The Courtship

by Catherine Coulter

  She started to come down to kiss him again, then she paused and frowned. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  He shook his head, disappointment written all over his face. He sighed, then said, “Well, you see, that took you much too long.”

  She grew utterly still. She splayed her palms on his bare chest, a very nice chest with crisp hair. “What took me too long?”

  But she knew, oh, yes, she knew. He loved her hands on him. He wondered if she could feel his heart speeding up. He said, “It’s the little half flick that you do with your wrists, that quick turn inward, that does the trick. The knots just slip right off. Yes, it took you a very long time to find the answer.” Then he reached up and cupped her bare breasts in his palms. “Just beautiful,” he said. “Now, before you have your way with me, do you agree to marry me?”

  She just sat there on top of him, her nightgown hanging off her, her hair tousled around her face, disbelieving what he had done to her. She had never known a more beautiful man in her entire life. All of him was beautiful.

  “I mean this, Helen. No more ecstasy, no more insane desire. I won’t make love with you again until you promise you will marry me.”

  She still just sat there, leaning into his palms now, letting him hold the weight of her breasts. She closed her eyes. “I cannot.”

  In a flash, he threw her off him. She was on her back in the middle of the rug and now he was on top of her, lying flat on top of her so that she couldn’t move.

  Their noses were nearly touching. He yelled in her face, “Why the hell not? The truth, Helen, now, or I will tie you down again, and this time I won’t build in an escape route for you.”

  She swallowed.

  To his astonishment, tears were seeping out of her eyes, streaking down her cheeks. He cursed.

  He rose above her. She immediately turned onto her side, bringing her legs up to her chest, and she cried. She stuffed her fist into her mouth. It didn’t matter. The tears kept coming.

  The discipline mistress of Court Hammering was lying on her side on the floor crying her eyes out.

  He cursed again, leaned down and pulled her upright. “This will surely bow my back,” he said, as he managed to pull her up and over his shoulder. He staggered to the large wing chair in front of the fireplace. He eased down into it, pulling her across his lap, holding her tightly against him. “No, sweetheart, don’t cry. It shatters me. You know that a big girl shouldn’t have to cry about anything at all. No, a big girl would tell me immediately what bothers her. I can tidy up any mess, Helen, solve just about any problem, strike down any person who is bothering you. Of course, first, you have to trust me.”

  He rocked her. Finally she dried up. She was hiccuping. He smiled as he kissed her hair.

  “He’s alive,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

  He blinked. “What did you say, dearest? You’re thinking I’m alive and quite all right, even though I had to lift you off the floor and pull you over my shoulder and actually carry you over here to this nice big chair that thankfully holds both of us?”

  He felt her draw a deep, steadying breath. He pulled her nightgown over her naked side. He eased her up. When she was sitting, her head lowered, her hair nearly covering her lovely profile, he said, “What’s wrong, Helen? You didn’t like my games?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Your games were exhilarating. The escape—that was very clever of you. If I had not happened upon turning my wrist in just that way, I wouldn’t have found it. I would have felt very stupid when you finally showed it to me.”

  “Marry me, Helen. I’ll devise new knots to tease you. I’ll contrive a very special discipline for you on our wedding night.”

  She turned then, and the nightgown fell open. He resolutely kept his eyes on her face. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, and there were tear streaks on her cheeks. He gently touched his fingertips to her beloved face. “I’m not making love to you, roaring over you, all frenzy and madness. No, I am containing myself. I am simply holding you, all calm and controlled, and your nightgown is gaping open, and your beautiful breasts not three inches from my itching fingers.”

  She smiled, but it was a pitiful thing, that smile of hers, and it fell away completely when she said, “I said that he is alive.”

  He said nothing at all. He didn’t want to. He had an awful foreboding. He wanted to tell her not to say any more, but he didn’t. He waited for the guillotine to fall.

  “My husband is still alive. I received a letter about six months ago. I don’t know where he is. The letter came from Brest, on the far west coast of Brittany.”

  He grunted. He had traveled through the picturesque town some seven years before, when the Treaty of Amiens was still holding together. “There’s nothing there as I recall, except fishermen. Why is he there? Why isn’t he here? What happened to him? Are you certain that it is his handwriting? What is the damned fellow’s name?”

  “Gerard Yorke, the second son of the First Secretary of the Admiralty, Sir John Yorke.”

  Well, that was a kick. “Isn’t the First Secretary as old as that oak tree just outside the window?”

  “Yes, at least as old.”

  He had to keep calm, keep a firm grip on things. There had to be a way out of this, there had to be. “Have you written to him? Or did you go to see him when you were in London?”

  “I wrote to Sir John, telling him about the letter. He did not reply. I wrote him once more and enclosed a copy of the letter. He still did not reply. The day after Gray and Jack’s wedding, I went to the Admiralty at Whitehall. He refused to see me. He sent his secretary to tell me that his son had died a hero’s death and that he had nothing at all to say to me. He didn’t know why I would send him a ridiculous letter that wasn’t even written by his son. He said that since I had not even managed to provide my husband a child, I had no claim on him or on his family.”

  “He sent his secretary to tell you this?”

  “Yes, the poor man was embarrassed to his toes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this two nights ago at the inn when I poured out my soul to you?”

  “Because at that moment in time I didn’t want to marry you, nor any man, ever again. Just look at the one husband I did take on—he returns to haunt me and I never even liked him after about two weeks of being his wife.” She shuddered at the memories, sighed, and looked down at her hands. “Maybe it wasn’t even two weeks.”

  “I see. Why didn’t you tell me when I had you here, all nice and tied down to the bed?”

  She cursed. He was so surprised that he just stared at her. “Why?”

  “Oh, all right, you will just keep pulling and tugging, won’t you? Well, here it is—I wanted to see what you would do to me.”

  The woman would drive him mad, he thought, staring at her, and he wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He lightly ran his fingertip down her cheek and over her jaw. “You are so bloody soft. Did you like what I did to you?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you the truth.”

  He hugged her even more tightly and said, “I have this feeling that you and I will come back to that again, later, probably many times. Now, have you told your father?”

  She shook her head. “Why? There is nothing he can do. Besides, he never liked Gerard. I don’t want to worry him. As for Sir John, perhaps he didn’t know his son’s handwriting all that well. But I did. It was his handwriting, or an excellent forgery. The main reason I wrote to Sir John and tried to see him is that he is the First Secretary of the Admiralty. He is powerful. If anyone could find out anything about Gerard, it is Sir John.”

  “And yet he didn’t want to hear about it. He refused to see you. That seems odd, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, and I don’t understand it. His son’s body was never recovered.”

  “What happened?”

  “Gerard was killed aboard a ship that wasn’t more than a quarter mile off the coast of northern France. One of the
cannons exploded and set the ship afire. They couldn’t get the fire out. Just about every man jumped overboard, including Gerard, who was the first mate. No one stayed on board, even the captain. The problem was that Gerard couldn’t swim. Isn’t that odd, a man in the navy who spends all his time on the water, and he can’t swim? I have been told that many sailors can’t swim. In any case, a severe winter storm then struck, but not in time to douse the fire on board the ship. I was told that only half a dozen sailors managed to survive the swim to shore.

  “Sir John was the one who informed me of Gerard’s death. I hadn’t had any contact with him since that time. He never cared for me. Since I believed him to be an old curmudgeon, it didn’t bother me. My father, as you can imagine, was bewildered that someone didn’t like his beloved daughter. In any case, if Gerard did somehow survive, if he is alive, then I am still married. I can’t marry you or anyone else.”

  He had managed to figure that out all by himself. It was quite a blow to the jaw. He sat there, holding her, tapping his fingertips on her right thigh, wondering how life, which had seemed so very simple and straightforward but moments before when he was caressing her with his mouth, had now flown yet again out of his control.

  He cursed again. It made him feel a bit better, for at least a short time.

  She collapsed against him then, her face against his neck. He closed his arms around her.

  “If he is dead, as he is supposed to be, would you marry me, Helen?”

  She said against his neck, her voice warm and sweet, “The thought of awaking on a random morning with my wrists tied above my head and you over me, it is nearly too much for my brain to deal with. But you would have to promise not to ‘not quite ecstasy’ me again.”

  He laughed—there was nothing else to do. “No, I won’t ever punish you like that again.” He kissed her forehead and fell silent. “Well, perhaps for a little while, before I continued.”

  He fell silent then, looking beyond her to the white wall beside the fireplace.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I am wondering how to flush the fellow out,” he said. “You see, it makes no sense for him to send you a letter and then do nothing at all for six months. Something strange is going on here.” He was silent again. Helen was stroking her palm over his chest. It was distracting. He grabbed her hand and pushed it down onto his thigh. That proved even more distracting. He released her and sighed, closing his eyes. “I know what we will do.”

  “How can you possibly come up with a plan within five minutes of me telling you about it? I have had six months to devise a plan and there isn’t one.”

  “I see. If you didn’t think of a plan, then one can’t possibly exist. That is rather arrogant of you, dearest, don’t you think? Perhaps a Level Six to punish you for this character flaw?”

  She leaned close and bit his neck. Then she licked where she had bitten, and then a small, light kiss. He loved that. “I think you would enjoy a Level Six, my lord, more than I would.”

  He nearly swallowed his tongue. He cleared his throat. “The reason you didn’t think of anything is because I wasn’t here to stimulate you.”

  “What is your plan?”

  He eased her up until she was sitting on his lap, her eyes level with his. He tweaked her nose. He lightly kissed her mouth. Her lips were soft from the cream. “You and I, Helen, are going to announce our engagement in every newspaper in London and all the environs. We will even send an announcement to all the newspapers in Paris. Society is above war, don’t you know. We will give our wedding date as a month from today. We will hold parties and a big ball. We will enlist the aid of the Sherbrookes, also Gray and Jack. Everyone will be speaking of our nuptials. If Gerard Yorke is still alive, then he will come to you. He will have no choice.”

  She blinked at him. “That is a brilliant idea. Actually, now that I think about it, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to come up with that plan because there was no one about for me to marry.”

  She beamed at him, and he laughed and pulled her tightly against him. “You will marry me, Helen?”

  She stilled, and he knew she was worrying and assessing and worrying some more.

  “If he comes to London?”

  “Then we will do what we have to do,” Lord Beecham said, and wondered silently exactly what that would be.

  “I don’t want to be married to him, Spenser. Perhaps it is just better to go along as we have, not to put our hands in the hornet’s nest. Perhaps I won’t ever hear from him again.”

  “We will marry, Helen. We will not be lovers.”

  “If he is alive, then we can never marry, unless I divorce him. I cannot do that, Spenser. It would be a horrible scandal.”

  “We will speak of that again when and if the fellow shows up. If he is alive, he will come. If he isn’t, then we will marry. If he comes later, then we will deal with it when and if it happens. If there is nothing else, then you will divorce him. If the scandal proves too great, then we will move to Italy, a lovely place. To Tuscany, I believe, our own snug little villa. You will buy a local inn and run it. I speak Italian and will teach you all the curse words. What do you think?”

  “I think you are wonderful, but that isn’t to the point. There is something you’re ignoring here, and you simply can’t.”

  “What is that, pray?”

  “You are Lord Beecham. You must have an heir. I am barren.”

  “I have already given that all the thought it deserves. My nominal heir is a cousin, a sailing captain in the Americas. He’s a good fellow, as are his sons. Don’t worry about it. I want you more than I want anything else in this entire benighted world. Believe it.”

  “It isn’t right.” He said nothing more, just looked at her. She nodded, finally, then nearly leapt off his lap. “Oh, goodness, I forgot about the lamp. How could I possibly forget about the lamp?”

  “I’m here with you and my hands are stroking up and down your beautiful back. How could you think about much of anything other?”

  “I see. Thank you for that explanation.” She turned to kiss him, but he held her off.

  “No, Helen, I’m not going to make love with you again until we are wed. I am committing myself to you for the rest of my life. I have no intention of—”

  He looked down at her breasts and swallowed. “You must help me with this. I am set upon a noble course, but I need help.”

  “If Gerard doesn’t come by the time our wedding is to happen?”

  “Then we will wed, just as I told you. Perhaps the letter was a forgery, for some reason that we will discover, particularly after we announce our engagement. Everything will work out, Helen. Trust me.”

  He was still staring at her breasts when she said, “He wasn’t a very nice man. I thought he was when I first met him, way back in the summer of 1801. I was only eighteen and he was at least thirty—perhaps more, he never told me—and I worshiped him. He enjoyed that, I think. Since he was a hero, naturally he knew everything, and I listened reverently to every word out of his mouth. He swore that he adored me, worshiped me. He didn’t care if I was taller than he was, it didn’t matter. He was a naval hero, the pride of the Admiralty, a man who had fought against Napoleon in the Battle of the Nile in 1798. Lord Nelson promoted him for his bravery. Yes, of course I saw soon enough that I’d been dazzled by his reputation, by the illusion of a hero. But I really hadn’t known him as a real man.

  “But now that I have had time to look back on those two years we were together, I don’t believe he did love me. He desired me, but he didn’t care if I ever felt anything for him.”

  “He never gave you a woman’s pleasure.”

  “You already know that he did not. But he wanted a child, desperately.”

  “But you said he was the younger son of Sir John Yorke, not the heir.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why the immense drive to produce a boy child? There was no title or estate in the balance.”

  �
�I don’t know. There is a lot of wealth in the Yorke family, but no title.”

  Lord Beecham sighed. “This is as puzzling as that bloody lamp and where King Edward stashed it six hundred years ago and why he stashed it at all if the damned thing was so powerful. And why didn’t Burnell ever write about it being in that iron cask with the leather scroll that was itself ancient six hundred years ago?”

  “He obviously never discovered its power. As to the other, goodness, I don’t know.”

  He sank his chin onto his hands and stared down at the floor, at the way the planks seamed together, a habit of long standing, when he was thinking hard. “If Gerard Yorke is alive, why would he write to you now? So many years have passed with everyone believing him dead. You can’t give him his precious child, he already knows that. Why does he care? What does the bounder want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Another thing. Why did he select you, Helen? No, don’t try to convince me that you were the most beautiful girl available, that you were obviously the pinnacle of young, nubile womanhood, because that didn’t really matter—at least I don’t think it did.”

  “Perhaps he believed because I am so big and sturdy that I would birth boy children right and left, fill England with all my offspring. He really was very keen on children.”

  He sighed and kissed the tip of her nose. “I suppose that makes about as much sense as anything else, maybe. How wealthy is your father?”

  “Not immensely. He is comfortable, nothing more.”

  “It has been eight years since you last saw Gerard Yorke. Is that right?”

  “Yes. Right after the Treaty of Amiens was signed in 1803, he left. Some sort of secret mission. I remember him whispering to me of this special mission in the dark of the night, and he sounded very excited about it. But then he was on a ship and it sank. What is so exciting about that?”

  “Unless he was just aboard the ship until he left it somewhere to proceed with this secret mission of his. Was he a liar?”

  “I don’t really know. During our two years before his death, he didn’t spend more than five, perhaps six, months with me, total. It wasn’t much of a marriage. Surely it couldn’t have been to him, either. We didn’t know each other, not really. Why did he write me, Spenser? Why, blast his eyes?”