by Ingrid Hahn
They both coughed. “I apologize for that, my lady.”
Daisy sneezed, then returned to the business of examining the room with his nose. Jeremy went to pour himself and his wife a drink. It would be his second in an afternoon, but he indulged so rarely, it hardly mattered.
Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Eliza shook her head when he offered her a glass.
“Can you tell me what’s really going on now?”
“My mother is ruined.”
Jeremy put the brandy back in a quick swallow, taking a moment to savor the burn. A stone had lodged itself in his stomach. What a misstep he’d made. There were so many places he could have prevented this—beginning by providing more oversight. This never should have happened. “And she blames me.”
Which was only right. It was his fault. And he hated himself all the more because his carelessness could easily have ruined him. Then he’d be no better than his late uncle.
Eliza froze and slowly turned to him, expression cold. “You know about the investment, then?”
“I do.”
“It’s why your man of business called you to London, isn’t it? That’s your urgent business.”
He wanted to deny it. He wanted to say he’d come because he hadn’t been able to bear being parted from her. And when he’d seen her after their short separation, that was exactly how he’d felt.
But it wouldn’t be the truth. “Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” He leaned his head down in his hands and withdrew a long breath. “I thought at first I might cover the funds with my own. But I lost so much—I won’t have anything near what I need to cover the amount until your dowry is fully transferred to me, and obviously it’s too late for that now, at least without you or your mother being the wiser.”
Her mouth fell open. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I’m your husband.”
“And that entitles you to what, precisely?” Her eyes sparkled with outrage, and her voice emerged low and tight. “I don’t believe for a minute you have any right to decide to withhold anything from me. Pay me the compliment of respecting my ability to manage myself.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. Insisting on anything with her, even so seemingly trivial a matter, made him no better than Lady Rushworth. “I know you can, my lady.”
“Then why not tell me about the failed investments? That you ruined my mother?”
“It wasn’t me, per se. But I do accept all responsibility. I should have been more vigilant about overseeing my affairs.” A mistake he’d not make again.
“That didn’t answer my question, my lord.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” She gave him an incredulous look.
“Yes. Why can’t you see that?”
“Protect me from what, pray tell?”
From everything that might hurt her. She’d been under Lady Rushworth’s twisted thumb for far too long. And he couldn’t shake the haunting image of the innocent girl she’d been, hungry for love and attention, when she’d fallen into Sir Domnall’s trap. The one thing he wanted to do above all was go back and prevent her from ever meeting the man. Not because he gave a hang about the state of her virginity. Hypocrisy aside, virginity was one of the stupidest things with which a man could be concerned. No. It was because he wanted to save her the pain.
“My lord, I understand that having control over your affairs gives you comfort. You like things a certain way, and I don’t blame you. But you need to understand one thing. I’m not yours to manage, control, or protect. I’m too intelligent for that. So stop trying.”
“This is not about your intelligence or your ability. I esteem both highly.”
“Good. Then do me the honor of abiding by my wishes.”
If he insisted further, she’d push him away. Maybe forever.
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
It was worse when his wife’s features assumed that placid expression she wore around her mother.
Her mask. A false impression of tranquility. Of submission.
He hated that look. And he hated himself more for provoking it.
“You must.” As if to give him a glimpse into his fears, she rose. His heart started to pound, and panic squeezed the breath out of his lungs. If he lost her, what would he do? He wanted to reach out and take ahold of her. To pull her into his arms and never let her go.
But that was just it, wasn’t it? He was holding on too tightly and doing everything wrong. So instead of reaching for her, he did nothing. While she swept from the room without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the small hours of the following morning, Jeremy slipped out of bed, made himself minimally presentable, and went down to the library at the back of the house. It was early enough that the sun hadn’t chased all the night’s shadows away. He lit some candles.
There was a box atop his desk. One he hadn’t put there. He drew back the lid. Inside was his violin case. He opened it. The instrument had been repaired—restrung, the bridge righted, the horsehair on the bow replaced. Below the case was a packet of music tied together with a pink ribbon.
He placed the instrument under his chin, hummed an A, tuned, and drew out the first few shaky notes.
Jeremy winced. It had been too long. There was no hope in reclaiming what he’d lost. He’d have to accept this was one more thing he’d lost in the ruthless years when he’d done nothing but rebuild Idlewood.
The door opened. Eliza stood on the threshold holding Daisy. She was still wrapped in her night things, her dark hair in a braid falling over her shoulder.
An unexpected attack of mortification made him try to put the things away quickly. He didn’t want her seeing him in a situation in which he wasn’t a complete master of everything he touched. Especially after yesterday’s row.
But she smiled as if their argument was the farthest thing from her mind. “You found it.”
“What?” He clicked the latches on the case closed and set the box aside.
“I had it sent from Idlewood, and I took it to a luthier to be repaired.”
She’d done this for him? His throat went tight. Other people didn’t do things for him. He did things for other people. That was how the world was supposed to work. So he’d believed. What Eliza had done for him…it was like she’d found a little piece of him he hadn’t known was thirsty until she brought cool water to his lips.
Unsure what to do with the muddle of emotion flooding his senses, he began pretending to shuffle and reorganize the papers atop the desk.
She came up beside him and put her hand on his back. He was wearing too many layers to feel warmth from her touch, but he would have sworn he did. She spoke gently. “It’s not too late, my lord. If you want to bring music back into your life, all you have to do is begin to practice again.”
“And make all the servants quit for the racket I’d make? I daresay not.” He was trying to deflect her comment with humor. She didn’t smile.
It was too close to other things in their shared life. If he could start fresh with music, maybe they could start fresh between them. He’d sworn never to forgive her. Now he cursed himself for ever having uttered such nonsense. Who was that man who’d spoken such harsh and unforgiving words? Not a man who could be worthy of Eliza.
A servant appeared with a message. Jeremy took it. Eliza slipped away.
The note was from Isabel. “The only thing I discovered about D. G. was that he isn’t welcome at The Cloister.”
The Cloister—nicknamed The Oyster for obvious reasons—was an exclusive brothel catering to exotic sexual requirements. The fearsome Bavarian woman who ran the place was as equally famous for what she would provide for her patrons as for what she wouldn’t. While other places would do anything for money, The Cloister had rules. No girls or boys under sixteen. Nothing without the consent and approval of all participants. No animals. A
nd absolutely no exceptions. They charged a good deal more than any other place in London, too. By all accounts, for good reason.
What Isabel had unearthed left too many unanswered questions—while at the same time turning Jeremy’s stomach with the possibilities.
He rose and touched the edge of the paper to the candle, watching the paper blacken and curl as the flame consumed its prey. When he could hold it no longer, he tossed the last corner into the empty fireplace.
There was something happening to him. To them. Something that was enormous and frightening. He should have been afraid. He should have stayed away. Should have remained at Idlewood.
But he wasn’t afraid, and he didn’t want to stay away. He wanted to reach out and hold on with all his might and never let go.
An hour and some later, having made some hasty arrangements, he found himself in Eliza’s room, where she was writing a letter before breakfast.
“We should take a little excursion today. We’d do well to take advantage of the fine weather. I’ve borrowed a barouche from an old school friend so we can go for a drive. Just you and me. We’ll leave our troubles behind. What say you?”
“Borrowed a barouche?” She didn’t look up, and her pen continued scratching its trail of curving black over the creamy sheet.
“The carriage is being repaired.” The barouche was unfortunate. He’d wanted a carriage, and that’s what he’d asked for. The friend in question—little more than an acquaintance, really—believing himself to be doing Jeremy a favor, had said he was sending the barouche instead. The better to enjoy the sunshine, he’d written in his note.
What Jeremy had wanted to enjoy was his wife. But a barouche was not the place for seduction.
She set down her pen and contemplated him a moment. “What about Hetty and Fredericka?”
Damn. He’d forgotten about their guests.
“Ah. Yes. You and me and your friends.” Jeremy hoped he didn’t sound too enthusiastic or else she would know immediately how insincere he was being. “Of course. We can’t leave them behind.”
So they all went. All four of them, with Daisy making the fifth of their party.
Eliza arranged her skirts, keeping her movements slight and ladylike, as if by doing so she could make herself smaller. It wasn’t as if she were consciously trying to be invisible. Instead, it was as if she’d done it for so long, she now did it without thinking. Was he imagining things, or had she always done that? Searching his memory, he handed Daisy to her.
The day was bright. The sunshine soaking London made the habitually gray days seem like an invention of a bad dream.
Hetty settled into the bench next to the girl, leaving Jeremy and Eliza the seat opposite to themselves. “Where are we going, my lord?”
“Have any of you ladies ever visited Kew Gardens?”
They shook their heads.
“Good.” As he spoke, the only one who appeared visibly pleased to be out was Daisy, the dog appearing to grin as his tongue hung from his mouth. “Then we shall all see them together.”
Kew Gardens meant going all the way to Richmond. No insignificant distance.
It was worth it when they arrived and Eliza smiled. “It’s lovely.”
Jeremy looked up at her as he helped her down from the conveyance. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Seeming to understand him perfectly, her gaze fell, and her cheeks filled with color.
When she took his arm, he swelled with pride. The most beautiful woman in the world was on his arm—was his wife—and everyone could see.
They left the driver with the carriage and wandered into the park. There were few other people around. When Fredericka ran ahead, the dog dashed after her. With a whoop of delight, Hetty followed in the chase, leaving Jeremy and Eliza quite alone.
The lush gardens were the embodiment of English beauty. Green, picturesque, and neither too tamed nor too wild.
Would Eliza be shocked if he tried to slip away to a remote corner and share an intimacy or two? Jeremy couldn’t help but grin. Perhaps it was time to begin pushing the boundaries to see how he could delight her further.
And if they were caught? The risk made it all the more exciting. It would be scandalous—the last thing Jeremy had thought he could ever want. But to be discovered with his wife in his arms? Well, that didn’t seem so bad.
It didn’t entirely make sense, he had to admit. Then again, people were full of idiosyncrasies. Why should he be any different? The fact of the matter was, he liked intercourse. And he liked it with his wife—though he had yet to show her the act could be all he knew it could be.
“There’s so much to see here. Where shall we begin, my lord?”
“How about there?” He pointed to a copse of trees along the periphery. Between her closeness and his lascivious thoughts, he was half hard.
She hesitated, as if trying to puzzle out what he could want in a place so far away. “That’s away from everything else, I believe.”
“Let’s wander through.”
“Very well.”
Under the shade of the towering trees, she stopped and drew away to turn and admire the quiet spot. “It’s quite lovely here, actually.”
He came to stand before her. She was of an average height and build, but he felt so large and clumsy next to her. Her natural grace was evident in every line of her features and her every movement.
Awareness bloomed in him. Awareness of himself as a man. Of her as a woman—a desirable woman. And of how the world had shrunk so that only they two existed.
“I’ve missed you, you know.” He reached for her, drawing her close. She smelled like roses, and it was driving him mad.
“I’m right here,” she whispered. Eliza lowered her eyes, cheeks pink. The air between them became heavy with mutual recognition. The way her color heightened told him her thoughts were not far from his.
“I think you know what I mean.” His voice came out gravelly. This was taking a turn toward seduction.
Perfect. It was an opportunity he wasn’t about to miss.
…
Eliza was pinned between a tree and her husband. In that strip of exposed flesh below the ribbons of her bonnet and above the neckline of her bodice, his lips traced over her skin. “This is wrong, my lord.”
“What’s wrong about it?”
“You know what’s wrong about it.”
“A husband and a wife doing precisely what it is that the married state allows them to do together without risk to their immortal souls?” The low depths of Lord Bennington’s voice made her shiver with want. The smell of him drew her closer so that he might imprint himself upon her skin.
His lips grazed hers. She tilted her head to take his kiss, but he drew back a fraction. Just enough to tease her. “I want to do things to you, my lady. Things people hardly speak of.”
“I think that’s quite evident enough, my lord.”
“You don’t understand. First I want to kiss you and taste you between your legs. Then I want to wedge you between myself and the trunk of this tree and hike your skirts up to your waist and drive myself into you again and again and again. I want to make you cry out with pleasure so loudly, they hear you in London.”
Eliza’s face stung with heat. “I can’t believe we’re talking like this.”
The earl smiled down at her. “But you like it, don’t you?”
“Much more than I ever expected, my lord.”
It didn’t feel as wanton as it sounded. Not just any man would extract such a response from her. Quite the contrary. Other men left her cold. They always had, ever since she’d been ruined. Thank Providence she hadn’t married Captain Pearson. She’d never have discovered this side to herself. And she liked this side to herself.
Lord Bennington smiled with what could only have been described as fierce masculine pride.
Then he kissed her. It wasn’t like any kiss that had come before. It was deeper. Slower. It wasn’t simply ordinary physical need that drew them together
, but something much more profound. Much rarer.
The earl knelt.
“What are you doing, my lord?”
“I’d like to show you something, my lady. Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” He looked up, hands on his skirts. “May I?”
“We’re in the middle of a park.”
“In a secluded area where nobody will find us.”
He pushed the fabric up past her knees, past her stockings, all the way up to her waist. She was fully exposed. Or so she thought until he nudged her thighs open and leaned in to put his mouth—oh!
She would have objected had he not then moaned with undisguised pleasure.
Eliza’s head fell back. That was his tongue. On her…there. It was warm and luxurious, soft and exhilarating.
“I want this.” She didn’t know where it had come from, but once it was past her lips, there was no regret. Only empowerment. It was what she wanted. This wasn’t only for him. This wasn’t because they were married and trying to create an heir. This was for her.
He glanced up at her. The wicked glee in his smile would have warmed the devil’s own heart. “Tell me again.”
She spoke with hard-earned certainty. “I want this.”
“Make me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want you to show me what you want, my lady. Make me pleasure you.”
Not knowing what else to do and desperate to resume, she pushed his head back between her legs. “Don’t stop.”
And he didn’t. She let everything else go. The entire world became about what he was doing to her with his mouth. Her hips rocked, her breath came fast and hard. She rode the sensations higher and higher, eager and greedy for what was coming.
She hit the climax, and pure pleasure shot through every limb.
When it was over, she collapsed against the tree, her legs nearly unable to support her weight. She caught her breath as the earl rearranged her clothing and came to his feet. He kissed her. “That was incredible. You’re so beautiful. You were made for this, you know.”
Made to come alive in his hands. Startled by the stray thought, she pulled upright. “What’s happening?”
“I think you know quite well, my lady,” he all but purred.