The Pleasure Seekers

by Melanie George

  No words would come, only the aching need for Caine. She had to find him.

  Pushing away from the constable, she ran down the corridor. “Caine!” she cried, his name echoing back along the hard, cold stone.

  The constable shouted after her, then bellowed for his fellow officers to stop her. Bliss could feel them closing in on her, but she would not stop.

  Suddenly, from the shadows, a hand reached out through the iron bars of one of the cells and grabbed hold of her skirt, the material rending from the force as she whirled around, a scream dying on her lips as she realized who had her.

  “Caine.” His haggard face stared out at her from the dark cell, the space barely large enough to contain him.

  She longed to hold him, but the iron bars impeded her. Reaching between the metal rods, she pressed her palm to his face, her fearful gaze darting to the men running down the corridor toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I had to see you.”

  “You’ve seen me. Now go.”

  “But—”

  He gripped her wrist. “Listen to me, Bliss. You have to go. You’re not a part of this. It doesn’t concern you. Do you understand? Go back home. Do your paintings. Show them to the world and forget about me.”

  “No,” she whispered, anguish constricting her lungs. “Never.” She twined her fingers through his hair. “Tell the truth, Caine. Please,” she pleaded as the men descended on her. “Tell them the truth.” She was seized and yanked away from the bars.

  “Leave her alone, damn you!” Caine snarled, swiping out at the men, the force rattling the door.

  “Caine! Tell them the truth.” The constables tried to pull her away. “Please, tell them!”

  “Go home, Bliss.”

  “I love you! I won’t leave you.”

  “Don’t love me.”

  “I do. I love you.”

  “You’re a fool, then,” he said viciously. “Do you want to know what I did after I left you in front of your house that night?” His hands gripped the bars in a death hold. “I went back to Olivia. I told you that I didn’t have a noble, trustworthy bone in my body. While you were crying over me, I was making love to another woman. I was willing to give Olivia the child she wanted.”

  “You’re lying,” she said firmly. “I don’t believe you.”

  “For the love of God, take her out of here!” Constable Barnaby ordered, his men pulling her away, her blue eyes holding Caine’s until he had to look away or go crazy.

  He pressed his forehead against the bars, telling himself he had done the right thing for once in his life, even as he knew Bliss would haunt him until the day he died.

  Bliss sought out anyone who would to listen to her, and worked long hours to rally support for Caine. But Olivia had been thorough in her quest for revenge, making sure the constable did not miss speaking with a single witness, like Lynford and Clarendon, who maliciously elaborated on Caine’s threat to kill St. Giles.

  It didn’t seem to matter that a few people had glimpsed a finely dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair assisting the earl up from the floor after Caine punched him. But no one could describe the man’s face, as the hallways were dimly lit. In the eyes of the law, Caine was guilty. He was a man capable of selling his body and soul to hold on to what belonged to him, and people were more than ready to convict him.

  On the tenth day, Bliss fainted on the stairway outside her bedroom after returning from the king’s residence on the Place de la Concorde, where she had been refused an audience with his majesty. She had held high hopes of his seeing her, since he had commissioned her to paint a portrait of his baby daughter, Marie Amelie. But he had far more important matters to attend to than the plight of a disgraced peer.

  That same day, her father arrived in Paris, his drawn appearance telling Bliss he had gone to great lengths to get there as quickly as possible after her mother had summoned him.

  A light tap sounded on her bedroom door. “Come in,” Bliss called out.

  Her father’s face peered around the edge of the door, smiling warmly when his gaze lit on her. Bliss returned his smile as best she could.

  “How are you feeling, my girl?” he asked, his concern evident.

  “Fine,” she lied, reaching out for his hand. He took it and sat down beside her on the bed. His thick gray hair, still peppered with black, stuck up as though he had been repeatedly driving his fingers through it, which Bliss suspected he had. “You needn’t worry so.”

  “I’m your father. It’s what I do best.”

  Bliss had never doubted her father’s love, even in the worst of times. She could only image how Caine felt, to wake up one day and realize he was not who he believed himself to be.

  “You’re looking better today,” he said as the silence stretched out around them.

  “I feel better.” She did not want to give him any more reason to worry. Yet she glimpsed a new tautness around his eyes, unfurling a tendril of disquiet in the pit of her belly. “Is something the matter?”

  He hesitated, then replied, “I went to see Caine today.”

  Bliss’s heart lurched. She sat up straighter against her pillows. “What did he have to say?”

  “Not much.” Her father stood up, his profile bleak as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He’s a stubborn man.”

  “I know.”

  “He told me something, though.” He turned to face her, distress clear in his eyes. “He said that he compromised you. Is this true?”

  “No, he didn’t compromise me. What happened between us was mutual.” Tears unexpectedly pooled in her eyes. “I love him, Papa. I love him more than I thought it was in me to love.”

  He took hold of her hand and patted it soothingly. “Yes, I can see that you do. And though I suspect Caine will deny it, I believe he loves you just as much. I think he was trying to anger me with his admission in the hopes that I wouldn’t want to help him.”

  “But you’re not going to stop helping him, are you?”

  He cupped her cheek. “Of course not,” he said gently.

  “Caine’s very hurt and embittered, but he’s lost without you. I cannot fault a man for seeing in you what I’ve always seen.”

  “Will he accept your help?”

  Her father sighed. “No. I don’t think he wants me involved, for fear it will involve you. He’s determined to do this on his own.”

  Bliss closed her eyes, her hands making fists in the coverlet. Never had she felt more helpless.

  “Bliss!” a familiar voice called out, a moment before her bedroom door opened. François stood framed in the threshold, breathing heavily.

  Bliss threw back her bedcovers, dread climbing in her throat and panic tightening her limbs. She clutched the bedpost for support, fearing the worst. “What’s happened?”

  “I have news.”

  “About Caine?”

  “Oui.”

  Bliss’s legs weakened beneath her.

  François hastened to her side. “He is fine, forgive me for worrying you. I just came from the Conciergerie.” He gripped her hand and smiled. “He’s free, mon ange. They’ve released him.”

  Bliss stared at him. “Free?” she whispered in hope and disbelief.

  “Oui. The culprit who killed St. Giles has been apprehended.”

  “Who—?”

  “The Comte du Lac,” he answered, the name sounding familiar. “His beloved comtesse turned him in. Apparently, she discovered the comte had been having an affair with her dearest friend. Worse, the fool had chased off all her lovers, including Lord St. Giles, whom he—”

  “—vowed to kill if the earl ever stepped foot into Paris again.” Now Bliss remembered. She had heard the comte’s name mentioned during that uncomfortable dinner party at Northcote. She reached out for François’s hand. “Is it really over?” She was almost too afraid to believe it.

  “Oui, chérie. It is really over.”

  Bliss moved to her window, h
er gaze drawn in the direction of the prison, where the sun dipped behind the horizon in a brilliant, fiery ball.

  She stood at the window well after François and her father had left, watching each passing conveyance, hoping one would stop and Caine would alight, finally able to trust their love.

  At midnight, she turned away.

  Twenty-four

  My life is a burden without you….

  I want you—I want you to let me say I love you again and again!

  Thomas Hardy

  It was a week before Bliss found out that Caine had left France and gone back to the wilds of Devon.

  Her father had stayed in Paris for a month, trying to shield her from life’s miseries, much as he had when she was a child. But his concern only reminded her of her pain.

  She found a certain measure of happiness in the fact that her parents were speaking again. The light touches they exchanged bespoke friendship, perhaps one day to transform into something more. They talked more frequently now, took the time to listen to each other. There was hope where once there had been none. That was something.

  And during the four months that followed, her father visited Paris whenever he could break away from parliament. Bliss consoled herself with the idea that at least one good thing had come from her heartbreak.

  Or rather two things, she thought with a faint smile, laying a hand on her gently rounded stomach. Beneath her fingertips, her unborn child softly stirred. She had almost lost the babe when she had taken ill after Caine’s incarceration, not realizing that her lack of appetite and dizziness were symptoms of her body readying itself for motherhood.

  Her heart swelled. The Lord had blessed her, and she spent her days in a sort of bittersweet euphoria, blanking her mind to the pain of living without Caine.

  Her parents had tried to make her see reason, to get her to tell Caine of the baby. But she had once told him that she wouldn’t seek the protection of his name should she find herself with child, and that still held true, though for a different reason than pride now.

  If she told Caine about the babe and he returned, she would know that it had not been love that had brought him back to her. And she could never accept anything less than Caine’s whole heart.

  A knock on her door stirred Bliss and she turned to see her father entering, his gaze drifting to her belly. “How’s my grandson doing today?”

  “Don’t you mean granddaughter?” came her mother’s chiding laugh, peering around her husband’s broad shoulders to wink at Bliss. “Really, Your Grace, what makes you so sure our daughter is carrying a son?”

  He frowned endearingly at his wife. “Because all Ashton women bear a male child first.”

  Her mother snorted at that male-minded logic. “I didn’t.”

  “That’s because you refuse to do as you ought, my dear.”

  “Perhaps it was you who did not do as he ought,” she teasingly returned.

  Bliss smiled at her parents’ playful banter, even as a pang of envy washed over her. She turned away, her fingers lovingly brushing over the quilt she had made for the babe, a patchwork of colors soft as kitten’s fur. Soon the day would arrive when she would swaddle her child in it and hold him close to her heart.

  A gentle hand at her shoulder made her look up into her father’s concerned face. “You’ve done wonders with this room,” he said.

  Bliss had turned her studio into a nursery, painting the walls with murals of woodland creatures and fairies. For once, her art depicted something pure and wholesome.

  “Bliss,” her father began in a tentative tone. “I want to talk to you about Caine.”

  Bliss moved to the table that held her paintbrushes, her fingers absently drifting over them. “I don’t wish to speak of him, Papa.”

  “He’s your baby’s father.”

  “We’ve been over this before,” she said wearily.

  “Yes, and you refuse to listen to me when I try to tell you how he’s changed—”

  Bliss pivoted around to face him. “If he’s not willing to come to me himself, he’s not the man I know he could be—and I won’t settle for less.”

  “Darling.” Her mother came forward, the sympathy in her eyes nearly Bliss’s undoing. “Your father and I only want what is best for you and the babe.”

  “Then understand that I won’t accept anything less than love.” Grabbing her shawl, she hastened past them, needing to be alone.

  Bliss fled to the one place she knew her aching heart would find solace. The place she had not been able to come to for four long months, for fear it would bring back too many memories of Caine.

  Now she sought its refuge, sinking down on the marble bench at the base of her grandparents’ graves, the babe restless beneath her wildly beating heart.

  “Hush,” she crooned, squeezing away the tears in her eyes. “Everything will be all right. I promise.”

  The silence of dusk closed around her, a soothing balm to her spirit. Yet her thoughts remained in turmoil, centered on Caine.

  Her father had told her that he had changed, hinting several times that he missed her. But Bliss refused to hope. To care. She would not take the first step in allowing Caine back into her life or her heart; if he could not commit to her voluntarily, it would be pointlesss and self-destructive.

  “Bliss.”

  Her name was a lamenting whisper on the wind, almost unreal, bringing her head up, leaving her trembling and unable to move, knowing Caine was there. She did not question how it was so.

  “Look at me, Bliss,” he softly commanded.

  She dropped her head into her hands. “Go away. Please, just go away.”

  “I can’t. It’s taken me too long to work up the nerve to face you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came with your father. I had to see you.”

  “Why? You made your feelings perfectly clear when you left.”

  “Please, Bliss, look at me.”

  She couldn’t. She knew what he would see when she did, the naked desire she still felt for him, that she would probably always feel. Her long shawl hid the truth of her condition.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I took a chance,” he murmured in that soft voice that still had the power to melt her.

  “And is my father the reason you’re here? Did he…say anything to you?” she asked, praying her father had not broken her confidence.

  “Like what? That you were pining away for me? I knew you were too strong for that. In fact, I was sure you had put me out of your mind.” He paused, then asked quietly, “Did you, Bliss?”

  “Do you truly care?” Though her heart sped up, she refused to hope.

  “Yes,” he said, sounding as if he had moved closer. “You kept giving me chances, but I was too damn blind to take them. I forced myself to believe that you were better off without me during those long nights when I walked the cold, empty corridors of a house that no longer meant anything to me. Not without you.”

  “Don’t,” she softly begged, wanting to put her hands over her ears.

  “For the first month, I don’t think I was sober for more than an hour at a clip. In my lucid moments I walked the cliffs, searching for something I’d lost, something I desperately needed to find again. I could never quite grab hold of it, but I ended up discovering something else instead. Do you want to know what it was?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “My heart, Bliss. I found my heart. I thought it was lost forever. But loving you made it beat again, made me alive in a way I’ve never been before. I knew then that I had to show you I could be a man deserving of your love. I just didn’t know how. But even in that, you helped me.

  “You told me once that your father thought I should take up my position in the House of Lords. And I did. I made my voice heard. I spoke out about the poor, about unfair labor conditions, and workhouses. I even spoke of women’s rights.”

  Bliss forgot her vow not to look at him and glanced up,
drinking in the very sight of him. He appeared thinner, leaner in a way that made him even more handsome, the hollows beneath his cheeks pronounced, dark circles rimming those bluer-than-blue eyes, as though he truly had suffered. But to believe that was to believe he cared. Could she trust that he truly did?

  “Why?” she asked quietly.

  “For you. All and only for you, Bliss. I wanted to be a better man, so that you would find something worthy in me. Something worth loving, because I need you to love me, Bliss. I’m not complete without you.”

  “Caine—”

  “Just hear me out. I spent a lot of time with your father. I apologized for blaming him for my father’s death. Once the fog had cleared from my brain, I realized I had been living under an illusion. I had reinvented the story in my mind to suit the hatred seething inside of me. Hatred I wanted to direct at someone other than myself.”

  He walked toward her, his stride uncertain, as were his eyes as they delved into hers. “I don’t want to live with the pain anymore, Bliss. I want my life back. I want you back.”

  He came to stand within a few feet of her, reaching out to brush her cheek, only to curl his fingers into his palms. “I found an untapped seam of coal on my property,” he said in a reserved tone. “I have money now. Not much, but enough to buy some sheep and crop seed, and to get a good start on raising purebred Arabians.” He shook his head, a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d want to be a glorified farmer. But I’m ready to settle down.”

  “Your father would have liked that.”

  “I’d like to think that maybe he would have been proud of me, too.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  He knelt beside her, taking her cold hand into his warm one, regarding her in a way he had never done before. “I didn’t mean to stay away so long, but I had to make sure that I had something solid to offer you. I know I’ve hurt you, Bliss. And I know I don’t deserve you, but I pray you’ll forgive me. I promise I’ll spend every day making it up to you.”

  “Don’t.” The tight rein she had barely managed to keep on her emotions fell apart, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. “Don’t say what you don’t mean.”