The water in his bath was growing cold and he stood. Will hurried over with a linen towel. Grey took it and dried his body. He definitely needed a break from women.
“No, I don’t think I’ll be visiting Kate again for a while.”
“I didn’t mean Miss Doyle, sir.” Will handed him his banyan. “I meant the little lady from the bookseller’s.”
Grey froze in the act of tying his belt. To hide his shock, he smiled. “Ah, so Pete has been gossiping, has he?” It wasn’t like Pete to go and tell tales of Grey’s assignations with women. Grey sat in his chair by the hearth and lit a cigar. For the first time in days, he felt amused. “That’s how Pete described her? The little lady from the bookseller’s?”
“He said she was a petite thing. Polite, modest manners. Very pretty.”
“Very pretty, eh?”
“Unusually so, yes.” Will’s voice resonated awkwardness and he cleared his throat.
“Modest, too, did he say?”
“He said he’d driven the two of you from the bookseller’s to her home, as the young lady had been stranded and you didn’t want her to have to walk in the rain. Then later you’d gone back to visit her there yourself.”
Pete’s edited version made it all sound like courtship. Again, Grey was amused.
“Mrs. Lefebvre has gone home to her family?” Will asked. “Gone for good?”
Grey took a drag on his cigar and nodded. “Gone for good.”
“And you don’t plan to see Miss Doyle any time soon?”
Irritation began to erode Grey’s good humor. “Will, would you please come to the point?”
Will paused in the act of laying out Grey’s clothes for the next day. “Well, you see, sir, Mr. Sexton…”
“Will, please.”
“I was wondering if you might be thinking of marrying the little miss from the bookseller’s?”
Chapter Ten
The early summer’s afternoon sun shone through the canopy of the tree. A slight breeze made lacy patterns of light that wavered on the ground at Grey’s boots. It was the middle of the week and yet he found himself sitting here, in the park when he should be working.
The beauty of the day, nevertheless, failed to alleviate the gnawing, relentless, restless disquiet which had beleaguered him every moment since he’d come home to New York.
“I was wondering if you might be thinking of marrying the little miss from the bookseller’s?”
Days later, Will’s words still echoed in Grey’s mind and he found them no less irksome.
Marriage. Good God. After all these years of freedom, he wasn’t about to get married. Not again. The only reason a woman wanted to marry a man like himself was to attain his position in society. He’d wanted Beth to give herself to him freely, not in exchange for a wedding ring. Not just to be Mrs. Sexton.
But the insane thing about this whole matter was that Beth didn’t seem to hunger for social power and position.
She wants your wealth then. They always want something.
But he had tried to give her his wealth.
She had rejected it out of hand.
Maybe he did her an injustice by distrusting her. But his youthful experience with wedlock didn’t allow for much trust.
Why marriage? What did Beth expect to gain that she couldn’t accomplish by accepting his carte blanche?
Childish laughter carried on the wind. He looked up.
A young woman had sat upon the bench across from him. She was tying the ribbon on the bonnet of a little girl.
The child fidgeted and fought against the attempt to restrain her, and her loose blonde curls bounced wildly.
She put him in mind of what Beth must have been like as a little girl.
Grey couldn’t help a small smile.
“Stop squirming! Be a lady, Peggy. What will that nice gentleman think of you, huh?”
Peggy faced him and froze, as though surprised to find anyone watching. Round blue eyes studied him and her chubby cheeks lifted as, apparently undaunted, she smiled at him. Her dress and bonnet looked ridiculously extravagant.
She was clearly someone’s beloved little darling.
A pang swelled within his chest. He had never thought of having a daughter. He had never missed having a daughter.
Until this moment.
He glanced away; his throat was dry. It must be. For he found a need to swallow. Hard. And he blinked, several times.
“Come inside me this time.”
“We made commitments today, Beth.”
“Commitments? When?”
“You know when.”
The pang in his chest became a sharp catch. Grey took a deep, uneven breath.
“You would never come to my brother’s shop and ask to court me. Admit it.”
Sky-blue eyes flashed into his mind, full of aching, longing…and something else. Abject sadness. Haunting.
The restless disquiet settled into his bones again. But this time, with stunning clarity, he recognized it.
He was lonely.
* * * *
Grey walked across the darkened chamber and felt his way around. When he reached the bed, it rocked gently. “Juliana,” he whispered softly.
“Grey?” Disbelief sounded in her voice. “What are you doing here? You know the doctor said—”
“Yes, I know.” He sat on the side where he lay when he visited her here and he ran his hand along the coverlet until he reached her stomach. He gave the soft swell a caress. “I am not here for that.”
“Then why are you here?” Did she have to sound so pained?
“I just want to…” He’d been lonely. He’d wanted to be close to his wife, to lie in this bed and hold her. But saying it now felt foolish. Before their marriage, he’d only been with her, no other woman. And he still felt wholly awkward around her. He cleared his throat and attempted to make his voice steady. Confident. “I want to sleep with my wife.”
The beating of his heart seemed timed with the ticking of the clock in the silence.
She sighed. “You’ll be too restless.”
“I shan’t be restless.” He caressed her arm, trying to make the gesture conciliatory.
“Grey, please, I need to sleep. Alone.”
Grey opened his eyes and focused on the moonlight filtering through the window. A crushing sensation weighed on his chest as strong as though he were once again a nineteen-year-old, recently-wedded man. Rejection as bitter as sour wine on his tongue, icy disappointment, freezing him inside colder than winter.
Christ. He arose from the bed and went to pour himself a brandy. It burned warmly all the way down but as it sat in his stomach, his insides began to ache.
A hollow, empty ache.
He rubbed his belly and stared down at the night shadows in his garden. How many years since he’d even allowed himself to think deeply about his marriage, much less to feel the emotions of his youth?
This was her doing. Beth, the bold girl with the sad, haunting eyes. She made him feel again. And now that she was gone, when he felt, he felt so cold inside. Only her impulsive fire could warm him.
But he didn’t need anyone.
He had everything a man in his position could want. An heir who was almost grown. A splendid personal fortune. A business dynasty. A fine house. A beautiful mistress. His life was carefully arranged.
He had everything. And yet he had nothing.
Chapter Eleven
“Good day, Mr. Sexton.” Charlie’s cheerful voice rang out from the other side of the counter.
Beth’s pencil froze. She jerked her head up from the row of figures she’d been calculating.
A beam of sunlight cast the hard angles and planes of his face into stark relief, electrifying the blue highlights in his coal-black hair. Her heart failed on its next beat. He was even handsomer than in the dreams that had tormented her every night in the two weeks since the awful day when he had put his need for control above his affection for her.
Yes, affection.
She wasn’t so thoughtless that she didn’t realize how much he had offered her and why he had done so.
Had it been so wrong of her to want more? To want him to pick her out of all the other women of the world and hold her up as his chosen bride, special and cherished above everything else in his life? Was she so foolish that she couldn’t let go of childish fairy tales?
Had she thrown away her only chance for happiness simply because of pride and wanting to be something more than she could ever be?
Her throat burned and she swallowed hard, resisting the urge to run for the back room where she could burst into tears.
It wasn’t fair for him to be here. It was cruel.
“Mr. Sexton, we specialize in workingman’s footwear. I suggest a man of your obvious means ought take his business elsewhere,” she said.
“I am not here for boots.” He turned to Charlie. “I am here to speak with you, Mr. McConnell.”
Charlie blinked. “Uh…yes, what can I do for you, Mr. Sexton?”
“I beg permission to court your sister.”
Beth’s breath froze. Charlie hooked his fingers into his apron straps, glancing sideways at her, catching her eye and twittering his fingers on the stained leather. “Goodness, Elizabeth, what do you say to that?”
His voice was strained and he had gone pale with what must be shock. She half expected him to faint.
But for her, time had seemed to stop. A strange numbness held her shock at bay. She didn’t quite believe her own ears.
“I think I’d like to hear more of what Mr. Sexton has to say,” she replied.
Grey turned back to her, his silver eyes gleaming with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “Will you walk with me, Miss McConnell?”
* * * *
Outside, sunshine glared. Seeking refuge in the shade of the shop, she leaned against the red-brick wall.
He took her hand and that ever-present sensual awareness crackled between them.
“Once I left Philadelphia, I didn’t spend one single moment at peace with myself.” He brought her hand to his lips, his eyes burning into hers with emotion as he kissed it. “I acted like a jackass. I hurt you, and I am sorry.”
She stared at him, no longer numb but stunned. Her lips tingled and she felt a little lightheaded. She would never have dreamed this arrogant, patrician man would apologize to anyone, especially not the soiled dove he’d shared hours of illicit passion with.
“I admit I have been difficult as well. I owe you an apology in kind,” she said, just to play fair.
He turned her hand and pressed his lips to the palm. “I hope you can learn to trust in me. Because God help me, I think I love you.”
Shock made her weak and she was grateful for the brick wall supporting her. She could only stare at him, speechless.
He loved her?
He loved her?
“Don’t you have anything to say to that, you heartless little vixen? I just told you that I think I love you.” His tone was severe but his silver eyes glinted warmly.
Joy bubbled up from her belly in a laugh as rich as honey. “You think so?”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up as if his whole soul shone through. “Yes, I very much fear it.”
“Well.” She tilted her head, a slight smile curling her lips. “I might love you, too.”
“Might you?”
“I don’t know for sure yet. It will depend on how persuasive your courting is.” She let her smile widen.
“I am not going to offer for you, Beth.”
Her smile froze. He didn’t want to marry her? But what was this all about then?
He was still smiling broadly, confusing her even more.
She frowned.
He shook his head. “I am not going to offer you marriage until I am sure that you’ll actually meet me at the church at the appointed time.”
She laughed a moment. Then stopped as unbidden awareness of the huge, gaping chasm in their situations intruded on the moment. “I haven’t trusted you, Grey, I am so sorry for that.”
“Neither of us has trusted the other. We have to re-learn how to trust.”
“But how can we learn to trust each other, when we never did trust each other to start with?”
His expression turned serious. “It won’t happen overnight. We have all our differences to talk over. So much to share and come to understanding on.”
No, she decided, she would not push him away with a caustic remark, nor would she distract from the moment by using her sensuality and wiles upon him. Instead, she met his gaze steadily, no matter the anxiety quaking through her limbs. “Yes, we certainly do have a lot to sort out.”
“We’re both going to have to compromise and make sacrifices. But it can happen, if we both want it badly enough and are willing to work together.” He pressed her palm to his cheek. “Are you willing?”
“Yes.”
His whole body seemed to relax and his eyes shone again with warmth that was more than warmth. This time she recognized it for what it was. Unbelievable though it might be. His strong arms pulled her close and they kissed, a long and heated kiss. After some time, they broke for air and she nuzzled her face into his jacket. Inhaling his scent, citrus, spice and something indefinably and indelibly Grey, Beth knew a sense of finally finding home.
###
Want to read more of Beth and Grey’s story?
The sequel, White Lace and Promises, is available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.
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Would you like to check out some of my other stories right now?
Please keep reading. I have included some excerpts from my other works.
If you enjoyed this story, you may enjoy The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne, Intimate Secrets (Book One)
Catriona, Lady Blayne is recovering from a most delicate situation. Driven to the brink of madness by love for her late husband, a young man too ill to meet the demands of the marriage bed, she teeters on the brink of scandal. Now she must face the carnal temptation personified by her husband’s cousin and heir, James, the new Lord Blayne. His sensual appeal, contrasted with his iron will and stern self-mastery fascinates her. She can’t help but ask: what if sensual indulgence is the only way out of her darkness? However, she is not free to explore the idea. There are those who seek to control the young widow, keeping her imprisoned through emotional manipulation and physical coercion. With her growing restlessness, the very people she loves and trusts the most are becoming an increasing danger to her sanity and safety.
James is determined to protect Catriona—but he will not soften to her again. She rejected him once and James can’t risk losing his heart a second time. As heir to the Blayne baronetcy, he must marry a woman socially and politically appropriate. Such a scandalously self-indulgent lady as Catriona won’t do. Yet the pretty girl
he once knew has grown into a beautiful, curvaceous woman that is every man’s dream.
Especially his.
Erotic Romance; Regency Historical; Elements of Sensual Domination, Spanking and Light Bondage; Rubenesque Heroine; Character-Driven Story with Angst and Strong Internal Conflicts; Standalone Long Novel.
Reader Advisory: The characters discuss issues of abuse which took place in the heroine’s backstory. Frank sexual language & period appropriate sexual slang and general bedchamber naughtiness.
She had escaped her captors. Those who watched her.
Now Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in the vestibule.
One single chime.
Soft snores issued from between his parted, sensual lips. Despite the late hour, he still wore a shirt and trousers. His collar lay open.
She picked up the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up, over her head, then tossed it aside. Cool air made gooseflesh erupt all over her. Tightened her nipples. She shivered then noticed a bottle on the night table. She picked it up and sniffed it. Whisky.
She hated whisky. But her mouth and throat were so hellishly dry. She put the bottle to her lips and took a tentative swig, coughing and sputtering then shuddering as the burn of liquor spread through her. The fire was thrilling. Stimulating. Forbidden to her. She took another drink. And another. When the bottle was drained, she replaced it on the night table. The bottle teetered and she caught it. The chamber seemed to tilt and turn.
She closed her eyes and licked her lips, waiting for the giddiness to ease. But it wasn’t passing too quickly, so she sat on his bed. Though the bed rocked, he made no sign that he’d noticed.
She considered the way he lay in the bed, as though he had flung himself there. She frowned. What cause had he to drink himself to sleep? Was he troubled by something?
What could possibly affect a Rock of Gibraltar that much?
Passion Over Time Page 14
