All the anger drained out of him, leaving him weak.
The pain was already more than he could take. How would he ever bear being without her now? His work and his life would be meaningless without her. He went and knelt by her bed and put her hand to his cheek. “Live, Jeannie, please live and grow old with me.” His voice was horse in his own ears. Her hand had grown wet.
* * * *
Jeanne opened her eyes again. The light did not hurt them so terribly. It seemed just a moment had passed. But she had some recollections of other awakenings and falling back to sleep. She also did not feel the same overpowering exhaustion.
She was in that chamber where Isabella had sent her for the lavender oil. Where Toovey had attempted to attack her. She would have been horrified. But David was here. He would keep her safe.
He was wearing different clothes and the sun shone on the floor in the pattern that told of morning. It seemed it had been afternoon before. David, her beloved, sat there, lost in thought, half turned away from her. His handsome features a polite yet aloof-looking mask. Maybe he looked a little superior, even haughty. He appeared much as he had that day she’d gone to visit him at his chambers.
Then he glanced at her. His eyes widened and then warmth entered his gaze, as brilliant as sunlight. “My love.”
His deep voice sent pleasure through Jeanne. She returned his smile.
“My love.” Passionate feeling reverberated in his tone. He dropped to his knees, beside her bed, took her hand, and pressed it to her cheek.
“David.”
“It’s not just an endearment, you know. I truly do love you. For so many reasons.” He pressed her palm more firmly to his cheek. “I want to tell you each and every one of those reasons, and I shall very soon.”
Her cheeks ached from smiling too broadly. “I love you as well.”
“Are you hungry?”
After such weighty declarations, the practical, mundane question startled her. She stared at him dumbly.
His beautiful green eyes shone with tenderness. “You must be hungry. You’ve been sick for days and have had only liquids.”
Roused at the topic of conversation, her stomach growled. The sound echoed loudly in the silence. An embarrassing reaction for such a romantic moment. She laughed softly and placed her free hand over it. “Yes, actually, I think I am.”
He arose and called for a light meal to be brought to her. And she ate it with surprising gusto. It did not twist and torment her stomach, either. She drifted into another nap.
When she awoke, he was lying beside her but he was not sleeping. She turned to him and he cupped her face. “I will write the stories, David.”
“I know, you told me that a few days ago.” He smiled at her, broadly. “But you don’t really have to, not if it is too painful.”
“I want to.”
“I meant what I said yesterday. We shall be wed, quickly and quietly.”
“You can’t marry me. It wouldn’t be good for your political career. Your future.”
“You are my future.”
“Goodness. You can’t throw all that away.”
“Jeanne, the Watch did decide that, given all who were involved with the events at Isabella’s house the other day, it would be prudent to keep things quiet. You were correct. Toovey wasn’t worth killing. He’s completely insane and it happened so slowly that those around him weren’t fully aware of what was happening. His uncle has come and taken him away to the country. He’ll be cared for and watched. It’s in everyone’s best interests to hide what’s happened. But things like this have a way of leaking out. And when that happens, my marrying a commoner will be the least of it.”
“A commoner whose father was insane?”
“The least of it, Jeanne.”
He sounded so resigned. Her heart panged for him. “I am sorry, David.”
“None of it was your fault. I sowed the seeds for all of this drama in my youth.”
“We cannot be held accountable forever for the mistakes and misfortunes of our youth.”
“No, we cannot, Jeanne, and you must stop punishing yourself for what happened between yourself and your father. You did the best you could with little life experience and limited funds. I am sure he understood. I am sure he forgave you in his heart.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“We have a whole life we can share. We have to look forward now. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, I will.” How calmly she accepted this. But it still didn’t seem real. She suspected she was yet dreaming.
* * * *
A few days later, David watched Jeanne as she sat in Thérèse’s garden with her face turned up to the afternoon sun. A wreath of pink roses adorned her hair and she wore a simple white day dress with a broad sash of silver cloth. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Jeanne was going to be just fine. The doctor had assured him so just yesterday.
And she was finally his.
Weeks ago, he had procured a special license before he’d left on his aborted trip to Scotland. He hadn’t known what would have transpired on that trip if Jeanne had gone with him and he’d wanted to keep all options open.
And so this morning, while the clock swung up from eleven-thirty to noon, they had been wed in the parlor with Thérèse and Lord Henry Somerville as witnesses. Henry proved to be his usual quiet, sober self and had watched the proceedings with a stony expression. What did he feel about Isabella’s death? There was no way to know. But he shook David’s hand and nodded to Jeanne, giving her his best wishes before he left.
Thérèse had smiled and cried and given them both lavish wishes for a lovely life and many, many, many children.
Jeanne had smiled in return but David saw her lips tremble and wondered inside if she were altogether ready for “many, many, many children.” There would be so many adjustments for her to make. The transition wasn’t going to be easy. He would do whatever he could to smooth the way for her but he couldn’t shelter her completely.
Jeanne and David had remained here, for the doctor had warned against moving her too soon. But today they would go home. He was impatient to be going.
He stood behind Jeanne’s chaise lounge. “My love.”
She looked back and up at him. The bruises on her forehead gave him a wince of pain. And then she smiled and he scarcely noticed them. He only saw her.
He bent and placed the gentlest of kisses on her cheek. “It would be best if we left London for a while. As soon as you are completely well. Where would you like to spend our wedding trip?”
“I would like to go to Paris.”
“Paris?”
“We could take Thérèse. She said you never made it to Paris.”
David froze, completely taken aback. “I don’t want to take Thérèse on our wedding trip.”
“But I do.”
“Your heart is too soft.”
“You said you wanted to soften all my hard edges.”
That made him smile and he placed his hands under her head and gathered the spill of her curls, appreciating their silken texture. Adoring the way they glistened like spun gold. “So I did.”
“I am happier for it and I want to share that happiness.” Her smile widened, becoming as bright as sunshine. Her eyes were as blue as the sky. Bluer.
Mixed emotions arose. Pride at her ability to overcome her prejudice against those who suffered mental illnesses. Pleasure in her gentle, compassionate nature. But he didn’t share her enthusiasm for this plan.
“Even if I wanted Thérèse with us, she is much too ill for such a journey.”
“She’s dying— it is her last chance.”
Jeanne’s gaze was so earnest, he couldn’t bear it. He glanced away for a moment, folding his hands in his lap. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having with his new bride on their wedding day. Then he blew out a long exhalation and turned back to her. “Brighton. She can travel as far as Brighton.”
&nbs
p; “Brighton?”
“Or we’ll send her to Bath. But I think Brighton is best.”
“Why not Paris?”
“The channel would make her too ill. We shall hire enough attendants so that she is as comfortable as possible. But they can take her to Brighton, not Paris. And we shan’t accompany her.”
He released her hair and came around to sit by her on the chaise.
She tilted her head to one side. “No? Why not?”
“Because I would rather take you north. I have a small hunting lodge. It is quite isolated there by the sea, and I think you would vastly prefer it to Brighton.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I feel very selfish. I want you all to myself. For a whole month I think.”
“I find the idea of being isolated with you for a month very appealing.” Then she dropped her mouth open, as though something just occurred to her. “She may die whilst we are gone.”
“I know.” He waited for the usual tightening in his guts. The blistering self-blame. Nothing came except for a calm joyfulness to be here with Jeanne. “I have spent much time and energy maintaining a bond with Thérèse out of the guilt I felt when she first became ill. I believed I had set her on that path. I believed I had taken away all her options. But she made her own choices. We were both young and we both made mistakes. I think it is time for me to let go of that guilt.”
She touched his face. “Thank you for agreeing to a trip for Thérèse.”
He placed his hand over hers. “It will be an expense and quite an undertaking for the people directly involved. She’s not always easy to manage.”
“I suspect as much, but it will mean so much to her.”
“I am only doing this for you because I know you have seen traces of your Papa in Thérèse’s plight.”
“I understand that you work hard at your politics, David. You think that’s the best way to save the world from its sins. But sometimes the world is saved one person at a time.”
Warmth entered his chest. Nothing could have pleased him more than to hear his own thoughts on his dear wife’s lips. “Yes, perhaps that is correct. You did save me that first day.”
“You saved me in turn.” Her eyes lit with love. “You are a kind, compassionate, giving man and I love you. You drove yourself too hard and it made you ill. You cannot keep doing that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are getting too old, David.”
She sounded so serious, he had to chuckle. “Too old, eh?”
“Almost forty.”
“Almost thirty-nine,” he corrected.
“Same difference. I, too, am a selfish woman. I do not want to see you kill yourself by age fifty in the name of your crusades. I want to have you for more years than that.”
He pressed her hand closer and his gaze became even more tender. “But the world is relentless, my love.”
“Yes, this is also true; however, we could focus more on saving individuals.”
“You have a plan, do you?”
“Yes, I think you should found an asylum, one run with a heart.”
“Yes.” He smiled, broadly. Once again, her thoughts were mirroring his own and he couldn’t help but believe that was the best possible omen for their marriage. Despite the hardships of her common birth and their age difference, they had every chance of building a strong and successful union. The House of Somerville would be redeemed and renewed for all future generations. “We should found an asylum. Maybe purchase some land near my estate in York.”
“So far north?”
“The farther away from London and the more secluded, the better for everything, I think. I shall likely prove a stubborn man to reform. I will need to be far away from the House and the temptation to become too deeply drawn back into politics.”
“Goodness.” She studied his open, sincere expression. “This isn’t the first time you’ve thought of this.”
“No, it is not. I started toying with the idea of a change once my bill failed to pass the House of Lords, but other events caused me to be distracted.”
“I am so sorry I distracted you from your work.”
“You didn’t distract me. You woke me.”
“Woke you?”
“Yes, you woke me to all the other possibilities in life. I possess vast wealth and a good deal of power. I have always thought that politics was the best way to utilize that wealth and power to create change. Now I see that change may be best brought about through direct, personal effort.”
“I woke you to this?”
“Yes, you woke me to this that first day when you saved me.”
“I suppose you have woken me as well. I did not realize how I had focused my memories of Papa only upon the most nightmarish aspects at the end. I forgot the years before. You awoke me from my nightmare of that.” She sighed. “Oh, David, I cannot promise that I shall ever be comfortable doing as you do, touring asylums and interacting with the insane like that. I do not know if I shall ever be as socially facile as you are either. I am, I fear, a very private person.”
“It will be fine. I love you just as you are. I need you just as you are.” He bent and kissed her, long and lingering.
When he lifted his head, she stared back at him with eyes as brilliant blue as the sky above. “I love you too. I have for a very long time now. I want to entwine my life with yours and my home is wherever you are.”
He cupped her face. “I hear the ‘but’ in your tone. What are you so worried about?”
“Is our love enough? I don’t want to disappoint you or shame you or—”
“Listen to me. We’re going to live a very different life than I have here in London, serving in Parliament. We shall spend much time on my estate, filling our nursery. And you shall have all the time you need to write or do anything else that takes your fancy. You shall take things at your own ability to do so.” He stood and reached a hand down to her. “Come, my love, it is time we went home.”
* * * *
As she lay on her back, Jeanne closed her eyes and recalled her first impression of the Elizabethan-style house with its many, large mullioned windows and stepped gables. They had just arrived a few hours before.
The huge bed rocked. She opened her eyes to meet David’s clear, emerald eyes as he sat beside her.
“This is no cottage,” she said.
A glimmer of a smile teased at his sensual lips, and from the window the setting sun shone in blue lights on his coal black hair. He took her wrists into his hands. “It seems very cozy to me. Believe me, after the summer at our estate, you shall see it that way too.”
“Our estate?”
“Yes, our estate, my Duchess of Hartley.” He pulled her legs together and up. Then he took her arms and wrapped them under her thighs and tied them together with silk rope. It left her cunt exposed and made her feel confined in a way that caused her heart to race. He traced her outer lips. “How do you like it?”
“This position?”
“No, I can tell by how wet you are that you like the position just fine. I want to know if you like this house.”
“I adore it.”
“And I adore you.” He kissed her quickly.
“I adore you too, David.”
“It’s yours, you know.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is not entailed. I had the deed changed to your name about a month ago. You should have something real that you own outright.”
“Thank you, David.”
“My lovely, naughty girl. I have neglected my duties. You’ve been too long without discipline, eh?” He laid a hearty smack on her bottom. “I am glad to hear you like this house because I intend to keep you here, sequestered for the whole month, whilst I tie you up and do all sorts of wicked, wonderful things to your gorgeous body.”
The End
Author’s Note
The Duke of Hartley and his bill to improve the treatment of the mentally ill are fictional creations of the author.
About The Author
Natasha Blackthorne writes emotional, evocative, erotic historical romance featuring non-traditional and unconventional situations. Her stories are most frequently about the internal journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.
Her heroines are not perfect ladies. They are wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden. Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines' strong desires and deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return.
She is married to her own hero and they share their life with a very quirky calico cat. She holds a BA in History and loves to read, both romance and scholarly history and listens to a variety of music from classical to reggae. But mostly she is hard at work researching and writing her next story.
A Measured Risk by Natasha Blackthorne
A MEASURED RISK features a shy, intellectual, strong-willed widow with real life curves (Rubenesque/BBW) and a protective, possessive Dominant, alpha male hero. This is a story of Dominance and submission with light BDSM, emotional healing, trust and love.
He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?
Book one in the Regency Risks Series
Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband's life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.
And now she's willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.
When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.
Her Mystery Duke Page 27
