He pressed his body against her, ready to bury himself right where he should be. Leaning forward, he kissed down her spine.
“I—” She moaned. “I had a response to that, but when you touch me I can no longer—Certainly nothing...pithy.”
“That’s part of my plot.” He slipped on the condom, his heart pounding in every corner of his body. He ran his hand down her back.
“What plot?” she asked, though the words were lost as he pressed his body against hers.
The plot to make you mine, forever.
“A man needs a few secrets.” He tested her again.
Urs was ready or, he supposed, with more pride than was proper, still ready.
“Jay, please.” The request was strangled and needy.
Before she could say another word, he pushed her legs apart father and entered her. He’d really intended, despite what she’d said, to at least attempt to be gentle. However, the moment her body squeezed him, he knew no reason.
Jay thrust into her, over and over, clutching any part of her soft, beautiful flesh he could grasp with greedy abandon. She was everything.
When he found his way to her breasts again she shrieked his name, urging him on. Tight and hot and bold and improper, but together they both swayed until their rhythms met in unison. He trailed his fingers down from her breast to apply just a little more pressure as both of their breaths hitched.
“Together.” He growled the word into her ear before thrusting again.
He bit his release into her shoulder. She screamed again, his name, over and over as another series of shudders vibrated from her body inside his, almost like a transference of another union.
With what little strength he had left, he eased them both back onto the bed. He positioned her, still against his chest, his arms holding her in place, molding to him, her skin against his as she continued to repeat his name.
“Shh...” he whispered. He brushed her curls aside and kissed her neck. “There are still people in the house.”
“I—” Urs panted the word as she nestled closer, where she belonged. “I rather enjoy that idea.”
“Then you’re going to have to learn to control yourself just a little or you shall need that towel. Your father might have the patience of a saint, but I have a feeling hearing half of the things we just did would inspire something dangerous in the man.” Though if he had to go, what a way to go.
Jay kissed the top of her head.
“There are ways to make my father acquiesce.” She giggled.
Or there is the privacy of one’s own home.
But he couldn’t say the words out loud. If he said the words, if his secret wish hit the air, everything would shatter.
Before he could think of a proper reply, her breathing had slowed. She was asleep, naked, in his arms. They were where they belonged, plot or no plot.
Amethysts. She’d like amethysts, especially large ones. The color was beautiful against her skin and hair.
If only, somehow, there was a way—before he could form a plan, he was lulled as well, inside the deepest sleep he’d experienced in months.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Unfortunately, Jay couldn’t sleep forever. Or more, Urs couldn’t. She’d promised to join Rachel and Lydia for one of Miss Gratz’s lessons and the three were out until supper, after which they retired to the upper parlor as a group. Their giggles floated down all evening.
Wonders never did cease. Urs was astounding. Who would’ve believed when they met that she’d listen—to him? Still, he missed her voice, her laugh, her presence all day.
If only he was in Urs’ bed, or she was in his, or there was some way he could be content for a moment once again. If he could just be, he could find a way, summon the courage he needed to make a plan, a real one.
Jay stared at the empty nook for yet another night. Ashes, ashes, and more ashes. If there hadn’t been a fire for months, why were there still so many ashes? Didn’t the servants ever clean it? The remainder of the house was immaculate. Why did he care?
He clenched his fists. Damn the summer for flying by so quickly. August and the end of the season loomed large. He sighed. He needed to sleep. He had to sleep.
Jay patted his pocket. The pipe was out of the question. Too many observant people in the house. The tablets though. Just one would give him relief.
He withdrew the pouch and slipped his fingers inside, grasping one. He stroked the chalky material. Just one. That was all. He could just take one.
No.
He couldn’t do that to Urs. She deserved so much better. He could be better. He could fight. He could win her, truly.
Can you? Do you really think so?
His cousins each spoke the questions, alternating in the back of his mind.
What can you possibly offer her?
Jay slapped his hands over his ears, but the voices wouldn’t cease.
Weak. You’re weak. I can’t trust you for one moment.
His father’s voice never left him alone. Any silence and it was there.
Sweat dripped down his brow, droplets falling in his lap. As soon as one dark circle disappeared into his robe another would take its place. He was doomed, hopeless.
A deep voice broke the silence. “A little late, isn’t it, Mr. Truitt.”
Blast.
He clenched his eyes shut, his throat burning. Why? He shoved the bag into his pocket, blood in his ears.
Still, he opened his mouth. If there was one thing he could do, no matter what, it was talk, address, make conversation.
“How was your evening, Mr. Levy?”
A rustling sounded and when Jay opened his eyes Urs’ uncle sat across from him, his legs crossed, staring, or more, glaring. He curled his lip at Jay, as if he were a mangy barn cat, a necessary evil for rodent prevention, but of little other value.
“Sleeping in a strange place can be difficult. How long have you been in my house though? Still not accustomed to the bedchamber yet? You have slept in there, correct?”
Jay said nothing. His jaw was too heavy to move.
Bernard Levy glowered and pushed his lower lip forward, his light gray eyes darkening under his knit brow. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone soon and won’t give it and anything or anyone here a second thought. How long will it take to forget her?”
Jay’s face was on fire. How dare he mock what he and Urs were?
“Frankly, sir, you know nothing about it or me.” He spit more than spoke the words. His tutors would deck him. Manners and charm were the one thing he’d always been able to do though now...he should be tossed out by his shirt collar.
Jay curled his toes. Let Levy try. He smirked at the man, imagining his fist in his face. House or not, elder or not, how dare he impugn—Urs’ uncle smirked back and rolled his eyes.
“I know plenty about you. I know the Hale family very well, or at least well enough. I know enough to determine how much it’s advisable to lend your cousins and whether they are a good investment.”
“And?” He matched Levy’s growl. The pretenses were gone.
“They’re prudent, careful, and have cornered a certain market. Effectiveness is unnecessary and the end users all need a constant supply. There will be a good, steady profit, unless something better is found. Though, I’ve heard that may not matter with opium, as once it’s used there’s no substitute. I’ve seen it with my own eyes—I travel to London, often—and of course there was my sister-in-law at the end of her life. A sound investment, in many ways.”
Jay’s mouth went dry. He knew. He truly knew. All the sins and secrets and there he was, reclining in an armchair, like a king, or rather a judge, ready to make a proclamation of the rightness of—what gave him the right? Jay swallowed. “You make it sound...”
Levy raised an eyebrow. He placed his elbows on the ar
mrests and leaned back further into his seat. The glow from the silk fabric illuminated his dressing gown, as if he wore judicial robes. All he needed was a wig.
“Like what it is? That your cousins sell disease not a cure?”
And there it was. The pronouncement. Disease. That was what he had, what he’d given himself by sampling his own wares. He was ill, sick and would never become well again because he was, as his father said, weak. Ruined, and he’d brought it on himself.
Jay’s throat filled, but he forced his mouth open. He swallowed and fought and grasped at the pieces of his mind that still functioned.
His manners. He needed his manners. His charm too, his armor, his protection. With them, he could be all right. With them he wasn’t sick, or at least he could pretend.
“Doctors prescribe what we sell.” The words were calm despite the catch in his throat.
Levy’s lips quirked in a half smile. “True, and far be it from me to criticize profiting from someone else’s need.”
The man knew exactly what he was doing, and he enjoyed it. He was loathsome. How could one person have so much hate?
Jay ground his jaw, gripping at his sensibilities. “The medication helps people. Something raised interest rates do not.”
Damn it all. Levy had him. He’d lost. He’d revealed himself as a pigeon-livered fool.
Both of Urs’ uncle’s eyebrows arched. He paused and drew his lips inside his mouth. He drummed his fingers, once, twice, three times, before addressing Jay.
“It does, as does the money we lend. However, a smaller portion of the population requires what the Hales sell. I profit from fuel, they profit from—well, that’s another matter.”
Levy closed his eyes and shifted in his chair.
Jay’s skin was in flames. He must have died from exhaustion and was now in Hell.
“I’d have not thought you so particular.” The words came out of their own accord as if he’d already changed into a demon.
Bernard’s smile broadened. “That I have no scruples? That I’m greedy, usurious?”
Jay’s palms itched, and his scalp. Perhaps he had fleas. Perhaps that was part of his torment. The room started to spin.
“That’s not what I said.” The man put words in his mouth. Tricky, obnoxious, smug—damn it. His father, with all his faults had never said things like that. Jay closed his eyes. He’d made such a mess. He could never, ever make anything right. “I certainly don’t think those things about your brother-in-law and your niece.”
“No, though part of that has to do with the access my niece has granted you and the fact my naïve brother-in-law has looked the other way, not out of anything more noble or should I say more charitable or less—no, Mr. Truitt, you aren’t really that much different than the Reeds or the Pierponts or the Middletons, are you?”
“I haven’t...” No, he was worse, much worse.
“You most certainly have, in my house. That’s disrespectful in itself, but to do that to someone without your protection is reprehensible.”
Stop it, stop it, stop it.
Why wouldn’t the man just let him be? Why did he have to needle and prickle and force his hand? Did he not know what every day, every damned day was like?
“You don’t even like her or your brother-in-law, your own family.” Jay clenched his fists so his nails bit into his palms. Ursula’s descriptions of her childhood stirred in his head. “You made that very clear over the years. You banished them to Delaware, snubbed your own blood, never showed her any affection, not a kind word. You don’t even use her name.”
Bernard was on his feet, his graying brown curls bobbing like a halo of righteousness. He shook a finger at Jay.
“I love my brother-in-law, my brother really, as much as my own life and my niece is his in every way.”
Levy paced for a moment, stalking his floors. The shuffling of his slippers, the only sound in the house, held the room in rapt attention. There was no doubt as to who was in command. Urs’ uncle filled the space, his space, his domain.
When he sat again, his eyes blazed, but he knit his fingers, the pose calm despite the power emanating from him, just waiting to be set free. His age was nothing. He could have felled Jay in a single punch, there was no doubt.
“My sister, my younger sister, Amalia, was a blonde as a child. Her hair didn’t darken until she was twelve.” Urs’ uncle’s voice shook.
What? Of all the topics of conversation? Jay reached into his pocket. The bag was still there as were all seven tablets.
“Judah and Amalia were born on the same day. The midwife ran back and forth between our houses. Our mothers had been acquainted before, but became dear friends afterwards. That’s how I met and married Miriam.” Bernard twitched his fingers.
Where was this going? A hardness grew in Jay’s stomach, as if a great stone sat, expanding, collecting debris. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He could only wait for the inevitable as Levy continued.
“Judah and Amalia though, that was a friendship to envy. They were inseparable. They shared secrets and almost their own language. When they were together, it was as if they were in their own world.”
A tear dripped from the older man’s eye.
He was going to be sick. He was going to vomit from the words alone.
“It was as if God had created them for each other, like Adam and Eve, that pure, that innocent, that right,” Urs’ uncle said.
Nothing good could come from the story and yet both he, the listener, and Bernard, the teller, were powerless to stop it.
“They made both our families better and we loved them for it, so very much.”
Levy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed over and over.
“Amalia became ill a week after they’d announced their engagement. She was only twenty when she died, younger than Ursula is now.” Bernard’s voice shook. “See, I can say my niece’s name.”
Droplets hit the older man’s collar, but he didn’t wipe them, didn’t even acknowledge what occurred.
Jay’s very soul twisted. He was an only child, but the pain, the gripping, grasping pain reaching through the words, through the years, snatched at his heart.
“Judah took to his bed for nearly a year afterwards. I had to work so hard to even force him to—that’s another story.”
Urs’ uncle waved away the ending with a hand, though his cheeks were ashen and stained.
Jay cleared his throat, searching, turning over every possible phrase of comfort until he could put something, anything reasonable forward.
“But he found love again.” Jay raised his head. The moment he said the words he regretted them.
Damn him, why was he so foolish? Ursula’s mother held Levy’s deceased sister’s place. Mentioning her rubbed salt in the man’s wounds.
Bernard’s mouth twisted and bitterness edged into his tone.
“That he did.” Levy folded his arm.
The room grew ten degrees colder. Everything was still. There was more though, something more.
“She’s his daughter, you know? If someone had gone to a tailor and ordered the female version of Judah, every single part of who he is—if anything were to happen to her, he would die. She’s the only thing he’s lived for, for a very long time.” Urs’ uncle sighed.
All thoughts of the past dissipated in the wake of the warning, the real warning. He was a monster and Levy would slay him if he had to, to protect his family, to stave off the hurt, the undeserved, tragic hurt.
The man tilted his chin, his eyes boring straight into Jay’s. “You’re right that I don’t care for you, Mr. Truitt. If I may be frank, being a gentile isn’t the half of it. You’re a selfish man, in very many ways. My family is blinded by a need to mend, to care for, because they each see their value in what they give, not what they are.”
He stood and moved
towards the entryway, past Jay, as if he no longer mattered. “Take the poison in your pocket, don’t take it, I don’t much care. Leave her out of it. Stay away from her and do so as quickly as possible so the damage you’ve wrought isn’t irreparable.”
Levy spread his palms at his sides, as if he was pushing down the air, the wind itself, preventing it from tearing apart his house. He turned to Jay. “Do you know how old I am?”
Jay started. Where did that question come from? He shivered again. Nothing made sense, everything was wrong. He had to be dying or already dead.
“Do you know my brother-in-law is only forty years old?” Bernard’s tone was clipped. “Only a decade older than you, I believe. You’re almost closer to his age than Ursula’s. Good night, Mr. Truitt.”
As the retreating steps reverberated through the house, Jay held his head in his hands. Forty years old? The man looked at least fifty-five, his own father’s age. Is that what caring for an ill spouse did to one’s body?
Would he do that to Urs? Would years of exposing her to his demons—demons he could never slay destroy her too? He’d been so sure the other day, he’d believed that perhaps, if he could work hard enough he could build something real. But was staying worse than leaving?
He pulled out the bag again. This time he withdrew a tablet and held it in the moonlight. Beautiful.
Yes. He needed it. If that made him weak it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered. His mind was done, tired, dead. He had to sleep. Sleep would make everything palatable.
It was too late for him. There were too many walls, so high he could never scale. He should have realized.
Jay closed his eyes and opened his mouth. That’s what he’d tell his parents. He’d deaden himself first, but he’d make them understand that he was beyond redemption.
No.
No. Not in the house. She’d know.
He shoved the pill back in the sack and stomped into the courtyard. He panted as he faced the bricks composing the outer wall.
With as much force as he had, he slammed his fist into the white mortar. He pounded the immovable barrier—as intractable and thick as the mess he’d made. Over and over he beat his target, his knuckles bloody and throbbing. Spent, Jay choked and coughed, but managed to stay upright as he staggered back into the house.
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