Alex had felt her move and put out a lazy arm to draw her back down beside him in the bed. She felt suddenly panicky, her feelings smothering her, prompting her to get away. She struggled a little but he held her firmly.
“So…” he said. His voice was amused, gentle and warm. Joanna felt an odd pang of longing, wanting the intimacy and yet knowing it was illusory. “Do we have a bargain?”
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “Do we?”
She saw the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. “I believe that we do. I will marry you and give you—and Nina—the protection of my name. In return, you will make a home for her and for Merryn and Chessie, too, if you so wish—and—” his hand drifted across her stomach, sending little ripples of awareness skittering over her skin “—you will give me an heir to Balvenie.”
For a moment Joanna thought she had misheard him. Then she went utterly still beneath Alex’s hands. In a moment she remembered Devlin’s words in Lottie’s ballroom that Alex’s Scottish estates lacked an heir. In all her plans and calculations she had completely overlooked it. Disbelief rocked her, followed swiftly by a rush of despair so great that she felt almost physically sick with it.
Alex was asking of her the one thing that she could not give.
The harsh irony of it mocked her. It was something that almost any woman could do for him, but not her. It was the only thing he asked, it was the bargain that he was prepared to strike, and she was incapable of meeting his requirements.
And he did not know.
He knew that she and David had quarreled irreparably and he knew David had hated her. He even knew that she and David had been childless, but he did not know that was the reason for their estrangement. She had almost blurted it out to him that very first night in the ballroom when he had asked her what she had done to incur her husband’s hatred:
“In five years of marriage I failed to give him the heir he wanted so he beat me until he had surely made it impossible that I would ever carry a child…”
But she had not told Alex any of that. It was still her secret.
“You did not mention an heir before,” she said. Her voice sounded strained, and his hands, which had been stroking her in the slyest, most seductive of caresses along the line of her hip and down her thigh, stilled for a moment.
“Did I not?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “But you do wish for children?”
“I…” She opened her mouth to tell him the truth. Then she thought of Nina, the only child she had a chance of claiming, and the desperation tightened inside her with the painful cruelty of a vise. If she agreed to Alex’s terms now she would knowingly be denying him the chance of the heir he craved. She would be deceiving him, tricking him, lying to him in the most fundamental way there was in order to fulfill her own needs and those of her late husband’s child. The fierce maternal need that burned within her was so powerful it scorched out all other feelings.
“Of course,” she said. “I have always wanted children.” Her voice sounded rough to her own ears, rusty with betrayal even though she spoke the literal truth. “But no one can guarantee to provide an heir,” she continued. “That is in God’s hands.”
Alex will never know…
“True.” Alex smiled. “But we can make sure we do our best to try to conceive one.”
His hand slid over the curve of her hip, pinning her to the bed, and he bent his lips to the arch of her throat. Joanna was shaking now both as a result of what he was doing and the enormity of the lie that she had, by omission, told him.
“So,” he whispered, against her hot skin, “it is agreed.”
Still time to change your mind…
Her conflict, her need, her desperate desire for a child, tortured her. It would take one word.
“Yes.” The whisper left her lips and seemed to hang on the air.
Then Alex lowered his head to her breast and her mind spun away to somewhere dark and hot and wickedly fierce, and Alex took her again. The betrayal was complete.
Part 2
Spitsbergen, The Arctic, June 1811
Chapter 10
Definition: An adventurer is a person who enjoys taking risks; someone who travels into little-known regions; someone engaged in a dangerous but potentially rewarding adventure; daredevil, swashbuckler, hothead, lunatic.
JOANNA WAS FEELING SEASICK, horribly, disgustingly and intolerably ill. It was vile, worse than her worst imaginings, and those had been pretty bad. She had been feeling sick for almost a month nonstop and all she wanted to do was die, but unfortunately it seemed that death was not interested in claiming her.
The ship lurched again. Joanna groaned. Her wedding, by special license on the morning on which they had sailed, had started so well. She flattered herself that she had looked absolutely divine in the most gorgeous pink gown with mameluke sleeves and a huge matching bonnet. Alex had looked handsome in his navy dress uniform. Lottie had been matron of honor, Merryn a bridesmaid and Dev and Owen Purchase had acted as groomsmen. And then they had boarded the Sea Witch and the nightmare had begun.
Joanna had been blithely sure on the basis of no evidence whatsoever that she would be a good sailor. Alas, they had only been three hours out of Chatham when the weather had deteriorated and a storm had blown up in the North Sea, tossing the Sea Witch about like a cork.
“We may be in for a little motion,” Captain Purchase had said in his lazy, southern drawl, his green eyes narrowed on a far horizon that was suddenly as gray as pewter with curtains of rain sweeping across the sea. “I suggest that you go below, ma’am.”
Joanna had gone and had not reemerged since. She had no idea now how many days had passed or what progress they had made in their voyage. She lay in her cabin whilst the world heaved and plunged around her and her stomach heaved and plunged with it. She could not move without a wave of dizzying nausea threatening to cut her down. She had taken to her bed and prayed for the world to end. It had not. Instead, her world had been reduced to the sound of the creaks and groans of the ship, the reek of tar and oil and a feeling of abject misery.
She rolled over and faced the wall. She felt wretched and lonely. Alex had not been to see her for several days. That was probably something to do with the fact that she had forbidden him from coming near her whilst she looked so grotesque. On that first night he had been extremely kind. She had not known he had it in him. He had stroked the hair away from her sweaty forehead, he had passed her the bucket when she had needed it and he had tried to get her to eat something to settle her stomach. She had been mortified that he should see her looking like a ghost with a face pasty white and hair in rattails, as sick as a drunkard in the street. It made her feel vulnerable and unprotected. She prided herself on her poise and her fashion and without it she felt almost naked, especially before Alex’s perceptive gaze. For her pride’s sake she had banished him, so she supposed she could hardly blame him for not coming back except to leave bowls of greasy broth for her which she refused to eat.
Joanna rolled over again as the nausea tumbled over her like a wave. It seemed that Lord and Lady Ayres had been right. It really was impossible to maintain one’s style whilst traveling.
She remembered the piles of luggage on the quay that afternoon in London—Lottie had brought a hip bath and boxes of herb-scented soaps, her china tea set and a crate of tea, twenty pounds of bonbons, a writing desk and footstool, seven portmanteaux, a butler and a maidservant. Joanna had tried to be more practical, with a crate of apples and oranges, several bags of firewood, a big fur-lined basket for Max, a box of toys for Nina and only five portmanteaux. She thought that she would never forget the look of utter incredulity on Alex’s face as he had seen the vast array of their baggage. Dev and Owen Purchase had been doubled up with laughter. Alex had looked from the luggage to Joanna and Lottie in their sealskin capes and Esquimaux boots and had shaken his head.
“You look like a bear,” he had said to Joanna.
“Not the most charming compliment
I have ever received on my sense of style,” Joanna had said, “but precisely what I would have expected from you, my lord.”
“The food will rot within days and if we have a storm we shall all be swimming in tea,” Alex had added. “The writing desk will be useful for firewood, however. I should have asked the Admiralty for two additional ships instead of one to carry all your luggage.”
At that point the band that the Admiralty had sent to give them a grand send-off had burst into music, the crowd had cheered and Lord Yorke had started to make a speech. Alex had grabbed Joanna’s arm and hustled her belowdecks to their cabin, a minuscule, dark, poky space that Joanna had assumed at first to be a cupboard.
“We are expected to share this?” she had queried incredulously. “It is smaller than a single one of my wardrobes at home.”
“You do not surprise me,” Alex had said.
“And the bunk is like a coffin,” Joanna had complained. She had seen the look of resignation harden on Alex’s face. He had predicted that she would not deal well with the voyage and she realized that she was fulfilling his expectations even before they were under way.
“Be grateful that you do not have to swing around in a hammock like most of the crew,” he had said coldly and had left her there.
As far as Joanna was concerned, that had been the high point of the voyage.
She missed Merryn, who had chosen to stay in London with her bluestocking friend Miss Drayton. As a parting gift, Merryn had given her copies of Dr. Von Buch’s travel memoir and Constantine Phipps’s record of his 1774 voyage to the North Pole.
“They are frightfully interesting,” Merryn had assured her earnestly. “I know you will love them.”
“I’m sure I shall,” Joanna had said, placing them at the bottom of her trunk.
Early on in the journey, Lottie had been to see her, looking as smart as paint and chattering on about how marvelous Captain Purchase was, how entertaining the crew, how comfortable her quarters and what an absolutely wonderful time she was having aboard. Joanna had wondered if they were on the same ship.
“You missed the Shetland Islands,” Lottie said, “though truth to tell that does not mean you missed much. They looked dreary and it was raining. We lost Captain Hallows’s ship in the storm as well, though Captain Purchase is sure he will catch us up in the end.” She cheered up a little. “The true enjoyment of the voyage for me lies in the company of so many handsome and strapping young officers. One is spoiled for choice!” She frowned at Joanna. “’Tis lucky I have their attentions to distract me, for you are becoming the most tedious bore, my love, lying down here in the dark. Could you not make more of an effort, Jo darling? I am sure that this seasickness business is all in your mind!”
Joanna had reached for the bucket at that point and Lottie had shrieked and run away and had not been back since. In fact, Max was the only one who had been with her the entire voyage, curled up on her bunk, snoring, oblivious to everything and proving to Joanna once more that dogs were so much easier and more reliable than people ever could be.
Joanna opened her eyes and stared at the oil lamp that swayed on its chain from the wooden ceiling, swinging rhythmically with the ebb and flow of the waves. The bright sunlight dappled the paneled walls. Suddenly she wanted to be out of the noisome dark and in the fresh air. She was so, so tired of feeling ill.
There was a knock at the cabin door. Joanna rolled over, her stomach roiling with the familiar sickness, and prayed that it was not going to be Lottie gabbling on about her latest conquest amongst the crew.
“You did not give me leave to enter, but I am here anyway.”
Alex.
Her first emotion was an odd sort of embarrassment to see him again, as though he were a stranger who had invaded her bedroom. Her second was simple horror. She had not washed for two days—or was it three? Her nightgown was stained, her hair knotted and she probably smelled. In fact, she was sure that she did.
“I’ve already told you that you cannot come in.” Her voice came out as a croak. “I look dreadful, far too dreadful to be seen.”
He laughed. Damn him to hell and back. “Yes,” he said, “that is absolutely true. You do. In fact, I did not know you had it in you to look so bad.”
Joanna turned over and peered crossly at him. In contrast to her state of disarray, he looked extremely well, fit, vital, tanned from the wind, his dark hair ruffled, his entire body radiating health. He brought with him the scent of the sea, of fresh air, sun and salt winds.
She buried her face in the pillow. “You could have lied and said I looked well to a pass,” she said, muffled.
“I never lie.” The bunk gave as Alex sat down. Joanna froze. Why was he staying? She did not want him to stay. She wanted him to go away and talk about shipping tonnage with Devlin, or navigation with Owen Purchase, or whatever it was that sailors talked about on a voyage, subjects in which she had absolutely no interest at all.
“I’ve brought you some porridge,” Alex said.
Porridge. How disgusting. Her stomach churned.
“Please take it away again.”
“No.” He shifted. The cabin seemed full of his presence, the air buzzing. “You are going to eat it. Enough is enough. Frazer has been making you all those bowls of broth and you have hurt his feelings turning them down. Besides, if you do not eat soon you will become genuinely ill.”
“Genuinely ill?” Joanna shot up in the bunk without thinking, the frowsty blankets slipping about her. “Do you think I am pretending?”
She saw Alex grin and almost hated him. “No, of course not. Some people are very prone to seasickness, and it is debilitating, but once you are back on dry land the effects vanish like magic.”
Joanna hunkered down again. “Then pray wake me up again only when we reach land.”
“No.” With incredulity she realized that Alex was actually pulling the blankets off her now. She clung to them for dear life. “I have had enough of this,” he said. “You are going to eat and then you will get up. We are sailing up the west coast of Spitsbergen. You must start to get ready for when we disembark. Besides—” a new note came into his voice that sounded like pride or pleasure or both “—you will want to see the view. It is very beautiful.”
“The only view I want to see is of dry land when I am about to step onto it,” Joanna said.
“Stop being so spoiled and sorry for yourself.” Alex’s voice had a thread of steel in it now. “You are behaving like a child.”
Joanna threw the pillow at him. Alex laughed, catching it without dropping the bowl of porridge. She sat glaring at him.
“Get up, Joanna,” Alex said, the wicked smile still tilting his lips. “Do you wish me to bring you a mirror to show you how urgent it is that you make yourself presentable?”
“No!” Joanna knew she was vain, but she had always thought that there were worse sins than wishing to look her best. Now, though, she not only felt disheveled, she also felt painfully self-conscious. There was something in Alex’s eyes as he sat looking at her—looking at her in all her hideous disarray—that made her body flush hot all over. It reminded her of the night they had spent together at Grillon’s Hotel. It was odd, Joanna thought, that now she was respectably married to Alex she should feel this constraint in his company. They had been so close, so intimate on that one illicit night, but the time they had subsequently spent apart had reminded her that they barely knew one another. She felt gauche with him. She felt as though she barely knew him.
“Oh, give me the bowl,” she snapped, capitulating. She saw the look of satisfaction on Alex’s face and started to eat in quick spoonfuls. The food tasted surprisingly good. Her stomach steadied and suddenly she was starving hungry. She wolfed down the rest and looked up to see that Alex’s gaze was fixed on her.
“It was good,” she said grudgingly. “Thank you.” She sighed. “I am sorry if I have upset Frazer.”
Alex inclined his head. “I’m sure he will forgive you if you sample h
is boiled gannet stew.” He saw her blench and added, “Though I was the one who made your porridge today.”
Joanna stared. “You did?”
“Of course. Sailors are taught to be resourceful.” Alex cocked his head to one side. “I do not suppose that you can cook?”
Joanna felt a spurt of annoyance at the way in which he had phrased the question, as though he was already anticipating her denial. “Of course not,” she said. “Why would I wish to cook? I am an Earl’s daughter.” Her aunt had tried to instill in her the housewifely skills suited to a vicar’s niece—baking, preserving fruit and something she vaguely thought involved vinegar and had been called pickling—but sadly, the only skill she had been set on learning was how to use her looks to escape the vicarage.
“There is no need to look so disapproving,” she added defensively. “Did you really expect me to have such talents? You knew what I was like when you married me.”
There was a pause. For some reason Joanna felt small and miserable. She had never regretted her lack of culinary skills before.
“That is true, I did know.” Alex’s words hardly gave her the reassurance she craved. He stood up. Joanna gave a sigh of relief as though the space in the cabin was once more expanding and there was air to breathe again. Having Alex so close did odd things to her equilibrium. “I will send Frazer with some hot water for you,” Alex said. “You will feel better after you have washed.”
In the cabin doorway he paused. “Joanna…”
An odd shiver passed through Joanna at his tone of voice.
“Yes?” She kept her own quite steady.
“If you do not get up then I shall come and dress you myself,” Alex said pleasantly but with a glint in his eyes that was dangerous. “And I do not think you would like that. I have no skill as a lady’s maid.”
No skill as a lady’s maid…
Whisper of Scandal Page 18