Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

  "I wouldn't blame him if he did," Devereaux remarked. "I wrote to him after war was declared. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with my credentials. If it wasn't for Caroline, I'm sure he would have found a way to arrive on my doorstep."

  It was obvious that Mr. Harrington was torn between raging anger and his own reasonable practicality. Despite the duke's assurances that Tess would be well cared for, her father was furious and demanded that his daughter be returned as soon as it was safely possible.

  Devereaux, trying to decipher Harrington's less-than-legible penmanship, finally managed to make out the remainder of the letter. He paraphrased it for Castlereagh.

  "I am to carry a message to Tess from her father. The British, according to Mr. Harrington, are presumptuous beasts and Mr. Madison a fool to allow honest Americans to embroil themselves in a fight that isn't theirs." James frowned, hesitating before continuing the next sentence. Clearing his throat, he went on.

  "He is devastated over the news of Daniel's death, but Tess is young yet, and will find her own happiness. He ends by saying that she is his dearly beloved daughter and anyone who dares take advantage of her unprotected status will answer to him. She must take care and not be a bother to the Devereauxs, but remember that an American citizen may hold up her head with pride anywhere in the world. He remains her affectionate father and looks forward to her return."

  "I'm afraid your letter did little to reassure him," Castlereagh remarked, pouring himself a glass of claret. "He seems a rather violent fellow."

  "He also happens to be the most progressive shipbuilder in America," Devereaux replied. "Mark my words, we'll hear much of him once trade is reestablished."

  Castlereagh sipped his wine and looked at his friend. Devereaux was dressed for the evening in a black coat and snow-white waistcoat, shirt and cravat. The grim look on his face did not belong to a man bent on a night of pleasure.

  "What is wrong, James?" The calm voice demanded an answer.

  Devereaux looked startled for a moment and then laughed. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears.

  "I've been too long from Langley. London doesn't suit me."

  "Then, why not go home?" Castlereagh asked.

  Lifting his wineglass to eye level Devereaux stared at the ruby liquid. His thoughts, behind the shuttered blue eyes, were his own. Finally, he turned to meet his friend's sympathetic gaze.

  "I had thought to give a certain young woman more time. Perhaps you are right and I should try my hand."

  Castlereagh twisted the stem of his glass between thin fingers. "Why do I know, without a doubt, you aren't speaking of Cynthia Davenport?"

  Devereaux grinned. "Because you have seen Teresa Bradford."

  Nodding his head, Castlereagh smiled. "She would be a fool to refuse you."

  Laughing unsteadily, Devereaux shook his head. "The strange thing is, it is my title and fortune she objects to. Otherwise she would have me, missing leg and all."

  Lord Castlereagh did not think it proper to bring up his wife's comment when he had mentioned that James's having only one leg, might cause him to suffer for female companionship. If James Devereaux were missing both legs and an arm, he would still be the most desirable man in the room, she had said quite emphatically. "What an odd young woman," Castlereagh remarked instead.

  "Tess is an American," he explained. "Nathanial Harrington didn't inherit his money, he earned it. For Tess, there is no dishonor in trade. She doesn't care for titles and considers it vulgar to have more than one estate."

  "If what you say is true," Castlereagh's dark eyes gleamed, "and she accepts your offer, you may have found the one woman in the world who wants you for yourself. That is a rare privilege, James. Don't let it slip away."

  Devereaux swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp and stood up. "I don't intend to, m'lord. Wish me luck."

  "You have it. Take care, James."

  * * *

  October passed unnoticed by Tess. At first it had been pleasant to do nothing but sit in the sun-warmed grass and wallow in her pain. It was harvest time at Langley. The air was filled with smells of autumn, of apples and cider and cinnamon and baking. Tess sat in the garden eating apple meringues and apple turnovers, apple cakes laced with spice and apple tarts topped with cream, until even Georgiana protested.

  "You can't go on like this. It may not show now, but soon you'll need a seamstress to let out your gowns. James won't believe it when he sees you."

  At the mention of his name, Tess suddenly lost her appetite. Abandoning the last bite of her tart, she asked, "Do you expect him home soon?"

  Georgiana closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall back against the chair. The sun was comfortably warm.

  "He hasn't said. But Langley is his home. He'll turn up soon enough."

  Dusting the powdered sugar from her skirt, Tess pulled her straw hat down shielding her face from Georgiana's curious eyes. Her heart pounded. The serene, closed-in garden suddenly seemed a prison. His very name, spoken aloud for the first time in two months, broke down the barriers. Forcing herself to admit the truth, she faced her private terror.

  The long sleepless nights, the frustrated tears, the pain of her loss, the leaping fire in her veins and the tearful prayer that life couldn't be so cruel, not when so much was still new and unexplored, were not all for Daniel Bradford. Her love for Daniel was the love of a girl for a lifelong friend. Perhaps it would have deepened into more as time marched on, or if she had never met James Devereaux. But she had.

  With her usual uncompromising honesty, Tess admitted to herself that she missed him dreadfully. He was the life and breath and heartbeat of the female household that revolved around his presence. Everything became brighter and more intense when James was around. Leonie glowed from within. Georgiana, Judith, and Lizzie exerted themselves to be charming. Even the cook managed culinary masterpieces when his master was in residence. And now, Tess knew, she also had been captured in the net of his aura.

  Her need was far greater than the natural longing of a mother for her son, or sisters for their brother, or even that of a woman for a male companion. It was a desire far more intense and impossibly dangerous. Tess wanted James Devereaux with the craving hunger of a woman who had tasted the promise of passion only to be pulled back from fulfillment, time after frustrating time.

  November dragged more slowly as the pain of her grief dulled. The sun came out in an unusual burst of warmth and for a week the inhabitants of Langley basked in the lovely weather. The air was crisp, the skies blue, and the sunshine brilliant. The last of the autumn leaves were a dark crimson and the wild mustard glowed golden in the lingering sunsets.

  Leonie and the girls were kind and understanding, never leaving her alone until her need for privacy became so great, she begged a mount from the stables and took long, invigorating rides around the countryside. The tenants of Langley clucked with sympathy as they watched the slim, blue-clad figure roam the estate day after day, for hours at a time, seeking no particular destination.

  One morning at breakfast, the duchess handed her a letter. The penmanship was bold and masculine, a hand Tess didn't recognize. Tearing it open, she saw that it carried a letter from her father and a short message from James. Excusing herself, she made her way to the privacy of the library before reading either correspondence.

  Nathanial Harrington's words brought tears of laughter to her eyes and a warm flush to her cheeks. Plain-speaking and blessedly predictable, her father ferreted through the trappings of the whole tangled mess to the very heart of the matter, managing to bring order and calm to her world.

  The message from James shattered her newly found peace of mind.

  My Dear Tess,

  I shall return to Langley before Christmas. There is a matter of some importance which must be settled between us.

  James

  As Christmas neared, Tess was so restless and filled with such anxiety that even the tears wouldn't come. She lay at night in her bed staring into the lonely
darkness with hot cheeks, remembering the taste of firm lips against her own and the comforting feel of strong arms holding her close.

  Dreams of the graceful white house on the banks of the Chesapeake intruded into her shameful thoughts. What she wouldn't give for one deep breath of salty air, laced with the scent of mussels and crayfish. Closing her eyes, she would imagine lights flashing across the misty bay and the soft keening moan of the wind as it filled the clippers' sails, whipping the slim-hulled boats across the channel and out to sea.

  When winter finally descended upon the countryside, the residents of Langley confined themselves indoors. Fires crackled in the hearths. Rain and wind slanted against stone gables. The colors of the countryside faded to a dreary, lifeless grey.

  Tess chafed at the endless waiting, the desolate ceaseless rain and the uncertainty of her future. The golden cast of her skin had faded, emphasizing the smattering of freckles across her small, straight nose. Wrapped in a warm shawl, she spent long silent days by the fire in the library, her eyes staring at the same page for hours on end.

  Late one night, less than a week before Christmas, when sleep again eluded her, she heard a sound downstairs. Straining her ears she listened again. There was nothing. Throwing aside the covers, she lit a candle and opened the door. Tiptoeing to the landing she peered down the stairs.

  Litton and the valet were whispering softly and arming themselves with luggage. But Tess shook with trembling awareness for only one man.

  His coat and boots were wet with rain. Those massive shoulders and the unconscious arrogance he carried with him at all times were exactly as she remembered. He looked vital and brown and painfully alive.

  Tess moved slightly, her candle adding to the flickering shadows on the tapestried wall.

  Devereaux glanced up and saw her. Immediately he started toward the stairs. For a brief instant she saw the question in the blue eyes and then she saw his smile. It was filled with something that stole the breath from her lungs. With no thought other than the incredible pleasure of touching him, she ran down the stairs and threw herself into his arms.

  He held her tightly against his heart. "Be careful," he warned, his voice muffled against her hair, "I'm wet. I've already doused your candle."

  She cared nothing for the wetness that was already dampening the linen of her nightshift. She heard only the hammering of a heart that beat in unison with hers and the whispered murmur of words against her throat proclaiming beyond all doubt that his longing was as great as her own.

  Slipping his arm beneath her knees, he lifted her against his chest and climbed the stairs. He was very tired and his gait was awkward, but the warmth of her welcome gave him strength.

  Tess clasped her arms around his neck and lay her head on the wide shoulder. With every step toward her chamber she quivered in anticipation. Her thin night shift, damp from rainwater, clung to the curves of her breasts and hips, revealing the lovely lines of her legs.

  Setting his jaw, Devereaux waged a battle with himself. This was the only woman in the world he wanted. From her response he knew she needed only the slightest encouragement and she would submit to him. The temptation was great. He looked at the long slender neck, the fall of silvery hair and the clear, thickly lashed eyes, slanted and filled with desire. Her lips trembled.

  Succumbing to an instinct older than time, he bent his head, seeking her mouth. A low moan from the back of her throat enflamed him, and all resolutions dissolved at the velvet softness of her touch. His control snapped. Parting her lips with his tongue he plundered the soft recesses of her mouth, deepening his kisses, refusing to allow her even to breathe until, heart pounding, she pulled away, drinking in deep, rasping lungfuls of air.

  Pushing aside the door of her room, he set her on the bed, breathing harshly, staring down at her. The pupils of her eyes were completely dilated, the invitation unmistakable.

  She looked very young and very vulnerable. Sanity returned. Clenching his jaw, he pulled the bedcovers around her and ran his forefinger down the delicate bridge of her nose. Kissing her brow lightly, he relaxed and smiled, in control once more.

  "Sleep well, my love," he said, and stood up to leave.

  Tess clutched his hand in a desperate grip.

  "Why?" she demanded.

  Fingers of moonlight crept through the window bathing her face in a netherworld glow. The humiliation in her eyes haunted him. He wanted nothing more than to assuage the tension burning through every fiber of his being and bury himself in the heat of her golden flesh. Calling forth the self-discipline of a soldier, he returned the pressure of her hand before releasing it. He stood above her, his eyes intent on her face.

  "I want more from you than this." His voice was strained. "Perhaps it would be better to give you more time, but I find I cannot wait any longer and still retain my sanity. Since you are neither a fool nor a dissembler, and by far the most direct female I've ever known, you won't pretend to misunderstand me." His eyes glinted steel-blue in the moonlight. "You were correct all along, my love. Marriage vows are very important to me. Anything less, between us, is impossible." Without waiting for an answer, he left the room.

  Numb with disbelief, Tess stared for a long time at the closed door.

  Chapter 14

  Tess didn't come down to breakfast the next morning. Instead, she requested coffee and toast sent up on a tray to her room. While the enthusiastic Devereauxs welcomed back the head of their household, she busied herself in the stables practicing the art of applying a bran poultice to an open wound. Wrapped in a muffler and coat, she spent the afternoon riding across the frozen fields of Langley, returning too late for tea. Pleading a headache, she retired to her room carving a path in the expensive carpet with her nervous pacing.

  The duke, attempting to plead his case, found her polite, charming and maddeningly elusive. As she continued to find excuses for her absence, his amusement deepened. Knowing the battle she fought with herself, he bided his time. The moment came sooner than he expected.

  Several mornings later, while reading over a dispatch in his office, he heard a discreet knock. Without waiting for an answer, Tess opened the door and slipped inside.

  Devereaux rose to his feet. "Hello," he said moving toward her.

  Involuntarily, she stepped backward, losing some of her courage. He was very large standing over her, his face dark and unsmiling.

  "Do I make you uncomfortable, Tess?"

  She shook her head.

  "I returned to Langley because I thought there was hope for me. Was I wrong?"

  "No," she whispered, her voice deserting her.

  The blue eyes were alight with something that took her breath away.

  "I once asked you a question that is very important to my happiness. Have you come to give me an answer?"

  "You never asked me anything," she protested. "From the beginning you said I was an obligation. Then, you spoke of taking what you could get." She flushed, the words tumbling across her tongue. "When you returned and it was obvious how I felt, you changed your mind and would have none of it." He was very close. She fastened her eyes on the leaping blood in the brown column of his throat. "I'm not at all sure of your intentions."

  His eyes warmed with laughter. "Shall I show you?" he asked.

  Reassured by the expression on his face, she smiled and held out her arms. "Yes, please. I've missed you dreadfully."

  He reached for her, his arms tightening possessively as he bent his head to kiss her. The feel of his lips, warm and firm, on her mouth, the strength of his hands and the hard lean body pressed close to her own, was an exquisite torment she wanted never to end.

  He pulled away at last, smoothing the hair away from her face. "I fell in love with you from the very first moment I saw you. I'm sorry about Daniel, Tess, but I don't know what I would have done had you not been widowed." He sounded very unlike himself. "You've put me through the worst kind of hell."

  "I know," she whispered. "It was that way for me, too
."

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "When shall we set the date?"

  Tess closed her eyes and swallowed. Leonie Devereaux's thin, disapproving face appeared before her. "What about your family?"

  "They love you nearly as much as I do."

  "As a guest perhaps, or a friend, but not as your wife." Tess's eyes clouded.

  "You will not be marrying my family."

  "How can I become an English lady?"

  He looked at the proud, straight back, the thin, finely drawn features and the regal way she held her head. If he searched through all the stuffy drawing rooms in England, he would never find another more suited to be his duchess.

  "You will be the most unusual duchess England has ever known," he assured her.

  She was not convinced.

  The warmth left his face. "Is there another reason you don't wish to marry me, Tess?"

  She looked confused. "What do you mean?"

  He searched her face for a long time and then he smiled again. Sliding his hands up her shoulders, he bent his head and pressed his mouth to her neck.

  "I love you," he murmured, his breath warm against her throat. "Please, say yes."

  She closed her eyes. Slipping her arms around his neck, Tess wove her fingers through the velvety, black hair. Melting against him, her skin absorbed the heat of his lean, muscled frame. It was difficult to breathe.

  He bent her back across his arm, his mouth finding the pulse point at the base of her throat.

  "Say yes," he demanded, deepening his kiss. "Damn you, Tess, say it." His hand closed over her breast.

  She gasped and opened her eyes, pale and clear as water. His expression was transparent, no longer guarded, the emotions clearly spelled out for her to see. He breathed as though he had been running.

  A brilliant smile curved her lips. "Yes, James," she said. "I will marry you."

  The radiant happiness on his face was a difficult thing to look upon. Tess blinked back tears. She pressed her cheek against his lapel.

  "Finish your work," she whispered. "I'll see you at dinner."