“I cannot say. I thought so at the time, but we were children. Who can say what your intent had been?”
He rose and walked toward the window, looking out at the woods and the sea that was only just visible beyond. She knew every aspect of that view intimately having studied it for years. There was nothing about it that could fascinate him so.
“It haunts me,” he admitted. “These dark and empty spaces in my mind. I cannot recall anything about my life, my childhood, my family. Sometimes it seems as if my life began the day I was plucked from that wretched little boat.”
Beatrice was silent for a moment, considering how to word her response. She empathized with him, but the totality of his loss of memory from what had likely been the only happy time in his life was heart wrenching for her. “In some ways I can imagine how difficult that is. I was so very young when my parents died and, try as I might, there are things that I cannot recall—the sound of my mother’s voice, the way my father laughed. They come and go, fleeting glimpses of things that I want so desperately to hold on to only to have them slip from me once more when I try to cling to them,” she offered softly. “But it is not the same really. Not when you were older and more fully formed as a person to have lost so much of your life that way.”
“Was I cruel to everyone, Beatrice, or just you?” he asked.
“You were a prankster. I felt your pranks more keenly perhaps because I was always cognizant of my place here at Castle Black. An orphan, a ward of your father, who did not really belong—I never complained about anything you did because I was afraid of being sent away and that only seemed to egg you on.”
He made a sound of disgust. “How can anyone be happy to see me returned to the bosom of my family when I was clearly such a heartless and merciless creature to begin with?”
“But you were not,” she protested. “You were always exceptionally close to Lady Agatha. She doted on you and you adored her. Your father was more stern, perhaps, but he was quite proud of you, Graham. Your tutors could not say enough about how keen your mind was and what you might accomplish in life. Yes, you were a boy and, yes, you did all the things that boys do, sometimes to the detriment of others… but doing a bad thing does not make one bad in entirety. Can you not see that?”
“No,” he said. “I cannot. But there are other things I would see, if I could. You can be my eyes into the past, Beatrice, if you would.”
“What is it that you need to know?” she asked softly. She believed in her heart of hearts that he was who he claimed to be. If offering information would help him to prove it and to cement his future there, she’d provide it gladly.
“Why were we in France? Why were we returning in such a rushed manner? Why did they take me with them and not the rest of you?”
“I remained here because I had been ill. I’d only just recovered from a fever when the family left to depart for France and it was recommended that I not travel. So I stayed here with a nurse. As for Edmund, Sir Godfrey, his father, was here at Castle Black then. There was no need for Lord Blakemore to take him. As for the why, your father was a diplomat, but also something of a hero in intelligence work for the crown. He took your mother and you with him because it gave the cover of his diplomatic duties more credence. As to the rushed return, Napoleon was galvanizing his forces and preparing for battle. And… oh, I hesitate to repeat such things!”
“Do not hesitate. I beg you. If I am to understand what is happening here and if I am to have any hope of proving that I am who I say I am, who you believe me to be, I must know everything.”
Beatrice stared down at her clasped hands. “I do not know the details of it. But I do know that when they returned from France, Lord Blakemore and Lady Agatha were very much at odds with one another and it was not entirely based upon your disappearance. I heard him speak to her once of her scandalous behavior in Paris, but what that was and why it created a rift between them, I cannot say.”
Graham turned away from her, once more, to stare out the window at the raging sea beyond. “Who in this house is not keeping secrets?”
“We all have our secrets, Graham.” Hers was that she was falling desperately and futilely in love with him. As the Lord of Castle Black, he was well beyond her reach. But she had to know. “To ask again, on the beach, you said I was yours… what does that mean?”
She thought for a moment that he meant to refuse an explanation. Continuing to stare out the window, only his profile visible to her, she could see the cast of his dark features set in a firm and stubborn line, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally, he spoke. “I cannot tell you what it means… I can only tell you that I feel it to the depths of my soul. When you are not near me, I search for you. When I hear your voice, I am drawn to it. If we are in the same room, I find myself seeking your eye, seeking a connection to you always… and when I sleep, you haunt my dreams.” All of this was admitted without his ever facing her. He kept himself turned resolutely away from her.
“Is that why you kissed me?” she asked. It was bold, far more so than she had ever anticipated being with him.
“Yes. And it is why I will kiss you again, and so much more if you grant me the liberties… but not until you are well. Even my lack of honor has limits,” he said. He finally turned toward her, but he kept his distance. “And taking advantage of you after what you’ve been through today would certainly delve to the very bottom of that barrel.”
Beatrice looked away, unable to meet his gaze. She wanted to offer herself to him, she wanted to beg him to take those liberties, to show her precisely what he meant. And she wanted to do it then precisely because she could blame her actions on the shock she’d suffered and not be held accountable for her own wanton nature.
After a moment, she heard the door click softly into place. He was gone. The opportunity, if it was such, had passed.
Rising to her feet, she walked slowly to the bed and sank down upon it, her weary muscles protesting every movement. Sleep called her, seduced her as surely as he had.
*
In the tower, he raged. Smashing things, throwing books against the wall with such force that the spines split and pages fluttered about. Dishes were next, smashing against the walls and floor. On the bed, Eloise cowered, covering her face to protect it from any shrapnel produced by his temper.
“She should have died there! It was the perfect plan!”
“There will be other opportunities,” Eloise cried. “Please, my darling! You’re frightening me!”
He paused and turned to her. The moment of recognition, of knowing she had pushed him too far was written plainly upon her pretty features. He stalked toward her and grabbed her hair, hauling her backward and forcing her down on the bed. “You sought me out because you wanted a monster on a leash… a demon to do your bidding! Like every woman who dances with the devil, you’ve found there is a price to pay! Is it too steep, Eloise? Do you wish to call a halt to all of this and go back to being the dutiful wife of your prickless husband?”
“No,” she answered tearfully, shaking her head from side to side. “But I hate to see you so upset. I can’t bear to see you suffering so!”
He gripped her hair tighter, until she cried out. “And would you take my pain? Would you swallow it all just to free me of it?”
“I would,” she answered, though there was hesitation in her voice and fear in her gaze.
He lifted her skirts, allowing his hand to trail up the silken flesh of her thigh to the dark triangle nestled between them. She was wet for him. Even in her fear, she desired him, or perhaps it was because of her fear, he thought. Eloise, for all her ladylike prettiness, had a soul as dark as his own.
“Part your thighs for me,” he commanded, still gripping her hair tightly enough to bring tears to her eyes. Still she complied, even reaching for the fall of his breeches to free his sex. “Do you want me? Even now with my rage? I will not be gentle with you, Eloise.”
“I do not want you to be,” she said breathlessly. “I want ev
erything you have to give me.”
He parted the folds of her sex, slipping one finger inside to test her readiness. Her answering whimper was all the encouragement he needed. Guiding himself to her entrance, he drove into her so forcefully that she cried out. Again and again he plunged into her, hard and deep. He gave no thought to her pleasure, but when he felt her spasm around him, he knew that she had achieved her climax regardless.
Rather than spill his seed inside her, he withdrew. He looked at her then, letting his gaze rake over her. Hair mussed, face flushed from tears and his rough treatment of her, her skirts were tossed up about her waist, her skin was damp with sweat and stained with his seed. “You do not look much like a lady anymore, Eloise. I think I’ve made you quite the greedy, little whore.”
She reached for him, her hands gripping his hips. “I am anything you want me to be.”
He smiled. She was, he thought. She would do anything for him. And when it was time, he would rid himself of her just as she was eager to divest herself of her current husband. Enjoyable and eager as she was in bed, she would not help him to achieve his ultimate goal. For that, he’d need more than simply a gentleman’s daughter. He’d need the daughter of an earl at least, and one with a fortune. But his Eloise would do for now.
Chapter Seven
Graham was late going down to dinner. While the events of the afternoon certainly provided ample excuse, in truth, it was his own reluctance to face off against Edmund again with his hands tied, metaphorically speaking. In another time in his life, he’d have simply knocked the arrogant prig on his arse and been done with it. Or put a pistol ball in him and walk away. He’d not be the first man you killed.
Graham pushed that thought away just as he’d fought the urge to confront Edmund and demand an accounting. It would serve no purpose and get him no closer to the truth, but it would upset Lady Agatha and that was too much after the shock she’d already endured earlier in the day. Bad enough that Beatrice, whom she adored, had nearly drowned. Thinking it was a terribly accident had sent her into a faint, finding out that a man she trusted might well be a murderer might actually kill her.
The urge was still riding him strong as he entered the drawing room. He might have wondered at his ability to resist it except for the impossibly pale woman perched on a settee near the fire. Whether it was memory or simply his own imagination, a vision of her appeared in his mind. In it, her hair was as dark as his own. The wind had tugged it until it escaped its pins. A dark blue cloak billowed around her, but there was no joy in her. She was, in that vision, as enveloped in melancholy then as now.
Shaking off the vision, he approached her. She started to rise, but abruptly took her seat again and placed one hand to her heart as if it pained her. Therein lay the crux of it. She was fragile. Emotionally, no—he could see the strength in her there. But physically, her body was failing her and he could not fathom why.
Was it the stress of living under a cloud of uncertainty and grief for nearly two decades? That could account for it reasonably and, yet, he felt that was not the case. Beatrice had not said as much, but he felt that perhaps Lady Agatha’s turn in health was a recent event. She was not so very old yet and, at her age, should still have been a strong and vital woman.
“You have no proof!” Edmund shouted, continuing their conversation as if he had not even entered the room. “The man is an imposter and a scoundrel! Yet you’re perfectly willing to turn over the running of the entire estate to him when he has not proven his identity much less his capability! Even if, and that is a grand if, Madam, he is, in fact, Lord Blakemore, what does a man who has spent his life at sea know of running an estate?”
“He will learn,” Lady Agatha said softly. Her voice was feeble and her pallor growing increasingly wan.
“At what cost to us? We will all be paupers!” Edmund threw up his hands and whirled away from her, his gaze settling immediately upon Graham. “And I suppose this was your suggestion? That you assume your rightful place on the throne, so to speak?”
“Not at all,” Graham replied easily, striving for a civil tone. “I think it would be unwise to put the estate in my hands at this juncture… not because my identity is in question. It is not—not by those whose opinion matters, at any rate. But because I do not understand what is required to run an estate of this size.”
Edmund, deflated by Graham’s agreement, simply stood there. Finally, gathering his composure, he added, “Well, there it is. Wisdom from an unlikely source.”
Lady Agatha turned to him then. “How is Beatrice? Has she recovered?”
“Not entirely,” Graham answered honestly. “Exposure to cold of that nature, submerged as she was in water for so long, can have long-lasting consequences.”
“But not permanent?” Edmund queried.
Graham studied him, trying to determine the other man’s motive in asking. Was it genuine concern for her well-being or was he disappointed that his attempt had failed? “No, I do not believe so. There was very minor frostbite, I think, and rewarming the body after such an ordeal can be very painful. But I anticipate a full recovery.”
Christopher sneered then. “Are you a doctor now, as well?”
“No. But I have been a sailor for many years… exposure to cold and submersion in icy waters is something that I have had experience with, both personally and as an observer,” Graham answered. “You may both sneer all you wish, but I certainly didn’t see either of you rushing out to look for her!” He faced Edmund again. “Though, no doubt, any offer of assistance from you would be suspect. That’s a nasty injury you’ve sustained. What did happen to your fingers, sir?”
“I was attacked by a worthless animal,” Edmund shot back.
“Enough!” Lady Agatha called out. “I am exhausted from this verbal sparring! All of you are baiting one another like dogs about to fight and I’ll not have it!”
Graham took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Lady Agatha. You are right. We should attempt to be civil, at least.”
“What would a mangy sea dog know of civility?” Christopher demanded, rising up from his chair. “Edmund carries on as if he’s the one losing the estate… but it’s not him, is it? It’s me. Now that you’ve risen from the dead, I’ve no chance to inherit. With no wish to join the army or the clergy, my prospects are effectively nil!”
“There is a time and a place to discuss these things, Christopher, and we will. I have no wish to turn you out penniless or see you tossed from your home,” Graham insisted. “But for the moment, let us shelve such topics and enjoy our evening meal. Tomorrow, we will sit down, the three of us, and have a civil discussion about the current situation of the estate and how it might provide ample income for all of us.”
“Ever the diplomat!” Edmund sneered. “You are a dirty usurper. You’ve no right to claim what I’ve worked to maintain!”
“If we are that close to poverty, you apparently have done a poor job of it!” Graham snapped.
Edmund blustered for a moment before spitting out, “How dare you! What, precisely, are you accusing me of?”
Graham clenched his fists at his sides. “I have many questions about your motives and your actions. My first question is where is your wife? I have little enough trust of her, either.”
Edmund sputtered ineffectually. “I would call you out for that if I thought you gentleman enough to know how to handle a sword!”
“Oh, I can handle a sword. And a pistol,” Graham countered. “I’ll be happy to demonstrate!”
Lady Agatha rose, clearly intending to call a halt to the argument before it escalated further. As she stood, she swayed alarmingly on her feet. Graham turned to offer his assistance and saw her gaze go blank, her eyes glassed over and then she began to sink to the floor.
He rushed forward, catching her before she struck the floor. “We need a doctor!”
“She has a doctor. He says it’s her heart… weakened from years of stress,” Christopher said. His tone was cold, completely without c
oncern for his own mother who was clearly unwell.
“And did he offer any treatment beyond uttering such a proclamation?” Graham demanded.
“There is no treatment for a weakened heart,” Edmund snapped. “But for my part in this, I will attempt to hold my tongue in her presence. I would not see her so overset again.”
Graham rose, lifting her pale and painfully thin form into his arms. Edmund’s words rang hollow—nothing but lip service to propriety with little sincerity behind them. He’d allowed the bastard to goad him and it rankled that he was just as much at fault for Lady Agatha’s current state as the man he was coming to despise. “I’ll get her to her chamber and then I am sending for a physician… an actual physician and not some country quack. There are treatments—herbs and remedies that can provide relief.”
“It’s a waste of money,” Edmund fired back.
“And it is my money to waste,” Graham fired back. It was time to take command whether anyone else approved or not. “Whatever you think, whatever you believe, is of no import. I am Graham, Lord Blakemore of Castle Black, and whether you like it or not, my word, within these walls, is law.”
Without another word or a backward glance, Graham strode from the room, Lady Agatha’s limp form in his arms. He took her directly to her room and her maid, a fiercely unattractive woman named Crenshaw, met him at the door.
“Bring her in, my lord, and place her on the bed.”
Graham did as she instructed and watched cautiously as the maid retrieved smelling salts, wafting them under Lady Agatha’s nose until she stirred.
“You’ve had another spell, ladyship,” Crenshaw explained gently. “I’ll get your draught.”
Graham watched the maid scurry out and then went to stand beside the bed. Rather than loom over his mother’s pale figure, he stooped down until they were nearly on eye level. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She smiled sadly. “You sound just like you did as a boy when you’d misbehaved! I know Edmund can be difficult… he’s certainly tried my patience over the years, but give it time, Graham. Please? I don’t want to see any of you driven from our home.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 79