Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  In her mind’s eye, however, she could envision the grandeur of the room once it was complete.

  She knew precisely where each chair, each candelabrum, and each tapestry would be placed. She had even sent the ancient clock and silver tea service to London to be repaired. It would soon be returned precisely as it had been before the decline of the Faulconer fortune.

  Without the drafts and leaking casements, she acknowledged wryly.

  Knowing she should return to her chambers and change the gown now streaked with soot and dust, Beatrice turned about only to catch her breath at the sight of Gabriel leaning against the door frame, regarding her with a brooding gaze.

  As she stiffened in surprise, he slowly pushed himself away from the door and strolled to the center of the room.

  “Quite a change,” he said with a faint smile.

  Beatrice clasped her hands together, experiencing that wary unease she always felt when her husband was near.

  “I fear that it was necessary to strip the room bare before it could be restored.”

  “I am not complaining,” he retorted in mild tones, his gaze traveling over the bare walls and clutter of ladders and tools. “The last occasion I was in this room my father was hosting a drunken party and I was nearly strung from the chandelier when I refused to allow one of the guests to pile the chairs onto the fire when they ran out of firewood.”

  Beatrice felt a stab of surprise at his wry words. Gabriel rarely discussed his childhood, although she had already surmised that it had been less than idyllic. To have watched his father and brother deliberately destroying their inheritance must have been painfully frustrating.

  “It could not have been very comfortable for you to stay here.”

  He glanced at her in surprise, as if caught off guard by her hint of compassion.

  “It was damnable,” he agreed slowly, the hazel eyes somber. “Unlike my father and brother, I took no enjoyment from endless pursuits of pleasure and their coarse friends. I found it inconceivable that they would squander their income upon cards and drink while the roof threatened to crumble down upon their heads.”

  Beatrice could not halt a reluctant tug of understanding. She knew precisely what it felt like to be among those who were so utterly dissimilar that they might be from two separate lands.

  “Very frustrating, no doubt,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” He gave a wry grimace. “Although to be fair, I was equally frustrating to my father. He often mourned that he must have been cuckolded, since no son of his could prefer books to the hunt or show such an utter lack of interest in pursuing every maid who passed through the door.”

  Beatrice paused, knowing she should leave the room. There was something suddenly very vulnerable about Gabriel as he revealed his unhappy childhood. A vulnerability that threatened to melt the ice encasing her heart.

  Her feet did not move, however, and instead she discovered herself probing even deeper.

  “That is why you bought a commission?”

  He gave an elegant lift of one shoulder. “One of the reasons. More than anything, it was impossible to watch as the tenants and servants began to suffer beneath my father’s neglect. Crumbling roofs were despicable enough. Allowing those who depend upon you to starve was more than I could bear.”

  “So you chose to fight Napoleon instead,” she said, wondering what her life might have been had she possessed the means of leaving her home without stepping into marriage.

  He gave a short laugh. “It seemed safer than remaining and throttling my family. It is a choice I deeply regret, however.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why?”

  “Had I remained, I might have been able to put at least some restraint upon my father. Or at least have hidden a few of the more valuable jewels so that I could help those who had nothing,” he explained, unable to hide his self-disgust. “Instead, I walked away and washed my hands of Falcon Park. It was by far the easier path.”

  Without thinking, she lifted her hands to indicate the barren room. It had taken more than a handful of years to reduce Falcon Park to its current state of neglect.

  “Do you truly believe that had you been here you could have prevented this?”

  “I would at least have the satisfaction of knowing I tried,” he said, more to himself than her. Then he forced a smile to his lips. “Forgive me, Beatrice. I did not come here to pour out my troubles.”

  The sharp stab of disappointment at his sudden retreat made Beatrice sternly chastise her foolishness. She did not want to feel pity for Gabriel’s difficult past. Or to consider the notion he had clearly been in desperate straits to save Falcon Park. And certainly she did not want to feel that odd bond that had drawn her to him in the first place.

  With an effort she feigned a hint of indifference. He must not realize just how easily he could slip beneath her defenses.

  “Is there something you need?”

  An indefinable emotion briefly darkened the hazel eyes before he was giving a shrug.

  “As much as I dislike adding to your burdens, I fear that I should warn you that a battle appears to be brewing in the garden between the workmen and Chalfrey. Something about a tree that was seemingly planted by the first Lady Faulconer in honor of the King.”

  “Not again.” Beatrice sighed in exasperation. The cantankerous Chalfrey was truly going to drive her batty. “I thought by returning the family gardener to his position he would be eager to help restore the grounds. Instead, he adamantly insists that every rock and tree is somehow sacred to the Faulconer family.”

  “Do you wish me to speak with him?” Gabriel offered. “Chalfrey can be a stubborn, ill-tempered old brute.”

  Beatrice gave a shake of her head. The staff was now her responsibility as well as Gabriel’s, and she knew it was important to establish her authority. Even if it meant a brangle with the aggravating gardener.

  “No, I will deal with him. I wish to make it very clear that the work I have ordered will proceed with or without his approval.”

  “Even if it means cutting down trees planted in honor of kings?” he lightly teased.

  She stilled, eyeing him in a wary fashion. “Do you disapprove?”

  “Of course not,” he swiftly reassured her, moving to stand far too close for her peace of mind. “Over the past centuries the gardens have been altered on several occasions. I doubt any of the original trees still stand. Besides, if Prinny has not yet come to admire his family’s tree, I doubt if he will do so in the near future.”

  Beatrice barely heard his soothing words. Instead, she was nearly consumed by the prickling awareness that swept through her body. How many nights had she dreamed of being held in his strong arms? Of having his lips pressed to her own as he seduced a wicked excitement deep with in her?

  A shiver shook her form as a rash of goose bumps feathered over her skin.

  “I should speak with Chalfrey,” she blurted out, moving hastily to put some much-needed distance between them. Her haste, however, was her undoing, and even as she attempted to step past him, her foot caught in the hem of her gown and she was lunging forward. “Oh.”

  “Careful.” With annoying ease, he managed to catch her and sweep her closer to the disturbing heat of his body. “Are you all right?”

  A dark flush stained her cheeks. As much for the betraying pleasure at being held so close to him as for embarrassment at her clumsiness.

  “Yes, so stupid of me,” she muttered, glaring down at her torn hem in exasperation. “I do not know how I manage to destroy every gown I put on.”

  Without warning, his hand moved to grasp her chin and tilted her face up to meet his stern gaze.

  “Do not.”

  She gave a startled blink. “What?”

  “I have always admired the fact that you do not twitter over your appearance.”

  “It would do little good if I did,” she said dryly.

  His fingers moved to trace a searing path over her cheek. “Beatrice, your beauty has alw
ays come from within you. Your habit of tossing yourself wholeheartedly into whatever you are doing. Your ability to make life better for those about you, and your kindness to those in need. Such qualities are far more important than fripperies.”

  Her heart came to a full, painful stop at his soft words. She had sworn she would not be swayed by this man again. He had effectively proven he was not to be trusted. But even as she sought to pull away she found herself lost in the dark hazel gaze.

  “Gabriel?”

  His lips tilted at her bewildered tone. “Yes, Beatrice?”

  “I should go.”

  “Must you?” he demanded.

  Keeping their gazes locked, he slowly lowered his head. There was no mistaking the fact he was about to kiss her, but while a warning voice insisted that she pull away, Beatrice was unable to move. It was as if a spell had been cast over her, making it impossible to move so much as a muscle. And then his mouth was claiming her own in a soft, achingly tender kiss. All thought of protest fled as the cascade of sensations shimmered through her. Saints above, it had been so long. So very long since he had made her tremble with desire.

  “Oh, Beatrice, I’ve missed holding you in my arms,” he murmured as he stroked his lips over her cheek. “You taste sweet, so sweet.”

  For a crazed moment Beatrice leaned against the hard heat of his body, reveling in the desire stirring to life between them. It had always been like this for her. Gabriel had only to touch her to make her heart falter and her blood race. It was a dizzying, magical feeling.

  The seeking lips found the curve of her neck and began to nibble their way downward. His hands splayed across her back, the heat of his skin burning through the fabric of her gown.

  She wanted the moment to last forever.

  To be held and caressed as if he truly loved her . . .

  The thought passed through her foggy mind at the same moment she was abruptly wrenching from his grasp.

  No.

  He did not love her.

  He had never loved her.

  Horrified at the ease in which she had allowed herself to be bewitched, Beatrice gave a choked cry, then, pressing a hand to her aching lips, she fled from the room.

  Dear heavens.

  She had just exposed what she had sworn never to reveal, she acknowledged as tears stung her eyes.

  She had just allowed him to realize he could crash through her defenses with a single touch.

  Five

  Gabriel watched with a jaundiced gaze as his aunt Sarah excused herself from the table. Under the best of circumstances, the woman’s constant prattle was annoying. When he was in a foul mood, it was nearly impossible to bear.

  Sipping deeply of the port that had been silently placed upon the table, he scowled at the closing door. It did not help that he knew precisely what had affected his mood, he acknowledged sourly. It was what affected his mood every day.

  Beatrice.

  His teeth clenched as he thought of his exasperating wife.

  He had been so certain that they had made progress on this day.

  Not only had they managed a conversation free of the usual barbs and heated accusations, but he had actually held her in his arms.

  A shaft of blazing need shot through him as he remembered the feel of her soft curves pressed to his own. He had told himself that it was mere imagination that made him recall her kisses with such a deep longing. Surely kisses were kisses no matter who the woman? But the moment his mouth had touched her own, he realized it had not been his imagination. There was something utterly enchanting in her sweet innocence. Something that made him tremble with the mad desire to drown in that sweetness. To stir to life the ready passion he could sense just below the surface.

  And yet, even as he felt her tentative response, she was pulling away from him and fleeing to the sanctuary of her chambers.

  His first instinct had been to pursue her and force her to admit that she did still desire him. His aching body practically demanded that he put an end to the unnatural lack of physical relations between them.

  But he had forced himself to deny the fierce impulse. He had to be patient, he told himself. He did not want to push Beatrice into a relationship she was not yet prepared to accept. When he did make her his wife, he wanted her eager and thoroughly prepared for the moment.

  All very noble, he thought with a stab of self-mockery. Unfortunately his good intentions had accomplished nothing more than allowing Beatrice to retreat even further behind her prickly defenses. He had not so much as caught a glimpse of her the rest of the day, and even this evening she had sent down a polite message claiming she did not feel well enough to join them for dinner.

  Clearly she deeply regretted her momentary lapse and had retreated to reinforce her icy composure.

  Gabriel swallowed another mouthful of the port, wanting nothing more than to charge upstairs and pummel down her door. It was that or drink himself into a stupor, he acknowledged wryly.

  Perhaps sensing Gabriel’s brooding annoyance, the silent vicar seated across the table gently cleared his throat.

  “It is unfortunate that Beatrice was not feeling well enough to come down to dinner,” he said in cautious tones. “I hope it is nothing serious. She seemed to be quite well earlier today.”

  Gabriel could not prevent his wry smile. “Oh, I doubt that it is anything life-threatening.”

  As if disturbed by Gabriel’s overt lack of sympathy for his ailing wife, Humbly offered a slight frown. “Have you called for a doctor?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “There is no need.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Quite certain.” Gabriel set his glass on the table with a distinct bang. “I am the reason Beatrice refused to come down to dinner.”

  “Oh.” Humbly paused to digest the abrupt confession, then, hesitantly, he leaned forward. “Forgive me for being an interfering busybody, but was there an argument?”

  Gabriel instinctively stiffened at the bold intrusion into a very private matter between a husband and wife. But the genuine sympathy that glittered in the sherry eyes eased his initial irritation.

  The old gentleman truly seemed to care about Beatrice. Perhaps he could be the one to talk some sense into her.

  “On the contrary,” he forced himself to admit slowly. “We actually managed to share a pleasant conversation. And then . . .”

  “Yes?” the vicar prompted.

  “Beatrice momentarily forgot to hate me.”

  “But that is wonderful.”

  “So I thought at the time.” His fingers tightened on the glass until the delicate crystal threatened to shatter. “Unfortunately she has obviously had second thoughts and now regrets her brief lapse. I have no doubt she is in her room, grimly restoring her walls of forbidding ice.”

  Humbly heaved a faint sigh. “It is not easy for Beatrice.”

  Gabriel frowned in exasperation. “I realize that, Humbly. But she is making this far more difficult than it has to be. We could do better.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to agree. “Beatrice must be made to see that she is only hurting herself.”

  “I do not suppose you have a brilliant notion as to how I could accomplish that amazing feat?” he inquired in dry tones.

  There was a moment’s pause before Humbly gave an offhand shrug. “You should woo her.”

  “What?”

  The older man smiled at Gabriel’s sharp confusion. “Beatrice feels as if she has been tricked into this marriage. You must now give her a desire to be your wife.”

  Lucifer’s teeth. Did the vicar believe he had not tried for weeks to convince Beatrice that he could bring her happiness if only she would allow him to?

  “What would you have me do?” he demanded in a disgruntled voice. “Buy her gifts with her own money?”

  Humbly gave a chastising click of his tongue. “Certainly not. Beatrice has no interest in lavish gifts.”

  “Then what?”

  “What does she prefer?
”

  Gabriel considered a moment before giving a shrug. “Those damnable machines.”

  “Yes.”

  Gabriel regarded the vicar with a measure of suspicion. “You do not propose that I try my hand at inventions? I should no doubt burn the house down or explode us all to the netherworld.”

  Humbly gave a soft chuckle. “I was thinking more in terms of helping in her hobby.”

  “I know nothing of such things.”

  “Surely there is some means to be of service?” Humbly persisted.

  “How?” Gabriel threw himself back in his seat with a display of impatience. “I warned you that I was hopeless at such things.”

  “You managed well enough before you were wed. Beatrice did, after all, choose you as her husband over any of her other suitors.”

  Gabriel gave a short, humorless laugh. “Much to her disgust.”

  “Her pride and heart are wounded at the moment. You must restore her faith in you. And more important, in herself.”

  His odd choice of words caught Gabriel off guard. He narrowed his gaze as he regarded the round countenance.

  “In herself?”

  Humbly appeared startled by his seeming stupidity.

  “Surely you realize that Beatrice has never possessed much belief in her own worth beyond her fortune?”

  Gabriel was instantly offended by the condemning description of his bride.

  “Ridiculous,” he retorted in dangerous tones. Not even this harmless vicar would be allowed to insult Beatrice. Not within his hearing. “She is an extraordinarily intelligent woman with an endless number of talents. Beyond that she is kind and loyal and utterly without artifice.”

  Perhaps unable to sense he was very close to having his cork drawn, Humbly stabbed Gabriel with a stern gaze.

  “However, she has never possessed the conventional attractions desired in a maiden. Unlike most young women, she has never been a beauty or especially charming. And not even I can claim she is anything but a wretched musician. Instead, she possesses a fascinating mind and the heart of an inventor. Is it any wonder she has been taught to doubt her desirability for a gentleman?”

  Gabriel opened his mouth to deny the ridiculous words only to hesitate as he realized there was more than a bit of truth to the vicar’s description of Beatrice.