The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the gold ring on her finger. She felt warm, vibrant, achingly woman. “You have given enough.”

  He was trying to tell her she did not need to continue, but the female was as stubborn as a mule.

  “We were wed this morning.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. “I do seem to recall the occasion.”

  “It is our wedding night.”

  “One usually follows the other.”

  “You are going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  He held his hands in the air as if to ward off blame. “I am not making you do anything. Nor am I the one who knocked on your door in the middle of the night. I wish to heaven you had not.”

  “Why?”

  There was no subtlety to the woman at all. Perhaps she was right and she would not make a good politician’s wife. Instead of answering, he said, “Go back to your room, Genie, where you will be safe from me.”

  “Why?”

  Not why she would be safe, but why she would sleep alone on their wedding night. “Because I cannot.”

  “Oh, you are sick, then.” Now her face was scarlet, and not from the heat. “That is why you do not mind about the baby, because you cannot have one of your own. I am so sorry to have reminded you, to have… you know.” She tried to leave, but he held her hand.

  “No, I am not lacking in that regard.” Not judging by the fire in his blood or the bulge in his breeches.

  “You do not find me attractive?”

  Not judging by the bulge in his blood or the fire in his breeches. “I find you damnably attractive.” He needed all of his mental strength to drop her hand and step back, away from temptation. “And that is the problem. I will be damned forever if I make love to you tonight.”

  “But we are married.”

  “But I gave my word. I could simply say I am tired or ill in some other way or too busy.” He gestured toward the desk, which was piled high with papers. “I will not lie to you if I can help it. I want you. But I made a promise.”

  “To me, so it does not matter.”

  He looked away from her, staring into the flames in the fireplace. “To me it does.”

  “But I absolve you of your vow.”

  “I have sworn to be an honorable man, a man of my word, not governed by base urges and selfish motives. I have to be better than an ordinary man.” Better than the man he was.

  “You would be a saint?”

  He laughed at the thought of what those lofty beings would do if he joined them. “If I knew how, yes. I am not that ambitious, however. It will be enough to be honorable, I hope. I will not touch you while you grieve for Macklin’s memory.”

  “But I do not mourn him, except as a useless death. Do not think his was a noble end, fighting the French to keep England free. He died drunk in another woman’s arms. A married woman, whose husband was wearing his sword, and who was sober enough to aim it true.”

  “Macklin is lucky I did not come to fetch him.”

  Her forehead puckered in confusion. “Did you know my husband, then?”

  “No, but one of my… associates did. I pray he was delivered to the right place.”

  “But they said he would be buried here, with the other fallen men. There are far too many to transport home. And that way his family does not have to know the truth.” She took a hesitant step nearer. “So Elgin is no longer my burden to bear.”

  “You bear his child.”

  “And I bear my own brand of honor. I wed you of my free will, and I will do my duty.”

  He slammed his fist into the mantelpiece, causing a vase of flowers to jump. He steadied it. “I do not want a woman out of duty! Or gratitude, or servitude. I helped you in the only way I could, without conditions or demands. That was what I needed to do.”

  “Then I am just another good deed?”

  “You are my wife.”

  “In name only?”

  “In respect and friendship, I hope.”

  “And the other part of marriage, the, ah, intimate aspect?”

  “A woman should make love when she feels love. No other time.”

  Now there was a novel concept. If true, Genie would not be pregnant.

  Chapter 6

  No baby? Then there would have been no need to marry Lord Ardeth. His theory was interesting, but with no relation to reality. In her experience, men took, women gave. That was the way of the world, not some pretty pipe dream.

  Genie accepted the glass of wine that the earl offered, and asked, “But what about all the marriages of convenience, or the dynastic matches whose whole purpose is to provide heirs for thrones, titles, and wealth?”

  He sipped at his own wine, savoring the taste after so many years without. “All matters naught, in the end. Elgin Macklin will not see his son. What of the French Louis, the English Henrys, or the Egyptian Ramseses? Where are they now?” He could tell her precisely where, but that was not the point. “Your own prince regent has no heir, despite his political maneuvering. England will survive.”

  “But what of those unions that merge fortunes? You are a rich man yourself. Do you not want your flesh and blood to inherit your money?”

  He shrugged. “I have already started making plans for the gold, establishing a fund for the widows and orphans of the soldiers we could not save. I intend to build schools and hospitals and much more. Do not worry—you will be well provided for, as I promised. There is enough left to do a world of good.”

  Genie was so amazed she almost dropped her glass. “You would give all of your money away?”

  “Not your share, but yes. I will not need it when I am done.”

  “You are a very peculiar man.”

  He laughed, more at himself than anything else. “You do not know the half of it.”

  “You see things others do not.” She touched her stomach. “You speak like no other man, think like no one I have ever known. Women should have choices. Money should be spent. Heirs do not matter. I know you have been in foreign lands, but I have never heard of a society with such notions. What are you?”

  The crow had been sleeping on the bedpost, glossy head under one wing. Now the bird blinked and bobbed. “Reaper,” he mumbled. “Reaper.”

  Ardeth scowled at the gremlin, which was now fluffing its feathers and going back to sleep. “The pest means ‘reader.’ I am a prodigious reader of varied philosophies. For all my studies, I have decided to be a man of honor, as I said. A man who is trying to find his lost soul, if that makes any sense.”

  “Don’t you mean save your soul?”

  “No, mine was lost long ago, with the hourglass. But I will find it. Then I will be free if I can make amends.”

  He seemed so noble to Genie, so selfless and honorable, she had a hard time believing anything else. “Were you were not always a gentleman, that you must atone?”

  “A gentleman? I was never that.” He looked at his hands with their nails that were now smooth and manicured, but hands that had held broadsword, battle-axe, and mace. “To my sorrow.”

  “Did you take lives?” she guessed.

  “Too many to count.”

  “But you saved some. I saw that myself.”

  “Too few.”

  “Were you a mercenary, then, fighting in wars around the world? Is that how you became wealthy, selling your sword for gold?”

  “I started as a warrior, battling for land and gold and influence. Then I became a kind of tax collector for those with far more power than I ever imagined.”

  “You have great inner strengths.” Genie had never seen him weary or undecided. He seemed annoyed by the crow, but he never shouted or swatted at it, the way Elgin would have. “I cannot imagine anyone but royalty with more innate authority.”

  He brushed that aside. “I have nothing compared to those I served.”

  Genie did not believe him. She’d read of other lands, too, of czars and sultans and satraps. The Earl of Ardeth was surely more regal. Reminded
of sultans, though, she thought of harems. “What about women?” Now that he was answering questions, Genie found she had many.

  “To my regret I battled for wenches, too, and won many, whether they were willing or not. But I am long since done with rakehell ways, I swear.”

  “What of your first wife?”

  “She was seldom willing.” He could not remember the color of her eyes, only that they were always reddened from weeping. “Or did you mean to ask if I had other women then? In plain truth, I was neither a caring husband nor a faithful one for the short time I was wed.”

  “What happened to her?”

  He honestly had no idea. “She died.” He turned toward the window again, and turned the conversation. “Tell me, did you enjoy lovemaking with your Elgin?”

  Genie coughed on a sip of the wine. “Gracious, that is not a proper topic.”

  “But my sins are?”

  He was right. Genie owed him her honesty, and an explanation. “Elgin did not love me any more than I loved him. I became reconciled to our marriage. He did not.” Genie saw no reason to delve further into her own past. It was the future that concerned her now, tonight especially. “You said a woman should feel love before, ah, consummating her union.”

  Now he came back to the chair where she sat, and looked down at her. “That was not precisely what I said. Are you by any chance implying that you feel affection for me?”

  Genie did not know what to say. How to tell one’s husband of half a day that he baffled her and bemused her, and sometimes made her blood run cold? Instead she said, “That was not what I meant. I was wondering if mutual attraction was enough to satisfy your conditions.”

  He knelt by her chair and took up her hand. “Are you saying that you feel a roaring, raging passion for me?”

  Genie snatched her hand back. “NO!”

  “Damn.”

  He did not seem to be angry or disappointed, so Genie let her curiosity rule again. “Goodness, do ladies feel roaring, raging passions?”

  “With the right lover, they do. It is called lust, one of the baser emotions among mortal men, and the most common.”

  “I am sorry if I led you to believe—”

  He laughed. “I was merely teasing. Do you think I would believe you eager to share my bed when you shy from my touch like a skittish colt? Although I suppose I would not turn you down if you were panting and pleading. I am only human, after all.” He chuckled again, but Genie did not see the humor.

  “I made my vows, too,” she said, “knowing that intimacy is part of marriage. I would honor my word the same as you.”

  “Without affection or attraction? I would not ask it of you. What I do ask is for your help, not out of duty or subservience or righteousness.”

  “You are an earl. What could I do to help you?”

  “You can help spend my money, for one thing. You can point the way.” He sat in the only other chair in the room, at the desk with all its papers. “You see all the decisions to be made? So come, Lady Ardeth, sit and relax, and talk of what is needed. You will know more than I about schools and foundling homes.”

  Despite her intentions, Genie was relieved to be excused from her wifely duties—although Ardeth was far more handsome than Elgin. Perhaps she was a tiny bit attracted to him after all, intrigued by his refined looks that hid great power. She wondered what else his clothing hid, and if his courtly manners would extend to that large bed that loomed behind him. She purposely turned her head to study the documents he handed her, and told herself she was delighted to be consulted about his charitable work and finances. Elgin never so much as showed her their accounts, nor did he spend a groat on anything but himself. And consulting was far more enjoyable than Elgin’s conjugal visits had ever been.

  After an hour of discussion and decisions, Genie felt like a partner, maybe not a wife, but a valued colleague in bettering other lives. Her husband might be a bedlamite as well as a benefactor, but she could not remember the last time she felt so content, with such a sense of accomplishment. “This is a much better way of spending one’s wedding night,” she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had said.

  Ardeth only laughed and took the list she was compiling out of her hand. “Fool that I am, I almost forgot. But it truly is our wedding night, when I should be thinking of my lovely bride instead of cold numbers.” He offered her another glass of wine, but she refused, noticing how little he imbibed. The last thing he’d want was a wife turned wanton by the spirits, or made sloppy in her calculations, or falling asleep in his big, soft-looking bed.

  “Maybe I should leave now. If we are to depart early…”

  “The ship sails when we are ready, not before. But come, I want to know what you want for yourself, so I know how much of my fortune I can spend on good deeds.”

  Having a glimpse of the vastness of his wealth, Genie knew he was teasing again. She could not spend a tenth of it in her lifetime.

  “What would you like most?” he asked. “Jewels? Artwork? Greenhouses full of exotic blooms? Tell me.”

  “I like the idea of turning workhouses into training places, where poor people can learn a trade.”

  “No, I mean for yourself, besides a new wardrobe, of course. You’ll need one for the changing seasons, and your changing shape. We already have two houses, or is it three? I believe they are crowded with treasures, with a safe full of heirloom gems. But what else would you spend money on, now that you can? All I gave you as a wedding gift was a plain gold ring.”

  Genie had intended to give him her body. “I gave you nothing.”

  “Of course you did. You made me laugh. Now it is your turn.”

  She took a moment to think. Recently all she had wanted was to know that her rent had been paid, that the butcher would not refuse her credit. A new ribbon to freshen her old bonnet had been a rare luxury. Now she could have anything she wanted—anything money could buy, that was.

  Ardeth was adding another chunk of coal to the already-blazing fire. “Surely you must have dreamed of something when you were growing up?”

  Her parents’ affection, her sister’s friendship? Those he could not purchase for her. “I wanted a pony of my own, but always had to share with my sister.”

  “That is no challenge. I intend to fill the stables anyway. You may have your choice of the best-behaved mounts. What else?”

  “Well, I once thought I would like to travel, but following the army cured me of that, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “Travel is not all it is cracked up to be, by Harry.”

  “I suppose you have seen all the sights, though, all the marvelous places of the world. If I could, I’d like to see the Great Pyramids.”

  “No, you wouldn’t like them. Sandstorms and locusts.”

  “The Alps, then. They are said to be awe-inspiring.”

  “Avalanches.”

  “India, with the colorful markets and the spice trade.”

  “The worst. Constant droughts, then constant floods. The same as Africa. Insects and epidemics. Besides, getting to any of those places is hazardous enough. Hurricanes, cyclones, shipwrecks galore, to say nothing of pirates and mutinies.”

  She had to laugh. “What about the moon?”

  “No one has managed to die there. Yet. You will be far safer in England.”

  She was still chuckling, thinking he was joking again. “How is it you have traveled the world over and seen nothing but doom and destruction? Were you so busy that you saw nothing beautiful anywhere?”

  Ardeth looked at Genie, with the firelight behind her making her robe more diaphanous than ever. He could make out the shape of her rounded breasts and the rosy glow of her nipples. Her red-gold hair was curling from the heat in the room, forming a shimmering halo around her delicate features. And her soft lips were turned up in a smile. For him.

  “I do not think I have ever seen a more lovely sight than right now.”

  “Oh.” Her smile faded. “You need not give
me Spanish coin, you know, false flattery. That was never part of our bargain. And you have convinced me: I will be content to view the moon through the window, and think about visiting Scotland or Ireland.” She started to rise. “So you may give away another wagonload of gold to those who actually need it. Good night.”

  “No, do not leave yet. We have much more to discuss, like the houses and home farms. I know nothing of domestic matters.”

  “You are a great reader, you said. You will learn from books. And we have a lifetime to discuss the rest.”

  Six months was too short a lifetime to waste in sleep. “Please stay.”

  “It is late. Besides, it is too warm in here for me. I suppose you are used to hotter climes.”

  He simply shrugged.

  Half of her wanted to stay, to hear his foolishness, to see that look of admiration in his ebony eyes. Her sensible half wanted to flee. Reason lost. “But perhaps you could open a window?”

  Instead he snapped his fingers; the fire went out.

  “It was only a silly parlor trick,” Ardeth shouted at her retreating back. “Anyone can do it,” he said to the door that slammed behind her. Then he cursed, long and loud, in scores of languages. He might have cursed all night without repeating himself; he knew so many foul imprecations and improbable suggestions. After all, few people had ever greeted his arrival with kindly welcomes.

  Frustration was a new experience he could do without. Then he kicked the bed. “Damn.” So was pain.

  His anger had awoken the gremlin crow, whose head was turning, beady eyes looking for a way out or a place to hide.

  “Don’t say it,” Ardeth ordered.

  “Me?”

  “Who else would dare call me a fool?”

  “Me?”

  “And I shan’t have it—do you hear me?—impudence from a foul being that eats worms.”

  “Me?”

  “I know I handled the woman badly. I do not need you to tell me. I was trying to impress her, that was all, like a schoolboy. Fool.”

  “Me?”

  “I told you to be quiet. One more comment out of that pointy beak and I will get a cat.”