He felt the growing tension in her body, felt her orgasm building. Moving one hand along the line of her hip and slipping it between her legs, he touched her. Sarah exploded around him. She buried her face against his shoulder, but he still heard her muffled scream. In that scream was her surrender. Alec felt it in the way her body responded to his, collapsing onto him and holding him up at the same time, giving up, giving in, and still holding her own. And he followed her, emptying himself, body and soul, into her.
He didn't know how long he held them there, suspended in what had just happened. He didn't know how he held them up. His entire body had turned to water he was sure, but his legs were solid beneath him. His grip on Sarah's legs weakened though, and he let her feet drop to the floor. He still held onto her, pinning her between the wall and himself to keep her upright. She kept her face hidden in his shoulder as she continued to shake, from the climax or from something else he wasn't sure.
"Sarah?" he said, hoping to draw her out, hoping she wouldn't pretend to be invisible right then, hoping that she wouldn't pretend she didn't exist, not when he had stated, in the most carnal way he knew how, how much he loved her and how he was not going to leave her.
"Come on, love," he coaxed, nudging her with a playful butt of his nose against her ear, "I need you to tell me you're all right."
It was not exactly what he needed to hear from her, but it would do for now.
Sarah's arms were around his neck, but they suddenly melted, sliding down his chest. He thought she was going to withdraw physically from him, but instead her arms slipped around his waist, and she snuggled closer to him. Her back came away from the wall, and he was able to get his arms all the way around her.
"I'm all right," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear her.
Alec drew in a much needed breath and reached up to tilt her face up to his. He kissed her slowly, lingering in the softness of her lips. He pulled away before he wanted to and fastened his trousers. Sarah straightened her skirts, batting them down when the stiff material wouldn't fall back along her legs.
Alec waited until she was decent.
"All right?" he asked.
Sarah nodded.
"I'm not leaving you. I just need to see why Captain Teyssier has Thatcher's hat," he said carefully, no longer brave enough to touch her.
Sarah looked like she might break if he so much as brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. So he turned around and opened the door. The captain lounged against the opposite wall, his perfect hair contrasting sharply with his unshaven chin and dirty hands. Harpoon Man wasn't much better looking, and for the first time, Alec worried about leaving Sarah for reasons other than her fears.
He might seriously never make it back to this prison.
He might never make it back to his wife.
And if that were to happen, there was something she needed to know.
With his hand still on the doorknob, Alec turned partway, so that he could see Sarah standing dazed in the swinging lantern light. She looked small and utterly alone. His heart constricted even as he knew he was doing the right thing. He had to find out what had happened to Thatcher. Not for the War Office. Not for any strategy against Napoleon. But because Thatcher was his friend, and he was not going to let any harm come to him if he could prevent it.
So he was going to have to leave Sarah all alone in their prison.
But first he would give her something to think about, so she wouldn't think about him leaving.
"Sarah?" he asked, getting her attention even though she was already looking at him. "The first time we met? It wasn't on our wedding day."
He didn't wait for her reaction.
He closed the door between them.
~
Alec experienced an instantaneous need to be sick upon entering the captain's quarters. Teyssier obviously lied when he had said his accommodations were better than the berth into which he had tossed Alec and Sarah.
The room smelled like old cheese and human filth. There were clothes tossed here and there. Plates of half eaten food festered on various flat surfaces. The bedclothes dripped lazily to the floor from the bunk. Wadded pieces of parchment and newsprint littered the floor . And a chamber pot in the corner was dangerously close to spilling its contents everywhere. If he did not feel such a need to help his friend if his friend indeed needed helping, he would have left immediately and returned to the slightly more desirable conditions of the prison he shared with his wife. At least, Sarah was there, and he very much wanted to be with her just then.
He had made love to her.
Again.
For only the second time.
He needed to get back to her.
But Teyssier entered the room close behind him, and he was forced to take a step further into the mess before him.
"A chair, perhaps?" Teyssier said, unearthing one from a pile of dirty linens.
It was a standard wooden affair and did not outwardly appear to contain any food particles or fecal matter as it were. So Alec sat in it, keeping his back straight, not touching the back of the chair for fear his visual inspection was inaccurate.
Teyssier moved behind the table that took up the center of the room and which consisted of most of the plates of half eaten food. Alec swallowed as the captain rummaged through the plates, finding one that seemed to suit him, pulling it from the pile and settling in to begin eating the remains of whatever it was. Alec closed his eyes briefly and thought only of Sarah.
Thatcher was their only hope for getting out of this before the ship left the port for France. Once they were in the Channel, the chances of being rescued dropped significantly. He couldn't fail Sarah. She would never let him live with that failure and worse, neither would he. He opened his eyes.
"I believe you brought me here to discuss that particular hat," Alec said, pointing to the garment in question, which now lay on the table beside the captain.
The captain spoke around the wad of food in his mouth.
"There appears to have been a commotion in the port. I wish you to explain to me what it is about."
Alec shrugged.
"I've been on this ship with you and your lovely companions. What would I know of a disturbance in port?"
Teyssier set down the plate of food and wiped his hands on his trousers.
"There appears to have been two people involved. The gentleman wearing this hat." Here he picked up Thatcher's hat. "And a rather, what is the word? I believe it to say remarkable lady."
Lady Cavanaugh. That could be the only other woman who would be in Dover and assisting Thatcher. But what did that mean? Thatcher should have been on his way to London to fetch the entire War Office if he needed to. Why was he still in Dover? And why was he with Lady Cavanaugh?
Teyssier watched him, and Alec gave no indication that any of this meant anything to him.
"The gentleman, he had an accent." Teyssier smiled showing his teeth. "Not one as refined as mine, but an accent, n'cest pas?"
Alec did not agree or disagree.
"They say he is from the Colonies. I do not know what this may mean. A gentleman from the Colonies helping the British? It does not seem to fit. You care to explain?"
Alec cared to do no such thing and so did nothing.
Teyssier continued.
"The gentleman, he follow your abductor, the one with the absurd gold teeth. He follow through the port and attempt to board the same ship he did. You know about this?"
Alec grew tired of all of the questions he could not possibly answer.
"I think it best to get to the rest of the story, Captain. I know nothing of which you speak, and I have nothing to add in commentary."
Teyssier shrugged.
"I do not know if that is truth. You could be lying. Is this gentleman a part of your plan? Clearly, you recognize the hat. You must know something or you would still be with your cherie."
Alec made no motion at the mention of Sarah but said, "What plan?"
Teyssier picked up the hat again, running the brim between his fingers.
"Allow me to tell you what it is I think," Teyssier said, and Alec wanted to roll his eyes in relief.
If the captain would just talk, he could learn what had happened with Thatcher and get back to Sarah.
"This gentleman, he wait in port to rescue you, only he is not sure where you are. So he follows the last person he saw you with and tries to get information. He needs this information in order to bring help. To bring people to save you. When he is stopped, he flees. And the plan to rescue you does not work."
The captain paused, and Alec did not so much as blink. Thatcher had fled. But did he make it out of Dover?
"But that may not be what all that happened. This gentleman from the Colonies. He may just be a ruse. A distraction. A lie? He may be keeping us from the real truth, n'cest pas?"
Alec did not speak.
"I do not like surprises, mon ami, and it will serve you well to tell me the truth of things now. We will be underway shortly, and things can only grow more uncomfortable for you."
Alec's mind flashed to Sarah alone in the berth, and he felt a cold tickle of dread move down his spine. She would be all right. He would get back to her. He would save them both, and everything would be all right in the end.
He would finally make her laugh. He knew he would.
"But some part of this does not make sense."
Alec could think of many parts of this that did not make sense, but that was not the point just then. The point was to end this conversation and leave. Thatcher could be all right. He had fled. He must have gotten out. Did that mean he could still formulate a plan to save them? He could not be sure, but he knew the man was alive. That was enough to allow him to return to Sarah.
"The woman this gentleman was with. She say something peculiar."
Lady Cavanaugh had said a number of peculiar things on more than one occasion. Alec did not see how this was relevant.
"She say she a countess. A countess from Italy. You know this woman."
The last part was not a question, and it was all Alec could do to keep from smiling. Yes, he did know the Katharine Cavanaugh who would pretend to be an Italian countess. But Teyssier did not need to know this. So Alec continued to say nothing.
"I see you are not going to help a friend right now, mon ami. This saddens me."
Teyssier stood, and that cold tickle of fear burning down Alec's spine erupted into flames that threatened to engulf him.
"I think it best to give you time to think about matters."
Teyssier moved from behind the table, his feet shuffling in the debris on the floor.
"You must think about what is best not only for you but for your lady wife."
The captain stood close enough now that Alec could see where his beard disappeared into the stained fabric of his collar. He could smell the man's stale breath and dried sweat. He could smell entirely too much.
"You will stay here, I think, to think of these things. And then perhaps, you will wish to cooperate."
Before Alec could form a protest, Teyssier moved to the door. Alec stood, moving the chair as if to make a run for the door, but Harpoon Man stood there. Or if not Harpoon Man, his evil twin. And Alec carefully sat back down.
"You will think," Teyssier said and shut the door, giving Alec no chance to get back to his wife.
He sat down on the wooden chair. Defeat weighed on him like a fog on a hillside. There but not solid enough to grasp in one's hand to move away. He had told Sarah he would not leave her. He had told her that. And now he was stuck in the captain's quarters. He thought about trying the door handle but knew it was unlikely they would leave the bolt off.
The ship rolled beneath him, but he did not move. He sat in the chair, his mind blank except for the look on Sarah's face when he had closed the door.
He wondered if she had figured it out by then. If she knew when it was that they had first met. It was not something he had ever forgotten. And that moment in the church four years ago, when he had seen her standing there in her gown, he hadn't known what to do. The immense amount of alcohol in his system had not helped matters either. And even now Alec couldn't remember everything of that day.
But he could not forget Sarah.
There were moments in their life together that had frozen in his mind. The image of a young Sarah the first time they had met. Moonlight cascading across her shoulders as if she were a majestic sprite. Sarah at the altar, a grown woman wreathed in flowers. And then Sarah from moments before, her tattered gown clinging to her with its last threads, her hair mussed and matted, grime streaking down her face. But it was none of that had made the image freeze in his mind. It was the look in her eyes.
It was the look of a woman who had been thoroughly loved.
Is loved.
He suspected that last bit was his own selfishly hopeful expectations. There was a large distance between physical love, and the love he had been trying to show Sarah for so many years. And while he had definitely made love to Sarah, he doubted she felt the truth of it. He doubted she knew the depth of his emotions. She had always called him ridiculous and immature, but he had never felt that way about her.
What he felt for her was something unlike he had ever experienced. His love for his family ran deep. His father and Jane and Nathan. And likely soon to extend to an indomitable housekeeper and her son. And while his love for his family was strong, insurmountable and unconditional, it did not compare to the burst of passion that overwhelmed him whenever he saw his wife.
His love for Sarah was organic, a living, breathing thing that was always just out of his reach. It was something he moved forward for, moved toward everyday, hoping that one day he would catch it. One day he would catch her.
But he never did.
For four long years.
His chest hurt. He rubbed at it as if to dispel the ache that defeat ground into him. He dropped his hand into his lap and looked at it. Red and raw from exposure, his fingers clenched and unclenched.
And then as he had done mere days before, Alec folded his hands and prayed, because he didn't know what else to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
London, England
Just before their abduction
Alec prayed.
He hadn't really done much praying lately, but he figured that if any situation called for divine assistance, this was it. He had done everything he could think of, everything his pathetic, unimaginative brain could come up with to make his wife laugh, to make her love him. But nothing had worked. He sat in a cold, empty church, soaking wet from having walked around London for hours in the rain, and he prayed to a god he hadn't spoken to in years.
Desperate was the word that came to mind.
Desperate to make her look at him with something other than disdain. Desperate to make her see him for a human being and not the immature whelp he knew she saw. Desperate to stop being on the wrong side of all the doors she closed in his face.
Just desperate.
And last night...
God, last night.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling momentarily and wondered if he should clarify to God that he wasn't speaking to him directly at that moment.
But what had happened?
Well, he knew what had happened, but what had driven them to it? What had driven him to it?
In four years, he hadn't so much as spoken intimately to his wife. Hell, he hadn't even spoken friendly to his wife. There had been a time when he had jested with her, smiled with her and laughed with her. But he had always fooled himself. He did none of those things with her. He had just done them in the attempt to make her realize he was there. Intimacy was this mysterious thing that happened to other people, not him. But last night, he had clearly encountered intimacy and surged right through it to carnal knowledge.
But what was he supposed to do when the woman whom he had loved since the first sight of her had suddenly, unexpectedly kissed him?
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br /> In fact, kissed did not accurately described what she had done. She had all but devoured him. She had bit him. And stupid idiot that he was he had said Ow and nearly shoved her off the sofa. Ow was really not the best response in that situation, but she had bit him. It wasn't until she was almost to the door of the library in their townhouse that he thought to get up and go after her. And then he had happily returned the endearing show of emotion by biting her back. He knew he had probably hurt her, but the tracks her fingernails had made still burned down the length of his back.
He had reached the top of the stairs before he realized he was taking her to a bed. It was more like hauling her to a bed because she was tossed over his shoulder, but regardless of his method, his destination was clear. He was going to get his wife in a bed, and he was damn sure going to be present.
What he had not expected was to stop when he did, but he couldn't help it. He had watched her as he had stroked her to climax, and the look on her face when she broke had his chest tightening to uncomfortable proportions. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and he had felt like she had put all of her trust in him. Trusting him with her body, her heart, her very soul. And still shivering from the pleasure he had given her, she had opened her eyes and smiled.
That was when he realized he couldn't do it.
He couldn't make love to his wife as long as he knew she didn't care about him.
Her smile had been one of satiation, of contentment, of pure physical happiness.
She had never smiled like that at him before. She had never smiled at him before. And that knowledge had driven him off the bed and out the door. This time it was him who closed the door between them, but it hadn't made him feel any better standing in the hallway looking at it.
So now he sat in Greyfriars, soaking wet and probably catching the fever that would kill him, but he had suddenly felt the need to return to the scene of the crime, as it were. He stared at the altar where had been forever tied to Sarah Beckham. He hadn't realized then that being tied to her did not mean that he would be happily tied to her. It may have been his state of intoxication at the time that kept him from realizing it, but he thought it more likely came from the secret moment he had been cherishing, nurturing for years.
For Love of the Earl Page 11