Where Destiny Plays, page 11
“Grace, you can’t force it.” The moment the words left his mouth, his cock stiffened ever so slightly.
“Yes I can, Jules. You’re not a dead man yet.” She slid her hand under the waistband of his trousers and grabbed his burgeoning erection.
He lowered his head to kiss her, catching her nose with his lips before finding her mouth. She giggled as she opened for him, her infectious joy filling his soul with hope.
No, he wasn’t dead yet. Grace’s determined grip was proving that, while inside her grew the promise of continued existence.
And now he was achingly hard, desperately needing to spend. “Let’s to bed, Grace.”
She offered one final squeeze with her hand, now warmed from her efforts. “Yes, Julius, let’s.”
In so many ways, Grace held the keys to his salvation. He needed to find the courage to tell her.
Chapter Nine
St. Albans
Arthur was quite pleased the meeting with the bishop went well. It ended with him and Lavinia promising to comfort and encourage their godchild and the bishop somehow interpreting this as keeping the child on the straight and narrow path of faith. Nicholas and Helena were satisfied with the outcome and that was all that mattered.
Guests for Helena’s birthday party began to arrive soon after. First was Nicholas’ cousin, the Viscount Ravensburgh—Bertie, as Nicholas called him—along with an unexpected family friend, the Marquess of Norrington. The lack of refurbished bedrooms became evident but was quickly settled when the pair agreed to double up, a situation they both declared they were used to from their adventures abroad.
“Sometimes you simply cannot find a suitable set of rooms,” Norrington had explained, “and you are obliged to sleep two abed in a farmhouse.”
A few days later, Sophia and Joseph arrived, both glowing and happy, Joseph running after his very pregnant wife to cater to her every whim and need. It was endearing.
Sophia and Helena holed themselves up in the solar, chatting endlessly about baby clothes and names, pregnancy symptoms and changes. In bed one night, Lavinia grumbled how she was bored to tears.
“You could join the men in the parlor,” Arthur suggested.
“Really? That would be so much more interesting. But I don’t want to spoil your fun. You should feel free to talk about anything in front of me.”
“I’m sure you imagine we talk about our former days as lotharios.”
“Former?”
He chuckled. “Besides Ravensburgh and Norrington waxing poetic over the Italian sunshine, it’s mostly business, or Joseph interrogating poor Nicholas about his plans for the future. They’ve bonded over the renovations.”
Lavinia was grateful and Arthur was contented. It was the most comforting feeling in the world to have one’s lover simply present in the same room, even if sometimes she read the newspaper or a book while he and Joseph discussed the business of railway parts and Nicholas and Mason poured over architectural drawings.
And then at night he would go to her room, a feat accomplished by the secret corridor and Nicholas and Helena’s obvious strategizing. Their lovemaking was made all the more profound by the foresight of the ever-astonishing Lavinia. She had packed a Dutch cap, allowing Arthur to experience the full intensity of his crisis.
Arthur did not ask why the lady had brought the prophylactic to a family gathering. If she had thought to seduce Nicholas upon arrival, she had no notion of it now. Arthur saw to that every night as he worshiped her body, her fleshy arse like pillows under his kneading fingertips, her luscious breasts overflowing his palms and so succulent in his mouth, her breathy moans and restrained cries of ecstasy urging him forward, the rapid rhythm of her pounding heart mingling with his own as he collapsed over her body slaked and spent.
The words I love you dancing precariously on the tip of his tongue with every climax…
Despite having to arise and return to his own bed before the housemaid laid the fire, for a few days Arthur’s life was pure bliss.
And then his parents arrived.
Helena, of course, was overjoyed to see her Grandmama and Grandpapa and Mother especially seemed to be in heaven among her fruitful progeny. But Father had different ideas about how one should spend one’s afternoon and it wasn’t with a lady present in the room.
As Lavinia read The Herts Advertiser and St Albans Times in the parlor, possibly looking a tad too comfortable on the sofa, Father scowled in her direction from his position by the window.
“Lady Foxley-Graham—”
Lavinia looked up from her paper.
“At the time of our introduction at the wedding breakfast, I had thought your name sounded familiar. It has taken me some time to remember how it is I might know you. You’re one of those women’s righters, aren’t you?”
“My lord?”
“The women’s property bill a decade ago. You and Ryburgh claimed it would help poor women.”
“I believe the legislation has helped working women hold on to their income in the face of profligate husbands.”
Father grunted as he returned to the view out the window. “Just don’t expect me to give women the right to vote. That’s what husbands are for.”
Every man present in the parlor looked up at that.
Lavinia folded her paper deliberately. “And what about the women who lack husbands?”
“They can jolly well go get one if they want a say in politics.” Father rocked on his heels. “A woman should know her place.”
After a few private words between Father and Nicholas, the latter clearly trying not to unsettle the still-new familial accord, Lavinia was relegated back to the realm of the women.
That she hated it was terribly present in the bedroom. As Arthur cradled her in his arms during afterglow, his heart swelling with masculine possessiveness as he cupped a generous breast, he assured her he held no such outmoded beliefs. He refrained from stating the obvious: if he were her husband, he would rely on her good opinion and knowledge of politics for his vote.
Despite such disquietude, Helena’s birthday party was a success. During the toast, she divulged that her birthday wish had been for her parents and grandparents—and uncle—to continue their efforts toward reconciliation and she was so happy her wish had been granted. Mother had stated that the impending births of their second grandchild and first great-grandchild would certainly lay to rest any remaining animosity.
Champagne flowed freely in the drawing room after dinner, lightening the mood of all present and loosening tongues. Mother’s tongue especially.
“Arthur, the Season will soon be upon us. It’s time you took the job of being a marquess’s heir seriously.” Her voice was far too loud.
Arthur cringed. This was either about politics or marriage. He glanced at Lavinia across the room laughing with Ravensburgh.
“How so, Mother?” He kept his voice low, hoping Mother would follow suit.
She did not. “Marriage and an heir.”
Shit. Luckily Lavinia did not hear. “I don’t think this is the proper time and place to discuss this, Mother,” Arthur hissed.
“And why not? We’re all family.” She surveyed the room. “Or at least on intimate terms like family.”
“I don’t think the entire family needs to hear about your plans for my marriage.”
“Nonsense. I’ve made up a list of some eligible candidates for you to meet during the Season.”
Arthur downed his champagne.
“And I understand Lady Foxley-Graham has a wide circle in Society.” She beckoned Lavinia over with a wave and a smile. “I’m sure she can be of help.”
“Lady Richmond,” Lavinia greeted, approaching in time to hear the last. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I was hoping you could lend your considered opinion on some eligible girls.”
Lavinia glanced at Ravensburgh and Norrington—the only other unmarried men in the room. “Of course, Lady Richmond,” she said politely. “For whom?”
Shit. Arthur gripped his glass.
“Arthur.”
Lavinia paled.
Double shit.
All eyes focused in their direction. Arthur surveyed the room. Nicholas and Sophia looked the most distressed. But no one said a word.
“Now, my dear, I’m looking for well-connected girls, anything above a viscount’s daughter. She must be pretty, educated and under twenty-five.”
The room began to spin and it wasn’t the champagne. Arthur sucked in a long breath.
And then Father approached. “And fecund.” He turned to Nicholas. “You were once a doctor, St. Albans. How can we be assured a young woman is capable of providing us with an heir?”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Well,” he began slowly, “it is necessary to know if both parties are, as you said, fecund.”
“Oh, but we know Arthur can sire children,” Mother said with uncharacteristic vulgarity.
Arthur caught a glimpse of Lavinia. She was stoic, her expression unreadable.
Wide-eyed horror flitted across Nicholas’ face. “I suppose most young women are capable of…of childbearing,” he sputtered, collecting himself. “Although to be absolutely certain there would have to be children already, perhaps from a previous marriage.”
“A young widow?” Mother said as if she hadn’t actually considered all the possibilities.
“And if such a woman already had children,” Nicholas added, “perhaps Arthur could adopt his heir.”
As a new peer, Nicholas still had much to learn.
“Adopt?” Father barked. “Nonsense. The letters patent state ‘heirs male of the body’. Succession by adoption may be allowed in those foreign lands you’ve traveled to, my boy, but not in England.”
Lavinia’s pallor turned absolutely peaked. Nicholas went to her side. “Vinny, you’ve finished your champagne. Shall I pour you another?”
She turned to him as if startled from a dream. “Thank you, my lord. But no. I fear I need a bit of fresh air.”
She handed her glass to Nicholas then left the room.
Annoyance at his family and concern for his lover prickled Arthur’s flesh. He couldn’t follow her. It would be too obvious. He’d have to wait.
Mother was oblivious to Lavinia’s emotions. “Your father was just reminiscing about the Earl of Ryburgh. If I recall correctly, he has five daughters. The middle one, Lady Beatrice Smythe, will be eighteen I believe.”
He was going to be sick.
“This will be her first Season.”
He had to get out of there. “Mother, thank you,” he said dripping charm. “I’m sure Lady Beatrice Smythe is lovely. However I need to excuse myself for a moment.”
Luckily a woman in a dinner gown was not as quick as a man rambling through Atherley Keep. Arthur spied Lavinia entering the library and followed.
He found her outside in the former porch of the Gothic chapel, now a forecourt with sweeping views of the grounds. She stood facing the vista, her arms wrapped around herself, her hands rubbing the bare skin above her elbows. He took off his jacket and placed it on her shoulders.
“Darling, that was inexcusable. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I should have known,” she said hoarsely, containing a sadness that threatened to break forth. “Of course I should have known the bachelor Earl of Petersham needed to marry and produce an heir.”
“Please don’t.”
“I was blinded by my own desires.”
“I’ll simply tell Mother and Father I have already made up my mind.”
She rounded on him. “About what?”
“Marrying you.”
She stared him in the eye. “Arthur, I’ll be forty-six next month.”
Shit. “I…I didn’t realize. I had thought you Sophia’s age. I suppose that’s not so old.”
“Trust me, it’s old as far as this is concerned.” She looked askance then closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Helena and Sophia and to be truthful, I cannot stand all the talk about babies and motherhood. And the more I listen to it the more I realize how ill-suited I would be for such a life.”
“I suppose most women have those fears at first.”
She glared at him. “You don’t understand. I don’t have any fears. I don’t have any regrets. And I don’t have any interest.”
He wished he could be so unequivocal when it came to his parents. “What about marriage?”
She sighed. “I’ve always wanted to marry again. I just never found the right man.”
“And now you have.”
“And he is required to produce children.” She shook her head. “Even if I did desire children I’m not sure I’m able to…” She trailed off with emotion.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Darling, I’ve found you. I’m not letting you go—”
“Arthur, your parents are against such a connection.”
“There has to be someone somewhere in this blasted country in the line of succession.”
Her forehead crinkled as her jaw dropped. “And?” She shook her head. “You are Richmond’s heir. You cannot escape that.”
She was his odalisque. There had to be a way. “I hate this. I didn’t intend for this to be nothing more than an affair.” He held her more tightly.
“An affair until you got married.” Her voice quavered.
“No.” He breathed her in, breathed in that scent only her lover would be privy to.
“But that’s all it can be.”
“Damn it.” He huffed an exhale. “All right, an affair. A love affair.” If that was all he could get, he’d take it.
“I need to think this through, Arthur.” She stepped back and wiped a tear from her eye, her fingers shaking. “Lady Richmond knows something of your past,” she said quietly, the quaver still clinging to her words. “Did the child die?”
A chill spiked his spine. “Yes. And its mother.” He did not want to talk about any of that at the moment. “It was a very long time ago.”
She smiled a thin-lipped smile, her eyes soft with her own regrets. “At our age everything was a very long time ago.” She pulled his jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him. “And now I think I should like to hear about Viscount Ravensburgh’s recent travels. You may escort me inside, my lord.”
He shrugged into his jacket. “Of course, my lady.”
He held out his arm and held his tongue. He was simply grateful for the warmth of her hand through his sleeve.
* * * * *
Lavinia dismissed Marie early. Once her corset was removed, she could finish undressing and dressing for bed by herself. Her lady’s maid knew her moods by now. Lavinia just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
That wasn’t true. She wanted to be with Arthur. She needed to be with Arthur.
He should have been honest with her but then again, she was an experienced Society matron. She should have known familial duty would rear its ugly head at some point. Arthur had confessed months ago he had no children and she knew very well he was the heir to the Richmond Marquessate. She should have made the connection. Passion had blinded her.
More painful was that he was the best damn lover she had ever had. He lacked the wanton inventiveness of Julius, a lover whose excess could be painful to endure. Yet the creativity was there, mixed with all that was good about a man like Nicholas—a generosity toward pleasuring that did not forsake his own libidinous needs.
Arthur Harwell was the antidote to her melancholia.
But seeing him married would only plunge her further into despair.
Still, thanks to their host and hostess, they had the perfect circumstances under which to conduct an affair. For the remainder of their time at Atherley Keep, if all she could have was a love affair, so be it. Last year, she had done the same with Nicholas until he was married off. This time she would guard her heart while she was satisfied in bed.
She had left the party early, Arthur still seemingly agitated—with her or with the situation, she wasn’t quite sure. The party would be breaking up by now—Sophia and Helena always retired early, as did the Richmonds. Arthur was probably having one final drink or smoke with the younger men.
She took off the rest of her underthings and put on a dressing gown. She opened the adjoining door and slid into the tiny corridor, offering silent gratitude to Nicholas for the arrangements. She listened at the door to Arthur’s bedroom. It was quiet on the other side. If he was already sleeping or not yet in bed, either way it would be a surprise. He always came to her.
She opened the door slowly. The room was dark, the glow of moonlight and a sliver of light under the door to the sitting room announcing the bedroom was unoccupied. The indistinct words of masculine voices and the scent of pipe tobacco indicated Arthur was having a late night conversation with Joseph.
So she would wait for him. She slipped off her robe and stole naked under the covers. The sheets smelled like him, his soap, his cologne. She reached between her legs, stroking gently. Just the idea of him aroused her. She wrapped herself tightly under the counterpane then let fantasy overtake her as she fell asleep.
* * * * *
Joseph took a swig of brandy then rested his head in the crook of the wingback in Arthur’s sitting room. Before him Arthur paced, his striped silk dressing robe flicking open every time he turned, exposing his flamboyant paisley pajama bottoms, the exotic flavor of his fashion at odds with the clean lines of the Neoclassical decor. Arthur toyed with his empty pipe then flung it onto the mantel with a huff.
Joseph understood his friend’s frustration. Arthur’s future was no longer his own. The Harwell legacy had finally come calling.
He crossed one leg on top of the other. It might be best to lighten the mood. “So…younger than twenty-five. That’ll keep you busy.”
Arthur rounded on him. “Don’t you start too. I don’t want to hear any of it.”
Joseph sobered. “Okay.” He placed his glass on the polished side table.
“I should have known my sins would come back to haunt me.” Arthur resumed his pacing.
“Your sins?”
“Of letting you and my sister marry for love. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be in bed with her by now?” he bit caustically.
