Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  His grip loosened, and the cold edge left his eyes. “Well, at least you’re an honest sneak. If you must know, I’m searching for John. Someday I intend to see him writhe at your feet for making that assertion. In the meantime, you need to make a decision, Julia, and I expect you to make it now. Decide what sort of marriage we’re going to have. I’m not releasing you from our union. You can either be a token wife, and after securing an heir, I’ll see that your needs will be provided and leave you to your tea circles and dinner parties. Or you can stop asking questions and accept me as I am. Which shall it be?”

  I tried to withdraw my hand from his, but he held my wrist like a vise.

  “Do you think I wish a cold marriage, outside your affections?” I whispered.

  “Then for your own happiness, leave my papers alone.” He threw my hand down and rubbed his creased forehead. “I’m sorry, dearest. Today is not a day to test me.” He smiled, but it seemed forced. Worry lingered in his eyes. He bent over me, and with slow, provocative movement ran his fingers along the nape of my neck; then he kissed me near my ear. “Can you sit tight? Finish your tea; read a book.”

  His movements felt mechanical, and his eyes kept returning to the door so that each caress was tainted. I met his gaze. “How much peril are we in?”

  His body loosened. “I would not place you in danger, but thank you for considering mine your own. Can you make yourself happy here? Just now, I’m not able to entertain you, though I intend to give you my full attention tonight.”

  “Who is after you?” I insisted, suspecting he’d purposefully tried to embarrass me from further questions.

  There was a loud thump in the hall. Mr. Macy gave me a warning look to remain and crept to the door.

  He peered through the crack before closing it. “I swear that maid drops more things than she can possibly be worth.” He strode to me and offered his hand. When he pulled me to my feet, he pressed his nose into my hair, then kissed the tip of my ear. He led me to the couch, randomly selecting a book along the way. “My estates are secure. When we reach my house, you may wander freely. For now, read this. I’ll return shortly.”

  Once the door closed, I flopped on the couch and stared at the volume in my hands, amazed that he expected me to just sit there reading like a good wife. I opened the calfskin book, unable to concentrate on the black print.

  I shut my eyes and tried to picture describing this moment to the others. I tried to imagine what sort of questions they would ask, to see if I’d tried every manner of escape. All at once, I could imagine Henry’s sarcastic voice saying, “Please tell me you at least checked the windows.”

  Shutting the book, I made my way to the glass panes that lined the wall. Her ladyship’s house was high off the ground, but I was willing to risk the drop. If I managed to make it outside, I decided, I would head for Edward’s and my oak. I would climb to the highest branch and wait. Eventually, if he knew I was missing, he’d look there for me.

  I unlocked the latch and pushed, but the window did not budge. For five minutes, I jostled and shoved each window, trying to see if I could free one of them from whatever bound them shut.

  Frustrated, I returned to the couch. Breaking the window wasn’t an option either. The individual panes were too small to crawl through.

  Knowing Elizabeth would ask whether I’d tried picking the lock with a hairpin, I slid one loose and tiptoed to the door. Though I angled and poked it several ways, the lock did not give. I pictured Elizabeth frowning as I retreated to the couch.

  For the next several hours, I kept rising and looking out the window, hoping to see Henry or Edward in the distance, but each time the landscape was empty.

  “What!” Mr. Macy’s harsh voice carried through the door, waking me from my shallow slumber.

  The cushion sank beneath my hands as I pushed myself up. Mr. Macy swung the door open, and behind him stood the man I’d seen earlier.

  “I’m sorry; were you sleeping?” Mr. Macy paused, I believed, to temper the anger in his voice. “Your lady’s maid has not packed for you yet. I sent my carriage to have your belongings loaded. She sent word that she decided to line your trunk with new paper and hasn’t finished. Apparently, she lost the key to the trunk after emptying it and scraping off the old paper.”

  I realized he could only be speaking of Nancy. My heart pounded with some measure of hope. If Mr. Macy had sent a carriage to Am Meer, then Edward must know where I was.

  Even if he didn’t, there was a small hope that Nancy would join me—and that brought relief. All at once, the events of the last few days compounded into a need for release, and I fought the urge to giggle.

  “She has a stubborn streak.” I laughed with rising panic. Even to my ears, my laughter sounded freakish. “Only Reynolds can handle her.” Then, to keep Mr. Macy from suspecting Nancy’s ruse, I added, “This is her way of objecting that we didn’t ask her to come along. Send a note, telling her she’s to join us later.” My laughter died into a sob just as Lady Foxmore appeared in the doorway.

  “Problems with your wife, Chance?” she asked.

  “Her nerves are overwrought,” he said, waving her silent. “Adelia, we’re going to spend the night. Prepare a new room. It’ll scarcely do to keep Julia in the one I’ve been occupying. There’s ash everywhere.”

  “Are you going to require I obtain every key to this room from my servants as well?” Lady Foxmore asked.

  “You know I am. Just humor me, Adelia. I’m in no mood for banter.”

  “You disappointed me, child,” Lady Foxmore said as her footman placed oyster soup before her. “I’d had hopes you’d evade Chance longer, give him a taste of how it feels to be loved and spurned. After all those seductions, I cannot tell you the satisfaction it gave me to watch him on the receiving end.” She wagged a silver spoon at Mr. Macy. “Now you know how Lady Caroline felt the time you—”

  “Be quiet, Adelia.” Mr. Macy gave her a black look. “Sweetheart, is your soup not warm enough? Send it back.”

  I dipped my spoon into the dish, taking his hint not to give Lady Foxmore the satisfaction her jibe intended but feeling displaced anyway.

  “Does your wife know you’ve requested the bishop to arrive tomorrow, to investigate whether her lover should be permitted to keep his church?”

  My spoon clattered into my soup. “Edward’s going to lose his living!”

  “He’s not losing his church, Julia,” Mr. Macy said. “I’ll make certain of it. Adelia, with your permission, I prefer silence.”

  Lady Foxmore smirked and slowly turned her head from him to me. “Did you at least punish him for sending notice to auction off your house and furnishings?”

  Confused, I looked across the table at Mr. Macy.

  Mr. Macy sank back in his chair with a weary look. “Sweetheart, my intention was to limit the places you could hide.” He gave Lady Foxmore a deadly look. “I’m in no mood, Adelia. You’re setting foot on perilous ground.”

  Lady Foxmore only smirked in reply as I gripped the arms of my chair, feeling the helplessness of being a wife. Had my house been sold, then?

  “You can’t do this.” Tears of indignation sprang to my eyes as I threw my napkin on the table. “What gives you the right? What are you trying to do? What about my furniture, and—?”

  Lady Foxmore rapped her wineglass with her spoon until the tinging stopped me. “Child, he cannot answer more than one question at a time.”

  Mr. Macy leaned over the table, rubbing his forehead. “Julia, just tell me what I need to do for an expedient recovery. I have no wish for argument between us. Now that you’ve returned I can reclaim it, or you can list the items you want. I’m not denying you anything or taking anything. I’ll have Reynolds send a carriage to collect them.”

  Lady Foxmore laughed. “Listen to you, sounding like a husband bribing his wife for favors. I refuse to believe you are suddenly incapable of charming your way around this. Why are you gratifying the child? She’s a mere girl. You,
the man who once—”

  “Adelia, not another word.”

  His sinister tone made Lady Foxmore clamp her mouth shut.

  “Excuse us.” Mr. Macy rose and walked around the table to collect me. “My wife and I shall retire now.”

  When the footman shut the dining room doors behind us, Mr. Macy started down the hall with the air of someone containing his wrath. I stumbled alongside him, suffocating on my objections and anger. Yet I held my complaints. He was nothing like his former self. He seemed completely occupied by some abstruse problem, and I had no desire to draw his attention to myself.

  He guided me down a corridor and up a heavy staircase with an ornate banister. Before a door at the top, he withdrew a key from his waistcoat, then unlocked the chamber. The scent of cigar blanketed the stifling air. I leaned against the threshold, trying to smother the anger that had surfaced during dinner, and surveyed the room. It had the same effect that his bedroom in Eastbourne had on me, tugging at my sympathy. Only now I steeled myself against that better emotion. I had not forgotten Edward’s sentiments about Macy in Churchill’s office.

  The chamber lacked a servant’s care, and I recalled that Macy alone possessed the key. How could Mr. Macy be this distrustful of everyone? On my left, an ivory-handled razor lay across an enamelware basin filled with cloudy water. Next to it, a leather shaving kit hung open, containing lotions and various bottles—most uncorked. The sheets on his bed were twisted in knots, evidence that he thrashed in his sleep.

  Leaving me, he stepped over cigar ash and stubs, removed his jacket and waistcoat, and cast them upon the unmade bed. After unfastening the collar buttons of his linen shirt, he slipped it over his head.

  Embarrassed by the ease with which he undressed before another person, I averted my eyes, heat filling my face, but when he left his trousers on, I looked up again. During summertime, I’d often seen bare-chested peasants working, their shirts tied about their waists. Mr. Macy was as fit as any of them. Sinews moved over his chest and arms as he gathered apparel and underclothing, which he shoved into saddlebags. He turned to collect papers fanned over a nightstand. A deep, jagged scar ran across the right side of his back.

  I stared at it with aversion. The marred part of his body corroborated the sinister rumors surrounding him. No gentleman would be someplace where he could be stabbed. I marvelled that he’d even survived such a wound. Like Edward’s calluses, it branded him as someone who had transcended his calling as a gentleman into an entity of his own choosing. Unable to refrain, I stepped forward and touched the defect.

  Fingers crushed mine before I’d barely brushed the surface. Mr. Macy cursed, but his voice was grieved. He released me and then inspected my hand with a repentant face. “Julia, my word, are you injured? When I’m not facing you, you must always call out my name before you touch me. Always. Is that understood?”

  I nodded but then, unable to take more, shook my head. His bare skin felt feverish as he wrapped me in his arms. “Now is not the time to panic. Today is over. Abate your tears. Forgive my brooding. There has been much on my mind tonight, but perhaps it’s time I turn my attention to my reckless young wife.”

  He grabbed a white silk shirt folded over the towel rail of his washstand, slid it on leaving it untucked, then added an oriental banyan, which fell to his knees. He closed his shaving kit and cast it outside the door, then piled saddlebags atop it. Lastly, he threw frock coats and linen shirts into the hall.

  “This isn’t the way I envisioned gathering you to me,” he said, surveying the dim hall with a shake of his head. “I ought to require Adelia’s head on a platter for that display during dinner.” He kissed my temple, then guided me down the hall, continuing to soothe with his voice. “Let us at least see what sort of room she arranged first.”

  My feet turned to clay, but he intertwined his fingers in mine and led me further down the corridor. My legs quivered but carried me. When he stopped before a door and unlocked it, Mr. Greenham’s accusation that Mr. Macy was responsible for Mama’s death wormed its way back into my consciousness. Though I’d forced it from my thoughts, it now hurtled back to consciousness and sent stabs of icy fear through my limbs.

  The chamber contained sitting and sleeping areas divided by pillars. A cheerful fire lit the room, a respite from the autumn air permeating the walls of the estate. Glass lamps decorated with prisms shimmered as they spread an inviting light. Elaborate bouquets adorned tables and nightstands.

  Mr. Macy nodded approval and, placing his hand on the small of my back, started to enter. Every qualm, every dark speculation about Mr. Macy filled me with a distrust that fluttered through my body, and I broke into a cold sweat. When I refused to take another step, unable to keep the agony from showing on my face, he turned his head and surprise registered on his features.

  “Don’t tell me you fear your wifely duties,” he said with a tilt of his head, but his tone held no jest, only astonishment. “You never used to fear me.”

  I cupped both hands over my eyes, and Mr. Macy drew me to him, allowing me to shield my face in his nightshirt. This was more than I could bear. As much as I had felt attracted to him before, I now felt only trepidation at the thought of consummating our marriage. It wasn’t just his touch I dreaded, but the finality of the act.

  “Do not feel embarrassed, sweetheart.” He held me a moment, then placed distance between us. “Have I ever hurt you?”

  Unable to answer, I shifted and looked down. With a steadying gaze, he ushered me into the room, then locked the door.

  “Darling.” His tapered fingers ran along my neck, and then he kissed the places still tingling from his touch. “Had I not been neglectful toward you today, I daresay, we could have avoided this. Allow me to assure you of my devotion.” He removed the pins holding my hairstyle, unwinding one coil of hair after another. He lifted my hair and gave tantalizing kisses along the nape of my neck.

  Every sensation was heightened due to my uncertainty, and my mouth became so dry I could scarcely swallow. Instead of leading me to the bed, he lowered me upon the couch.

  “Dismiss from your mind everything Adelia said. I swear to you, I shall make amends. Fear of living without you drove me to those measures.” He lowered himself beside me, interlaced his fingers in the back of my hair, and turned me toward him.

  He kissed the hollow of my throat with slow, caressing kisses, all the while pulling me to him until I was breathless. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the chaos, having no choice but to accept that this man was my husband. He tasted like wine, and the scent of cigars pervaded my senses. A brief yearning for Mama rose and ebbed.

  When he drew back, strands of my dark hair clung to his hair and shirt, webbing us in. His fingers slid under me, and he unbuttoned the back of my dress. I closed my eyes, but when he slid my gown off my shoulder, new uncertainty swept through my body, and my eyes fluttered open to meet his dark gaze.

  It was in his eyes. Something dark and unexplainable was rooted in his soul. Cold. Hard. Ruthless. Yet intermingled with it was pride that I was his wife. He remained poised over me, as though reading my thoughts and desiring to see where my private discourse would take me. My body grew cold.

  He was capable of great cruelty. How I knew, I was uncertain, but I did, in the same way I knew I was outside that part of him, that he would never harm me. I was his wife, one with him. Or would be. The thought that I was about to unite with something poisonous petrified me. I swallowed and looked toward the door.

  “Let’s not do that again.” Disappointment flickered across his countenance, but then he cradled my hand against his face, kissing the wrist. “You are my wife. Would I harm that which I love most?”

  I stared at him. How could he have known my thoughts? His words sounded true, yet rang false, and I couldn’t yet discern which sense was right. Every emotion conflicted. His every action, his every word and movement cried devotion.

  Could he be as evil as Edward believed and still love me? I needed
to deliberate, but the force of his presence only increased my confusion.

  “You still resist me?” Amusement coursed through his velvet tones. “Such a curious wife I have chosen. You’ve no idea the number of women who wished to be my bride, and yet here you are, your heart beating with fear, though you’ve never been safer.”

  Someone banged on our door. Mr. Macy’s body stiffened. “What?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but your wife’s maid has arrived and insists upon seeing her mistress.”

  The tension in Mr. Macy’s body ebbed, and the momentary fear that had lit his eyes disappeared. “I’m perfectly capable of tending to my wife. Send the girl back to Am Meer,” he called over his shoulder, then adjusted me in his arms.

  “She’s my servant.” I struggled against him to sit, feeling able to breathe again. I needed to see Nancy. I prayed her arrival meant that Edward was here too. “She’s mine. Have that man fetch her and keep her here.”

  He caressed the tips of my fingers between his. “I plan on spending the entire night with you. I’ll tend you in the morning.”

  “You keep saying I’ll have liberties. Prove it. I want her.”

  He studied me, indecision lurking in his eyes; then, with an annoyed slight shake of his head, he rose and unlatched the door. “Wait, come back,” he commanded, but before anything more was said, a second set of footsteps came flying from another direction.

  “Excuse me, sir,” a man said, “but—”

  “What now?” Frustration tinged Mr. Macy’s voice as he spun in that direction.

  “A Mr. Magnus Bradshawl just arrived. He’s requesting an audience with you. He said you would want to know he was here.”

  The matter pressing upon Mr. Macy’s mind had come—I could practically taste it—but instead of alarming him, it revived him. The atmosphere ignited with friction, and snap returned to his eyes as determination replaced the hunted look.

  “Here?” Mr. Macy asked with a laugh. “The fool. Where?”