by Eva Devon
It was tempting to stay hidden, to make him go, to stay in the shadows with her thoughts.
“Beatrix, forgive me,” he said into the darkness.
It was the poignancy and regret in his voice that caused her to call out. “I’m here, you awful man.”
A soft laugh tumbled from his throat and before she could stand, he was beside her.
“Is it comfortable on the floor?” he asked.
“You should ask Ellesmere,” she retorted, folding her arms just under her breasts.
He winced. “It was badly done of me. But I thought he had hurt you and I—”
“Acted without thinking,” she cut in, determined that he should at least see his part in all this.
“I can’t explain what came over me.” He sighed, standing awkwardly. A strange change for such a usually confident man. “But the idea that anyone might cause you pain. . . It did something to me.”
“Yes, well.” She craned her neck and eyed him. “It did something to me, too. I’m ruined now.”
The look of pure contrition was unmistakable. “It’s been explained to me.”
“You didn’t realize I’d be ruined?”
“I must have done in some capacity.” He drove a hand through his thick hair. “All I knew was I had to protect you. I did it in a very poor fashion. I hurt you more.”
She sighed. “Oh, not truly. It is greatly inconvenient. But I think I am beyond the ability to be hurt now.”
“That’s not true,” he said softly, his voice as soft as silk. “I saw the pain in your eyes tonight.”
She blinked and looked away from him. “It’s just that I thought I could hold on.”
“You can,” he said firmly.
She snorted. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Hold on to what then?” she challenged, her anger and sadness rising to the surface again. “My family is gone and I cannot make them come back.”
“Hold on to me.”
Much to her shock, he sat down beside her on the floor, his shoulder brushing hers.
She jolted at both his statement and the touch. “I beg your pardon?”
“Marry me.”
She leaned back from him, studying his face to see if he jested. “Surely you have lost your wits.”
“I don’t disagree, but it seems an excellent solution to both our states.”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t want your pity.”
His brows rose as he pointed out, “Do you think it was pity that caused me to belt Ellesmere in the face?”
Struggling to understand, she bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know what it was.”
“You’ve done something to me that I can’t explain,” he confessed quietly but ardently. “Every ounce of me longs to possess you. To protect you.”
She narrowed her eyes. Surely, this couldn’t be happening. He was not proposing on the library floor. “Didn’t you warn me about being a possession today?”
“Not that kind of possession,” he corrected quickly as he turned his torso towards her. “I don’t want to own you. I want to take you in my arms and know your every curve and thought until there isn’t a part of you that I do not know as well as myself. Is that not mad?”
She gasped. Could he mean that? It seemed so. “If it is madness, I suffer from it, too.”
His eyes lit with excitement. “Then let’s be mad together.”
Could they? It seemed impossible. Just the day before, she never could have imagined Adam marrying. Now, here he was proposing just that. Would he come to regret it?
Did it matter?
Her heart slammed in her chest. This was her chance. With Adam, she could marry, have children, live in her family home and actually admire her husband. And most importantly, her son would, first and foremost, be the Earl of Westport. That was what mattered.
What woman could hope for more?
“I agree,” she said, almost not believing she was speaking aloud.
A slow smile curved his lips. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She held up on a hand. “On one condition.”
His features grew wary. “What is it?”
“You’re a captain, Adam Duke.” She drew herself up, determined to find some dignity in all this mess. “I imagine that the sea calls to you. At some point, you will answer that call. So, you must promise me that you go nowhere until I am with child.”
The emotion which traveled his face then was unknowable, but he nodded. “I will not leave.”
“Good. Then when shall we be wed?”
“Tomorrow?”
She laughed. “Oh, the gossips will adore that after this night.”
“Do we care about the gossips?” He leaned into her, his warmth brushing her again.
This time, she did not pull away.
Cocking her head to the side, she grinned at him. “No. No we do not.”
And as he took her hand, she realized then that though she was to marry, she had chosen freedom. For with Captain Adam Duke, she would never have to be anyone other than herself.
*
“Wish me felicitations,” Adam declared above the tavern din.
Tony gawped at him and his brother’s face paled.
“You ruined her, didn’t you?” Alexander demanded. “What will I say to my wife?”
“I did not,” Adam corrected, affronted. He sat up straight, his evening kit chafing and he yanked at the cravat which, at present, felt like a noose. “Well, not exactly.
Alexander threw up his hands. “I knew it. You’re a wild man, Adam.”
“It’s what I adore about him,” Tony quipped, leaning his elbow on the table. “Do tell us. I love a good story.”
“Now, look here,” Adam defended, glancing about as if someone might suddenly come and disrupt the awkward conversation. “I may have quite the past, but despoiling virgins is not in it. I ruined her only in the sense that I gave rise to a great deal of gossip at Aston’s ball.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes, giving the sort of probing gaze that only a beloved brother could give. “Are you happy about this marriage?”
Adam thought carefully before he answered. “It certainly wasn’t what I planned on. But if there was any woman I could wed, it would be she.”
Tony’s mouth twisted with skepticism. “That does not sound like undying love.”
“Because it’s not,” Adam agreed, allowing himself to relax against the rough-hewn, wood chair. “We have an affinity for each other.”
And a passion, but he refrained from saying that aloud. Marrying for lust wasn’t the most advisable thing, but he also fancied that they were marrying for mutual understanding and companionship.
“Father will be thrilled,” Alexander said, smiling ruefully. “He always hoped you would settle down.”
“I’m not settling down,” Adam protested quickly. The very phrase felt like a death sentence, even if he thought Beatrix was the best woman he’d ever known.
“Oh?” Tony queried, laughing. “Are you planning on running all over town with the bachelors once locked in conjugal harmony?”
“Of course not.” He frowned. The truth was, he’d given no thought to what married life would be like. It struck him then that it was likely she would not be overly fond of him being out at all hours as he was wont to do. Being home at a decent hour would certainly be an adjustment. What exactly did one do at night?
Besides the obvious, of course. With Beatrix, he was fairly certain a good many hours would be spent in bed. Time he was anticipating greatly.
“You haven’t thought this out,” Tony groaned, banging his head down against the table in as dramatic a fashion as his father might have done.
“One doesn’t need to plan everything, Tony,” Adam informed, grabbing the man’s shoulder and helping him sit back up.
“Oh, don’t I know it.” Tony’s mouth crooked. “Have you met my father?”
“Aston is one of the reasons t
his marriage is happening.” He rubbed a hand to his temple. “I swear he orchestrated the entire evening.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Tony. “He loves to play God.”
“I’ve promised her that I will stay for several months,” he said at last.
“So, you don’t plan to live in England?” Alexander asked skeptically.
Live in England.
A wave of horror traveled through him. Of course. Everyone would expect it. And if they had a son, the boy would be an earl, the antithesis of everything he’d been raised to admire.
It didn’t matter. Surely, it didn’t. He could teach the boy the ways of the government of the United States, instilling a belief in the importance of the people and not just the aristocracy. Which, of course, meant he was, indeed, going to have to live in England.
He groaned, taking his own turn with the table.
“Oh, Adam,” Alexander sighed. “You’d best resolve this.”
“There’s nothing to resolve,” he said firmly, forcing himself back up. “We shall marry, have an heir and, well, we will live our lives as best we can.”
“Together?” Tony asked, a brow arched.
“Together,” he agreed. After all, even she had said that he was a captain. Beatrix understood that one day he would go. That he would venture the seas and be gone for months at a time. Yes, if any marriage would suit him, it would be this one. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Chapter 16
The small ceremony and intimate breakfast was not what her parents would have imagined, but Lady Beatrix had no wish to invite half of London and have them stare. So, she and Adam had only invited close family. They had married in the Margaret Chapel at Westminster with little fanfare and were now in the Duke of Hunt’s home for the celebration since she had no direct family to host it.
At present, she stood in her wedding finery in the garden, feeling a wave of trepidation as she watched her handsome husband make his way around the company, accepting congratulations. He was, without question, the most beautiful man present.
That very realization gave her pause.
How had he chosen her?
Well he hadn’t, she corrected herself, scowling. Not really. He’d been put into a corner. No, she couldn’t think like that. He admired her. She knew he did.
She drank in a deep breath, savoring the scent of late summer roses. The verdant garden was beautifully tended, the very copse of trees where she had met her husband in sight.
“Good morning, Lady Beatrix, may I offer you my deepest condolences.”
She flushed as she realized how deep in thought she must have been. “Lady Gemma!” she exclaimed.
Lady Gemma, wife of Adam’s brother, grinned at her from beneath the brim of a superb hat trimmed with a neat blue bow. Now, here was a woman who was the envy of the ton. Russet hair curled about her face, violet eyes flashing mischievously and her berry lips looked ready to part with laughter at any moment.
“Forgive me.” Beatrix blinked, hoping the young woman attributed it to the sun. “Did you say condolences?”
“Indeed,” Gemma said unapologetically. “For you’ve gone from one mad-capped family to another. How ever shall you bear it?” she teased.
Beatrix grinned, realizing that Gemma was a delightful woman. “I’m sure I shall manage.”
“Glad to hear it.” Gemma gave an approving nod. “I quite like my American family, truth to be told, and now it seems you and I are even closer. For we are sisters.”
Sisters.
For some inexplicable reason, she could hardly fathom this. They weren’t really sisters. But Lady Gemma looked as if she were about to enfold Beatrix in a joyous embrace.
In fact, she did just that. Her slender arms wrapped about Beatrix’s waist and squeezed. “We shall have a very good time together. Once, I longed for a sister, and now I have two by matrimony. I am lucky, indeed. You will tell me every infuriating thing about Adam and I shall reciprocate about Alexander.”
“Ah! I do love to see happy women.” The Duke of Aston swept across the lawn, fairly bounding with energy. “And weddings. I love weddings.”
He brandished two glasses of champagne. “For you, Lady Beatrix. You look a bit blown over.”
She eyed the handsome duke that she barely knew. He was the oddest man she’d ever met and, yet, he was incredibly appealing in a bombastic sort of way. He also seemed kind.
Taking the glass, gratefully, she swallowed. “This is all a bit overwhelming.”
“And where is my champagne?” Gemma challenged, tapping the duke playfully on the arm.
“Alas, I have but two hands,” Aston parried. “Besides, my wife wants you. She has questions about presents for infants.”
Gemma’s eyes flared and her cheeks blossomed as her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen which was hidden by a rather full, pale blue, linen skirt. “Your delicacy is astonishing.”
“It’s taken me many years to develop it,” Aston agreed, as if he had not, indeed, mentioned Lady Gemma’s apparent condition.
But Gemma gave Beatrix a final squeeze then headed off through the garden and small, but happy company.
Aston drank deeply of the bubbling French wine then said over the rim of his glass, “Now, for a bride, you don’t look terribly excited.”
She choked on her own champagne.
“Careful. Careful. Mustn’t ruin your gown.”
She tried to discreetly wipe the drops of champagne from her chin. “I am thinking of the future, if you must know.”
“Don’t,” Aston said merrily, shooing on an errant, buzzing honey bee. “Horrible thing to think about. We’ve little control over it after all.”
“I’m aware of the vagaries of time.” If anyone knew, it was she. She’d seen how quickly happiness and security could be ripped out from under one’s feet. It was entirely unpredictable.
“Glad to hear it. Some people do their very best to control it.” Aston nodded. The feathers on his rather astounding and out of date hat bobbed. “There’s no point. The intentions of God and the universe and all that are far grander than we mortals are not ours to know.”
She searched his face, trying to make sense of the wisdom which was coming from such an outrageous gentleman. “I do believe you are telling me not to worry.”
“So I am. Delighted you noticed.” Aston gestured across the perfectly-manicured lawn with his glass. “He’s an interesting fellow. You’ll never be bored. And you’re interesting yourself. So, he will never be bored. I cannot think of a better thing.”
She pressed her lips together, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Pretending to study the flowers blooming in a nearby bed, she began, “But he is—”
“What?” Aston interrupted with the sort of self-importance common to dukes.
It was tempting to prevaricate. But she did not. “An adventurer.”
Aston winked at her. “And you’re not?”
Before she could reply, the duke spotted his son over by the fountain on the other side of the garden and headed off, calling, “Tony, you scamp, come and chat with your father.”
She considered Aston’s advice. Could she take it? She hoped she could. It seemed the only path to happiness.
Turning her gaze back to her handsome husband, she allowed herself to smile, allowed herself to enjoy this moment. It had not been planned but it was still something to rejoice in.
Everything was going to be just fine. More than fine. Much to her amazement, she was about to have a family again. What more could she desire?
And at that moment, Adam turned towards her. Their eyes met and he, too, smiled, a slow, promising smile. He stepped away from the Duke of Hunt and started to make his way towards her.
The sun danced in his golden hair, painting him a veritable Adonis.
He walked with an incredible confidence, his gaze never leaving her. He made no attempt to veil the clear desire on his face.
In that moment, she knew Adam
Duke was wild. And he always would be.
*
Adam mounted the sprawling steps of his wife’s imposing London townhome, wondering, once again, how the devil such a thing had transpired. He wasn’t displeased, but it was still an amazement to him, his current state in life.
The Westport townhome, much like the Duke of Hunt’s, was no small affair. Detached and standing at the head of a small square, the parkland before it was an orchestrated wild land. The house sat, like an important old woman who had aged exceptionally well, lording over the smaller but elegant houses in her vicinity.
There had been some discussion as to where they might live but, with the return of her family title, it had been quickly decided that they should live at Westport House.
So, just before the wedding, Argyle had brought over the majority of Adam’s things and put them in what was apparently to be his new London home.
In all his years, he’d never dwelled in a place that outwardly appeared to be a mausoleum.
His childhood had been spent in a beautifully made, but small brick house. He’d been born to wealth. It was what had given him the freedom to sail for morals and not for profit. In Boston, there had been no need to build a palace as some did. His father had been quite content with a house that suited his family since, more often than not, he was away at sea.
And in London, he’d always stayed aboard his ship or in small lodgings.
He was no stranger to grandeur, but he had never lived day in and out in it.
She took his hand. “Welcome home,” she said softly as she led him up under the surprisingly large portico.
Home.
He followed her, feeling more out of place than he ever had in any foreign land.
The doors at the top of the stairs opened and the butler in the doorway beamed with pleasure.
Bowing, the older man with hair as white as snow said, “Lady Beatrix, I cannot express my delight that I am to be in your service again and that you have come back to your rightful place.”
Beatrix beamed, her whole being aglow. “Thank you, Braxton.”
“Captain Duke,” Braxton said with just the right mixture of deference and respect.