Feeling as if the world had turned upside down, Gavin said, “So it wasn’t society that spurned them, only the old earl?”
“I’m sure that was bad enough from your father’s point of view—such rifts can tear families apart.”
The Elliotts certainly had been. “What was the reaction when my father was forced to resign from the navy?”
“As other men who’d been part of the engagement returned home and began to speak up, it was recognized that your father behaved like the good officer he was.” Ashburton grimaced. “There’s no chance that the Admiralty would ever admit they were wrong, but for what it’s worth, your father’s name is still respected.”
“Do you think he knew that?”
“If he kept in touch with the Elliott solicitor, he must have. My guess is that if he lived in America, it was because he preferred it to England.”
Gavin fell silent as he reevaluated the past. James Elliott had carried some bitterness about his treatment in England, but he’d genuinely loved the freedom of his life in America. Perhaps his silence had been less from pain than because he simply didn’t want to think about the past anymore.
Perhaps it had been Gavin, not his parents, who had felt the deepest pain at leaving Britain.
Alex took his hand. “You don’t have to understand it all right now, Gavin. Come upstairs and relax for a while before dinner.”
“I appreciate your taking the time to explain this, sir.” Feeling numb, Gavin got to his feet. “My reaction must seem laughable to you.”
“There’s a certain irony in this,” the duke acknowledged. “But it’s not laughable. I don’t blame you for feeling oppressed by the weight of an inheritance you didn’t expect and don’t want.”
Glad for Ashburton’s understanding, Gavin left the study, Alex’s hand still locked in his. Alex? No, the Countess of Seabourne. God help them both.
Worried by Gavin’s bleak expression, Alex turned into him and slid her arms around his neck after they entered her room. “I’m so sorry. You look as if the sky has fallen in.”
“It has.” He buried his face in her hair, his arms tight around her. Tension burned through him like molten steel.
She pressed closer, wishing she could absorb his distress. For the first time since they’d met, he needed her. Though she didn’t like seeing him so miserable, she liked knowing she could comfort her golden, utterly competent husband. “You have reason to hate your grandfather, and it must be painful to think of bearing his title,” she said softly. “But if you wish to honor your parents, isn’t becoming a good earl the best possible revenge on your dreadful grandfather?”
“I suppose you’re right—the old devil would surely loathe knowing that his heir is the child of the son he banished from his presence. The trouble is that I loathe it, too.” After a long silence, he said, “It might be easiest to just leave Britain and never come back. Would you come with me, Alex?”
She clamped down on her distress at the thought. “Of course I’d come with you—I’m your wife. But leaving wouldn’t allow the earldom to pass to your cousin unless you faked your own death, and that would cause all kinds of other problems. Leaving and ignoring your obligations as Seabourne would create a monstrous tangle, and the tenants and dependents of the estate would be the ones to suffer for it.”
He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But the thought of taking you and Katie down to the Helena and sailing away is very appealing.”
“You are who you are, Gavin. Being a peer doesn’t make you any different.”
He shook his head. “Who we are, how we see ourselves, has much to do with how others treat us. Act like the captain and you become a captain. If you’re treated with awe, pretty soon you’ll feel as if you deserve it. Look at Sultan Kasan—he’d be a much better man if he hadn’t been treated like royalty his whole life.”
“That’s hard to argue with, but he’s an extreme case.” She hesitated, wondering what might help him come to terms with his unwanted inheritance. “I think you need to separate how you feel about the nobility from how you feel about your grandfather. Wrexham is your friend, and you seem to like Uncle Stephen. Being peers hasn’t ruined them, and it needn’t ruin you. And your grandfather—well, he’s dead. He would have been dreadful even if he wasn’t a peer, though power and money probably made him worse. But he’s gone now, and nothing you do can change the past.”
“Actually, the past has changed greatly in the last few hours, or at least how I see the past.” His arms tightened further. “The way I saw the world appears to have been rather wrongheaded.”
As a man who was usually in firm control of his life and mind, of course he found that upsetting. With no words strong enough to help, she turned her head and kissed him, wanting to say that she cared, and to give assurance that this would pass.
He responded with yearning intensity. They’d shared so few kisses. Enough, though, that now there was some familiarity. A sense of rightness. Tonight, a powerful undercurrent of emotions bound them, and the kiss deepened to open-mouthed carnality. She sensed the desire he usually suppressed, and instead of being alarmed, her own desire was stirred more deeply than she’d known in years.
They were pressed so close that she felt him hardening. An instant after she recognized that, he started to break away, remembering the barrier her fears had built between them.
But this embrace was about him, not her. She leaned into him so that he retreated until he was backed up against the door. Trailing her mouth from his ear to his throat, she slid her hand down his body to clasp the pulsing ridge of male flesh, feeling heat through the tight fabric of his trousers. He gasped, tension of the mind transformed to that of the body.
She kneaded him with a rhythm echoed by her eager mouth, her own desire spiraling upward as hot sensuality engulfed them. Wanting greater intimacy, she fumbled with the buttons that secured his trousers, loosening the garment so that she could reach inside and touch the silky heat of his bare flesh. He groaned roughly, thrusting against the pressure of her hand.
She teased him with wanton deliberation, building, then slowing, then building again until he spasmed against her, his arms crushing around her ribs as he gasped her name. Sandwiched between her and the wall, he gradually slackened after the violent release, clinging to her as if she were his lifeline.
His passion echoed through her like waves across the sea, leaving her panting for breath. She felt powerful, and profoundly glad that she’d been able to give him such intense satisfaction.
He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You have a remarkable gift for distracting me,” he said huskily.
She laughed, reveling in their intimacy, in the absurdity of their tangled bodies being supported by the door. “I shall try to improve on it.”
“Please do.” His embrace loosened and he pulled out a crisply folded square of handkerchief which he tucked into her hand. As she dried them both, his large hands drifted gently over her back and waist and hips. “At the moment I can’t even remember why I dislike lords.”
Cupping her breasts, he stroked the tips with his thumbs. At first the gentle pressure soothed their itchy tenderness. Gradually the effect reversed. Her breasts increased in sensitivity and a hot fluid ache formed deep inside her, as if she were melting. She was glad when he slid a hand down the front of her gown to the nexus of heat between her thighs. There, yes, that pressure was exactly what she needed….
He was raising her skirt. She stiffened involuntarily. Damnation, no, not when this was going so well! She wanted to weep as icy tendrils of panic began to suffocate desire.
Uncannily sensitive to her reaction, he released his grip on her skirt and eased his hand back to where it had been, separated from vulnerable flesh by layers of skirts and petticoats. Her fear subsided and once more she relaxed, able to enjoy the erotic rhythm of his touch. Her legs separated to allow him to rub harder and deeper. Oh, yes….
To her shock, her hips convulsed in a harsh involun
tary rhythm. She ground into his hand as shudders of fierce satisfaction racked her. Startled and embarrassed, she bit the shoulder of his coat, her teeth sinking into the smooth wool as she swallowed the cry that threatened to burst from her throat.
The strange attack passed, leaving her so limp that she might have fallen without his support. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, amazed at her uncontrolled reaction.
“For what? Feeling pleasure?” His cherishing hands smoothed over her. “We are husband and wife. Aren’t we permitted to find delight in each other’s bodies?”
She breathed deeply, trying to steady her nerves. “Was my reaction…normal?”
“Quite—it’s the female equivalent of what men experience.”
“I…I didn’t know that was possible.” Her world spun and reoriented. Though she had been shocked at losing control of her body, the result had been diabolically satisfying. She wanted to feel that again, this time knowing what might happen. “I always enjoyed marital relations, but this was…different. More intense.”
“Women are more complicated than men, and may enjoy intimacy on many levels. That intensity is normal when a couple is well suited.” Gavin’s voice was matter-of-fact, but she could hear an undertone of deep male satisfaction that he had been the one to introduce her to fierce urgency and intoxicating release.
Alex had always thought of herself as an average, healthy woman who enjoyed her marriage bed. Edmund’s kisses and eagerness to exercise his marital rights had made her feel attractive and desirable, and she’d liked the physical sensations when they were intimate. Yet until now, she hadn’t known there was a whole physical dimension missing. For the first time she understood the mysterious smiles women sometimes gave when speaking of their husbands, and why a woman might choose to abandon respectability for a lover.
If she’d been more passionate with Edmund, might that have prevented him from straying? Had he turned to a convict housemaid because the girl had suited him better physically than his wife had? Perhaps this was the reason she’d searched for. He was still wrong to have betrayed his marriage vows, but now she understood better.
An ache in her throat, she hid her face against Gavin’s shoulder as she mourned the lost opportunities of her first marriage. Misinterpreting, Gavin said quietly, “There’s hope for us, my dear. And I am so very, very glad.”
So was she. What they had just done together brought her closer than ever to Gavin. She had thought her ability to be a willing bed partner had been destroyed forever. Now his understanding and gentle lovemaking were building a new pathway to intimacy, one quite different from her previous experience.
A new path opened the future to new possibilities—perhaps even the chance that she might once more become a willing wife.
Chapter 24
WHEN GAVIN woke early the next morning, he had to think twice to decide if he’d dreamed the strange events of the day before. No, he really had been told he was heir to an earldom, and that passionate interlude with Alex had been too vivid for a dream. The mere thought was enough to rouse him again.
With a softly muttered curse he swung from his bed, wishing that he and Alex were sharing it, and on the kind of terms where he could roll over to waken her with kisses and more. That would come, if he was patient. Though patience became progressively more difficult as their intimacy increased. It was easier to turn desire off entirely than to live with the knowledge that it might be satisfied.
Since it was too early for breakfast, he shaved and dressed, wondering if becoming an earl meant he’d have to hire a damned valet. Surely not.
He sat and began listing what the new office would need to run efficiently. He worked until a tap at the door was followed by a quiet maid carrying a tray with pots of tea and fresh hot scones. Ready for a break, he said, “I’ll take my wife’s tea to her.”
The girl gave him a knowing smile and handed over the tray. Balancing it in one hand, he opened the connecting door. Alex rolled over as he entered, her eyes sleepy and her long dark braid falling alluringly over one muslin-clad shoulder. He paused a moment, weighing the restraint he’d have to exercise against the quiet pleasures of private talk, and closed the door behind him. “Ready for your morning tea?”
“Please.” She dropped her eyes as she sat up against the pillows. The night before at dinner, she’d hardly looked at him. The Ashburtons and Kenyons probably thought there had been a fight.
He gave her a light, unthreatening kiss on the cheek, then set the tray down and poured them both tea. Taking his cup, he sat on the end of the bed and leaned against one of the massive posts. “I’ll have to send over some premium tea for the household,” he said after a sip. “This isn’t bad, but I have better.”
She tasted hers. “I’ll take your word for it. This seems quite nice to me.”
The advantage of her keeping her gaze down was that he could admire her at leisure. He wondered if he’d ever tire of studying her strong profile, or the feminine curves that were gradually filling in. Probably not. “Now that we have a house, how long will you need to prepare it so we can move in?”
“You’re eager to be under your own roof?”
“I’m afraid so. I like your family very much, but I don’t want to stay at Ashburton House indefinitely.”
“I know what you mean. I adore my mother and my aunt, but living here returns me to childhood.” She broke her scone in half. “The Berkeley Square house is spacious. Shall we use one of the rooms for Eastern martial arts?”
“Of course. Suryo and I need a place to practice, so that would be convenient.”
She washed a bite of scone down with tea. “Troth and I discussed teaching women techniques of self-defense. Not wing chun, which takes a lifetime of study, but some of the moves and ways of thinking that Troth is showing me. Just knowing that it’s possible to fight back makes a difference.”
So Alex was channeling the anger of her mistreatment into helping others. He wondered what the men of London would think of Alex teaching their wives and daughters to fight back. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Knowing how to fight makes one stronger and more confident, and sometimes that’s all that is needed to win a battle.” He poured more tea. “Are you ever going to look at me again, or will we spend decades with your eyes cast modestly downward?”
“Sorry. I still haven’t quite recovered from what happened yesterday.” Cheeks flushed, she lifted her gaze. “My view of the world changed, just as yours did earlier in the day.”
It confirmed his guess that while she’d enjoyed physical intimacy in her first marriage, there had been little passion. Her husband must have been a prig or a fool. “Passion does change the world. With the right partner, it’s a great and precious gift.”
She began crumbling her scone. “I can see that it would be.”
He wondered how long it would be before she could see him as an object of passion. Despite her response to him, her fears were still a barrier. “I have a theory. Perhaps you can tell me if I’m right. I think that what frightens you most about intercourse is being trapped. Pinned down and held helpless by a male body.”
Her gaze shot up and her color drained away. After a long silence, she said, “I think you’re right. The mere thought terrifies me. There are other fears, but that is the worst.”
“There are many positions for making love.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking embarrassed but intrigued. “You’re giving me ideas, Captain.”
“I was hoping for that.” He gave her a teasing smile. “I’m game for any experiments you wish to try.”
Her gaze dropped to her mangled scone—but this time, her lips curved in a thoughtful smile.
Pleased that the new office was coming together so quickly, Gavin returned to Ashburton House in the late afternoon. As the butler admitted him, he found himself facing an attractive older woman who had just left a calling card.
Turning, she caught her breath, arrested. “You must be the ne
w Earl of Seabourne?”
“I beg your pardon?” he said, unnerved.
“Sorry, I go too quickly.” She offered her hand. “I’m Lady Jane Elliott Holland. Your aunt. Do you have a few minutes to spare for me?”
His aunt? Recognizing that she had the fair coloring and bone structure that seemed to be the Elliott look, he said, “Of course. Riggs, is there a drawing room where Lady Jane and I can talk?”
The butler ushered them into one of the smaller reception rooms and left with a promise to send refreshments. As they seated themselves, Gavin said, “Forgive me if I seem rude. I’m not yet accustomed to the idea of titles and relatives.” He studied her strong face and silver-streaked hair. “Why do you assume that I am who I say I am?”
Studying him with equal interest, she said, “James was my favorite brother. I met you once, though you were too young to remember. I paid a secret call to your mother in Aberdeen, not letting my father know. Did James ever speak of me?”
A phrase suddenly formed in Gavin’s memory. Jane is the only decent one of the lot. He blinked as other long-forgotten comments surfaced. “You were the only member of the Elliott family that my father liked, I think.”
“I missed him after he left for America,” she said wistfully. “We corresponded until he and your mother died. James was so proud of you. He wrote that you took to the sea like a dolphin—a true Elliott. The sea is in our blood, you know. The title Seabourne was granted to an ancestor who was an Elizabethan privateer.”
“I never knew that,” Gavin said, surprised that the family seafaring tradition was so old.