by Julia London
“Is there no help for it?” she asked softly.
He smiled lopsidedly. “That’s why I came to Bath. After our night together, I felt...uncontrollable. Linford performed a blood-letting to rid me of the poisons,” he said, gesturing to his neck. “He gave me laudanum to calm my thoughts. It would seem that neither has done as he—or I—hoped.”
It was all too much—Grace couldn’t make sense of her thoughts. She pitied Jeffrey. She wanted to help him somehow, for he seemed so desperate and alone, and her heart truly went out to him. But at the same time, she possessed a fierce desire to protect herself, her family, her life. She didn’t know what to make of what he’d told her, of the warning of depravity foisted upon her, of what that truly meant, precisely. And she couldn’t help but wonder about any children born of this union. Would they, too, think vile thoughts? The very idea sent a shudder down her spine.
“You are revolted,” he said quietly. “I can see it.”
She wasn’t revolted; she was disturbed. Deeply disturbed. Grace tried very hard to smile reassuringly but failed miserably. “I’m confused.” She pushed up again, picked up Bother’s lead. What did this mean for them now?
She needed to think. She needed a bit of time to absorb this and think.
She didn’t even realize she was walking to the door until he said, “Where are you going?”
She looked at the door, then at him.
He winced as if he’d been struck by an inward pain. “If you want...” He swallowed. “If you want to leave, I will not stand in your way.”
Did he mean the room? Or his life?
He grimaced again, and his fist closed tightly. “I will understand.” He tapped it against his leg, eight times, and she wondered if it was so ingrained in him now that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“I don’t...I don’t know what I mean to do,” she said honestly. “I only know that it’s been a long drive from Blackwood.” It was hard to look at him, to see the need for acceptance in his eyes, particularly when she didn’t know what she was capable of giving him. “I need to think, Jeffrey. It’s quite a lot to take in.”
“Of course.” He averted his gaze.
“Come, Bother,” she said softly, and went out of that wrecked room, her thoughts rushing ahead of her feet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GRACE HAD UNNERVED HIM. Jeffrey had been on a precipice after the blood-letting, and her unexpected appearance had pushed him off balance. It was a fact that he did not bear up well under surprises.
And yet, in spite of the failures of Dr. Linford’s remedies, he felt a great relief in having unburdened himself to her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to say aloud what plagued him. It was the first time in his life he’d admitted his secret to anyone, and after a bath, and a bit of food in his belly, Jeffrey felt lighter than he had since his first encounter with Grace Cabot. He’d felt in control of his thoughts, of his habits. Perhaps all he’d needed was a bit of time alone, to absorb this sea change in his life. Perhaps he could navigate this marriage, after all.
No more secrets.
But God help him, Grace was never the same one day to the next. She’d been contrite and subdued in the beginning. Then angry. Then cheerful and spirited and quite awful on the pianoforte, and kind to useless dogs.
And now she was missing.
She’d gone out with the dog shortly after finding him as she had. “To walk,” Tobias informed him.
She had not come back.
When she did not appear for the evening meal, Jeffrey could only assume the worst. Had she fled him, then? Had he horrified her so completely that she’d stolen away while he was in his bath? Jeffrey’s feeling of lightness began to turn heavy. Now he wondered how he might endure the lack of predictability from her, if she returned to him. He thought of Mary Gastineau and how that marriage might have gone. Mary was timid and far more restrained than Grace. Bloody hell, entire squads of debutantes were far more restrained than Grace. He could safely assume that Mary would not have impetuously followed him to Bath.
He smiled a little at that, and imagined his golden-haired wife in the coach with Hattie and her dog, chattering as if it were a tea party.
But the waiting was impossible. He finally rang for Tobias. “Has she come yet?” he asked when Tobias appeared in the parlor.
“No, my lord,” Tobias said. “Her maid informs me that she has dined at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Brumley.”
The Brumleys, of course. They would wonder why he hadn’t accompanied her, wouldn’t they? God help him, what would she tell them? Were they gathered around her even now, their faces twisted with horror as she whispered the ugly truth about him? No, no...Grace wouldn’t do that. He truly believed she did not want to hurt him, no matter what she might be feeling about him now.
Still, he felt uneasy, and debated going to fetch her, to at least make an appearance. What would John do in a situation such as this? Jeffrey had always envied his brother’s easy way with others, his ease as he moved through society. John was gregarious and very sociable, quick to please their guests.
Jeffrey could never seem to think of trite things to say. And given the sickness of his mind, conversation, even smiling, was quite difficult for him. He knew that people perceived him to be aloof and haughty, but it wasn’t true. The truth was that he was frozen, locked into the madness that had consumed his life. In his life, society was the most dangerous ground he walked. In the presence of strangers and acquaintances, Jeffrey had to concentrate entirely on his affliction so that he’d not show any sign of it. He was painfully aware that madness, more than any other disability, could ruin this family and this prestigious name. More than scandal, more than frailty, more than lack of fortune, more than a failure to pay one’s debts—nothing turned people away like the hint of madness. Society had a tendency to lock the maddest away in dungeons, leaving them to rot. Certainly no one in his lofty circles would allow a daughter to wed a madman, or the brother of a madman, for what if that taint was carried in the blood? Then even Sylvia’s two young children, one of them a newborn, would be suspect.
Passing on his madness to a child was the worst thing Jeffrey could possibly imagine. The carnal pleasure he sought from Grace was made even more disturbing when he considered that, in every act, he risked creating a child that would be just like him.
And yet, he couldn’t stop himself.
He had to go and get her. He dressed, nervously tying and untying a neck cloth before he was satisfied with it. He walked down to the foyer, and as he took his hat and crop from Tobias, the door opened and Grace walked in, the dog scampering ahead of her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she smiled a little uncertainly. “Bother and I had a bit of a walk. Rather, he dragged me around behind him.”
“If I may, Lady Merryton, I’ll take him around to the stables,” Tobias said.
“Thank you.” She handed the lead to Tobias. She dipped down, cooed to the dog and scratched him behind the ears before he was led away.
When Tobias and the dog had gone, Grace and Jeffrey were alone in the foyer. She eyed him nervously.
“Did you enjoy your evening?” he asked.
“Well,” she said on a sigh, “Cousin Beatrice insisted I describe each room of Blackwood Hall in great detail. In great detail. Down to the number of candles and such.”
Jeffrey arched a brow. “That is a lot of rooms and candles.”
“Indeed it is. But I was effusive in my praise,” she said with a funny little nod of her head. “I might have embellished a bit. I proclaimed it the grandest of houses and a favorite of the king’s.”
“The king,” Jeffrey said, smiling.
“You are not acquainted with Beatrice. She likes things to be quite grand. You may trust that she adored the notion and was sitting so close to the edge of her seat that I feared she would topple over and smother poor Bother. And then I explained to Beatrice it was so grand that you’d given yourself a bit of an ague with the running of it.
She sends her best wishes for your speedy recovery.”
Jeffrey smiled with relief and gratitude that she hadn’t divulged his true ailment. “Perhaps we might have a port,” he suggested, and gestured to the parlor.
“Might we have tea?” she asked, her hand going lightly to her abdomen. “I’ve drunk enough wine this evening.”
“I’ll see to it,” he said, and gestured for her to wait in the drawing room. When he returned, having asked for tea, Grace was still standing. She had removed her cloak and was wearing a gossamer green silk gown with a train that had been beaded with tiny crystals. Ah, but she was a beautiful woman, as beautiful as she was when lying naked in her bed, her skin cast gold from the light of the hearth. He admired her honey-colored hair, the plump pink lips, and could feel the vile thoughts crowding in at the edges of his brain. He glanced down, tapped his fingers together eight times.
When he looked up, she was watching him. “I wasn’t certain you would return,” he said.
“Quite honestly, neither was I.” She brushed the back of her hand against her cheek, and looked absently at the window. “I spent the better part of the evening trying to understand what you have told me, and I can’t seem to.”
Jeffrey’s heart sank a little. Of course she couldn’t understand his madness. And Grace was too clever, too rational, to make sense of something so baffling.
“But as I thought about it, I realized that I had forced you into this untenable position, and then forced you to reveal your...dilemma. I won’t abandon you with it now. I don’t know what to think of it really...but I think you should know that I’m not afraid.”
It was the kindest thing she might have said to him. He took as step forward. “Grace—”
“May I ask you,” she said before he could say anything, before he could touch her, “is there anyone else who knows?”
He gripped his hand in a fist, and swallowed down his natural tendency to say nothing. “Linford knows perhaps a bit of it. My brother and sister suspect—John most of all. But no one knows the extent of it.”
“I wonder, shall I ever be presented to your family, or am I a secret, as well?”
“You’re not a secret,” he said. “They will come in summer to escape the foul air in London. Much as I presume you might have moved to...Longmeadow, is it?”
She smiled. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything you have said.” He meant that quite earnestly.
“What will they think of me?”
“Pardon?”
“Your family,” she clarified. “What will they think of me?” She was fidgeting with the tail of the ribbon that cinched the gown beneath her bodice. It was one of the rare shows of angst he’d actually seen from her.
They would think he’d lost his mind, certainly, for if there was one person in the family who could be depended upon to stay quite out of scandal, it was him. But they would find Grace lovely, he had no doubt. “I believe they will say that fortune has smiled on me,” he answered honestly.
Her eyes widened with surprise and she smiled with pleasure. “Thank you. I expect they’ll think me quite shameful. Or worse. Now I must know if you intend to meet my family?”
Jeffrey didn’t realize he was tapping his fingers until Grace shifted closer and took his hand. She looked up at him, her eyes curious but kind as she linked her fingers with his to keep him from tapping.
Tobias entered with the tea service, and Grace’s fingers fluttered away from his. She moved to the mantel and lit another candle as Tobias arranged the tea and biscuits.
“Thank you, that will be all,” Jeffrey said, and waited until his butler had gone out.
“I rather like this room,” Grace said, glancing around as Jeffrey poured tea for her, her gaze steady on his face. “It reminds me of a room at Longmeadow, a small parlor where my mother liked us to dine, informally. She said that allowed her to mind our table manners more closely.” She smiled at the memory, then looked at him again. “What of your mother? You’ve said nothing about her.”
Jeffrey didn’t remember much about his mother. She had spent most of his youth in her bed, suffering from this illness or that. He believed that the truth was that she’d been too idle, and had grown accustomed to the art of lying about. Which came naturally when one drank brandy as she did.
“My mother did not concern herself with children,” he said matter-of-factly. He looked down at his plate, suddenly plagued with a hard memory. His father had been angry with him for something that Jeffrey couldn’t even recall any longer and had locked him in a cupboard. Jeffrey remembered calling out to his mother. Mamma! He would count to eight and call again. And again. His mother never came. No one came. It had been hours before his father returned to free him.
“I don’t recall her very well at all,” he said, more to himself than to Grace, and gestured for her to sit, handing her a cup of tea.
“Oh, dear...I’m sorry.”
He shrugged indifferently as he sat beside her on the settee.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine it. My mother, she...” She suddenly looked away, to the hearth. “She has been the kindest, most loving of mothers.” She said nothing for several moments and seemed lost in her own thoughts, her finger going around and around the rim of her teacup. “Do you wish for children?”
A bitter taste filled his throat. He wished for whiskey and abruptly stood, walking to the sideboard. “I am obliged to produce an heir,” he said as he poured whiskey into a tot.
“Do you want children merely because you are obliged?”
“That is a difficult question to answer,” he said truthfully, and tossed the whiskey down his throat, and poured another. “I am clearly obliged. It is the only thing that is truly expected of me, barring any natural impediments.” He turned back to her. “But I don’t wish for children, Grace. How could I wish for them, knowing what afflictions I might pass to them?”
“Well, I should like to be surrounded by my children, to raise a large and happy family, with much love and laughter. I would not like to spend my days with no one to care for.”
She looked at him expectantly, and Jeffrey thought it quite clear that she wanted him to agree, to want the same thing. If he’d been anyone other than a man who had to count to eight to endure life, or could not erase from his mind the images of her with her legs spread open to him, he might have offered her that reassurance. He resumed his seat next to her. “Do you want them yet, given what I’ve told you?”
She steadily held his gaze, her eyes seeking something in him. “It gives me pause, I won’t deny it,” she admitted. “But I have faith, and yes, I want them.” She nibbled a biscuit. “Will you describe the images?”
The request caught him off guard. He was doing his best to be open with her, but there were some parts of him he could scarcely look at, much less reveal. He could not look in the seas of her eyes and say aloud the voracious and vile thoughts he’d had about her.
Grace suddenly put aside her teacup and leaned forward, framing his face with her hands. “I don’t fear them, Jeffrey. I don’t fear anything about you.”
Jeffrey closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
“Jeffrey,” she whispered, her voice a soft whisper, floating in past the torrid thoughts, the overwhelming urge to count. “Help me understand.”
“They are how I desire you,” he heard himself say. “The incomprehensible and debauched manner in which I desire you.” He opened his eyes, grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “The images,” he said, gesturing at his head, “are shocking.”
“Images of what?”
“Grace, I beg of you, don’t push me. I have been as honest with you as I know to be.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand how a man’s desire for his wife can be debauched.”
“Because you are too innocent to understand what depravity exists in this world.”
She drifted back away from him, her gaze steady on his, studying him. “I
may be innocent, but I’m not naive, Jeffrey. I’ve heard tales—”
“You’ve heard nothing like this,” he said quickly, and stood up, walking to the sideboard again. “I desire you in ways that could harm you.”
“But you haven’t harmed me in the least. The obsession with it is not real.”
“By the sheer nature of the acts I imagine, I harm you.”
She frowned a little, as if trying to make sense of that. She stood up, taking a tentative step toward him. “Tell me how you would harm me. I have a right to know.”
His blood was churning with regret, with desire, with a torrent of emotions that had been bottled up and tucked away all his life. They were building to a boil, and he could feel the danger of them boiling over. He drew a breath, clenched his hands tightly. “I imagine you bound and gagged,” he said flatly. “You cannot either move or speak.”
Grace paused. “Am I clothed?”
“In the beginning. But then I remove them, laying you bare to me.” He swallowed, hard, his mind filling with that image.
Grace’s chest rose. “Go on,” she said.
“Your...your arms are tied over your head,” he said, gesturing to her hands. “Your legs are spread apart.”
Grace bit her bottom lip. “And then?”
“And then,” he said, moving closer to her, “I reach inside you with my fingers,” he said, holding up two together, and mimicked sliding inside of her, “to ascertain if you are enjoying your bondage.”
“Am I?” she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him.
“Yes.” He tilted his head next to hers and whispered, “And then I reach for my riding crop.” He heard the soft intake of her breath. “I use it for something other than its express purpose.”
