by Millie Adams
‘Beatrice...’
‘Is that it?’ Her breath released on a jagged note. ‘You do not wish to have a child with me.’
‘I never intended to marry again. And my intent was to take you as my wife and never touch you. So perhaps you should just give me a moment to contend with the changes that have occurred since we initially took vows.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Can we speak to a doctor?’
‘Beatrice...’
‘Will you take me to bed then? Take me to bed. Spill your seed outside of my body. But be with me.’
The look on his face was like torture. ‘Please don’t ever touch another woman.’
He picked her up from the table, then grabbed his coat that had been draped over another one. He wrapped it over her body, and carried her from the room. And then he took her into the house, up the stairs, and for the first time, into his bedchamber.
He laid her down in the centre of the bed and began to strip his clothes from his body. And she realised that she had never seen him fully naked. He never undressed entirely for their sessions.
She removed her own clothes, and lay back. Waiting. Then he joined her on the bed, the length of his naked body pressed to hers. And she thought she might weep. From how wonderful it felt. From how much it was... Everything. Everything that she needed. And then, for the first time, they slept together.
Chapter Sixteen
Beatrice felt something like a tentative happiness over the next few days. Briggs had made love to her the same as he had done in the greenhouse several times now. She found it thrilling each and every time. It was a revelation. Having him inside her. And while she wished that he did not have to withdraw when he found his own pleasure, she was determined to continue working on him regarding a second opinion.
But today, Hugh and Eleanor were arriving in London, and while Hugh was seeing about business with Briggs at the House of Lords, she and Eleanor would take tea.
She was very excited. To play lady of the house and dress for her friend.
She wasn’t even playing. She really was the lady of the house. And properly now. She was truly Briggs’s wife now.
Truly.
She wanted to call him Philip again, but he had let that one time pass without comment and she had a feeling that would not be true again, and she did not want to shake what they shared together.
She held that little spark of happiness close to her chest as she examined herself in the mirror. The mint-green gown that her maid had selected for the tea was wonderful. It made her feel fresh and beautiful. Or perhaps that was sleeping in Briggs’s arms at night.
The door opened and the housekeeper arrived. ‘Your Grace, Miss Eleanor Hastings is here to see you.’
She walked out of the bedchamber and went down to the morning room, where Eleanor was already seated.
‘Eleanor,’ Beatrice said, and her friend stood, crossing the room quickly and embracing her.
Eleanor was as delicate and beautiful as ever. The pale blue silk she was wearing suited her eyes and complexion perfectly.
‘How are you?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Please tell me that Hugh isn’t being an ogre.’
‘No more so than usual,’ Eleanor said, looking away.
Beatrice looked hard at her friend. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m here for the Season. I will find a husband. That is a good thing.’
‘Yes,’ Beatrice said. ‘If it is what you want.’
‘I’m not like you, Beatrice. I do not have an assured place in this world whether I marry or not.’ Eleanor sighed. ‘I’m sorry. That was not a kind thing to say. I know that Hugh demanded you not marry.’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘I’m not angry.’
The doors to the room opened and the maid came in with a tea service on a rolling tray. She laid it out before them, lovely sandwiches and cakes, and two pots of tea, along with two ornate teacups.
Beatrice smiled. ‘I like being married.’ She thought about Briggs, and the things that they did together, and her face went hot. ‘I mean... I like... I’m pleased that I get to host you in my own home.’
‘And what of Briggs?’ Eleanor asked.
‘He is... I care for him a great deal, Eleanor.’
‘Of course you do,’ Eleanor said. ‘You always have.’
There was so much she wanted to say to Eleanor, but there was... She wasn’t sure she could say it. Eleanor cared so deeply for Hugh that it might put her in a difficult position. But no, she would never speak of such things to him.
‘I want to speak to a doctor again,’ Beatrice said. ‘About having a baby.’
Eleanor looked shocked. ‘But they said you could not.’
‘I know. But I...’ She felt the colour mount in her face. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hide it. ‘I have been with him. Intimately.’
‘Beatrice...’
‘It could not... We could not... You don’t understand, Eleanor. He is the other half of me. I...’
‘You’re in love with him,’ Eleanor said softly.
The words struck a chord deep inside her that echoed like a bell in her head. Made her teeth ache, made her chest hurt.
Oh, no.
What a terrible thing to realise.
‘I had hoped,’ Beatrice said, slowly, ‘that love would feel nicer.’
‘Is he not nice?’
‘He is... I cannot explain him. But please don’t tell Hugh about us.’
‘You are married,’ Eleanor said. ‘If he honestly thinks that he is going to control the way that you and Briggs are with one another now that you are... Now that you are married.’
‘Just please do not tell him. He wanted Briggs to act as his stand-in, but it is not... That is not how we are with one another. I am not his ward. I’m his wife. I do not know if I love him. I... He makes me feel as if my heart is being cut out of my chest sometimes. And like I might die if I can’t be near him.’
‘As I understand it,’ Eleanor said softly, ‘that is love.’
‘You are in love with my brother,’ Beatrice said.
Eleanor looked at her. ‘It is impossible.’
‘It is only impossible because you think it is, and there is nothing that can be done once my brother decides something. That is the only reason, and it is not a very good one.’
‘I should hope that you will tell him that. Maybe you can tell him while you proclaim your love for his best friend. And speak to him about your quest for a child.’
‘You know that I can’t. Once something is in his mind you cannot change it.’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘I do know that.’
‘What is between Briggs and myself is very private. I think it is love,’ she said, suddenly feeling upset. Because she had imagined that love would be more like the novel she’d read, and not this bright, sharp thing that stole her breath and made her feel like she was dying.
There was no sweet romance when they were in his bedchamber. Or hers. Or the greenhouse. It was fraught and desperate. And it contained everything. Exultant joy, deep sadness, pleasure and pain. They were a collection of their most shameful, messy parts when they were together. On full display and with nothing to conceal their sharp, jagged parts. They were... They were not a couple anyone would wish to write a novel about. For it would be unseemly. Too dark. Too hard.
And yet, so much of her life had been dark and hard and she had never thought that anyone could possibly find a way to make the sting of it make sense. To make all that she’d been through into something real. Into something that mattered. But he had done it. He made her feel.
‘Maybe I will fall in love,’ Eleanor said. ‘With someone I can have. Maybe there will be a nice second son of an earl.’
‘You do not want a nice second son of an earl.’
‘
No. Not because he is the second son of an earl,’ Eleanor said. ‘Simply because I don’t know how to love someone other than... Other than His Grace.’
‘Since when do you call him that?’
‘I must. We are in London. And there is propriety to observe.’
‘Has he scolded you? Has he put you in your place?’
‘He is correct,’ Eleanor said, her cheeks going pink. ‘We are in society, and we must behave as if we are. I am not his sister.’ Beatrice looked hard at Eleanor, and tried to see if she... Had something happened?
Beatrice knew that Hugh would find that sort of connection to his ward appalling. There were several reasons that Eleanor could never be suitable for him. But she wondered...
Because one thing Beatrice had learned was that unsuitable or not, it did not matter. Not when you desired someone. Not when they desired you. Not when you fit together in ways you had not even known were possible.
Love was inconvenient. And if there was one thing that she could learn from Emma, she supposed it was that. But it was often the person who infuriated you. The person who you least wanted to need.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Beatrice said. ‘I only have William and Briggs to speak to, and it’s... I wanted someone to speak to. Really. I am sorry, I know that you... You are unmarried. But... Physical intimacy within marriage is wonderful,’ she said.
Eleanor laughed. Actually laughed. ‘I know about that,’ Eleanor said.
‘Eleanor!’
‘I mean, I have not... I understand though.’
Beatrice thought that Eleanor probably did not understand all of the things that she and Briggs did together. But then, she doubted many people would. But they did. She would never share the details. They were far too personal. Far too intimate.
‘I don’t think he loves me,’ Beatrice said. ‘Or it’s impossible to tell. He is...’
‘What sort of father is he?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Lovely,’ Beatrice said, a silly smile crossing her lips.
‘Lovely?’
‘He is. I don’t know how else to say it.’
‘It is hard for me to imagine him as a father. Given all I know about his reputation,’ Eleanor said.
Beatrice thought about that for a moment. ‘I’ve thought about Briggs’s reputation. His reputation is both severely under-and over-exaggerated.’
It was true. Briggs was not a rake in the way that she had once imagined him to be. With her limited understanding of what that meant. He was a man of great intensity, and the desire that burned between them was anything but simple. It was the sort of thing that many people would find objectionable. Depraved even.
But it was theirs. It was theirs and it was not for anyone else to understand. Not for anyone else to approve of.
It was different, even, than the way that high society flaunted and enforced the rules they created at their own whims. For this was not about taking joy in debauchery, or in rebellion. It was about being what the other needed. It was about his honour of her strength. About her showing how safe he made her feel.
‘I’m happy you’re happy,’ Eleanor said.
‘I am not happy that you aren’t,’ Beatrice said.
‘I will find a way,’ Eleanor responded. ‘You know, a woman such as myself... I have been very lucky to have been taken in by your family. It is... It is dishonourable of me to be so sad because I cannot have the impossible. I can no more take the stars down and hold them in my hands than I can aspire to be with your brother. My heart is foolish. I can go on loving him just fine married to another man.’
‘You would be content with that?’
‘I would be resigned to it,’ she said.
‘What of your husband?’
‘I dare say very few men expect love from their marriages.’
Beatrice thought of that. ‘I did not expect love from mine. But he is the very dearest thing in the world to me. He is so strong, so... Hard and remote. And yet I find I want to hold him in my arms and protect him from everything that has happened.’
‘Does he grieve his wife?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s...’ She realised it as soon as she said, ‘He is angry at his wife. Deeply and bitterly angry.’
‘Oh,’ Eleanor said.
‘I know him better than I have ever known another person. I have let him do things that... And yet there is still so much I don’t know.’
‘I guess that is the fortunate thing about marriage being a lifetime.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose that’s true.’
‘I can only hope I find that a remotely fortunate prospect when I’m faced with my own.’
‘Let us hope a gallant and handsome man catches your eye tonight,’ Beatrice said.
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘Let us hope so.’
* * *
Briggs had not simply failed at what he had promised, he had jumped head first into an affair with his own wife.
He could not stay away from her.
Philip. Please.
It echoed in his head. When she had begged him. By name. To be taken.
He had not been able to resist. She was all tight heat and need, and every night when he sank into her he felt himself slipping further and further away from what he had promised he could be, and embracing the darkness of what he wanted.
He did not spill his seed inside her.
She was adamant that she would speak to a physician about the risk of her carrying a child.
Still, he knew that the precautions they took were no great assurance that there would be no baby.
He was primitively satisfied in the image that came into his head of Beatrice swollen with his child.
Serena had not wanted him to touch her when she’d been pregnant, and it was entirely possible that Beatrice might feel the same way. But she would not hide her body from him. That much he was certain of. He was deeply certain he would find the sight erotic.
Not thoughts he should be having in the carriage with his wife beside him on his way to a ball where her brother would be present.
She was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. Those things were so easy for her. Casual touches.
She touched him all the time. She freely gave sweet affection to his son, and she gave it to him in equal measure. He had not realised how hungry he was for such a thing. Something as simple as touch. Not the sort of pleasurable touch they shared in the bedroom, but this simple close touch. That was simply pressure against his body, assurance that she was there.
In cutting these sorts of relationships from his life, he had lost that.
You’ve never had it.
‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he said, distracting himself by returning to her physical beauty.
The crimson gown she was wearing tonight felt wicked. It did not reveal any more of her body than anything else she wore, but there was something about the colour that felt an announcement of sin.
And he was so well acquainted with the kinds of sin that he could commit with Beatrice.
It was all he could think of. That and dragging her out to the garden for re-enactment of previous interludes in the outdoors.
‘When did you begin sneaking out of your house?’
It was something that he had puzzled over recently.
For when he had met her she had seemed a pale and drawn creature, and he did not know when those things had changed. Or if she was simply very good at putting up a smokescreen.
‘When I was fourteen. I would climb out my bedroom window in the night. And sometimes I thought... Sometimes I thought it would be acceptable if it killed me. Because I was so very tired of those four walls.’
‘I do not find it acceptable,’ he said, looking at her. For he understood now, if reluctantly, what she thought about the baby really.
&
nbsp; She was not concerned for her own safety. She was hungry. Hungry for experience. And perhaps he could find a way to be enough.
To be enough so that she did not feel the need to have a child.
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘But you know, every day we take risk when rising from our beds.’
‘For some it is a deeper risk,’ he said.
‘Perhaps,’ she returned. ‘But life is all the dearer to me for that reason. I fought for the chance to run in the moonlight. I had to engage in subterfuge to spend time swinging in my own garden. I had to beg for my husband’s possession. I had to fight for a husband at all. Do you not see how much more dear these things are to me for that reason?’
‘Beatrice,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘You are strong. I am in great admiration of it. But...’
‘You wish to protect me.’
‘Yes.’
‘For Hugh’s sake or for mine?’
The words caught in his throat for a moment. ‘For mine.’
Her breath caught, she looked away from him, and said nothing else. When they arrived at Lady Smythe’s, they were announced upon entry to the ballroom, and he immediately spotted Hugh.
Beatrice was swept away by the gaggle of ladies that had taken a shine to her, and she took Eleanor along with her.
‘And how are you finding London?’ Briggs asked.
Hugh’s expression was opaque. ‘Eleanor’s dance card is full. I suppose that is a victory.’
He rather sounded like he was being sent to the gallows, not like he was pleased with his ward’s performance.
Something troubled him, and Briggs wished he could help. And also felt as if he did not deserve any additional insight into what Hugh was feeling, not when he had betrayed his trust as he’d done.
But you honoured Beatrice’s desires.
He found that as much as he loved his friend, that mattered more.
‘Full marks to you,’ Briggs said.
Hugh cast an eye over him. ‘And how are you finding London?’
‘I am here. As ever. And Beatrice is getting her experience of the Season.’