The Earl Claims His Wife

by Cathy Maxwell

  In turn, he tasted her forgiveness.

  Her struggles ceased. He released her arms and they came around his neck.

  Brian lifted the hem of her nightdress. Her naked skin was smooth and velvety soft. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of touching her.

  He pulled her nightdress over her head. He kissed her hair, her eyes, her mouth. His hands found her breasts, weighing them and caressing them. He knew what gave her pleasure. He now used that knowledge to make love to his wife using every skill available to him. He used his body to beg her to stay, to say what his pride would not let him speak aloud.

  She loved another.

  What should have been his was no longer—and yet, her hands soothed, encouraged, enabled. He brought them both to the mattress. Her skin glowed like alabaster in the room’s early morning shadows. He rolled over, settling her weight upon him, her hips against his, their legs entwined.

  The hurt and anger ceased to matter, vanquished by the magic of her skin against his. Her tongue tickled his ear. Her lips pressed against his throat. Her hand reached down to stroke him intimately.

  At her touch, Brian groaned. What sweet madness was this? What pleasure.

  He could hold out no longer. In one swift movement, he lifted her to sit upon him. Without hesitation, she rode him like some wild fairy queen. Magnificent, golden, demanding. And Brian gave. He grabbed her hips, burying himself deep, over and over again.

  And then he felt her tighten, her body taking and holding his.

  For a moment, they were suspended in time…and then he found sweet release. It drained him. Took all that he had and delivered it to her.

  Here, Gillian. Here is the best of me, the essence of my soul. The gift that God has given us.

  With a soft gasp, she collapsed on top of him. He put his arms around her and held her as if he’d never let her go.

  Slowly, the room began to chill their overheated skin.

  Brian brought the covers over them. His body was still joined with hers…and he found himself making love to her again.

  They made love three times those hours after dawn. It was as if he couldn’t have his fill of her. They didn’t speak. Brian no longer trusted words.

  For him, this act of joining, this need was an exorcism of sorts. Soon, she would leave him. He didn’t know what he would do after she was gone. She’d made a home out of a shell of a house. She’d given Anthony a mother and created herself into Brian’s other half, his rib, his Eve.

  Later he would deal with how he would go on. For right now, it was enough that she was here.

  Gillian woke late in the day feeling as if her body had been well used.

  Naked and wrapped in a tangle of sheets, she rolled over in the bed to discover herself alone. She sat up, pushing her hair back. The room smelled of sex and his shaving soap. The door to the dressing room was open, but she didn’t hear a noise or see a shadow.

  She rose from the bed. The first few steps brought out aches where she’d not known they could exist and the heat of a blush ran up her body. She’d attacked her husband. She’d been so angry at him when she’d gone to bed and yet all he had to do was touch her and she’d thrown herself at him.

  Or had she been so relieved he’d come home, she would have done anything to keep him there?

  A glance in the mirror told her she looked a fright. Her cheeks were chafed from his beard. Her hair was a tangled mess and her lips were full and red from his kisses.

  There was a knock on the door. “My lady?” Ruby the scullery maid’s voice asked from the other side.

  “Yes?” Her voice was hoarse. She couldn’t help but blush again at the memory of what she’d done with her lips and tongue only hours before.

  “His lordship sent me up with water for a bath. I’ve been heating it for you.”

  A bath would be heaven. “Thank you.” She smiled, pleased that Brian had thought of her. “Is Lord Wright downstairs now?” If he was, she thought about quickly throwing on some clothes and going down to see him. Or of sending a note down inviting him to join her in her bath.

  “No, my lady. He left the house already.”

  Gillian opened the door to see Ruby standing with two buckets of steaming water. “He left?”

  “Yes, my lady. He spent time with Lord Anthony, kissed the baby, and then left the house.”

  “Did he leave word where he was going?”

  “Not with me, my lady.”

  It turned out he hadn’t left word with anyone. As he had done the day before, Brian had walked out without so much as a by-your-leave. He didn’t return until very late.

  Gillian had planned on waiting up for him. She couldn’t. She finally had to go to her bed, only to be woken in the middle of the night to her husband making love to her.

  She wanted to ask him where he’d been. She wanted to know why he was leaving so mysteriously. And yet, when he kissed her, his naked body against hers, she could not think to speak.

  This next morning he didn’t leave but stayed in the back parlor and worked with a secretary he’d just hired named Edmund Simon.

  Gillian seethed at Brian’s high-handed, extremely rude behavior. Her resentment built as the day continued and he seemed to be avoiding her.

  Of course, she had a few tricks of her own. She made a point of having Anthony with her at all times. The baby was the bait. Eventually, Brian would be forced to confront her if he wished to see Anthony.

  The enticement worked. At a quarter until seven, Brian walked into the sitting room where she sat on the floor before the hearth playing with an increasingly tired Anthony. Of course, the baby perked up at the sight of Brian.

  “Hello, Gillian,” he said pleasantly.

  “Hello? That is all?” she demanded, bouncing Anthony in her arms.

  Brian smiled and held out his hand for Anthony. The baby reached straight up for him. “Should there be more?” he asked, taking their child into his arms.

  Gillian’s temper flared, but along with it was resentment. “Are you playing some game with me?”

  “A game?’ he asked. “I don’t believe so.” He sounded perfectly relaxed.

  She came to her feet. Certainly, he was toying with her. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you behaving this way?”

  He brushed back Anthony’s hair. “I’m not behaving in any way, Gillian. All is well between us. Don’t fret over it.”

  Don’t fret over it?

  And then she knew. Of course. She was always second to his Jess. No wonder the woman had been smiling at her as she’d driven past the house the other day.

  “Have you been seeing her?” Gillian couldn’t keep herself from asking. She hated how waspish she sounded. She shouldn’t care.

  Then again, she shouldn’t have trusted him. To think that she’d written Andres, that she’d hurt him for this man…

  “Seeing whom?” Brian asked. He frowned. “Jess? Of course not. Why would you imagine such a thing?”

  “Perhaps you should,” Gillian responded for no other reason than meanness. Something was going on with her husband, something he refused to discuss with her and that could only mean Jess. She hated her jealousy, felt eaten alive by it. “I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.” She swept by him.

  That night when he came to bed, she tried her best to keep her back to him and pretended to sleep. But that didn’t protect her from him.

  It was his touch. The anger he seemed to harbor against her during the day disappeared at night. He’d stroke her, his fingers so full of tenderness, of wanting, that she had no choice but to give in. They made sweet, lingering love. He whispered in her ear how lovely she was, how much she pleased him—and she knew that if he was here with her now, he wasn’t with another.

  However, the next morning he was as distant as ever.

  His actions made Gillian furious. Her anger kept her from crossing the divide between them. She considered leaving him again, and then realized she couldn�
��t.

  She loved Brian. It was as simple as that.

  The truth was, if he was in bed with her, he was not with Jess. That was a victory of sorts. And after he accompanied her to church on Sunday, after he stood with her through the service and here and there placed a hand at the small of her back, she realized she was not willing to give up on her marriage. She’d seen the man he was. It was still there when he picked up Anthony and held him. She wanted that man for the father of her children…for the father of the child she felt she already did carry.

  She wasn’t certain yet, but she would be soon. For right now, her suspicion was nothing more than a woman’s instinct.

  But matters could not continue the way they were. Especially with Fiona calling upon her or sending a note every day to express her concern.

  So Gillian was pleased when the evening arrived for their dinner with Lord and Lady Liverpool. They were delightful guests. Holburn and Fiona were also in attendance along with Lord and Lady Canning. Gillian thought she and Brian presented themselves and their cozy home very well. Lord Liverpool showed a decided favoritism toward her husband. Later, she overheard the cabinet minister remark to Lord Canning, “Do you see why we like him? Wellington says there isn’t anything he can’t do.”

  “Do you believe that is true?” Lord Canning drawled, sounding jaded.

  “Yes. I believe he is the man we want for the position.”

  Gillian couldn’t wait to relay this bit of conversation to Brian. Over a glass of wine, they discussed the evening before retiring and it all seemed to have been everything he wanted.

  He took her hand. “Thank you, Gillian.”

  “For what?”

  “For your help with all this.” He waved his hand to encompass the sitting room where they enjoyed their drinks. “For settling Anthony. For being the person you are.”

  His comment deeply touched her, and gave her the courage to ask the question that had been so much on her mind.

  “Brian, what has happened to us?”

  Immediately, his face became shuttered. “What do you mean, Gillian?”

  She regretted bringing up the subject. A hard lump formed in her chest. She’d carried it with her for days and now, she wanted to be done with it. “We were doing better,” she said. “I thought you liked me.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I admire you very much.”

  “Admire?” Gillian shook her head. “What does that mean, Brian? I don’t know if I want to be admired.”

  “What would you rather have?”

  Your love.

  All she had to do was say the words and there she would be, completely vulnerable.

  So, she chose silence.

  Brian leaned forward, took her hand in his, laced their fingers together—

  Gillian pulled it away. “I believe I’m best for bed. Are you coming?” It was an invitation. She kept her voice very neutral.

  He didn’t take it as such, and that was more humiliating. “I’ll be up in a moment.”

  Upstairs, Gillian undressed in silence, wondering how long this would go on. Or had Wright decided he didn’t need her?

  She checked on the baby and then climbed into bed.

  Her husband came up several minutes later. This night, instead of waiting for him to make the first move, Gillian rolled toward him and put her arms around him. “I don’t like the way things are between us,” she whispered.

  “How would you rather they be?” he asked.

  “Like it was.”

  He came over on his back to face her. He combed her hair out of her face. “And how was it, Gillian? Have we really ever trusted each other?”

  He didn’t expect an answer. She wouldn’t have given one. She would hate to admit to her jealousies.

  So she did what seemed to suit them best. She made love to him. It was passionate, soul satisfying, and yet oddly distant. It was because she was afraid of what was in her heart.

  She might love Brian, but she didn’t trust him and she was discovering love couldn’t exist without trust.

  Fiona had insisted Gillian accompany her to interview an artist about her having her portrait done. The artist, rumored to be one of the best in London, was a petite man who smelled of oil paints and body odor and who wanted to dress Fiona up as a Scottish kelpie.

  “And what does a Scottish kelpie wear?” Fiona asked.

  “Very little,” was the reply.

  Fiona’s eyes met Gillian’s and they both burst out laughing. The artist was offended and all but threw them out of his studio. They could barely wait to climb into Fiona’s coach before they doubled over into laughter.

  “I am very resistant to having a portrait done at this point in my life,” Fiona confessed. “I want babies in my picture and animals like my dog Tad.” Tad was a gigantic wolfhound who lorded over Huntleigh now that his owner was mistress of the estate. “I know dressing up as some forgotten Greek is the fashion but I think it fussy and silly.”

  “And what does Holburn think of the idea?” Gillian asked.

  “He thinks it is wonderful. He wants to see me as Aphrodite.”

  “You are beautiful enough to be so,” Gillian said.

  Fiona colored prettily. “You are talking nonsense like my husband. I don’t want to wear draperies in my portrait.”

  “What would you wear?”

  “The Lachlan plaid, of course. I wonder if I could coerce my husband into a kilt.”

  “For a portrait?” Gillian asked.

  “And because I think he’d do a kilt justice,” Fiona replied, wicked laughter in her eyes.

  “Would he do it for you?”

  “It would be worth the try to convince him.”

  “I’m certain he’ll do it,” Gillian assured her, “if you wear the Aphrodite garb. I can see the picture of the two of you now.”

  Both women laughed at the image they’d conjured and took some time for shopping at the small shops comprising the Exeter Exchange. Fiona happily linked her arm in Gillian’s and for a moment, all Gillian’s doubts and worries seemed to fall away until her friend brought her head close and said, “It is so good to hear you laugh. I’ve been worried about you. Is everything all right between yourself and Wright?”

  Gillian pulled up short. What could she say? What should she say?

  The truth would be a betrayal to her husband and a lie would betray a friendship.

  “Matters are as they should be,” she replied, hoping she sounded serene.

  Fiona studied her a moment, her mouth tight, and Gillian knew she didn’t believe her. However, instead of more prying, Fiona said, “My husband has secured a box at the Royal Theatre tonight for a party. I have a friend who is performing The Quaker and we want to support her.”

  “You have a friend who is a singer?”

  “She started off as a dancer. Grace MacEachin and I came to London together from Scotland. This is a golden opportunity for her. Holburn and I want to give her every ounce of support. So, if you join us this evening, after Grace sings, and I believe it is a very small part, you must join us in cheering and stamping our feet. Then she will receive much notice and move on to larger parts.”

  “I would be happy to do so,” Gillian agreed. “It’s unusual for a duchess and an opera singer to be such fast friends.”

  “In this day and age, it seems we can be anything we wish if we are bold enough to try for it—which is one of the reasons I want you to be completely happy,” Fiona said.

  Tears stung Gillian’s eyes. It would be so easy to completely confide all of her troubles in Fiona. Instead, she said, “I shall speak to my husband and see if we have plans this evening. If we don’t, I’m certain we would both enjoy being a part of your company and cheering and stamping our feet for your friend.”

  Before Fiona could answer, they heard someone shout her name.

  They both turned and saw Holburn approaching. He waved as he dodged his way past other shoppers toward them.

  He was also no
t alone.

  Andres Ramigio accompanied him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  To his credit, Holburn hadn’t realized Gillian was with Fiona. However, once he laid eyes on her, his step slowed. He glanced at Andres…but it was too late. Gillian and the Spaniard had seen each other.

  Andres appeared thinner than she remembered, but just as handsome.

  There was hurt in the depths of his quicksilver eyes, a hurt she had caused. He offered her a short, somber bow of acknowledgment.

  In return, she felt her face flush with heat. She wanted to run. She chose not to. This was a difficult meeting but it had to be seen through.

  She sensed rather than saw Fiona and Holburn exchange worried glances. So for them, she put on a smile and held out her hand. “Barón, it is a pleasure to meet you again.”

  Andres didn’t make a move for her offered hand. His gaze slid away from hers. Her heart ached in the presence of his sadness.

  “Lady Wright and I have finished our shopping,” Fiona said in a too bright voice as she took Gillian’s arm. “Here, my dear, let me walk you to the coach. Holburn, you and the barón wait here until I return and we shall go for tea.”

  Gratefully, Gillian started to leave with Fiona but Andres suddenly moved into their path. He shook his head as if coming to his senses. “Please, Gillian, I need a moment with you.”

  The shoppers, Holburn and Fiona, everyone and everything seemed to come to a halt. She struggled for common sense. “Now is not the time.”

  “When will there be a better one? Or a more innocent opportunity? Perhaps you wish to sneak around your husband?”

  The disdain in his voice struck like a lash. “I said everything in the letter, Andres. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen—to you or to me.” She didn’t wait for his response but turned and hurried away knowing her maid Ruby would follow…knowing Ruby was a witness to everything.

  Of course, the problem was she didn’t have a vehicle of her own. She realized it the moment she reached the street. She turned to request the beadle guarding the entrance to hail a hack when Holburn caught up with her.