A flicker of pain crossed Lady Arabella’s face. “For that reason, Dr. Pycroft, Alexandra is by far the luckier of the two of us,” she said, descending into a whisper and more tears at the end.
Marshall let the poor woman have the peace she needed. He left the room, heading straight downstairs to remove his physician’s coat and to let Mrs. Garforth know he was leaving.
“Finally,” the old matron sighed in relief, shooing him out the door.
Marshall’s steps were faster than usual as he hurried homeward, mostly out of pure agitation. Any man who abused his wife wasn’t worthy to be called a man, as far as he was concerned, but he had a feeling George Fretwell was worse than most.
“Papa, you’re back.” Martha leapt up from the sofa in the front room as soon as Marshall was through the door, leaving a party of dolls behind her.
It was next to impossible for Marshall to cling to the anger his examination of Lady Arabella had left him with in the face of such a greeting. He’d longed to come home to his girls for months, and now he had. Even if he had wanted to bring the issue up with Alex right then, he wouldn’t have been able to.
“Mary is teaching me the proper way to cook a roast,” Alex informed him, somewhat sheepishly, when he walked into the kitchen, Martha in his arms, hugging his neck as though she were making up for lost time.
Alex and Mary stood side-by-side at the stove, and though there was still a bit of formality between them, he was so happy to see the two getting along that it pushed all thoughts of misery straight out of his mind.
It wasn’t until later that night, after the best meal Marshall had had in months, after the children had all blissfully crawled into their own beds and fallen fast asleep, when Marshall and Alex were finally alone in their own room, that everything he’d set aside for the day came rushing at him. In an odd reflection of their wedding night, they both stood silently in their bedroom, staring at the bed and avoiding each other’s eyes.
He was a cad for even thinking it, especially after his encounter with Lady Arabella, but all Marshall wanted to do was break through the barrier between him and Alex, tumble into bed with her, and make love with all the bottled passion he’d kept in check for too long. He ached to hold Alex and kiss her, to learn all the ways her body had changed since they’d been parted, and to bury himself inside of her until she throbbed with orgasm and he burst. But all he could do was stand there like a dolt.
At last, Alex cleared her throat and moved toward the wardrobe. “We should go to bed,” she said, unbuttoning her sweater. “No doubt tomorrow will be a long and busy day at the hospital. Now that you’re back, we can schedule a few needed surgeries.”
“Quite,” he said, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes. “There is one, important matter you should know about concerning the hospital.”
“Oh?” Alex glanced over her shoulder with professional concern as she hung her sweater and reached behind her to unclasp her skirt.
Professionalism. He could focus on that. “Lady Arabella was waiting in one of the private rooms this afternoon,” he said. Cool. Detached. A doctor discussing a patient with a fellow doctor. It was a lie, but he needed it to keep calm.
“What did she want?” Alex asked, her tone slightly haughty.
Marshall didn’t mince words. “Fretwell is abusing her,” he said, tossing his shoes aside and standing to remove the rest of his clothes.
Alex’s stiff demeanor shifted to shock as she stepped out of her skirt and turned to him. “How do you know?”
“She showed me some of her bruises,” he went on, undressing as he did. “And I saw symptoms that there may be abuse of a more delicate kind.”
“Oh, no.” Alex turned away from him, her face coloring. She set aside her skirt and petticoat and removed her blouse. “She didn’t look well at the tea party,” she said in a hushed voice.
“I’ve been told about this tea party of yours,” Marshall said. Someone had already unpacked his things and put them away. He walked around the bed to the wardrobe, where Alex stood, and took his nightshirt down from its hook inside the door. It was ridiculous, but he waited until after he’d put it on to remove his underclothes.
“It was supposed to be a fund-raising event for the hospital,” Alex said, eyeing him over her shoulder.
Marshall held his breath as he peeled back the bedcovers and slid between the sheets. There was interest in her eyes, he was certain of it. He didn’t want to look overly eager, though, especially considering what they were discussing. He pretended to be interested in plumping the pillows and turning down the lantern.
“I hear it didn’t go to plan,” he said without looking at her.
“Did you hear that I vomited on Lady Ramsey?” Alex asked in a thin voice.
“Yes.” He had the sudden urge to laugh, but he reined it in. “She probably deserved it.”
Alex let out a breath. “It was awful,” she said, her words far freer than they’d sounded moments before. “I was so embarrassed. Not just because I was sick, but because I overheard so many of the ladies saying such horrible things about me.”
“No,” Marshall exclaimed, twisting to face her. He caught her just as she drew her chemise over her head, exposing breasts that were fuller than he remembered them with larger nipples. Blood instantly rushed to his cock, and he blazed with need. Lord help him if she climbed into bed, nestled too close, and was offended.
He glanced away as soon as she turned her head enough to meet his eyes. “You should probably know that the gossip currently making the rounds is that, due to the lustful nature of your low-born, orphan upbringing, you set upon me as soon as I had a moment of weakness and impregnated me, with my full, willing participation, before the wedding was even a thought.”
Marshall cringed, half over the viciousness of the gossip and half because his low-born, lustful nature had him wanting to spread her under him and impregnate her all over again. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Alex donned her nightgown and, like him, slipped her drawers off once her body was already covered. “So am I,” she sighed as she climbed into bed with him. She kept well to her side of the mattress and he stayed far over on his side, a gulf of cool sheets between them. “I’m horrified by your visit with Lady Arabella, though,” she went on with genuine regret, lowering her eyes.
The change of subject to something so pitiful and wrong should have doused Marshall’s ardor. It didn’t. He was in bed with his wife after weeks apart, and unlike the painful month and a half that had preceded his trip to London, she was actually talking to him. He was getting harder by the second.
“I told her to come back to the hospital tomorrow so that she could speak to you,” he said, adjusting his hips so that he was comfortable without being obvious.
“Me?” Alex blinked. “Why would she want to see me?”
“She came there to talk with you to begin with,” he said.
“But she doesn’t like me.” Alex paused. “At least, I didn’t think she did.”
“She most definitely wanted to see you. I think it would be better for everyone if you spoke candidly with her, helped her to find ways to get away from that….” He couldn’t find a word harsh enough to describe what he thought of Fretwell.
“I’ll do what I can,” Alex sighed, sinking onto her back and looking straight up. “Not much can be done in cases of spousal abuse, though. Women have very little recourse, even these days.”
“She said that you were the lucky one,” Marshall blurted against his better judgment.
Alex turned her face to him, but took a painfully long time before saying, “I suppose I am.”
Marshall held his breath. His heart pounded against his ribs. Hope was a powerful aphrodisiac.
“You would never hurt me,” Alex went on.
“Never,” he said, meaning it with his whole heart. “And I would never be false with you.”
“I know,” she said. She fell silent, but after several, long sec
onds, she reached for his hand.
Marshall took it, trying to work up the courage to pull her into his arms so she could feel how much he still desired her.
To his surprise, she laughed. “Do you know what I overheard at that wretched tea party?”
“What?” He inched closer to her.
She giggled and shook her head. “There was a lady, an older lady who should have known better, who was absolutely certain that twins are conceived by particularly rigorous love-making when one is already pregnant.”
“That’s ludicrous,” Marshall laughed along with her.
“I know.” Alex’s giggles brought her closer to him. “There are times when I simply cannot believe the ignorance of the so-called finer classes.”
“It almost rivals the ignorance of low-born orphans like me.”
Alex laughed harder, squeezing his hand as their fingers threaded together. “If I hadn’t been so queasy, I might have changed my speech from one to raise funds for the hospital to an edifying lecture on the reproductive realities most women are never told.”
“Can you imagine the looks on their faces if you had told them all that?” Marshall chuckled at the thought.
“Lady Ramsey would have vomited on herself instead of needing me to do the job for her.”
As soon as the words were out of Alex’s mouth, she laughed harder, clapping a hand to her mouth to hold her mirth in. Marshall couldn’t hold back any longer. It had been so long since the two of them had been on good terms, since the trials and tribulations of their lives had been swept aside by simple camaraderie and desire. He missed the connection of friendship between the two of them almost as much as he had missed his girls when they’d been stolen. He couldn’t stand to keep his distance from Alex for a moment longer.
In one, strong movement, he pulled her close and rolled between her legs. Their nightclothes were still between them, but his erection pressed against her hips, and she could have no doubt what he intended. She gasped, her eyes going wide and her arms circling his back.
“Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll leave you to take care of this somewhere else,” he said, one hand reaching for the hem of her nightgown. “But it’s been too bloody long for us. It’s been agony not to be with you. I can hardly breathe for wanting you. And I want twins, dammit.”
The startled, aroused look on her face burst into a laugh. Better still, she wriggled beneath him, hiking up her nightgown and tugging at his. “I don’t care what people think of me,” she panted. “I’ll probably care tomorrow. I’ll probably be mortified. But right now, I just want your cock—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish, although he would have loved to hear what kind of dirty talk she had picked up in his absence. He brought his mouth crashing down over hers as he fumbled to bring their lower halves together. He wanted to rip off his nightshirt and her gown entirely so that their bodies could slide together. He wanted to play with her breasts, suckle and squeeze them until she begged for mercy. But she was already begging, and he wasn’t going to last long anyhow.
He found his way to her hot, wet entrance and groaned with relief as he buried himself inside of her. The fact that she was so wet and ready for him was a victory in itself. She gasped and mewled as he thrust into her again and again, drowning in the raw pleasure their joining brought them both. He lifted up just enough to look down and watch her as he thrust, and was rewarded by the erotic sight of her face contorted with pleasure. There was just enough light to see her exposed breasts jiggling with his movements as well. He balanced on one arm and slipped his fingers into her curls, stimulating her clitoris as the friction of their joining brought him closer to release. She gasped, proving he’d touched her just right. The picture of Alex so lost in carnal bliss sent him right over the edge.
He came hard, feeling the surge through his entire body, focused in his groin. It was so perfect that he could barely muffle his cry of pleasure as seed spilled out of him. Alex burst into throbbing orgasm moments later, giving him the sensation that her body was milking every last drop out of him. He loved the feeling and would have gladly given her everything he had if it made her happy.
His strength didn’t last. He flopped to her side in a hot, sweaty tangle. Alex moved with him, panting with what sounded like intense relief more than anything else.
“I missed you,” she said, nestling against him.
“And I missed you,” he answered. He shifted to his side so that their bodies were pressed together and their arms and legs were wrapped around each other. “Let’s make a pact,” he went on, still trying to catch his breath. “In the future, even if we’re angry with each other, even if we’re so furious that we don’t even want to speak to each other, we continue to have carnal relations like this.”
She laughed, limp against his side. “I’ll be furious with you, but I’ll still be on cordial terms with your cock, you mean?”
“Exactly,” he said. “After all, it knows where it belongs.”
“It’d better,” she laughed, then stretched against him. She yawned and reached down to cradle his slackened genitals. “If the gossips are painting me as a wanton slut who cannot resist this, I’d better live up to their stories.”
Her words gave him a bittersweet thrill. From the sound of things, she’d come to terms with at least some of the changes in her life. At the same time, he wasn’t sure if she embraced the way things were or if she’d merely accepted defeat.
“You’re not a slut, you’re my wife,” he said, stroking her side and settling in for sleep with her. Although if her hand stayed where it was, he’d be up again in about an hour. For the moment, though. He embraced the peace that had descended on them. Finally, after the bitterness he never should have let grow between them, they would truly be able to start their life together.
Flossie
Flossie had never been to London before. She’d never been south of Nottingham in her life. But she had no time to marvel at the sheer size of the city or to be bowled over by the bright lights, the cacophony of sound, or the volume of people of all sorts bustling along, side-by-side. As soon as she stepped off the train, her thin traveling bag in hand, Polly was waiting for her.
“Thank God you made it,” Polly gasped, rushing to grab Flossie’s arm as she crossed through the barrier of disembarking passengers. “Lady E has been so worried.”
“How is Jason?” Flossie asked, too anxious for her love to care that Polly was obviously more concerned for Lady E than what really mattered.
“He’s….” Polly hesitated, chewing her lip as she pulled Flossie through the crowd and out of the station. “I don’t know what to say about him. It’s frightening.”
Flossie’s stomach flipped and she swallowed hard to choke down her own fears. Lady E’s frantic telegrams—the original message and three follow-up telegrams begging her to hurry—had Flossie tied in knots. She knew how close to the edge Jason was at times. She knew how he detested London and all the reasons why. Her imagination had been painting lurid pictures of Jason in distress since the moment the first telegram had been put in her hands.
A carriage with the coat of arms of Jason’s London hotel was waiting for them just outside Euston Station. The driver touched his hat to Polly and held the door open as Flossie and Polly climbed inside. As soon as they were in motion, Polly seemed to relax.
“London is wonderful, other than the problems Mr. Throckmorton has been having,” she said.
“Has he had other problems besides his current ones?” Flossie asked, alarmed that no one would tell her sooner.
Polly made a face. “Lady E has had to drag him to everything, and according to her, he’s been a pill the whole time. He’s so good at talking to people when we’re in Brynthwaite, but in London he’s been stiff and rude with just about everyone.”
Flossie frowned. Chances were, Jason had encountered dozens of people from his former life, dozens of people who remembered him as the debauched cad he’d been and not the har
d-working businessman he had tried so hard to become. He hadn’t wanted to go to London in the first place, so Polly’s report came as no surprise.
“Mr. Throckmorton hasn’t wanted to leave his hotel at all,” Polly went on, confirming Flossie’s theory. “Except when he was working to get Dr. Pycroft’s girls back. And he met with a few business associates in the hotel industry, though they were all such artless, boring men.”
Flossie arched a brow. Knowing Jason, those were probably the only people he’d felt comfortable talking with.
“He’s been driving Lady E to distraction with his stubbornness, though,” Polly went on. “He’s supposed to be doting on her and showing her off to London society. Lady E has been so hurt by his indifference.”
“I thought Lady E didn’t care a fig about Jason more than what he could do for her,” Flossie said in a tight voice.
“It’s what she can do for him,” Polly snapped in return. “If not for Lady E’s influence with Lord Merion, Dr. Pycroft never would have gotten his girls back.”
Flossie huffed, but it was true. The little she’d heard of the story from Alex had made it clear that Lord Merion was the main reason things had gone well. That didn’t change her frustration with Lady E one bit, though.
“Meanwhile,” Polly continued, “I’ve been enjoying London thoroughly. There’s ever so much to do here. I’ve been to the theater half a dozen times. And there was a circus in Earl’s Court not long ago. And that isn’t even taking into consideration the shops and restaurants and museums I’ve gone to with Lady E.”
Polly continued to rhapsodize about the joys of London, but Flossie wasn’t interested. She rubbed her sour stomach, thinking of the baby growing inside of her and worrying about its father. As desperate as Lady E’s pleas for help had been, she’d been sparse with details as to Jason’s state.
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 11