How odd to be here in this house with Beth. This house where, during the imposed idleness and isolation of a late winter storm, he had impregnated Juliana on an old bed in the attic storeroom while their fathers had negotiated the financing of a voyage to the Orient. Little had Grey known that, a little over a year later when the East Indiaman finally sailed, he would eagerly join on as supercargo to escape the heartbreak and disaster of his life in New York City.
But there would be no escape from his marriage to Beth—and he wanted no escape. But he did wish things could be vastly different.
She watched him with blue eyes made all the more dazzling by their dark, dilated pupils.
He traced over her wrapped ankle with his fingertips. “Does it hurt?”
She shook her head, her silver-gilt hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming in through the open window. “No, the doctor gave me laudanum. He says it shall take at least two weeks of rest to fully heal. But I am already weary of rest.”
She had fallen from her horse. Just thinking the words sent a sharp pain slicing his guts. God. Before he could stop it, the image of Beth falling played in his mind. Vividly, right down to her face hitting the ground, scraping on a sharp, fallen branch. Vanity had not moved her to cover it. The cut still lay exposed—a red, vicious slash upon her cheek. A silent accusation. He ought not to have allowed her to come here. But, damn it, wasn’t she a woman grown? He didn’t have time for foolishness like this now. “Beth, you have to take care of yourself. You must be well for the ball in December. You are my wife now. I depend on you to fulfil that role.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening and her face paling a degree.
He flinched inwardly. What a jackass thing for him to say when his wife was laid up injured. He knew it, yet he could think of nothing else to say. He should stay furious with her.
He wanted to stay furious with her.
But, truthfully, for the first time in more weeks than he cared to take note of, he wanted her. Wanted her with a passion that was pressing almost unbearably upon him. Yes, she’d acted rashly. But at least she had done something—anything—instead of creeping wraithlike about his house, a sad, colourless shell of her former self.
However, that logic was so faulty it made him beyond frustrated with himself. He shouldn’t want his wife to act like a wild hoyden. Damn it, he understood himself even less than he understood her. Confusion, frustration, vexation and lust all swirled within him in a storm of excessive, unnerving emotion. If the circumstances were different, he’d have pushed that entirely aside and fucked her until they were both mindless and he could forget himself, but a gentleman should never impose on an injured wife.
He leaned closer and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. At her soft, warm lips against his, he held his breath, barely aware that he was waiting—waiting for some response from her. Something to indicate that she’d enjoy being imposed on, despite her ankle.
Her lips remained passive under his.
He raised his head slightly and looked into her sky-blue eyes. “I shall be in the study, if you should need me.”
Emotion flickered in her eyes, so briefly that he might have imagined it. She nodded.
The old Beth would have teased and tormented him. Seduced him into staying. But, of course, he shouldn’t want her to distract him at all. He did have a fair amount of very important correspondence to take care of today, and the last thing he wanted was to have her beneath him, as still as a stone.
The steady rise and fall of her bosom and the way her little pink nipples were pressing against the fine fabric caught his eye. Fascinated him. Just how opposed was she to his advances? Before he knew what he was doing, he was touching the swelling flesh right above her lace-trimmed bodice, gliding his fingertips gently over the soft warmth.
She caught her breath and her chest stilled, but she didn’t try to deny him—instead she closed her eyes and sighed. Encouraged, he shifted and cupped both of the soft yet firm globes. God, but she had the most perfect breasts. Neither too large nor too small, they fitted his hands as if they had been made to measure.
His cock lengthened and grew harder, pressing against his fall. He bent down and put his mouth on hers again, pressing gently. Again, she lay accepting and open but so damned passive.
A memory arose in his mind. The first day they had met, in the carriage. When she had untied his cravat and taken the two loose ends and held him in place and kissed him. Kissed him like no other woman ever had. Kissed him with such fire and passion, she had pulled him out of the safe, slow death of cold numbness. He had burnt to possess her. He would have given his very soul to have had her.
Such a firestorm of ardent feelings—he hadn’t known the like with anyone else. What wouldn’t he give to feel that way? To lose himself in her fire? Right now. Christ almighty, he ached with coldness.
He lifted his head. “For God’s sake, Beth, kiss me back for once.”
He didn’t know what he expected to achieve by that tersely uttered command, but her eyes widened.
“That’s what you want? It matters to you.”
He searched her eyes, looking for a hint she was teasing. That maybe this was some wifely way of tormenting him. Of attaining power and control over him. But she seemed perfectly sincere. “Of course it is what I want. Why else would I kiss you if I didn’t wish to be kissed in return?”
She flinched. He’d spoken too sharply. Devil take him, why did things have to be so tense and difficult lately?
He touched her face and smiled. “You certainly lured me here to Red Oaks; you may as well show me some affection for my trouble, you vixen.”
She stared silently at him. “Kiss me, Beth.”
“Oh.” She put her fingertips to his lips.
His heart quickened its already rapid beat. He held his breath, trying not to reveal his impatience. Damn it, either she wanted this or she didn’t. He had other things he could be doing. Things that needed doing. If she wanted to be left in peace, she need only say so.
She removed her fingers, then came closer, her mouth slightly open. Her sweet breath wafted over his face. He parted his lips and tasted her sweetness on the air they shared. She moved closer yet and his heart hammered against his chest. Her soft mouth touched his. And her tongue stole into his mouth to twirl around his, then withdrew, coaxing him follow. He thrust into her honeyed sweetness and she thrust back. God above, this was more like it. His cock throbbed with hunger and he wrapped his hand about the base of her throat and drank greedily of her mouth for several moments.
Then, impatiently, he tackled the little buttons on her nightdress. There seemed to be dozens of them and their dainty size proved a challenge. His mistresses had always focused on garments that were easy to remove, leaving him all out of practice with a wife. However, once they were undone, he pulled the sides apart and bared the white globes with their bright pink, hardening peaks. Like raspberries in the snow.
God, he couldn’t resist. He had to taste her. He bent and lazily traced circles upon her breast, drawing ever-smaller circumferences until he reached her nipple. It grew more erect until it rolled under his tongue like a pebble wrapped in a rose petal.
She moaned and arched her back, straining into his touch. He trailed his hand down, pulling the sides of her unbuttoned nightdress apart. He placed his hand on her flat belly and her flesh quivered under his hand. That little movement sent fresh blood rushing into his erection.
He let his hand trail down to caress the silver-gilt hair on her mons, lingering over its silken texture. He cupped his hand about her outer lips. Their plumpness excited him as always, making him think about the moment when he would slide his cock amid them. He slipped his fingers between and her wetness drenched him. He flicked his thumb over her nub and it throbbed against him, growing more erect.
She caught her breath and arched up off the bed.
Well. She didn’t appear to be opposed at all.
So much for playing the gentleman.
He rolled away from her, got up and stripped out of his clothes.
Naked, he returned to her, aware the whole time of her gaze travelling over the length of his body. Her eyes glowed with affection and desire. His cock throbbed urgently and all he wanted to do was lose himself in her deliciously wanton nature. Flicking a glance at her bandaged ankle, he eased himself back upon the bed. He bent close to her and ran a flirting, caressing hand over the side of her waist and ribcage. He licked her earlobe.
“Curl on your side, Beth,” he whispered into her ear.
The little catch in her breath told him she would comply.
He propped up and watched as she lifted her uninjured leg to give him access—and quite a pleasing view of her glistening, pink inner lips.
He positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside. Her cunt sucked him in, hot, wet and tight—unbearably, impossibly tight. Her inner walls hugged him, welcoming and eager instead of merely tolerating his intrusion. How long since she had responded to him like this? Ages it seemed. He groaned deeply, shoved the hair off the back of her neck, bent his head and nipped her lightly there. She pressed her buttocks back against his stomach and he groaned again, pressing his hand to the flat of her belly then drifting down.
Lazily, he touched her nub. He wanted to take his time and focus on her pleasure.
She worked her hips to and fro, up and down and all around, her wet cunt twisting and stroking him. He caught his breath, then released it in a groan. She could move in sinful ways that were lethal to a man’s control. He continued to fondle her while she danced on his cock.
God, she was sex incarnate. He couldn’t take much more.
He grasped her hips, stilling her. He thrust into her with determination, plunging into her tight, moist heat again and again. She grew so wet the joining of their bodies made sodden noises. His balls drew up close to his body and tremors began deep within his loins. Her inner walls contracted on his cock and she milked every ounce of seed he had to give.
* * * *
Grey lay with his hand on Beth’s ass, idly stroking her as bone-deep satisfaction lulled him into sleep. As darkness had finally fallen and the shadows had shifted over the walls, he had made love to her twice more. The last time he had made her come again and again and again, and the marks from her sharp nails still burnt on his back. Her cries still echoed in his ears.
Well, he had his wife back, even if just for one afternoon. He was a happy man. Business and everything else in the world could go hang.
“Sexton Shipping is one the largest shipping firms in the nation, is this correct?”
Her question startled him out of his half sleeping state. It was not exactly what he expected for bed talk. “Yes, Beth, we’re one of the largest. William Grey has a few more vessels. But I surpass him in personal wealth.”
“Then if you are already so successful, why do you drive yourself so hard?”
The odour of sickness burnt his lungs, choking his air. A gnarled hand gripped his, digging in painfully. Here lay the driving force behind Sexton Shipping. The once tall and powerfully built frame lay shrunken beneath the heavy coverlet on the hot summer’s day. The arrogant patrician features twisted into a greyish-tinged, gruesome grimace by the months of soul rending pain.
“I will not let you down, Father.”
The glassy grey eyes stared back at him. “God help me, Grey, you are all I have and I fear you are not up to the challenge.”
After so many years of silent, stern disapproval, opiates and physical depletion had loosened Asahel Prosperity Sexton’s lips. Otherwise, he would never have revealed such a personal fear to anyone, least of all to the son he had never respected. Never even particularly liked.
But the lack of respect and regard hadn’t mattered. Grey was the only Sexton heir, and the business needed a leader.
How could Beth possibly understand, even if he explained it? He exhaled and, to his shock, found the words spilling out. “My father’s father was a simple merchant sea captain. He was on the verge of losing his one ship when the war with the French came in the fifties. He turned to privateering and made his fortune. When the Revolution came, my father also laboured like a fiend, this time preying on British ships. After the war, hard times came to Boston but he gambled on the high stakes—he was one of the first to send ships to the Pacific Northwest and China. And he won again. He was always lucky. When he purchased Dalton Shipping, he doubled the size of the company his father had left him.
“He expected me to double the business yet again. But I have not been so lucky. The long years of British Orders in Council, French depredations, the embargo, the wars and even the damned Barbary pirates have slowed me. I have not made the extraordinary gains he did. I have expanded inch by painful inch. Each step requires more thought and strategy and social bootlicking than he did in his whole life.”
“You have held on to what you had and even increased in hard times. Surely you give yourself credit for that?”
His brows snapped together. “I could lose everything in this war. One misstep, Beth—that’s all it would take. Then I will have failed everyone in my life. My father, my son, you, our future children, those who work for me… I will have failed everyone in my life.”
She sat up and propped herself up on her elbow. Her eyes were as wide and blue as the ocean itself and shining with that admiration and loyal devotion that had first softened his heart.
“But you are wrong—you will not have failed me.” She touched his face. “I will count myself a lucky woman just to have your devotion, your love and your name, no matter what your personal wealth.”
Oh, to be that innocent again.
An indulgent smile lifted his lips. “You don’t understand, Beth. I am Sexton Shipping. Every moment of every day, the welfare and fortunes of my investors, my captains, my crews, all my clerks and business agents, my family—everyone depends on me to make the right decisions. If I failed so many people, how would I ever live with myself?”
He sat up in the bed and readjusted his clothing. Why the devil had he told her all of that? She didn’t need to be troubled over the doubts and insecurities that were only part and parcel of being the Sexton scion.
And she could never, ever understand.
He glanced at the time. He had dallied here for over two hours. The waste of time sent tension tightening his neck. Christ, he had a pile of correspondence to pen before the day was done. He’d better turn his attention to it.
He’d never fail.
Never.
* * * *
“I heard you were laid up with a sprained ankle.” Nellie Clark’s voice rang with curiosity and some disapproval.
Beth cringed and her face heated.
They were sitting in Nellie’s elegant parlour and they were having tea and cakes. It was her first time out of the house since recovering from her fall. Since that afternoon at Red Oaks, Grey had resumed his aloof preoccupation. No—he’d been even more distant, more unreachable. And he hadn’t returned to her bed since. The days had dragged by in a haze of loneliness and uselessness. With Grey gone to Salem for several days, she’d decided to do some visiting.
Nellie’s lined face wrinkled with concern. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“I lost my temper and did something stupid,” Beth admitted. “I am always doing something rash. I fear my mother’s reckless blood shall be my undoing as well.”
A small peal of laughter burst from Nellie. The normally dignified lady looked so overcome with mirth that Beth was shocked. Then Nellie put her hand to her lips, as if trying to stop the bubbles of laughter from coming forth. “Sorry, but your mother was not wild.” She shook her head. “Whoever put that idea into your mind?”
“Mrs Hazelwood said she was.”
“Alice was a little mouse of a thing. Quiet and biddable.” Nellie snorted. “As if Cornelia would have accepted any other kind of girl for a servant.”
“But Mrs Hazelwood said—”
Beth’s breath caught. “You know who my father is?”
A sad light in Nellie’s eyes juxtaposed her answering smile. “Yes. Cornelia thought the truth should be kept from you. To prevent you from getting ideas above yourself. I never agreed, but then one does not often successfully disagree with Cornelia.” She patted Beth’s hand and sighed heavily. “But you are of an age now and I do not see how the truth may be kept from you any longer. Indeed, if you are in society, someone is bound to recognise the resemblance.” She stood and walked over to her writing desk and opened a drawer.
She came back and handed a gilt-edged miniature to Beth. “See the truth for yourself.”
A handsome young man with a shock of silver-blond hair stared back at Beth, his sky-blue eyes blazing with passion, his mouth quirked up with careless amusement.
Except for the strong, masculine jaw, she might have been looking into a mirror.
White Lace and Promises Page 19
