by Eloisa James
Maydrop offered three different desserts, each presented by a footman who advanced one step, at precisely the same time. At least not everything in her household had fallen to pieces. She nodded at the pear cake.
Across the table, James drawled, “I’ll have a piece of that as well.”
Maydrop paced around the table, followed by the footmen.
“I saw what Her Grace was offered,” James said impatiently. “There’s no need to come around here.” He pointed at the cake with his fork.
The air in Theo’s chest felt heated, as if she’d walked into a smithy. But she began eating her pear cake, trying to ignore the fact that James was still reading. And chuckling as he read, but without bothering to share what amused him so.
“This is absurd,” he finally said, raising his head. His eyes were brimming with laughter. “I’ve never seen this sort of paper before.” He held up a page. “They don’t name anyone except by an initial.”
“Gossip rags. I don’t have twaddle of that nature delivered to this house,” Theo said. “Where on earth did you get it?”
“Maydrop sent a footman out for all the papers,” James replied, turning back to his newspaper. “I wanted to see how my entry into Lords was described. Vulgar curiosity, I admit.”
“And?” She took a last bite of pear cake, which was truly delicious.
“Her Grace will try the blackberry tart,” James said, pointing his fork at the appropriate footman.
“I make such decisions for myself!” Theo flashed. She made it a practice not to overindulge in sweets. But the footman had already placed a slice of the tart in front of her. It smelled wonderful and she took a bite despite herself.
“Most of these descriptions are surprisingly unimaginative and simply paint me as a savage,” James said, a hint of complaint in his voice. “Town Twaddle is the best of the bunch; at least they put a little effort into it.”
Theo was definitely feeling better. “Brute? Monster?”
“Neptune himself!” James said triumphantly. “Wait a moment.” He rummaged in a stack of newsprint he had apparently dropped on the floor beside his chair.
Theo closed her eyes for a second. Of course she couldn’t order Maydrop to clean up that mess immediately. A piece of loose newsprint drifted onto her foot and she kicked it away.
“ ‘He appeared from the sea like an ancient god,’ ” James read aloud, “ ‘his shoulders broad enough to carry the woes of a kingdom.’ ”
Theo snorted.
“What? You don’t want to hear the part about how I tamed the waves?” James tossed the sheet across to her. It settled on top of the plate sticky with blackberry tart.
She automatically looked down and read the description of James. “You brought home a treasure trove?”
“Well, that’s true enough,” James said. “I had Maydrop stow it in the attics until you wanted to take a look.”
Theo’s eyes had moved automatically to the paragraph beneath, the one that described a “baffled world” waiting to see whether a certain duke would realize his wife was no more than Aesop’s jay decked in borrowed plumes. They predicted he would choose to retreat, like Orpheus, to the land of the dead.
She didn’t hear James move, but the paper disappeared from before her. With a curse she’d never heard before, he tore the pages to shreds and tossed them aside.
Theo looked up. “It’s not that bad,” she said, managing to smile. “I’ve got quite used to being compared to fowl of one variety or another.”
James growled. He sounded for all the world like a crazed beast merely pretending to be a man. Scraps of newsprint were sticking to the butter, and a piece had fallen into her water glass.
“Maydrop,” she said, “if you would summon the carriage, I shall be departing in the next hour or so.”
A look of agony crossed the butler’s face. “Your Grace, I would judge that to be impossible.”
“I disagree,” she said, her voice welcoming no further assessments.
The butler actually wrung his hands, a gesture Theo had never seen him do before. “The house is under siege, Your Grace!”
A voice at her side said, “Maydrop, I will convince the duchess.” The butler and his footmen withdrew without another word as James drew her to her feet. Theo’s head whirled. How dare he order her servants about? Except they weren’t her servants; they were his.
“Come here.” James pulled her over to the window and set the curtain aside with one finger. “Look.”
Not only were people crowding the pavement, but they were thronging the street as well—and more looked to be arriving every moment. “Impossible!” Theo gasped.
“It’s the same in the back. We cannot leave the house until this dies down, Daisy.”
Theo considered snarling at him for not using her chosen name, but she managed to stop herself. She couldn’t relinquish all civility simply because a foolish journalist had compared her to a jay. Jay, duckling, swan . . . no difference.
For a moment they merely stood there, James’s body warm behind hers as they peeked through the curtain at the crowd excitedly milling about.
“I just don’t see what’s so interesting about our situation,” she stated, watching as a group of young boys rounded the corner and joined the throng.
“Let’s give the scribblers something to write about,” James said.
Before she could answer, he jerked open the curtain, pulled her into his arms, and slammed his mouth down onto hers. Dimly, she heard a rising storm of voices, but she wasn’t listening.
She had missed kissing. Not the bedding, but kissing.
He was hot and possessive and—
Protective. She jerked her head away. Pushing against him was like trying to move a block of marble. “I don’t need you to defend me,” she hissed.
James glanced at the window. Out in the street, people were jumping up and down, trying to see better. He raised his hand and waved at them.
“Oh God,” Theo groaned.
Then he raised her chin with one hand and dropped another kiss on her lips, while with the other he jerked the curtains closed.
They stared at each other for a moment. The urbane sophistication of last night? Peeled away. That was lust starkly written on his face.
Pure, shameless lust.
A wave of panic hit Theo, and she stepped back.
“Daisy,” James said sharply. “Daisy, you’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth. Of course she wasn’t afraid of him.
She was afraid of herself.
So she ran for the safety of her bedchamber.
Twenty-eight
For years, Theo’s life had been beautifully organized. She knew each book on her bookshelves, each ribbon in her drawer, each gown in her wardrobe. She surrounded herself with beauty. Not one of her possessions was less than exquisite.
James used to have that glowing perfection.
But now—notwithstanding his extraordinary costume the night before—he was more brutal than beautiful. All his edgy energy was still there, but the excess had been converted into physical power. There was no question in her mind but that he would want to resume the undisciplined erotic relations they had briefly shared.
She would never do that with him again. Never.
Still, other than royalty, there was no more powerful man in England than a duke. If James wanted to keep her, he would keep her. And he would make sure she was in his bed.
Her heart started beating in her throat again in a desperate rhythm, and she suddenly felt as if the room was as hot as the inside of an oven. James would probably walk straight into her chamber this very night and demand his marital rights. The way he had walked into the bathing room.
He had the right. He had the right under English law.
She stood up jerkily and pulled her morning gown over her head, followed by her chemise. She’d wear sackcloth to dinner. She crawled into bed wearing no more than her drawers, curling
into a ball as small and tight as she could.
Perhaps if she napped, she would wake to find that this day had never happened. Perhaps she was in a fever dream.
After all, the fairy story was supposed to end when the Ugly Duckling became a swan. Everyone knew that swans got everything they wanted. Beautiful people always did.
She fell asleep thinking about beauty and dreamed that she was circling a ballroom on the arm of a man who was, quite literally, radiant. She squinted, trying to see whether his skin was actually incandescent.
“Yes,” he said to her, his voice gentle. “I am one of the blessed.”
The old, familiar sense of being a lesser being descended on her like a blanket. It didn’t matter how she dressed, she would never be able to glow, for goodness’ sake.
He whirled her faster and faster . . . and she woke with a tear sliding down her cheek. Theo had never been good at lying to herself. She didn’t feel like a swan. She felt like one of those china shepherdesses that the old duke prized at such a low rate.
She felt like an empty vase, a useless woman whose husband ignored her existence for seven years. The kind of woman stupid enough to marry a man who had inherited a capacity for criminality.
The first tear was followed by another, and another.
She was just getting control of the heaving sobs when she heard the door to the room open. “Amélie,” she called, her voice scratchy. “Bring me a handkerchief, if you would.”
There was no use trying to hide a fit of sobbing from one’s maid. Amélie knew everything about Theo’s life, and she always would.
So she remained curled up, as tight as a dormouse, and when she heard footsteps, she held out her hand. Sure enough, a soft handkerchief was pushed into her waiting fingers.
“I find myself rather demoralized,” she said, wiping up a last tear. She’d cried so hard that her hair was wet under her cheek. Her eyes and throat burned. “Would you be so kind as to have a pot of tea sent up, please?”
But instead of Amélie’s soft footsteps stealing away, the bed swayed as someone sat down beside her. Someone who weighed a good nine or ten stone more than Amélie.
“Oh bollocks,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
“Is that your strongest oath?” James asked curiously.
“I have a better one,” she said between gritted teeth. “I’m reserving it for direct address. Would you please go away?”
There was a moment of silence, almost as if he was pretending to think about her request. “No.”
She should sit up, confront him. But she was too miserable, too beaten down, too sorry for herself, if the truth be told. So she pulled the sheet higher around her ears and shut her eyes a little tighter.
“Did I tell you what pirates do after a hard day’s work?”
“Other than walk spare personnel down the plank?” she snapped.
“After that,” he said, agreeably enough. “A pirate captain can’t afford to lower his guard. So Griffin and I never joined the crew’s celebrations.”
Theo was trying to breathe quietly, but a shuddering hiccup surprised her.
“I wash in hot water. Then I wrap myself in a blanket and go to sleep.” He stood up, and his footsteps receded into the bathing room. A moment later she heard the squeak of the pump, and the rush of water into the bathtub. Grief and exhaustion seemed to have slowed her thoughts to treacle.
She even fell back asleep for a moment or two, listening to the rush of water. But she woke the moment she felt herself being plucked from the bed. She held onto the sheet as tightly as she could—which meant it came with her. “Stop,” she said, clearing her throat when her voice emerged in a thread of a whisper. “Put me down!”
“In a moment.”
From her position in James’s arms, she could clearly see the scar that traversed his neck. It made her feel quite odd. She rather hoped that he had managed to kill the pirate who had done that to him.
But then he set her on her feet and towered over her, huge and male. Air played over her skin—and she was suddenly aware that her sheet had disappeared, leaving her naked but for her drawers.
The sound that emerged from her throat was like the screech of the peacocks that strolled the grounds of Buckingham Palace. “What in the devil do you think you’re doing?”
She reached out and snatched the sheet back before James could reply. He lost his balance and toppled against the wall. “Get out of here!” she cried, her voice breaking. “What are you doing here? Where is my maid? Why can’t you simply leave me alone?”
“I came instead of your maid,” he said, righting himself.
“Leave!” Theo flashed, feeling better now that she had covered herself again. Her eyes burned and were swollen, and her voice was jagged. Her entire body ached with a terrible, withering exhaustion that she hadn’t felt since her mother died.
She took a deep breath. “I must ask that you give me some privacy. I realize that you are likely not used to such on board ship, but I need to be alone.”
In his eyes she thought she saw the dim shadow of the old James, her childhood companion. “You should get in the bath,” he said. “You’ll feel better. I can tell you’ve been crying.”
“Brilliant deduction,” she said flatly. “When I take baths, I take them alone. Good-bye.”
“Why are your drawers so plain?”
“What?”
“Your drawers. I remember them as confections of French lace, ribbons, and silk. I spent a good deal of time thinking about them on board ship.”
She frowned. “My drawers are plain because I put away childish things.”
“I liked them.”
“So much you didn’t want me to wear them!” The sentence hurtled out of her mouth without conscious volition.
“That was just erotic play,” he said, shrugging.
“Those garments were frivolous,” she said, rather coldly. And they reminded her too much of that dreadful afternoon: since then, she had never worn anything next to her skin but unadorned, austere linen.
His hand twitched and she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think of snatching my sheet again or I’ll put a knee where it will hurt most.”
There was something in his face . . . he looked sorry for her. Or was it pity? Theo swallowed. That was the topping to a truly wonderful day. “Could you please leave the bathing chamber? If not from common courtesy, then simply because you respected me once? Please?”
His eyes were shuttered, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But rather than leaving the room, he sat down on the maid’s stool in the corner. “No,” he said.
“Then I will leave,” Theo said, turning. “Thank you for pumping the water for my bath.”
He sprang up and caught her wrist before she could take more than a step.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. Then her eyes flew to his. “You—you didn’t ever force women, did you, James? Not that?” Despite herself, tears sprang to her eyes again.
A low growl erupted from his chest. “How can you say that to me?”
“Because you’re a pirate. Because you—you . . .” Her voice choked at the look in his eyes. It wasn’t angry as much as hurt.
“Are you afraid that I would do such a thing to you?” His voice was raw, with a dark edge.
Theo swallowed. His eyes had taken on the bruised blue of the sky before a storm. “Of course not.” She didn’t succeed in making the statement quite convincing. The worst of it was that she wasn’t entirely certain that she would resist.
“I have never forced a woman,” he said, his growl a sudden reminder of his voice’s pure beauty. Before.
“But you have killed people,” she said, biting her lip.
“Only when I had to. And never an innocent: under my command the Poppy Two attacked only pirate ships flying the skull and crossbones, as did the Flying Poppy from the moment Griffin and I joined forces.”
“No walking the plank?” she asked, despising the pathetic note of ho
pefulness in her voice.
“No.” His eyes held steady on hers, and although so much had changed about him—his very body was different, and his voice was gone, and his face had matured—his eyes were the same. Prideful and honest.
Honest?
Another wave of exhaustion hit her. James wasn’t honest. He had tricked her into marriage, lied during his vows in front of God and man. She turned on suddenly unsteady legs and collapsed on the stool he had just deserted.
Then she made sure the sheet was decently covering her, folded her hands in her lap, and looked down at her toes. “This will not work,” she told him. “Ever.”
“Why not?” He sounded reassuringly calm.
“I’ve changed. I’m not easy anymore. I prefer my life to have order in it. I prefer to be respected and honored in my own household.” She waved her hand in the steamy air. “Let’s be honest with each other, shall we? I loved you once. I believe you loved me too, although you didn’t feel it strongly enough to thwart your father. Still, before your father forced the issue, I had no idea that I loved you—at least, not in that way.”
The memory of their intimacies presented itself, and she flinched.
“What?” he asked, instantly.
“In retrospect, there were some very disturbing aspects to our relationship, in particular to our marital relations,” she said, adding: “I was quite angry at you, but I gave that up several years ago.”
“Until I made you angry again by appearing at the House of Lords.”
She looked back at her feet. “I do not offer this as an excuse, but it was difficult being known as a woman so ugly that her husband could not tolerate living in the same country with her. I am perhaps overly sensitive to slights as a result.”
“You didn’t reveal the truth about why I left because any explanation would implicate my father and his financial dealings,” James said slowly. He sat down on the edge of the ceramic bathtub.