by Julia London
Poor Mr. Cox looked very conflicted. She guessed he wished perhaps as much as she that Merryton would not disappear. Or perhaps he wished that she and her dog were the ones to disappear. She smiled sympathetically at him and said, “I’ll just fetch my things.”
As she began to walk away, Cox said, “Madam, if I may— I would be remiss if I allowed you to leave unattended. I can assure you his lordship would not approve.”
“I agree completely,” she said, and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Which is why I’ve asked Hattie to gather her things. Now, don’t look so astounded, Cox. I think Hattie is the sort who could be very useful if we found ourselves in a scrape. And we’re only going as far as Bath.” She patted his arm and walked on before he could think of any other reason to dissuade her.
* * *
HATTIE LOOKED AS unhappy as Cox when Grace met them on the drive with Bother in tow. She also looked a bit frightened.
“Come along, Hattie,” Grace said. “In London, ladies may come and go as they please.” That wasn’t true, either, but certainly Grace and Honor had done so to the delight of many gentlemen about town.
Hattie looked up at Mr. Cox for affirmation of that fact.
“Mr. Cox does not hail from London and is not acquainted with the customs there,” Grace said, linking her arm in Hattie’s and turning her away from Cox’s reproachful eye. “But I am. Now really, we must be away. It’s not a short drive to Bath.”
Hattie climbed into the coach. Grace followed her, waved cheerfully to Cox and knocked on the ceiling to signal the driver.
Grace was forced to do quite a lot of what her husband would call nattering on the way to Bath. After Hattie confessed she’d never been beyond Ashton Down, Grace understood her trepidation. She tried to put the maid at ease, but Hattie was anxious. So Grace talked. She talked until Hattie’s chin dropped to her chest and she began to snore softly.
She leaned across the squabs to pet Bother, who sat with his paws on the window sash for most of the drive. He seemed content to watch the passing countryside for rabbits or birds, occasionally lifting his snout in the air as if he’d detected something important.
Grace was uncertain what to expect in Bath—other than a tongue-lashing. She was fully prepared for that. But the thought had occurred to her that perhaps he was with a mistress. In spite of his claim to be a man who honored his vows, nothing else made sense. And his sudden disappearance had to make sense. He sought perfection in all things. Well, she sought reason.
Hattie woke just as they entered Bath, and she gasped at the sight of the much larger town, joining Bother to peer out the window.
The coach rolled slowly through the narrow streets, garnering the attention of pedestrians, many of whom stopped to watch it roll by. The coach eventually rolled to a halt in front of a first-rate town house on a picturesque square. Grace caught an anxious breath and grabbed Bother’s lead. She landed on the sidewalk when the coachman opened the door, looked up at the door and squared her shoulders.
They were met at the door by the Bath butler, or rather, Grace was, as Hattie stood on the sidewalk. “Good afternoon,” Grace said. “I am Lady Merryton.”
The butler looked stunned. “Yes, yes, madam. Of course!” He bowed.
“Have you a name?”
“Tobias, my lady. I am the butler here. At your service.” He bowed again as Bother sniffed around his shoes before lifting his leg against the boot scrape.
Tobias didn’t seem to notice. At first Grace thought that perhaps he was more accommodating than Cox, but then she realized that the gentleman seemed rather anxious. Grace smiled and tried to see past him. “Well, then, Tobias, will you leave me standing here, or allow me in to see my husband?”
Tobias blinked.
“He is here, is he not?”
“Ah...” The butler glanced over his shoulder, and Grace’s heart sank. No wonder Tobias was acting so strangely. Jeffrey was here, with his mistress. Or worse. She didn’t know what worse might be, but clearly, something was terribly amiss, and she felt ridiculous for having come all this way only to be humiliated.
“He is, madam, but he is...indisposed.”
“Yes, I can guess that he is,” she said. She turned around, gestured for Hattie. When Hattie was close enough, she put her hand on her arm and pulled her forward, almost thrusting her at Tobias. “Please show Hattie to our rooms and have our things brought in.” She moved forward, forcing Tobias to move aside, and walked into the foyer.
“Yes, madam. If you will follow me,” he said, gesturing to a drawing room on the right.
Grace pulled back. “No, thank you, Tobias. I should like to see my husband now.”
She noted the slightest dip in Tobias’s shoulders. “Yes,” he said gloomily. He gestured for a footman to come forward, and instructed him to show Hattie up. “This way,” he said softly, and led Grace and Bother to a door at the end of the hall. He rapped lightly on the door. “My lord!” He leaned forward, listening.
There was no answer.
Tobias rapped louder. “My lord!” he called again.
What was this happening here? Grace pushed past the butler and tried the door, but found it locked. “Have you a key?”
Tobias removed the keys from his pocket and turned the lock.
Grace pushed the door open. Bother darted past her and into the room. “Bother!” Grace called. She stepped inside, saw Jeffrey lying on the floor, and her heart seized with fear that he was dead. But then he groaned and moved.
Lord, was he drunk? She looked at Tobias for explanation, but Tobias had regained his composure and his expression was unreadable. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll ring for you if I need you.” She gestured for him to go. Tobias went reluctantly, his gaze on Jeffrey. Grace closed the door firmly when he’d gone out, and turned to look at Jeffrey on the floor.
Bother had his nose to the ground, his tail high as he examined the room. It looked as if there had been a fight in this room. Chairs were overturned and a candle had fallen and burned a hole in the carpet. One of the drapes hung haphazardly, and Grace had the odd image of Jeffrey swinging from it. Some piece of china—a figurine, she supposed—had been shattered at the hearth.
She moved slowly toward her husband, looking for an empty bottle of whiskey. And then she saw it—there, near his elbow, a brown vial. She knew precisely what sort of vial it was—the Lord knew they had given her mother enough laudanum to calm her over the past few months. Grace dipped down and picked it up. There was still liquid sloshing about inside. She tossed it into the embers.
Was he addicted to the laudanum, then? Was that the reason for his odd behavior? Was that the invisible wall he’d erected around himself? Grace had heard of it happening. She stepped over him, and spotted a bottle of whiskey lying on its side. She panicked, wondering if she had married a man who could not free himself of demons. And yet, that didn’t seem like Jeffrey. She glanced down at him, lying on the floor. His brow was creased, as if he were in pain. His chin was covered with the stubble of his beard. How long had he been like this? The room was dank and smoky, leading her to believe it had been more than a few hours.
Bother had reached Jeffrey and was sniffing the leg of his trousers, then his face. He licked his cheek.
Jeffrey’s eyes fluttered open. He scowled at the dog, then looked up at Grace with dull eyes. Where were the vibrant green eyes that always seemed to look straight into her? Grace didn’t know what had happened to this man, but her heart went out to him. There was something bruisingly vulnerable in him, something quite sad. She crouched next to him and brushed a curl from his forehead. “Poor thing,” she murmured.
He grimaced, gently pushed the dog away and then sat up. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Here?” She looked around. “Do you mean here, in this room? Or do you mean here, in Bath? I think the answer is the same—I am here because my husband left without a word to me. What are you doing here, my lord?”
&nb
sp; He closed his eyes a moment, as if he were pushing down his pain. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Really? It looks to me as if you are fortunate that I have come. What has happened, Jeffrey?”
He shook his head. Bother nudged his hand, crawling onto his leg. Jeffrey didn’t stop him.
“I don’t understand you.” Grace sighed, sliding onto her knees beside him. “For all I knew, you had abandoned me. I couldn’t imagine why you would not have the courtesy to at least inform me you were leaving.”
“Would it have made a difference to your displeasure?” he asked, and rubbed his temples.
Grace tilted her head to one side. “No,” she said as she studied him. “It would have made for a different sort of displeasure entirely.” She noticed a bandage on his neck and reached out to touch it. “Oh, dear, what happened?” He instantly recoiled and pulled her hand down from his neck.
“Something is wrong,” she said again. “If you tell me, I will help you. I want to help you.”
For some reason, that made him smile. He looked at her. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed her knuckles. And even though Grace was wearing gloves, she could feel that kiss seeping into her skin, leaving a sizzling little trail as it moved into her veins and flowed through her. He said, “You would not understand it.”
“But I might.” She squeezed his hand. “Whatever is the matter, you can’t hide it forever, can you?”
“Don’t press me, Grace,” he said low, and came unsteadily to his feet. “You mean well, but you have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know very well what I’m doing,” she said, rising up beside him. “I’m trying rather desperately to be a wife to you. I am trying to find my way in this marriage, but it’s very difficult because you keep insisting I don’t understand, and then I find you like this.”
“This is private—”
“I won’t accept that, Jeffrey, I won’t.” She looked around at the broken room. “It’s...it’s madness—”
“Yes. It is,” he said, his gaze casting about the room, too. “Bloody madness.”
He started to move away from her, but Grace caught his arm, gripping it tightly. “I won’t leave it, you know. I will follow you to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes to discover what secret you are hiding.”
Jeffrey gave a bitter laugh to the ceiling and yanked his arm free of her. He pushed his hands through his hair, then found his waist and stared at her, swaying a bit unsteadily on his feet. “Very well, madam, you have demanded it. You have pushed me to the truth. Have you any idea what I want right now, this very minute?”
“A bath?” she said, arching a brow.
“I want you to kiss me. What you cannot possibly understand is how completely and utterly I desire you.”
That proclamation was so unexpected that Grace was made speechless by it.
“I desire you,” he said, and clenched his fist as he stepped closer to her. “God help me, how I do. But I don’t desire you merely as a man desires a woman. It is much more than that—it is far more challenging than that.”
Quite honestly, Grace didn’t know if she should be flattered or insulted. “That makes no sense.”
He snorted derisively. “Nothing about me makes sense, you may as well know.”
Good God, he was mad. “I don’t understand!” she exclaimed, casting her arms wide. “Why should a man not desire his wife? What is the matter with you?” Grace cried.
“You see? I’ve only told you that I desire you completely and it daunts you.”
“I am not daunted!” She suddenly threw herself at him with such force that he stumbled a bit with surprise. She put her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his and kissed him. Truly kissed him. She sank into him, her back curving as she melted against his body. She angled her head and opened her mouth, slipped her tongue into his.
Jeffrey’s response was hard and immediate; he drew her tighter into his body, whirled them around and flattened her against the wall. His hand found her hip and roughly kneaded it, pulling her into him. He cupped one of her breasts, his fingers sinking into her flesh through her clothing.
His lusty response incited Grace—she was only beginning to understand the breadth of the power she could wield with just her body—and she pressed against him, moving her pelvis against his sudden erection. But at the same time, the pleasurable assault of his hands and his mouth on her made her weak; she splayed her arms against the wall and closed her eyes as his mouth moved on her skin. How had she become this woman? Not a fortnight ago, she could scarcely look at him. Now, she craved his touch, his attention—
He suddenly lifted his head and dropped his hands. He was breathing hard, and his eyes looked as if they were on fire. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “For God’s sake,” he said through deep breaths, “don’t challenge me, Grace. You don’t understand what sort of beast you unleash—”
“Beast! Because you desire me? Because you want me to kiss you?”
“You are too young, too innocent, to understand,” he said, and suddenly braced his hand against the wall at her head, dipping down and leaning into her, his eyes level with hers. “Heed me—I am a man for whom control is difficult,” he said, the words sounding hard to say. “God, how do I make you understand? I lose control—look around you! I lose control! And this?” he said angrily, gesturing between the two of them, “this will never end with a kiss. I will only want more and more. I will want until you are spent, physically and emotionally. You have no idea what I am,” he said roughly. “God hope you never find out.”
He turned, and started to walk across the room. Grace whirled about and slammed her fist against the wall. Bother began to bark, and Grace instantly grabbed her hand and winced at the pain. The puppy began to paw at her skirts.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Jeffrey exclaimed, reaching for her hand.
Grace had never struck a wall in her life. Not when her sisters vexed her, not in all the fear and uncertainty her mother had aroused in her. But then again, she had never been so frustrated as this. “My patience is spent,” she said angrily as he moved her fingers, one by one. “I have somehow managed to put myself in a marriage with the most impenetrable, intractable man in all of England! When I think of all the years before me in which I will be forced to live with whatever it is that ails you, without benefit of even understanding what it is, I can scarcely abide it!” She jerked her hand away from him and stretched her fingers long, then curled them.
“You’re right,” Jeffrey said, his voice gone soft, and shrugged. “Are you certain you want the truth? Can you bear it?”
Her heart skipped with apprehension, and for a slender moment, she wasn’t certain she could bear it. But her burning desire to understand him quickly buried that uncertainty. “More than anything.”
“Then you must prepare yourself, Lady Merryton, for your husband suffers from madness.”
“Don’t say that unless it’s true.”
He smiled ruefully. “It’s true. I will tell you things that may repulse you, and I won’t blame you if they do. But it doesn’t change the truth.”
“First you are a beast, and now you are mad? You’re not mad—”
“I am ruled by the number eight.”
Grace didn’t think she heard him correctly. “Pardon?”
He smiled sadly, ran his hand over his hair again. “Don’t expect any of what I will tell you to make sense. I’ve been trying to make sense of it most of my life.” He turned away from her and walked to the window, bracing himself with one arm against the frame. “I am ruled by the number eight.”
“But...how can a number rule you?” she asked.
“It all seems quite simple to me, really. I am plagued with images,” he said, gesturing to his head. “Immoral, vile images. Of...women,” he admitted. “Of women pleasuring themselves...and pleasuring one another.” He did not look at her, and Grace was thankful he didn’t. She wa
s certain the blood had rushed out of her face.
“It began as a young man, these images, these thoughts of vile acts with women, or in watching women. I began to imagine what I might do to a woman, and the images became more fantastic. Those thoughts, those visions, fire my blood.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his gaze flicking over her. “And when I look at you, my improbable wife, I see the most beautiful of women, and I can’t stop the fear that I...that I will hurt you in the grip of my lust.” He swallowed, and looked down.
“The only thing that can calm me, the only thing that can push the images away is the number eight. Counting, dividing, multiplying.” With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “It is madness.”
Grace had truly believed he couldn’t shock her, but he had. As if her mother’s madness wasn’t difficult enough, this was quite uncomfortable to hear. She sank down the wall, sliding to her haunches on the floor.
“I have been this way most of my life, although it seems to have worsened with age and...and with solitude. It is beyond my ability to control these obsessive thoughts and these compulsions to count. I can’t even explain to you why I have them. I only know that the less chaos in my life, the more symmetry—simple, clean lines, uniform color—the easier it is for me.”
Suddenly so much of what Grace knew of him made sense. The lack of paintings, the single type of rose. Now she could almost see his struggle to maintain order at Blackwood Hall, to keep the secrets of his mind. She could see by the ravages of his face as he unburdened himself to her that it had taken a hard toll on him.
She also realized that he would never be able to accept her mother into his life. That realization wrapped around her heart and squeezed painfully.
“I have been fighting against the need for absolute perfection since I was a boy,” he said. “I’ve always known it was unreasonable, but of late, it has become intolerable. My days are spent worrying that I might harm you, that I might coax you into an act of depravity that no young woman should ever have to endure.”
She was to endure depravity? Grace looped her arm around Bother’s neck, holding him close. Jeffrey sighed wearily, as if telling the truth had sapped him. She could see the desperation in his eyes for her to understand him, but at the same time, he seemed almost resigned that she would not. “I suppose it is little wonder to you now why I remain at Blackwood. Out of sight, undiscoverable, where I might control the urges. I come to Bath to take the waters on the very thin hope that will help. I go to London when I must, but I am truly comfortable only at Blackwood Hall.”
