by Dalton, Lily
“We’d been outside for hours, watching Daphne and Clarissa at their riding lessons when the skies suddenly darkened.” Sophia paused, remembering the fateful moment that had changed her life and the lives of her mother and sisters forever. “Daphne was having so much fun, she didn’t want to ride in. She told us later that she pretended not to hear us calling. So my father walked out to fetch her. At the first faint rumble of thunder, the animal went skittish. Daphne couldn’t control him, and so my father reached for the harness. That’s when an enormous thunderclap seemed to break the sky in two.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “It wasn’t Daphne’s fault, but I know she’s never forgiven herself. She’s never ridden again.”
“I’m sorry it happened.” He shook his head. “And just two years after Vinson was lost on the Charybdis.”
“Yes.” Her eyelids lowered at the mention of her elder sibling, who had been lost while on a scientific expedition to the South Seas. “I don’t believe I ever told you, but Havering was on the same expedition. The night Vinson died, Havering was ill and kept to his cabin. It’s why he hovers about so. He believes things would be different had he been there.” She shrugged. “As if he could have done something to stop the sea from claiming my brother.”
“Do you find your cousin, Mr. Kincraig, a worthy heir to your grandfather’s title? I met him only briefly at our engagement ball and had no opportunity to form any sort of opinion as to his true character.”
Inwardly she flinched. Mr. Kincraig was a sore subject in the family since being named heir to the Wolverton title and estates. Until then, he’d been a stranger to them all, and to their dismay, he seemed determined to remain so. The idea that he should take possession of the ancestral history that they had all for so long tended with honor and revered seemed a travesty.
“Hmmm. What a question.” She threw a glance at the ceiling. “Shall I answer with diplomacy or with truth?”
“Always truth with me, Sophia,” he answered solemnly.
She ran her fingertip over the crenellated crown of the king. “He strikes me as arrogant and cold, and he has made no effort whatsoever to seek my grandfather’s good graces or approval or to become part of our family, though we have sought on numerous occasions to make him welcome. He just seems to be waiting. Waiting until—” She could say no more, for a sudden rush of emotion closed her throat. She exhaled miserably and lowered her lashes to conceal her tears. “I just wish my father was still alive and my brother. Once my grandfather is gone, everything will change.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It is his greatest wish that his two remaining granddaughters marry before his death so that their futures are secured.”
“Oh yes.” Claxton sat back in the chair and glared into the fire. The leather of his Hessians glowed like onyx. “Because marriage will solve everything. You and I know that better than anyone.”
She sighed again. Oh, the folly of words and falling into traps laid by one’s self. Their marriage. She had thought all day on the subject in the back of her mind, while they were visiting with the Kettles, and shopping, and baking, and sledding. Oh, and while they were kissing too.
He tilted his head aside and peered at her. “I apologize if I have pressured you too greatly to accept me. I believed we were growing closer. Enjoying our time together. Clearly this afternoon I overstepped. I could sense your discomfiture when I touched you, and after all my silly talk about going over edges—”
“Claxton, I have come to a decision about our marriage.”
He blinked, then straightened, instantly serious and attentive. His expression conveyed a mixture of dread and hope. He was afraid, she realized. Afraid of what she might say. “A decision. Yes?”
“I will agree to withdraw my demand for a separation.”
“Sophia.” He leaned forward, his long legs bending between them, his larger boots planted on either side of her smaller ones, and grasped her hands in both of his. “You don’t know…I can’t explain what that means to me.” He exhaled sharply, as if suddenly unable to form words.
“You are happy with my decision?” she asked.
“Yes.” His eyes widened. “Yes. And you?”
“I am content.” She wouldn’t lie. Happy wasn’t a word she could use to describe her feelings on the matter. Since last night, she’d felt as if she were standing on the edge of a dangerous precipice—with the growing desire she felt for her husband threatening to drag her over to a place from which she could never return. She had to step back.
Making love to her husband wouldn’t be like before, when she’d given herself to him freely. It couldn’t be. Rules had to be put in place, so as to safeguard her heart. She wouldn’t be able to proceed with having a child otherwise.
“Only content?” He leaned closer and with his hand brought her face to his for a kiss.
She gave him her cheek before his lips could touch hers.
“But this should stop,” Sophia said.
He froze. “What should stop?”
“The kissing. The efforts to seduce me.”
“You’re my wife. I want to seduce you.” He reached out to touch a tendril of her hair. “More importantly, goose, you’re the only woman with whom I’ve ever sledded.”
“Don’t tease.”
“Who is teasing?” he asked incredulously, his eyes widening to reveal a glimmer of temper. “I’m half out of my mind with wanting you. I want you in my bed. I want to make love to you.”
“Truly, Claxton, there is no need to say such things. I’ve agreed to remain in the marriage, and yes, to have a child, and we shall do what needs to be done—” She blushed and primly averted her gaze. “In a straightforward fashion. However many times it must be done, and hope for the best.”
He sank back against the cushion, his expression mulish. “How utterly romantic.”
“Don’t you see? That’s what I’m saying. While I had such a nice time this afternoon—” The memory of what had taken place in the kitchen between them even now made her cheeks go hot. “—and I’m glad we can enjoy each other’s company, I don’t require romance or wooing, or even kissing.” It was that degree of intimacy that terrified her. That took away her ability to reason. “A parody of falling in love, just because we happen to be married. Indeed, I don’t want it.”
“That’s what you think this is between us?” He pointed to the narrow space between them. “Even before we lost the baby, a parody?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about before.” She’d lost a baby before, and she’d lost Claxton. She couldn’t exist in a constant state of fear that she’d lose them all over again. She needed distance. Security. That was the only way she could have peace. “Let’s leave all that ugliness behind. I’m talking about now. And please don’t misconstrue my words. They aren’t intended to in any way offend.”
“You just want the baby, don’t you?” he said, his voice thick with anger.
“I’ve been very clear about wanting another baby.”
“But you don’t want me.”
Sophia’s mouth fell open. What did he want her to say? That she loved him? So that he could kiss her and make her body burn with desire…only to tell her he’d always feel fondly toward her?
She couldn’t expose herself that way. She didn’t want to hurt again. Never that deeply.
No, she couldn’t bear it.
At last, she answered, “I don’t want to confine you.”
“Or yourself, I don’t think,” Claxton muttered.
Sophia exclaimed, cheeks hot, “Don’t be cruel.”
“It is you who is being cruel,” he retorted, standing from the chair with such force the wooden legs rocked off the carpet. He strode away—then returned, making a circle around the space where she sat. He rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face for a brief moment, concealing his scowl. “Denying what happened between us today. Yesterday. And then asking me to conceive a child without passion. God, I don’t even know if it
’s possible.”
“It must be possible.” She kept her tone light and her expression placid, though inside her heart pounded like a drum. “People in our situation, of our station, do it all the time.”
“So really what you’re proposing is an informal separation. Isn’t that it, Sophia? Once we have a child, we’ll go our separate ways, even if it’s just to opposite ends of the house? Without any true obligations to one other. Only to the child?”
“You make it sound so cold when really I’ve agreed to everything you want.”
His eyes widened, and he answered with a derisive curl of his upper lip. “You’re correct, I think. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done with this unpleasant business of procreating.” He bowed, his dark head low, and with a courtly bend of his arm, said, “Your Grace, I would request your company in my bed tonight for the purpose of attempting to conceive my required heir.”
“Now you’re being hurtful. You can’t be serious.”
Only moments ago, she shared her intention to remain in their marriage. Now, at the first sign of difficulty, he was already striking out to hurt her and pushing her away.
“I apologize.” He stood, his dramatic air falling away. “I don’t have a secretary presently in residence, or I’d submit my proposal for your approval in writing—” His voice rose to a thunderous volume. “And have it delivered by official courier under the duchy’s wax seal.”
“Have some respect for my concerns,” Sophia cried. “I’ve agreed to remain in our marriage, but that does not mean I’m prepared to jump straight into your bed.”
“Ah, it would be your bed, as I don’t have one.” The dark slash of his brow arched upward. He took several steps toward her, leering. “Though the settee certainly has its allure.”
Sophia answered quickly, contriving to look composed. “No, actually, I made up a bed for you this morning in the room where I found your boyhood things. You can sleep there tonight. Very nice linens and several blankets and even a bed warmer. I know you’ll be comfortable,” she babbled, attempting a return to normal conversation. To ease the intensity she saw in his eyes. “Doesn’t that sound comfortable?”
He stared at her, his body tense, his eyes hard.
“Don’t shut me out,” he said, his expression suddenly desolate. “Sophia, I don’t understand why you are doing this. What are you afraid of?”
“And I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” she said. “You’ve won. Why don’t you see that? There will be no separation, and we’ll have a child. I just need a bit more time to grow accustomed to the idea.”
“The idea of what?”
“The idea of you.”
“You’ve had seventeen months,” he said quietly.
“No, Claxton, I’ve had three days.”
Chapter Twelve
It’s that damn list, isn’t it?” Claxton hissed through gritted teeth. “I told you once I wrote out the names, you would despise me.”
“I don’t despise you,” she said. “I don’t even dislike you.”
“Once a rake, always a rake. That’s it, isn’t it?” With a jerk of his head, Claxton’s chin rose a notch higher. “I’m soiled goods. Ruined. Too dirty from past exploits to share your snowy-white bed—”
“Claxton.” Her eyes widened, the acidity of his words like a blow.
Suddenly, he was there beside her.
“Don’t pretend to be shocked when it is exactly how you feel,” he said roughly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “What is it that you want? A promise that I’ll always be faithful?” He tilted his face in mock affection and brushed his fingertips along her cheek.
“Don’t be cruel,” she warned, the intensity of his ridicule stealing her breath.
“Then I’ll say the words. Lots of men do.” He pulled her close, hands gripping her hips. He ground himself against her, making her unavoidably aware of his manhood, which he wielded like a weapon between them. “One look and I knew, Sophia Bevington, you were the only woman for me. I’ll never leave you, dearest. I’ll never so much as think of another woman for as long as I live—”
“That’s not what I meant,” she cried. Cheeks flaming, she broke away, removing herself from the anger in his touch. A few more steps placed the settee between them. He was trying to provoke her, but she wouldn’t lose control of her emotions and strike back with the same bitterness—though he very much deserved a set down. She wanted a child just that much.
“Then tell me what you did mean,” he demanded.
“That I don’t expect you to change. We are who we are, Claxton, made up of hurts and memories and disappointments and desires. We can’t help what we’ve become, you and I. We can only own up to our faults and accordingly make smarter decisions and move forward.”
“How very mature of you.” Claxton’s lips curled, his compliment clearly not a compliment at all.
Stung, she blurted, “Don’t belittle me for being mature enough not to demand from you a promise you could likely never keep.”
He laughed, an empty sound that filled the darkness.
“The awful thing is, Sophia, that maybe you speak the truth.” He turned from her suddenly. His head falling back, he stared at the ceiling, legs spread into a wide stance. If she didn’t believe in him—if she saw no honor in him—what hope was there for any sort of a future together? Hopelessness flooded his veins like ice. “God, yes, the truth. Any other man in his right mind would have stayed, but like a coward, I left you. I left you, and for that you will never forgive me. Even if you did forgive me, you’ll never forget.”
His shoulders heaved, but he did not turn back in her direction, still requiring that bit of privacy in which to compose himself.
After a long moment, she said, “So please stop getting angry with me when I am only trying to be realistic. We will endeavor to have this child, and once the task is accomplished, we will both be free to continue on with our lives as we wish.”
Now he did turn—a smooth pivot on the heel of his Hessian.
“But we will remain married,” Claxton confirmed in a low voice. The light from the fire painted the gentle curves of her face. “There will be no separation even then.”
“That is my hope,” she said. “Many couples remain married but lead completely satisfying separate lives. I could name five such pairings right now if I had to. I’m certain you could as well.”
He could, indeed, but that didn’t mean he liked her tidy little plan. He didn’t like it at all. If they had a child and went on to pursue separate lives, she might take a lover. His mood turned decidedly sour at the thought. Worse yet, her lover might seek to become some sort of friend or mentor to his child. A child that was part him and part Sophia, theirs alone. Such scenarios occurred all the time in their landed society, but no, he would not stand for it. Possessive rage took to simmering in his blood. He would be the only father his child knew from the first day of its life and each day forward.
He would remain by Sophia’s side, whether she wished him there or not.
He scowled. “What about another child? Wouldn’t we want two? Or three?”
Or four? Or six? Or eight? If he kept her pregnant, would that be enough to bind her to him?
She blinked rapidly, and her lips formed a thin line.
“Speaking of three, where is the third quest?” she asked quietly. “Let’s read it so we know what is in store for us tomorrow.”
So she was finished and ready to change the subject. What if he wasn’t ready? He was still trying to figure out what had changed between them this afternoon and transformed her from a warm and delightful woman who welcomed his kisses into someone cold and distant who forbade his touch.
“I liked the other Sophia better,” he growled.
“What other Sophia?”
“The one who dumped salt into my bowl and absconded with my cakes. The one who rode on a village boy’s sled with me. The one who isn’t afraid.”
“That was
child’s play.” Her brow gathered. “The matter of my heart is not. Please don’t kiss me again.”
He grabbed his coat, and scowling like the devil, he delved into its pocket for the envelope, which he promptly dropped into her lap. Sinking back into the cushions, he sulked. “You read it.”
She looked at him overly long, but in the end she opened the envelope and the note inside.
“Sir Thomas has a bee up his nose.” She blinked. “That’s all it says. Sir Thomas has a bee up his nose. Do you even know what that means?”
He barely heard the words, for the dark cloud crowding the inside of his head.
“Yes.” He stood, going to the table, where he lifted the bottle of claret, but tilting it to its side, found it disappointingly empty. “It means we are going to church tomorrow.”
“Very well, then.” She stood, retrieving her redingote and folding it over her arm. “I will see you in the morning.”
He rested his elbow on the mantel and rubbed his jaw, growling, “I suppose.”
“You needn’t be so surly about my simple request for time.” She stopped at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the newel post. “Your life will go on exactly as before, unchanged. For me, everything will be different. You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I do.”
Oh, but she was wrong. She terrified him each time he looked into her eyes. Miss Sophia Bevington was the only thing he’d ever really wanted, and he feared that while he’d won this battle, he would never win her heart.
“Go, then.” He waved his hand dismissively.
She fled up the stairs, abandoning him for the third night. At least he had a bed. Unfortunately, all this talk of heirs and boundaries had him wound tight. He would never be able to sleep.
*
An hour later, he hauled the third steaming bucket up the stairs. If he couldn’t convince Sophia to spend the night with him, at least he would provoke her envy by preparing a nice hot bath. Without closing the door, he dumped the bucket into the hip tub, ensuring she heard the crash of water against the metal.