Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  “You sully my house with your ill-mannered behaviour. Leave now,” Boscobel said, his voice cold. “Don’t come back.” He didn’t appear compassionate. More disgusted.

  “Bring my son.”

  “No.”

  Ellesmere stepped back and took Faith’s arm, drawing her away. As though acting on cue, Stretton stepped back, leaving the two men facing each other.

  Boscobel had his back to her, but Faith had no doubt who would win this confrontation. She leaned into Ellesmere to get a better view of her father over Boscobel’s shoulder, and felt him put his other hand over hers. Then a gentle kiss brushed her forehead. Startled, she looked up and nearly hit his chin with the top of her head. She stared into eyes alight with laughter. We might as well act the part.

  Villain. To her surprise, Faith found she could inject teasing humour into her mental comments. Her father would see the kiss and draw his own conclusions.

  Boscobel was speaking rapidly to her father. She listened, and gloried that she was there to hear it. “Whatever Lady Bradley decides is none of your concern, sir. Not any more. What I have seen here today convinces me that you do not have her best interests at heart. My son is the heir to a dukedom, and he carries the courtesy title of earl. We are not impoverished. That you object to such a match, one your daughter evidently prefers, to the one you have arranged tells me much about your character.”

  “She is my daughter, sir, mine to control and mine to direct.”

  Boscobel took a step back and drew out his handkerchief, wiping his face as though Pendford had spat at him. He might well have done. Or it might be that his body odour had become too much for the fastidious Boscobel. “You will leave my house. I will have you put out, if necessary.”

  Gerard knew his father shared with no one.

  The duke walked back to his desk and picked up a paper from it, as if the matter was now closed and he was turning his attention to something else. His arrogance awed Faith.

  Gerard took up the reins. “Sir, both Lady Bradley and Lord Fordhouse are beyond your control. They are both of age. Fordhouse is your heir and nothing can change that now. You cannot lock him away, and you cannot devolve his responsibilities on someone of your choosing. We have taken him into society. He has been seen by his peers and judged. He is no more insane than I am.”

  Boscobel glanced up. His brows rose in a distinct “Are you still here?” way, but he put down the paper in his hand. “Lady Bradley would appreciate the return of her widow’s portion.”

  “She signed it over to me,” Pendford growled.

  “She has changed her mind. She wishes it to become her dowry. You can hardly send her to Ellesmere penniless.”

  Faith’s hand tightened on Gerard’s arm. She took comfort from his presence, but this talk of dowries made the statement somehow more real. As though it might happen.

  “If I disagree with her choice of husband, I reserve the right to withhold her portion.”

  Boscobel shrugged. “We can make other arrangements, and I’m not without friends in the legal profession.” He gave Bradley a bored glance from under half-closed lids.

  “I have a good lawyer.”

  Faith wanted to stop them. Her widow’s mite was a mite. Just enough for her to live on and keep her brother independent of her father. She had to admit that it would be good to get the money back, and if Boscobel could achieve it for her, she would bless him, but she didn’t hold out much hope.

  Boscobel hadn’t finished. “I’m not so poverty-stricken I can’t ensure a good endowment for my daughter-in-law. But in the interests of justice, I feel obliged to pursue the matter legally. I believe my resources may outlast yours.” In other words, he could beggar Faith’s father by pursuing him in the courts.

  A heavy silence fell. Everyone stood perfectly still, except Lord Pendford, who walked slowly towards the door. When he passed his daughter, he paused to glare at her, but he said nothing. She met his stare, and then he was gone. The Bedlam man gave a short bow and scurried out after him. Grasmere left on their heels.

  They all listened to the sound of hurried departure and waited until the footman stationed outside had closed the door, restoring their privacy. Then Boscobel turned to his son. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  Chapter Nine

  Lethargy swept over Gerard like a physical blanket, and he knew it would not be long before he had to lie down or he would pass out. When he met his father’s piercing gaze, a headache lanced through him, as sharp as always, and as debilitating. He fought it with every ounce of strength he possessed, because he needed all his wits about him now.

  He could only hope Faith would go along with him, realize this was the way out of her difficulties. Later they would talk, would try to make sense of it all. After he had rested.

  He retained Faith’s hand imprisoned in the crook of his arm, but neither of them looked at her. “I asked Lady Bradley if she would marry me and she agreed.”

  “May I speak to you in private, my son?” His tone was deceptively mild. Gerard knew better than to assume his temper matched it.

  “Yes, sir, but I would appreciate a private word with Faith first.” He tried to sound conciliatory, but what he said to his father depended entirely on what Faith wanted.

  His father eyed them both and then, wisely, withdrew. “Very well. I’ll wait for you in the small parlour.”

  He left, taking Deborah and Stretton with him, both of whom glanced at the couple before they left. Deborah was biting her lower lip, a sure sign of agitation and one she rarely allowed herself in public. Stretton, the last to leave, gave them a broad grin and touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. The door closed softly.

  Gerard canted his attention on Faith, turning to face her, allowing her hand to fall free by her side.

  She stared at him, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Why did you do that?” She sounded bewildered, lost.

  He ached for her. She had never thought of herself in all this. All her concern lay with her brother. He hadn’t yet opened his mind to her, but he didn’t need to. He could see it in the tears glimmering in her eyes.

  “Don’t you like the idea?” He didn’t move, waiting for her reaction. She had responded so sweetly to him in his room last night, but it could never be, the ultimate intimacy could not happen. Ever. It was something he had to remind himself about constantly these days. He was prepared to accept her decision, see what she wanted and abide by her wishes. Even if it killed him.

  She gave a shaky laugh. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t give you the things you need from marriage.”

  “And I can’t give you what you need.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling wretched. “The thought unmans me.”

  She clutched a fold in her gown, a particularly fetching shade of green that suited her much better than the drab garments that had comprised her wardrobe on her arrival in this house. “Your father has the right of it.” Her gaze lifted to his face, beseeching, infinitely desirable. “You’re a duke’s son, you can’t throw yourself away on a woman of no importance. I’m nothing, nobody.”

  He chose his words carefully, appealing to her reason rather than her battered spirit. She might respond to that better than if he told her how he felt, if she knew that he wanted her with a fierce, burning passion he was finding it increasingly difficult to control. “Think, Faith. You need protection for your brother. My name can give you that. With him safe, you can finally begin your own life. I would like to see that, and it’s in my power to give it to you.”

  He paused, allowing his first point to sink in. “And you would help me too. I am tired of being chased by every eligible woman in society.”

  She acknowledged it with a small nod.

  “Faith, it would suit me to marry a woman who knows my secret and wouldn’t ask the impossible. I would be free too, don’t you see?” He paused, but decided to say it anyway. “I don’t have much time lef
t. I would like to spend it in the company of a woman I like and respect, not dodging predatory females. I know it’s unfair to ask you, and you still have the option of withdrawing, but it would help me so much.”

  Not so much, but she didn’t have to know that. If she thought him merely sexually attracted to her, not drawn to her body and soul, then she might consent. Sacrifice herself for his sake.

  She stared at him, not saying anything. Gerard couldn’t bear the silence, his last words echoing in his mind, the blood pounding in his temples. He would never be free. If he could somehow rid himself of the yearning for what he couldn’t have, if he could do that, then there might be some hope for what time he had left.

  Some things he could do. Faith’s fear of full sexual relations might mean that she’d find it preferable to have a man whose performance in bed was necessarily limited. He felt her reaction to him, the cold fear in her mind when he tried to press her too fast last night, knew from her words that her late husband had instilled a horror of sexual congress into her. She might actually be happier that way. He could not let his seed into her body, or she would contract the terrible illness that was killing him now, but he could please her and allow her to please him in other ways.

  Perhaps that would be enough, if she would allow it. Or they could remain apart, never share what he had found so sweet last night. Gerard hadn’t allowed himself close to a woman, and his mouth watered at the thought of Faith allowing him access to her body, even in a limited manner. It might, just, be enough.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

  He took her hand, although she tried to stop it by drawing it back. Holding her hand in his, he smoothed her palm with his thumb. “Shall we try? We could always remain betrothed for the time being. That would protect your brother and could enable us to get your portion back. It gives my father the right to sue for it. If Boscobel sends a phalanx of lawyers to your father, he might give in.”

  “He might.” She didn’t sound as if she believed him.

  Gerard didn’t care if she never saw the money again. He would make it up to her. “Let’s announce the betrothal.”

  He continued the caress. It seemed to calm her. Her eyes were already less panicked, less wild. She gave a small smile, firmer than the last one. “If we married in a hurry people might come to the wrong conclusions.”

  “Some people already have,” he commented, remembering the ball. He had seen the looks, the assumptions, even from people who called themselves friends of his. If Faith left this house without some sort of betrothal, they would mark her as one of his lovers. He knew for a fact that one gaming house had a book open on how long it would take him to discard her. He had made his attention special and had succeeded in making them grist for the gossip mill.

  “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

  “You think I’m blind?”

  She smiled again. “No, but some men go their own way and damn the world.”

  He drew her closer, so her hand rested on his waistcoat. “I haven’t asked properly yet. Will you marry me, Faith? Or will you consider it?”

  “Yes, Gerard,” she said. “I’ll consider it.”

  Her scent, the promise of her softness, her proximity, grew too much for him to resist. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, long and sweet.

  Faith responded as though it came naturally to her, opening her mouth for him, allowing him to explore her, exploring him. He kept his caresses gentle and unthreatening, as though she might break if he pushed her too hard. He didn’t touch her breasts, but held her close, so she pressed against him.

  Faith loved his kisses.

  Perhaps this was enough.

  For the first time Faith admitted to herself that she’d deliberately dressed in drab clothing, even when she could have afforded something more cheerful, that she’d avoided the attentions of men, even the few she met who had seemed polite, concerned and interested in her. But not Gerard. He’d stormed every defence she had.

  He drew back and regarded her solemnly. “So we are betrothed, according to the outside world. I’ll tell my father so. After the first shock, he’ll fall on me with open arms.”

  She found herself totally unable to imagine the stately Duke of Boscobel falling into anyone’s arms, and a smile curved her lips at the mental image it brought forth.

  “That’s better.” He put his finger under her chin, urging her to look at him. “I’ve never let anyone as far into my life as you. I keep people at a distance—it’s better that way. But with someone to share my secrets, I think I can cope much better.”

  “I won’t let you down.” She felt that promise through her whole body. “I seem to be joined with you in some way. In our minds.” He stared at her and she saw a flash in his eyes before he repressed it, almost automatically. “You want me?”

  He didn’t look away. She wished he would. She didn’t want to see this. “Yes, of course I do. That’s what complicates matters. But I swear I won’t press you, won’t make you. I can’t, you know that.” She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. His eyes showed her his need, although it must go deeper than he was allowing her to see. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he was trying his best to shelter her. “I might be able to accustom myself to this—wanting.” At last, he looked away. Faith felt as though she were being released from a bear trap. “Or there is another alternative. We could marry and live apart. Have you thought of that?”

  “No.” It hadn’t crossed her mind.

  “It means for me that I have the freedom from the fortune hunters and husband hounds. For you it gives you safety for you and your brother. If we can’t stand living together, we can at least find contentment apart.”

  She knew deep inside she couldn’t do that, but if it made it easier for him to be able to think it, she would agree. If she was married to him she wouldn’t be able to keep away. Not when he looked at her with hunger in his eyes. For her. No one had looked at her like that, except the parade of old men her father had presented to her. To have someone so—she broke off her thoughts, aware her gaze had returned to his. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Yes.”

  Abruptly he turned and left her.

  He gave himself half an hour, just enough to give himself a little more energy and to calm his headache. While he suffered greatly, he refused to become a slave to laudanum, the only drug that would help him, but he opened the drawer in his dresser and stared at the bottle. It wouldn’t help in the long run. Determinedly, he closed the door and went downstairs, ready to face his father. Afterwards he would sleep.

  By the time he felt ready, the duke had moved back to his study. He sat behind his massive desk, shuffling through a sheaf of papers that covered the highly polished mahogany surface. He glanced up when Gerard entered and leaned back, replacing his pen in the standish. “Close the door, if you please.”

  Gerard closed the door and stood before the desk for his father’s next piece of business, feeling as nervous as a boy. At his father’s gesture he took a seat, pulling up a hard-backed chair. His father regarded him in silence for a full minute. His head throbbed, but he had learned some ways of calming it when he needed. Sheer willpower seemed to help more than anything else. Gerard could only be glad the duke hadn’t the gift of mind communication. His father wouldn’t scruple to use any weapon at his command for his own ends. That was why he and Deborah had never told him about their gift.

  “Why, my son? When you could have anyone you chose, why a widow of little means and no influence? Why her?”

  Gerard decided to tell the truth, or at least part of it. “She needs someone on her side, although she would never ask for help. I’ve never seen such bravery, sir, or such courage in the face of danger. If it weren’t for our intervention she would have faced her father down with everything she had.”

  Boscobel leaned back and picked an ivory page-turner, playing with the long, blunt blade. “We could have protected Fordhouse without that, and without your asto
nishing announcement. Did you mean it, or was it to get rid of that obnoxious pair?”

  Gerard kept his gaze steady. “I meant it. If you wish, Father, say Lady Bradley took my fancy. I like her, and I think she would make a good duchess.”

  Boscobel humphed. “That remains to be seen.” He smoothed the blade, his finger almost the same colour as the ivory. “Why don’t you let her marry Grasmere?”

  “No.” Gerard couldn’t hide his revulsion, and he knew that, by making him reveal it, his father had won a point.

  The duke merely shrugged. “Many people would consider that more suitable.”

  “She has endured the attentions of one elderly husband. I do not intend to submit her to another.” Gerard tried to sound terse, but his anger showed, despite his efforts to conceal it. “My health may necessitate an early ceremony.” Gerard played a card he knew was a winner. “I’m getting weaker every day, Father. If you want your heir, it might be better to think of an early wedding.”

  There was a pause while the duke fingered the page-turner, running long fingers down its length, as if testing a lethal blade. He sighed. “It could be for the best, but I had other plans for you. I was waiting until Manningtree’s eldest girl was old enough. I’ve toyed with other possibilities, but on the whole I considered her the best prospect. I thought you seemed stronger recently.”

  “I am not. I weaken daily. Speak to the physician, if you wish. You want me to make an heir for you before I die, then give me Faith. Let me have this one indulgence and I’ll do my best to oblige.”

  Boscobel’s eyes narrowed and he put the page-turner down. “Even though you could transmit the disease to her? Kill her?”

  Gerard repressed his shudder. He could not betray his determination not to hurt Faith, even if that meant never making love to her. He must let his father think exactly the opposite. “I don’t want her to have anyone else. There’s no evidence that the child we bear will contract the disease, so you may have that, but I want Faith.”