"Are you quite well, Alex?"
His eyes snapped open and he was forced to confront the source of his discomfort, those impossibly blue eyes staring at him with such concern. He almost laughed. What a damned fool he was.
"Quite well, thank you," he replied, somehow finding his voice unintentionally cold and sharp as frustration made him irritable. He saw the hurt in her eyes and felt an answering pain bloom in his chest. Why? Why by all that was holy had he kept his emotions successfully guarded all these years, his heart locked away in a cold dark place, only to lose it now? It wasn't like he hadn't been pursued before. There had been many beautiful women willing to brave his reputation in the hopes of redeeming him and snaring themselves a wealthy earl. And there had been many married women and young widows only too eager to welcome him into their beds. He had believed himself immune, invulnerable and more than glad to be that way. Love was all well and good for poets and romantic young bucks, not for him. If you loved people, if you cared what happened to them, they had a nasty way of dying and leaving you alone and in pain. He had discovered the truth of that when he'd believed Lawrence had died on that beach and had ruthlessly shut away any possibility of it happening again. If he could feel such pain for his brother, what could a woman do to him?
And then Céleste had saved him in Roscoff, she had caught him in a vulnerable moment and slipped beneath his defences before he had realised the danger he was in. And she had swiftly reminded him of the perils of such tender emotions when Pelletier had taken her from him. Remembered terror swept through him, cold fear prickling over his skin as the thought of her trapped in that house all alone made his fists clench.
No. He would not allow it. He would rid himself of these debilitating emotions. He would hide her away with the aunts until they deemed her ready to make her way in society. Then he would get her married with as much expediency as was allowable to a decent young man who would keep her safe and occupied with a good home and plenty of little brats to hold her attention.
But of course then he was forced to imagine the way in which those brats would be created by that decent young man. Images of Céleste spread open to some nameless husband rolled through his mind, torturous pictures of a male figure with his hands and lips and body covering hers and making her cry with pleasure. Rage and jealousy exploded in his heart, so fierce that he drew in a sharp breath, making Céleste regard him with curiosity, though this time she said nothing.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten, waiting for the ridiculous desire to kill a man that didn't even exist to dissipate. But the feeling burned like acid in his veins, and he knew that there weren't numbers enough in the universe to reach and find his jealousy diminished. With a numb kind of misery he accepted the fact that when she eventually married he would never be able to see her again. For no matter how decent and acceptable the match, Alex would be driven to kill any man who touched her.
***
Céleste glanced up at Alex's massive frame as he guided her onto his ship. Her nerves skittered, making her breathing shallow and her heart thud. She'd never been on a ship before which was terrifying enough in its own way, but something about the man beside her made her uneasy in ways she couldn't name.
Infuriated by his bad temper and the stony silence that continued for the rest of the journey, she had determined to ignore him as he was ignoring her. And so she had stared out of the window and done just that, only to feel his eyes on her like a brand for the rest of the interminable carriage ride.
He showed her to his cabin, explained with as few words possible that he would give it over to her for the voyage and that her abigail would attend her shortly before bowing with stiff formality and leaving her alone.
Céleste stared at the cabin door with growing fury. If he'd left any faster it would have been at a run. Was he truly in such a hurry to be rid of her? She bit back the misery that accompanied that idea and reminded herself of Henri's words. Against his current demeanour they seemed to mock her, the very idea of Alex having any warm feelings towards her seemed increasingly unlikely as his behaviour became ever colder.
But then her stomach was hit by a wave of nausea as the floor pitched under her feet and she sucked in a breath and went to lie on the bed.
To her misery and shame, this was where she remained for the rest of the voyage as sea sickness claimed her and held her captive for the duration.
***
Alex drummed his fingers on the rail as he waited for Céleste to emerge. He knew he had worn the poor maid ragged with constant demands as to her welfare. The stupid creature would simply shrug and say the comtesse was sick and in bed and nothing more. Though what else he expected her to say he didn't know. He did know that he had missed her company far too much. That these last days with her, days that he had promised himself he would savour, had been stolen from him.
He took a breath, telling himself he was a damned fool for the thousandth time, for all the good it did, and then found himself unable to breathe at all as he caught his first glimpse of her since he had left her in his cabin.
Dressed in a redingote of pale blue satin with her golden hair visible in artful ringlets beneath her bonnet, she looked pale and desperately fragile. Despite his best intentions he found himself at her side in as few strides as was possible, and her small, cold hand in his much larger, warmer one.
"Mignonne, I'm so sorry you've been unwell." The words were out before he could stop them, as though sea sickness was something he could take the blame for.
She looked up at him, a tired smile upon her lips that didn't reach her eyes.
"It's nothing, Alex. I am perfectly well now, though I am in no 'urry to repeat the experience," she admitted, with a rueful expression.
He felt his heart sink a little and then wondered why. It wasn't as if she would ever sail with him again in any case.
"You know, Admiral Lord Nelson was also horribly sea sick," he said to her in an undertone, aware that this was not a suitable subject for discussion with a young lady but then, this was Céleste who cared little for such niceties. "In fact the first time I went to sea myself I spent the entire voyage hanging over the rail, and it was far calmer than our crossing has just been. But I got used to it, eventually. It doesn't trouble me now."
"Eventually?" she repeated, looking appalled.
Alex smiled and nodded his head. "It is something you can conquer, to varying degrees, if you persevere."
She stared up at him and he felt his heart turn. There was a look in her eyes that quite clearly told him that she would persevere, for him, if he would only ask her to.
He looked away and placed her hand firmly on his arm. She endured the short voyage in the gig from his ship to shore with stoic silence but her gratitude at putting her feet on solid ground was only too apparent.
"Come, the aunts will be waiting impatiently for our arrival. They don't like being away from home and they will be eager to take you away with them." He made himself say the words, trying to infuse them with anything other than the impression that his heart was being ripped from his chest.
"So soon?" she whispered, and the misery in her voice was like a knife in his chest as he could only echo the sentiment.
"Yes, of course. They have been waiting at Tregothnan for over a week as it is. You'll love them I assure you, and they you. And don't be cowed by Aunt Seymour. She's terrifying at first glance but once you get to know her she's really not so bad." He listened to himself prattle on until they reached the carriage, desperate to put her at her ease and relieve the unhappiness in her eyes that was making the weight in his chest a heavy burden to bear.
He tried to keep up the inane conversation for the rest of the carriage ride, finding as Céleste grew increasingly withdrawn that words failed him. Defeated, he gave up, but could not tear his eyes away from her face. She looked out of the window, though she didn't seem to see anything that passed behind the glass. Instead her eyes glittered too brightly and he could see the effort
it was taking her not to cry.
Looking away he repeated to himself all the reasons why she could not marry him. All the dirt and scandal attached to his own name that had sullied the title and man who bore it. All the things he had done that had darkened his heart and cast a shadow over his soul. He looked down at his hands, big and rough and scarred, and far too bloody to ever lay them on the gentle-hearted creature in front of him. For despite her spitfire temper he knew that she was far too loving and innocent to be wed to an utter bastard like him. No matter that he wanted to with all his heart.
Chapter 19
"Wherein farewells are made and ancient Aunts prove not so foolish as some might imagine."
"This is Tregothnan." Alex watched as Céleste looked up at him and then turned her eyes back to the window as they passed through the impressive gatehouse that led onto the estate.
"It is very beautiful, Alex," she said, her voice wistful. He bit back the desire to voice his thoughts, to tell her he wished she could see it all. He wanted to walk the grounds and see it through her eyes. To walk along the wild cliffs where the wind snatched at you and threatened to pick you up like a stray leaf and tumble you down to the surging white waters that thundered upon the rocks far below.
He longed to show her the house and ask her opinion of it. To see if she approved of the ideas he'd had to modernise the old, cavernous building. Ideas that had been born a decade ago but had never come to anything in the years since he had believed his younger brother dead and himself irrevocably changed. For what was the use?
He'd toyed with the idea once more when he'd believed he would be forced to take a wife to continue the line. But now Lawrence was, miraculously, restored to them and had wasted no time in doing his duty and providing an heir and the pressure was off. He told himself that it was a relief, that it was best all round that he would never have a wife and family to enjoy the benefits of the work he had considered all those years ago. Better to leave it to the next generation. So he would merely continue to keep the place in good order, feeling forever more like a caretaker looking after a museum than a man with a home.
They travelled for another half an hour in silence and then he heard a soft gasp and knew that the great house had come into view. He watched her face, devouring every nuance of her expression and preserving it as something precious. A forbidden memory to be taken out and looked at like a cherished keepsake once she belonged in someone else's life.
She looked back at him, her eyes full of regret and quiet amusement. "You really are an earl then, mon contrebandier."
He smiled at her, unable to keep the warmth from his voice on hearing her strange endearment. "You're still disappointed then?"
She stared at him and then looked away as her eyes became over bright. "Oui," she whispered. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes away from her knowing she believed that he might change his mind if he were merely a smuggler and not an earl. Did she truly think that it was his title that kept him from making her his own? Did she truly believe that some disparity in their bloodline would stop him? He wished he could tell her that it wouldn't have mattered to him if she had been simply Céleste, a girl born to poverty without so much as a name to cling to. He would have felt the same sense of dishonouring her at the idea of taking her for himself. He would still have been just as unworthy of her.
Inexorably the carriage swept up the long drive and rocked to a gentle stop outside the massive structure of Tregothnan.
***
Céleste stood in the vast entrance hall of Tregothnan House and was weighed down with the knowledge of just who the man she had fallen in love with truly was. It hadn't been so very hard to accept that he was a nobleman instead of a smuggler as she'd first thought. With his great height and the air of confidence bordering on arrogance that she had found so very reassuring and attractive, it was clear he was a man well used to being obeyed.
Standing beside the beautiful Château at Longueville he hadn't seemed so far removed from the kind of man her father had been- a wealthy and well respected man, but no one of great consequence. But this house and land they had just travelled through made her realise just how far out of her reach he truly was. He was born to stand among the higher echelons of English nobility and she was nothing but a dispossessed countess with not a franc to her name and no one but him willing to vouch for her. She felt terribly small and insignificant and utterly certain that the moment she was out of his sight she would be forgotten. For why would he remember a cheap little French girl he found in a whore house, who had an unerring way of making him lose his temper at every turn? He would go back to his sophisticated lovers, those cool and elegant English women who always knew exactly what to say or do. They would know how to seduce a man like that, though she imagined they would have little need of the knowledge. He would want them in a way he had never wanted her. A lump formed in her throat and it was only Alex's hand at her back that made her move forwards when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and sob.
She moved on into an elegant drawing room with lavish, if tasteful furnishings. The walls were panelled and the ceiling heavily decorated and embellished with gold leaf. The vast room, painted in pale blue had a thick, rich carpet that Celeste's slippered feet sank into, more luxurious than anything she had ever known. As she approached two older ladies stood to greet them. They both curtsied formally as Alex approached.
"Aunt Seymour, Aunt Dorothea," Alex said with a smile, first approaching a tall and severe-looking woman dressed in dove grey and lavender silk. "How lovely to see you both looking so well."
The lady snorted and rolled her eyes at him.
"Very pretty, Falmouth, I'm sure. Now stand aside and let's get a look at the girl."
Alex's mouth twitched and he led Céleste to stand under the daunting cool grey eyes of his Aunt Seymour.
"Lady Sinclair, Lady Russell may I present to you Célestine de Lavelle, La Comtesse de Valrey."
Céleste curtsied and murmured her greeting before glancing back at Alex who gave her a reassuring smile. She jolted as a small gloved hand reached out and squeezed hers.
"Don't look so frightened," said a kindly voice beside her and Céleste blinked into the misty blue eyes of the sweetest face she'd ever encountered. "Lady Russell won't eat you, I promise."
This lady was rather shorter and plumper than Aunt Seymour with thick white hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Dressed entirely in pale pink she put Céleste in mind of a slightly faded little doll.
"Hmmph."
The discouraging noise came from Seymour who was looking at Céleste with her lips set in a thin hard line. Mon Dieu she hadn't even opened her mouth yet. To her relief Alex came and stood beside her, his large presence giving a feeling of security that she knew was about to be taken from her. The thought made her look up at him and their eyes met. For a moment she believed every word that Henri had told her as those cool grey eyes seemed as full of every expression of regret and misery as her own, but it was all too quickly gone and he gave her a smile which was perfunctory at best.
"Aunt Dorothea has been looking forward to meeting you, Céleste."
"Oh, no, we are to be very dear friends so you must call me Dotty," the old lady said, squeezing her hand again. "Everybody does you know."
"They most certainly do not," Aunt Seymour snapped, making both her and Dotty jump.
"They do," Dotty whispered to her, holding tightly to her hand still.
Céleste tried to smile but her eyes began to fill and she blinked rapidly.
"Well then. Introductions are over and we should be going," Seymour said, her words more of an order than an announcement.
"Non!" Céleste cried out and then flushed, remembering herself as Aunt Seymour raised an eloquent eyebrow. "That is, I mean ... I 'ave just arrived and ... could I not ..."
Aunt Seymour looked at her closely, making Céleste flush a deeper crimson as the old lady's knowing gaze travelled from her to Alex.
"No," she
said, her voice rather quieter. "I think we should leave now, before any greater damage is done."
"Damage?" Alex repeated, with a cool tone and Céleste looked up to see him frowning at his aunt.
"Yes, my Lord, damage," Seymour repeated, her all too sharp eyes focused entirely on her nephew, and earl or not, Céleste didn't envy him the scrutiny. "A young, unwed lady spending any time in your company is likely to be ruined simply by association. If you truly want the girl to make an advantageous match you'll stay as far away from her as possible. Bad enough that your name linked to ours will raise eyebrows, even with our chaperonage. Still ..." She looked Céleste over and tutted as though she'd been in some way misinformed of the girl's suitability. "We must make the best of things I suppose."
"Oh, Seymour," Aunt Dotty said with her soft breathy voice. "Why the girl is a diamond, and don't pretend you can't see it as well we can."
Seymour cast Alex another deeply disapproving look and snorted. "Oh I see, it," she replied with a brittle tone. "I see it with perfect clarity I assure you."
Céleste looked back at Alex in confusion who looked in turn like he was about to suffer an apoplexy of some description.
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