister and an angry mother, he'd finally been able to finish the estate work to return to London. Even better, he'd left the women at home so he was free to do as he pleased. And what he pleased was to find Lady Gwen.
But she wasn't at any of the balls he attended and when he finally found Debra, she told him that Gwen had cut her evening short early to go home. A bit of a headache, she'd said. What he heard now was not a headache but a despair that cut him to the quick.
Surely that wasn't Gwen? He frowned at the windows above him, trying to isolate the location of the sound. In the end, he decided it was unimportant. If that was Gwen, then he had to see if he could help her. And if it wasn't Gwen, then he couldn't abandon her to deal with it alone. So he dragged off his shoes and jacket, then grabbed a fistful of ivy and began to climb.
He reached her window and was grateful to find it cracked open. A moment later he was inside her darkened bedroom. The coals in the fireplace gave enough light to show that the room was empty. And he was also able to tell that the wailing was coming from down the hallway.
Which gave him a new quandary. Did he leave her bedroom to find her? It was bad enough that he was climbing ivy to see her in the middle of the night. It was much worse for him to be prowling about her home like a common burglar.
But what if the distraught woman was her? The noise had subsided a bit. Less wails, more wrenching sobs. He had to know if it was her. He had to help her.
Damning himself for a fool, he crept to her bedroom door and put his hand on the knob. He would ease it open and peek—
The door turned and pushed inward, banging him soundly on the nose. He bit his lip in alarm and barely restrained himself from cursing as he stumbled backwards. Whoever had opened the door had done so with force!
He heard a squeak of alarm and then the full brightness of a lamp being held aloft.
"Oh, bloody hell!" cried Gwen. His eyes were still watering, so he could not see clearly. But he imagined that the figure coming into the room and slamming her bedroom door was Gwen. At least he prayed it was; otherwise he was in the soup for sure. Fortunately, her next words put his mind at ease.
"Now? You come back tonight of all nights? Good God, Edward, you have the worst sense of timing in the world!"
She spoke in a full out fury making no attempt to moderate her tone. Meanwhile, he pulled his hands down from his throbbing nose and was grateful when his fingers were not covered in blood.
"You are rather, um, strong for a woman."
She gaped at him. He could see her now that his eyes were clearing. "That is what you wish to say to me? After all this time, you tell me that I'm strong?"
He bit his lip. This was not how he had imagined his reunion with her. He swallowed, trying to marshal his wits. "I'm glad it's not you crying."
The sounds of sobbing continued from down the hallway, and they were obviously not hers.
"I don't cry," she snapped as she dropped the lamp onto her dressing table. "I stomp around and open doors with force." She glared at him. "Sometimes I even throw things." When he had no response to that, she dropped her hands on her hips. "Edward, what are you doing here?"
He straightened. He wanted to touch her, to take her hand or kiss her fingers. And he wanted to kiss a great deal more than her fingers, but right now it was clear she would not accept such a gesture from him. And truthfully, he could not blame her. After all, he was the one who had just climbed unasked for into her bedroom.
"I, um, I just got back into London and..." Goodness this sounded completely ridiculous. "I went to the Stoutham ball and the Smyth musicale, but you weren't there."
"I was there—at both—but I left early."
"Yes, that's what Debra said."
"She told me you wouldn't return until tomorrow at the earliest."
So she had been keeping track of his return? That thought cheered him enormously. Until he realized that she was still glaring at him. "I came back as soon as I could."
The conversation stopped then. An awkward silence descended, and he had never known how to end those. So he decided to be done with it. He had wanted to see her, had dreamed about it almost non-stop while he was away. And now that he was here, he would not allow awkwardness to deter him.
With a muffled curse, he crossed the room to her. He didn't dare kiss her as he wanted, but he stepped to within an inch of her.
"A good man would have waited until tomorrow to call. A good man would not have searched through London for you only to stand beneath your window. And a good man would not have climbed in like a burglar. So I am obviously not a good man. But, Gwen, I had to see you again. And when I heard that sound..."
He meant to gesture to the noise down the hallway. He meant to sweep her into his arms if she gave him the least indication that she would forgive him. He meant a lot of things, but she never gave him the chance. She kissed him. She stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. And that was all the blessing he needed to wrap his arms around her and kiss her as he had been dreaming.
Her mouth was hot, her body pliant. She fit against him so beautifully, soft where a woman should be and solid where he needed her to be. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer even as he lifted her up more firmly into his embrace.
Their mouths were mashed together, their tongues dueling with a frenzy that sent his head reeling. He took a staggering step forward, bracing them against a wall. And when she did not lessen her assault he released her to make more free with his hands. Pressed as she was against the wall, he was able to touch her face as he wanted while her pelvis cradled him in a way that had him thinking of the bed not a foot away.
But they needed breath, and so he broke the kiss, shifting to press his lips against her cheek. His madness only receded when he tasted salt on her skin. Tears, he realized, though the knowledge came slowly to his fevered brain.
He slowed, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to find some quiet space for thought. It was hard, especially as her hands came up to draw him back to her mouth.
; He couldn't deny her, and so within a moment their mouths were pressed tightly together again, their bodies nearly one. But he couldn't forget the salt he'd tasted. She'd been crying. So he broke the kiss, holding her back while they both gasped for air.
"Gwen," he said, fighting for control. "Gwen, we have to stop or I will end up taking you here against the wall."
He felt her body still against him though her eyes were on his chin. He tried to remain frozen as well. He needed to cool their ardor, not inflame it. But some instincts would not be denied. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and, without him even willing it, his pelvis ground against her. He pushed his organ hard and high against her. Even through the barrier of their clothing, he felt the wonder of a perfect fit. She gasped in delight, one leg raising to grip him tighter. Sweet heaven he was going to explode.
"Yes," she whispered.
He didn't even understand her word, half heard through the roaring in his ears. But then she repeated it, lifting her gaze to meet his own. "Yes, Edward. Teach me everything."
He stared at her, his mind gone silent. He knew she didn't mean it. She was a gently bred woman, the daughter of an earl. She would not ask a man to take her against a wall. And yet the way she looked at him, her eyes dark and hungry and her lips swollen from his kisses, made him believe in the madness. She wanted him to take her. And if he had any doubt, the way she began to unbutton his shirt told him that she was in earnest.
He grabbed her hands, stilling them, though God help him, he couldn't pull his body off of hers. "Gwen," he said, his voice a low rasp. "Gwen, you don't mean it."
"I do," she said, her voice breathless. "I want to become a fallen woman."
"What? Gwen!"
"No, listen! I will be disgraced. No more balls and parties, no more afternoon callers. I will have to leave the house and find rooms of my own. Robert will give me my dowry, so I won't starve. Don't you see? It's perfect!"
She renewed her efforts at his shirt. Even though he held her hands, she was able to get most of it unbuttoned. She was tugging at his cravat before he could force himself to speak.
"Gwen, stop! What are you thinking?" She wasn't of course. Neither was he, but he had to be strong here.
She abandoned his cravat to stroke his face. Her expression was pleading as she spoke in a clear, certain tone.
"I'm saying I want you to deflower me. Take my virginity, Edward. Ruin me, please!"
He closed his eyes. Never had he imagined such a conversation, but somehow with Gwen he wasn't surprised. The wildness in her was boiling over tonight.
"Then we would have to marry, Gwen. Is that what you want? Will you marry me?"
She released a nervous laugh, the pitch high and too manic. "Didn't you hear me? I'm trying to get ruined!"
"I heard," he said, the pain in his heart doing a great deal to cool his hunger. And that gave him enough strength to slowly peel himself off of her. But he kept her trapped against the wall, their bodies a bare inch apart. "What has happened?"
She tried to draw him back. She tried to reach for him, but he remained firm and in the end she closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the wall. The leg that she had raised to pull him tight fell to the floor with a dull thud.
"Gwen, please," he rasped. "What has happened?"
"What always happens," she answered. "Can't you hear it?"
She meant the sobbing in the other room. It was quieter now, and he felt a stab of guilt that he hadn't cared about it. Not after he'd realized it wasn't Gwen. He'd meant to ask, but she had distracted him. "Is that your mother?"
She nodded. "She managed a bit longer this time. Last year she broke barely two weeks into the Season. Robert believes it is the stress of all the people visiting that sets her off. But really," she said, her voice turning angry, "what stress is there? She sits in a chair and makes polite conversation. It is hardly taxing. She only attended one ball this year. And yet the fit has come."
She gestured with an impatient wave to the other room. To him the sound was heartbreaking. No longer wails of madness, the sound was just sad. And lost. So very lost.
"She does this every Season?"
"And every holiday. We have not attended Easter services as a family in a decade."
He sorted through the information, trying to understand what could be done to help. "What does your father say?"
"That it is a good thing she already gave him an heir and a spare because he cannot stand the thought of mounting her again."
Edward winced. The relationship between his own parents had never been smooth, but they had never been cruel to one another. "And your brothers?"
Gwen shrugged. "Robert sighs and does his part, but he does not understand it any more than I do. And since there is so much work to be done with the Earldom, he is gone half the time. And Jack went from school straight to the Continent."
"So you manage the house. And your mother."
"Since I was ten."
He sighed and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "So young."
She pressed her cheek fully into his palm. "She was not always like this. Robert remembers a time when we went outdoors on walks. I can remember when Mama arranged flowers about the house and helped Cook make us treats. But that was never here. Never in London."
"So she does better in the country?"
"We thought so for a time. But she has the fits there too, just as often and just as bad as when we are here. And since I am of age, almost on the shelf, really, for the daughter of an Earl, we have to come for the Season. It would look very strange if we did not."
"You are not that old!"
She smiled at him, but the expression did not reach her eyes. "I am. And besides, I like it better here in London. If it makes no difference in her madness, then why not be here where we are expected to be?"
He nodded, understanding her logic. But what of her mother's illness? "Is there no medicine for her?"
Gwen released a snort of disgust which carried into her body. She pushed him away and stomped across the room. "There is always medicine for the wife of an Earl. Laudanum is the least of it. Possets, teas, bitter roots, and sweet cookies. We have tried them all. Robert has made a study of it, but none of it makes a difference. Neither does begging, tears, screaming, or even quiet silence." She dropped onto her bed in disgust. "Believe me, we have tried everything."
He shuddered at the bleak note in her voice. Now that the light fell fully on her face, he could see the despair written so clearly in the slump of her shoulders and the shadows beneath her eyes. "Gwen, this must be so hard for you." No wonder she wanted to escape.
Gwen said nothing, and after a moment he realized she was listening. The house was quiet, the sounds of weeping gone. Gwen pushed wearily to her feet.
"She has fallen asleep. Come. You can help me with the bindings."
She made for the door, but he touched her arm. "I cannot wander about your house, Gwen. Not in the middle of the night."
"Of course you can. The servants have all gone home. We don't keep any in the house anymore, not for years because of both my parents. Father was always accosting the maids, and for a while, the footmen upset mama. So we send them all away at night. Only Graves our butler stays, and he will remain in his room unless I call for him. He doesn't think it seemly for him to see the lady of the house like this."
"So you manage all by yourself?"
"It is the best way. Robert takes his turn, but he had the early shift while I pretended to feel ill at the Stoutham Ball. That will give us the excuse to deny callers for a few days. By that time, Mama will no longer be mad, only bedridden. Then it is only a week or so more before the Season is done."
"You have it all worked out." If he were not here right now, he might never have known the extent of the problem.
She pulled open the door. "We have had years to establish a system."
He could see it was true, but he also saw the weariness in her eyes and the desperation. It was terrible
to have to live like this, constantly covering for her mother's madness. Then before he could think of anything to say, she grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him toward the door.
"Come and help me with her restraints."
"But she will see me!"
"She is asleep. The laudanum has seen to that. And even if she does wake, she won't care. She doesn't care what I do on her best days. You will mean nothing to her now."
Edward had no answer to that except to reach out and wrap her in his arms. He meant the embrace for comfort and she took it in kind. Her arms went around him, and she clung there, her body slowly losing its stiffness as they just stood there holding tight.
This time she was the one to pull away. He let her go, and a moment later they walked down the hallway and into her mother's room.
There was a lamp burning on the table nearest the door, well away from the bed. And a low fire going in the grate. More than enough light to see the frail woman with her wrists bound to an iron railing on the bed. Her ankles were tied as well, each tethered to the baseboard.
Lady Willington herself was hard to see. Her graying hair was matted against her dirty face and what there was of her night rail was twisted about her. She wore loose men's pants beneath her gown likely for warmth as well as modesty. There were no covers on the bed. Just the woman, stretched out unconscious and bound to the bed.
He crossed to her near wrist and the thick leather restraint. He meant to undo the buckle completely, but Gwen stopped him.
"You cannot. She will hurt herself if she wakes."
"What?"
She brushed aside the night rail at her mother's neck, exposing long grooves where the woman had clawed at her own flesh. "When the fit comes upon her, she tries to kill herself. I think the madness builds up until she cannot take it anymore and she tries to harm herself. We don't allow knives or anything sharp near her ever."
"My God," he whispered.
She looked up at him. "It passes. That is what Robert and I remind each other each time. It passes. I think the worst of it is done now." As she spoke, she released the restraints around her mother's ankles. The woman's legs flopped to the mattress without any signs of awareness.