The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (39 page)

In the mirror, the girl stared back at her with eyes that were unnervingly like James’, except that, instead of his determination, Ailise’s eyes were haunted. Fearful.

Intending to reassure her, Sunny reached and patted the girl’s back.

Ailise flinched and jerked away.

Sunny froze.

Color rose in the girl’s cheeks and she looked down, biting her lip.

“Wha…” Sunny swallowed, hard, the truth slowly dawning. “What happened?”

Ailise shook her head. “Do no’ tell. Please do no’ tell!”

“You didn’t want to come here, did you?”

“Oh, no, I did not.” She raised a stricken expression to Sunny. “I did no’ want to leave Annabel.”

“Annabel—is that your cousin?” Sunny asked. She had no idea how many half-cousins James had stashed away in the highlands.

“She is my cat. She is very old.”

“I see.”

“And I-I did no’ want to leave Flora.” She pressed her lips together and her throat worked rapidly. “She is the cook’s granddaughter. Mama and Douglas say that I should no’ be friendly with a servant. But she is my only friend in the whole wide world.”

“Sometimes it does seem a servant is the only one to offer a sympathetic ear,” Sunny said.

Ailise’s expression warmed. “You understand.”

“Yes. I understand.” Sunny swallowed back a burning sensation in her throat. “But what happened?”

“I did no’ want to leave. But Douglas said I must. He said I-I had to come in cousin Aggie’s place and do my very best to pla-placate the two of you. To be a satisfactory companion. He said, if James were to become unhappy, he might stop sending money to Mama.”

“Douglas persuaded you?” Sunny said gently.

Ailise nodded.

A terrible silence fell between them.

“May I keep my shift on?” Ailise said at length.

Sunny nodded again, unable to speak. She held out her arms, not really expecting the gesture to be accepted. But to her surprise, the girl flung herself into them.

Tears scalded Sunny’s cheeks.

****

Almost a full month later, James stared out the window, watching the countryside roll by. The fresh air did little to ease the stench.

The sound of retching echoed in the carriage interior. He glanced away from the window to where Catriona sat, holding a china chamber pot under Ailise’s head and patting the girl on the back whilst murmuring words of comfort.

Thank God for Catriona. He would have been all out to sea on how to handle the shy, anxious chit. And his half-sister did not trust him. He thought she tried to hide her dismay. But her eyes enlarged every time he came into the room, and, whilst she grew increasingly animated in Catriona’s company, chattering like any girl should, she went immediately quiet and stammering whenever he was near.

All of which he supposed was normal for a girl with a brother like Douglas.

Catriona looked up and he saw her strained expression. Again he cursed his mother.

Catriona was in no condition to handle Ailise. She had just been recovering from her dependence on opiates. From the experiences she had gone through since Freddy’s death.

“James.” Catriona’s voice was soft, but there was an edge to her words.

He tamped down his impatience. “Yes, I know, we must stop. I have already signaled for them to stop at the next inn.” He nodded at his half-sister. “You were too preoccupied to notice.”

He frowned.

It was unnerving to have a young girl with them. Ailise was prone to carriage sickness and fainting spells.

Devil take his mother!

“How much longer?” Catriona asked, the strain in her tone tearing at his conscience.

“Another half hour at most.”

Damn, damn, damn.

There had been nothing but delays for the past month. The night Ailise had come to them and Catriona had told him the terrible truth, he had summoned the doctor from Brownwood. Their journey had been delayed for a week to allow Ailise to heal from her bruises. During that time, Catriona had gone through the pain of her courses, further delaying their travels.

Then, once on the road, rain had further slowed their progress. Today the rain had cleared. They had been making excellent time. And Ailise had been doing better. But then they had hit a rocky patch of road that lasted a half hour too long. The poor girl had valiantly fought the nausea, but the motion of the carriage had overcome her. From what he had seen of the girl over the past month, he knew that Ailise would not recover soon. She would need to eat a bland meal and sleep for several hours.

The thought of what he was putting her through at her tender age ate into his conscience.

Yes, he was used to driving boys her age to work until they were ready to drop, to climb the rigging in high winds and perform any other duty required of them at sea.

However, he certainly couldn’t expect a gently bred girl to continue on in such a state.

Resigned to all the inconvenience, he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back.

How easily Catriona took to mothering the adolescent girl, facing each of the seemingly endless days with a bottomless well of sympathy and cheerful energy.

She reminded him of the girl she had once been, only now possessed of a calm maturity he had not expected from her.

She deserves a husband and children of her own.

The unbidden thought angered him.

I don’t even know if she can have any children of her own.

Well, with any luck, her examination by his doctor in London would put an end to that question.

And if he says that she can have children, will you let her go?

He took an uneasy breath. She would make a man an excellent wife.

A man of lesser position in life, one could accept a wife with her peculiar failings. He should let her go. He should allow her to find a husband in London. The nagging guilt ate at him. But he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go.

He could not allow himself to ruin her. He would have to keep his hands off her.

At least until the next time they might steal away to the country.

Could Catriona be satisfied with such an arrangement?

God, he hoped so. He wanted no unpleasantness between them, no tests of the limits of his affection for her.

****

James approached the innkeeper’s desk, glancing about at the cracking walls and timeworn furniture. The place was clearly third-rate. Under normal circumstances, he would not have chosen it. But his hand had been forced. He led Catriona and his sister to a wooden bench, then went to the clerk and requested two chambers. One for himself and one for the two women.

He glanced around at the company assembled in the main chamber. They were nearing London. He might be recognized.

He supposed having his late cousin’s wife as a chaperon to his young half-sister was a viable cover for traveling in the company of his mistress. He would have preferred to have had the matronly Aggie chaperoning Catriona, but, then, he supposed he was simply being overcautious.

Catriona seemed quite young to him. Relatively untried. Certainly unschooled in the bedchamber. In life.

But she was twenty-six years old. If she had remained unwed rather than being a widow, he knew many would consider her on the shelf. If she had borne Freddy children, she would be a matron herself.

She made a suitable chaperon.

No one would bat an eyelash over the issue.

He was simply letting the enforced idleness of carriage travel make him fixate on details.

After settling Catriona and Ailise in their chamber, he went to his own and lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

The time was drawing very close to the investiture ceremony that would make him the Earl of Greythorn. Dangerously close. He needed to prepare, and he hated having to do anything at the last minute; and for the main, he never did—certainly not if he could help it. How had he allowed himself to spend so much time away from his life, his business concerns?

He had been caught in a dream, so enamored of Catriona that he’d been out of his mind, not himself. However, with each mile that they drew nearer to London, his thoughts and perspective became clearer and clearer. He saw more than ever the power that Catriona held over his emotions. He saw that he would have to take firm control of the terms of their liaison, or else he would lose all control over his own life. He would lose all ability to enact his intended destiny.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Later that night, James awoke to a soft knocking at his chamber door. Moonlight streamed in through the slight part his curtains, telling him that the hour was late. He jerked his banyan over his nakedness, then went and unbolted the lock and flung the door open.

Catriona stared, her beautiful oval face, upturned toward his. Her large green eyes glittering in the faint light.

He took her by the shoulders, the soft velvet of her wrapper crushing lushly under his hands. He pulled her into his chamber. Then he gave a quick glance into the deserted corridor before shutting the door and facing her.

Her full red mouth was parted slightly, her eyes had gone wide. He forced down the impulse to kiss her until she was senseless and he  gave her a gentle shake. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“We’re too close to London now. We cannot take risks like this.” He frowned. “You’ve left Ailise alone?”

“She is sleeping soundly and the two maids are with her.”

“Those maids are new to us and have not yet earned our trust. I don’t like the idea of Ailise being alone in a place like this. Nor did he like the idea of them gossiping about how their mistress had stolen away in the middle of the night.”

He had intended to send her back to her chamber but instead he buried his face into the curve of her shoulder. Her feminine scent filled his senses. He longed to put his open mouth to her neck and taste the salty-sweetness of her flesh.

His cock had become rock-hard, throbbing painfully.

“I think the maids are trustworthy. They seem like good, sensible women.” The breathlessness in her voice caused his cock to jerk.

“You trust everyone.”

“You seem to trust no one.”

Her strained, slightly hurt tone caused a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. His rising arousal made it difficult to remain vexed with her. It made it difficult to think clearly at all. He had abstained from carnal contact with her for all the days of this trip. Neither of them had found it easy to become accustomed to the sudden ceasing of their bedchamber activities.

“It isn’t easy to forget the lessons of a lifetime,” he replied. “I suppose between our two extremes, the truth can be found. The maids are likely of moderate sense and trustworthiness, and the girl is worn out from her travails and is, as you say, sleeping deeply. Perhaps a moment or two of indiscretion between you and me will not hurt.”

She went stiff as boards beneath his touch. “I think after such a chilly reception, I’d like to leave.”

How could she possibly call his reception chilly? He was bone hard for her. He tightened his hold on her shoulders. “Oh no you don’t.” He pressed his pelvis to hers, letting her feel what she did to him. “You won’t get away with being such a brazen little tease.”

At the edge in James’ voice and the throb of his cock against her belly, Sunny shivered.. He’d been growing ever more distant since Ailise’s arrival. Distant in more ways than simply withholding his sexual demands. He was growing terse, preoccupied with their impending arrival in London. She was beginning to see that she had not come to know him as well as she had imagined.

He was a busy, important nobleman. She mustn’t fault him.

Her heart broke a little more and she barely stifled a sob as his open mouth covered hers. He would never truly be hers...he never had been hers. He a scorched kisses along  her neck. He grasped her buttocks. She fisted his banyan, meaning to push him away, but when he  ground his  erection against her mons, her mind muddled.

Distant chatter and occasional loud bang or raucous laughter from the taproom below stairs filled silence as he held her.

“You’re a very naughty girl, Cat.”

If this was all that could be between them, she would take it. “I told you, I can be very wicked.”

“No, not wicked, naughty. Oh so naughty.” He pulled her up, lifting her off her feet a bit. “What should I do with such a naughty girl?” An edge in his hushed tone sent shivers through her. She needed this, needed him. He was like rich sweetmeats. Like a drug in her blood.

“Maybe you should allow me to run back to my own chamber after all?” She attempted to take a step back, knowing full well he wouldn’t let her go.

“I don’t think so.” He held her fast. “Don’t move.”

His stern tone weakened her knees. She found herself frozen there  took hold of the edges of her wrapper then stripped it off her and let it fall in a dark pool around her feet. He grasped her shoulders again. “You knew better than to come here, didn’t you?”

She swallowed against an increasingly dry throat and knew he could feel her trembling. It was daunting and thrilling all at once. But she wasn’t going to answer that question.

Without releasing her shoulders, he propelled them both to the bedside.

Her heart leapt into her throat when he sat on the bed and pulled her down.

Off her balance, she grasped his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles.

But he was arranging her weight, shifting her to suit his purposes.

He stroked her bottom through her thick flannel nightdress. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I-I didn’t think it was forbidden that I should come here.”

“If I want your presence in my bed, I would tell you to come here. Or I would come to you. These things are not your decision.”

He pulled her nightgown up to her waist. The air chilled her bare skin. He ran a caress over her exposed flesh. “God, you have a lovely arse.”

The emotion that resounded in his voice sent a thrill into her bones. Sent a heat sparking into her blood. She had wondered if his desire for her had begun to wane. But hearing the passion in his tone, feeling his cock throb beneath her, she could no longer cling to those doubts.

“You are my mistress. You must learn to wait on my commands, my wants. Do you understand your position in my life?”

Her throat burned with her sudden hurt at his words. They weren’t exactly playing now, not completely. He was serious, telling her the truth of how he saw things.

How he wanted things to be.

“You know I am about to punish you.”

“Yes,” she said softly. All this time, he had made spanking her a part of their bed play.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will do what I must to assert my dominance over you. To train you not to push at the limits of my patience.” He stroked his hand over her cheeks again and again, with a lover’s tenderness. “You can tell me to halt, you know that?”

She caught her breath. What did she want?

He moved from fondling her buttocks and slid his fingers between her cheeks and deeper, sliding a finger into her channel.

She was surprised at how easily the digit entered, surprised at how wet she had become. Her mind had been occupied by his words and the dictatorial tack he had taken with her. But her body had responded in quite a different manner.

And that other manner was to submit to him.

To whatever he wanted.

“I won’t terrorize you. I won’t give you more than you can take. But I will be obeyed. Do you understand?”

At his firm tone, a part of her melted. She did want his firmness. But part of her still bridled over it. She didn’t understand herself, not wholly. This side of herself that craved such interactions frightened her. He didn’t frighten her; she trusted what he’d said, that he wouldn’t terrorize her as Meeker had. He wouldn’t give her more than she could take. Honestly, his power and authority excited her madly. But she did fear his ability to make her feel this way, his ability to make her submit to his will.

Especially when his will was beginning to run quite counter to her own. Who knew he would actually try to hold her at arm’s length whilst still maintaining a firm hold on her?

Well, that first night in his bed should have told her that much.

But she wasn’t going to be able to reason it all out at just this moment. The effect of his dominance over her was too intoxicating. She struggled to form a coherent answer that would still be honest. “I understand that you want to dictate that I should withhold myself from you, but I don’t understand why.”

“We have to navigate this affaire between us very carefully, Catriona. It could be the ruination of us both. You are not experienced in such matters. You must agree to take the lead from me about when we shall and shall not engage in carnal activities. Do you understand that much?”

“I understand that you believe it is necessary.”

“Then you also agree that I should train you, to help you maintain a proper respect for my authority over you?”

“I submit to you.”

“Fair enough.” He laid his hand on her buttock with a sharp crack.

The fiery sting shocked her.

This was punishment. Not play.

Her heart began to pound in her ears.

He struck her on the other cheek. Then struck her again and again, working slowly, steadily, first one cheek and then the other.

The pain increased and she put a hand behind her.

He took her wrists and held them easily with one hand. His grip was like steel as he resumed the slow, steady spanks.

Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to handle the level of pain for another moment, he stopped.

There was no sound but for the distant sounds from the taproom below stairs and her panting breaths. And his.

After a time, he ran a hand slowly, gently up her spine. “You took that well, my love.”

Her throat began to burn like fire at his tone.

“That’s my good girl,” he said in a crooning tone, still stroking her in a gentle, leisurely motion.

She burst into tears, crying not so much from the lingering pain or the fact that he’d actually punished her. No, she cried more for the sense of powerlessness she felt. Her lack of ability to hold and maintain his interest and attention at the level she needed.

He stroked her hair, whispering words of praise for its texture and color and how he had always loved it. How he loved her body.

How he loved her submission.

She cried harder.

She wanted him to love her.

She had always wanted to be needed and adored and had been willing to charm people to gain those things. And it came to her with clarity just how manipulative she had been with others.

Yes, they had manipulated her. But she had manipulated them in return.

Her interactions with others was shallow and cold. She wanted something better, deeper and more lasting. She was tired of being charming, adaptable. That had been the biggest part of her breaking apart after Freddy had died before her eyes.

She had been so weary, so tired. She had wanted to give up.

Now she wanted to be loved as she was without having to make the constant effort to charm everyone around her.

But she didn’t know how to inspire that kind of love.

At least, not from the one man from whom she wanted it most.

“No one understands about Mr. Chapman.” Hearing herself blurt this out, she was as startled as though someone else had spoken for her.

His hand paused on her back. “Then tell me. Make me understand.”

“They all—even you—think that I simply fell into bed with him, all because he had a bonny face and a pleasing manner. Well, it wasn’t like that!” Her emotions swelled in her throat, closing her voice off.

He gently patted her back. “What was it like?”

She took a deep breath, giddy now with her agitated state and because her head was still lower than her body over his lap. “I lost not only Freddy, but the dream of Freddy.”

“What was the dream of Freddy like?”

“I dreamed that he would love me utterly, for me. Not that sunny, cheerful girl who made everyone smile and laugh.”

“You wanted him to see your passionate, at times poignant, side? You wanted him to see and to love you anyway?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t.”

“No.”

“He couldn’t, Catriona. Who would have ever taught him how to love like that? I told you, our blood runs cold.”

She sensed he was speaking of himself as much as Freddy. It sent a chill through her.

“I am sorry, Cat, you deserve better.”

Her tears returned again, though not in such an uncontrolled torrent this time. Just a small squall of them, scalding her cheeks. She choked and he murmured, a soothing, incoherent sound.

“I am so sorry, sweeting.”

More tears burned their way from her eyes, down her face, falling to the floor.

“Did Mr. Chapman love you that way?”

“Yes.” She heard the anguish in her voice, the guilt. “He understood loss.”

“Did he?”

“He had lost his wife, his beloved wife, only two years before. He was ready to love someone else. I-I tried to love him.” She sucked in her breath with the pain that squeezed her chest. “I tried so hard.”