A Necessary Husband

by Debra Mullins

  "Sorry to disturb you, Captain," Tim O'Brien said apologetically. "It's just that we're having a bit of trouble with the ale merchant."

  "Trouble that couldn't wait until the morning?" Garrett growled, stepping outside the door and closing it most of the way.

  Lucinda grinned at Garrett's cranky tone and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets. He was obviously put out at the interruption, and the knowledge thrilled her. As she relaxed in the bed that still held the scent of their lovemaking, she could just hear their conversation beyond the partially closed door.

  "This can't wait if you plan to leave in two days like you've said you want to," Tim was saying. "The merchant is being difficult."

  Still smiling, Lucinda waited to hear Garrett tell his mate that the plans had changed.

  "I still intend to set sail in two days," Garrett replied instead. "Damned English merchants! I'll be glad to see the last of this blasted country."

  The smile melted from Lucinda's face.

  "What's the fellow's problem?" Garrett continued. "I'll bet he wants more money."

  "That would be it," Tim confirmed. "Says he can sell it to someone else for more profit, so if we want it, we have to pay the same price, and we have to take delivery tonight."

  Slowly, Lucinda sat up in bed.

  "Bloody thief," Garrett snarled. "I'll see to it directly."

  "Sorry, Captain," Tim said. "I know you have company."

  Lucinda slipped from the bed and picked up her chemise from the floor. She pulled it on, listening for Garrett's answer.

  "It's all right, Tim," Garrett said finally. "There's nothing you can do. These people are a greedy lot."

  Lucinda sucked in a sharp breath and slipped her pale blue dress over her head. He had never intended to marry her, never intended to stay in England. He hated the English and always would. The shining future she had been imagining shattered.

  Thank God she had not told him that she loved him.

  "I'll be on deck in a moment, Tim. See to it someone is available to see the lady home."

  "Aye, sir."

  By the time Garrett stepped back into the cabin, Lucinda had managed to do up almost all the buttons on her dress. It was difficult with no lady's maid to help her, but at least she was decent.

  "Hey there," Garrett said with a fond smile. "You got dressed awfully fast."

  "I'm going back to the duke's townhouse," she said tonelessly. It was all she could do not to burst into tears.

  "I was hoping we'd have a few more minutes together." He laid his hands on her shoulders. The warmth that spread across her skin was more than she could bear, and she shrugged him away.

  "I must go," she snapped, unable to keep the bite from her voice any longer. "Where are my slippers?"

  "Lucinda, what's wrong?"

  She searched out her slippers, thrown to opposite sides of the room. "Nothing's wrong, Captain. We are exactly what we were before, no more and no less."

  She sat down in a chair and took extraordinary care in putting on her slippers so that she would not have to look at him.

  He came and knelt before her, grasping the arms of the chair and trapping her there. "What's the matter? Are you crying?"

  "No." A tear slid down her cheek and made a liar of her. Defiantly, she swiped it away and looked him in the eye. Oh, those beautiful blue eyes. He looked at her with such love, such tenderness.

  A lie. An impossibility.

  Nothing had changed, and she was a fool to think it would.

  "What's the matter? I warn you, Lucinda, you shall not leave until you have told me."

  "Don't threaten me." She grabbed one of his arms with both hands and shoved, then rose from the chair. "I am not some young girl like your sister, Garrett. I am a grown woman, and you will treat me like one."

  "I thought I just did."

  His attempt at flirtation fell flat. She only stared at him, ice forming around the heart that urged her to go to him.

  He rose, concern flickering in his eyes. "Lucinda, talk to me."

  "Perhaps you had better talk to me, Garrett," she said quietly. "Perhaps you had better tell me exactly what went on here tonight."

  "You know what went on." He reached out, stroked her cheek. "We made love."

  "Did we?" She jerked away from him.

  He scowled. "Don't play these games with me, Lucinda. You never have before."

  "I've never been in this position before. I've never made love to a man," she continued, her voice rising, "only to find out moments afterward that he intends to leave me!"

  "I don't intend to leave you."

  "You are setting sail for Boston in two days— that sounds like leaving to me!"

  "Come with me." He took her hand.

  She stared at him. "To America?"

  "Yes, to America! You don't have to make it sound as if I asked you to accompany me on a trip to hell."

  "My home is in England," she whispered.

  "You can make a new home in America. With me."

  "But I belong here."

  "Damn it, Lucinda, you are so stubborn! Why do you want to stay in a country that has treated you so badly?" he demanded. "If you come away with me you can start a new life."

  Part of her urged her to go with him, to follow wherever he led. Another part of her, the part that had kept her going for so long, reminded her that her goals were within her reach. She could have everything she ever wanted, if only she said yes to Sir James.

  But not everything. She would not have Garrett.

  The pain of it made her lash out. "You're calling me stubborn? What about you? You still have not settled things with your grandfather," she accused. "Instead, you are running away again. Why do you hide from your emotions?"

  He scowled. "How can you say I hide from my emotions when I have just spent the past hour showing you how much I love you?"

  "You say the words," she said, "and you are an incredible lover. But nothing has really changed with you, Garrett. You still intend to return to America without taking on the responsibilities of your title. You still have left things unsettled with your grandfather. And you still intend to take Meg with you, despite the fact that she's very happy in England!"

  "Didn't you warn me that Meg isn't safe here?" he demanded. "Yet now you say I should leave her here."

  "I say you should let her choose."

  "Why? I let you choose, and you didn't choose me." He stared at her, eyes bleak. "I don't know what you want from me, Lucinda. You have turned my world upside down. I want you to be my wife, but I can't stay here in England. I have a business to run in Boston, and I have already been away too long."

  "You want to marry me?" she whispered, hope swelling in her breast.

  "Of course I want to marry you!" he thundered. "Did you think I wanted you to come home with me to make you my mistress?"

  "I didn't know," she retorted. "You never asked me to marry you."

  "Will you?"

  She stared at him, emotions warring within her. If she married Sir James, she knew what her life would be like—exactly what she had always wanted. But there would be no passion. Affection, fondness, yes. But no love.

  If she married Garrett, she would have the passion and the love, but she would have to leave behind everything she had ever known for a life that stretched forward in foggy uncertainty.

  What would happen if things did not work out with Garrett? She would be lost and alone in an unfamiliar country. At least in England, she knew where she stood.

  She couldn't rush into this.

  "I love you," she said quietly, admitting it for the first time. "I want nothing more than to be your wife. But if we wed, you intend for us to live in America."

  "Yes." He took her face in his hands. "Boston is very much like London, Lucinda, only there isn't as much social snobbery. In America a man is judged for what he has done with himself, not who his ancestors were."

  "I don't know if I can do it," she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know
if I can leave behind everything I have ever known. I need to think."

  He closed his eyes for a moment, disappointment etched on his face. But then he opened them again and smiled at her, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "But you are not saying no, right?"

  "I'm not saying no," she agreed. "But you need to think as well, Garrett. Your grandfather is an old man. Perhaps you should mend things with him before it is too late."

  "You don't know what you're asking."

  "If you can ask me to leave my past behind, I can ask you to leave yours behind."

  He dropped his hands from her face and stepped back. "Does it mean so much to you then?"

  "I have difficulty with the fact that you refuse to accept your responsibilities."

  "It's just a fancy title," he scoffed, slicing his hand through the air dismissively.

  "No, it's more than that," she told him earnestly. "There are estates attached to that title, and people living on those estates who need and deserve a responsible leader. They cannot exist without one."

  "They have my grandfather."

  "For how long? Garrett, your grandfather is eighty-five years old. It's a miracle he's doing as well as he is! But he won't be able to continue the responsibilities of the peerage for much longer. You need to claim your birthright."

  "Is that what you want in a husband, a fancy English title so you can play lady of the manor?" he snarled.

  She jerked as if she had been struck. "How can you say that?"

  "I have offered you my name and my life in America to share," he said. "But that is not good enough for you."

  "You're twisting my words."

  "Maybe you had better marry Sir James," he shot back. "Obviously my love cannot compare with fancy estates and the approval of shallow society."

  She stalked to the bed and began to search out her hairpins. "If that's what you think of me, Garrett, then we have no more to discuss."

  "Then I guess we have no more to discuss."

  She paused, barely able to breathe at the pain that stabbed through her at his words. But she was a survivor. She had survived Malcolm's obsession, a loveless marriage, and the disapproval and death of her father. She would survive Garrett Lynch.

  She just didn't know if she would have a heart left afterward.

  The silence stretched between them. "I will have a man see you home," Garrett said finally.

  "Thank you." She slowly began to wind her hair into a knot at the base of her neck, keeping her back to him. If she looked into those beautiful blue eyes of his, she knew she would burst into tears.

  She heard him come up behind her, felt the heat of his body as he stopped only inches away. Then he touched her, caressing her bare shoulder.

  "I have told Meg I will stay for her come-out ball tomorrow night," he said quietly, "but after that, I am going home." His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "If you decide to come with me—"

  She closed her fingers over his, unable to look at him. Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. "I know."

  He took his hand away, leaving coldness where the warmth of his flesh had been. "I'll have someone see you home."

  Chapter 19

  The come-out ball for Miss Margaret Stanton-Lynch was the grandest event of the season. Meg looked like a young goddess in a pure white gown shot with silver, and pearls adorning her neck, ears, and hair. A coolness still existed between her and Lucinda, but Meg was so excited at a ball being thrown in her honor that she more or less forgot her anger as the guests began to arrive.

  Before long, the house was packed to the rafters. The duke led Meg out in the first dance, and after that, eligible young bucks swarmed the young American, vying for her attention.

  Lucinda watched the whole thing as if from a distance. If she were the same person she had been weeks ago, she would have basked in this triumph. Because of her tutelage, Meg was a total social success. The duke had even gone so far as to murmur a compliment to that fact. She should be ecstatic, as all her plans were coming to fruition.

  Instead, she felt like a stranger in her own world. She watched the dance of the social players as if she were in the audience at a theater.

  Did she really care what these people thought of her?

  She waited for shock to strike at such a rebellious notion, but it never came. Amazed at herself, she cautiously explored these new ideas, the total opposite of what she had believed for so many years.

  How many lives had been ruined by society's disapproval? How many innocent girls had ended up in loveless marriages because of one misstep amidst the convoluted rules of the so-called Polite World? How many fortunes had been lost? How many hearts had been broken?

  Too many.

  Did she really want to spend her life amid these fickle people, people who would turn on her in a moment if they thought it would provide a juicy piece of gossip for their entertainment? She had fought long and hard to do that very thing, yet suddenly it all seemed so foolish. Why had she clung so long to a way of life that had done her more harm than good?

  For her father, perhaps. She had failed him by nearly causing a scandal, and his death so soon after her marriage had left her feeling as if there were unfinished business between them. She realized now that she would never get her father 's approval back. He had died before he could give it, and she had to accept that. Perhaps society had taken the place of her father somewhere in her mind, and so she found herself trying to prove herself worthy to a group of people who didn't care for her or even know her at all.

  She should have been trying to prove it to herself.

  Ye s . A surge of rightness swept through her, and it was as if someone had lifted her burdens off her shoulders. Why did she work so hard to make herself accepted? She didn't answer to anyone but herself and her maker.

  As she looked around the opulent ballroom, she realized that England's glittering peers did not provide her with the security she needed in order to be happy. She had to create her own feeling of security within herself, and to do that, she had to be brave enough to trust herself and leave the past behind.

  A movement near the ballroom doors caught her eye, and she watched Garrett enter the ballroom.

  How different this entrance was from the first time she had met him! The wild American barbarian was gone, and in his place stood a dashing and elegant marquess who looked every inch the grandson of the Duke of Raynewood.

  Garrett had dressed in the plain black that he favored, the starkness broken only by the pure white of his shirt and neck cloth. His dark hair was combed back and fastened in a queue, emphasizing the noble Stanton nose and the slashing eyebrows. His blue eyes glittered like gemstones as he surveyed the throng.

  He strolled into the room, no doubt searching for Meg, and Lucinda couldn't help but notice that he'd walked just as proudly across the deck of his ship as he did through the duke's ballroom.

  They were the same to him, no more, no less.

  He turned his head and saw her. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he started across the room toward her.

  Her heart pounded as he approached, excited by his mere presence. He didn't have to say anything, didn't have to do anything. He had only to exist in the same room with her for her to react to him.

  This was what she wanted. She wanted to feel alive. She wanted to feel beautiful and desired.

  This man wanted her, simply and completely. And she wanted him right back.

  America suddenly took on a different hue. Instead of appearing to be a land of dark uncertainty, she now saw it as a bright and shining opportunity for discovery.

  And marriage to Garrett seemed even more so.

  "May I have this dance, Mrs. Devering?" The familiar voice jerked Lucinda's gaze away from Garrett. Sir James smiled down at her, having approached without her noticing. She glanced again at Garrett, but all she saw was his back as he retreated into the crowd.

  Her ingrained good manners took over. Even as she took Sir James's hand to accept the dance,
she realized that her future might not be as certain as she had once thought it would be.

  And the prospect did not alarm her at all.

  * * *

  When Garrett saw Sir James approach Lucinda, he turned and walked away. Once he would have continued on and competed with the other man for Lucinda's attentions—and won. He would have enjoyed challenging the other male, and he would have enjoyed Lu-cinda's outraged reaction as he walked away triumphantly with her on his arm.

  But she had to make her own decisions, and he had to let her. Even though it killed him to stand aside and watch her dance in the arms of another man.

  He helped himself to a glass of champagne, wishing it was brandy, and watched the spectacle of Meg's come-out ball.

  Meg was dancing with some red-haired young pup with big ears, and looked like she was having a wonderful time. She looked like she belonged here.

  His gut knotted. He didn't want her to belong here in England. He wanted her to come home with him.

  What if she didn't want to leave?

  He sipped the champagne, steering away from those painful thoughts. He didn't want to contemplate the idea that he might very well have lost everything that mattered to him.

  "So you're leaving tomorrow, are you?" The duke had come up beside him while he wasn't looking. He glanced at the old man, but his grandfather was watching Meg, a soft smile on his face.

  "That's my plan."

  "Are you thinking to drag Margaret along with you?" Erasmus looked at him then, his dark eyes sharp and searching. "Whether or not she wishes to go?"

  A cutting remark rose to Garrett's lips and hovered there, unsaid. "I don't know," he admitted, surprising himself.

  He had surprised his grandfather, too. A flash of emotion crossed the old man's face before he could hide it, and it shocked Garrett to the bone.

  Loneliness. And hope.

  The all-powerful Duke of Raynewood was just as painfully lonely as he himself often was, but in the duke's case, it was all his own doing.

  Maybe they were more alike than he thought.

  The idea made Garrett take another gulp of champagne. He didn't want to think of his grandfather as human. He didn't want to look at him and realize that the monster of his childhood was nothing more than a tired old man who suffered the same demons as he did.