Cross the Ocean (8 page)

“I am not drooling, Elizabeth.” Blake desperately tried to convey nonchalance as he straightened.

Miss Finch undid the clasp of her reticule and pulled a white, lace-edged hanky from inside. She met Blake’s eyes and patted her chest with the hanky as if to trill, ‘oh my’ as she walked across the foyer towards him.

Blake flinched as she touched the cloth to the corner of his mouth. Naked dancing women could never be as erotic as this act. Never before did he feel so completely undone. Mesmerized by a bit of lace as it flittered to his face. From those vast breasts, his mind thought and his eyes saw, to dab ever so lightly at his now, twitching mouth. He no longer heard Tony laughing or Elizabeth’s attempts to hush him. Or saw the assembled servants gape. Nor did he hear the clatter of William and Melinda’s steps on the marble staircase. Blake Sanders existed in a private vacuum, consisting of lips, breasts and a hanky. He grabbed the arms beside those breasts and crushed the body attached against his chest. His lips clamped over hers and held on.

“Father. You’re doing it again,” William said from the steps.

Blake and Gertrude flew apart. He ran his fingers through his hair as he scanned the faces in the room.

He ran up the stairs, past servants and his wide-eyed children.

“Off with everyone now,” Mrs. Wickham said as she patted her flushing face. “Much to be done.” The servants scurried behind her.

* * * *

Anthony found Blake in his study, staring. He stood patiently. Finally, he clapped his hands together in front of Blake’s face.

“Come on, old man,” Anthony said.

Blake jumped and righted himself. “Tony,” he said, bewildered.

Anthony sat quiet for a while, sipping scotch. “Anything you want to talk about, Blake?”

Blake swallowed. “My father would die if he had seen my display today.”

“Your father is dead. Over ten years now.”

Blake nodded blankly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t?” Anthony asked.

Blake shook his head. All his private, well-guarded thoughts tumbled from his mouth in a flurry. “I couldn’t resist her. I couldn’t see anyone but her. I ... I thought I’d die if I didn’t kiss her.”

Anthony harrumphed and looked away. “Consider yourself doomed. A sweet death, perhaps, but doomed all the same. Tis the same way I feel every time I look at Elizabeth.”

“Yes, but you love Elizabeth,” Blake whispered.

Tony glared over his glass. “And why would you consider yourself immune?”

Blake laughed without humor. “I am not in love with Gertrude Finch. Desire is one thing, love another.”

Blake crossed his legs and looked away. “Desire is bad enough.”

Tony studied his friend. “So you are saying, if Helena had run a hanky over her bosoms you would have kissed her. In front of me, your children and the servants?”

“No, I, no,” Blake stuttered. “Displays of affection of that sort are private. Mistress or wife. It’s why I glare at you when you drape yourself over Elizabeth.”

“There was nothing private about the way you nearly ate my houseguest in your foyer today, Blake. I thought you meant to suck the woman’s lips right from her face,” Anthony growled.

Blake groaned.

“I was waiting for you to drop your pants and take her right there on the steps.”

Blake covered his face with his hand as Tony repeated his innermost thoughts.

“Throw her skirts up and claim her in front of your children, my wife and Mrs. Wickham, for God’s sakes.”

“Enough,” Blake said.

Anthony sat up straight. “She’s an unmarried woman in my protection. Here to help your daughter make her come-out,” he said as he stood. “Fine thing, I’ll be dueling at dawn with my life long friend.”

“I would never....” Blake began.

Anthony interrupted. “Bloody right, you won’t. I’ll not have you under Gertrude’s skirts and wave her merrily away at the docks. She’s not that kind of woman.”

Anthony was right. Blake knew it. The fact did not temper his lust.

* * * *

Gert had an idea why Sanders kissed her again. Although not confident in her womanly charms, she was no one’s fool. She knew the hands at the ranch and Uncle Fred himself thought large breasts paramount to sainthood. She had been prepared to make a witty comment about drool and feel victory in his embarrassment. But then he’d stared at her with such intensity; her legs had nearly buckled as if she stood on the deck of her pirate captain’s ship as the wind blew at her back. Sanders had grabbed her arms, focused on her lips and kissed her with a low growl. Red sashes danced behind her closed eyes.

None of her fantasy kisses ever compared.

Sanders had run up the staircase as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. She stood in the middle of the marble entranceway breathless and dumbstruck. Elizabeth had taken her arm, guided her up the stairs and advised her to nap.

Gert looked blankly. “Can’t sleep. I’ll dream of pirates.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “Pirates?”

But Gert conceded and woke up a short time later in a strange room. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Everything flooded back. London. Sanders. ‘Their moment.’ Times two. She shook her head, determined to not let this man make a fool of her. There would be no more kissing, no more arguing, no more fuel to this fire. Gert felt oddly disappointed and rolled over to hug her pillow. “Enough of this nonsense,” she said aloud and jumped from the bed. The man was worse than Uncle Fred’s prize stallion. Didn’t matter which mare. Just the one closest.

Elizabeth knocked softly and came into the room. “Did you rest well?” she asked.

“Fine, thank you. What should I wear tonight? What is Melinda wearing?” Gert asked in a rush.

“Is there anything you want to talk about, Gertrude?” Elizabeth asked.

Gert dropped her head and fingered the dress she had pulled from the wardrobe. “No,” she replied.

“Blake’s behavior has been ... strange,” Elizabeth offered.

“Strange?” Gert bellowed. “I’ve never been so mortified in all my life.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “It looked like you were enjoying his attention.”

“Attention is what you pay to your teacher or your sewing or a book. I thought the man would swallow me whole,” Gert said.

Elizabeth giggled as Gert plopped down on the bed. “Gertrude, what’s wrong?” she asked as she swept around the canopied bed.

Gert shook her head and swiped her hands over her eyes. “Nothing,” she said softly.

“I’ve gotten to know you well, cousin. If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be crying.”

Gert looked away. “I never cry. It’s just....” Her head dropped. “I’ve never been kissed before this.

Not really kissed.” Elizabeth picked up her hand and held it. “I always dreamed about it, you know.”

“Terribly personal of me to ask but ... how old are you?” Elizabeth said.

“Thirty-two,” Gert said grimly. “I long ago resigned myself to wonderful dreams of kissing, but now, well the reality is not what I expected.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth asked.

Gert hugged herself and wandered to the window. She shook her head in response.

“Do you love him?” Elizabeth said softly.

Gert turned swiftly. “I’ve only known him a few days, a week at the most. How would I know, anyway?

Men have never stuck around long enough for me to know. I’m not the kind of woman men fall in love with. I’m tall and loud and plain. Sanders is certainly not the kind of man I envisioned in my dreams either.” Gert bowed her head and continued. “They were sweet and mild and even-tempered ... pirates.”

Elizabeth dropped her shoulders. She smiled sympathetically. “Those men would not be the right ones for you. You’re strong and need strength in return.”

Gert shook her head. “It’s a childish fantasy anyway. More suited to Melinda than me. Speaking of Melinda, shouldn’t we be helping her dress? We leave in less than an hour.”

Elizabeth’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, dear.”

* * * *

“What takes women so long to get dressed, Father?” William asked.

“A mystery that would compare to the pyramids, and as unanswerable as well,” Anthony said.

“I don’t have the foggiest notion, William. I was ready in ten minutes.” Blake looked at himself in the mirror of the drawing room where he, Anthony and William waited for the women. Blake was determined to put the American out of his mind. “I wonder if Lady Elaine will be in attendance tonight?”

he said.

“The Bentmore widow?” Anthony asked. “She’s a simpering fool. Why would you care?”

Blake smiled over his shoulder to Anthony.

“Who is Lady Elaine?” William asked.

“Just an acquaintance,” Blake replied.

“What about Miss Finch?” the boy asked.

“What about her?” Blake said. He could not look at his son’s face and chose rather to pick non-existent lint from his sleeve.

Anthony watched the exchange with interest.

William blustered with the curiosity of a boy becoming a man. “It’s alright then, to kiss lots of different women.” He stared away. “I wonder how many men my bride will have kissed. I don’t like to think about that.”

“It’s different for men and women, William. You will be the first man to kiss your bride and the last,”

Blake said.

“Wasn’t for you and mother, you know,” William said in a quiet voice.

Blake gestured for William to sit down. “Your mother and my circumstances are unusual. It won’t happen to you.”

William’s face grew red. “If I have a mistress it might. Does that mean I shouldn’t? All my friend’s fathers do. Just like you.”

Blake had never in his wildest dreams imagined a conversation like this. His son was trying to figure out the why’s and how’s of growing up and Blake felt sorely lacking to be giving advice. Never more than at this moment did he regret having taken a mistress. His dearth of judgment hit him square in the face.

What was accepted by English society was not always right, Blake imagined. But it was also all he knew.

He glanced at Tony. No help from that quarter.

“I’m not proud of the fact I kept a mistress, son. Maybe, your mother and I would still be together if I hadn’t. I don’t know,” Blake said.

William’s eyes brimmed with questions. “Then why did you do it?”

The stark reality of the matter hit him like a dive in a lake. Was it the sex? He couldn’t explain Helena’s abandon to William. Or did he care so little for Ann that he refused to question his own actions. Glibly going along, heedless of the consequences. “I don’t know,” Blake replied.

“Terribly complicated,” William murmured.

Anthony smiled. “Don’t worry, William. When the right woman comes along, you’ll not have the time or sense to think about it.”

William smiled. “Like when you kiss Aunt Elizabeth all the time.”

Anthony nodded and smiled back, apparently willing to lighten the mood at his own expense. “I look like a besotted fool when I’m around her, especially when I kiss her, I suppose.”

“You surely do, Uncle Anthony. All moony eyed or drunk.” William laughed at his own joke. “Like father did when he kissed Miss Finch.” William sobered and looked at his father. “I’ll see what’s keeping Melinda.” He hurried from the room.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Anthony said wryly.

“You could have jumped in earlier, Burroughs. I was having some trouble if you hadn’t noticed,” Blake said.

“No, no, Blake. I truly enjoyed watching you squirm. All a bit different seeing your son becoming a man and wondering if he will tread in your esteemed footsteps,” Anthony said.

The door of the library opened before Blake could form a retort. The sight of Melinda took his breath away. She was a woman. Hair piled high, graceful carriage in a flowing, gauzy dress.

“Well, Blake, do tell. What do you think of Melinda’s dress?” Elizabeth said and straightened the girl’s skirts.

Melinda stood expectantly.

“There will never be a match to your beauty, my dear. Never,” Blake said with reverence.

Melinda smiled triumphantly and hurried to him. “Oh Father, Thank you. I do wish mother ... never mind.”

Blake held her arms. “I wish your mother could see you tonight as well. She would be so proud.”

Melinda nodded and tears filled her eyes.

“No tears, moppet,” Blake said. “You can’t have red eyes as you take London by storm.”

“I feel sorry for the bachelors, don’t you, Blake?” Anthony said as he kissed Melinda’s cheek. “They won’t know what hit them.”

“Do you really think so, Uncle Anthony?” Melinda questioned.

“We know so,” Blake said. “Weren’t we once young bachelors?”

Elizabeth slipped her arm through Anthony’s. “This one longer than most, I dare say.”

Anthony leaned close and whispered in his wife’s ear. She colored.

“Oh, I do hope I can catch the eye of someone as dashing and romantic as you, Uncle Anthony,”

Melinda trilled. She hooked her arm in her brother’s. “Shall we go?”

Blake’s shoulders dropped as everyone left the room except Gertrude Finch. “Like Uncle Anthony?” he repeated softly.

“She’d be better off with someone like him,” she said, ignoring his arm.

“One moment, Miss Finch,” Blake said as he hurried along behind her. “I’m her father. She should want to marry someone like me,” he said.

She stopped and turned. “Would that be wise, Your Grace?”

Blake followed her to the waiting carriage. Melinda and William rode with Lady Katherine. Miss Finch and Elizabeth sat on the forward side of the Wexford coach. Anthony and he were opposite them. The coach was completely dark until the light of a passing street lamp illuminated Gertrude Finch’s chest. An expanse of bosom that made Blake almost forget what he had to say.

“Miss Finch. I find I must again apologize to you. My behavior today was unforgivable,” Blake said.

“If it was unforgivable then why do you bother apologizing?” she replied.

Anthony chuckled.

“Why must you make it so difficult for me to do so?” Blake asked.

“Stop kissing me in foyers and on lawns. You won’t have any difficulties then,” she shrieked.

“Madam, my eardrum. Have a care,” Blake said as he winced.