Beyond Innocence (32 page)

She fell heavily into William’s leather chair, the letter gripped in her left hand. It was not possible to give him comfort, as she desperately wished, without revealing her knowledge of the letter’s contents. And her stomach churned with the fear that he would respond to Charlotte’s summons. Although William insisted he despised his father and cared not whether he lived or died, she now knew her husband for a man of compassion and sensitivity. He would be grieving for the father he remembered as a child, she was sure of it. But what were his thoughts of Charlotte?

• • •

William returned in time for dinner but could not bring himself to make light dinner conversation. He was acutely aware of Electra sitting opposite him, waiting.

“Will, please don’t lock me out. You have had bad news, haven’t you? Tell me, my love, I am your wife.”

He regarded her through the shadows of his grief. It had been a shock to discover the strength of feeling at the news of his father’s death. But he had to tell her. She was right, she had a right to know. Only, telling her made Charlotte real again and he feared a fresh eruption of the pain if he did not keep her shut away.

“The letter is from my father’s wife.” It was still hard to say her name. “My father has been killed in a carriage accident and his wife wishes me to sail for England immediately.” He took a deep breath and sat straight in the chair, determined not to show emotion.

“And will you go, William?”

Electra waited, her beautiful eyes filled with sadness and something else. Was it fear? He swallowed and reached for her hand. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

A solitary tear slid down her cheek, leaving a small dark spot on the bodice of her gown. She brushed it quickly away, as if it had nothing to do with her.

“Shall I be honest?”

He nodded, tensed himself for her comments.

“I know that, despite the situation between you and your father, you will still grieve the loss and knowing you, you will feel responsibility toward his — er, wife. Those are the qualities I admire.” He shifted in his chair, guilt churning his stomach at the compliment. “It’s just, I finally feel like we are husband and wife. Silly, I know, but I have a sense of dread that if you go, I will lose you.” She put her hand up to stop his protestations. “However, I will support whatever decision you make and live with the consequences. Because I know you must do what you think is right.”

William did not speak as he absorbed her words. If only there had been no letter. He could continue to live in blissful ignorance. With Electra by his side, in this faraway land, the memory of Canby Castle and its inhabitants a distant memory. But with his feelings for Electra so new and untested, he was unsure how he would react in Charlotte’s presence.

“I think perhaps I won’t go. Charlotte — ” he cleared his throat, “has never needed anyone’s help before. My father would have left her and the child well provided for, there is no reason for me to return.”

“Except for the fact you are now the Earl of Canby,” said Electra. When he didn’t answer, she excused herself from the table and went out to the veranda.

William pushed back his chair and left the house through the back door.

• • •

The night was hot and sticky. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as she climbed the stairs some hours later. William had still not returned and Electra stood on the landing, unsure of which bedroom to enter. If she retreated to her own, he may not come for her. The contents of the letter had shaken her, but worse was William’s reaction. Admittedly, the news of his father would have been a shock but the contact from Charlotte certainly unsettled him. Her hand was on her own doorknob when she took a deep breath, spun around and, hurrying down the hall, went into William’s room.

Right, now what? Should she deposit herself in his bed and sit waiting for him? Where was he? Questions churned around in her head until, catching sight of the bottle of French brandy in the corner, she stopped thinking. Instead, she poured a generous portion of the dusky liquid into a glass and held it to the light. This seemed to solve men’s problems, why not hers? The liquor made her cough as she gulped a mouthful. Whatever did he like about this? The second and third swallow took her breath but by the fourth, it seemed to slide down more easily. Goodness, the glass was already empty.

She refilled it.

But something was wrong. Every time she looked at the glass, it was empty again. And where had the bed gone? Oh, there it is, she giggled. If I can just make it over there …

• • •

The whisky burnt his throat as he tossed it back. “Damn it all, Callum. What am I to do? She’s right, there is no other male heir. I am now the Earl.”

William leaned back in the overstuffed chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. Callum had welcomed him without question when he barged into the small cottage with a bottle of whisky in his hand and his lips tight with anger. And he had waited patiently until William was ready to talk.

“Weel laddie, ye canna ignore your obligations as the Earl o’ Canby. But ye could mebbe delay your trip for a bit, aye? A letter with instructions to the Lady Canby and your solicitor wouldna be a bad start, do ye no’ think?” asked Callum, scratching his bushy beard.

“Yes, a letter will have to be written. Perhaps if I delay long enough, Electra will be free to accompany me.”

“Ye’ll be taking her for the right reasons, I hope,” said Callum, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

William put down his glass and looked steadily at Callum. “She’s worth ten of Charlotte, Callum and I’m not such a coward as to use her for my protection.”

“Fair enough, lad. Point taken.”

Reaching for the bottle, William filled his glass and reached over to fill Callum’s. Lifting the glass in a salute he said, “Let’s drink a toast to the late Earl of Canby. May his black heart rest in peace. And now I’m going to get filthy, rotten drunk.” He downed the contents of the glass in one gulp then refilled it.

William looked over at Callum, slumped in his chair. Neither had spoken for some time. If he didn’t move now, he would never make it back to the house. He threw down the last drop in his glass and stood, lurching against the table.

Shelagh, at the kitchen table mending, ran to steady him. She grabbed his arms and pushed him upright. He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Thank you, lovely Shelagh.” He tried to cup her chin but his arm wouldn’t cooperate and he missed.

Shelagh laughed and shook her head as she put her hand against his chest to stop him lurching forward again. “Ah, Will, me love, ye’re a bonnie lad, even when ye’re blutered and morbid from the grief.” She glanced over at her semiconscious husband. “Now get ye to your bed, Will, while I try to get his lordship to his.”

William straightened up and squared his shoulders. He bent down and planted a kiss on her blushing cheek, made her a mock salute and swayed off into the muggy night.

As he navigated the dark obstacles in his path, William wondered what lasting damage his behaviour over the letter had done to his relationship with Electra. He cursed his stupidity, recalling the passionate night and morning they had spent together. What possessed him to continually sabotage his marriage? Hold that thought, he instructed his meandering brain. He noticed his body was certainly holding the memory of her passionate responses. God, all he wanted now was to crawl into bed beside her soft, scented body and hold her. He hauled himself up the stairs and threw his bedroom door open.

His wife lay inert across the bed.

He stumbled to the bed. “Electra! Electra, are you all right?”

“Wha-ooh, can’t move,” she mumbled as she tried to lift her head and fell back on the bed.

Although William was in an advanced state of inebriation himself, he could still recognise it in his wife. He looked groggily over at the brandy bottle and seeing the level had dropped dramatically, knew the source of her stupor. He plopped onto the bed, kicked off his shoes, and threw his coat onto the chair. A smile played across his lips. William had not expected to find her in his bedroom when he returned. But here she was, quite drunk, but here all the same. He sucked in a breath, as his eyes travelled down her supine body.

Her skirt had hiked up, displaying her long, shapely legs and her arm was flung across his pillow. The candle flickered, accentuating the gold lights in her hair as it curled haphazardly across her face and shoulders. He lifted the thick mass of curls off her face and stroked her soft, downy cheek. Her lips curled in a slight smile as her warm breath caressed his fingers.

At least the laces on her bodice were easy to undo. She struggled to push him away as he dragged the dress up over her head and then loosened the corsets. Those he threw across the room, leaving her in her shift. After removing his own clothes, he pulled the light cover over them both and with his arm firmly around her waist, dragged her into the curve of his body. All thoughts of Charlotte had vanished the minute he saw his wife strewn across his bed. Now with her soft body curled into his, he felt the agony of wanting her again.

With one hand holding her firmly against him, he moved the other hand to her calf. Stroking her silky legs, he rucked the shift up until it was above her waist. His hands slid between her thighs, gently stroking until she moaned and wriggled back against him.

“Tell me to stop my sweet, and I will,” he whispered into her hair.

“No, no please, don’t stop,” she gasped, as he delved again.

“Hmm, so you have decided to wake up, have you?”

“You … there’s … no choice,” she said, pressing back against the impatient hardness of him. Her head may have been befuddled but her body was opening to his caresses like a flower to the sun. She jerked in surprise at the pleasure, and then whimpered, hungry for more.

He chuckled, feeling her legs part in invitation. The alcohol had dulled his mind, but his body was moving with animal instinct. As he stroked her moist heat, he could hear her breathing faster, emitting small moans. Desperate to be inside her, he rolled her roughly onto her back and, as he climbed over her, her hands reached for him, pulling his full weight onto her. Her hands were clutching his buttocks pushing him urgently into her, crying out as he entered. He was not gentle as he sucked on her nipple, moving up to kiss her mouth hungrily, and back to suckle. She begged him to stop, and then begged for more, all her inhibitions dulled by the alcohol.

Relieved of coherent thought, William, mirrored by Electra, reacted to the exquisite and urgent need of his body and within minutes they lay spent and exhausted, limbs chaotically entwined.

In the moments before William surrendered to insensibility he whispered, “Thank you for being here.”

“My pleasure.”

• • •

“Did you hear me, Mrs. Radcliffe?” asked Molly for the second time.

Electra looked up at the girl offering her work for correction. Her head throbbed like a war drum, and she found it hard to keep her thoughts in order.

When she first woke, William had already gone but she still tingled from the memory of his warm body and even warmer caresses during the night. So, he had come back and had welcomed her in his bed. She closed her eyes and inwardly groaned as she recalled the amount of French brandy she had imbibed. But any embarrassment at her state of inebriation was overshadowed by the remembered pleasure of their lovemaking. For the first time, it had been free of inhibition and untainted by her uncle’s presence. She shuddered at the thought of having to drink the ghastly stuff each time William came to her. An impatient sound next to her brought her attention back to the girl.

“I’m sorry, Molly, I’m just a bit distracted today. Here, let me have a look.” She scanned the page and was surprised and pleased to find no errors. Molly’s skills were certainly exceptional and with some tutoring, she would easily find work in keeping books. Molly had also returned a novel Electra lent her from William’s library, having read it in only a few days.

“This is very good, Molly. It is all correct.” The girl looked very pleased. “And where did you learn to read?”

The smile turned to a frown and she sucked the inside of her cheek. “I don’t want to offend yer mum, wiv me story. Are yer sure yer wants to know?”

Electra bit her lip at the words but nodded for her to continue.

From when Molly could first remember, there had only ever been herself and her mother. To earn a living, her mother walked the streets and frequented the pothouses. Then she brought the men home. Their eyes were bleary as they stumbled through the narrow doorway, barely noticing the girl. They fondled her mother’s breasts and pinched her backside as she lured them to her bed. The bed she shared with Molly was sectioned off from kitchen with a soiled sheet strung along a piece of twine.

Molly hummed loudly to hide the noises but when the moaning and the slap of sweaty bodies became too much, she shut the front door and sat, huddled on the doorstep in the dark, until they left.

There was a regular client, who preferred to visit on Monday afternoons. He was a short man with a balding head, thin lips and a long, pointed nose that always had a damp, red tip, as if it dripped. The Monday client could read and write. In fact, it was imperative for his job; he was a schoolteacher. One Monday he arrived a little early. Her mother was out so Molly ran to make him a cup of tea with a dry biscuit. While she moved around the room, she could feel his sly, hooded eyes following her. When she handed him the cup, his sweating hand lingered uncomfortably on her own. She pulled it away and held it behind her back as if it was something she could hide from him.

As the man bent down to retrieve a crumb from the biscuit he ate, a book fell from his jacket. Molly forgot her discomfort and snatched it up, asking about its content. He explained it was a collection of Aesop’s Fables and told her if she sat on his knee, he would read to her. She agreed and climbed onto his lap, which was soft and warm. As he read, engrossed as she was in the story of “The Tortoise and the Hare”, she was vaguely aware that his lap had become hard and uncomfortable. It was then her mother walked in, wrenched the girl off his knee, slapped her across the head, and sent her out into the street.