‘It’s all right.’
‘If you want me to stop...’
‘No.’ She reached a hand up to his face, gently smoothing his cheek. ‘I want this.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
He didn’t move so she shifted for him, wriggling her hips and feeling the pain start to diminish. More than that, she could feel a fluttering sensation in her stomach, a tantalising warmth that was starting to spread out through her body. This was better, definitely better.
‘Ianthe.’ His arms and legs pinioned hers, pressing her down into the mattress. ‘Tell me the truth.’
‘Don’t stop.’ She bucked beneath him, trying to demonstrate her point. It didn’t hurt, not any more. Now she wanted him to move. She reached her hands down to his waist to encourage him and saw the fleeting look of surprise on his face before he started to pull away.
‘No!’ She made a grab to stop him and he pushed downwards again, smiling wickedly as he thrust back inside her.
‘Better?’
‘I thought you were stopping.’ She pouted up at him.
‘Not yet.’ He gave another heart-stopping grin. ‘Trust me, Ianthe.’
‘I do.’ She smiled, not wanting to talk any longer, arching her body as he moved over her with strong, rhythmic movements. The fluttering sensation in her stomach felt different now, more vital and thrilling, as if it were building in intensity, filling the whole lower part of her abdomen. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, tilting her hips up as she echoed each movement with her own.
‘Wait.’ His voice sounded strained now, but she kept going, unable and unwilling to stop herself. The tingling sensation seemed to be reaching a peak. Just a bit more and... She tipped her head back and let out a cry. All she needed was a few more seconds. Just a few more and...
She jerked suddenly, her body erupting spontaneously as her numbed mind watched from a distance. She was vaguely aware of Robert calling out, too, of his body shuddering with release as he fell down on top of her, but she couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but wait for the spinning, whirling, spiralling sensation to slow down and gradually fade away, leading her back to a deep and exhausted sleep.
* * *
It was cold when she woke up the second time. The fire in the grate was lower and she could feel the prickle of goosebumps over her arms. Robert was still lying face down beside her, one arm draped possessively across her body as if he couldn’t bear to let go, though he appeared to be sleeping deeply.
Carefully, she reached for the quilt, pulling it up to cover them. What had she done? Her body was aching in ways she hadn’t thought possible. The climb up and down the cliff side had been bad enough on her legs, but the space between them was sore, too. Her cheeks glowed at the memory. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for their lovemaking. Not a single poem or novel or piece of music had even come close. What she’d felt had been beyond words, as if her body had sprung back to life again, her old self returning with a vengeance, breaking out of its prison with the full force of all the pent-up emotion she’d held back for months.
But it shouldn’t have happened. She raised a hand to her eyes as a feeling of shame swept over her. Somehow, whilst she’d kept to the letter of their agreement, she’d been able to bury the fact of her deceit. Now she’d given up any pretence of respectability, that deceit seemed even worse. Last night Robert had seemed to care for her, but that was before he’d found out what kind of woman she really was. When he woke up and remembered the way she’d behaved—a way no decent woman ought to behave—he’d be disgusted.
She reached out, tentatively smoothing a lock of dark hair away from his cheek. How could she have fallen in love so quickly and hopelessly? For a few brief happy moments, she’d revelled in the possibility that he might love her, too, but now she had to set such dreams aside. Last night she’d shown him how very far from respectable she really was. Once his deal with Harper was signed, she owed him the truth about Albert, too. And once she did that, she’d offer him a divorce. It wouldn’t be very respectable, but he’d have his new, bigger shipyard to console himself for that. He’d probably jump at the chance to set her aside.
In the meantime, she had to put her mask back on, get the dinner party over with and try not to show him how much she cared. There was no doubt in her mind. Once she told him the truth it would be over.
Chapter Seventeen
Robert yawned, stretched and rolled over, opening his eyes with a smile that faded the moment he found the space beside him empty.
He rubbed a hand over his face, memories of the night before flooding back in a torrent. The storm, the long climb over the cliffs, the rescue, the fishermen’s cottages...the argument with Ianthe and what it had led to. That was the most vivid memory of all, though if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was lying in a strange bed completely naked with only her scent on his pillow for company, he might have thought it had all been a dream.
He heaved himself upright, groaning as his sore muscles protested. His whole body felt as if it had been thoroughly and violently pummelled. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache. Not that he could regret the evening completely. He’d just woken up from a particularly pleasant dream in which he’d been reliving the latter events of the night and imagining a few more things he’d like to do with his wife. Things he’d still like to do, just as soon as he found her. Bruised and battered he might be, but he’d no intention of letting a bit of physical discomfort deter him. If one thing was clear to him this morning, it was that they’d wasted enough time. There were parts of her he was more than eager to explore in more detail. The very thought was arousing.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Ianthe?’ He twisted his head too quickly in the direction of her voice and let out an oath.
‘Are you all right?’ She crossed the room in two seconds, leaning over him with a look of concern.
‘Just a bit sore.’ He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Nothing that won’t mend.’
‘Oh... Good.’
She stepped back from the bed, folding her hands primly in front of her. He frowned at the familiar gesture. It was the way she’d behaved when they’d first met, though he hadn’t seen her do it for a while. She was already dressed, too, though he must have interrupted her because her hair was still loose, flowing in dark blonde tendrils over her shoulders to just below her breasts.
His heart seemed to skip a beat. Funny, but he’d never seen her hair completely loose before. Even last night, she’d kept it tied in a knot at the back of her head. The style seemed almost as much a part of her as her high collars and ridiculously sensible boots. Now it was gone, he felt as though he were looking at a whole different woman.
‘You look beautiful.’
‘What?’ She looked genuinely stunned. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.’ He reached across and grabbed one of her hands, tugging her back towards the bed. ‘Though I preferred what you weren’t wearing last night. Come back to bed.’
‘Robert.’ She cast her eyes down as she pulled away from him. ‘The carts are here. The ones you told to follow us last night. The men are preparing to leave.’
‘Let them.’ He released her hand and leaned back against the wall, throwing one arm behind his head as he studied her. What had happened? Last night, she’d made love to him with wild, sensual, thrilling abandon. This morning, she looked as if she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. She seemed to be retreating before his very eyes. Why? Surely she wasn’t ashamed of what had happened between them? He’d heard it said that ladies were told they shouldn’t enjoy physical relations with their husbands. In which case, he’d just have to convince her otherwise...
‘I’d rather you came back to bed.’
‘It’s after seven. People will talk.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do! I have a reputation to maintain.’
He tipped his head to one side, detecting the faint tremor in her voice. ‘What’s the matter, Ianthe?’
‘Nothing. I’d like to go home, that’s all. I still have a lot of preparation to do for tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘The dinner party.’ She sounded shocked. ‘With Mr Harper.’
‘Oh.’ He sighed wearily. ‘That.’
‘Yes, that. You said it was important.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes!’
He felt vaguely surprised by his own lack of interest. ‘I suppose it was.’
‘It still is. You said he was ready to sign the papers. We can’t fail now. We just need to get through tonight and then...’
‘And then?’ He raised an eyebrow as her voice trailed away.
‘Then we’ll both have fulfilled the terms of our agreement.’
He clenched his jaw. She was speaking as if the agreement was all that existed between them, as if their marriage were still just a business arrangement. Then again, with their relationship in such uncharted territory, he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed either. Not to mention that it wasn’t the only new experience she was dealing with. The faint stain of blood on the bedsheets was a reminder of that. Perhaps, after everything else that had happened the previous day, she was simply feeling overwhelmed. Or perhaps he’d been too rough. Perhaps he’d hurt or frightened her... The very idea made his heart clench.
He threw back the covers, reaching out to embrace her. ‘About last night...’
She took a definite step backwards. ‘I think it would be best if we don’t talk about it. We were tired and...distressed.’
‘Distressed?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes flashed accusingly. ‘And you said that you didn’t want an heir!’
He stared at her in disbelief. Is that what she thought he’d been doing? ‘I wasn’t trying to get an heir, Ianthe.’
‘Oh.’ She bit her lip, twisting away from him evasively. ‘In that case, there’s no reason for us to be...together. It wasn’t part of the agreement.’
‘Forget the agreement! I don’t care about the blasted agreement!’
She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? I love you!’
He thought he heard a small sob as her body seemed to go completely rigid for a moment.
‘Ianthe?’
She didn’t answer, and he grasped her shoulders, wrenching her back round to face him.
‘What’s changed since last night?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her eyes up at that, her voice almost unnaturally calm suddenly. ‘Nothing’s changed.’
‘Then why...?’
‘Because you don’t know me. Not really. You haven’t had time to get to know me. It’s ridiculous to think that we...’ She pursed her lips as if she were trying to control herself. ‘It was a mistake. We should forget that it ever happened.’
‘I don’t want to forget it.’
‘Well, I do!’ She wrenched herself free from his arms with a sudden burst of anger. ‘We had—have—an agreement. If you’re really a gentleman then you ought to honour the original terms!’
‘But I’m not a gentleman, am I?’ He folded his arms, feeling as though she’d just driven a knife into his chest. ‘Maybe you don’t know me so well either.’
‘Maybe I don’t.’ She held his gaze unwaveringly before gesturing towards a neat pile of clothes on a chair. ‘Your things are dry and ready. I’ll meet you outside.’
She whirled around then, sprinting for the door without looking back, leaving him to simply stare after her, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe as a painful sense of rejection assailed him, just as vivid as it had been six years before when his mother had pushed him away for the last time.
He sank down on to the bed and put his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid, walking headlong into the one trap he’d striven so hard to avoid? Somewhere between the moment she’d arrived at the shipyard yesterday and the moment he’d carried her to the bed, he’d fallen in love, or at least realised he had. As much as he’d claimed he wasn’t capable of love, deep down he’d known that the opposite was true. He wasn’t incapable, he was afraid. Afraid of the potential pain it could bring, the gut-wrenching pain of caring for someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, care for him back. And now what he’d always feared and expected would happen, had happened. Just like his parents, the woman he loved had rejected him, too. Because she preferred a business agreement—his agreement—to a real marriage with him. If the irony hadn’t been so horrible, he might have laughed.
He’d never regretted a business deal more in his life.
* * *
Two hours later, Robert stood on the mudflats, listening with one ear to a report of damage to the yard. The roof of the sail loft had been partially blown away, and four of the smaller colliers on the flats had tipped over, needing minor repairs, but overall they’d got away comparatively lightly. If only he could have said the same for himself.
They’d passed the painfully slow journey back to Whitby in silence. He’d taken a seat beside her in the cart for form’s sake, though they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word, keeping their bodies studiously apart as they’d bumped their way back over the cliff tops.
He’d jumped down the moment they’d reached the outskirts of town, unable to bear the feeling of being so close and yet so far from her at the same time. He’d made the excuse of going to the shipyard, though in truth the thought of walking back into the house at her side had been too painful to contemplate. He preferred to get straight back to work instead. If he did that, he reasoned, then perhaps he could get back to a sense of normalcy, too. If only...
‘Should I order some roof tiles then, sir?’
‘What? Oh.’ He ran a hand wearily over his face. ‘Yes. I’ll leave the repairs in your hands. Engage whomever we need.’
‘You’re going?’ His foreman could hardly have looked any more surprised.
‘I need a drink.’
‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning, sir.’
‘Well, it feels later.’ He gave a terse smile. ‘Time for whisky, I think.’
He strode back towards the yard, glancing across at Harper’s as he went. If everything went well tonight, he’d own both by tomorrow. He’d have what he’d always wanted—a position of standing with wealth, respectability and influence. One where no one could tell him he wasn’t good enough, where people like Louisa Allendon and Charles Lester couldn’t call him an upstart without looking up to him as well. Except that he didn’t give a damn about any of it any more. He couldn’t even bring himself to be interested in his own repairs.
He dragged a hand through his hair as a wave of desolation swept over him. Last night, he’d felt as though he’d finally overcome the painful legacy of his past, but now the old feelings were back, more powerful and destructive than ever. He felt as though he’d been fighting them his whole life, trying to pretend they weren’t there by filling his life with other accomplishments instead. Now it was too late: he could see all his ambitions, all his achievements, for what they were—futile attempts to stave off the emptiness inside.
Deep down, he’d always suspected that his parents had been right and that there was something wrong, something fundamentally unlovable about him, as if he weren’t worthy of love or affection, and now his own wife had proved it, turning everything he’d accomplished to rubble in a few short minutes. Only this time, the feeling of rejection had been even worse because he’d thought, hoped, believed that she’d loved him back. But she didn’t. Their night together hadn’t meant anything to her.
She preferred a business deal, saying that nothing between them had changed.
He stopped mid-stride. How could she say that? Since they’d first met everything about her had changed! The longer he’d known her, the more he’d come to realise that she was nothing at all like the uptight and severe woman he’d met on the train. Until that morning, he’d almost forgotten that she’d ever existed.
And she had the nerve to tell him to go back to the original terms of the agreement! She was the one who’d altered the terms, forcing him to see the emptiness he’d spent so long trying to avoid. He’d wanted a sensible, respectable wife, one to help him build his business, not one who lured him away and then simply discarded him.
He threw a savage look up the road towards the crescent, wondering whether he ought to go and confront her, but what was there left to say? Nothing that would make him feel any better.
As for what would make him feel better... He glanced speculatively towards a tavern on the harbourside. He ought to go home and get some rest before the dinner party that evening. That was what Mr Felstone, respectable shipyard owner and husband, would do. But at that moment, all he really wanted was a drink.
* * *
Ianthe descended the stairs nervously, stomach fluttering with butterflies so huge they felt like bats. This was it. The moment to prove herself, the evening when Mr Harper would judge and hopefully not find her wanting, when he would finally sign the deed of sale.
She reached the hall and smoothed her hands over her sober, mauve evening gown, one of her own rather than one of Robert’s choices, making sure there were no wrinkles, before patting her hair to make sure the pins were still neatly in place. Then she walked across to the dining room and peered around the door, sighing with a deep sense of satisfaction. Everything was ready—the settings laid, the cutlery polished, the crystal glasses sparkling under the low-hanging chandelier. She’d spent the whole day working alongside Mrs Baxter, ignoring the housekeeper’s insistence that she take a rest, knowing that sleep would be impossible and preferring to keep busy rather than allow herself any time to think.
The Convenient Felstone Marriage Page 22