Night Storm

by Catherine Coulter

  The words were soft, blurred, but Alec heard. He paused, not moving. He watched Genny lean down and lay her face against James’s chest. She didn’t cry, just lay there.

  He left her alone.

  James Paxton’s funeral was attended by over a hundred Baltimoreans from every rung of society, from out-of-work sailors to the Gwenns, the Warfields, the Winchesters, and even Laura Salmon. The weather didn’t cooperate. It was cold and drizzly, not even a hint of warmth or sun. Alec stood beside Genny, his hand under her elbow, though she didn’t need his support. She didn’t move, merely stared straight ahead, her back rigid, seemingly oblivious of everyone there.

  Alec hadn’t allowed Hallie to come. She didn’t really understand what had happened, only that Mr. Paxton had gone to Heaven, just like her mama had. She and Mrs. Swindel had remained at the Paxton house.

  That was something else he had to decide about, Alec thought as he forced his attention back to the Reverend Murray, minister of Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church. He was a gaunt man, his face lined from years and years of the harsh sun. He was articulate, his eulogy moving. He’d known James Paxton, he said in his slow, well-modulated voice, since the two of them had been boys, fishing off North Point. He recalled James’s part in the growth of Baltimore; the completion of his first Baltimore clipper schooner, The Galileo, in 1785; his stand against the British in September of 1814, during the Battle of Baltimore. He’d been at Fort McHenry during the shelling, encouraging the men to keep calm. He’d been a quiet hero, a man he, the Reverend Murray, had been proud to know. He was survived by his fine daughter, Eugenia Paxton. Amen.

  Genny didn’t move during the eulogy. Alec wished she’d do something, anything, to show she was thinking, feeling. Anything. He saw Laura Salmon looking at him and forced a slight smile.

  After the ceremony, he stood beside Genny as she accepted condolences from the dozens upon dozens of people. And he remembered that long-ago day, nearly five years ago, when he’d stood accepting condolences, in shock, wondering at the use of it all.

  He took Genny back to the house and stood beside her again while people came to eat and speak in lowered voices and offer more endless condolences. She was calm, self-possessed. She wasn’t there. He wondered if he’d acted the same after Nesta’s funeral.

  Oddly enough, it was Mrs. Swindel who had taken over. Gracie Limmer had remained, for another week, she’d said, but she gave over all responsibility to Mrs. Swindel. Lannie had prepared enough food for fully half of Baltimore. It was late in the afternoon by the time the last of the guests had taken their leave.

  All except for Mr. Daniel Raymond.

  “If it is all right with you, Miss Genny, I should like to read you your father’s will.”

  Alec was on the point of protesting that it could wait, but Genny simply nodded, turned on her heel, and walked toward the small library on the east side of the house.

  “Would you come, too, my lord?”

  Alec looked his surprise. “It can’t possibly concern me, Mr. Raymond.”

  “It does, my lord. You see—”

  “Very well. Say what you will, but say it in front of Miss Paxton.”

  Genny watched Daniel Raymond walk into the library, Alec just behind him. What was Alec doing here? It really didn’t matter, not now. Nothing seeming to matter. She motioned him to sit at her father’s desk.

  “Miss Paxton,” Daniel Raymond said as he sat down, “your father made a new will.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A new will, Miss Paxton. Just five days ago.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Tell us what’s in the will,” Alec interrupted.

  Why did he sound so angry? Genny wondered, looking at his set face for a moment before turning back to Mr. Raymond.

  “Very well, my lord. There are bequests to the servants, the largest being five hundred dollars to Moses and three hundred dollars to Mrs. Limmer. As you know, Miss Paxton, Moses is a slave. Mr. Paxton stipulated that upon his death Moses be manumitted. Your father assumed that Moses could continue his employment in this household.” Mr. Raymond paused, and Alec thought he was girding his loins for an unpleasant task. Alec knew, he just knew what it would be. Damn James Paxton.

  “Miss Paxton, your father wanted it made perfectly clear to you that what he was doing was in your best interest. You are alone, without other family, without male protection. He loved you, ma’am, and he was looking to your future, a secure future.”

  “Yes,” said Genny, and nothing more.

  Dear God, Alec thought, looking at her pale face, she sounded not a whit interested.

  Mr. Raymond cleared his throat, then sent an agonized look toward Alec. “Mr. James Paxton leaves the Paxton shipyard to Alec Carrick, Baron Sherard, if he weds you within thirty days of his death. If Baron Sherard refuses, or if you, Miss Paxton, refuse, then the shipyard is to be sold to anyone other than Baron Sherard, and you will receive the selling price.”

  Genny just looked at him.

  “You see, Miss Paxton,” Mr. Raymond added, sounding desperate now, “your father knew you couldn’t continue to run the shipyard. He knew you would lose everything if you did. He wanted only to protect you. He didn’t want you to know poverty.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Raymond. I understand perfectly now.” Genny rose as she spoke, then extended her hand to the hapless lawyer. He shook it out of habit.

  “Don’t you have any questions, Miss Paxton?”

  She shook her head and walked out of the room, not even glancing at Alec. She looked awful in the black bombazine gown. It made her sallow, and the gown itself was too short. Alec hated it.

  “My lord, surely you have questions—”

  Alec felt defeated, angry, and ready for a fight. He reined himself in. It wasn’t the lawyer’s fault, after all. “The man I would have to ask is dead, Mr. Raymond. Please leave a copy of the will so that I may go over it myself. Thank you for coming, sir. Oh, incidentally, I do have a question. Is the thirty days from the date of Mr. Paxton’s death or from the date of his funeral?”

  Mr. Raymond consulted the finely scripted pages. “From the date of his death, my lord.”

  “So we now have twenty-seven days. Thank you again, Mr. Raymond. I’ll show you out.”

  Nearly five years had passed since Nesta’s death. Five years during which Alec hadn’t once considered taking a wife again, at least not seriously. He remembered Maria Cordova Sanchez in Madrid, a very wealthy contessa and a widow, if he remembered aright, and how she’d bedded with him with great enthusiasm, showing him skills that he hadn’t ever before experienced, then cooed and exclaimed over Hallie until the little girl, barely more than a baby at the time, had proceeded to vomit on her best gown. Alec grinned at the memory. Maria hadn’t cooed again.

  No, he hadn’t wanted to marry the contessa. He hadn’t wanted to marry anyone.

  What was he to do about Genny? James had written his will in such a way to make Alec feel responsible as the devil, at the very least. He’d recognized that Genny couldn’t inherit the shipyard; that if she did, it would be lost within months. He’d given it to Alec on the proverbial platter, the shipyard and a very unwilling daughter.

  What was he to do? Genny seemed like a phantom, locked away from him, from everyone, since her father had died. He winced now, remembering her broken confession to her already dead father. Genny’s guilt must exceed anything imaginable. He felt very sorry about his role in it, but it had happened—she had been in his bed—and there was nothing that could change that.

  Why not marry her? He laughed at himself. A man was forcing his hand, a man from the grave, yet Alec wasn’t particularly upset about it. He decided to speak to Hallie.

  He found his daughter in her bedchamber on the second floor in the east wing. Hallie, an independent and self-sufficient little person, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, busy with her model ships.

  “Hallie,” he said quietly so as not to startle her.<
br />
  She looked up and gave him one of her wise looks. “Hello, Papa. Is Genny all right? She’s so pale and sad.”

  “She’s fine, pumpkin.” He sat down on the floor beside his daughter and picked up a ship, a brigantine actually, with fourteen guns.

  “She’s French, Papa, the Eglantine. She sank off Gibraltar in 1804.”

  “That’s right,” Alec said absently. He set the brigantine down. “Hallie, I’d like to speak to you about Genny.”

  His daughter cocked her head to one side.

  She was so smart, his daughter. “I heard Mr. Paxton’s will today. He’s made things rather complicated, but basically, he wants me to marry Genny. She has no one left, you know, no family at all. I wanted to know what you thought about the idea.”

  “Do you have to marry Genny?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good,” Hallie said, then picked up a model of an English frigate, The Halcyon.

  “Good what?”

  “Well, if you felt like you were being forced to marry Genny, that wouldn’t be good. You have to want to marry her.”

  “Do you want me to marry her?”

  “I like Genny. Will she give me little brothers and sisters?”

  “It is very likely. I should want to.”

  “She feels awful bad right now, Papa.”

  “I know, Hallie, I know. We have to help her. Make her feel better.”

  “Do you think she’d like to see my collection?”

  “I think it would please her mightily.”

  Alec ate alone in the Paxton dining room. It was as if he were now the owner, sitting in regal splendor, and it felt odd. Moses was standing deferentially by the door leading to the kitchen, ready to fetch anything Alec wished to have.

  Genny, he’d been told, had requested a tray in her room. Alec took a bite of jugged hare. It wasn’t bad. A bit too peppery, but not at all bad. He placed his fork beside his knife on the plate. He wasn’t hungry. Nor, he thought, eyeing the wine, was he thirsty.

  “Did Miss Genny have her dinner, Moses?”

  “Yes, such. Lannie took a tray up to her.”

  “I’ll see to her shortly.” Alec sighed. “We’ve got a problem, Moses.”

  “Yes, suh. Miss Genny, suh, well, she’s tough, but her pa, he was all she had. It hit her hard, suh.”

  “I know. I think I’ll see her now. If you hear crashing plates—no, never mind, Moses.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  Alec stopped in front of Genny’s bedchamber five minutes later. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. She was crying. He could hear the muffled sobs, and the sound made his insides twist up. She hadn’t cried since her father had died, at least not that he knew of. It was time that she did. But he found that he couldn’t turn around and leave. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped into the room. There was but one branch of candles lit on the mantelpiece, leaving most of the room in shadows. Alec didn’t move for a moment, adjusting his eyes to the dim light.

  Genny was sitting in the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face pressed against her thighs. Her shoulders were shaking. He walked quietly to her. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “Genny.”

  She jerked up. “Get out, Alec. Now. Leave me alone.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Is there any room for me here? I believe there is.” He pressed against her until there was enough room to sit beside her. “Now, I see you didn’t eat your dinner.”

  “I don’t like jugged hare.”

  Alec took a handkerchief from his pocket. He lifted her chin with his fingers and dabbed her eyes.

  “What do you want?”

  He continued with his task, not answering. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. “Go away, Alec. I never want to see you again.”

  “Listen to me, Genny.” He broke off immediately at the deep pain in her eyes. It was too much because it brought back memories of those days after Nesta had died. Alec drew her into his arms and pressed her head into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, love. I know it hurts. God, I know.”

  His gentleness undid her. Genny wept, quietly, steadily. Alec kept talking to her, saying nonsense words really, wanting her to cry, to get her pain and grief outside herself. It had taken him months simply because he hadn’t.

  He continued to hold her when her crying ceased. He stroked his hands up and down her back, still murmuring to her. From one moment to the next, she changed from a woman who needed his comfort to a woman who needed him as a man.

  She raised her face and looked at him. Her eyes fell to his mouth and her lips parted slightly. Alec lost control in that instant. He kissed her, hard, his tongue probing, savaging her soft mouth. She didn’t stiffen, she didn’t draw back, she opened her mouth and willingly accepted his tongue. Her complete yielding to him and his demands gentled him immediately. “Ah, Genny,” he said, his breath warm in her mouth.

  She pressed her breasts against him, her arms going around his back. “Please, Alec.”

  He controlled himself. It was difficult, but he knew that this time, her first time, he must not ravish her, he must not take her too quickly. And he was going to take her, he knew that, he accepted it, even though he also realized her yielding was for all the wrong reasons. As for his motives, they didn’t bear scrutiny. But it didn’t matter. He’d set his course and she was aiding him in achieving what he knew was right, for him, for both of them.

  To his surprise, she was moving frantically against him, like a wanton lover, and he rose to his feet, bringing her with him, and she rubbed her belly against him and he thought he would explode with lust. He cupped her and lifted her, rubbing her against his sex, listening to her gasps, feeling her breath, hot and fast, on his face.

  It was wrong, this urgency of hers, but it didn’t stop him. She wanted to reaffirm that she lived, and he understood that. Suddenly she lowered her arm and slipped her hand between their bodies. He felt her fingers slide over him, then curve around him. “Oh, God,” he said and he moaned, thrusting his hips forward, wanting her to caress him. And she did until he knew he would spill his seed.

  He jerked away from her, breathing hard, and lifted her off her feet, carrying her to her bed. He dropped her onto her back, quickly strode to her bedchamber door, and closed it. He stripped off his clothes as he returned to her. Genny came up onto her elbows. She was staring at him as he jerked off his shirt, as he pulled off his boots. He was wearing only his breeches now and she wanted to see him, wanted that more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

  Alec looked up at that moment and stilled, his fingers on the buttons of his breeches. Her eyes were huge, her body utterly quiet. “Take off your clothes, Genny.”

  “I want to see you.”

  “All right. You will.” He smiled then and stripped off his breeches. He straightened and let her look her fill. He glanced down to see his member hard and thrust forward. He ached. He pictured her white legs, widely parted; he saw himself coming into her, then thrusting with all his strength, filling her completely. He cleared his throat. “I’m just a man, Genny.”

  “You’re more than I could ever imagine a man being.”

  “Thank you. Now it’s your turn.”

  He moved to the bed and his hands were all over her. He ripped her gown, ripped her underthings. By the time she was naked, her legs parted, him over her, she was so wild that she was panting. “Please, Alec, oh, God, please—”

  But he was wise enough, experienced enough, to slow down. He came down beside her and began to weave a sexual spell. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

  “Yes. You’re going to stick yourself inside me, but I don’t see how that will work and I’m afraid, but not enough that I don’t want you to do it.”

  Alec hadn’t quite counted on that reply from her. “You’ll hold me, Genny, you’re made to do that, but the first time I come into you it will hurt a bit. Then never again.”

  She rolled over to fac
e him and wrapped her arms about his chest. “I want to be a woman now, Alec.”

  It was her last lucid thought, her last sensible words. He touched her breast, then stroked his hands down her back to her buttocks, and she was lost. Genny didn’t realize that she’d become wild, responding with unexpected passion to a man her first time, but Alec did. It was wonderful. He kissed her, feeling her tongue now, and it made him nearly as wild as she was.

  His fingers found her and she was wet and hot and when his fingers pressed downward and inside her, she cried out, her back arching. My God, he thought, staring down into her face, she was ready to climax. Quickly, he came between her legs, bending her knees, and said, “Genny, look at me. I want to see your face when I come inside you.”

  She looked at him, and all the wild urgency she felt was mirrored in her eyes. He was between her legs, his hands holding them wide apart. She felt him pressing against her, and he was huge and hard, and she felt a twinge of fear and swallowed.

  “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid of me.” His fingers were parting her then, widening her for himself, and then she felt his sex come into her and without realizing it, she lifted her hips, offering herself more fully to him. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment, and arched his back.

  “Genny,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse and raw, and he plunged forward, the small membrane holding him back for but an instant before ripping, and she cried out. “Hold still,” he said, trying to mind that order himself, but he knew he was the first man to have her and it was a heady thing and she was so soft and giving. He drew a deep steadying breath and eased down over her, forcing himself to hold perfectly still.

  “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at his beautiful face, now rigid with the control he was exerting over himself. She touched his cheek, his lips, his nose. “I could never have imagined anything like this. You’re so deep in my body. Isn’t that odd the way that works?”

  “Yes,” he said, reared back, and pulled nearly out of her. “Yes,” he said again and thrust his full length into her, touching her womb.