“And you now need a mother for your sister’s children,” Iago said.
“I would be a liar if I said the return of my sister’s children has nothing to do with this. They do not need a mother, however. A woman’s softness, a kind heart and willing ear, mayhap, but not a mother. All this has done has made me want to marry Alethea immediately instead of taking some more time to woo her.”
“I would have preferred it if you claimed to love her. Alethea deserves better than a marriage of convenience.”
“It is no marriage of convenience that I offer.” He smiled faintly. “And telling a lie in this family would be most unwise, so I will claim no emotion I am not certain I feel.” He was pleased when Iago smiled back, that coolness gone. “I want a true marriage. There will be no other women. I might question the validity of love, but I believe in honoring vows taken and come from a home where that was done. I mean to build a home and family. Those requirements and beliefs are why I have been hesitant about marrying despite my need for an heir. I do not want what appears to be the common ton marriage.”
“You mean the heir and the spare, and then go your own way.”
“Exactly. I do not believe you can build a strong family that way. So, do I have your permission to marry your niece?”
“Yes, although you do not really need it. She is a widow. However, if she says yes, we can then sit down and discuss the finances of the whole matter. She handles most of her finances herself, but the law requires that a man be involved, and I was chosen as executor by her late husband.”
“Fine, then. We will talk after she accepts me.” Hartley refused to think that she would refuse. “I have a special license and would like to put it to use right away. Her family?”
“It would take weeks to arrange anything that would bring them together. We can see to some kind of celebration when all this trouble with Claudette is done.” Iago stood up and shook Hartley’s hand. “I will send her in here. Good luck.”
For the first time in his life, Hartley felt nervous. He paced, tapped his fingers against his leg, and practiced his speech as he waited for Alethea. He reminded himself that she had been a virgin and yet had given herself to him with a passion that he knew he would crave for a long time. Despite that assurance, he tensed when she entered the room.
“What is it, Hartley?” she asked as she hurried to his side, sensing his nervousness. “Aldus told me the wonderful news. Are you troubled by how much the children you once knew may have changed?”
“Marry me.”
Alethea stared at him in open-mouthed surprise, and Hartley silently cursed his sudden lost of tact and charm. He tried to tell himself that it was because marriage was such a big step, that it was a bond meant to last a lifetime, but he knew he was lying to himself. His ineptitude was due to the fact that he was afraid she would say no and would not be able to find the words to convince her to say yes.
“Did you just ask me to marry you?” Alethea asked, not surprised by the tremor in her voice, because her heart was pounding so hard she feared it might leap free of her chest. “No, did you just order me to marry you?”
“Yes, although my intention was to ask, and I am doing a damned poor job of it.” He reached out and took her hands in his. “Let me try again. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Is this because I was a virgin?”
“No, although I cannot say I am not pleased that my future marchioness has known no other man. Alethea, I have been thinking about marriage almost since the day I met you. I want you, I like you, and I think we are very compatible. As I told your uncle, I want to see you at the breakfast table, and I want you in my bed every night. I want you as the mother of any children we may be blessed with.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion he felt for her. “Very compatible indeed.”
A little dazed by the desire his kiss had stirred within her, Alethea stared up at him. “Passion can fade, Hartley.”
“I know, but companionship does not, nor does trust and liking.”
She warmed at his words, knowing he meant every one, but her heart also ached. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her, that she was the sun and the moon and the stars and other such fulsome declarations. Alethea had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from immediately saying yes. Then, like a snake in the garden, a sudden reason for this abrupt proposal slithered into her mind.
“Do you seek a mother for the children who will soon be living with you?”
“No. They do not need a mother, especially one who is only a few years older than Germaine. Howbeit, I will not lie and say that I am not hoping you will help me with them.”
“And what about all your women?”
“There are not that many that I have known, nowhere near the numbers rumor claims, and many of them were women I seduced because they had secrets and knowledge the government sought. But—there will be no more of that. I believe in vows taken before God, Alethea. I will not break them.”
It took Alethea less than a minute to say yes. He was not offering the love she needed, but she could not walk away from him. There was a chance he could come to love her, but she would not pine for it, she swore to herself. At least this time there would be passion and, God willing, children of her own. The moment she said yes, however, she found herself being rushed to the altar. There was no time for second thoughts. As she spoke her vows in a tiny chapel with a somewhat disheveled minister, she prayed that she had not just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Alethea looked around the massive bedchamber Hartley had escorted her to and tried not to feel too intimidated by the signs of wealth and prestige surrounding her. She smoothed her hands down the thin linen and lace nightdress she wore and wondered where Hartley was. They had had a rushed marriage and a fine dinner with Iago, Aldus, and Gifford. Kate had been thrilled for her and busied herself packing all of Alethea’s things to be brought to Hartley’s townhouse. And here she now stood, ready for her wedding night, and no husband. It brought back some painful memories of her first wedding.
Hartley stepped into the room, and his body immediately hardened with need at the sight of his new wife wearing a very thin, lacy nightdress. She stirred his blood as no woman ever had before. He could already feel his body crying out with the need to be inside her.
He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, grinning at the way she leapt like a scalded cat. The more nervous she became, the more at ease he grew. From the moment he had put his mother’s ring on Alethea’s finger, he had become calm, almost peaceful in his heart and soul. He nuzzled the curve between her neck and her shoulder, and she shivered in his arms.
“You smell good,” he murmured as he nipped at her earlobe.
“Lilac soap.”
She turned in his arms and looked up at him. Her husband. That she had a claim to such a man awed her far more than the fact that she was now a marchioness. She slid her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his. Passion would still her groundless worries and fears for a while. She did not want such things to interfere with her wedding night.
Within moments she found herself naked and sprawled beneath an equally naked Hartley. A little more of her fear was chipped away at this sign of his desire for her. There was the seed for the love she needed from him. Alethea made herself a promise that she would learn all there was to learn about what pleased him in the bedchamber, and learn it so well that he forgot every other woman he had ever known.
Hartley was so hungry for her that he had to fight for enough control just to stop himself from ravishing her like some untried boy. The only thing that soothed his unease about the strength of his need for her was the certainty that she felt the same for him. He kissed and caressed her, his desire stirred to new heights by the way she tried to return each touch, each kiss, in equal measure. The soft noises she made as her passion soared were sweet music to his ears.
“I do not have the patience to do all I
wanted to do on our wedding night,” he muttered even as he began to join their bodies.
“We will have many more nights,” she whispered against his ear, and then ran her tongue along the length of the life-giving vein in his throat.
Hartley lost the last of his control. He gripped her hips and buried himself deep inside her. The way her body held him so tightly within her heat drove all sense from his mind. He could hear the bed thumping against the wall as he pounded into her but could not stop himself. As his release swept over him, he heard her cry out with her own, felt her body clench around his, and gave himself over completely to the waves of desire that crashed over him.
Hartley came to his senses to find that he had maintained enough of his usual finesse to roll a little to the side when he collapsed on her. He looked down at her smooth white belly and wondered if his seed had already taken root. The mere thought of her rounding with his child made his heart leap in his chest.
Lifting his head from her breasts, he looked at Alethea and breathed an inner sigh of relief when she smiled at him, her eyes still glinting silver with the remnants of the passion they had shared. Perhaps he had not made as bad a showing as he had feared.
“Did I hurt you?” he felt compelled to ask, recalled to the fact that she was only newly initiated into the secrets of desire and lovemaking.
“Oh, no.” Alethea sighed, knowing she was about to fall asleep, and stroked his badly mussed hair. “It was wonderful.”
Hartley was tempted to sit up and thump his chest in pride as he looked down at his well-satisfied bride. “Welcome to my home, Wife,” he said and kissed her.
Chapter 11
This was not what she had expected, Alethea thought as she stared at the two children standing before her. Hartley’s men had been a little too eager to toss this responsibility in her lap and rush off in search of the marquis. It made one wonder just how much trouble the siblings had caused on the trip home to England. Both children watched her as warily as she suspected she watched them. Germaine and Bayard de Laceaux had lost more than their childish innocence in the last three years. They had also lost their ability to trust, their hope, and their faith. Alethea feared that the reunion between Hartley and his niece and nephew was not going to be as smooth or as joyous as everyone had hoped.
And they were not really children any more, she reminded herself. Germaine was eighteen, an age where young ladies in England were indulging in their first season, thinking of catching a husband and having children. Bayard was fourteen, nearing fifteen, tall and coltish like many young boys were but already holding a hint of the man he would soon be. It would have been easier if they had been children, scars and all, but she was going to be dealing with small adults who had spent three long years struggling to survive.
“Not the best way for you to come home, I suspect,” Alethea said. “I believe your uncle will be home soon. He was not expecting you to arrive so quickly. Shall we go into the parlor and have some food and drink?”
When they both nodded, she had Alfred take their pitifully meager belongings up to the bedchambers that had been readied for them. She then ordered Hartley’s butler, Cobb, to bring them food and drink. In silence, she led the pair into the parlor. The way Germaine and Bayard studied the room made Alethea think they were making a careful survey of all possible escape routes.
The silence continued until the heavily laden tea tray was brought in. Alethea noticed how both children stared at the food in a way that told her they had often gone hungry. Once the food and drink was arranged on the table between her and the siblings, Alethea waved the servants away. Since neither Germaine nor Bayard made any move to help themselves to the food, Alethea put an assortment of small sandwiches and cakes on two plates. She noticed that Bayard’s hand shook faintly as he accepted his. Germaine took her plate with a grace that belied her ragged boy’s clothing and then fixed Alethea with a cool, unblinking stare.
“When did my uncle marry you?” Germaine asked.
“Right after we received the news that you had been found,” Alethea replied, trying not to be unsettled by the hard look in the girl’s beautiful sky blue eyes. “A short courtship and a special license.” Courtship was not the way to describe what had passed between her and Hartley before they were married, but she decided it would serve for now.
“Are you with child, then?”
Alethea nearly choked on the tea she had been sipping. She carefully set her cup down and looked at Germaine. There was no doubt in Alethea’s mind that the girl knew she had just been appallingly rude. Germaine had to have been well-trained in etiquette by the time she had been forced into running and hiding, and such training was not lost in a mere three years. It might need a little polishing, but the basics would have remained in the girl’s mind. Alethea put aside her sympathy for all the girl had been through for the moment. Instinct told her she needed to be strong and firm now or the girl would trample her.
“Not that I know of,” she replied calmly and reached for a small lemon cake. “That was not the reason for our marriage.”
“Did he think we needed another mother?”
There was so much anger revealed in those words that Alethea was surprised Germaine could even sit still, did not tremble from the force of it. “No. I am but two, three years your senior, Germaine. A poor choice for a mother to a grown woman and a young man. What Hartley needed was a wife, an heir, and someone to tend his home. Is that not why most men marry?”
“And what did you need?”
“Hartley.”
Germaine said nothing for a few moments as she ate two little ham and cucumber sandwiches and a lemon cake. Alethea waited patiently for the next strike. The blunt truth she had just told Germaine had been the right choice. Germaine would respect the truth. Alethea just hoped she could continue to hold her own.
“Leo told us that you helped them find us,” Germaine said after delicately wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“Hartley had men looking for you and Bayard for three years, Germaine. I but helped to point them in the right direction at a time when they were almost resigned to your loss.”
“With visions? Dreams? Where did this great insight come from? Cards? Tea leaves?”
For a girl with such a beautiful, soft, full mouth, Germaine sneered impressively, Alethea mused. “I will say this just once. Yes, I have visions. And dreams. And simple knowings which are a certainty that something will happen. I do not expect or demand that you believe in them, or in me, but I will not tolerate scorn. Especially since many of my family have such gifts, and I will not have them insulted. I suggest you be patient and gather a little knowledge before you speak so disparagingly of something you are completely ignorant of.” She picked up her sketchbook that she always kept close at hand and gave it to Germaine. “I draw what my visions show me. Perhaps this will help you to understand.”
Germaine and Bayard kept eating as they looked at Alethea’s drawings. Germaine gave her a narrow-eyed glance a few times, but said nothing. Then Alethea realized they were about to turn to the page that was filled with drawings of that day on the beach, a page now preceded only by the one depicting the dark visions she had gained from holding Claudette’s handkerchief. Alethea reached out to snatch the sketchbook away, only to have her wrist grabbed by Germaine.
Despite how thin the girl appeared, she was strong and easily held Alethea’s hand aside. Alethea waited tensely as the siblings studied what she had drawn concerning the day that had shattered their young lives. It was hard to subdue a flinch when Germaine finally looked at her and slowly eased her tight grip on Alethea’s wrist. There was such fury and grief in the girl’s beautiful eyes, Alethea wanted to weep.
“You have not drawn the face of that murderous bitch,” Germaine said, her voice cold and hard.
“I have,” Alethea said and pointed to the black rose.
“Ah, so you can smell as well as see when you have these visions.” She looked at the page holding the dra
wings of the vision Alethea had had when she had picked up the handkerchief. “Who are these men?”
“Ones she had killed because they were trying to stop her crimes. See? There is the black rose again.”
“There is the farm,” said Bayard when Germaine turned the page. “That is how you found us, oui? You saw the farm?”
Alethea nodded and sat back as Germaine closed the sketchbook and set it aside. The girl no longer looked scornful, but it was difficult to read what she did feel in her smooth, emotionless expression. Bayard, on the other hand, looked fascinated. There was no hint of fear in either of them, however, and Alethea decided that was enough for now.
“This”—Germaine waved her small, delicate hand toward the sketchbook—“will not hang her, will it?”
“No,” replied Alethea. “No judge would accept such things as proof of her crimes.”
“I saw her that day on the beach. You know that. There is your proof.”
“It could be. Your uncle will know better about such things. Then again, you saw her, but you did not see her kill anyone. She and her allies could use that to steal away the strength of anything you might have to say. And that woman has gathered some very powerful allies. I have discovered that Madame Claudette has gathered power and coin since she slithered into England. She chose her lovers with an eye to how they might help her in evading punishment and in gaining useful information. She will not be easy to bring down.”
“She will run, far and fast, once she hears Bayard and I survived. She will go to ground.”
“Yes, I believe she will, but she will also wish to avenge herself upon the ones she feels have destroyed the life she has built for herself. That is her weakness. Vanity and anger. That is what will ensnare her.” Alethea could not believe she was discussing strategy with this girl and her brother, but they listened closely as she told them all that had been done and was being done to bring Claudette and her sister to justice. “She has already revealed, by her attacks upon me, that her vanity and greed, her overweening sense of invulnerability, can make her act recklessly.”
If He's Wild Page 15
