by Millie Adams
He had lost one of the most important people in his life for this. For her.
And he would make the decision again. Perhaps Kendal was right. And he simply had no control over his cock. But it felt like more. It felt deeper. ‘Strip for me, little one.’
And she did, with no hesitation. Removing her layers with a coy look in her eye.
She gloried in his gaze. And it made him feel like a god. She was a lady. Gently bred, cosseted too. And she would be brazen for him.
‘On your knees,’ he said.
She approached him, dropping to her knees in front of him, her eyes intent on his. This was nothing like the studied submission of a whore. But a gift. A gift to him that he was not certain he deserved. No. He was certain he did not.
Because she did not know about Serena. Not the whole truth of it.
He freed himself from his breeches, gripped the back of her head and guided her to him, roughly thrusting inside her mouth.
As ever, she gave in to him. With absolute freedom.
Seeming to revel in all that he was.
He stopped her before he could come. Before he ended things.
Then he picked her up and moved her to the bed, depositing her on her knees and pressing his hand firmly between her shoulder blades, so that her breasts were against the mattress. And her ass was up in the air. She was lovely like this. And he did not think he would ever get enough.
‘Is this what you want?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You want me,’ he said. ‘You want me, and all that I am?’ He brought his palm down hard on the plump global flesh, leaving a bright red mark behind.
She squirmed against him, the yelp that she made more one of pleasure than pain. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘For the rest of your life. You want me?’
‘Yes,’ she said in time with another strike of his hand.
‘He was right. I am depraved. And you know that makes you depraved right along with me.’
‘Yes,’ she said. He timed it with another firm smack. Over and over until her every breath was in affirmation. Until she was marked by him.
Until she was shaking. And so was he.
‘Philip,’ she said. ‘Please, Philip.’
And it was balm for his soul that she used his name. Because right in this moment he did not feel confused. Whether he was Philip or Briggs.
He was hers.
He pressed himself up against the wet entrance of her body and thrust hard. Claiming her over and over again, the only sound in the room flesh striking against flesh. And when her pleasure exploded around him, he could not keep himself back any longer. He released hold of his control. And he let himself spill inside her.
‘Philip,’ she whispered. ‘Philip, I love you.’
Chapter Seventeen
Beatrice was rocked. Utterly shaken.
In the space of just a few hours she had found out that she could have a baby, had seduced her husband, and had told him that she loved him.
She was laying there in the aftermath of their desire, shattered and terrified. For she had not meant to say aloud that she loved him. Not yet.
But she could not keep it in. Not any more.
She was not... She was not sorry. She was not sad. It felt right. This. No matter what happened.
‘I love you.’
‘Love,’ he said. ‘I do not... I do not even understand what that means.’
‘You do not understand what love means?’
‘I do not understand what it has to do with this.’
‘It has everything to do with this. You are my husband. My lover. My friend. I love you.’
‘You love me,’ he said, his tone sardonic. ‘I do not think you do. Moreover, I do not wish to have this conversation. It is... It is foolish.’
‘What is foolish about it?’
‘No one has ever loved me. No one. No one has ever said those words to me.’
‘Briggs,’ she said. Her heart squeezed. ‘Philip.’
‘Do not call me that.’
‘You have no issue with me calling you that when you’re inside me.’ She moved away from him, swinging her legs over the side of the bed frame and standing.
‘It’s different.’ He sat up, getting out of bed and standing with the expanse of mattress between them.
‘Philip, just because your father could not understand you...’
‘You are not the least bit curious what your brother meant when he spoke of my wife?’
‘I do not wish to pry. You have not shared about your wife and...’
‘Serena did not die of some ailment. Serena took a bath and cut her wrists open with broken glass.’
Beatrice took a step backwards, her heart slamming against her breastbone. ‘Philip...’
‘Do you know why? Do you know why she needed to get away from me? I discussed it with her. She never loved me, Beatrice. But I thought that we could still be friends. I thought that we could... I was so young, and I believed, I truly believed in my heart that my wife would be fashioned for me in some way. That she would understand me. We were not friends. She despised me. She could not see a way to escape me.’
‘Briggs, I know you. I know you, and I know you never did anything to harm your wife. I know you would never have forced yourself on her.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Knowing what kind of monster I was disgusted her so much that she could not look at me. She could scarcely share the same space as me.’
‘I do not believe it. I do not believe that she left this world simply because of what you wished to do in bed.’
‘It is not that. It is merely a facet. It is the whole of who I am that is wrong. My father was ashamed of me. So ashamed that he wouldn’t send me to school. My own wife could not bear me. And now you want to tell me that you love me? You, who married me because you were caught with me when you did not intend to be.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Because perhaps I was meant to be your wife all along. You were right, Philip. There was a woman who would love you exactly as you are. For your orchids and your punishments. For the way you make her feel.’ She looked down at her body, at the bruises left on her skin, fingerprints that lingered from his touch. And they marked her. As his. As strong.
‘You were the only one who saw the warrior that I wanted to be. You are the only one who treats me like I am not broken. So do not now reject my love. Do not now tell me that I am not strong enough for you.’
‘You do not understand.’
‘I do understand. But you do not like to be Philip because you still think that he is a little boy who could not be loved. And so you became Briggs because you thought that he might be someone that people would accept. The Duke of Brigham. But I love every piece of you. I love you and your being a cordial rake, and I love you when you are in your greenhouse. And I love the way that you are with your son. With our son. I love him. Because he is a piece of you. Delightful and different and nothing at all to be ashamed of. In the exact same way that you are.’
‘It is different...’
‘It is not different. Would you ever look at William and tell him that he did not deserve to be loved? Would you ever tell him that he was so wrong...?’
‘No. And you know I would not.’
‘I know. So why do you do the same to yourself?’
‘Because I...’
‘Philip. Do you hate yourself so much, that you would punish yourself unto the end?’
He bowed his head for a moment, and then he turned away from her. ‘Beatrice, I have wronged you. For I cannot be the man that you wish me to be. I cannot be what you desire. I can give you pleasure. But no more.’
‘Can I give you my love?’
He shuddered. ‘I cannot.’
‘You cannot accept it. I... I am wounded by that. I
will not tell you any lies. But I have spent my life locked away.’ Even as she said it, she felt a deep pain stabbed her chest. ‘I have spent my life being protected from all manner of pain. And you know that I now have come to seek it out. Oh, Briggs, I have felt so endlessly lost. So endlessly isolated. And I would rather stand here and live this moment than go back to Bybee House. I would rather love you and all this pain. I would rather love William. I would rather risk. And I will keep loving you.’
‘Until you don’t.’
His voice was flat. And he walked away. And Beatrice collapsed at the foot of the bed, weeping piteously. She felt... Utterly sad for him. For them. For all that they could be.
For all that he could have.
And even within the depths of her despair. She realised.
She was at war now. For his heart. For his very soul.
You always thought that you were strong enough to do this. You must not crumple now.
* * *
Briggs was drunk. And he was at a brothel.
He hated himself. Despised himself. And yet, he was doing everything he could think to do to push her away.
And you will devastate her if you touch another woman.
He knew that.
It was why he was simply in the dining area drinking. He had not gone up to one of the bedrooms yet, but he would. He would. He would do what he must in order to...
To what? Devastate her? So that you can prove your own point?
But it was the work. That was what he could not take. That was what he could not endure.
He did not know what magical combination of pieces of himself he had found to make Beatrice love him. He did not understand it. And he had no idea how to continue on with it.
And it would be like everyone. Everyone. Eventually, he would not be able to be the thing that she wanted, and then she would hate him. She would hate him.
As much as he hated himself.
He felt the same chilly presence that he had felt that night at the ball and looked up. Of course it was Kendal. He should’ve known better than to be seen at a brothel when his brother-in-law was in town.
‘And what the hell are you doing here?’
‘Leaving your sister alone. Is that not what you want?’
‘Like hell. You bastard. I do not want you betraying my sister. That is certain.’
‘A betrayal, is it? How so? If she is merely to be my ward.’
‘And have you taken her innocence?’
He said nothing. Instead, he simply drank more whisky.
‘You have. Wonderful.’
‘What I have or haven’t done is hardly your business. You must leave me to sort out the affairs of my marriage. After all, you will wash your hands of me.’
‘It is only out of concern for Beatrice.’
‘Do you want to know a cruel joke? Your sister thinks that she is in love with me.’
Hugh stopped. ‘Does she?’
‘Yes. She gave quite an impassioned speech to that effect earlier.’
‘And now you’re here. Drunk. Why is that?’
‘Because you are right. There was no way she could possibly love me. How? How could she love me? I am debauched in every way. I am wrong. And I always have been. You helped me become the thing that people could tolerate. You helped turn me into a man who could at least walk into a room and have a conversation. One that was not about orchids. You took me to the brothel in Paris, and I found women there who enjoyed my particular vices. And with the exception of my late wife, with whom I made a terrible error in judgement, I have kept it there.
‘Until Beatrice. And she thinks... She thinks that she loves me for it. For all that I am. For the orchids and everything else. How is that possible? And when will it end? Because it will end. It will have to end.’
A strange light entered his friend’s eyes. ‘I have little desire to think about the ways in which you connect with my sister. However, if she says that she loves you...’
‘What? Now you believe it might be so?’
‘You do not have a sister, so you are forgiven for not understanding why it was not something I wish to think about. The two of you together. I know too much about you. The hazard of being friends for as long as we have. We are now men who might deal in a bit more discretion. Whereas when we were boys, trying to figure out life’s great mysteries, we were a bit more free.’
He could understand that. ‘That is true. I’d...’
‘It is not that I didn’t think my sister could love you. It is that... You were right. I’m used to thinking of her as a child. I’m used to protecting her. Our father did nothing for us. She was merely a means for him to bring young women into the house under the guise of being her governess. He paid exorbitant fees to keep her alive. To physicians. That is all true. But he loved no one beyond himself.’
‘And you have carried all of it.’
‘I have carried all of it,’ Kendal agreed. ‘What I said about Serena was not fair.’
‘It was something I had not told her.’
‘Go home. You don’t wish to be here.’
‘I don’t know where else to go.’
‘You will not betray my sister.’
‘No. Do you know... When we went to the brothel it was revolutionary for me. Because it was easy. I risked nothing to explore what I desired. It was a transaction. I have always found those things much easier than real life. But they do not last.’
‘These things are not real. You cannot take them with you into your life. The women here... They don’t know you.’
‘Don’t you see? I consider that a good thing.’
‘Briggs, I never liked you for what you pretended to be. I of all people know exactly where you come from. Exactly who you are. Do you not know that?’
‘It feels to me...’
‘And if I did anything to harm the relationship between you and my sister, I am sorry. I handled it badly.’
‘Does this have something to do with Eleanor?’
‘I am everything my father was not. And that is my deepest source of pride in this life.’
‘But that is not an answer.’
‘It is the only answer I can give. Beatrice married you. She has taken you every way that you come. And she has said that she loved you first. If you cannot even be half as brave as my sister... Then perhaps you are not the man I thought you were.’
And after that, Hugh disappeared up the stairs, likely on his way to exorcise his own demons. And he left Briggs to do the same.
Philip.
He could only hear that name now on his wife’s lips.
Philip. He had scorned himself back then. But now that he heard the name spoken by her and not his father... It felt different.
He felt different.
He left and took his carriage back home. He could not see Beatrice like this.
And as he made his way up the stairs, he heard screaming. Crying.
William.
He went into the room and saw his son laying on the floor, his cards spread out all around him. He did not need to know the details of what happened to recognise that he was in a rage. A deep despair. And that Briggs was responsible for it.
And it broke him.
He sat down on the floor, his own misery beginning to overtake him. He was starting to lose hold of all that held him to the earth.
‘William,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong? William.’
He was met with nothing but tears.
‘I am sorry.’ On his hands and knees he began to pick the cards up and put them back in the box. Carefully. With all the reverence he showed his flowers.
All the reverence his father had never shown any of his things.
‘I should not have made you feel badly about these. I was scared for you. Because those children were unkind. B
ut they simply don’t understand. And you will find someone. Someone who will. A friend.’ He thought of Hugh. ‘A wife. And in the meantime, you have me. And you have Beatrice. We understand you. And we... We are very proud of you. And all of the things that you know. All of the things that you are. I was afraid because... I was afraid because I’m like you. I know a great many things about my flowers that I grow in the greenhouse. And I am interested in all of the details. But so many people are not. And I decided to make myself different so that I would not be scorned. But it did not make me happy. My orchids make me happy. What makes me different makes me happy.’
His son had quieted now. And was looking at him. He did not know if the boy understood.
Then suddenly William’s arms were around his neck. Holding him tight. ‘I love you.’
And he felt as if he had been taken out at the knees. Two people loved him. And had told him so. In the space of just a few hours. And he could scarcely breathe.
And it seemed so clear now. What he must do. He had to be a warrior. Just like Beatrice.
‘I love you too.’
Chapter Eighteen
Beatrice was determined. To demand nothing of Philip. To not push. Because she thought deeply about what he’d said. About the ways he had felt like he must change. And she did not wish to do that to him.
She wanted to accept him. Just as he was. She wanted to be a gift to him. Not a burden.
She was sitting in the morning room when he came in.
‘Beatrice,’ he said. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before, the neckline of his shirt open. His beard was overgrown. He looked tired.
‘Will you come with me?’
‘Of course I will.’
He held his hand out, and she took it. He led her outside into the garden, but she had the sense he was not leading her down the garden path.
Not the way that he had done the night of the ball. No. He was leading her to his greenhouse.
‘I want to show you.’