by The Bargain
With a small cry, she threw her arms about his neck even before his mouth found hers. Then she was returning his hungry kiss as fiercely as he gave it, and the room, the ball, the night itself disappeared as they melded into a single being.
Again and again his mouth slashed across hers. It was as if he couldn't get enough of her, as if he were starving for her, and she, for him. And when they finally needed to break for air, he buried his face in her hair, pulling her even closer, if that were possible, pulling her up, off the floor, from the tiptoes she'd been standing on, and murmuring her name into her ear, her brow, her hair.
"Ashleigh, Ashleigh, oh, God, how I've missed you!"
She gave a breathless little laugh that was half a sob and began to plant little kisses wherever she found her lips touching his face. "Oh, Brett!" she cried, and then laughed again, a bright, musical sound. "Oh, I missed you, too!"
At last he found her lips again, and giving them a quick, light kiss, managed to pull himself away slightly to look at her.
"My God," he whispered, shaking his head in wonder, "is it possible that you've grown even more beautiful?" He eyed the delicate contours of her face and then her figure, evident beneath the gossamer folds of her gown, and noted that childbirth had changed her, and for the better. There was an increased roundness to her lithe curves, a fullness of a kind that hadn't been there before. Her breasts had a lush ripeness to them that he hadn't noticed aboard ship, even though he'd been present when she'd nursed their daughter. But here he wasn't viewing her so much as the mother of his child, as the woman he loved.
"Do... do I please you, Brett?" she whispered worriedly. She was aware, if only from alterations Madame Gautier had had to make in her measurements, that her figure had altered since childbirth, and she was suddenly afraid he would find her less attractive.
"Please me?" he breathed. "Just let me take you home, and I'll show you how much you please me!"
There was no mistaking his grin and the desire that flashed in his eyes as he said this, and Ashleigh found herself blushing furiously.
He laughed softly, then drew her to him in a warm hug. "But the truth is, sweetheart, I fear we'll have to wait a while before I can do that. There are people here tonight whom courtesy demands I at least speak to. Ranleagh, for one, and Lord Castlereagh. They were two of several who worked tirelessly to have me and Patrick released, and I must thank them."
"Patrick!" she exclaimed. "Where—"
"Gone home to his apartments—after stopping at King Street for Megan, of course." He grinned. Then he cast a roguish eye over her hair, mussed somewhat from their embraces. "You look delectable, Your Grace, and if you don't want me to disgrace us both, right here at Almack's, you'd best hasten to the ladies' withdrawing room and repair your coiffure while I make my obligatory rounds."
"Oh," she murmured, her hand going to a tendril that had worked its way loose from the pile of Grecian-style curls on her head. "Oh, yes, of course." The blush was back.
"Meet me in the cloakroom when you're finished," he said huskily as his eyes continued to roam over her. "I'll tell Mother to make your farewells for you." He reached out to lightly touch the dimple in her cheek, then turned back toward the Great Room.
Ashleigh was pleased to learn she could gain entry to the room reserved for ladies who wished to withdraw, without going back into the ballroom. She was tingling in a dozen places from their encounter, as well as from the anticipation she'd read in his eyes, and the last thing she wanted was to be seen publicly in such a state—especially since everyone out there had seen them disappear together and would realize at once what was afoot.
The alcove led to another chamber where footmen directed her to her destination. The room she entered was beautifully decorated in shades of powder blue and ivory. Several Sheraton mirrors were on the walls, and in one corner there was a washstand with basin and pitcher, as well as soap and a pile of fine linen hand towels. In the opposite corner stood a large folding screen, and a blue velvet upholstered settee faced a pair of matching chairs near one wall. No one was about.
Ashleigh was in the process of tucking the errant curl in place before one of the mirrors when she heard the door open. She looked up to see Elizabeth Hastings's snidely smiling face in the mirror.
"Well, well, well," sneered Elizabeth, "if it isn't Her Grace, hiding away in here after making a complete fool of herself!"
Ashleigh whirled to face her old tormentor. "Lady Elizabeth, I don't think—"
"You really shouldn't allow yourself to be so completely obvious where your husband is concerned, my dear," Elizabeth continued. "It will only make him more sure of himself with you, you know."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Ashleigh asked slowly.
"Why, only what I've already warned you about in the past, little Ashleigh. A woman who falls all over Brett, as you obviously just did, can only expect to bore him and drive him into, ah, other waiting arms."
Ashleigh's winged brows drew together in a frown. "I have no intention of listening to any more of your viperish lies, Elizabeth. Now, if you will excuse me..." She turned to leave.
"Lies, are they?" spat Elizabeth from behind her. "Well, my fine duchess, I just dare you to go out there right now and see for yourself! Go ahead, take a look at your randy duke. At this moment he stands in a corner making an assignation with his old mistress. And Pamela! Why, she fairly drooled when she saw him approaching!"
Ashleigh hesitated, old fears trickling to the surface as she digested Elizabeth's words. Then she took a deep breath and walked resolutely to the door. She would not believe these lies—she wouldn't!
But as she left, she heard Elizabeth's ugly laughter behind her. "I told you he'd never be faithful. His kind never is!"
Ashleigh approached the door to the Great Room with cautious steps. She realized she shouldn't even be walking in this direction, for the way to the cloakroom circumvented the ballroom; the footman had told her so.
But, much as she wanted to disbelieve Elizabeth's hurtful remarks, something wouldn't allow her to pass without checking the ballroom for herself—if only to prove Elizabeth had lied.
She entered the ballroom and stood just inside the door. A waltz was in progress, but a quick check told her Brett wasn't on the dance floor. Then, suddenly, she saw him, for his height made him stand out easily among the crowd.
And he was with Lady Pamela! In an intimate stance, his head was bent toward her, and Ashleigh saw him laugh at something the honey blonde whispered behind her fan.
All at once Ashleigh felt nausea well up inside, and she bit her lip to keep from crying aloud as a sharp pain tore through her.
Blindly, for tears were blurring her sight, she groped for the door frame to steady herself. Then she turned and stumbled from the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It took her several minutes to find the cloakroom. A footman handed her her wrap and she threw it about her with trembling hands.
Then, as she was wondering how she could gracefully summon the brougham without conferring with Mary, she stopped.
What are you doing? she asked herself. Is this the way a woman in love behaves when confronted with slander against her man? For, as she stood there assessing the situation, she became more and more convinced that Elizabeth's words were probably just that—a vicious slander!
Hadn't Brett just made her see how that woman had operated in exactly the same manner before? What if he was talking to Lady Pamela? It proved nothing. They were old acquaintances, after all, and it was only Elizabeth's words that insinuated it was something more.
Well, the callow girl she'd once been may have been taken in by such deception, but not she! She was now a woman grown, mature, and far more sure of herself... and of her love for her man. She was Brett's wife, the mother of his child, and he had missed her. He'd told her so in no uncertain terms. What's more, he desired her! Of that she was fairly certain.
"Ah, there you are, sweet!" Brett came up behind her an
d planted a kiss on her ear. "I'm sorry if you had to wait," he added as he ushered her toward the door. "I got caught up in a conversation with Pamela Marlowe. She's a changed woman, and you'll never guess why."
Ashleigh glanced up at him, hardly daring to breathe. "Why?" she whispered.
"She and Ranleagh are engaged to be wed! She's in love with the rogue!"
Suddenly he stopped, his face a mask of concern as his hand went to her cheek. "Ashleigh, have you been crying? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, Brett." She smiled as she felt her heart start beating again. "Nothing in this whole wide world!"
A while later, as Brett drove them home in his phaeton, Ashleigh refrained from saying a word, even if he did seem to urge his blooded bay a bit too fast. And if he seemed uncharacteristically hasty as he threw the reins at the stable boy at home, it caused her no concern. Her own pulse was racing so, she couldn't speak.
Brett, too, was silent as he led her up the stairs toward his chamber. But as they neared it, they heard the awakening cries of their daughter coming from the room across the hall.
"Marileigh!" exclaimed Ashleigh. She glanced at Brett. "I've been keeping her with me down here." She didn't add that she'd been reluctant to sleep in the master bedroom when she returned because it housed too many disconcerting memories she wasn't ready to deal with at the time. "I guess she's hungry." She gave him an apologetic look. "It won't take me long to feed her."
"I'll come with you," he said warmly. "One of the things I dreamed of in my confinement was watching you nurse our daughter. I wouldn't miss this for the world!"
They dismissed Miss Simms, who had just finished changing the infant's nappies, and amid Brett's wondering exclamations over how much she'd grown and what a beauty she already was, Ashleigh settled down in a comfortably upholstered chair to nurse their daughter.
But it was only after she'd seated herself that she realized her ball gown fastened down the back and thus hardly lent itself to the task at hand.
Seeing her awkwardness and then her helpless blush, Brett chuckled and came behind the chair. "Here, let me," he whispered, and began to unfasten her gown.
A minute later the bodice dropped and Ashleigh moved the fussing infant to her breast. Marileigh rooted frantically for a moment, then seized the proffered nipple and settled down at once.
Brett laughed. "It doesn't take her long to get down to business! She's a young lady who seems to know what she wants. A Westmont, if I ever saw one!" Privately he was thinking that there was a male Westmont in the room who knew exactly what he wanted as well. He wanted Ashleigh. And not only in the physical sense, although the sight of her ripe breasts, exposed as she nursed the babe, was enough to set him on fire.
But beyond this, he wanted her in a far more enduring way. This was a woman he would love forever, a woman to bear his children, to laugh and cry with over the years, to grow old with. And as he saw her now, stealing an abashed glance at him from time to time as she nursed their child, he was seized with the terrible need to tell her how much he loved her, to share with her his heart and his soul.
But then he smiled ruefully to himself. He had waited this long; he could wait longer. Because what he wanted was not just for now—it was for a lifetime.
Ashleigh felt his eyes on her as she fed their child and was suddenly caught up in a maelstrom of love and longing so overpowering she could hardly breathe. Oh, she had loved him for so long now! How much longer could she go on loving him this way—in silence—when her soul cried with her need to tell him! If only she could believe he might come to love her too!
But she forced her hopes away from that impossible dream, telling herself it was enough that he had begun to treat her tenderly. Better to accept the bounty fate had already sent her, than to be greedy and ask for more. It would have to do.
She glanced down and saw that Marileigh had fallen asleep. Gently, she removed the infant from her breast, then raised her to her shoulder and began to massage the tiny back.
A soft burst of air from his daughter's mouth caused Brett to chuckle. "Even her belches are delicate and ladylike," he said as he took the still-sleeping babe from Ashleigh and laid her in her cradle. He bent and placed a soft kiss on the tiny head, then straightened and came toward his wife.
"Come, sweetheart," he said quietly and held out his hand.
Ashleigh let him pull her from the chair, then paused awkwardly as her eyes dropped to her bared breasts.
Brett laughed softly, then removed his jacket and draped it over her before leading her across the hall and into the master bedroom.
Someone had lit several candles whose light bathed them in a soft glow as Brett shut the door. He took Ashleigh by the shoulders and gently turned her to face him. "Now," he said, looking solemnly into her eyes, "you're going to tell me why you'd been crying at Almack's."
Startled, she tried to look away, but found she couldn't. The turquoise gaze was far too riveting. "I—I'd had an encounter with Elizabeth Hastings in the room where I went to repair my hair."
Brett's face darkened grimly, but he kept his voice soft. "Go on."
"She—she taunted me with the fact that you were... with Pamela Marlowe. Sh-she—" Ashleigh faltered, the sting of tears assaulting her eyes as her words conjured up the pain she'd felt. Feeling foolish that even the memory could reduce her to tears, she wiped at them impatiently with her hand and continued. "She said you were making an assignation with Pam—"
"Bloody hell!" Brett exclaimed. "That poisonous bitch! I'll—"
"Oh, but, Brett! You cannot think she succeeded! For she did not—not this time," she added in a softer voice. "That's why you found me in the cloakroom, why you didn't find me... gone." Ashleigh began to speak more rapidly now, as if it were important to tell him all that had happened before he misunderstood. Her next words came out in a rush.
"You see, I did spy you in the Great Room with Pamela. And my first impulse was to run from there and never look back. That was when I succumbed to tears. But when I reached the outer room, my... good sense, I suppose you'd call it, took over. I remembered what you'd said about Elizabeth's perniciousness before and—" her voice dwindled down to a low whisper "—I decided to stay and hear what you had to say about it."
Brett released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he was seized with uncontainable joy. She had trusted him! And where there was trust, there was the hope of something more!
"Ashleigh," he said in a shaky voice, "I'm so proud of you!"
"Proud?"
"Yes. Because you came to me after what you'd heard and seen, even though you were hurting. Don't you see? You found the strength to face the evil Elizabeth was spewing, instead of running away. You trusted me, even though you were in pain... enough pain to bring you to tears before you faced me... enough to bring these tears now."
She nodded mutely, the tears streaming down her cheeks. But through the tears she met his eyes and was struck by the notion that he could see what she was feeling... that he could see into her very soul.
"Ashleigh," he murmured as he took his fingers and gently wiped the moisture from her cheeks, "I'm so in love with you, I can't see straight!"
"Wha-what?" she stammered. Disbelief warred with dawning joy as she digested his words. Then she met his eyes and knew it was true.
"I said I love you, Ashleigh." He hadn't meant to blurt it out that way. Somehow, the words had just tumbled out by themselves. But now that he'd told her, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief and only hoped his admission was something she could handle, that it wouldn't send her scurrying from him in confusion or guilt because she couldn't return his feelings. "I realize," he added with a queer, tender smile on his face, "that you have every reason not to care for me in the same way. I know I've given you reasons in the past, not to—"
A sharp, inarticulate cry cut him off as Ashleigh threw herself into his arms. "Oh, Brett!" she cried, her voice somewhere between laughter and tears, "I love you
so much, I could die!" Her arms tightened about him, and she was trembling. "And now that you've told me you—oh, I think I have died! I think I'm in heaven!"
Brett forced her gently from him and held her by the shoulders as he searched her face for the truth. And he saw it, mingled with shadows of the pain and longing she'd tried to deny during those terrible months of separation and which now gave way to the love and joy shining in her eyes.
"My love..." he whispered as he cupped her face with his hands and lowered his head for a kiss that was full of tenderness, and joy and love—the sweet miracle that had touched his soul.
As Ashleigh parted her lips for his kiss, she knew she would never forget this moment, and she drew into her memory, her heart, the essence of it, hugging it to her as a talisman for a lifetime, for the life and love they would share.
Brett released her lips and let his hands trail down until they were resting lightly on her shoulders while his gaze locked with hers.
She saw his eyes darken with passion, and her breathing increased with this awareness. A pulse throbbed at the juncture of her neck and shoulder; Brett felt it under his hand and his own blood pounded in his veins. He held her gaze, then saw her eyes become two deep blue shimmering pools, and he felt he could lose himself in them forever. Closing his eyes, he smelled her soft perfume, along with the musky woman-scent he remembered well, and his head reeled with it.
Ashleigh was unprepared for the sensations that were rapidly assaulting her body. He'd barely touched her, and she was on fire!
"Brett," she breathed. "I... I..."
But he knew what she wanted. His own hunger was thrumming his pulses, and when he read the need in her eyes, he shuddered as a shock of desire rocked him.
Then he was sweeping her up into his arms, the jacket he'd wrapped her in falling to the floor as he carried her to the bed. There he laid her down quickly, and then his hands flew to his cravat, which he tore away with deft fingers.