“But, Alex—”
“Miss Eliot grew 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, Rachel’s face wrinkled with concern. “Of course.” She rose from her chair and, in a rustle of deep purple silk and cream-coloured 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.”
Emily had no choice but to follow. Really she wanted nothing more than to leave this house. To go back to Mrs Hazelwood’s and forget about how badly she’d behaved tonight. How close she’d come to falling back in with a man who was totally wrong for her. She might have conceived his child tonight. Her stomach turned at the thought. She didn’t want children with this selfish man of limited vision.
* * * *
Warm water vapour-filled air scented with rose and musk as Alex 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 she would 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 favourite colours 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 odour beneath the perfumes. A metallic-coppery scent. The water vapour 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 cold.
She was dead. She had died a slave.
And it was his fault. His failure to get her out of this hell.
* * * *
Emily watched Rachel leave her chamber then ran to the window. She slowly opened it so as to make less noise. She poured the laudanum and wine out. She closed it. She went and spent hours curled up in her rocker until the house went completely quiet.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the carriage and the sweetness of Alex’s kisses. The feel of his cock in her hand. The power of holding him there and making him gasp with pleasure. Had she been too quick to judge Alex? Hope leapt in her breast. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he had a good reason for what he’d done. Maybe it wasn’t even his child but another relative’s get.
The pathetic grasping nature of the last thought made her cringe. She was such a ninny over Alex. She had been from the very start.
But, still, she’d have no peace until she’d heard his explanation. She arose from the chair and padded silently down the darkened corridor to Alex’s chamber. She rapped softly on his door and waited. And waited and waited. Had he gone to sleep so easily, then? Hurt pricked her and she slowly turned the knob. The door wasn’t locked and she opened it.
His candles still burned and his fire had not been banked. She found him dressed in his banyan staring out at the night, at the soft 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.
“Alex,” she said softly, placing her hands on his velvet-clad back. “Won’t you share your pain with me?”
“No.” She could hear how tightly he held his jaw in the terseness of his tone. “You ought to leave and go to bed. I am no fit company for you tonight.”
She nuzzled her cheek to his back. “Why won’t you trust me?”
“Emily, you should go find your own bed.”
“I will but first won’t you explain why you won’t trust me?”
He turned and she was forced to let go. He 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?”
Alex’s mouth, hot and open, touched Emily’s neck, his tongue flicking her and sending gooseflesh down her torso. Her nipples instantly beaded.
“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. Hunger consumed her. 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 she could only grip his arms. The chamber spun by for a few moments as she clung to him. He carried her to 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 and rolled her over on to her stomach. He stretched out beside her and swept her fallen curls off her neck. He caressed her shoulders and back, while his lips came down to lay soft kisses on her nape. Warmth curled through her body, weakening her resolve to do anything but lie there and enjoy his attentions.
“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, the sensation both quelling her thoughts and sending heat into her pelvic regions. He stopped stroking her arse then his hand came down with a smack. The sound echoed. She gasped, frozen in place. Her breathing quickened and the folds between her legs swelled. He laid several more strikes to her buttocks. Then he pulled her nightdress upwards until cool air touched her heated flesh. He stroked her arse again.
She was gushing wetness and she writhed beneath his touch. They’d played at these games before. She knew where it led. Moreover, her body remembered where it led and was responding with tingling anticipation. She couldn’t remember what had been so important. His hand on her arse was important, nothing else mattered.
She wanted him to subdue her, to tame her, to claim her for all time. She wanted 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 lifted his hand and 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? Even when you’ve nothing left for me but the utmost contempt, it’s still so explosive, it’s so irresistible and addictive. But it’s just sex, 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 cunt dire
ctly 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. The coolness of his member 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 his hardness thrust into her gently but firmly.
Chapter Eight
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 fixed 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 pressedfirmly, 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 was the last time. He was telling her goodbye. 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. Pressure in all the places where pressure increased sensation. Mounting, until she was moving with him, frantically seeking release.
He bent over her, bit at her neck lightly, unleashing something primal in her, intense pleasure like she’d never known—but dark pleasure that she was sure would destroy her. It pulled her under and she had a sense of falling a long distance as she crushed her face into the pillow and cried out his name.
He withdrew from her—then came the hot jet of his seed on her buttocks. Of course. There could be no children between them now. The 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, and she was alone with the coldness of her despair. The crash to the very bottom, when it came, was too much. Tears fell from her eyes and sobs racked her body so hard they made her stomach hurt.
He rolled back and drew her into his arms. “Shh, don’t cry, darling, don’t cry.”
He began to rock her. The sharp scent of his male sweat hit her nostrils, clearing her thoughts. She pushed away from him and sat up. Her damp, lank hair fell down on her face and she flipped it away, threw her hands up to cover her face and cried all the harder.
He caressed her back. She bristled all over then jumped to her feet. Her dampened nightgown bunched about her waist. She yanked it down to cover herself.
“Come back to bed, sweeting.”
She turned to him. “That girl is your daughter.”
His gaze was full of tenderness and sadness. But he didn’t avoid her eyes or try to sham her with his charming smile. He nodded, so slowly she almost thought she had imagined it.
“Your daughter!” she whispered stridently.
“Yes, she is.” He spoke as if each word cost him a pint of his life’s blood.
“Are you going to continue to deny her? How can you be so heartless?”
In the waning firelight, she saw him flinch. “I have no choice, Emily. No choice.”
She swiped at her eyes. “What do you mean no choice? Of course you have all the choice. She has none.”
In the wake of her outburst, she went weak. Her jelly-like knees forced her to collapse upon the bed. She sat there and sniffed, a wholly unladylike wet snorkelling sound. She put a hand to her aching stomach and hiccupped loudly. So much for their love dying with dignity. She wiped her face on her sleeve, uncaring.
He touched her shoulders, began caressing them but remained quiet beside her.
She caught her breath enough to speak. “You could bring her into your home and raise her as your own.”
“No, I made necessary decisions years ago that cannot be undone now. I told you there are things I cannot explain.” He touched her arm. “Look at me.”
At his soft command, she turned without thought and faced the most terrible, fierce, soul-penetrating stare she’d ever seen.
“You must keep my secrets. For my daughter’s sake.”
She gasped in dismay as his distrust laid a welt on her heart. How could he even bring himself to think she would tell his secrets? It took a few moments’ wait before she could speak. “You needn’t have asked. Of course I would never hurt you—or her like that.”
He stared into her eyes for a few more moments then his expression relaxed.
“Alex, you cannot do this to us. You cannot simply shut me out. We have to talk.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You hold me in contempt. Tonight more than ever. I cannot accept a wife who holds me in contempt.”
Her aching, empty stomach churned acid into her throat. This evening was fast moving from disaster to catastrophe. “Contempt? That’s a very strong word.”
“What would you call it?”
“I would say I do not understand you.”
“This is the strongest confirmation that we are not truly suited. I shouldn’t have to always be explaining myself. If you loved me, you would trust me.”
“And you wouldn’t keep such dark mysteries from me, if…if you loved me.” She sniffled again, the salty taste of tears nauseating her. “I feel I don’t even know you—except for knowing that you are capable of turning your back on the reality of life. You want to escape into some sheltered world of happiness that your wealth can purchase and ignore the suffering in the world. That I cannot respect. But I would not call that contempt.”
“I would.” He moved away from her and left the bed.
“I just want to understand. Yes, you say those people are all she knows. They are her parents now. But how could you leave her in their care?”
He whirled to face her, his eyes blazing. “What do you want to hear? You want to hear me say that I was out of my head then? That I left her there, dropped her off like a sack of unwanted kittens, and went to Paris and fucked every whore who would oblige me—that I drank and gambled myself into forgetfulness!”
His vehemence stunned her, as if she’d been struck. “No, no—I’ll never believe that.”
“I wanted to die. I longed to die. I would do reckless things—get myself into dares and duels—and I did not care what became of me.”
She let go a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “But what—what could be so bad that you would be that way?”
He smiled—a snarling sneer that twisted his handsome features into something ugly. “What’s the matter? You don’t yet have enough fodder to base your contempt upon?”
“Alex, please…”
“What shall I tell you? That I came home and lived fairly much the same way? That my coldness, my lack of attention caused my mistress to throw herself off the roof of my ma
nsion on the Schuylkill?”
He turned away from her.
A raw aching settled into her throat. She placed her hand to her collarbone, watched him pull on his dressing gown and go to pour himself a brandy. He walked to the window then stood drinking and staring out at the night.
He hurt and so she hurt. But he didn’t want her comfort. He’d never been completely open with her. Never wished to be.
Now it was as if he’d forgotten all about her.
She could hide from the truth no longer. Their love was dying. Dead. This was the end.
* * * *
“Is it really over then?”
At Peter’s question, Emily nodded, her eyes remaining transfixed by the swaying oak branches out of the window of the schoolroom in Mrs Hazelwood’s house.
Two days had passed since that awful night at Alex’s house.
“You couldn’t try harder to understand him?”
“Oh, I understand him too well already and as for Alex… He wants things the way they are too. He says he cannot live with a wife who holds him in contempt.”
“Contempt? Do you really hold him in contempt?”
She shrugged. “Certain aspects of his life, yes, I suppose I do.”
Peter knelt beside the window seat. He let his breath out slowly. Then he took her hand. “I saw her too—and, Emily, he must have a good reason. You know he would have. He’s not a heartless wretch.”
Then why hadn’t he shared his reasons with her? His true reasons. Why hadn’t he trusted her? “I don’t wish to speak of it. It’s more than just that.”
“Of course…but you’re certain things are over with him?”
“Oh, yes.” She took a deep breath. “Forever.”
“Peter! Peter!”
The piping cry made Emily raise her head. Elizabeth McConnell, the child of Mrs Hazelwood’s deceased housemaid, came running straight for them. At the sight of the angelic-faced child all discomforting thoughts vanished. A smile forced itself across Emily’s face.
Peter turned and held out his arms and the child launched herself at him, her pale silver-gilt curls bouncing. It was an unspoken yet open secret that Peter was this child’s real father. Her mother’s husband had disowned her but, thankfully, Mrs Hazelwood had offered the little girl a place in her home. How did men spread their seed so carelessly? It made no sense to Emily for, from the look on Peter’s face, it was clear that he adored the impish little chit. Since she had no claim on him, Emily had no right to pry into his private life by asking how he could continue to allow this precious child to be raised as a waif in Mrs Hazelwood’s servant chambers in the attic.
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