"Elopement is no proof of a crime."
Philip nodded. "I know, but let's just say I smell at rat."
"So long as Althea is safe, I don't care any more."
"Well I do. I certainly don't want any sister or female friend of mine--"
His cheeks heated as he thought of his own sisters for the first time in years. "No, indeed, you're right. By all means, let me know if you find anything, but otherwise, I thank you for your hospitality, but it's about time we went home to start our married life."
"Best of luck with it then." He offered his hand.
Matthew took it firmly in his own, and prayed he had more than luck on his side, for he would certainly need it with the delicate blossom who had now become his most alluring yet fragile wife.
Chapter Ten
Matthew headed down to the village of Barton near Bristol with his new bride, and tried to settle into his new estate and get his wife well.
It was a huge strain upon him, for it all felt so fruitless at times. He felt he couldn't concentrate on estate business for more than a couple of minutes before Althea either needed him, or he panicked and went to see how she was.
For the most part she responded when spoken to, but did not speak of anything more than their shared recollections of childhood happiness until he wanted to scream. He felt so guilty over having ruined her, he almost felt he couldn't bear it when she looked up at him so trustingly. Or when she sought him in bed in the middle of the night.
Once or twice he tried to apologise for his base desires, but she had acted as if she didn't know what he was talking about. He was sure she was enjoying herself, if her internal rippling and cries were anything to go by, but otherwise there was silence in the bed, and any attempts on his part to elicit what she wanted or needed were met with a shake of the head and a kiss which spiralled out of control into the ultimate bliss.
Matthew had never met any woman who could make him so thrilled with one simple kiss. He found himself in a daze at times, wondering at the disparity between the serene and innocent young woman he sat with day after day, and the siren he lay with every night.
For he had never known anything like her kisses and caresses, leaving him aching for more even as he was in the throes of the most exquisite satisfaction. He felt as though he could spend a lifetime making love to her, climbing right up into her to delve into her deepest mysteries, and still never be able to touch the magic they felt spiraling within.
Gradually Althea's most unpleasant symptoms began to subside, and she began to fill out. Matthew had to admit he was both relieved and worried. For with all of her desperate yearnings in the middle of the night, he wasn't able to use protectors, and only rarely ever had the presence of mind to pull away from her at the critical moment.
He was surprised and relieved when her monthly courses continued unabated, and vowed to try to do better. The trouble was that his pert new wife just took him by surprise when he least expected it. He thought ruefully that unless he walked around with one tied on permanently, he was never going to be really ready for her.
Even more damnable was his own enjoyment. He had always been so careful in all his relations, that the unalloyed pleasure of being with her sans any barriers drove his desire on even more.
And while he enjoyed himself so much now that he felt as though he had never made love before, his very pleasure seemed to prove to him that he was even more of a degenerate than he already thought himself to be for having taken advantage of such a tender young wife in so barbarous a manner.
March advanced to April, and still Althea seemed to be lost in her own little world, with the puppy and kitten, some simple sewing, and a Bible and some poems for company when she was alone.
One of the Rakehells with his wife, or the wives by themselves, would stop in whenever they got the chance, and she was equally quiet with them.
They all reported back to her husband that Althea seemed to be improving every day, but Matthew couldn't see it, much as he wanted to be hopeful.
Blake told him she needed time. Eswara had visited for five minutes and said she was not ready, and had departed as suddenly as she had come, leaving Matthew more concerned than ever that there was something seriously wrong with his wife and no one had the courage to tell him the truth.
One day, just when Matthew was at the end of his tether fearing she was always going to be so listeless and wan, Althea seemed to look at him more lucidly, and took his hand.
"I'm so glad you're here with me. And it is a lovely house. A lovely room you've give me. Thank you for everything."
He immediately knelt and put his head in her lap, overcome by the tender emotions which flooded through him, dewing his turquoise eyes.
"I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry," she said a short time later.
"What have you to be sorry for, love?" he asked, stroking her cheek.
Her eyes held a tiny trace of the old spark he recalled. "I've been in a very dark place. And clinging to you like a lifeline. But it isn't fair to you. You look tatty, unkempt. Look at this hair," Althea said, running her fingers through the overlong waves. "Not the dapper Town gentleman I'm accustomed to at all."
A small smile played about her lips as she stroked his hand. He adored the intimate contact, but unable to accept it for the simple affection it was, he brought his mouth up to hers and swept her into his arms.
From the chair it was only a few steps over to the bed. Once there he removed her drawers with one hand and unbreeched himself with the other. The urgency of his desire made his head swim. He planted himself between her thighs and made time stand still for them both.
Hours later, finally rolling off her and onto his back, Matthew wondered how he could desire her even after he had climaxed so many times he was sure he'd been drained as dry as the desert.
He was about to fall asleep by her side when he caught a tiny sound. He glanced at his wife in the deepening twilight, and was sure he heard a little sob. The sound was like a knife through his heart.
"What is it, Althea?" he asked in alarm.
"I'm sorry, darling, so very sorry."
"Why are you apologising now?"
"For all you've been through, I suppose."
"And all I've put you through."
She looked up at him in surprise. "You've done nothing but try to help me."
He tasted bile rising in the back of his throat. "I've helped myself as well."
"Is that not what marriage is all about? Helping each other? Comforting?"
"Then why are you crying? I'd like to try to comfort you if I can," he said, completely nonplussed by her tears. He couldn't recall ever having seen her cry, or if he had, it had not been for years.
"It's just so hard to explain. I want to put all of this behind me, these last few months. I want to get better, be well, be a good wife to you, not this terrible insane woman who-"
He put his lips over hers to silence the dreadful words. "Not insane," he said fiercely when he at last broke off the kiss. "Ill, not insane."
"Still, I need to start doing things for myself now. I need to be strong. I've been foolishly self-indulgent."
"Not at all. You've been ill. You've needed help." He stroked her blond curls like a miser caressing his dearest treasure.
"And I've been a burden to you. And I know the huge sacrifice you've made by marrying me," she sniffed, wondering how he could bear to be so nice to her when he knew so many gorgeous women he would rather be with.
After all, she had been in London for months during her Season, and whilst they had seen each other often enough, he had never deliberately sought her out.
"No burden, for you're so tiny I would no more feel you than a dandelion seed. And no sacrifice if it keeps you safe and well. Your father would have wanted me to protect you."
She sighed. "Yes, my father." She had been thinking about him, how much she missed him, how glad he would have been that she had wed the man she loved. His untimely demise had been a grea
t shock, and she had been mourning him ever since.
She had just spent the weekend in Enfield and returned to London to attend a card party at the Duke of Ellesmere's home when the news had reached her. She'd immediately gone to Matthew's townhouse, only to be told he was away in the country. No doubt not alone.
His servant had seen her distress and promised to pass on the message instantly. But by the time Matthew had arrived, the funeral had already taken place, and she'd had to endure it with no one to comfort her.
Her step-mother and step-brother had never been close to her, despite her kind father's best efforts over the past five years since her mother had died. Her father had decided she needed a woman's hand in her upbringing, and taken on a modestly circumstanced widow and her teenaged son.
When Matthew had told her he had to leave Enfield at the end of a fortnight, she had been almost beyond consolation. Now her father's death was also a reminder that Matthew had married her not because he loved her, but because he had felt responsible for her. He was now well and truly leg-shackled.
Oh, Matthew's excuse for leaving had been a plausible one: he had business to attend to. Mistresses to placate, she had surmised.
She had no idea he'd fled Enfield for fear of blurting out his love for her, asking her to marry him at the most unforgivably inopportune and grievous moment in her life imaginable.
"I think, well, I think I'm a great deal better now. You don't need to spend so much time nursing me. I want you to start going about your business more, taking care of all the things you've neglected during this time you've been helping me."
"If you like," he said doubtfully.
She got up from the bed, lit a candle, and drew on her dressing gown. He dragged himself from the bed, shielding himself from her gaze, though he could not have told anyone why. The room was redolent of their recent gloriously torrid lovemaking, but a recollection of her bound and injured made him cringe inwardly.
Althea sat gazing at him, his breathtakingly beautiful body, and wondered what she had ever done to deserve such luck. But she felt inadequate, for she had known several of his mistresses, or known of them, and each one in her mind had been exceptionally lovely. How could she ever hope to compete?
She was not worldly, wise, experienced. She had no bedroom tricks with which to keep him. All his mistresses were strong, canny, hard as India rubber. He had always like them that way, had never sought out her or her friends at any of the balls, though she knew her friends would have given their eye-teeth to have even one dance with the fabulously gorgeous and infamous rake Matthew Dane.
She could not be seen to be weak, feeble, clinging any longer. A pathetic opium addict who had been reformed by her patient and devoted spouse. Patient and devoted, but how loving? For she most certainly loved him.
But as he rose, gathered his clothes and left her alone without so much as a kiss, she could have sworn she detected relief in his eyes that he was being released from his self-imposed duty to be ever at her side.
Matthew gave his wife one last long look of lust. He had all to do not to snatch her from her chair and drag her back to bed with him.
But she was his wife, and as such deserved better. Now that she was well, fully cognizant of what she was doing, no longer in need of his comfort beside her in bed, he could not take such gross advantage of her.
He told himself he had given her some much-needed oblivion from all the worst symptoms of her disease. Yet he had to face the fact that his uncontrollable ardour might have left her pregnant.
The thought both thrilled and disturbed him. He had a vivid vision of an adorable pair of daughters and several sons who all took after her, though he knew that with his own dark looks compared with her blond ones that was going to be to be no mean feat.
But Althea was so young. How could she be sanguine about being married to and the mother of the children of the man who had done little better than rape her? The cousin she had trusted for so many years, whom she had never suspected of harbouring a passion for her.
The base fellow who had now let her down, robbed her of the virtue he should have helped her protect? The bastard who had kept on using her for his own pleasure and oblivion when she had been in the limbo of recovery?
It was unthinkable...
Chapter Eleven
During the days which followed Matthew was pleasant and polite, but he moved back into his own adjoining chamber, leaving her alone at night unless she had a nightmare, in which case he held her in a gingerly manner and then left as soon as she was asleep again.
Althea could sense a certain strain in him, a restiveness which she ascribed to his resentment at being forced to remain in the country, though he appeared to be busy enough with the planned renovations for the house, which he wanted fully modernised with indoor plumbing.
He was so busy, in fact, that she scarcely saw him except at meals, and then only fleetingly. He assigned a maid and footman, Libby and James, to look after her every need, and never to leave her alone for an instant.
But there were some needs which could not be catered to by the servants. Althea missed his soothing presence by her side as she struggled to embroider, knit, and trim the new gowns he continued to shower her with. She tried to be witty and engaging when they did converse, but it was almost as if there were a brick wall between her old self and her new. It was so hard to dredge up anything resembling her sparkling old self from London, and try as hard as she might, the sense of loss was crushing at times. Her father, her old life, her joyfully young and exuberant relationship with Mattew, it was all gone....
Althea could see Matthew looking at her sometimes with what she was sure had to be disgust. After all, he had seen her at the worst ebb in her life. He probably couldn't bear to look at her. It certainly explained why he didn't want to touch her.
He did not come to her bed for a fortnight, by which time Althea was almost climbing the walls with desire. Every time she had thought to be alone with him, he had made some sort of excuse and left her with her maid.
But at the end of two weeks Matthew had to admit he could not keep his urgent need for her in check any longer. He came to Althea's room late one night when she was in bed, armed with his protectors. He had been relieved as well as disappointed to discover from her maid that she needed linens that month, and thus she was not with child.
But now that he was certain, he was going to take pains to ensure that it didn't happen. Not until he had some sign that she might not view him with complete distrust. The way she sometimes looked at him, as though trying to understand who he was, made his blood run cold.
Take pains was the best way to describe their new conjugal relations, for Matthew was so tentative and hesitant that what should have sent the blood singing in her veins as it usually did ended up painful and tepid at best. He tried so hard to rein in his rampaging desires that he never even thought of her own.
So Althea was dry, unprepared, and the almost brotherly kiss on her brow did nothing to ignite her passions. He was so stilted in his posture and movements he resembled the garden statuary.
She lay and endured, trying to stroke his face and kiss him, but a tell-tale wince was enough to send him flying out of the bed.
"I apologise, Madam. It appears I was far too importunate."
"But Matthew-"
Then she snapped her mouth shut. How could one tell a man who was supposed to be a consummate rake that he was going about making love entirely the wrong way?
Althea didn't even get the chance, for Matthew grabbed his dressing gown and bolted.
A fortnight later he reappeared, gritting his teeth and feeling as though he had swallowed lead. With a heavy heart he admitted, "I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I know we had a rather difficult time last time, but I had hoped that perhaps you might consider forgiving me and trying again."
She gazed at him warmly as he approached the bed, and began to undress. "There's nothing to forgive, darling. You were so severe and tense la
st time. I don't understand how it can be so different from the way we've made love before."
"Well, I don't want to hurt you. You are after all my wife, Althea, and-"
She put her finger to his lips, dreading to hear what she thought he was about to say. She knew he could not possibly find her as exciting as the mistresses he had chosen and pursued. There was a sort of alchemy between lovers, she knew. She felt it with Matthew, but he evidently did not feel it for her.
They got along a bit better when he risked kissing her lips a couple of times, though they were small pecks only. He brushed her breast lightly with his fingertips, and managed to relieve some of her tightness without as much pain and strain. But it was all over in a minute and had them both gritting their teeth, he with despair over how much he longed for her even having just been with her, she with frustration and soreness. She couldn't understand why his manhood was suddenly as raspy as a dull file, why her body seemed to be so unyielding and dead to the touch.
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