Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

  The last night before they were to return, Devereaux found his wife in the library. A blazing fire gave off the only heat and light in the room. Tess sat on the floor in her dressing gown, her legs curled beneath her. He stretched out on the carpet beside her, his hands clasped behind his head, making no move to touch her or to speak.

  Tess broke the silence. "Are you happy with me, James?"

  He looked at her in surprise. "Very happy, my love. Why do you ask?"

  She shook her head. "No particular reason. I'm just feeling strange now that it's time to return to London. I wish I had you to myself for a bit longer."

  Devereaux smiled. "I'm flattered that after a month of my company, you aren't tired of me."

  Her eyes widened in amazement. "What a ridiculous thing to say. I could never be tired of you."

  He reached out and pulled her down into his arms. Her cheek rested against his shoulder.

  "What is troubling you, Tess?" he asked gently.

  "It's silly." She took a deep breath. The words came out in a rush of air. "I just wish you weren't embroiled in all this government work." She waved her arm vaguely at the papers scattered across the desk. "I'm not a fashionable person, James. My life in Maryland wasn't like this. I feel unprepared. Being married to the duke of Langley takes a bit of getting used to."

  The hands stroking her back were still.

  "Why?" he asked evenly.

  Her words were muffled against his shoulder. "I'm afraid of embarrassing you."

  "You weren't afraid of embarrassing Daniel Bradford. Surely he would have followed his father into politics."

  "That was different."

  "Why?" he asked again.

  She shrugged. This vulnerability she felt was new to her. "I knew how to go about in Washington. Here I don't."

  His lips found the sensitive skin of her throat before traveling to her shoulder. She gasped as his hands slipped under her gown to caress her bare skin.

  "You could never embarrass me," he muttered against her neck. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

  He meant every word of it. Devereaux was delighted with his wife. He considered it an act of God that she was Georgiana's friend and that she had come to England searching for her husband. He loved her spirit, her vibrancy, her beautiful body. He did not doubt that she had married him because she loved him. There was no one in the world like Tess.

  Her hair, spilling across her shoulders, was a sheet of silver in the firelight. Laying her down on the carpet, he removed her gown and stared down at her.

  She watched him silently, waiting. Slowly, his hands cupped her breasts at the same moment his mouth came down hard on hers. This would be no gentle coupling. He couldn't get enough of her.

  Her lips parted, eager for the invasion of his tongue. Under his exploring fingers her breasts tightened and swelled. She shuddered and reached up to hold his head as his lips claimed a taut nipple. Sliding her hands down the length of his back, she reveled in the corded muscles and powerful thighs. They were slick with moisture. She could feel him heavy and throbbing against her. His breath came in short ragged gasps. Instinctively she parted her legs. Taking him in her hand, she guided him to the entrance of her warmth.

  He tensed. Perspiration dripped from his body and all movement stopped. He shook with the effort of holding himself back.

  Deliberately, she pressed against him, running her hands over the rigid angles and planes of his body.

  "Holy Christ, Tess," he groaned. Plunging into her, he drove with a desperate abandon that was terrifying in its power to move her.

  Later, after he had collapsed against her in the great bed they shared, she thought again of the obstacles in the path of her happiness. She would be herself, she resolved fiercely, and she would keep her husband's love. She stroked his hair. In sleep, his face had a vulnerable quality, much like a small boy. As long as the fire flamed between them, she was safe.

  Chapter 17

  There was little conversation between the duke and duchess of Langley on their way back to London. James, preoccupied with Wellington's latest defeat in the peninsula, allowed Tess to suffer her misgivings alone.

  It was late January and the season was in full swing. The couple had barely settled into their house in Grosvenor Square when Leonie and her daughters arrived and invitations began pouring in.

  Tess made her debut as the duchess of Langley at a ball given by Lady Maria Sefton at Sefton House. At the top of a sweeping staircase, dressed in a gown glittering with diamonds, her ladyship greeted her guests.

  "Lord and Lady Dinsdale," the majordomo droned, "the earl and countess of Locksley."

  Tess stood perfectly still, her arm through her husband's, waiting to be announced. "The duke and duchess of Langley," the monotonous voice continued.

  James looked down at his wife. She returned the look with a smile and lifted her skirts to step into the ballroom.

  Marjorie Weatherby, witnessing the intimate exchange, experienced a flash of jealousy. She had planned on resuming her relationship with James. The warmth in his expression when he looked at his wife dashed her hopes.

  William Fitzpatrick, also, did not miss the glow on the faces of the handsome young couple. Jealousy was a new sensation for him. His brief interludes with women were not affairs of the heart. The feelings he had for Tess went beyond the shallow encounters he'd had with other women. He knew from the moment he looked across the room, at Lady Jersey's ball, and seen her lovely, serious face, that Teresa Bradford was something out of the ordinary. That feeling grew as he came to know her better. By the time she threw herself in front of the stallion's hooves to save Lizzie Devereaux's life, he was smitten.

  For the first time in his life, Lord William found himself in the grip of an honest emotion. Tess Bradford would have brought him no fortune or influence. Worse than that, she was an American. The Fitzpatricks had come to England with the Conqueror. Not since receiving the title, five hundred years before, had a Fitzpatrick allied himself with a commoner. And yet, William had seriously considered it. He had been delighted to hear of Daniel Bradford's death. Her subsequent marriage to Langley was a bitter blow.

  Swallowing the last of his champagne, he left his glass on a low table, crossed the floor to her side and bowed.

  "Your Grace," he said. "May I hope that you will save me a dance?"

  Pleased to see someone she recognized, Tess smiled brilliantly. "It's lovely to see you again, William. Of course I'll dance with you. You don't mind, do you, James?" She looked up, confident of her husband's approval.

  James hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Not at all," he replied, his expression bland. "I shall rely on you to take care of my wife, Fitzpatrick."

  The slight emphasis on the words "my wife" did not escape Lord William. "My pleasure, m'lord," he replied, leading Tess to the dance floor.

  The orchestra struck up a waltz. Fitzpatrick looked down at the bright head close to his shoulder. He hadn't intended to reproach her or even to mention her marital status, but the moment her slim body relaxed in his arms, his resolution dissolved.

  "How could you, Tess?" he demanded angrily.

  She raised confused eyes to his face. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Tell me you married him because you were grateful, or that you had nowhere else to go," he pleaded.

  Fitzpatrick could feel her stiffen in his arms.

  "I do not discuss my husband with you or anyone, m'lord."

  "Forgive me." The pain in his voice was unmistakable. "I did not mean to distress you."

  Tess softened. "You have been a loyal friend to me, William. Please wish me happy."

  William Fitzpatrick looked into the clear, grey eyes. They sparkled with light and her skin had a special glow he had never seen before.

  "Congratulations on your marriage, Tess," he said, through clenched teeth. "I hope you will be very happy."

  "Thank you, m'lord." She smiled her wide, lovely smile. "That was nicely done."

&n
bsp; He pulled her closer into the circle of his arms. "Remember, if you ever need a friend, I am here."

  Her eyes warmed and she lifted her hand to his cheek. "That means a great deal to me. I shan't forget it."

  Later in the evening she stopped near her mother-in-law to catch her breath. Leonie smiled and patted the empty seat beside her.

  "Are you enjoying the ball, my love?" she asked.

  Tess nodded her head. "Very much, but I'm exhausted. I never realized how much stamina is required to last through a London season."

  "This is only the beginning," Leonie assured her. "There are breakfasts and picnics and teas, concerts and plays and the opera." She waved her fan in front of her face. "Of course, James will attend political dinner parties and host them as well." She smiled at Tess. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll be here to help you. The Devereauxs have always cut a fine dash. We must uphold our reputation."

  Tess felt a familiar rush of panic begin to take hold. She barely heard her mother-in-law's next words. Only when Leonie repeated them, did she shake her absorption and pay attention.

  "You are very popular tonight," the older woman observed with a pleased smile. "This is the first time all evening I've seen you sit down. You will be a tremendous asset to James's career."

  Tess frowned. "Is my every action weighed as to whether it will aid or hinder my husband's career?"

  Leonie's head tilted to one side as she considered the question. "In public, everything you do will be judged," she replied. "For instance, dancing two dances with young Fitzpatrick was not wise." She nodded at William making his way around the floor with a tall, dark-haired young lady. "He is given to excessive behavior. If it weren't for his fortune, he wouldn't be received in our circles."

  Tess's hands clenched in her lap. Leonie Devereaux's haughty presumption that everyone thought as she did was annoying.

  "William Fitzpatrick has been very kind to me." Tess's eyes, pure and grey as brook water, held her mother-in-law's gaze. "I allow no one to dictate my friends."

  Leonie sniffed. "Perhaps James will have something to say about that."

  Tess's voice was so low, Leonie strained to hear it. "That would be a foolish thing to do," she said. "And we both know James is not a fool."

  "Did I hear my name?" Devereaux's quiet voice interrupted their conversation.

  "I was explaining to Tess the necessity of public appearances," his mother replied. "Perhaps you will have more luck with her than I."

  A hint of impatience flickered in his eyes and then disappeared. "You know me better than that, Mother. A ball is not the place to discuss politics." Holding out his hands, he pulled Tess from her seat. "I believe this is our dance, my love."

  Tess looked surprised. "But James, you don't dance."

  He grinned. "Will you come with me anyway?"

  Although she was promised to Lord Holland for the set, she nodded. Anxious to escape further admonition, Tess stood up quickly. Tucking her hand in her husband's arm she walked with him to the refreshment table.

  Devereaux, aware that the becoming shade of apricot staining her cheeks was caused by anger, wisely remained silent.

  Tess's eyes smoldered. "Do you also wish to lecture me on my choice of friends, m'lord?"

  "Have I ever done so?" He positioned himself across from her, sipping his punch.

  Taken aback by the reasonable words, she looked up. The blue eyes were tender and loving and slightly amused. Instantly, Tess was ashamed of herself.

  "No, you haven't. I'm sorry, James. Sometimes your mother is very hard to bear."

  He threw back his head and laughed. Every eye in the room was immediately riveted on the handsome couple. "I've often thought the very same thing myself," he admitted.

  Tess grinned reluctantly. "I suppose I should learn to control my temper."

  "Not on my account," he said. "I like a woman with spirit. In fact, there isn't anything about you I would change."

  "Do you really mean that?" Her eyes were wide and very serious.

  His eyes darkened. He looked at her mouth. An insistent warmth spread through his veins.

  "Let's go home," he said softly.

  Correctly interpreting the look in his eyes, she blushed. "What will your mother say? She thinks we spend too much time alone together already."

  "My mother will say nothing at all. I'll see to that." He turned her toward the door. "I won't be a moment. I'll just tell her that we are leaving."

  Lord Dinsdale had just returned Leonie to her seat when James sat down beside her. "Tess and I are leaving, Mother. I'll send the carriage back to bring you home."

  Two spots of color warmed Leonie's olive complexion. "I realize the two of you are newly married, but must you be so disgustingly obvious about your preference for each other?"

  James grinned. "You said you wanted a Langley heir," he reminded her.

  "Other people have heirs and they don't leave in the middle of social obligations to get them," she observed.

  The smile faded from his face. "This is not an obligation. It is a ball where people are supposed to enjoy themselves." He held his mother's gaze with eyes of steel. "In the future," he added, "please allow me to instruct my wife on her duties."

  "James," Leonie protested. "I was only trying to help. The child knows nothing about what is required of her."

  He sighed, striving for patience. "Tess is not a child. She is a woman of unusual intelligence and compassion. She is also a republican. If you understood her at all you would know that she does not respond to badgering. To tell her someone isn't exalted enough to associate with our family is like forbidding Lizzie to speak at the dinner table. It only increases her desire to do the opposite."

  Leonie sighed. "Very well, James. It shall be as you wish."

  Frowning, she watched him leave. She did not miss the appreciative female eyes that followed his lean, handsome figure as he crossed the ballroom. Why, of all the women in the world, she asked herself for the thousandth time, had he chosen someone so entirely unsuitable?

  Although the conversation was almost nonexistent, Tess was very aware of her husband sitting across from her in the carriage. The air between them was filled with an electric excitement that charged her nerves and sensitized her skin. When they reached Grosvenor Square, she went directly upstairs to her bedchamber.

  Her maid brushed out her hair and after helping her into a beautifully embroidered nightgown, left the room. Tess sat down at her nightstand and waited. The minutes crept by slowly. Then, the door opened and James stepped inside.

  Tess looked at him. Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe. He was shirtless, dressed only in trousers and a pair of leather slippers. His hair, black and shining, fell across his forehead and his eyes were narrowed, a thin, glittering line of blue. From the high cheekbones to broad shoulders, he was all sharp planes and angles, tapering to a vee at his waist. Compared to her insignificant height, he seemed very tall, with the long legs and lean hips of a cavalryman. Her eyes lingered on his chest, smooth and tanned, without an ounce of spare flesh.

  She stood and walked over to him. Reaching out she ran her hands experimentally over the muscles of his chest. He felt warm and smooth and hard. A muscle jumped under her exploring fingers.

  He reached for her, but she slipped out of his grasp, moving behind him. Her hands moved down from his waist to the corded muscles of his buttocks and upper thighs. She smiled as his breathing became louder and more strained.

  "I spoke to Lady Weatherby at the ball," she said, keeping her voice deliberately casual.

  He tensed. "Might I ask about the subject of your conversation?"

  "She told me that several young ladies were inconsolable over our marriage, and that Cynthia Davenport has retired to the country with a broken heart."

  He laughed, relieved. "Surely you recognize an exaggerated account when you hear it."

  "I'm not sure it is an exaggeration. You are quite a catch, m'lord." Her hands moved to the buttons of h
is trousers. She unfastened the top one and lightly touched the sensitive skin beneath his navel.

  He sucked in his breath and covered her hands with his. "Do you know what you are doing to me, Tess?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She pressed her lips to his shoulder. "I think so." Her hand dipped lower closing around the pulsing heat of his shaft.

  White fire consumed him, wiping everything from his mind but a raging inferno of need, demanding release. Blindly, he turned, and lifting her in his arms, carried her to the bed. Stepping out of his trousers he pushed the gown from her shoulders and covered her body with his own.

  Tess wound her arms around his neck. The satin of her skin rubbed against his heated flesh. Urging him on with whispered words, she parted her legs and pulled him inside her, gasping as the steel-like length of him exploded immediately. Filled with his warmth, she moved beneath him, answering the demand of her own clamoring need, until at last they lay still, spent and exhausted, their bodies entwined.

  "That was wonderful," she said much later, after awakening to the feel of his lips on her breast. "Your wooden leg is still on. Do you want me to take it off?"

  "Uh-hum," he answered, without lifting his head.

  "James?" She unbuckled the strap and eased it down over his knee.

  Reluctantly, he propped himself up on one elbow. "What is it, Tess?"

  She examined the wood piece before placing it gently on the floor. "Will you always be faithful to me?"

  Startled, he sat up completely. "Why would you ask such a question?" he asked.

  "Must I repeat it?" She looked very young and vulnerable, with her eyes wide on his face and her unbound hair fanned across her shoulders.

  "I have never been a womanizer, Tess. If I've done something to make you distrust me, just say so." His voice was cold.

  "I am not an Englishwoman, James. I have been brought up to believe that marriage is sacred."

  He was silent for a long moment. At last, he said, "Tell me what is troubling you?"