“You’re an American. By all that’s marvelous, my lord. Cocky, come here and meet Alec’s jest on us for the evening.”
Alec, appalled to his toes, intervened quickly, his voice very quiet, gentle, calm. “Eileen.” He clasped her slender wrist between his long fingers. “This is my wife. Do you understand me?”
“No,” she said, giggling now, and his fingers tightened, hurting her. She sucked in her breath. “Your wife? But that’s absurd—you married? You swore you’d never again marry. You swore that you enjoyed women too much to allow only one to hold you, and said that if I really liked you, I would present you with a harem for a Christmas gift. And why her? Just look at her, Alec. Why, that gown and—”
Alec turned to a very interested footman standing behind his mistress. “Fetch her ladyship’s cloak and mine as well. Immediately.”
Cocky, Reginald Cockerly by name, resplendent in black and pale pink, gaped at the scene, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Other people, however, were beginning to notice that something was amiss. Conversation died. People craned their necks to see better. Alec wished he could magically disappear, his wife tucked safely under his arm.
He’d wanted a harem for a Christmas gift? Good God, what kind of a man was he?
He looked at Genny. She was pale but seemingly very composed. She was staring straight ahead, her eyes narrowed, her lips thin. Where the devil had she gotten that wretched gown? She had done it on purpose to embarrass him, to infuriate him; there was simply no other explanation.
“But you can’t leave now, Alec.”
Alec ignored Eileen, grabbing Genny’s cloak from the footman. At least the cloak was beautiful. He bundled her into it quickly, then shrugged on his own.
“Alec, really. That is all too absurd. Cocky, say something, don’t just stand there like a buffoon.”
Cocky, wisely, remained silent.
Alec gave Eileen a brief bow, took his wife’s arm, and led her from the house, leaving the interesting buzz of conversation behind them. They walked silently down the narrow steps. It had stopped raining. There was even a quarter moon shining through the gray clouds. Odd, the things one noticed, Genny thought, knowing the only way to salvage herself was to remain detached.
Once inside the carriage, she didn’t say a word, merely pulled the carriage blanket over her legs. She was vaguely aware that Alec was poking his cane head against the ceiling of the carriage. They rolled forward with a slight lurch. Genny grabbed the leather strap to steady herself.
Alec said in a controlled voice, “Will you tell me why you wore that gown?”
“It was the only one that fitted.”
“It doesn’t fit. I could see your nipples, for God’s sake! And the color and style—my God, Genny, you certainly succeeded in gaining your ends, didn’t you?”
That put a stop to her wonderful detachment. “Gaining my—what are you talking about?”
“You wore that gown to embarrass me, to humiliate yourself and thus me, so I would have no choice but to take you to Carrick Grange with me.”
If she’d had a hammer, she would have hit him with it. “You’re wrong. Completely wrong. Go to your precious Carrick Grange by yourself, I don’t care.”
That drew him up short. She sounded impassioned, unquestionably sincere. “You didn’t wear that gown on purpose, then? But why? I don’t understand. No one would wear that gown unless—Tell me. Why?”
“It’s one of my old gowns. You don’t remember this, but I don’t have what you would call very good taste in clothes. All the gowns you’ve seen me wear are those that you yourself selected.”
He could but stare at her in the dim carriage light. If she hadn’t done it on purpose, then—She had no taste in clothing? “I’m sorry,” he said, and reached for her hand. “I’m very sorry for what happened. I told you I didn’t know that woman. I thought, nay, I truly believed, that if she had been a friend of mine before, she would be pleasant. But she was a bitch. I want you to forget the things she said. It was nastiness, all of it.”
But Genny wasn’t thinking about Eileen and the gown. She was thinking about Alec’s harem. She saw this succession of hopeful-looking, very beautiful women, all waiting for Alec to give himself to them. Had the woman Eileen been one of his mistresses? Or lovers? There was probably a distinction, but she didn’t know for certain what it was.
“Genny, please, say something.”
She did, in a quite calm voice. “What is the difference between a mistress and a lover?”
He stared at her.
“I ask because I was wondering if that woman Eileen had been your mistress or your lover.”
“I don’t know.”
“The difference?”
“No, if I’ve ever slept with her. I think that I did, more fool I. I suppose she would be a lover, rich and widowed that she is. She would choose the man she wished an affaire with.” He pronounced it in the French way. “I don’t remember.”
“I think she and I could become great friends, don’t you? Both of us doxies. Perhaps you should visit her, Alec. It seems rather likely that she could tell you a great deal about your past.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. It sits ill on your shoulders, your very naked shoulders.”
If looks could have killed, Alec would have died on the floor of the carriage.
He sighed. “Oh, the devil. Where did you do your shopping before I came along? From a little old lady in Baltimore who was half blind and sewed for a hobby? Was she paid by the number of ruffles she sewed on each gown? God, then this thing must have cost a bloody fortune. And that lace—who is responsible for that? It isn’t even sewn on straight.”
She fell as silent as a statue. Alec, furious with himself for his unmeasured words, tried again, in a more measured tone. “You should have come to me. You should have asked my advice, particularly since you’ve done it before.”
Genny gave him a weary look. “I told you, it was the only gown that fitted me. Also, I was very angry with you, if you’ll recall. I didn’t want to draw any more of your fire.” Her chin went up. “I didn’t realize I looked so bad.”
He could only stare at her. “But the gown isn’t in the least flattering, loose or tight. The color is awful, and your breasts—” He broke off, then said slowly, “Your breasts are swelled from your pregnancy.”
“Surely you didn’t think I would become flatchested instead?”
“You should have said something to me. Angry or not, you should have come to me.”
“If you will recall, Baron, it wasn’t just on my side. You kept your distance from me until it was time to leave.”
“Still, that’s no excuse—”
“I told you, I didn’t realize it was so bad.”
“That’s absurd. A blind woman would know that—Oh damn and nonsense. You and I are going shopping tomorrow. Do be quiet, Genny. You’ll come with me and that’s that.”
She folded her tent. She was tired, depressed, her will flattened. “All right. It’s foolish of me to cut off my nose to spite my face. I do have lamentable taste in clothes. As I told you, it was I who sewed on that lace myself. I’m not very good. In any case, I made something of a fool of myself at an assembly in Baltimore. You took me shopping and selected some gowns for me. Unfortunately, none of them fit anymore. Only this one, and as you so generously pointed out, it doesn’t either, not really.”
That was true enough, curse her innocent and guileless hide. Alec closed his eyes. He remembered the snatches of images he’d had over the past weeks, many of them of women, quite naked, and all of them loving him with fervor.
“Was I a bloody rakehell, then?” he said.
“I don’t know, but it could be true. You’re so very beautiful and charming and nice.”
He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud. And here she was, adding her remarks in a voice that was very nearly devoid of anything but polite indifference. He exploded. “Why do you sound so wonderfully calm about it? Why the devil can’
t you at least be a bit jealous? You’re my wife, dammit, not my bloody sister.”
“All right,” she said and turned to face him, her eyes burning. She slapped him hard, on his cheek, so hard that his head twisted to the side. “You bastard!”
She slapped him again. Her breasts were heaving, her breath coming in short gasps.
“That’s quite enough.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down into her lap. “Quite enough.”
He’d finally pushed her over the edge. “You deserve punishment, do you hear me? Perhaps I don’t have taste in what is fashionable and what is and isn’t good taste—”
“What a wonderful understatement.”
“Very well. I simply don’t see things the way you do. But at least I’m loyal and faithful and am not a man-izer—whereas you’re an arrogant womanizer, and I hope your parts rot off.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening at her final curse. “Rot off?”
“Yes.”
“What a repellent notion. Dear Lord, what would you do? May I remind you, Eugenia, that you must be the most enthusiastic of all my women. After all, do you not hold me faithful to you?”
“We’ve not been married very long.”
“That’s true. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to curse me in that way. Now, whether you like it or not, you and I are going shopping tomorrow—” He broke off, seeing in that instant a small birdlike woman surrounded by bolts of cloth, twittering, giving him approving looks, speaking with a definite American accent. “This seamstress in Baltimore, well, I think I just saw her. It’s odd, this remembering. You’d think I’d remember our wedding night, for example, not some practical stranger.”
“It must not have been very memorable for you.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Eugenia. So I’ve a wife with no sense of taste or fashion. Well, it’s a good thing I do. Never again will you have to sew lace in your bodice to keep your breasts hidden.” He started laughing then, deep, full laughter. She wanted to kill him. His laughter grew until he was holding his belly. “My God, that lace! Some of it was hanging off and I could see all of you!”
He was still holding her wrist, so she couldn’t hit him.
“I could even see snippets of thread. It wasn’t even the same color as the lace or the gown or any of those bloody ruffles.”
He roared.
She let him roar until they reached the Carrick town house. It was raining now, full blast. She didn’t wait for Alec to help her. She dashed from the carriage up the narrow steps to the front door.
Even as she picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs, she could hear him chuckling as he came into the entrance hall.
He wasn’t laughing, however, when he came into her bedchamber some thirty minutes later. He stopped beside her bed. “Why are you sleeping in here? You don’t like this room. I offered to share mine with you.”
“I wanted to hit you on the head, which could lead to my arrest for murder, so I decided to sleep in here, by myself.”
“I’ll sign a special paper saying that if my wife coshes me, she’s not to be hung at Tyburn. Now, do you come with me or do I sleep with you in here?”
“Alec,” she said, her voice thin, “I don’t like you at the moment.”
She said nothing more because he swooped down, scooped her up in his arms, covers and all, and carried her back into his bedchamber. “I think I’ll have the adjoining door boarded up. You belong with me and that’s an end to it.”
He kissed her then, a slow, very deep kiss, and she could think of not a single reason to go against him.
“All right,” she said, and kissed him this time.
“Ah,” he said, his beautiful eyes glittering as he laid her on her back. She watched him shrug out of his dressing gown. Naked, all of him, and he was so beautiful and strong that she wanted to hold him to her and keep him there, forever. He was grinning down at her. In the next instant he was pulling off her nightgown, then flipping her onto her stomach. “Now,” he said, “there’s something I want to do, something I think you’ll like.”
He brought her up on her hands and knees, and came over her. And when he thrust into her, she arched her back, pressing her hips against his belly, and he moaned as he kissed her ear. Then his hands stroked her belly, going lower to find her and tease her, and it was her turn to moan and cry. “Alec,” she said, “oh, please. Alec—”
He pumped into her even as his fingers drove her to pleasurable distraction. She met his deep thrusts, wishing only that she could kiss him, feel his tongue in her mouth, his warm breath on her cheek as he exploded in his climax.
“That was rather nice,” she said when she at last lay on her side, her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, it was.” He sounded abstracted.
“What is it, Alec? What’s wrong?”
“We’ve done that before.”
“Yes, in Baltimore.”
“I didn’t see us doing it—not like the other images that come to me—but I felt it, if you can understand that. It was familiar to me—feeling how deeply I was inside you, knowing how your breasts would feel in my hands, so full and soft, and your belly, dear God; and then you shudder and arch your back and I’m so deep that you’re part of me or me of you or something.”
His words were powerfully erotic and she came up on her elbow, leaned down, and kissed him.
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“Probably.” She kissed him again. “I can’t stay angry at you, no matter how much I want to. I’m a weak-willed female.”
That didn’t sound precisely right, but Alec wasn’t certain why it was that he would think that. Certainly she’d been furious with him, but he would have been equally furious if he’d been in her place. Since he’d known her—his mind wiped slate-clean—she’d been nothing but sweet and gentle and wonderfully kind and giving, both to him and to his daughter. But something wasn’t quite right. He shook his head, staring up at the smooth white ceiling. He didn’t know what it was. He felt her relax against him, heard her soft breathing even into sleep.
The next morning, Pippin came in to build up the fire. He looked toward the bed and smiled to see his master and mistress burrowed under the covers, holding each other and still asleep.
When Alec awoke, the room was warm. He pushed back the covers, easing out of Genny’s arms. He looked down at her breasts, white, soft and much fuller now. Lightly, he touched her nipple.
She shivered and opened her eyes.
“Good morning.”
She smiled back, unconsciously offering herself more fully to him. He continued to smile, but it was an effort. He covered her quickly.
“Today we shop for you,” he said. He consulted the clock on the night stand. “It’s very late, Genny. I would like nothing more than to continue our activity of the previous night, but there’s too much to do.”
So it was that Alec took her to Madame Jordan, a woman who was truly French but had been married to an Englishman who died in the Battle of Trafalgar. “Iz my name for too many years,” she’d explained comfortably. “Iz no need to use anozzer.”
It was a repetition of Baltimore, Genny thought, watching her husband and Madame Jordan pour over materials and patterns presented immediately after a snap of the fingers by three assistants. Her pregnancy was discussed fully, as if she weren’t present. Styles were selected that could easily be altered as the child grew.
When she was measured, Alec was there, watching. She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or miffed. She decided she was too tired to be either and docilely did as she was bidden. It was Alec who called a halt a half hour later.
“She will wear this gown, then, madame, and this cloak.”
Genny eyed the incredible sable-lined, pale gray velvet cloak. She’d never owned anything like it in her life. Indeed, in Baltimore she’d never even seen anything like it. As for the gown, it was a high-waisted muslin of soft, pale blue. It flattered her and hid her rounding stomach quite nicely.
There were no flounces or bows. It was simplicity itself, something, Alec had said firmly, that was just in her style.
“Very good, milord,” said Madame Jordan. “You are lucky, my dear,” she added, and patted Genny’s cheek. “You have ze generous husband. He’ll take good care of you.”
That sounded nice, but just on the surface of things. Genny didn’t want to be taken care of—well, perhaps when it came to a suitable wardrobe, but she could buy that for herself. The shipyard was hers, after all, and all the income from it. Then she remembered that she had decided not to have Alec deed it over to her. It was still in his name. But what did that matter? They were married; the shipyard was theirs; it belonged to both of them. She shrugged her answer to her silent question.
“Day after tomorrow,” Alec said as they rode back to Portsmouth Square, “we’ll leave for Northumberland. You’ll have enough gowns by that time.”
“Ah, you’ve decided that I am worthy to accompany you, then?”
“Don’t be snippy. I have no choice.” She could tell that he didn’t like it.
“And Hallie.”
“Yes, and my daughter.”
Genny wanted to assure him that she would be of remarkable assistance to him, but the frown that furrowed his brow made her hold her tongue. I have become a weak-willed female, she thought. It was not an observation that pleased her.
Twenty-two
“Ho! Alec! Good Lord, man, welcome home.”
Alec whipped about, making his stallion, Cairo, whinny in protest, to see a gentleman waving at him from beside the entrance to White’s. He was a tall man, black-haired, lean, and well dressed. He had a military bearing. No, it was more than that, Alec thought. It wasn’t just his bearing; he knew the man had been in the army. He shook his head at himself, knowing that it was true, but again not knowing how he knew.
He smiled and waved, drawing Cairo to a halt. He dismounted and took the other man’s outstretched hand.
“I’d heard you’d come home. Arielle and I are in London for a fortnight. We’re staying at Drummond House. The boys are with us and would very much like to see their favorite uncle and their cousin. How is Hallie?”
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