She rinsed her arms by scooping water into her palms. “Tell me.”
“Pussy.”
She became thoughtful. “I suppose that’s not too vulgar, although I don’t understand the significance.”
He hid a smile. Eleanor would have to understand the significance. There was little she took at face value. “It can be traced back to Old English, or maybe even Scandinavian. It means ‘pocket’ or ‘pouch.’”
“What’s another?” She took the cloth and laved her ears and neck, places he had no interest in washing for her.
“Crumpet.”
She threw him a puzzled look. “Like an English tea cake?”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know the connection there, Ellie.”
She scrubbed her feet, and he gazed at the beauty of her inner thigh as she did so. “Another.”
“Where the Monkey Sleeps.”
She stopped, tossed back her head, and laughed. “Well, explain that one to me, if you can.”
He grinned. “That’s probably where ‘Willy Banana’ goes to get his pleasure.”
They laughed aloud together while he held the towel. She stepped from the tub and he rubbed her down, noting, with pleasure, that they were both ready for Mr. Johnson to satisfy her again.
Before he could lead her to the bed, she pointed to the tub. “Your turn,” she ordered, her eyes glistening with heat and humor.
And she bathed him, asking for an explanation of every tattoo, bending to kiss each one as she rinsed it. She soaped his bush and his balls, taking special pleasure in washing Mr. Johnson until he nearly spent in her hand.
Later, while she slept beside him, Dante stared at the ceiling, wondering what had come over him. He felt different about Eleanor. He couldn’t explain it any better than that.
He wanted to stop thinking about her, but he wasn’t able to. The beauty of her body came into his vision. She was meant to be loved, to be aroused, to be taken by a man who knew how to please her, for that, in turn, caused her to please the man.
And please him she did; whether she was aware of it or not, she had pleased him like no other. In every way, not just in bed. And that was perhaps the most frightening thought he’d had in recent memory.
Tomorrow they would leave, and although he sensed she didn’t want to return to Boston, there were many reasons why he was glad they would.
He would never forget their long walks on the beach, their lively discussions about politics while they fished, and their quiet times when they had simply sat on the sand and watched the ebb and swell of the ocean.
He wasn’t getting tired of her, and he couldn’t understand that. He had always tired of a woman after they had spent time together. He had even tired of a woman’s body if she thrust it at him too many times.
But so far, he hadn’t tired of Eleanor in bed or out of it, and that scared the living hell out of him.
Eleanor sat up in bed and looked out the window. Her heart swelled at the sight of the endless wash of waves, crashing over one another to get to the beach.
Oh, how she would miss this place! No cares, no worries. It was Eden, and Boston and all of its scuttlebutt was the serpent, ready to take it all away from them.
She dreaded returning to the society that had mocked her so. Even though she had Dante’s support, she knew it wasn’t going to be an easy transition. And they hadn’t talked about what he expected of her. What was her role in this new life?
“Good morning.”
She turned from the window and found him standing in the doorway, fully dressed and holding two steaming cups of coffee. “Good morning,” she answered, trying to stifle her disappointment that he wasn’t coming back to bed to love her again.
He put the cups down on the table beside the bed, then crawled up next to her. “What do you see out there?”
He smelled like fresh air, and the familiar scent she’d discovered over the past few days, a scent that was wholly him. A scent that stirred her.
“I was just looking at the waves.”
He expelled a long sigh. “I never tire of watching the ocean.”
With a reticent smile, she answered, “Neither do I.”
He patted her shoulder like a father would. “Nervous about going home?”
She propped her elbows on the windowsill and watched a seagull swoop toward the water. “Yes,” she answered honestly.
“Everything will be fine,” he assured her, giving her another fatherly pat. “Horace and Hoshi are eagerly awaiting our return, I can guarantee you that. They both have fallen for you, you know.”
But have you? She wondered, and doubted it. “That’s very sweet.”
“The first time Horace saw you, he told me you were special.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Do you know why?”
She shook her head.
“Because he has always felt intelligent women became—how did he put it—more interesting with time.”
Intelligent and interesting. She had heard those words most of her life. Now, with Dante, she wanted to be more. She wanted to be beautiful and sexy and intoxicatingly irresistible. And most of all, she wanted to be loved.
“He’s a very nice man,” she managed.
Suddenly he got off the bed and cleared his throat. “Eleanor, I haven’t hired a housekeeper yet. I mean, no one permanent.”
Her heart sank a little lower. “That’s all right. If I could manage Cal’s house, I can certainly manage yours.”
“No. I don’t want you to feel you have to do that. But I’m afraid that by the time we return, things will need a real cleaning, since the girl I hired after Mrs. McGill left decided it wasn’t the sort of work she wanted. I’ll leave it to you to find someone else.”
“Dante, I certainly can—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Hire someone. Mrs. McGill was referred to me by a friend. I wouldn’t know what to look for in a housekeeper.”
“All right,” she answered, almost tentatively.
“Good. Now,” he said, picking up his coffee cup and moving toward the door, “drink your coffee while you dress. Unfortunately, I have a meeting tonight so must get back to Boston as soon as possible.”
He left her alone, to dress, to pack, to wonder why he had suddenly become so distant.
She wasn’t a stranger in his home, but she felt like one, for Horace, Hoshi, and Dante went about their daily routines, and she was at loose ends with nothing to do.
Dante was rarely home, and when he did finally return each day, he appeared to have mountains of work to do in his study and asked that he not be disturbed.
And he had not slept with her or made love to her; she missed him beside her, his arms around her. The first few nights she had gone to the library, expecting that when he saw her in her filmy nightgown, he would eagerly follow her to bed.
But he had explained to her, his voice slightly condescending, that he would be working until midnight, and for her to go on up to bed without him. She expected to discover him next to her sometime during the night, but each morning she had awakened to find that his side of the bed had not been slept in. Eventually, she knew better than to ask. And he did not join her.
And it hurt. Fool that she was, she had thought that even though he didn’t love her, he enjoyed making love to her. And oh, how she missed him, for even when he was sitting across from her at dinner, he seemed miles away.
Over the next few weeks, she tried not to think of the reason for the change, but after careful analysis, she decided it was because he had gone back to his mistress. And her “careful analysis” was quickly followed by a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
But when had he had the time? He wasn’t creeping out each night, for she had seen a pillow and blankets in disarray on the library sofa each morning before Horace had put them away.
Whatever the reason, she had no choice but to keep silent. Because of the conditions of her marriage, she was in no position to confront him in spite of her desire to
do so. And even if she did, he was not obligated to tell her anything he didn’t want her to know.
So, she had thought many times, this was marriage. She began to wonder how women put up with it, for it gave them no share of freedom. It merely bound them to someone who hogged it all for themselves.
Finally, Eleanor came to terms with the status of her marriage. She was a fool to think that what they’d had at the cottage would continue once they were home. Instead of moping about, she got down to business.
Through one of the nuns, she found a young Irish girl to come in and clean the house twice a week, thus completing the one duty Dante had asked of her.
At dinner that evening, she announced, “I’m going back to work at the orphanage.”
Dante glanced up from his meal. “Fine idea.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”
He looked surprised. “Why should I mind? I didn’t expect you to change, and I know you can’t sit around with nothing to do. I’m just surprised you’ve waited this long, Eleanor.”
That was another thing. Since the morning they had left the cottage, he had been calling her “Eleanor.” Gone was the affectionate, intimate “Ellie” that she’d grown accustomed to, and that she loved.
“By the way.” He wiped his mouth, then folded the napkin alongside his plate. “We’ve been invited to a party at the Taft’s tomorrow night.”
Eleanor experienced a sinking sensation in her stomach. So, this was it. Her baptism by fire.
“You know them, don’t you?”
She offered him a bland smile. “Yes. I gave their twins piano lessons.” Until they learned that I was marooned on an island with you.
He studied her from across the table, then stood and walked to the dining room door. “Wear that new light blue silk gown.” And he was gone, into his study again, with the door closed firmly against her.
With a weary sigh, she went upstairs and pulled out the blue silk from the wardrobe. It was lovely. Rich and elegant. Far prettier than anything she had ever owned in her life. With the Limerick lace trim on the body, sleeves, and skirt, it seemed just a bit too dressy, but certainly he knew best.
But she didn’t want to go. It didn’t matter how beautiful or expensive the gown, she wouldn’t feel comfortable with any of the guests. She already wondered how many would come just to see if she would be there, for she knew her marriage to Dante was still a lively piece of gossip and entertainment.
With a dread-filled heart, she chose a simple headdress of black velvet composed of loops, bows, and ends, confident it would compliment such an extravagant gown. But her confidence ended there, for she was already apprehensive about the evening to come.
The following afternoon, on her way home from the orphanage, she stopped to see Lydia. When Eleanor returned from Nahant, she learned that Calvin, Willa, and Lydia were visiting Willa’s family in New Bedford. This was Eleanor’s first opportunity to stop by.
Willa answered the door and Eleanor followed her sister-in-law into the house. “We just returned home a couple of days ago,” Willa commented.
“We were gone a while, too,” Eleanor answered.
“Where did you go?”
“He has a cottage on Nahant,” she explained.
“Nahant? You spent your honeymoon on Nahant? Isn’t that rather off by itself?”
“It’s built at the end of the peninsula where there’s a wonderful view of the ocean and plenty of fresh air.”
Willa frowned. “But…what on earth did you do out there?”
Spending so much time alone at Dante’s townhouse had allowed Eleanor to think about her honeymoon often, and how perfect it was, at least for her.
She wanted to tell her sister-in-law how they had made love by the fire, on the roof, on the beach, in the sand. How Dante had loved her with his hands, his mouth, his penis, which she named, for it was too wonderful not to have a name of its own.
She wanted to shock Willa by saying that she had taken Dante’s erection into her mouth, kissed it, and licked the tip. Eleanor longed to see Willa nearly faint as she explained how she had straddled him, riding him, and how she’d had crashing orgasms every single time…
“Well?” Willa’s harsh voice interrupted her thoughts.
Eleanor discovered that just thinking about what they had done together aroused her, and she felt flushed.
“We, um, rested, walked on the beach, went fishing, read, ate wonderful food—”
“Surely you must have gotten bored,” Willa suggested.
Bored? The idea of being bored was ridiculous. It was the most perfect time in her life, and if things never got better between her and Dante, she would still have Nahant to remember. “Not at all. It was wonderfully relaxing.”
Willa gave her that “you poor, naive girl” look. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have gone on a real honeymoon. You know, like to London or Paris.”
Obviously meaning that had he married anyone else, he would have taken her out to show her off, not hide her away in a cottage on an isolated peninsula. And suddenly, for the first time, Eleanor realized that her sister-in-law had a point, and it tarnished the glow of her memories.
“I enjoyed his cottage very much, Willa.” And she had. Never for a moment had she questioned why they had gone somewhere so secluded. She hadn’t once wished he had taken her to a busy city, where they might have attended concerts and plays or visited art galleries.
But suddenly she wondered where he would have taken a bride that he was madly in love with. Would he have paraded her around the city, showing her off, instead of hiding her away from the world?
To Eleanor, the cottage had been the perfect honeymoon spot. She had never stopped to think how others would view Dante’s choice, but now she would always wonder.
Willa turned toward the stairs. “Lydia!” she screamed. “Come down here.”
When Lydia saw her aunt, she flew into her arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Aunt Ellie!”
Eleanor hugged the child. “And I, you.”
Lydia gazed up at her, excited. “Did you know that a shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes?”
“No, I didn’t. And where did you learn this piece of information?”
“Papa got me some books on the ocean.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I didn’t tell him why I wanted them, but I wanted to learn about the sea, like the pirate, so I could ask him questions he can’t answer.”
“Oh, he’ll be very impressed.” And Eleanor knew he would be, for he adored Lydia almost as much as she did.
“When can I see him again?” She was wistful, eager.
“Well, I don’t know,” Eleanor answered thoughtfully. “We should arrange something, shouldn’t we? I’m sure he’ll be very anxious to match wits with you again.”
Surely, Eleanor thought, Dante would make time for Lydia even though he didn’t appear to have time for her.
“Can you stay a little while?” Lydia pleaded.
Eleanor glanced at the clock, noting that she had only an hour before she was to be ready for the party. “I’m afraid I can’t today, sweetheart. But I’ll come by again soon, and we’ll arrange for you to visit.”
When Eleanor left, Lydia’s face was pressed against the window, her expression so filled with longing one would have thought she had lost her best friend.
Twenty-one
Eleanor was out of breath when she reached the town-house. She hurried inside where an angry Dante met her.
“Where have you been?” He clutched a rolled-up newspaper in his fist, as if he were about to scold a puppy that had just made a puddle in the hallway.
Rather taken aback by his anger, she forced herself to calmly hang up her cape and remove her bonnet and gloves. “I stopped to see Lydia.”
His dark eyebrows slammed down over his eyes. “Do you realize you have only one half hour to get ready before we must leave?”
She stared at him, still surprised. “Am I being scolded?”
“You’re damned right.” Slapping the newspaper against his thigh, he paced in front of her. “I stopped at the orphanage to give you a ride home, and they told me you’d left an hour before, yet when I arrived here, you were nowhere to be found.”
She watched his performance, amused. “Well, send out the troops.”
“Don’t get glib with me,” he snapped at her.
She tried not to smile, but failed.
“It’s not funny, Eleanor. I was worried.” He paced to the door, then back again. “Something could have happened to you.”
“You were worried about me?” Her heart warmed at the thought.
“Yes,” he spat.
“But, Dante, I’ve been walking in Boston for over a year, and nothing has happened to me yet.”
He steered her toward the stairs. “That’s not true. I learned not long ago that you had your purse snatched one day on your walk home from the orphanage.”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, remembering the day she had met Sylvester for the first time. “But now I keep my purse under my cape where it’s safe.”
He mumbled something under his breath, then said, “Get up there and change. Horace has laid out your things.”
Eleanor went upstairs, feeling guilty that Horace had to act as her ladies’ maid, but also feeling oddly giddy that Dante had actually been worried about her.
Dante glanced at the newspaper in his fist and hurled it across the room. He was so angry and worried about her, he had wanted to paddle her with it when she came through the front door. In his frame of mind, however, he probably would have wound up baring her ass, forgetting his purpose, and taking her right there in the entryway.
Muttering a low curse, he shrugged into his double-breasted blue cloth tailcoat and straightened his shirt cuffs. When had all of this happened? When had he begun to care for her? He refused to believe it was love. He had never loved any woman. But he did care for her.
He realized this even before they had left the cottage, and he knew he had to distance himself from her. Now, he was sure she wondered what had happened, because he had virtually avoided her since they had returned to the townhouse. He hadn’t slept with her, either, bunking down, instead, on his soft leather sofa in the library.
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