“What future can we have together? Did you picture yourself as my long-term mistress?”
“I—I don’t. I just—I don’t know.”
“Now you want to be my mistress long-term?”
“I might…if such a position were still being offered.” She spoke the words with a sense of wonder…maybe even horror. But yes, God, yes she would like to stay with him… “Only if I could have my freedom at the same time.”
He sighed. “You don’t really want freedom, not the way you’re thinking.”
She whirled back around. “Oh, really? And I suppose you know what I want?”
“I know women like you—you with your wilful mind and ardent emotions. You swear you want your independence, but the whole time you are begging a strong man to come along and give you perfect love, total connection. Absolute loyalty.”
The way he said that! As if it were an anathema. Suddenly, she was breathing too fast. In her vision, he seemed to recede and the chamber began to spin.
He shook his head. “I am not that man. I don’t have perfect love or absolute loyalty to give.”
His image grew a little blurry and she swallowed hard.
Get control over yourself! Don’t let him see you fall to pieces over this.
Trembling, she hugged herself and tried to sort out her feelings before they could overwhelm her. He was being purposefully opposed to their union. Why? Surely what they shared was something special. Rare. She wanted to feel it, all of it. Even if it hurt her in the end. Why was he denying her this experience? Experience necessary to her art, to her very life. If this ended too soon, before she could know all there was to feel and learn and explore here, she would die a little inside.
She really would.
He approached her and took her hand. She balled her fist to evade him.
“This is about Algeria, isn’t it? You were in Algeria and something happened there.”
A smile quirked his lips. It didn’t match the pained look in his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Because that night, when Peter said you had a special interest, a special sympathy about the Algeria situation—your look, it was terrible. It was the same look as that first night, when you said that you had certainly seen something of the world. And you did not sound like a young man who had simply gone to sea and had his heart broken by some foreign lady. You sounded and looked like someone who had seen hell itself.”
He stared at her, his eyes widening as if he were horrified.
“I felt such sympathy for you. I wanted to comfort you but I didn’t know how,” she added.
His expression closed off. It put a chill over her.
“You have the sweetest, female notions.” He laughed softly. A harsh, catching sound that cut into her.
He was distancing himself. There was nothing she could do about it.
She reached to touch his arm. His muscles hardened under her hand.
“Damage can be repaired.”
He pulled his arm away. “Some damage is irreversible.”
“No, I can never believe that.”
He glared at her with such intensity that she instinctively jumped back. “You ought to run very hard and fast from me. You’re so innocent, so fresh. I’ll damage you, too. And you’ll end up hating me for it.”
“No, that’s not true. You’re a kind, generous, good-hearted person.”
“Listen to me, for I shan’t speak of it again. There are things you don’t know. Things I shall never reveal to a living soul. And now I am filled with such a lack of peace that restlessness harries me always. I am never happy with any place or any thing for any length of time. That includes women. When I met you, I thought you were someone else, someone who knew how to play lightly. You aren’t and now I have done you so much harm, Emily. You’ll want to marry someday. You’ll want a normal life. I can’t give it to you. A man like Dr Abbott could.”
“But I don’t want to marry. Ever.” Her words came out choked by the tension in her voice.
A small smile curved his mouth. “Every woman wants to marry. Eventually.”
“I spent too many years under my grandmother’s thumb. Why would I want to do the same in marriage?”
“It’s different in a marriage. Especially to the right kind of man.”
“I can’t see how.”
He walked away from her towards the window and braced his hands on the ledge.
She stared at his broad-shouldered back, waiting while silence hung between them. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t ready for it to end now. He held all the power of choice. She was powerless. She’d always been powerless and always would be. A crushing weakness made her sink into the settee. If life was always this way, how did people bear it?
“I’ll tell you what, Emily.” His grave voice broke into her thoughts. “You will live here with Aunt Rachel for a while after the book is finished, and she can help you polish your rough edges.”
“Wait—w—what?” She gaped at him. “Live here with your aunt as a chaperone? Another controlling maternal figure in my life? No, thank you.”
“You’ll need guidance while adjusting to your change in income.”
“Change in income?”
“Yes, I‘ll provide a generous allowance while you take lessons to perfect your art, then I’ll launch you as a portrait artist here in Philadelphia.”
“When did we discuss this?”
“It’s all decided.” He tapped his fingers with slow deliberation on the windowsill.
She laughed, the sound sharp to her own ears. “And then after my education is over and John comes home, then I shall just obediently wed him.”
“If he doesn’t please you, then someone else. Someone suitable. I’ll introduce you to my cousin, Cornelia, she can introduce you to society. I know you’ll catch the eye of some gentleman.”
“Again, thank you, but no. I survived just fine before you—I will after as well.” One side of her mouth curled upwards slightly. “I won’t be dictated to. It‘s degrading.”
He scowled. “Degrading?”
“Yes. You’ve just decided without discussing it with me. Just as you decided to use my art to further your cause for the navy, all without consulting me.”
“It isn’t some nefarious plot to ruin your life. I just want you safe and comfortable. If something should happen to me I want you to be in some position to have power over your life before you do yourself some harm. I want you to have some independence apart from me.”
Her eyes flashed sherry fire. “Do you actually believe my independence is something you are in position to gift me, through your magnanimous offer to educate me?”
“Now you’re reading this all wrong. I am only looking to protect you. I am damaged inside. I don’t know how to love and maybe I can’t learn. I don’t know what I can give you, or for how long. That’s not fair to you.”
She bit her lip and tears shone in her lovely eyes. “If you want to put me aside, you needn’t sham things up like this.”
“Do you think I want to let you go?”
“It seems as though you do.” Her voice grew hoarse and she turned and hurried away.
Her stiff-shouldered stance tore at him like a knife twisting into his guts. In two strides, he caught up to her and locked his arm about her waist.
Chapter Twelve
Startled by Alex’s unexpected move, Emily froze. He held her against his body as he fished in his coat pocket.
Then he laid something cool and smooth about her neck. She looked down and saw a necklace. Seed pearls with a diminutive, clear-red, heart-shaped pendant surrounded by small diamonds. They caught the morning sunlight, flashing sparks of fire.
“It reminded me of you—delicate yet dramatic.” His voice was so ardent and sincere that it sent shivers through her. He brushed her hair off her nape, then his fingers were busy working the clasp, despite his bandaged hand. “A heart for you, because you are all heart.”
His fingertips traced the delica
te necklace’s path over her collarbone. He plucked her chemise tucker away impatiently. It fluttered to the floor like a white flag of surrender.
With one hand, he firmly grasped her shoulder, crushing her little cap sleeve, opening his lips, moving them with aching slowness along her tender flesh, drawing gently and sending waves of delight racing through her.
Groaning, he lifted his lips, then she felt his tongue licking along the same path he’d just—just—well, whatever he’d done. Sucking? Kissing?
Her nipples tightened and her breasts ached with sweet pain. His fingertips danced downwards over her bare arms, a smooth, feather-soft motion that sent shudders of anticipation racing through her. Staring down, she watched his large hand caress her belly in a circular pattern, his warmth transferring directly through the thin fabric.
“You said that we could never again…do this,” she said breathily.
“You’re too much of a temptation. God help me—no, he won’t because I am already damned. Didn’t I tell you to run?” His breath teased her nape. “Don’t you know that darkness craves light? But darkness also extinguishes light.” He released her and pushed her away. “This is your chance to run. I suggest you take it.”
She stared at him. There was pain etched into his face. He really believed all that about himself. Sympathy overwhelmed her. She was just another woman to him, so he had said. Just another distraction in a long succession of them. But for now, she didn’t care. She wanted to distract him from whatever haunted him. She wanted to solace him.
“Not going to run?” His voice echoed in deep, ironic tones. He reached out his hand. “Come, then.”
She stared at his hand. He wanted her. She wanted to give him all of herself. She placed her hand in his.
He led her to the settee. She sat and he sat with her, then took her into his arms and kissed her deeply, with all the exquisite, sensual finesse of which he was capable. He moved his good hand down her back, unbuttoning her gown. He was going to seduce her.
She didn’t care. She wanted to be seduced. Even if he didn’t want her for long, she’d rather enjoy this while she could. He stopped unbuttoning her and began pulling her gown over her shoulders. He paused when it was halfway down, with her arms trapped at her sides.
Then he resumed kissing her, ravenously, as if he were starved for the taste of her lips.
She struggled to speak against his mouth and he lifted his head.
“I can’t move my arms.”
“I know.”
His voice was terse and hard and it set her heart beating fast. Her lower belly dissolved into a dark, liquid delight. He pushed her back on the settee and shoved her skirts up to her waist.
The suddenness of his action made her gasp and she tried to lower them by kicking her legs. But he pinioned her between his powerful thighs so that she couldn’t shift.
His expression sharpened to such fierceness that her mouth dried as she watched him unbutton his pantaloons. She struggled but her sleeves held her captive. She couldn’t move—she was helpless against him. She was utterly powerless.
Why would he do that?
Fear tingled along her spine. Yet her nipples tightened and her nub tingled and pulsed and grew erect. Wetness drenched her swelling inner folds.
Why should this excite her so much? It was last thing she’d ever want, for someone to control or detain her. She should fight. She would fight—but a strange lassitude paralysed her limbs even as every particle of her body seemed to more alive than ever before, every sensation magnified.
Alarmed, she up looked into his face.
His eyes glittered with a primitive, possessive desire . “Indulge me, sweetheart.”
And she understood. He didn’t just want her. He wanted to consume her.
Sex was not always tender and sweet. Sometimes it was fiery and fierce.
The thought awoke something darker inside her that she’d not even been aware of.
Wetness flooded her cunt and hunger struck her so suddenly that she trembled with it. She wanted to give him solace. She could deny him nothing. Even if it meant surrendering all of herself. Even if it meant her very soul.
He parted her legs with his thigh. His erection touched her entrance, his eyes burning into hers the whole time.
She nodded.
He thrust into her so quickly, so brutally, that she cried out. Fire ignited deep in her sex and her walls clenched around him. God, he filled her so completely. He moved within her in a raw, savage rhythm, driving into her so deeply that he rammed the very mouth of her womb. She cried out with the unbearable sensation, then he placed his mouth over hers. Her cunt gripped him tightly again and again and again, washing him in the copious outpourings of her honey. She screamed into his mouth.
He withdrew far too soon.
She frantically tried to raise her arms to hold him back but she was still bound by her own gown. He slipped from her and she cried out. His body shuddered violently and his hot seed surged onto her belly.
A sense of loss crushed her. If only he had come inside her. She longed to feel the surge of his seed within her with an intensity that had her aching. The desire confused her. She shouldn’t want him to do that. Nothing in their future was certain. She didn’t even know if she ever wanted to be married and he certainly did not want to marry her.
She shouldn’t care. But in this moment she did. Deeply. She very much suspected she was losing her heart, and the realisation chilled the lingering warmth of satisfaction. And when his lips touched hers so tenderly, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was also losing herself.
* * * *
The next morning, Emily remained drained and disturbed by her intense reaction to Alex. If she lost herself, who would she be? What would happen to her mission and her art? Would she become a shadow of Alex’s, longing for nothing more than to serve him, until he bored of her? And then what? With no clear answers coming, she went for a long walk in the crisp air and still couldn’t clear her mind.
By the time she’d returned to her chamber, she wanted only to lie down, but she found the bed piled high with newly delivered gowns. On top of the pile lay a claret-coloured velvet pelisse. It was the new style she’d seen ladies wearing in the park. Even Nancy didn’t have one this modish. It must be made from a Parisian design. It was both lined and trimmed in dark-brown fur with a matching muff. Gasping, she ran her hand over the rich fur. Then she picked it up, marvelling at the garment’s fine tailoring. She placed the fur to her cheek and rubbed its softness against her skin. She tried to swallow a sudden burning lump. Never had she imagined owning such a garment.
“Oh, good afternoon, miss,” Sally said, bustling into the room with an armful of linen towels. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Emily said, turning away and wiping at her eyes with her sleeves. “When did this cloak come? We didn’t order it from Mrs G.”
“Mr Dalton ordered that, I think.” She frowned. “Something’s wrong with it?”
“Oh, no—not at all.”
As Sally hustled out, Nancy sauntered in. Without waiting to be invited to sit, she threw herself down on the bed. As Emily tried on the expensive pelisse, she could see Nancy watching her in the dresser mirror’s reflection.
“Did Alex really knock Richard to the floor of that tavern?”
Emily smoothed her hand over the fur trim and ignored the question.
Nancy chuckled softly. “No, I don’t suppose I’d answer that question either if I had been the one there. I hear Richard accosted you first. He feels rather badly about that.”
“Does he?” Emily asked, as vivid images of Green’s attack flashed into her mind.
“Yes, he does. He told me repeatedly. He said it was a shame you’re entangled with Alex. He must have been deep into his cups that night to do what he did. But the other day, we saw him at a relative’s house. When she caught him alone, Mama asked him directly if you were the girl at the Blue Duck and he said no, you were not.” Nancy laughed so
ftly. “I didn’t believe him, but Mama wants so desperately to think highly of Alex, she let herself believe.”
“But why would Green lie for me?”
“He is not a wholly disagreeable sort. He can be very considerate, sweet even. But more than that, he’s just so afraid…you know, afraid of Alex.”
Emily left off caressing the fur and turned to Nancy. “Afraid? But why?”
“I don’t know. It’s something from their privateering days. They served on the Pollyanna, starting during the war against the King. Alex was just thirteen, Richard in his twenties. The Pollyanna was lost at sea in 1782—”
Emily gasped. “Their ship was wrecked?”
Nancy nodded. “Exactly where or how, I can’t say. Somewhere in the Caribbean. Only Alex and Richard know and they were as united in silence as divided otherwise. Green returned in eighty-five. By his account, Alex was dead. It devastated Uncle William.”
“Alex’s father?”
“Yes. Then one day in eighty-seven Alex showed up in Boston, raised from the dead.” Nancy waved her hand and made a popping sound with her mouth. “It was like a miracle.”
“But what about those years in between? Where was Alex?”
Nancy rolled her shoulders. “Alex says he was in France. We have distant relatives there who are shipbuilders. I am given to understand he spent much time with them.”
“But you said everyone thought he was dead…didn’t he write in all that time?
“Ah, well, Alex and Uncle William had a falling out, shortly after Alex’s mother died. That was when he ran away to sea and what they said to each other must have been ghastly, for Alex never wrote.” She smiled. “Likely he was there doing his girling and studying his cartography, the only two things he seems to have a genuine interest in.”
Frustration gripped Emily, spurring her to ask, “And Green? Did he ever say anything that shed light on what really happened between them?”
“Richard would never say. As I said, he was truly terrified of Alex. It’s something complicated. Some weighty secret. And it will do you no good to ask. Alex will not speak of it. But Richard is not Alex’s worst enemy. He’s nothing—a fly, humming about, irritating Alex. No, for Alex it’s whatever haunts him that is his worst enemy.”
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