by Sylvia Day
“Damnation,” he hissed, swelling inside her. The first hard, thick spurt made her gasp in delight. He jerked against her, shuddering with every wrenching pulse, his hands fisting in the bedclothes on either side of her head.
He came hard and long, groaning her name, rubbing his face and torso against her as if to mark her with his scent. Jess took it all, cradling him as he shattered like she had mere moments earlier, anchoring him in the midst of the storm.
Alistair’s fingers rubbed restlessly across the wood grain of the table in the great cabin, his gaze on Jessica as she spoke to the captain over supper.
She wore a high-necked gown to hide the evidence of Alistair’s bite, the soft grayish-purple hue of the silk a reminder of her widowhood. As he’d known she would, she looked well fucked, her color high and her lips swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were bright and her voice throaty, while the expressive movements of her hands and arms were marked by a more pronounced sensual grace. He’d never seen her appear so relaxed or look more beautiful, yet his pleasure in that accomplishment was marred by agitation.
He was mad for her, enamored as he’d never been of another woman. Yet she seemed far more composed than he was. His future had altered drastically this day; everything he’d considered inviolate—his bachelorhood, his freedom to come and go as he pleased, his ability to avoid Society whenever and however he wished—was gone. Jessica would now dictate the paths his life would traverse from this point forward, because he couldn’t proceed without her. It was a revelation that shook him. He had long known he was meant to have her; he hadn’t realized until this afternoon that he was meant to keep her.
Alistair heaved out his breath and ran a rough hand through his hair. Jess glanced at him over the rim of her wine-filled glass and frowned. He waved her concern away with an impatient flick of his wrist.
He had gotten more than he’d bargained for with her. Her generosity in bed extended far beyond the gift of her body. She held nothing back. Tears, smiles, provocative whispers … His back bore the marks of her nails, but it was the interior cuts that stung now. She’d allowed him to see every emotion filtering through her as he made love to her, and that knowledge flayed him open. Every time she’d held him tightly at the extremity of his climax, as if to hold him together, she sliced a little deeper.
How in hell could she sit there so serenely after what they’d gone through that afternoon? It seemed almost as if the ramifications of what had transpired escaped her, yet he knew that couldn’t be true. Jessica wasn’t the kind of woman who engaged in indiscriminate sex. The connection for her had to be twofold—one of mind and body. She had to be engaged more than she appeared, but her damned inviolate perfection of deportment shielded her too well. Meanwhile, he was coming apart at the seams and couldn’t hide it.
The walls of the great cabin closed in on him. His breath shortened and he grew overwarm. He slipped a finger between his cravat and his neck, attempting to alleviate the feeling of constriction.
Supper seemed to last an eternity. He refused the customary glass of port and excused himself as soon as he could politely do so. He offered a brief smile to Jessica, then fled. Reaching the main deck, Alistair sucked in a deep breath of crisp sea air and gripped the gunwale, waiting for the restoration of his equilibrium.
“Mr. Caulfield.”
His eyes closed at the sound of Jess’s voice. As vivid images from the afternoon raced through his mind, he realized his mistake. She was there in his head; there was no escape. “Yes, Jessica?”
“Are you—Is everything all right?”
He looked out across the sea and nodded.
She drew abreast of him. Together, they stared at the moon’s elongated reflection on the water. “You were so quiet over supper.”
“I apologize,” he said automatically and absently.
“I would prefer to know what has you so thoroughly occupied.”
“Thoughts of you.”
“Oh?” She canted her body toward him. “Not quite so flattering when you look so grim.”
“Contemplative,” he corrected, although he conceded to himself that he felt grim. Which was extremely out of character. His livelihood—past and present—was often benefited by his ability to keep his face carefully schooled. “We did not finish our conversation about your altercation on the deck this morning.”
Her chin lifted, and she sucked in a deep breath. “I am not refusing to answer,” she began, “but I have to ask: Do you truly want to delve into the unsavory aspects of my past? I confess, I would rather you think of me as a romantic figure than one who is flawed and damaged.”
“Is that all you want of me in return?” he asked tightly, inwardly raging against any distance between them. “To see only the surface and nothing of depth?”
“No.” Her hand came to rest gently on his forearm.
Alistair swiftly caught her by covering her hand with his own.
She met his gaze. “There is a great deal I would like to know about you. Everything, actually.”
“Why?”
A slight frown marred the space between her brows. She was lovely in moonlight, her gilded hair made silver, her skin as luminous as a pearl. There was a new softness to her he’d failed to notice before. He wondered if it had been there throughout supper or if it was making itself apparent only now because they were alone. The anxious part of him seized on the latter possibility, which soured his mood further. Damned if he would be needy.
“Because you fascinate me,” she said softly. “Just when I assume I might know you, you show me another side of yourself that is completely unexpected.”
“Such as … ?”
Her lids lowered. Her thick lashes shadowed her eyes. “Such as when you took the helm. And when you arranged the picnic on the deck. And when you left my cabin that night.”
He nodded.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then swiftly released it, as if she’d noted her nervous gesture and rejected it. “I don’t understand your mood. Have I displeased you in some way?”
“If I was any more pleased with you, I would lose what little remains of my sanity.” He linked their fingers together.
Jessica inhaled a long, slow, deep breath before speaking. “My pater believed sparing the rod spoiled the child.”
Alistair tensed. “Oh?”
“Suffice it to say I was not spared nor spoiled.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “That is why I’m disturbed by bullies, especially those who grant no immunity to childhood.”
Rage heated his blood. “That’s the consequence you spoke of the other day? You were beaten if you were not well behaved? By Hadley?”
“In retrospect, I was an unruly child, I suppose.”
“That’s cause for patience, not abuse! You know this.”
“What’s done is done,” she dismissed, although her voice was unsteady.
“But not forgotten.” He stepped closer. “You were distraught today. The unpleasantness festers in your mind.”
“In a fashion.” Jessica offered him a sweet, tentative smile that served as another nail in his coffin. “But I realized today that I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for. For all of Hadley’s strenuous efforts, I am still capable of admiring your novel approach to life and the problems presented to you. I’m still capable of enjoying you without reserve.”
A tightening afflicted Alistair’s chest. “You gave yourself to me in rebellion because Hadley would not have approved.”
“No; I took you in celebration, because Hadley’s thoughts on the matter are of no concern to me. Not any longer. I don’t think you collect how profound the realization was, to learn that the control he exerted over me is not absolute after all. I managed to retain some of my individuality, and as an individual, I wanted you.”
“Does this tie into your discovery that taking me as your lover will act as a balm for your grief over Tarley’s passing?” He hated the bitterness that seeped into his tone, but the painful
knotting of his gut wouldn’t allow him to be nonchalant. Not about this. He seemed to suit her every purpose except the one most important to him—to be entrusted with her heart. He wished he could be content with being the means through which she overcame her sorrows, but helping her past Tarley and Hadley wasn’t enough. Not when he was so fundamentally altered that the life he’d once known was forever lost to him.
“Alistair …” Jess turned away abruptly, her free hand gripping the gunwale. Her back was ramrod straight, her head held high. There was defiance inherent in her posture; it won his regard and roused his body. “I feel as if you want me to say something—anything—that will lower your esteem for me or give you cause to retreat.”
Retreat? The very notion was absurd. He was addicted to the pure, innocent feeling of connection he’d found in bed with her. He could no more give that up than he could change the order of his birth. Reliance on anything was a circumstance he’d fought against his entire life, and now there was no escaping it. Leastwise, not for him. “What do you think you can reveal that will mitigate my captivation with you? Enlighten me, so I’ll know what I must hide from you to prevent a loss of interest on your part. Of course, if my whoring didn’t accomplish that, perhaps only proper behavior will make me unsuitable. Perhaps it’s because I’m unsavory that I am useful to you.”
“Stop it,” she hissed, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare. “I don’t care for your tone.”
“My apologies. Did I venture too far toward unacceptability for your tastes? Do you want only moderately aberrant behavior from a lover?”
Yanking her hand free of his grip, she turned away. “I’ll see you on the morrow, Alistair, and will pray that after a good night’s rest you’ll be in better spirits.”
“Don’t dismiss me,” he snapped, fighting the urge to forcibly stay her. He would never use physical force against her, especially not after learning what she’d suffered through in her youth.
Jessica rounded on him. “You are being impossible. Ugly. I don’t know why.”
“I’ve always believed I could have anything I wanted, if I worked hard enough. If I just sacrificed as necessary, made devil’s bargains and concessions, paid outrageous sums … I thought everything was possible and within my grasp.” He silenced the voice in his head that pressed for caution and self-preservation. “Now, I’m faced with one thing I want more than anything else on earth, and I know I can’t buy you or cajole you or force you to accept me. The feeling of powerlessness is one I cannot abide. It shortens my temper and leaves me extremely frustrated.”
Fine lines bracketed her lush mouth. “What are you saying?”
“I want you to start thinking of our arrangement as limitless, rather than finite. I want you try envisioning endless days like today. Mornings waking up in my arms. Nights passing with me inside you. Rides together in Hyde Park and waltzes in front of the ton.”
Her slender hand lifted to her throat. “You would be miserable.”
“Without you, yes.” He crossed his arms. A stiff ocean breeze whipped through his hair. Now it was he who felt rebellious and defiant. “I’m sorry I didn’t present these terms to you in the beginning. I know I spoke of our affair as fitting within a short duration of time. But my intentions—my needs—have changed.”
“I’m not certain I fully collect what your intentions are,” she said carefully. “What are you asking of me?”
“You said you’re no longer concerned with the end, but you still think of it as inevitable. I would prefer you to think of it as avoidable.”
“I thought we agreed that we would remain lovers until one of us lost interest in the other. What more can be done?”
“We can work at this”—he gestured impatiently between them—“thing between us, instead of allowing it to fade and wither. When problems arise, we can address them. If the attraction begins to wane, we can devise ways to reignite it.”
She licked her lower lip. “What would you call such an arrangement?”
Alistair pushed aside the anxiety that threatened to steal his voice. “I believe,” he said neutrally, “it’s called a courtship.”
Chapter 15
Hester drank her tea slowly, making a valiant attempt to keep something in her stomach. Though she was ravenous in the evenings, the afternoons found her still suffering from nausea. “I suggest swapping the ribbons, Your Grace,” she said to the Countess of Pennington. “Try the brown with the blue, and the green with the peach.”
Elspeth looked over her shoulder to where Hester sat on a settee in the countess’s boudoir. “Truly?”
The countess returned her attention to the material and ribbons laid out across her bed. She gestured for the modiste to do as advised, then nodded. “You’re right.”
Hester smiled. While she’d been slightly confused when Elspeth first began making persistent, yet friendly, overtures, she’d come to realize that the countess looked upon her in the capacity of a daughter. It was a role Jessica had filled, and Hester found herself enjoying the maternal companionship. She understood that Elspeth’s need was temporary, part of her re-acclimation to Society after years spent in the country. Hester envied her that idyllic life on the stunning Pennington estate.
“You should try the lemon scones,” Elspeth urged. “I vow you’ve never tasted the like. They melt in your mouth.”
“Thank you. I should like to. Another time, perhaps.”
The countess shook her head and came to her, settling on the settee opposite the one Hester occupied. “Have you tried ginger tea or broth, or both? Either will help to settle your stomach. And be moderate with greasy foods in the evening. Salted water crackers also help.”
There was a pause, and then Hester said softly, “Is it so obvious?”
“Only to an observant woman who has spent nearly every day of this last week with you.”
“Please, I must beg for your discretion.”
Elspeth’s dark eyes brightened at the hint of a secret. “You and Regmont are keeping the news to yourselves? Delightful.”
Hester hesitated, reluctant to share a confidence she’d held so close to her breast. “Regmont doesn’t yet know.”
“Oh … ? Whyever not?”
“I feel very unwell. I cannot help fearing that something is wrong. Regmont wouldn’t—He isn’t—” Hester set her cup and saucer down on the low table between them. “It would be better to wait and be certain that all is progressing as it should be.”
“My dear.” The countess reached for the tongs and moved a scone from the serving tray to a small plate. “You are squandering one of the few opportunities in a woman’s life when she can ask anything of her husband and receive it.”
“Regmont gives me too much as it is.” But not the one thing she most wished for—his peace of mind. “I also wanted to spare Jessica for a while longer.”
“She would be overjoyed on your behalf.”
“Yes.” Hester smoothed her skirts. “But she might grieve for herself, and she has enough to feel sorrowful about at the moment.”
“She will hurt more if you don’t tell her.”
“I wrote her shortly after she left. I think this is best. She won’t feel the need to put a brave face on if I’m not there when she learns the news. She can react in whatever manner is most comfortable for her, and when we see each other again, it will be with pure joy in her heart.”
Elspeth washed down a bite with a sip of tea. “You two are very close.”
Hester rubbed at the ache in her breast. “Yes. She is a sister and mother to me, as well as my dearest friend.”
“Jessica said your mother passed away when you were young.”
“I was ten, but in many ways my mother was lost to me before then. Her melancholia was debilitating. I most often saw her only in passing. She was a ghost to me—frail and wan and lacking any vibrancy whatsoever.”
“I’m sorry.” Elspeth offered a gentle, commiserating smile. “Motherhood is a gift. It is truly a shame Lad
y Hadley was unable to see it that way.”
“Jess would have made a wonderful mother. And Tarley, a wonderful father.”
“The same can be said about you and Regmont, I’m sure.”
Hester looked away from the countess, managing a shaky smile at the modiste’s assistants as they exited to the gallery with Elspeth’s selections.
“My dear,” Elspeth said, quietly commanding Hester’s attention. “Is it possible that you might be suffering from melancholia as well?”
“Oh, no. Truly, it’s just that I feel so wretched most of the day. And I confess, I worry about the match between Regmont and Michael tomorrow. I wish there was some way to dissuade them. Regmont takes such things so seriously.”
“You care about Michael.”
Hester felt a blush sweep over her cheeks. Over the past week, she’d found herself paying undue attention to Michael. She’d looked for him at events and around the city, hoping for a mere glimpse. The sharp prick of excitement she felt when she found him both exhilarated and saddened her. It was undeniable proof that her love for her husband had lost its ability to consume her. “He’s a good man.”
“Yes.” Elspeth set her cup down with a sigh. “I must be honest with you. I have more than one reason for cultivating our friendship. Though I’m deeply grateful for assistance with my attire, I have a need for another of your skills more.”
“If I can help in any way, I would be honored to.”
“I should like your expert opinion on the debutantes who might best suit Michael. Since you care for him as I do, I know you want to see him content in his marriage.”
“Of course.” Hester met the countess’s examining gaze directly, drawing upon years of Jessica’s coaching to hide her dismay. It was unreasonable for her to wish for him to remain as he’d always been.
Elspeth smiled beautifully. “Thank you. I hope to see him settled before the year is out.”
“That would be wonderful,” Hester agreed softly. “If we cannot manage sooner.”