by Eloisa James
He didn’t want her to speak more of those words that caged her as surely as iron bars, so he bent his head to her lips. They were lush and sweet as he remembered—and he did remember, even all these years later. He had never forgotten their first kiss.
He almost lost his head, but he caught himself. He had to make her comfortable with him, in essence, to act like the castrated male she thought she wanted. Griffin would think it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard of. But Griffin wasn’t a woman who had experienced precisely two days of married life, seven years ago.
Griffin wasn’t his adorable, controlled, rigid Daisy.
She pushed him away, and he stepped back instantly, remembering to smile.
Twenty-nine
“There’s something I must tell you that you don’t understand,” James said.
His expression made Theo fidget. She wound her sheet more tightly around her breasts. “What I don’t understand is why Amélie, my maid, hasn’t appeared. I rang for her long ago.”
“I told her to go home; it’s her mother’s birthday.”
“But—” she said, and stopped. She hadn’t known it was Amélie’s mother’s birthday, but if it had truly mattered, Amélie would have asked for the day off. Theo prided herself on never being unreasonable to any staff request stemming from personal life.
“I suspect she didn’t want to upset your routine.”
“There would be no upset,” she explained. “When Amélie takes her half-day, Mary helps me. She’s very well trained.”
“I sent Mary home as well.”
Theo frowned at him. “One of them is always with me. My gowns are not like gentlemen’s clothing. I generally don’t bother with corsets, but if I had worn one under my morning gown, I would still be in it now.”
“You have no need for a corset,” James remarked, his gaze frankly admiring.
“Yes, well,” she told him. “I can’t expect you to understand. I’ll just have to fetch one of the other maids.”
He shook his head.
“You didn’t!” She dropped back onto the stool.
“I thought it was a perfect moment to give the staff a treat. I want them to like me, you see. And it’s very unpleasant for them being in a house under siege.”
“They will always like you as long as you continue to pay their wages. You didn’t let them all go home, did you?”
“Everyone except for Maydrop and his footmen, who are guarding the house.”
“Are you mad? Who will bring us food? Who will . . .” She looked around wildly.
He smiled at her. “Maydrop had the staff leave in several carriages, confusing the gossipmongers.”
“How will we dress for calls tomorrow morning?” she demanded. “You cannot think that I will traipse down to the drawing room in a state of disarray?”
“Any visits we receive would be from people thirsting for a close look at my tattoo. I’m not receiving callers, and neither are you. In fact, I had Maydrop remove the knocker. I’m hoping that between the confusion caused by the staff leaving in different carriages and the missing knocker, the hordes of hacks will come to the conclusion that we managed to give them the slip and flee to the country.”
She had forgotten how avid the ton would be to get a close look at the pirate duke. Strangely enough, he looked more and more like the old James to her all the time.
“Well, perhaps it is better that we remain here,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. The next day or so would be a trial, but it was better than playing host to inquisitive crowds. “You were right,” she said, giving credit where it was due. “It would have been a dreadful crush once people began to pay calls.”
“Yes.” He was lounging against the wall in a way no gentleman would, looking slightly amused by the whole situation.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Theo said, changing the subject, “I would like some privacy to take a bath.”
“As we are virtually alone in the house,” he responded, “I wanted to clarify one mistake that you’re making. You believe that I am the same young man whom you made love to seven years ago, with the same needs and desires as I had then.”
She started to speak, and he held up his hand. “Back in ’09, we made love because we were in love.”
Theo nodded. All this steam was dampening her hair and causing strands to fall over her eyes. She remembered how much he had loved her curls, and quickly sleeked it back from her forehead.
“In the interim, you have changed,” James said.
“Obviously,” she said, pushing away the image of herself hanging over him like a streetwalker, teasing him with her hair. She must have been out of her mind.
“What I’ve been trying to tell you is that you have not allowed for the possibility that I have changed as well. I assure you that I have. I’m no longer a young lad.”
“You are not yet thirty.”
“With age came control.” His smile was a bit smug, though she didn’t think it would be polite to point that out. “I was angry several times today, but I did not lose my temper.”
“I noticed that; it’s a remarkable achievement, given your family background,” she offered.
“For every good, there is a darker side.” He sighed. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he was being melodramatic. Yet James didn’t have a melodramatic bone in his body.
Her bottom had begun to ache from the stool’s hard little seat, and she stood up. Amélie often sat there sewing while waiting for Theo to finish her baths. The stool would be much more comfortable with a padded seat. She made a mental note.
“We’ll practically live like savages in the next few days,” she said, changing the subject, “but new experiences are always worthy of note.”
James gave a bark of laughter, and before she could stop him, he walked across the room, put a hand under her knees, and scooped her up against his chest again.
“You really must stop this!” she cried. But he was pushing open the door to her bedchamber with his foot. It was very peculiar, being in his arms. She hadn’t really noticed before, but his forearms were corded with muscles. Or perhaps she had noticed.
“Daisy,” he said, his voice managing to be severe and amused at once. “Do you truly think that we will live like savages, given the splendor of your bedchamber, not to mention the rest of this house?”
Of course the room was very luxuriously appointed. The Venetian silk drapery was a particularly elegant touch. “We have no servants,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “Life without servants is terribly uncomfortable. Will you please put me down, James?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I like holding you.” Then he did the oddest thing: he bent his head and dropped a kiss on her nose.
It was as soft as the touch of a butterfly and just as fleeting. And yet somehow it jolted down her entire body.
She saw two of him for a moment: the sleek, young husband of seven years ago, and the huge pirate of now.
Any moment he would probably get that hungry look in his eyes. She began to struggle in earnest. “Put me down!”
He did.
“Here’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said very rapidly, before she could speak. “I’m not as young as I was, Daisy. I don’t have that same sort of uncontrollable desire anymore. Yes, I would like to make love to my wife. I want to have children. But do you want to know precisely how many women Jack Hawk made love to?”
She scowled at him. “No.”
“Three,” he said. “Three. And there were many months, as many as eight, between the days when I saw one of my mistresses. That’s what they were: not lovers, but mistresses. In the last year, I slept with no one. In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s been about sixteen months. Griffin and I went to China, and then we were on our way to India when we were attacked. It took months to recover from the wound to my throat.”
Theo glanced at his scar and shuddered.
“Did you hear what I said, Daisy?”
“
You are not the womanizer that the Bow Street Runner described,” she said obediently.
“Along with control of anger comes control of desire. You cannot do one without the other.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “All I can say is that I don’t have any particular wish for the sort of fervent encounters that we shared when first married. I certainly do not want to make love in the drawing room, or indeed, anywhere other than in complete privacy, under the covers of a comfortable bed.”
“I don’t care to make love at all,” she said, squinting at him in an effort to see whether he appeared truthful.
“As I said, I want to have children. And I want you by my side, Daisy. I am completely in control of my appetites, and in case you’re wondering, I will not be unfaithful to you ever again. I will never take a mistress.”
Despite herself, a little flare of hope lit in Theo’s heart. It would be so nice to have James back if she didn’t have to worry about those bedroom activities.
But she didn’t quite believe him. “I’m certain that I saw something in your face earlier.”
“When?” His voice sounded sleepy, tranquil, and he seemed utterly relaxed.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe what he really meant was that he preferred the lush rounded bodies of those mistresses of his. He would have control around her because he was used to such beautiful women.
She bit her lip.
“I can prove it to you,” he said.
“You can?”
“Take your bath, and I will act as your maid.”
“No!”
“Why not? You know that I would never force you to do anything, Theo. You must know that.” His eyes caught hers. “I may have married you under false pretenses, but I never said anything to you that I didn’t mean. When we made love, I told you everything I was thinking.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“I sang to you.”
Theo broke into a crack of laughter. The horror in his voice was so James. If he truly didn’t want to rekindle all that erotic nonsense, then she would quite like to be married to him, tattoo and all.
“Will you grow your hair again?”
He frowned. “If you wish. But no singing. I can’t sing anymore.”
“I can hear that.” It made her sad, but he was grinning, so she was the only one who cared.
“I would like your children,” he repeated, and again she could see the honesty in his eyes. “Even though you’ve become as rigid as a picket fence, you’re still my closest friend and the person I admire most in the world. And who knows? Maybe you will learn to relax.”
“No, I won’t,” she said. “You’ll understand if you live with me for a while. I take the time to think out the best way to do things, because that way, I needn’t think about that specific problem ever again.”
He shrugged again. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pulled off his coat.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Naked, you can tell whether I’m telling the truth or not,” he said, sounding reasonable, but insane.
“You can’t simply take your clothes off . . . oh my God. Is that another scar?” She took a step toward him. This one ran from his right shoulder over his stomach. It was white and taut against skin that was the color of dark honey.
“Bayonet,” James said cheerfully. He bent over to remove his boots, and suddenly she was presented with a swell of shoulder leading down to a powerful male back. He was beautiful. That is, he was still beautiful. His body was like a powerful machine. Muscles moved smoothly under his skin in a way that made her fingers itch to touch him.
“There’s another one!” she gasped, seeing a white slash halfway around his waist.
“Saber slash,” James said, tossing off his second boot, followed by his stockings. “The souvenir of a foolish Frenchman who fancied he was fighting a duel. I shot him.”
“How many times did you nearly die?” Theo asked, hearing the faintness in her own voice.
“Only the once,” he said cheerfully. He put his hands on his breeches.
“Wait!” she said, but somehow her voice came out breathy rather than decisive, and he pulled down his breeches and smalls without hesitation.
And there he was. He was bigger—all over. Surely he wasn’t that big seven years ago. No.
She pulled her gaze away. “I thought you were in control of your lust,” she said accusingly. The very sight of him had her on her toes, ready to bolt to the other room. There was a key in the library door. There—
But his gaze was still tranquil, impassive. “I am.”
“Then why?” She nodded sharply toward his groin.
“Oh this?” He gave himself a careless pat. “Don’t you remember this?”
“I do. And it should be . . . it should be down.”
“Down?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you remember me ever being down?”
Theo scowled at him. “Perhaps not. But I’m sure that it’s supposed to be down.”
“Not mine,” he said, giving himself another pat. “I’m up all the time.” He had already turned away from her and was walking back toward the bathing chamber.
She stared after him, utterly nonplussed. His buttocks were the same honey brown as his arms. How was that possible? She remembered distinctly that his bottom had been pearly white. Now it was more defined, and a different color. As if he’d been in the sun without clothing. Curiosity drove her after him.
James was pumping hot water into the bathtub for the third time and testing the temperature with his finger. “How did you say that you like the water?”
“Not too warm,” she said cautiously. Really, his body was so strange. Any one of those wounds could have killed him if he’d caught an infection.
“Were your wounds ever infected?” she asked.
“A couple,” he said, not turning around. A chill crept down her back. She knew infection. She lost one of her scullery maids when the girl cut her finger. One of the ceramics workers died after accidentally burning himself.
“You could have died,” she stated. And then, because she needed to get his attention and make him understand, she walked over to stand beside him. She was a tall woman, but next to James, she felt small. Almost delicate, which was a joke because no one could ever call her delicate.
He straightened up and smiled down at her. Smiling made the poppy under his eye shift slightly, as if it were a real flower stirred by a light breeze. “I suppose I could have, but I didn’t. I seem to have the constitution of an ox. How’s the water?”
She leaned over and put in a finger. It was perfect.
“May I take your sheet, Your Grace?”
She looked again, suspiciously, at his tool. It was straight upright, the way it always was, if he was to be believed. And when she looked back into his face, he gazed back at her limpidly, with an expression that seemed almost bored.
“All right,” she muttered.
Everyone knew that men were compulsively lustful. A man couldn’t avoid a surge of desire if he merely glimpsed a woman’s breasts.
Though perhaps if the woman’s breasts were very small . . . if the woman was lean and had no curves . . .
Theo sighed and dropped her sheet. She refused to be humiliated by her own appearance anymore. She had learned that if she pretended to be a swan, she could fool the majority.
Though perhaps not without clothing.
Without further ado, she removed her drawers, stepped into the bathtub, and sat herself down. Before she asked, a huge male hand held out a bar of soap.
It was the vervaine that she used in every bath, and she took it. But just as she was about to start soaping, he took it away again.
Startled, Theo looked up. James was much closer to her than she had thought, kneeling beside the bathtub. “You needn’t,” she began.
But he said, “How else will you see how calm and unaffected I am? There’s no reason to be afraid of me, Daisy. I’m in perfect control.”
Theo swallowed. It didn’t feel like the best thing in the world to learn how very unaffected her husband was by the sight, not to mention the shape, of her body. But that was life, wasn’t it?
At least she wouldn’t have to do those freakishly odd things he had asked of her back when he was attracted to her. Back before he met dusky island maidens with curves like one of Titian’s women.
“All right,” she said. She stole another glance between his legs. Goodness, his tool was large. And red. It looked painful to her, so rigid that it seemed like to burst. But presumably that was just the way it was for a man.
She automatically held out her arm, because Amélie bathed her upper body (though not her breasts, of course), and then, while Amélie washed her hair, Theo washed her lower parts herself.
James was quite methodical while washing her arms. It felt good to be touched. Since her mother died, no one had touched her for any reason, except Amélie.
After all, she was a countess. People didn’t hug a countess, or do more than touch her gloved hand in the briefest of kisses. She missed . . .
Well, she missed simple touches.
So she let her head fall forward and didn’t talk, just enjoyed a touch that seemed so undemanding and yet so pleasurable. It was all right to enjoy James’s touch, whereas it was pathetic to be comforted by Amélie’s. She paid Amélie.
He soaped up one arm and across her shoulders. “Compared to yours, my back is terribly skinny,” she said, feeling a little awkward. “You have so much muscle there.”
“I suppose.”
“Does your throat hurt, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“It sounded so rough just now. As if it hurt. So I’m glad it doesn’t,” she added quickly.
His hands were so large that they spanned her entire back, and his soapy fingers made her feel exquisitely sensitive, as if every touch left a little kiss in its wake. She never felt this with Amélie, thank goodness.
She bent forward slightly, hunching so that he wouldn’t realize that her nipples were hard. He truly wasn’t affected by her nakedness; he was breathing just as regularly as he was before.