“Actually, I came over to rescue him.” He steered her toward the supper room. “You looked ready to practice your wing chun on him.”
“I wasn’t there yet, but five more minutes and I might have been,” she admitted. But she was still tense as they sat down to supper. It was one thing to say she didn’t care what people thought of her, and quite another to make it reality.
“That went very well, I think.” The Duchess of Ashburton gave a happy sigh as the last guests were packed off, rather earlier than at most balls, but the duchess was an expert at getting people out of the house when she was ready to retire.
“Indeed it did. Thank you so much, Aunt Rosalind.” Alex hugged her aunt and uncle, then took Gavin’s arm and climbed the steps to their rooms. As guests of honor, they had to stay till the end. Her parents had quietly slipped away an hour earlier.
She was very aware of the strength of his arm, of the quiet protection he’d given her all night even though he’d been as wary of this ball as she. Gavin hesitated when they reached her door, but she drew him inside with her. With the door closed, she went into his arms, wanting the warm comfort of a hug. “I’m glad that’s over. We both survived. You were a great success, my lord.”
“Allowances were made for me because of all the fine families I’m related to by marriage.” He stroked her back, his touch both relaxing and reviving her. “You must be exhausted after so much dancing.”
“I’m ready to sleep the clock around.” She sighed, her pleasure fading. “I think Frederica Pierce spent the evening spreading her rumors. I’m trying not to care.”
“Soon there will be so many contradictory stories they’ll all seem false. In a week people will be saying you were chosen as the admiral of a Chinese pirate fleet.”
“Better than the ugly truth.” She buried her face in his shoulder, wondering if she dared suggest what she was thinking.
Gently he massaged her nape, loosening tight muscles. “Is something wrong?”
She thought of what her mother had said. Risk your pride. Risk your heart. Risk your dreams. “I’m trying to decide how to invite you to stay the night without making it seem as if…as if I’m inviting you for more than that.”
“I think you just managed it.” There was a smile in his voice. “There’s an American pioneer custom called ‘bundling.’ Since travel was difficult, courting couples would spend the night in the same bed, but separated by a board or blankets.”
“And these young couples behaved?” she asked, amazed.
“Usually. Not always. But we’re adults. We can be as good as we want to be.”
“How well you put that. Very well, let us bundle. Close, but not too close.” Turning her back, she asked, “Can you undo the ties of this gown? I’m too tired to manage alone.”
He did as she asked, his fingers deftly finding hidden tapes and hooks. How intimate and sensual to have a man help her disrobe at the end of a long day. And a little alarming, too. “I’ll get ready for bed. By the time you join me, I’ll probably be asleep.”
He kissed the back of her neck. “And I’ll be asleep five minutes later.”
After he withdrew into his room, she hastily undressed and donned a nightgown of soft embroidered muslin, then brushed out her hair so she could braid it. She wanted to be in bed and giving a good imitation of slumber before he returned, since her desire to sleep with him was only slightly greater than her nervousness about doing so.
She’d barely slid under the covers and closed her eyes when he quietly returned. After turning out the lamp, he climbed into the bed, the mattress sagging under his weight. She tensed, then relaxed when she recognized that he was separated from her by a sheet and a blanket.
Rolling onto his side, he draped an arm over her waist. “Playing possum?”
So much for pretending she was asleep. “What does that mean?”
“Opossums live in the American South. Think of a rat the size of a cat.”
She shuddered. “Must I? I loathe rats.”
“Very well, think of a slow gray critter with a long tail that can hang from tree branches. When an opossum feels threatened, he’ll curl up and pretend he’s dead, hoping the other beast will go away and look for a livelier meal.”
She laughed out loud. “So I’m a pretend rat and you’re a threat?”
“Apparently.”
Hearing regret in his voice, she said, “You know it’s not you, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.” But there was still a trace of wistfulness in his voice.
She cuddled closer, enjoying his warmth and companionship. Muscles tired from dancing ached less in his presence, and the weight of his arm wasn’t enough to cause distress. Because it was easier to talk in the dark, she said, “Half the fear is of being trapped. The other is of…of having my body invaded.”
“That leaves quite a bit of sea room actually.” His hand drifted up to her breast, cupping its fullness. Slowly he moved his palm in a circle, rubbing her nipple deliciously through the finely woven fabric.
“That feels nice,” she murmured. “But I warn you, I’m too tired to respond.”
“So am I.” Lazily he continued to stroke her breasts, as if he was petting a cat.
She realized that she was less tired than she thought. His caresses were causing other body parts to feel surprisingly awake. She inched closer yet.
His hand moved lower, unerringly finding the place where heat was burning away all traces of fatigue. Her breathing changed as he brushed aside her nightgown so that his strong, knowing fingers could touch slick, heated flesh. A little lower…yes, there.
This time she recognized the building tension, the way sensations flooded her body. This time she didn’t resist the furious urgency that dissolved thought and sent her thrusting against his hand as she gasped for breath. “Oh, my,” she said weakly when she could speak. “And I thought I was tired before. Now I can’t even move.”
He chuckled, his hand becoming still as it came to rest on her most private parts. “Sleep well, my dear wife.”
Much as she would have liked to roll over and fall asleep, she realized that he might not sleep so well. She slid her hand between the blankets, and found proof that he was far from restful. Her guess confirmed, she tugged up his nightshirt.
He said tensely, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.” The garment out of the way, she wrapped her hand around that warm, silky length. “But I want to.” She squeezed experimentally.
He gasped. “At this rate, little of your time will be required.”
Propping herself up on one elbow, she concentrated on pleasing him as much as he’d pleased her. Interesting how that hard male organ didn’t seem like a weapon when he was lying on his back, vulnerable to whatever she chose to do. This took trust on his part, just as she had to trust him when he touched her.
Her mother was right—trust was the bedrock of a good marriage. For her, the ability to trust a man had been shattered when she became a victim. An object, not a partner. Now trust was being rebuilt one small piece at a time. At least, thank God, she’d married a man worthy of it.
He climaxed with a long, harsh groan, one hand clenching her arm as he bucked against her hand. She loved that she could give him such intense satisfaction. This was more rewarding than lying on her back had ever been.
Deeply content, she relaxed back onto her pillow, one arm around him. “Is this being as good as we want to be?”
“Yes,” he said huskily. “And you’re very good indeed.”
Chapter 27
ALEX GAZED absently from the window of the breakfast room. The Berkeley Square house’s garden was misty this morning, the summer blossoms having the hazy loveliness of a Chinese painting. She hardly noticed Gavin’s arrival until he kissed her cheek. “Thinking deep thoughts?” he asked.
“Not really.” She turned to him with a smile. “These last weeks have been like a dream. A year ago it seemed impossible that I’d ever see Eng
land again. Now I have Katie, a handsome home, a noble husband”—she laughed when he grimaced over that—“and my family nearby. I can’t believe my luck.”
“To a large extent, we make our luck. If you hadn’t refused to believe your situation was hopeless, our paths would never have crossed.”
He was right that her struggle for freedom had eventually put her in a place where she could become free. He was also too tactful to mention the price still being paid for her intransigence. If she’d been docile, she would be living peacefully with her first master, resigned to an alien but comfortable life in a tropical paradise. Fighting her fate had led her to Bhudy and rape, and scars which were still far from healed.
After their first night of sleeping together, she and Gavin had continued to share a bed. His warm, solid presence had banished the worst of her nightmares and they had enjoyed exploring each other’s bodies—until the disastrous night when she’d been giddy with desire and all things had seemed possible.
She had pulled him to her, sure that this time it would be all right. Instead she panicked, every muscle in her body going rigid even though he’d supported his weight above her rather than crushing her into the mattress. She bit her lip until it bled, determined to endure as she had endured the Lion Game, but he was too perceptive not to notice her reaction. He’d rolled away, saying tautly that he would wait until she was ready. Then he’d left to spend the night in his own bed.
She’d been embarrassingly grateful for his understanding, but the episode had hurt them both, and they hadn’t shared a bed since. Fear of failing again in such an intimate, emotionally fraught area was so intense that it was easier not even to try. Gavin had been even more upset than she. For a man who would cut off his hand rather than hurt a woman, it must be harrowing to feel that he was terrorizing his wife even though he knew intellectually that her reaction had nothing to do with him.
Still, they managed day-to-day life very well. They were friends, they trusted each other, and their lives were increasingly intertwined. In time, surely, the final barriers would fall….
His voice interrupted her reverie. “What are you doing today?”
“After I take Katie to Ashburton House for her lessons, I’ll join Troth for another wing chun lesson. She says I’m coming along very well. After lunch at Ashburton House, I’m going to Hatchard’s with my mother and aunt. Are there any particular books you’d like me to pick up?”
“See if they have any American imports I might enjoy.”
She nodded and crossed the room to pour them tea, wondering how to broach the subject on her mind. One thing she’d learned early was never to spring anything provocative on a man until he’d been fed, so she waited until they’d both finished eating before asking, “Is there any useful work I could do at your office? Now that the household is organized and Katie is busy with school and her cousins for most of the day, I have time on my hands. I don’t want to spend it shopping and paying calls on people who don’t interest me.”
Most British husbands would have been aghast. Gavin merely looked thoughtful. “I could use another clerk, but the work is rather tedious. How much do you know about running an estate?”
“A fair amount. The colonel found estate business boring—he was much more interested in mines and manufacturing. Since Mama was busy having babies and taking care of the tenants, for several years I handled most of the routine business of Bryn Manor.” She smiled reminiscently. “When I married, the colonel said he was losing not only a daughter, but a land agent.”
“That’s even better than I hoped.” Gavin sat back in his chair, looking pleased. “Ever since the earldom descended on my hapless head, the Seabourne lawyer has been sending mountains of documents about the estate. I simply haven’t enough time to do a thorough job while also establishing the new Elliott House office. It would be a blessing to have a knowledgeable person I trust to supervise estate business.”
Alex frowned. “Do you think Finn is cheating you?”
“No, he seems honest and capable, but it’s bad practice to accept all his recommendations merely because I’m too busy to study the issues more deeply. So far I’ve been following his suggestions and promising myself I’ll do better when I have more time, but the situation has been troubling me. Shall I hand all the Seabourne business over to you?”
“Please do. Can I set up an office at Elliott House? That way if there is something you need to sign or make a decision about, you’ll be right there. I can also learn more about the shipping business.”
“Perfect! You need to have an understanding of Elliott House since, if anything happened to me, you’d be in charge.”
Surprised, she said, “You would really leave your business in the control of a woman?”
“Who better? You’re intelligent, trustworthy, and it’s in your best interests to do the job well.” He grinned. “Plus, it would make all the old mossbacks gnash their teeth. An irresistible prospect.”
She laughed. “You’re a Yankee rebel to the core, my dear.”
“Thank you.” They shared a warm glance.
“When can we visit the Seabourne family seat?” she asked. “You need to meet your people, see the condition of the property and the tenants’ farms, and all the other tasks that can’t be done long distance.”
“Philip said he’d be out by Michaelmas. That’s the end of September, isn’t it?”
“September 29th. I look forward to seeing the estate. I love that it’s by the sea, just as you wanted. Perhaps we can visit for a fortnight or so after Michaelmas.”
“A good idea—Elliott House should be running smoothly by then. We can invite Katie’s cousins to keep her company.” He finished his tea and rose. “Shall we start the new schedule tomorrow morning?”
“The sooner, the better.” She gave him a kiss. If she wasn’t yet a true wife to her husband—well, she’d be a very good steward.
Hatchard’s Bookshop teemed with fashionable people, some of whom were actually interested in books. As Alex entered with her mother and aunt, she said, “I’ll see if they have any books on estate management. It wasn’t hard to supervise Bryn Manor, but Seabourne is far larger.”
“I see that you’re really looking forward to this,” Catherine observed.
“With all of you leaving for the country soon, I need something to keep me out of mischief.” She smiled fondly at Catherine and Rosalind, thinking how fortunate she was to be part of a family where females were assumed to be capable creatures.
As they worked their way toward the rear of the store, Alex glanced down an aisle bounded by high bookshelves and saw Frederica Pierce. The other woman was accompanied by her maid, a slim black girl in a neat dove gray gown who was trying to balance an armful of books. Alex was about to move on when Frederica dropped another volume in the girl’s arms. The precarious pile collapsed and books crashed to the floor.
“I’m sorry, my lady.” The maid knelt to collect the fallen volumes. Her soft voice had a lovely musical accent.
“Daisy, you stupid, stupid girl!” Frederica swatted at the maid with her reticule.
Alex wondered how long it would be before the young woman quit. Frederica’s angelic face hid a vicious temper, and she’d always had trouble keeping servants in Sydney. Convict maids had run away from her household despite the consequences if they were caught.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy said again, her eyes downcast. She stretched for a large volume and dropped it when she misjudged the weight.
“I don’t know why I keep you around,” Frederica snapped. “If you continue to be so clumsy, I’ll have you sold back to the Carolinas and you can spend the rest of your life chopping cotton.”
Alex froze, wondering if the situation could possibly be what it sounded like. She turned into the aisle. “Good day, Frederica. Do you need a hand?”
Frederica scowled when she recognized the newcomer. “My girl will manage.” She prodded Daisy’s leg with one dainty toe. “She’s close to worth
less, but she should be able to pick up books.”
“The way you spoke to her made it sound as if she’s a slave, but of course she can’t be. Slavery has been illegal in Britain for years.”
“Mind your own business, Alexandra. Daisy is American.”
And slavery was still legal in the American South. Sick to her stomach, Alex knelt and began to help gather the fallen books. “Even if you were born in slavery, Daisy, you’re a free woman now that you’re in England.”
The girl glanced up, her dark eyes terrified. About twenty, she was pretty and neatly dressed, her black hair pulled into a knot on her neck. Ducking her head, she scooped the last of the books into her arms and stood.
“How dare you interfere in my household!” Frederica said furiously. “You may be a countess now, but that gives you no right to tell me what to do.”
Ignoring the other woman, Alex said, “If you wish to change your situation, Daisy, come to me at 42 Berkeley Square. No matter what your mistress says, you are as free as she is. I will find you a new position where you’ll be paid and where you’ll be able to leave if you don’t like how you are treated.”
“What makes you so interested in slave girls, Alexandra?” Frederica hissed. “Was it because you were a slave yourself in the Indies? Do you see yourself in a creature like her?”
Alex almost hit her. Only her mother’s grip on her arm checked her temper. For a moment she hesitated. Until now, she and her family had kept silent about her experiences in the East, refusing to confirm or deny. But as Gavin said, none of it had been her fault, and in front of this girl it seemed cowardly to deny what had happened.
“Yes, Frederica, I was a slave,” she said in a voice that carried to other customers who’d halted and were listening to the altercation. “A pity you’ve never been one—perhaps it would have broadened your understanding and compassion.” She turned to Daisy again. “Will you come with me? I promise your situation will improve.”
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