by Carie, Jamie
“How long ago did he stop playing?” He gazed down at her with such a look of anger, she couldn’t begin to understand what had happened to change his mood so abruptly. The door shut behind Mr. Wilson.
Alex took a step closer to him and pressed her hands against his chest. “Only a little while ago. It’s all right,” she said in a soft voice. “I didn’t want to stop either.”
He grasped hold of her hands, hard. He was staring intently at her lips. Did he want to kiss her? She leaned toward him and closed her eyes.
“I hope you’ll not offer yourself so easily to any man who dances with you.”
It was like a slap in the face. Alex reared back as heat flamed into her cheeks. Of course she wouldn’t. He wasn’t any man. The memory of the times she had let John kiss her filled her with shame. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was a wanton woman with no principles. Perhaps she would like kisses from any man. It wasn’t true though! It was him. Tears sprang to her eyes.
She turned to leave but he caught her and pulled her back into his arms. “I’m sorry.” He pressed his cheek to her temple. “Forgive me. I–I, Alexandria.” He took a long breath that she felt against her chest. “There is something I haven’t told you. Your guardian . . . I . . . I cannot hear . . . anything anymore. I can’t hear you when you speak to me. I couldn’t hear when the music stopped.”
He let go of her then, looked one time into her eyes, and then pushed away from her and hurried from the room. Alex stood staring at the slammed door, stunned, unable to move or think. Her duke was deaf?
WHAT HAD HE DONE? GABRIEL rushed toward the dark recesses of the house, to the blue salon that was so rarely used, his grandmother’s salon, where he could be alone with the wretched feeling that he’d ruined everything.
Oh, God, what have I done?
He felt like hitting something. Instead he took long, deep breaths and prowled around the room. Finally he stopped and made his way over to the grand piano. It was the best instrument in the house and, sadly, never played. He sat on the bench and poised his fingers over the black keys. He plucked at them, head hanging over them, feeling for the vibration through his hands and feet, trying to remember a song he had once played. With a straining in his heart for some solace, he closed his eyes and played a chord and then another. No colors yet. Nothing but a silent emptiness that filled his whole being.
He felt a sudden hand on his shoulder.
It was her. He knew it. He felt her particular gentle strength coming from her hand, chasing away the despair that was devouring him. Without opening his eyes, he began to play the song in earnest. It flooded back to him and through him, her hand on his shoulder giving him strength. Slashes of blue and green streaked across the darkness of his closed lids and then turned to droplets of vibrant color, notes that floated up and away. A shower of yellow when he played the higher notes and dots of purple on the lower scale.
He played like he had never been able to play before. With the colors guiding him, it was as natural as breathing. With her hand on his shoulder, anything seemed possible. The song ended. His eyes flew open and he turned his head to find Alexandria looking at him with big, questioning eyes that did, as Meade had said when he first tried to describe her, perfectly match this room.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said slowly.
Her lips were easy to read, like Meade’s, her face an open book of compassion and love. He turned on the bench and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. Her hands, hesitant at first, touched his hair, running her fingers through it and then down the sides of his face, a gentle caress.
“What of John? Don’t you hate me for what I did? I killed the man you were going to marry.” He looked up at her, tears on his cheeks.
Her thumbs wiped away his tears. “I forgave you for that a long time ago.”
Oh, God, thank You. I’ve been such a coward, but You knew all along, didn’t You?
He pulled her down onto the bench beside him. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears and then leaned down to kiss her.
HIS LIPS CAME DOWN ON hers. A mere brush of softness and breath held against a wild tenderness. She could feel it, his tenderness toward her, and that thing that lay deeper, an unleashed power that lurked, that said he could devour her if he chose. But he didn’t choose. He undid her slowly, with painstaking intent that had her breathing shallow and her heart thudding, caught in his spell. She couldn’t move, her hands splayed across his wide chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath her fingertips, trapped by tenderness.
He changed, ever so slightly, his arm around her waist pulling her as close as her trapped hands would allow. He demanded more, coaxing her mouth open, delving inside, the wildness he held in check beating against her palms and pulsing through her body—the panther, as they called him, surfacing. He would take her over, if they continued. Brand her forever his. And she wanted that, didn’t she? She wanted this.
The thought of what John had possibly done made her suddenly sick to her stomach. Excitement turned to dread. What if she got what she wanted? This glorious man as her husband. He might find out that she wasn’t a virgin. He would demand to know what had happened, and she wasn’t even really sure what had happened, how much of it was her fault, how much she had led them to. Gabriel might be unable to hear, but she was quite possibly something far worse.
Even though she hadn’t had her monthly time, that wasn’t uncommon for her.
She still didn’t know. She might be pregnant with another man’s child.
Chapter Thirty
He was frightening her. Gabriel pulled back and saw the confusion in her eyes. He’d let too much of his feelings show and would scare her off if he wasn’t careful. Get control. She stood and backed away from him.
“Alexandria, would you like to go riding in the park? I hear you are a very good rider.”
She hesitated and then nodded.
“I can read your lips if you talk slowly and distinctly.” He cocked up one brow with a self-deprecating smile. “Some of the time anyway.”
A look of compassion came into her eyes. He never thought to use his inability to hear as an advantage, but with her he would do anything to make her feel comfortable with him again.
“That would be nice.” She took a step back, then took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. “I will go and change.” She pointed upstairs on the word go and then gestured toward her dress.
“Meet me at the entry in an hour?”
She nodded, turning away.
“Alexandria.”
She turned her head back toward him.
“Thank you.”
She blushed and looked down and then hurried from the room.
AN HOUR LATER THEY WERE mounting their horses in front of the stables for the ride in Hyde Park. Alex didn’t know where Gabriel had heard that she was such an accomplished rider, but it certainly wasn’t true. She had only ridden on a few occasions since coming to London, with Jane and Meade to Hyde Park and once with Jane to the new shops at the Burlington Arcade on Bond and Piccadilly where they had found the most splendid bonnets.
Hyde Park had been illuminating, to say the least, with Jane and Meade pointing out personages of interest such as the famous Viscount Petersham, who they assured Alex was a great dandy and most elegant dresser. He had a brown carriage, brown horses, and all of his footmen wore elaborately golden-trimmed brown livery. Jane said he was a friend of the prince regent and that they enjoyed taking snuff and drinking imported teas together.
They had also seen Beau Brummell, the most fashionable man in London, with a razor-sharp wit that one did not want to be on the receiving end of. They had directed their driver to stay clear of him.
There had been so much to see—Dalmatians riding with their owners, a gentleman and his poodle looking remarkably alike with t
heir curling blond hair, ladies parading in the height of fashion, some waving to Jane and looking curiously at Alex, others looking at Alex with green-eyed jealousy once they learned she was the Duke of St. Easton’s ward and lived with him at his town house. There was more than one arched brow, but Jane did her best to smooth things over.
“Her parents are daring treasure hunters and they’ve come up missing. Isn’t it the greatest tragedy?” Or “She was all alone on that dreary Holy Island in the wilds of Northumberland. Can you imagine? Why she hardly sees the duke, of course, but I have a new best friend.”
Jane proved deft at deflecting anything that might make for a nasty rumor, all the while making Alex seem like the most interesting, exotic thing to happen to the ton in a great while. And the callers they’d had after that day in the park! Well, Jane had somehow, magically, launched her before her official coming-out ball.
For the first time ever, Alex found herself in the sweet solicitude of a woman’s friendship. It was one of the many unexpected joys she’d found living in London and sometimes, even though she squashed the thought feeling strangely disloyal when it came to her mind, made the idea of going back to Holy Island rather dismal.
Alex looked over at Gabriel’s ruggedly handsome profile with his high cheekbones shadowy with stubble, his jet black hair worn shorter than any other man she’d seen but so perfect on him, square chin and wide shoulders that any girl would think attractive, and made a quick decision. She didn’t want to ride in the park with him on horses; she wanted to be in a carriage so they could finally talk, though she wasn’t sure how successful that would be without paper and so little experience. But she wanted, needed, to hear him tell her things about himself and his life.
What had happened to him? When did it happen? So much had clicked into place when she learned the truth—the day in front of the regent when he kept looking at the book Meade was writing in, the avoidance of her in the house, not wanting to have dinner with her. Was it any wonder he was so different in person than from his letters? But why hadn’t he told her? Did she seem so shallow that she would care less for him if she knew? She hoped not and she planned to somehow find answers to these questions.
They were both mounted but close enough that she could reach him. “Gabriel?” She reached over and touched his shoulder. “It is hard to talk,” she put her fingers to her mouth and then took them away and toward him, “while riding. Might we go in the carriage instead?” She made hand gestures for riding and a carriage. He seemed to understand, eyes narrowing at her hand gestures and looking at her lips.
“We might.”
Alex smiled at him and then burst into a laugh. “I don’t know who told you I am an accomplished horsewoman,” she motioned to the horse and shook her head, “but it isn’t true!”
Gabriel cracked a smile and came around to help her down. She thought he would reach for her hand but he didn’t. He placed his hands around her waist and brought her to the ground in front of him as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. He held her waist for a moment too long, taking a long inhale of her hair.
She was suddenly glad she’d worn the lavender water she’d made up last week. She was wearing her best riding habit in dove gray with dark blue velvet collar and cuffs and light tan gloves. Her hair was done up in the back with a small hat made from cork and a few dark blue feathers at a rakish angle. His eyes held a light in them while he stared down at her that made her think he liked what he saw.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” Gabriel swept his hand toward a fashionable high-perch phaeton. “Allow me to help you up.” With the same ease, he took her hand and helped her ascend. It was a high seat and thrilling; she could see everything from here.
They went up Piccadilly and then the short distance to the entrance of the park. Alex didn’t attempt to talk yet since Gabriel was busy driving the team of matched grays, so she looked around, taking in the sights instead. The sun was warm and there was a light spring breeze. She smiled, inhaling the fresh air as they turned into the park. They made their way down Rotten Row, and Alex let several moments go by, gawking at the fashionably dressed people who were laughing and talking, greeting friends. She imagined what it would be like, not hearing this scene.
Like silent, animated dolls, like a frightening nightmare.
She shivered and turned to him. “How did you lose your hearing?”
He flicked the reins, taking them down a side path that was quieter and away from the throng. “It was the day I learned of you, actually. The day I learned I was your guardian.”
“Oh.” That sounded sad. “What happened?”
He shrugged as if it was of no consequence but his cheeks reddened. Alex placed her hand on his outstretched arm. “Please, tell me.”
He launched into a long story about going to the opera, being handed a note from the prince regent about his guardianship, and then having his head explode. The weeks afterward where he learned to live with it and then when his hearing had seemed to be coming back as he traveled to Holy Island to fetch her. There was a catch in his voice when he spoke of that. “I thought I would be able to hear you when I first met you. I thought I was better.”
The grief and longing in his voice was a stab to Alex’s heart. He wanted to be normal for her. He wanted her to accept him, love him? “But it went away again?”
He nodded, his face harsh as he turned it away from her, the late afternoon sun making the sharp planes of his cheeks, his eyes shadowed. “It happened suddenly, something popped inside . . . and it was gone again. I haven’t given up all hope that it might return and that someday I might find a cure, but I don’t know if that will ever happen. I don’t know whether to hope for it or accept it.” He turned toward her, his dark brows low over emerald eyes. “Alexandria, I have tried everything I can think of thus far and I might have to live the rest of my life without sound.”
“Is it . . . difficult?” She sighed, everything in her wanting to reach out and hold him, comfort him. “I can only try and imagine what it is like.” She placed her hand on her heart when she said difficult and then two fingertips to her mind taking them off and circling them when she said the word imagine.
“Yes, it is difficult. The most difficult thing that has ever occurred to me thus far. This is what I referred to in my letters about needing your prayers. I hated God for a while after it happened. I thought Him unfair.”
“But you don’t now?”
He shook his head. “You gave me hope that He still loved me and had a plan for me despite this, with this affliction. I don’t know how He can bring good out of this, but I believe He can and will. I have faith that He will. Your prayers have helped more than you know.” He took her hand and squeezed it, leaned forward and kissed her knuckles, then bowed his head over her hand. “I want to ask you questions too, but it is too difficult here. We will need the speaking book.” He looked over at her with a half smile and teasing light to his eyes.
She imagined them alone, huddled on the settee in front of the fire, heads close together over the speaking book. No, she wouldn’t mind that at all. She looked down, shy, and then remembered that she couldn’t look down if she wanted to say anything. She had to hold her face up for his full regard so he could see everything she spoke to him.
“I like talking to you.” She pressed on her chest for I and then put her fingertips to her mouth and then away toward him as she said the word talking.
He looked at her hand signals with a curious light. “Meade sometime makes hand signals, but you are much better at it. I can tell what you are saying without reading your lips sometimes. How do you know this?”
Alex shrugged and then smiled. “We will practice and soon have our own special language.”
THEIR OWN SPECIAL LANGUAGE. WHY hadn’t he thought of it before? Had anyone? Gabriel turned back to the horses with an intense smile. “I d
o believe you have struck upon something brilliant, my lady. Something that may help people without sound function in society again.” His voice cracked with emotion; he could feel it in the catch in his throat. “Come.” He glanced sideways at her in a teasing, lighthearted way to restore the feeling of a normal drive through the park. “Let’s go back to Rotten Row and I will tell you the little-known facts of our illustrious members of the ton.”
Chapter Thirty-One
His mother was here. She had finally agreed to meet Alexandria.
Gabriel opened the door to the newly favorite salon, the blue one, and ushered his mother and three sisters in, their husbands and children in tow filing through the door in a solemn procession, settling like ornate birds onto the perches of the room. He watched the silent process, knowing each of them well as head of the family, knowing their strengths and weaknesses, their trust in him that he would always see to their needs.
Mary and Charlotte sat down with his mother on the settee; Lord Wingate and Lord Easley leaned against a high cabinet and the mantel respectively; Jane and Meade sat in chairs close together. The servants saw to the refreshments, everyone seeming a little higher strung in their actions than usual. Not that getting the family together wasn’t always without its drama, but today they would meet his intended duchess. None of them knew that, of course, not even Jane, though he was sure she had her suspicions, but this was his way of saying it might happen. Of introducing her to his world in its most intimate manner.
And demanding their approval. His eyes roved each of them, communicating with a penetrating look his desire for their absolute compliance.
Meade motioned to him with upraised eyebrows and a glance toward the door.
She was here.
He turned, thinking he was prepared . . . he wasn’t. She walked in, resplendent in a deep blue gown of flowing satin, jewels glittering from her throat, her dark hair pulled high from her face in a crown of its own. Her face . . . He had to look down for a moment, catch his breath and recover. He caught her eyes, so happy to see him.