Her startled cry lasted only for a moment, but then the tension released. He continued his movements, this time murmuring words of encouragement in her ear.
Once again, he felt her tension build, but now it was good, pleasurable tension. He did all he could to heighten her pleasure. But finally, he could not hold himself back any longer. With a cry of satisfaction he let himself go, feeling her waves of pleasure rippling around him as she too experienced the same ecstasy.
His breathing slowed, but he could still feel her heart pounding beneath him. He ran tiny kisses up her neck, over her pounding pulse and to her ear. A feeling of deep satisfaction settled happily somewhere inside of him.
Tentatively, she kissed at his ear lobe. Her voice—so soft, just a breath—said, “Richard, I love you.”
He pushed himself up to look her in the eye. Had he heard right?
Teresa looked up at him. Her large black eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight, her hair was spread out like black silk across the pillow. She said it again. “I love you, Richard.”
Teresa had never experienced such a feeling of completion—of being one with someone else. Making love with Richard had been all she had ever dreamed of, all she had ever hoped for. Her love for him was overflowing and she had voiced it, but now he was moving away from her. Suddenly she was cold, empty.
“No, Teresa. You do not. You are mistaken.” His voice sounded as hollow as she felt as he stood up, moving away from the bed.
She sat up looking at him and at the shadows flickering over his beautifully naked body. “But I do.” Her head began to spin with confusion. Had he not just made the most wonderful love to her? Didn’t that mean that he loved her too?
“No, you do not. You cannot.” And then he was gone. He had just walked right out the door.
Teresa could hear thumping in his room and supposed that he was pulling out clothes for himself. There was the final bang of his bedroom door, followed less than a minute later by the deeper thud of the front door being slammed shut.
Silence.
Teresa curled up in her bed under the covers. There were no tears, there was nothing but emptiness.
Had anyone ever been so wrong? It amazed her.
How could she have been so thoroughly and absolutely wrong? Wrong in what she had done and wrong in what she had thought.
She just laid there, not able to sleep. After some time, she got up to put on her night dress and a wrap. Taking her candle, she went downstairs.
She felt lost wandering about the quiet, empty house. The staff had either gone to bed or were keeping respectfully hidden.
Was this even her home? It certainly didn’t feel like this evening.
She found herself outside Richard’s library. Out of curiosity, she went in. She had only been in this room once before and then only momentarily, though Richard spent a lot of time here. Perhaps it would make her feel better—almost as if he were here and hadn’t stormed out of the house in anger and frustration.
She raised her candle, looking around at all the books lining the walls. What a wonderful way to surround yourself, she thought. No wonder he loved this room. The light spread slowly as she walked around looking at random book titles. And then her light fell on the portrait above the fireplace.
Teresa stopped and stared, holding her candle higher so she could see better. The young woman in the painting was lovely. With a smile on her face and laughter in her eyes, she looked almost lovingly down from her frame. By her dress, Teresa figured the painting could not have been done more than year or two ago. This had to be Julia.
Again, Teresa did not wonder why her husband spent so much time in this room. She was here. Julia was here with him all the time. In this room. In his house. And in his heart.
All of her tears and heartache burst forth in a torrent. She could not deny it any longer. Her husband was still deeply in love with his first wife. Her candle nearly dropped from her hand as she fell to the floor, her legs unable to support her any longer. She set the candle aside and wept.
How could he have married her—no, insisted on marrying her—when he was still so much in love with Julia. Did he not realize the pain and suffering it would cause both of them? She held nothing back now but let weeks of fears, heartache and loneliness pour out of her.
How long she sat there sobbing, she didn’t know. It seemed like hours. Her head hurt from the tension of crying for so long. Her heart hurt from the pain of her discovery and her husband’s rejection after making love to her.
Her breathing finally calmed down and she sat rubbing her temples to try and ease the pain there. There was nothing, she knew, to ease the pain in her heart.
A red wine stain on the carpet next to her caught her attention. She stared at it for a full minute. She didn’t know why, but she hated that stain, absolutely hated it. She had to do something about it.
It galvanized her like nothing else could, even though she knew that she was being completely irrational. For the next hour or more she scrubbed at that stain, using every method she’d ever learned to remove stains. Her tears mixed with corn starch, mixed with lemon, mixed with everything she could think of to get rid of the stain. By daybreak, it was gone, and the carpet was once again white.
It was almost too white in that one spot, but the stain was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Richard walked the streets aimlessly before unconsciously making his way to the rookeries. In his current mood, the filth and squalor was more comfortable than the neat and opulent homes of Mayfair.
The smell of rotting debris assailed his nose. Fleet Street, just beyond the dingy streets of Drury Lane and Covent Garden, was teeming with a night life beyond anything Richard had imagined. Even in his more wild bachelor days, he had not ventured into this area at night for fear of footpads or worse. He had heard that many young bucks would frequent these East End pubs for fun, but always in a group.
Children who should have been tucked safe in bed were left sleeping on the streets while their mothers solicited the attentions of gentlemen passers-by. Their fathers, if they even knew who they were, were too busy getting drunk in the tavern or fighting on the street corner to pay them any mind. If they were lucky, Richard supposed, someone was out robbing one of the city swells in order to get money to buy them some food to fill their empty bellies.
After having fallen prey to his own baser instincts, he felt no better than any of the craven thieves and half-wits who lived here.
He shrugged off the grasp of a female who reeked of gin. She leaned close to him and grinned, her blackened teeth and foul breath making him recoil. She lowered her dress and shoved her bared breast at him, trying to entice him to purchase her services for the evening, but Richard had had enough of that.
He could not understand how he had allowed himself to get so caught up in the web of Teresa’s innocence and his own desire.
How could he have betrayed Julia like that? He loved Julia. How could he have made love to another woman? How could he have defiled Julia’s memory in that way? He had made a mockery of his marriage vows to her.
He looked at the woman still trying to get his attention and felt his stomach turn. He didn’t know which disgusted him more, the woman or himself—most likely it was himself.
He moved on through the blackness of the streets. With the waning moon being the only source of light, it was easy to see how thieves were able to escape so easily into the dark winding streets.
In daylight, these streets were familiar to Richard. It was from here that he had culled the boys to fill his orphanage. He knew he had only skimmed the surface of the rookeries for the few boys he had rescued, but the reality of the night haunted him.
If only he had not ignored the warning bells which had sounded in his mind when he had entered Teresa’s room. If only he’d been able to hold onto his desires as he had the previous night. He had known full well what fire Teresa had been playing with, even if she hadn’t.
If only he had
kept his word to Julia and to Teresa—and to himself, he would not be here. He would be safe, alone, in his own bed—filled with desire, he knew, but that was better than being filled with remorse and disgust at himself as he was now.
His mind strayed back to Teresa. What had he done to that poor girl? He had consummated their marriage after promising her he would not. He had let his desires overpower his reason and commonsense.
He had ruined her life and bound her to him without recourse, without the possibility of a second chance. And there was nothing he could do about it now.
He did not love her, but she, innocent that she was, had somehow convinced herself that she loved him.
How could that be? How had she fallen in love with him when he had avoided her at every opportunity only being with her when it was absolutely necessary? He had left her alone for hours every day while he sought refuge in his own orphanage or at his club, or had locked himself away in his library. Julia would never have put up with his absences as Teresa had. But his new wife had never known anything else from him.
And yet, his desire for Teresa had grown. He dared not even think that what he was feeling might be anything more than that. He would not allow his mind to even contemplate any deeper feelings for Teresa.
No. He loved Julia. He loved her with all his heart and his mind. There was no room for Teresa in his life.
And yet Julia had left him. She had left him without a word—killed suddenly and inexplicably. How could she have done that to him when he loved her so intensely? He kicked at a pile of garbage, sending the debris flying along the gutter and a pig snorting after it.
He walked along the line of the houses to avoid a brawl that had stumbled out of a tavern. He saw a shadow—a boy, probably not older than four or five, curled fast asleep in a door way. He was beautiful with the most angelic little face. It was much too thin, Richard could see that right away. Such a face should have been round and chubby, but this little one was so skinny that Richard’s heart went out to him.
Sitting on the sidewalk by the side of the building, he gently lifted the boy into his lap, cradling him, lending him his warmth. The boy stirred and then opened his large eyes to stare up at him.
“Do you know where your mother is?” Richard asked gently.
The little boy nodded. “She’s in ‘eaven.”
Richard blinked rapidly for a moment. “And your dad?”
“Don’t ‘ave one,” the boy whispered, looking like he was about to cry.
Richard hugged the child close. “Then I’ll take you someplace safe, away from here. Would you like to live with lots of other boys who are all like you? Where there are people to care for you?”
The little eyes went wide, “Is it ‘eaven? Will I see my mummy?”
Richard’s voice caught and he was unable to speak for a moment. “No. It’s not heaven. It’s just a nice house where you can live,” he managed to say through the lump in his throat.
“Oh. I ‘spose so,” the boy shrugged, sounding a bit disappointed.
Richard stood up with the boy still in his arms, unwilling to let go of his little burden, receiving as much comfort from the child as he hoped he was giving. The boy put his arms around his neck and rested his head on his shoulder as Richard walked to the orphanage.
It took a few minutes for someone to answer his pounding at the door. The footman who finally answered looked barely awake. Richard requested some hot water, then took the boy down to the kitchen to bathe him in front of the fire.
He was impressed as the child didn’t utter a sound while he was bathed and dressed in a clean nightshirt. There was solace in the simple act of caring for this child—in scrubbing away the filth and grime that encrusted his little hands and feet; in washing his hair, which turned out to be a dark blond like his own. He finally took him upstairs to the last empty bed in the room for younger boys.
It was only when he went to put the child into bed that boy started to shake and then to cry. He clung on to Richard’s neck, refusing to let go.
“No. Ye promised ye would take care o’me,” the little voice wailed.
“Not I. I promised you there would be others to take care of you and there are. I promise you. It is only because it is the middle of the night and they’re all asleep. You’ll see. There are lots of maids and footmen, tutors and a very kind and loving head mistress, Mrs. Long. She will take care of you.”
“But I don’t want no one else. I want ye. Don’t leave me!”
Richard clung to the little boy, knowing just what he felt like. He hadn’t wanted Julia to leave him either, but she had. And he had to leave this little one. At least he knew that he would be well cared for. And he, Richard, could come back.
“If I promise to return tomorrow, will you let me go?”
“Y’promise?” the boy hicoughed.
“Yes. I promise. I will be back tomorrow to check on you. I come every day to check on all the boys here.”
The boy sniffled and then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Awright, if ye promise.”
“I do.” Richard tucked the child into bed and then went down to the drawing room to write Mrs. Long a note.
When Teresa awoke late the following morning, the events of the previous night returned to her like a leaden weight. Still, she managed to get herself up and dressed, and then to do what she had started last night in a small way. She began to clean.
Donning an apron, she organized the servants in a grand Spring cleaning of the entire house. From the attics to the basement, everything was to be turned out and cleaned thoroughly. Every room, except his lordship’s library.
Teresa had learned from the housekeeper that Richard was there. He had ordered his breakfast brought in to him on a tray. At mid-afternoon it was the same thing. He still had not come out and it didn’t look as if he was going to. Which is why Teresa was so surprised, when she finally sat down for a brief rest later that afternoon, to learn that his lordship had gone out. By dinner time, he had returned to his library and was once again requesting that his meal be taken there.
The pattern was repeated on the following day. Richard rose early and was in his library when Teresa came down for breakfast. He was there when she stopped her cleaning to take luncheon, but then disappeared for a few hours later in the day. At dinner, he was returned and still requesting his meals to be taken in to him.
On the evening of the third day, Teresa toyed with the idea of knocking on his door to speak with him, but honestly, she didn’t know what she would say. Should she apologize? How could one apologize for loving someone?
She left him alone.
After nearly a full week of doing nothing but cleaning, Teresa was physically and emotionally exhausted and Richard still had not shown himself. Somehow, he slipped out of the house every afternoon, unnoticed by all, only to return to take his dinner in his library.
She knew he came out at night to sleep in his bed, but only because the upstairs maid had said that his bed had, in fact, been slept in. No one had seen him, however, not even his valet. That gentleman had reported that his lordship’s razor had been used, clothes left in a heap on the floor and fresh ones removed from the clothes press, but he had not been present when his lordship had been there.
It was like living in a house with a ghost. Everyone knew he was there, but no one ever actually caught a glimpse of him, except for the butler who delivered his food.
Teresa could not help but think that it was her presence there which was keeping him locked up as he was. She supposed that he would much rather be with Julia in the comfort of his library, but to shun everything and everyone else so completely was a little disturbing.
She briefly wondered where he went every afternoon. She knew it was not to his club, for Fungy had called one day when Richard was out and said that he’d not been seen.
Teresa did the only thing she could think of to help him—she left.
Chapter Twenty-One
After seeing to the packing her
clothing into a trunk, Teresa sat down to write a note to Richard, to be delivered to him if he asked after her.
She sat for at least five minutes, simply trying to compose herself enough to put her pen to the paper. At first it was her hand that was shaking too violently, and then it was the tears that refused to stop even for just a few minutes while she got her thoughts down. Finally, she managed to scratch out the briefest of missives.
Richard—
I must apologize for disturbing you as I have done. It was truly not my intention to do so. In an effort to make life easier for you, I am removing to my aunt’s house. I know it is probably not far enough away, but it is my only option.
I pray that you find peace once again in your heart.
With all my
Your loving wife
Most sincerely yours,
Teresa
Despite her efforts, the paper was rather tear-stained when she finally signed her name, but she simply could not write it out again. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice. Perhaps he wouldn’t even notice that she was gone. No, she would not allow herself to dwell there.
She gave the note to the housekeeper and then, with one last look at the closed door to Richard’s library, and her throat choked with emotion, she left.
He couldn’t face Teresa. In all honesty, he could barely face himself.
Instead he hid. He knew it was cowardly. He knew it was wrong. But the ache inside, which had eased a little each day he’d been with Teresa, was back in full force. It was almost as if no time at all had passed since Julia had died.
When she’d died, so had he.
It had hurt when his mother and sister had died in a carriage accident. He mourned for months. It had struck him as completely unfair when he younger brother had died fighting in the war. He raged over that.
But when Julia had died…
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. He took in a deep breath, held it and then slowly let it out.
The Merry Marquis Page 16