by Jackie Ivie
She wagged a finger at him as she rolled instantly back to her feet and then she stood. And that felt somehow a bit more even.
“Perhaps. Now come and undo this cravat for me. My fingers don’t work too well when they’re cold, and the material’s wrenched tight with damp.”
“Brandy’s got the fingers fer ye, then, Guv. She knows just how to use ‘em, too. Don’t ye be a-wastin’ any time worrying’ yer noggin—”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
His neck cloth was just above eye level. She had to stand right in front of him, and somehow bear it. Everything was too visceral. Too…intense. The feel of his breath on her hands as she worked at his wrecked collar. The particular slant of his head to help her unwind it from him. The way he took it from her nerveless fingers and chucked it in the same direction as the socks.
Her dress was starting to dry. Until then, she hadn’t known how stiff the material was as it scratched every time she moved. His hair was drying a bit, too, and the sight forced her to gulp before backing hastily away.
“Where do you think you’re off to? I need an assist with my buttons,” Gil said.
She swallowed. Started silently counting. Forced her feet to approach. And reached for his shirt placket. Gil stood very patiently as she worked the buttons loose, although her hands shook the entire time. And then it was done. He turned around to shrug his shirt off. She caught it, and then busied herself with examining it.
It was better than the alternative. Him.
“Laws, but yer a fine-lookin’ one, aren’t ye? There’s not one hint of padding, either. No wonder the ladies swoon at the sight of ye.”
“I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Oh, go on with ye! I can see ye won’t be needin’ Brandy’s compliments. Sounds like yer head’s already full from hearing them.”
“Let’s just say I’d enjoy hearing them from you, shall we? Turn around.”
She gasped, her eyes went wide, the shirt fell, but she did as instructed, pirouetting to face the fire.
“We’ve got to get your gown off, Brandy love, for I noticed how much you shiver. I’m not sure I wish to wait that long when it’s time to remove my britches.’
Any lost color came flooding back. With a rush that heated. Enflamed. Tormented. She forced herself to breathe carefully and calmly while he undid the buttons down her spine.
“This material isn’t very conducive to lovemaking…is it? How can you stand to wear such netting? My fingers may not survive. Come along, love. Step out. I can’t stay in this position all night. Think of my back, for pity’s sake.”
She shut her eyes. Reopened them. Nothing changed. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. Nowhere to run. And Brandy wasn’t any help. Somehow she’d lost the capacity to live through any experience – no matter how horrid. It wasn’t possible.
Love had that much power?
She stepped out of the gown, leaving it in a puddle of material on the floor and then just stood there. Looking at the mess of ruined material.
“I’ve a hankering for yon tub, Brandy, and yet there you stand. Looking at anything other than me. You must find me the most loathsome man in existence.”
No, Gil. Never that.
She lifted her head, turned around, and hoped her chemise covered more of her than it felt like. Gil’s undergarment clung to him. Two long rents in the material flashed glimpses of flesh. She stiffened and her blank expression slipped. And she knew he saw it. The proof was in his voice.
“I’m having a bit of difficulty with these buttons again. Damn. You’d think they’d sew on buttons that men could undo.”
There was one yard of floor between them, yet she could swear she felt him. And no amount of ignoring it changed anything.
“Gillian?”
His jaw hardened. That was the highest she dared look.
“You know the terms. I’ve vengeance to gain and a bellyful of your shyness act. Work the buttons loose so I can get on with my bath.”
He had to hear what sounded like a sob, even as she silenced it.
“Oh, blast it, anyway! I’ll get the damned thing off, then.”
She heard ripping, grunts, and then his undershirt landed at her feet.
“Barbarism comes in handy at times. Yes?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Look at me.”
Look at him?
“Now.”
Somehow she did it. Scanned her vision up, across all that naked skin, to his neck. Chin. Mouth… Until finally she met his eyes. And got snagged by his gaze. Just as she’d known all along that would happen.
“Will you be removing my trousers or your own petticoats first?”
“Your—. Your....”
“Trousers? Or petticoats? Which is it? And don’t look at me like that. I’m giving you the option here.”
His eyebrows neared his hairline as he watched her blink rapidly at the moisture hovering at her eyes. And then it cleared away.
“Brandy has a hard time with the pants ye gentry wear, she does, so perhaps she’ll let ye do yer own, Guv, just this once.”
“You’ll unfasten your own petticoat then?”
“Very well! You win. You always win, don’t you?”
She turned away and fiddled with the ties at her waist. She couldn’t possibly face him and the blasted things seemed to be all knots, and the whispered sound that might be him removing his own his clothing was so loud, she couldn’t think, either.
“I don’t think it’s possible to win with you. I’m finding myself woefully short on patience. I’ve a hot bath waiting, for pity’s sake, and I know you’ll enjoy it, too. Come on, love. Admit it. I’m fair enough to look at, moderately strong in build, and yet you act like I’m a one-eyed, drunken sot that someone hasn’t paid you enough to bed.”
She knew he was right behind her, but the rip of cotton came too late to warn her. Even though she gripped the material to her, she felt the back fall open.
“Do you care about this chemise, darling? I’ve of a mind to shock the hell out of your maid with my further demonstration of lust if you don’t find the ties quicker!”
“Gillian…please?”
“No mercy.”
He leaned into her, and the touch of his lips on her neck sent a shockwave through her legs, threatening collapse. She cried aloud and jerked away.
“I...can’t, Gil! Honestly, I...I can’t.” She couldn’t look at him as she crossed her arms in front of her breasts.
And all he did was sigh. Loudly. The waiting nearly undid her. Then she heard a vague splash.
“Gillian?” she whispered.
“You can turn around now, darling. I’m quite decent. Considering.”
“I...I can’t. You’ve gone an’ ripped me petticoats, an’ they’re the only things I’ve got.”
“Oh…I don’t know about that. You’ve still got your chemise.”
“You...aren’t going to force me?”
“You can look at me, love. I promise I’m quite modestly covered. And I truly hate to disappoint you, but I don’t force females. Or did you forget that part?”
He wasn’t exactly telling the truth. Where the water met his stomach, he was very immodestly displayed, and she had a difficult time ignoring it.
“Disappoint me? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. May I remind Your Lordship that this episode is my punishment?”
“That doesn’t sound like Brandy.” He winked.
“I hate you!”
“Now that’s a highly original statement.”
He looked away and spent time lathering his cloth with soap while she waited, holding her breath at the sight.
“Let’s review, shall we? I don’t happen to think my attentions merit being called punishment, I’m rapidly tiring of being laughed at, insulted, and, yes, hated. And – if I’m not mistaken – you’re responsible for my absence from Signora del Casta’s invitation to tea, which was my other option. Yes?”
He looked at her with rais
ed eyebrows as if expecting an answer. Her mouth wouldn’t work. He was sudsing his chest! Oh, heavens!
“No answer? Very well. I’ll continue. Isn’t it also true that when I tried to ascertain your true feelings toward me – your long-suffering husband – I found myself thrown from my own carriage, my dignity and rear quarters bruised, and I had to destroy a beautiful animal, as well.”
“I already told ye how sorry Brandy was.”
“You’re right. You did. Unfortunately, the entire episode did leave me wondering if just maybe you might have some feeling for me…other than this professed hate. But I see – once again – that I’m wrong.”
And then he stood up! Her reply was garbled as she turned away so quickly, the room rocked.
“I disgust you that much? Hmm. Not a good sign. But I suppose I have my answer. And it’s a pity. I think I’d have enjoyed your company immensely, but for the life of me, I can’t quite figure out why.”
His tone wasn’t flippant anymore. It was sharp. Weary. She heard more splashing. A thud. A swish that could be cloth.
“There. I’m finished, and I’m thinking my own chamber will be immeasurably warmer than this one, even without a fire. Your servant, Madame.”
“Wait! Gillian!”
She followed him through the connecting door. He was wrong. His room was shiver-inducing after the damp heat of hers.
“I’m dressing for dinner, darling. I doubt my dear mother forewent any invitations just because you decided to try driving my curricle. Blast it, anyway. I asked her to make certain our social calendar was full, and I know she took to that like a horse leaving the opening gate at Ascot. I should’ve known. Didn’t you hear me? I’ll be dressing.”
She just stood there. And then forced her mouth to work.
“I’m ever so sorry, Me Lord. Brandy doesn’t want ye thinkin’…the wrong thing.”
“What does Brandy want me to think?”
He unwrapped his towel and dropped it, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time.
“Why, Brandy…you’re blushing,” he said.
“I—”
“Good thing I know how talented you are. And what a fine actress. Anything else might go to my head.”
‘I’m...not acting.”
She couldn’t help it — she had to look away. He acted like it was nothing to stand, displayed for her, his hands on his hips. Sweetness! He was too devastating. She couldn’t even get her mind to function.
“I see I’ll have to be blunt. You may say you’re not acting, but I don’t have to believe you. You do have a penchant for lies. Remember?”
“Do you say that because I stood in for Helen? Or…is it because of how I survived the sanatorium? Gillian…you don’t know what happens there! The guards...they—um. They…rape the ones they lust after! And sell the others for pocket change. The quiet ones can’t protect themselves! I had to be Brandy! After everything else I’ve been through, I wasn’t going to let that happen to me. I protected myself the only way I knew how!”
“What everything else, Helene? And I have to come clean. I know the lie about France. I must say you had me fooled, too. I actually believed your little trance about the guillotine. I’ve rarely been so idiotic, except when I try to find a spark of interest in you. Now that’s complete foolishness. No. I’d better call it true. It’s an exercise in frustration. And I need warn you. I’m about as frustrated as I want to get!”
Gil reached for an undergarment and shoved his arms into the sleeves. And then he buttoned the entire front without even looking. With precision. Perfectly. She didn’t move her eyes from his.
“Now what is it? I told you I’d be dressing.”
“You said…you…didn’t believe me about...?” She couldn’t finish. The words wouldn’t pass the knot in her throat.
“The tale about your parents being guillotined? You heard correctly. Actually, I rarely believe you about many things. That’s just one of them.”
“But why? I swear—”
“Don’t!”
He raised his hand to silence her. She backed a step instinctively. She shouldn’t have. Especially with how his eyes narrowed.
“I’m not a brute. And I’m not unfair. I checked your story. You’ve lived on the Bingham estate since being orphaned as a small child. I thought the story about the revolution very imaginative…and a bit romantic. That gave me some hope, I admit. I was only fooling myself, wasn’t I?”
“Who...would tell you such a thing?” she whispered.
“Gerard Bingham.”
“He lies!”
“And you don’t?”
“I only lie...to protect myself. I wouldn’t lie about something so...horrid.”
Her voice cracked. And then he applauded.
“Nicely done, darling. But you shouldn’t hesitate. It’s a bit too melodramatic, even for you.”
“Why would I lie?”
He shrugged, which raised his attire enough that her eyes widened again. Her breath caught. Her pulsed hammered in a staccato rhythm in her ears.
“Why? Perhaps the role of poor relation didn’t suit. How should I know the workings of your mind? You’ve done your best to confound me, after all. Don’t think I accepted Gerard’s word on it, darling. I ferreted out a bit of information from Sir Bingham and his wife, and I can’t stand either of them.”
“They’re lying, too.”
“Of course they are, Helene. Everyone’s lying but you. Anyone with sense can see that.”
She straightened at his tone and lifted her chin. “There’s no need for sarcasm, My Lord.”
“Well, I do excel at it and I’d hate to see it wasted. But…can you tell me one thing, darling? What on earth did you do to deserve being sent to the sanatorium?”
“Perhaps...you should ask Gerard.”
“I’m asking you. I can, of course, check your story later, should I decide you might be lying about that, too.”
“I put a sword through him.”
“Good heavens! Whatever for?”
“He tried to—to…”
“Yes?”
“He wanted…what every other man wants.”
“He lusted for you?”
She nodded.
“Not hard to believe. And for that, you shoved a sword through him. A bit over-reactive, wouldn’t you say?”
“It wasn’t like that! He was supposed to be teaching me...dancing.”
She whispered the last word. He pursed his lips for a moment, nodded, and then turned away, walking to his dressing table in order to fetch a pair of socks. His undergarment wasn’t adequate. The hem barely covered his buttocks. She watched him sit on the edge of his bed and lift a leg to don one sock, and then the other. All the time acting like it was nothing! She was in luck that he was paying attention to his garters and not her.
“He hasn’t my touch, poor man. I suppose I should count myself lucky you simply prefer to show me how sharp your tongue is. In fact, I’m quite sure I prefer your disgust now that I’ve heard the alternative.”
“Gerard will have a scar.”
“He’s probably fought a few duels.”
“Just below his breastbone. Right here.” She pointed to her side.
Gil smiled, but it didn’t appear to reach his eyes. “Anyone who’s seen him unclothed would say such, darling. Credit me with some intelligence, will you?”
She went white. And this time she welcomed the dots that danced before her eyes.
“Come now, Helene. Swooning is hardly original. I’d have expected better.”
She steadied herself with a hand against a bureau and shook in place. It wasn’t so traumatic that Gillian Tremayne thought as he did. He wasn’t the first man to think so. He probably wouldn’t be the last.
And damn everything! Why wouldn’t her heart listen?
“I didn’t bed Gerard Bingham…or—or anyone else. I swear it.”
“Well, Brandy sure as hell did. You can cease lying, Helene. It’s all right. I’m not
annoyed. Or even interested.”
He sounded annoyed.
“Why would I lie, when…you’d be able to tell? You would…wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t touch you, Helene, if you were the last woman on the face of the earth.”
She had practice in hiding pain. She needed every bit of it now. And maybe, if she concentrated on the bureau, he’d never know how hurtful that statement was.
“A physician can be summoned,” she told the wood. “I’d…allow an exam.”
He hooted with laughter. “And have it gossiped over how I had my wife examined for possible virginity? When we’re play-acting that we can’t keep our hands off each other? Christ! I thought you had better sense.”
She tightened everything in her entire frame and concentrated on counting. Existing. Breathing. Hiding. There was nothing left to say.
No one would ever know what it cost her to move away from the dresser and face him. No one.
“May I retire to my bath, now?” she asked.
He neared, walking soundlessly across the wood floor. And then he stopped, just outside of arms length. Looking her over. Wordlessly. She didn’t flinch as his eyes hovered at her bosom. She knew how small her breasts were, anyway. She’d seen what he preferred, large women like the signora. She also knew she couldn’t possibly tempt him with what he believed.
He nodded finally, and she walked with her back straight and her head high. He’d not know how her knees quivered with every step. Or how her hand trembled as it closed the connecting door behind her. Or how many tears the bath water had to absorb.
Brandy had been right after all. There couldn’t possibly be a God.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“This new ball gown is lovely, My Lady,” Helene said. “It’s a pity....”
“What is a pity, darling?” Gil’s mother replied. “I would never have thought of such a green color for you, but Gillian insisted, and that boy does have an eye. Of course he’d know exactly how much that color would enhance you. The way it’s fashioned, you look positively voluptuous, too.
“I hadn’t any idea Gillian had such taste, or I’d have taken him shopping with me, years earlier. The ballroom looks lovely, doesn’t it? I’ve rarely seen it so decked out, except perhaps when I gave the coming-out ball for Anne, and…when Broderick had his going-away party.”