How had her smuggler learned to move like this? What kind of life did he lead? She was desperate to ask but didn't want to break the spell that seemed cast between them as the steps became familiar and she moved naturally, without his instruction. He beamed at her, apparently delighted at her accomplishment and she basked in his approval, so happy to have pleased him after the tension of the past few days. But all too soon it was over and he seemed to remember himself and the rather more distant and formal air he now adopted seemed to settle over him like a cloak, casting her outside in the cold again and taking the warmth of his smile from her.
"You must be hungry," he observed, holding out his arm to her. "We should be getting back."
She nodded and allowed him to place her hand on his arm and followed him out. He paused in the doorway to allow her a last fond look around and she looked up at him, hoping he could see the gratitude in her eyes. "Mille mercis, Alex, for bringing me 'ere, I will never forget it."
"You will be back again, ma mie, soon enough," he said.
She smiled and nodded, not because she believed it, it seemed far too unlikely, but because she wanted to please him, because he wanted it for her. She didn't care so much for the house. Yes, it was extravagant and beautiful and she loved it, but it had been built and used by a wealthy family and she had nothing, and she likely never would.
No matter Alex's thoughts on the matter, the idea of finding a life for herself and a man who would love her and make her feel in some small way of value for something other than her face. It was far beyond anything she would believe real life could deliver to her. And yet when Alex looked at her, when he spoke with her and asked her opinion she felt she really existed, that what she said had a value, that she mattered for something more than lust or fleeting passion. Alex made her see the world differently and believe perhaps that there was something better for her, but even he could not make her trust in fate or fortune, for he would deny her everything she truly desired. For she knew now, with no doubt in her mind, that she loved him, and that she always would.
They stepped back outside and it was almost warm in the sunshine after the chill of the old stone building.
"I sent a message to my brother this morning, instructing him to send a carriage and money. Hopefully it should be with us in a week if there are no mishaps," he said, smiling down at her. "So we can come back here again, if you would like?"
She paused, unsure of what to say. In truth, although she was so glad to have seen it, the old house made her melancholy. But if it meant time spent alone with Alex, perhaps dancing with him again ... "I would like that, very much."
He nodded and they were silent for a while as they retraced their steps to the inn.
"I thought, while we were here, that perhaps I would make some discreet enquiries, see if perhaps any of your family still live?"
She gasped and shook her head in horror. "Non!" she said, as fear slithered down her spine. "Non, please, you must not!"
He frowned at her sudden outburst. "But why, Céleste? Don't you want to know your family?"
She shook her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "And why would they want to know some girl who was born in the filth and lived there all 'er life? Non, Alex, they will sneer at me, and ... I ... non," she said again, feeling quite terrified by the judgement of people who might share the same bloodline, but had no understanding of what her life had been.
"Céleste," he said, looking truly shocked and taking her hands. "I don't mean to present you to them this week. It will only happen if you want it to, when you are ready. But let me assure you I would never, never let anyone belittle you or make you unhappy. They will have no knowledge of your background save what we decide to tell them, and I assure you I will deal severely with any that make you feel in any way unwelcome. And believe me, they will certainly never sneer at you."
There was such force in his voice, such surety, that she couldn't doubt him, though how a man who was a smuggler could possibly deal with the nobility was beyond her. But he believed it and she believed him, and so she sighed and nodded. "As you wish then, Alex. I trust you."
***
The week passed all too quickly for Céleste. She had the feeling that things would change when they got to Alex's brother's house. And so she savoured every moment of her time with Alex. They went to the house every day and Alex insisted she make plans for how the place would look when she had renovated it. Which was beyond foolish of course.
Even if he managed to reclaim her title and property, the money would be long gone, she had no doubt. But it seemed to please him to hear how she would have the place if she had her way, and so she indulged him. She remembered all the details that her mother had told her and created some more, as though she was inventing a fantasy world. Indeed the more she invented and he listened - apparently with all seriousness - to her plans she could almost believe she would be able to step into the rooms just as she had described them to him.
She knew too that he had begun to ask around, enquiring what had happened to the family, where had they gone, were any still alive ... He never told her the results of his investigations, assuming, quite rightly, that the knowledge would make her anxious. And so she let him do as he might, but had no expectation that anything would come of it. Theirs had not been an extensive family, that much she knew. Maman was an only child and Papa had two brothers, but one had certainly died on the Guillotine and the other papa had believed dead.
At night they would eat together and talk of many things. Alex, she discovered was well read and she listened with fascination both to stories he had enjoyed and to tales of his own life and places he had seen. He had joined the English navy at a very young age and had seen much of the world, until he had been injured at the battle of Trafalgar, a severe blow to the head that had left him unconscious for many days. Then he had been sent home to recover. And home was in Cornwall, a wild and beautiful place as he described it, and somewhere she longed to see. Not only because it was a place he so clearly loved but because his description of the rugged coastline and the pretty villages that sat huddled in the shelter of the cliffs fired her imagination.
He told her of the men he worked with and their adventures on the sea, forever evading the Revenue and bringing silk and lace, tea and brandy and tobacco into the country, and supplying people far and wide with luxuries they would never have afforded without the free trading gentlemen. She realised as he talked that he didn't speak of a small venture but something large and well organised with many people involved and vast quantities of trade. It explained the quality of his clothes and his manner of speaking and dealing with those around him, as though he expected immediate obedience and would accept nothing less. She had noted that even though he looked a little shabby and down at heel, people would jump to do his bidding simply because he had no doubt that they would.
With every story she pieced together a fuller picture of the man in front of her. A loyal friend with a good heart, but no fool, and ruthless to those who crossed him or he had no patience with. He certainly didn't suffer fools and she suspected he was not a man who was crossed often. There was sometimes a look of steel behind those grey eyes that made her think he could be an enemy most would heartily wish to avoid gaining.
When it was finally time to retire, they would bid each other a good night and slip under the covers, turning their backs on one another; chaste as nuns.
By the end of the week Céleste thought she might run mad with his proximity, when she could never touch him. He was so very close, she could feel the heat of his body across the short distance that separated them. She need only stretch out an arm and she could run her hand across those powerful shoulders and Dieu but she longed to, but she didn't dare. And yet it was a sweet kind of torment, and one she dreaded ending. For he would not allow them to continue in this manner when they reached his brother's house. That was only too clear. She would be given her own room without a doubt and she would never again be allowed to ge
t this close to him.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine for a moment the way it might feel if he turned and took her in his arms. The warmth of his skin sliding over hers, the weight of that strong body on hers. She imagined his skin, hot against her own, the feel of his chest against her naked breasts, the weight of him between her thighs. Her breathing quickened at the idea and she froze, listening out for any sound from the other side of the bed, but all was still. He must be sleeping.
With care not to move too much and disturb him she slipped one hand between her legs and sought to soothe the ache that had begun to throb like a heartbeat. She remembered the feel of him in her hand, the thick weight of his erection and the satin soft skin. What would it feel like if he made love to her? She imagined it, imagined how the hollow ache that clamoured to be filled would be sated by his body, his hands over her skin, his mouth on hers ... It took little time for her to find release, and despite her best efforts to keep silent a slight cry of pleasure escaped her and she gasped, fighting for breath as the tremors racked her. She tried to calm herself quickly, to return her breathing to normal and prayed Alex would not wake. It would be mortifying if he knew what she'd been doing. But the bed was still and she relaxed once more. At least she could sleep now, but like a starving man given bread to eat while a lavish banquet was right under his nose, it had taken away the pain of emptiness for the moment, but the longing for more still remained.
***
He had heard the moment her breathing changed. Unable to sleep himself he knew she was awake but had tried to keep his breathing deep and even, so she believed he slept. But now he cursed himself for that, for if she'd thought him awake she would not have devised such a delicious form of torture for him. The soft sounds she made as she pleasured herself were unendurable, all the more so for knowing she thought of him. It was his body she craved, his touch. He wondered if it was possible to die from desire, if perhaps his heart would give out under the strain of denial? It would be a kindness, he thought in desperation. Anything to escape this delicious torture.
He need only turn and take her in his arms and he could release himself from this exquisite hell and show her exactly what it was she needed, what it was she was dreaming of. He had never been so hard in all his life, his balls pulled taut and aching with the need for release. And when she came, that soft, muffled cry, the tremors that rocked the mattress ... how he hadn't come himself he would never know. And now he heard her breathing deepen as she finally fell asleep, and the unfulfilled pain of desire in his body was only matched by the ache in his heart.
Chapter 11
"Wherein a heroic smuggler may lose a little of his shine."
It was with trepidation that Céleste saw the glossy black carriage draw up outside the inn. Alex jumped to his feet in an instant, dashing outside to greet the driver and get news, for apparently this was his brother's carriage. She looked over four perfectly matched chestnut horses, tack jingling as their heads tossed with an imperious air, as though they knew their own worth and the fact that they were far superior to the shabbiness of their current surroundings. In fact combined with the quality of both the carriage, and the pristine livery of the postilion and the driver, it was clear that Alex's brother must be incredibly wealthy.
Céleste tried to keep her hands clasped in her lap but the fingers twisted together try as she might to keep them still. What would a man like that think of Alex turning up with some waif in tow and improbable stories of an impoverished countess? Would he demand Alex turn her out? Would Alex consider such a thing? Of course not, she scolded herself. Alex would never go back on his word to her, she knew that, she trusted him; but she feared being the cause of any animosity between him and his brother. She had caused him enough trouble already.
Alex strode back into the inn and smiled at her.
"Well then, our bill is paid in full and I finally have some finances to provide for us," he said, with obvious relief. She nodded, trying to smile, but aware that their nights together had ended sooner than she had considered. Of course he had his brother's money to fund them now. He would obviously pay for another room. She had been stupid not to consider that. She allowed him to hand her into the carriage and settled herself in place. Glancing back at the inn she felt a wave of sorrow. Things would change now and perhaps in some ways for the better. Alex need not worry about the money stretching far enough, and she was sure that his brother's house would be comfortable and more luxurious than anything she had ever known, and yet she would gladly turn her back on all of that if she could keep Alex close to her. But their intimacy would be frowned upon in front of his family and she would do nothing to embarrass him. So from now on she would have to be careful how she acted unless they were alone together, for fear of betraying him in some way.
The remaining journey to his brother's home passed with increasing tension. As she had expected the change in circumstances, the separate rooms, it all served to bring a formality between them, a distance that seemed to grow the closer they came to their destination. For her part Céleste bore it as best she could. She tried to take pleasure in her surroundings but the increase in quality of the accommodations made her feel ever more out of place and more than once she heard the staff at the coaching inns whispering about them.
Her tatty bonnet, old clothes and boots that had almost worn through seemed shabbier than ever with each stop, as smart ladies and gentlemen cast considering glances her way and talked behind their hands. She told herself she didn't care. Let them think what they liked. But it hurt to consider that perhaps Alex was beginning to feel ashamed of her. Not that he ever betrayed it, he was far too much the gentleman to do that, and in fact he demanded respect for her. Though she wished he wouldn't as it only made her feel worse, as though she was trying to put on airs she had no right to own.
And now they would soon be at Longueville, which was apparently the name of his brother's home. Alex had been pointing out places to her as they had begun to travel through a landscape he seemed to know well, and she was surprised to discover he had spent a lot of time here as a boy. But despite his enthusiasm, and his obvious desire for her to be pleased, she felt her heart sink further and depression settle over her like a cold shroud. For she was sure now that his brother would not want Alex to keep Céleste around; it would inevitably cause talk and scandal. Not that Céleste cared a button what people said of her, but for families like this it would matter. They wouldn't stand the whispers and murmured slights like those she had caused on the journey here. And so she would be sent away, somewhere she could not cause any embarrassment, and she would likely never see Alex again.
***
Alex watched Céleste pull ever farther away from him and wondered what on earth he was supposed to do. She was clearly terrified at the thought of meeting his brother and had posed several pointed questions as to the fact of how wealthy his family was. That he had yet to tell her that he was by far wealthier than his brother gnawed at his conscience, not to mention that she had no idea he was an earl. Whenever he tried to tell her who he really was, he remembered her scathing words about the Baron de Merde and her general assessment of the nobility as a whole. He didn't want her to consider him in the same light, to believe that he thought and behaved as they did, no matter if perhaps there was truth in it.
He'd tried hard to convince himself that it would be better for all concerned if she did think of him like that. If she felt distance from him so much the better, it would make their parting much easier all round, for part they must. He should tell her who he was, settle enough money on her to make sure she was well provided for and send her off to live with some far off branch of his family. She would be angry at him for lying to her, disappointed that he was not the man she had come to believe he was, because for some strange reason she found the idea of him as a smuggler desperately romantic.
It was the right thing to do, to pull the shades from her eyes and make her see the truth, and yet ... and yet
... He couldn't do it. Despite the fact that she would know in any case within moments of setting foot at Longueville, despite the fact that it was for the best, despite all of his promises and good intentions, he couldn't bear the idea of losing the adoration that shone in her eyes when she looked at him. It was selfish and cruel and cowardly, but there it was, and he didn't know what to do.
The letter he had sent his brother had been brief and only alluded vaguely to the truth of what had happened. He couldn't risk setting everything out in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. So Lawrence only knew that Alex had suffered some difficulty on his travels and had been taken unwell. In any case Lawrence would well know what kind of difficulties had likely beset him, being well acquainted with the Revenue himself. He had also written of stumbling upon a young lady of good character in unfortunate circumstances, and for some reason he had been unable to convincingly write an explanation as to why he had taken it into his head to become the girl's guardian. But it was the right thing to do, which he felt certain was going to become his mantra in the near future. He could only imagine what kind of ideas where flitting through his brother's mind and could only hope the fool didn't dare voice them, for he would likely strike him.
Inevitably the carriage drew up outside Longueville and he saw Céleste's eyes grow round with surprise. For where the Château that had belonged to her family was a beautiful ruin, Longueville was fine and polished and spoke of wealth and ease. From the shock in her eyes he could only be thankful that he was breaking her in gently, for if he had taken her straight to his own home at Tregothnan, she would have been shocked indeed.
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