For Love of the Earl (18 page)

He would finally make her laugh.
 
He knew he would.

"But some part of this does not make sense."

Alec could think of many parts of this that did not make sense, but that was not the point just then.
 
The point was to end this conversation and leave.
 
Thatcher could be all right.
 
He had fled.
 
He must have gotten out.
 
Did that mean he could still formulate a plan to save them?
 
He could not be sure, but he knew the man was alive.
 
That was enough to allow him to return to Sarah.

"The woman this gentleman was with.
 
She say something peculiar."
 

Lady Cavanaugh had said a number of peculiar things on more than one occasion.
 
Alec did not see how this was relevant.

"She say she a countess.
 
A countess from Italy.
 
You know this woman."
 

The last part was not a question, and it was all Alec could do to keep from smiling.
 
Yes, he did know the Katharine Cavanaugh who would pretend to be an Italian countess.
 
But Teyssier did not need to know this.
 
So Alec continued to say nothing.

"I see you are not going to help a friend right now, mon ami.
 
This saddens me."

Teyssier stood, and that cold tickle of fear burning down Alec's spine erupted into flames that threatened to engulf him.

"I think it best to give you time to think about matters."
 

Teyssier moved from behind the table, his feet shuffling in the debris on the floor.
 

"You must think about what is best not only for you but for your lady wife."

The captain stood close enough now that Alec could see where his beard disappeared into the stained fabric of his collar.
 
He could smell the man's stale breath and dried sweat.
 
He could smell entirely too much.

"You will stay here, I think, to think of these things.
 
And then perhaps, you will wish to cooperate."
 

Before Alec could form a protest, Teyssier moved to the door.
 
Alec stood, moving the chair as if to make a run for the door, but Harpoon Man stood there.
 
Or if not Harpoon Man, his evil twin.
 
And Alec carefully sat back down.

"You will think," Teyssier said and shut the door, giving Alec no chance to get back to his wife.

He sat down on the wooden chair.
 
Defeat weighed on him like a fog on a hillside.
 
There but not solid enough to grasp in one's hand to move away.
 
He had told Sarah he would not leave her.
 
He had told her that.
 
And now he was stuck in the captain's quarters.
 
He thought about trying the door handle but knew it was unlikely they would leave the bolt off.

The ship rolled beneath him, but he did not move.
 
He sat in the chair, his mind blank except for the look on Sarah's face when he had closed the door.
 

He wondered if she had figured it out by then.
 
If she knew when it was that they had first met.
 
It was not something he had ever forgotten.
 
And that moment in the church four years ago, when he had seen her standing there in her gown, he hadn't known what to do.
 
The immense amount of alcohol in his system had not helped matters either.
 
And even now Alec couldn't remember everything of that day.

But he could not forget Sarah.
 

There were moments in their life together that had frozen in his mind.
 
The image of a young Sarah the first time they had met.
 
Moonlight cascading across her shoulders as if she were a majestic sprite.
 
Sarah at the altar, a grown woman wreathed in flowers.
 
And then Sarah from moments before, her tattered gown clinging to her with its last threads, her hair mussed and matted, grime streaking down her face.
 
But it was none of that had made the image freeze in his mind.
 
It was the look in her eyes.
 

It was the look of a woman who had been thoroughly loved.
 

Is loved.
 

He suspected that last bit was his own selfishly hopeful expectations.
 
There was a large distance between physical love, and the love he had been trying to show Sarah for so many years.
 
And while he had definitely made love to Sarah, he doubted she felt the truth of it.
 
He doubted she knew the depth of his emotions.
 
She had always called him ridiculous and immature, but he had never felt that way about her.

What he felt for her was something unlike he had ever experienced.
 
His love for his family ran deep.
 
His father and Jane and Nathan.
 
And likely soon to extend to an indomitable housekeeper and her son.
 
And while his love for his family was strong, insurmountable and unconditional, it did not compare to the burst of passion that overwhelmed him whenever he saw his wife.

His love for Sarah was organic, a living, breathing thing that was always just out of his reach.
 
It was something he moved forward for, moved toward everyday, hoping that one day he would catch it.
 
One day he would catch her.

But he never did.
 

For four long years.

His chest hurt.
 
He rubbed at it as if to dispel the ache that defeat ground into him.
 
He dropped his hand into his lap and looked at it.
 
Red and raw from exposure, his fingers clenched and unclenched.

And then as he had done mere days before, Alec folded his hands and prayed, because he didn't know what else to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT

London, England

Just before their abduction

Alec prayed.
 

He hadn't really done much praying lately, but he figured that if any situation called for divine assistance, this was it.
 
He had done everything he could think of, everything his pathetic, unimaginative brain could come up with to make his wife laugh, to make her love him.
 
But nothing had worked.
 
He sat in a cold, empty church, soaking wet from having walked around London for hours in the rain, and he prayed to a god he hadn't spoken to in years.
       

Desperate was the word that came to mind.

Desperate to make her look at him with something other than disdain.
 
Desperate to make her see him for a human being and not the immature whelp he knew she saw.
 
Desperate to stop being on the wrong side of all the doors she closed in his face.
 

Just desperate.
 

And last night...

God, last night.
 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling momentarily and wondered if he should clarify to God that he wasn't speaking to him directly at that moment.

But what had happened?
 

Well, he knew what had happened, but what had driven them to it?
 
What had driven
him
to it?
 

In four years, he hadn't so much as spoken intimately to his wife.
 
Hell, he hadn't even spoken friendly to his wife.
 
There had been a time when he had jested with her, smiled with her and laughed with her.
 
But he had always fooled himself.
 
He did none of those things with her.
 
He had just done them in the attempt to make her realize he was there.
 
Intimacy was this mysterious thing that happened to other people, not him.
 
But last night, he had clearly encountered intimacy and surged right through it to carnal knowledge.
 

But what was he supposed to do when the woman whom he had loved since the first sight of her had suddenly, unexpectedly kissed him?

In fact,
kissed
did not accurately described what she had done.
 
She had all but devoured him.
 
She had bit him.
 
And stupid idiot that he was he had said
Ow
and nearly shoved her off the sofa.
 
Ow
was really not the best response in that situation, but she had bit him.
 
It wasn't until she was almost to the door of the library in their townhouse that he thought to get up and go after her.
 
And then he had happily returned the endearing show of emotion by biting her back.
 
He knew he had probably hurt her, but the tracks her fingernails had made still burned down the length of his back.
   

He had reached the top of the stairs before he realized he was taking her to a bed.
 
It was more like hauling her to a bed because she was tossed over his shoulder, but regardless of his method, his destination was clear.
 
He was going to get his wife in a bed, and he was damn sure going to be present.
 

What he had not expected was to stop when he did, but he couldn't help it.
 
He had watched her as he had stroked her to climax, and the look on her face when she broke had his chest tightening to uncomfortable proportions.
 
Her eyes had fluttered closed, and he had felt like she had put all of her trust in him.
 
Trusting him with her body, her heart, her very soul.
 
And still shivering from the pleasure he had given her, she had opened her eyes and smiled.
 

That was when he realized he couldn't do it.
     

He couldn't make love to his wife as long as he knew she didn't care about him.
 

Her smile had been one of satiation, of contentment, of pure physical happiness.
 

She had never smiled like that at him before.
 
She had never smiled at him before.
 
And that knowledge had driven him off the bed and out the door.
 
This time it was him who closed the door between them, but it hadn't made him feel any better standing in the hallway looking at it.
 

So now he sat in Greyfriars, soaking wet and probably catching the fever that would kill him, but he had suddenly felt the need to return to the scene of the crime, as it were.
 
He stared at the altar where had been forever tied to Sarah Beckham.
 
He hadn't realized then that being tied to her did not mean that he would be happily tied to her.
 
It may have been his state of intoxication at the time that kept him from realizing it, but he thought it more likely came from the secret moment he had been cherishing, nurturing for years.
 

The moment when he had first met the incredible woman he now found himself married to.
 
The moment when he had stumbled upon her at the Duke of Kent's country party and fallen for her untrusting blue eyes and cynical overbite.
 

That was what he was thinking about when he had wed her that day four years ago.
 
He had been thinking Fate had finally dealt him a good hand.
 
He was marrying the young woman whose spell he had fallen under, the young woman who had stayed unresistingly resilient, unbending, and proud in his memory.
 
The young woman who had first made him not hate his social obligations so much.
 
The young woman who had first shared his disdain for titles borne by people who did not deserve them.
 

The young woman who had caused the first stirrings of longing for a family.
 

Unable to look anymore, Alec stood and walked out of the church, the squishing of his wet boots drowning out the quiet sobs of the young woman hiding in the darkness at the back of the church.
   

~

London, England

Just before their abduction

Sarah stood inside the doorway of Greyfriars, worrying the fingertips of her gloves.
 
The day was overcast, so candles had been lit in the torches as little light trickled through the windows.
 
She took a cautious step forward, not picking her foot up from the floor, just sliding it across the ground and listening to the scrape of her shoe, letting the harsh sound grate her ears.
 

She could see Alec, sitting four pews from the front.
 
His shoulders were hunched, and his hair was wet.
 
She could see it glisten in the soft light.
 
It had been raining earlier, hours earlier.
 
She wondered how long he had been sitting there.
 
Since he had left her?
 
Since he had run in the middle of making love to her?
 

She took another step forward, the grating softer as her foot left the ground a little more.
 
Alec must not have heard her because he didn't move. She pulled at the sleeve of her morning dress where it rubbed against her gloved palm.
 
Feeling the lace through her gloves reminded her that she had not changed into something more appropriate.
 

She had left Stryden House that morning as soon as she'd discovered Alec was missing.
 
She had gone to his father's house looking for Nora.
 
Sarah had only met Nora the day before, but she had met the woman in a crisis, a particularly bad crisis for a mother.
 
Nora's son had been kidnapped, but Nora was still infallible.
 
And Sarah was convinced Nora could do anything.