Lesson Five
“Those things that increase passion should be done first, and those for amusement should be done afterward.”
—The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
“HAVE YOU KEPT UP with the riding?” Ralph asked of Bea the following morning at breakfast, more for something to say than from any great curiosity. He was curious, he supposed, but only mildly so. Queer, really, how once they stepped outside his bedchamber, he lost any presumption to confidence with her.
She hesitated, looking around though they alone occupied the room. Rourke had taken an early train into Edinburgh and Kate, he suspected, was weathering a rough bout of morning sickness in her room. Though she never complained, the last time Ralph had come upon her unexpectedly in the solarium, her face had rivaled the potted palm for green.
“Not really,” Bea said at length, toying with the toast upon her plate.
A stint racing ponies at Astley’s Amphitheatre had transformed Ralph into a formidable equestrian. Years later, he rode as well as any country gentleman. In contrast, Bea’s father’s selling off his stable, including Princess, had left his youngest daughter little opportunity to ride.
“Fancy a lesson?” he found himself asking whether from pity or selfishness or both he could not be sure.
Blue eyes flashed open wide. “Now?”
“Why not?”
Considering what he’d so far taught her these past days behind those proverbial closed doors, a riding lesson, even one sans chaperone which might or might not end in sex, seemed positively wholesome—and yet infinitely more intimate.
Reserved in public as she was, in private she had any number of clever to witty things to say. He fancied or at least he hoped that must mean she felt at ease with him. Beyond what they did together in bed, he genuinely enjoyed being with her.
How did one go about the business of living when living wasn’t a business at all? How was one to act if not running some sort of scam, playing some manner of game? When it came to normal life, Ralph privately admitted he was the one in need of tutoring.
Turning over her spoon, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t wish to shame myself.”
It occurred to him that he wasn’t the only one of them to feel a fish out of water beyond his bedroom. The epiphany restored his confidence and fueled his determination to see her in the saddle again.
“It would be but the two of us.”
“Are you quite certain you have the time?”
For once the truth was his friend. “Ever since Rourke wed your sister, the household runs like a well-oiled machine. What duties I still retain leave me ample time to be at my liberty.”
In the end she capitulated. The day was fine, sunny and warm with a hint of autumn crispness. The sky above them was near cloudless, an almost perfect cerulean canopy. What few scattered clouds were present appeared outlined by a dramatic golden light. Walking their horses up the heather-covered hillside, Ralph found himself on the brink of believing his own lies—that they were an ordinary couple in love, that there would be no need to say goodbye at the end of the week or indeed ever, that he had the rest of their lives to make her happy outside of bed as well as in it.
Cresting the hilltop, they reined in to look onto the valley below, the ramparts of Rourke’s castle barely visible. Ralph turned to Beatrice, pleased to find her holding the looped reins lightly yet firmly as he’d advised.
Intercepting his gaze, she smiled. “You’re a very good teacher.” Wearing a riding habit of deep emerald-colored velvet borrowed from her sister, she looked very fine, a natural horsewoman as well as a natural beauty.
“You’re a most apt pupil.” Grinning, he added, “I marvel that after yesterday you can sit sidesaddle with such ease.”
She blushed and bit her lip. “I didn’t mean in that way.”
But Ralph had. He liked embarrassing her almost as much as he did pleasuring her. Indeed, the two seemed to go hand-in-hand.
“I trust I didn’t hurt you? If I ever do, you’ve only to say.”
She stared down at the horn of her saddle. “People have treated me with kid gloves all my days. I suspect my future husband will follow suit, not because he is unkind or unfeeling, but because he knows no other way. No matter what wonders I learn this week, he’ll likely visit me nightly until I’m breeding, and then spend the majority of our marriage at his club. But I have to at least try. I don’t want that to be all I know of intercourse. I want to know something more than that, something finer and grander. I want to know what it is to be with a man who wants me and…and I him.”
Despite the sad little scenario she painted, Ralph’s heart soared. Whether she realized it or not, Beatrice Lindsey had just admitted she saw him as something more than a plaything. Beyond whatever tricks he might teach her, she wanted him. The unexpected admission caught him off guard, prompting him to make one of his own.
“I’ve carried about an image of you since we first met.”
Her head shot up. A look of alarm flashed across her pretty face. “A photograph!”
Rourke’s friend Hadrian St. Claire was a celebrated photographic portraitist in London. Before her marriage, Kate had posed for him, her image imprinted and sold to the public on cartes postales. Ralph had always considered that St. Claire had selected the wrong sister. But that wasn’t what he’d meant.
“I refer to a mental picture.”
“Oh.” She subsided into silence.
Their horses’ heads were almost touching. Taking the opportunity, he reached across, meaning to kiss her. “You’re beautiful, Beatrice. I wonder sometimes that you don’t seem to see yourself as others do, as I do.”
Her breath hitched. She leaned into him. “Ralph, I—”
The rumble of horse’s hooves coming toward them at full gallop had him straightening in his seat and turning his horse’s head to have a look.
A figure in work shirt and breeches rode toward them. The rider neared and Ralph saw that it was Hamish Campbell.
Rourke’s stable manager drew up beside them. He doffed his cap, his weather-worn features wearing a worried look. Likely he disapproved of Ralph’s taking his employer’s sister out riding without a chaperone but was too mindful of his place to say so.
“How now, Hamish,” Ralph said, refusing to have his own good humor put off. “I’ve never known you to take a pleasure ride in the middle of the day, not even as fine a day as this one.”
Dividing his gaze between them, Hamish gave a grave shake of his head. “It’s nay pleasure ride, sir, though I wish it were. ’Tis bad news I’m brought to bear.”
Beside him, Bea drew a sharp breath. “My sister…Lucy?”
Reaching over, Ralph took hold of Bea’s gloved hand, too caught up in comforting her to give a damn what Hamish Campbell or anyone might think. “If you’ve news, then have out with it, man.”
Beatrice squeezed his fingers back. “Yes, please, Mr. Campbell, do not keep us on tenterhooks.”
Hamish shifted his gaze to Bea. “Lady Kate sent for me to bring you back, miss. ’Tis the old pony, Princess. She’s dying.”
PRINCESS WAS INDEED DYING. There was nothing more to be done. The grand old girl was dying, and Bea was afraid if she allowed herself to start crying, she might never stop.
Kate knelt by the horse’s head, her outer coat flecked with straw, her hair a wild mess, the front of her skirts bearing damp patches where mud and moisture had seeped through the knees. The sight tore at Bea’s heart.
“We came as soon as we heard.” She opened the gated stall door and dropped down beside her sister.
Kate looked up from stroking the nut-colored mane flecked with white and turned her tear-streaked face to Bea’s. “Thank you.”
Since Ralph’s rescuing her last winter, Princess’s retirement days had been filled with sugar cones and carrots, with brushings and many, many pets over the paddock fence. Still, that Kate hadn’t even had her back a full year brought fresh tears to Bea’s eyes. Nine months, it was such a bloody brief time to be happy!
“Such a pretty, pretty Princess you are,” Kate cooed, mouth trembling.
Throat thickening, Bea joined Kate in stroking the dying animal. According to her sister, Princess in her prime had been a beauty to behold, the white blaze upon her forehead like a shining star. No doubt Kate’s memory was colored by the rose-tinted lenses of a little girl’s unconditional love, but then that was the wonderful thing about love. It made one see only the very best in another being and, in so doing, brought out only the very best in oneself.
Loving Ralph was having such an effect upon her. And yes, she loved him, not the fairy-tale prince of her fantasy, but the flesh-and-blood man of real life. She’d fallen in love with him nine months ago. If only she could turn back time to that December day they’d stood at the paddock fence feeding carrots to Princess, those pivotal precious moments alone before Kate interrupted them. This time she’d do things altogether differently. This time when Ralph asked her to reconsider, to stay, she would, oh, how she would.
Back then she’d been too confused and prideful to consider that her feelings might run more deeply than a flirtatious friendship, too caught up in the mistakes she’d made to trust her feelings, her instincts or her heart. And now that she did trust herself, it was too late. She was engaged to another man, a good man, a steady man, a man who by virtue of his very predictability assured that her future would be safe and secure. Even were she not spoken for, even were Ralph to magically transform into a marrying man, not even he would wish to wed a woman whose loose morals had caused her to act the strumpet. Tears filled her eyes. It was indeed too late.
Hamish Campbell pulled off his tweed cap and scraped a broad-backed hand through his thinning hair. “She started walking stiff-legged like, putting her weight on the back of the hoof, but we thought it must be the rheumatism. I told Ned here to keep a watch on her.”
“I did,” the boy, Ned, piped up. “Three days ago she was as right as rain.”
Outraged, Bea looked up from the horse. Too late was bad enough, but blatant neglect was too much to bear. “You let her suffer three days without saying a word to anyone?”
She looked over to Ralph, who’d also knelt to examine the horse. Silent, he met her gaze with unreadable eyes.
Hamish spoke up, “Dinna blame the boy. That horse was my responsibility.”
“No,” Kate broke in, amber eyes fierce for all that they were swimming in tears. “Princess was, and is, my responsibility. Had I not been so preoccupied with my bloody stupid novel this past week, I would have found the time to come out and check on her as I usually do. I’m the one who knows her best. One look would have told me that something was dreadfully wrong. I shall never forgive myself.” She sank her head into her open palm.
Ralph gently released the horse’s swollen hoof and rose. “The pedal bone is collapsed. It’s pressing against the sole of the hoof. Even were she able to fight off the fever, we’d have to put her down for lameness.” He fixed his gaze on Kate. “It might be the greater mercy to put her down now.”
Kate swallowed hard and then nodded. “I wish Rourke were here,” she said softly, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I can wire him for you, milady,” Ralph offered. “He would want to know so that he might take an earlier train home.”
Kate firmed her trembling mouth and shook her head, the old resolve returning. “Thank you, but no, absolutely not. This shareholders’ meeting requires his undivided concentration. There is no point in distracting him from his purpose when there is nothing he or anyone else can do.” Her voice cracked. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and looked quickly away.
Bea could bear it no longer. Kate had always been there for her, her comforter and protector. Now that their roles were reversed, there seemed nothing for her to do but watch her sibling suffer.
Rising, she turned away from the sad little scene to Ralph. Taking hold of his arm, she steered them out of the stall and over to the stable door.
Once there, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “We could take the train to Edinburgh, fetch a horse doctor there. It’s worth a try.”
Gaze grim, he shook his head. “It’s too late. There’s nothing more anyone can do.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re so clever. You know so much about horses. You know so much about so many things. You just have to try harder. You just have to want to.” She was spiraling toward hysteria and yet too caught up to care. “Beatrice—”
She planted a hand on either of his shoulders and dug in, desperate to save something, someone, a horse. Kate’s horse. She and Ralph were so good together in so many ways. Saving a horse—surely together they might manage at least that small miracle.
“That horse means the world to my sister. Princess was Kate’s first and only pet. Our father staked her in a card game. He lost, of course. He always loses. You can’t know what having her back has meant to Kate.”
Ralph shook his head. The pitying look he sent her made her want to slap him. “She’s dying, Beatrice. The kindest thing we can do is to end her suffering.”
“How can you say such a thing? How can you be so bloody complacent?” she demanded, and it struck her she wasn’t only speaking of Princess.
In another two days, they would say goodbye as lovers, the sands of her newfound happiness running out like Princess’s halting final few breaths. Perhaps she wasn’t only grieving for the horse. Perhaps she was grieving for herself, too.
“It’s too late.”
Bea refused to hear that yet again, refused to listen. “It is not too late!” She let go of him and dropped her arms to her sides. “If you cared for me, you would do something. You would at least try. But you don’t care for me, do you, Ralph? Beyond fancying what a bloody good lay I am, you don’t care enough to trouble yourself.”
“Beatrice.” Face paling, he reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
“I’m going back inside to be with my sister. Why don’t you go read your bloody Kama Sutra, diddle a housemaid or better yet, fuck yourself with one of your nasty little toys?”
His stricken face was her final, bitter satisfaction. Turning back inside, she left him standing still as a wax figure.
Soft sobbing greeted her even before she opened the hinged stall door. “Oh, Kate!”
“She’s gone,” Kate announced without looking up, stroking between Princess’ wide, staring eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Kate.” Feeling helpless, Bea let the stall door swing closed. Stepping around the horse, she dropped down beside Kate and pulled her into her arms. “You have every right to be furious.” Stroking her sister’s tangled curls, Bea felt fresh tears falling—for Princess, for Kate, for herself. “Nine months to be reunited, to be happy, isn’t enough, not nearly. It’s bloody nothing.”
Kate pulled back and shook her caramel-colored curls. “You’re wrong. It was everything.”
Bea held her peace. How could she possibly comfort Kate when she couldn’t begin to comfort herself?
“I WISH I MIGHT GET DRUNK,” Kate said sometime later, sipping from the vacuum flask of hot tea Hattie had brought them along with a heavy quilt and flask of Scotch whiskey.
They sat huddled together beneath the quilt, keeping vigil over the passed away Princess. Considering Kate’s pregnancy, Bea really ought to persuade her to go inside where she might draw a warm bath. So far she hadn’t found the heart. Kate must bid goodbye to her precious pet in her own way and in her own time. In the interim, Bea meant to keep her as warm as possible.
She reached out to pull up their shared quilt from where it had slipped off her sister’s shoulder. “I wish you could, too.” She lifted the flask in her other hand, considerably lighter than when Hattie had handed it to her. “Likely it’s a black mark on my character to drink alone, but I’m feeling too bloody bleak to care,” she said and took another swig.
She wasn’t exactly drunk. She wasn’t exactly sober, either. She’d never before imbibed whiskey, but then, this was a wake of sorts.
She swiped her stinging lips with the back of her gloved hand, an unladylike gesture the sight of which would have shocked Aunt Lavinia directly into her grave. But then Aunt Lavinia and London and rigid rules about how a lady, a woman, should behave seemed fairly far away and utterly inconsequential at the moment.
Watching her, Kate remarked, “You were rather hard on Ralph, do you not think?”
Bea shrugged. “You could not possibly have overheard our conversation.”
“I didn’t have to. I saw his face when he came inside to check on us a while ago.”
“Ralph came back?”
Kate nodded. “He did, but only for a moment. You were busy covering…Princess. He looked as if you’d slapped him.”
Bea had felt like slapping him and not only once. Were it not for the proximity of possible onlookers, she wasn’t entirely certain she would have refrained.
“He should have done something. It was he who found Princess and brought her back to you, and yet he behaved as though she was a broken machine beyond fixing.”
Kate’s eyes might be rimmed in red from crying, but she used them to level Bea an unwavering look. “He’s a man, Beatrice, and he grew up rough as did Rourke. To his way of thinking, showing his emotions would be a sign of weakness. Simply because he doesn’t show his feelings or speak of them does not mean he doesn’t feel—care—deeply. Likewise, men on the whole are not terribly good at intuiting a woman’s wants. If you want or need something from him, you’re going to have to put it to him plainly. You’re going to have to ask.”
Ask for what you need, Beatrice.
Bea dropped her gaze and replaced the stopper on the flask, mainly for something to do. “What could I possibly want from Ralph Sylvester?”
Kate blew out a heavy breath, the steam crystallizing in the rapidly chilling air. “That is not for me to answer.” She slid her arm free from the blanket and laid it cross Bea’s shoulders. “But this much I will say. Sometimes our soul mate doesn’t look or behave as we expect, but our instincts, our hearts, never lie. Had I set aside my pride and listened to my heart, I should have known Patrick was my true love from that very first waltz where he stole me from my promised partner and trod upon my toes.”
Bea loved Ralph with the whole of her heart, and yet “charming rogues” like Ralph were not marrying men. For as long as she could remember, a stable, secure home life was the prize she sought. Such a solid if less than stimulating state could only be secured with the Mr. Billingsbys of this world, men who, no matter how sexual inept and physically uninspiring, could still be counted upon to put a ring on your finger and then stand beside you year after year as time lent its crusty, dulled patina to the once shiny band.
But being with Ralph had made her realize there was a great deal more to life than feeling safe. Looking through the lens of the past few days, she tried to imagine what marriage to Mr. Billingsby would be like. Imagining sitting with him in their snug little parlor night upon night—so solid, so secure, so stultifying—sent her lungs seizing.
As if tapping into her turmoil, Kate hugged her tighter. Laying her cheek against Bea’s, she whispered, “Look to your heart, little sister, look to your heart.”
IF YOU CARED FOR ME, you would do something.
Brooding in his bedchamber later that night, Ralph took another sip of Scotch, hoping to dull the day’s pain. For the past nine months, Princess had lived the life of a pampered pet, and Ralph had done his part in spoiling her. He didn’t ordinarily think of himself as an “animal person,” but the very humanlike gratitude with which the grizzled pony greeted the slightest gesture of kindness had plucked at his heart.
But the pony’s loss was only partly responsible for his morose mood. Already it was five minutes past their appointed nine o’clock hour. Judging from her earlier outburst, Beatrice likely wasn’t coming this night or any other. As much as he tried telling himself that didn’t matter, it did. Oh, how it did.
She loved that horse but beyond that, she loved her sister. Though Kate always cast herself as the caretaker, Ralph was coming to see that behind-the-scenes, Beatrice carried out a fair bit of caretaking herself.
How would it feel to relinquish control and let Beatrice Lindsey take care of him? How easy it would be to succumb to the magnetic pull of those big blue eyes, tender lips and soft white hands. How easy would it be to fall down the rabbit hole as had Lewis Carroll’s Alice and immerse himself in the wonderland that was his lady?
Not his lady, not really. Beyond the make-believe world they’d conceived, she didn’t belong to him any more than the books he routinely borrowed from Rourke’s library. In another two days, she would return to London and to the inept but presumably welcoming embrace of her milksop fiancé, Mr. Billingsby. Irrationally, Ralph hated the man more with each passing day.
The light knocking outside his door startled Ralph. Heart hitching, he stood on surprisingly shaky legs. In the event his visitor was other than Beatrice, he made certain to cinch his robe before giving the call to enter. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Beatrice stepped inside. She drew the door closed and turned to face him. “I’m late.”
Any notions of riposting with a glib retort washed away in the flood of relief he felt. “You’re here.” Raw emotion lent his voice a telltale huskiness he hoped she might miss.
She came toward him, a vision in a cream-colored silk robe, the vee-shaped neckline showing a tantalizing glimpse of lace from what must be a matching nightgown beneath. The garments looked like something a bride might wear on her wedding night. It occurred to him that she might have taken them from her trousseau.
“I wasn’t certain you would still come.”
She stopped a foot or so from him. “I wasn’t certain I would still be welcome.” She cocked her head to the side and regarded him. “Am I?”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” For someone who’d survived for years on silver-tongued cleverness, he was having the very devil of a time getting his words out.
“I acted like a child today. I hope you will for give me?”
Reading the question in her voice, he rushed to reassure her. “You were distressed and understandably so.”
She nodded. “Princess is…was Kate’s pet, not mine. Kate loves judiciously, but those whom she does, she loves fiercely, be they two-legged or four-legged. After Father sold off Princess, Kate, I’m told, was crushed. She never took another childhood pet though she dearly loves animals.”
“I’m sorry they did not have more time together,” Ralph said, and though the sentiment was nothing but sincere, the person he felt most sorry for was himself.
He had only a few more days—and nights—with Beatrice before she left for London and Mr. Billingsby. The next time he saw her, she would be a married woman, forever removed from his touch.
“I’m sorry, too,” Beatrice said. “But were it not for you they would have not had these past nine months and that would have been a tragedy indeed.”
The way she was looking at him, he suddenly felt ten feet tall, a modern-day Hercules or better yet, an Atlas with the weight of the world upon his shoulders and happy to have it so as long as she, Beatrice, looked upon him as she did now. Could he have captured the glow of that gaze in a vial, he would mount it upon a chain and wear it about his throat for the rest of his days.
Feeling suddenly, improbably shy, he shifted the subject. “You care deeply about your sister.”
Beatrice did not deny it. “She has been both mother and sister to me. I have been turning to her for protection all my life.”
“Only not now?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I comprehend your meaning.”
“You haven’t told her about the difficulty with your fiancé.” Topic aside, still he couldn’t bear to spoil the moment by mentioning that ridiculous name.
She shook her head, visibly tensing. “I shouldn’t wish to burden her.” She bit at her bottom lip and admitted, “And I am not certain she would understand.”
“Understand us?” he suggested. Us—how had he managed to miss the utter loveliness of that brief word?
“Oh, no!” she replied with unflattering swiftness and a cursory flick of one slender wrist. “I am afraid under the circumstances she would try, most forcefully, to talk me out of marrying Mr. Billingsby. She’s already hinted I may be marrying in haste.”
Emboldened, he asked, “Are you?”
She let out a long sigh. “Mr. Billingsby is not handsome nor is he of any particular wit. He has a comfortable income, but it is no great fortune. And as you know, he is not especially skilled as a lover.”
Why she should select a man so admittedly lacking for a mate stretched his imagination beyond its limits. Ere now, he’d assumed she must have some romantic inclination toward her future husband, otherwise why put herself to the risk and trouble of seducing him a fortnight before the wedding? Now it seemed that was not the case.
Heart pounding, Ralph found it impossible to resist asking any longer. “Then why wed him? You are young and beautiful, titled and talented. You could have any man you wished.” You could have me!
She regarded him seriously. “He is…nice.”
“Nice?” Ralph could do little more than stare.
She was throwing her future away for “nice”? Until now Ralph had prided himself on having a highly developed comprehension of human nature. As part of his thieving past, he’d made a study of strangers with the goal of quickly understanding their habits and weaknesses. But Beatrice’s declaration rendered him all but speechless. That niceness should suffice to win a price such as her quite literally boggled his mind.
She bobbed her head. “Yes, nice, as well as amiable and honorable and kind to people as well as horses and dogs. I have never seen him drink to excess or use strong language or indeed direct so much as an unkind word at anyone, be that person a peer or a peasant. And while admittedly he is possessed of but a small fortune, I have every confidence that fortune shall not founder, for he does not wager beyond what is sociable. With Mr. Billingsby as my husband, I can count upon a roof over my head. It will be a modest roof, but the deed to it will never wind up as collateral for a debt or as a marker on a gaming table. With Mr. Billingsby, I shall have devotion. I need never worry that he is leaving me at night to attend his mistress or that he will demean me or those dear to me in any manner.”
It was a pretty speech as well as a seemingly sincere one, and still Ralph couldn’t help but think there must be more to her decision. “That is…all?”
She fixed him with knowing blue eyes. Mayhap it was a trick of the turned down lamps, but she suddenly seemed far older than her not yet one-and-twenty years.
“That, Ralph, is everything.”
If that indeed summarized “everything,” then Ralph was fully prepared to provide her those things himself. He drew a breath and braced himself to make his declaration. “Beatrice, I—”
“My father,” Bea broke in, “is not a nice man. He is a drunkard and a gamester and a whoremonger. Were it not for Kate sitting as a photographer’s model to make ends meet these past years, I might well find myself in the workhouse for all that I’m an earl’s daughter. Despite all Kate’s successes at shielding me, still I have lived with uncertainty all my life, on tenterhooks waiting for the cocoon to be breached, the bubble to burst.”
So, she was willing to settle for a loveless and likely passionless marriage in exchange for security. He supposed he couldn’t fault her. Compared to the solid and upstanding Mr. Billingsby, a former card sharp and thief must seem a shaky proposition, indeed. And yet it wounded him that, on some level, she might be painting him with the same broad brush as her father.
He took a step toward her and demanded, “If Mr. Billingsby offers everything you desire, why are you here?”
It was a selfish question, perhaps even a cruel one, and yet he was just selfish enough and cruel enough to ask it. Beyond anything, he had to know.
She shifted her gaze to the side. “I wanted you to teach me about sex…so that I may better guide Mr. Billingsby.” Again, there was that telling pause.
Ralph drew closer. “And now?” He snagged her gaze with his and refused to release her. “Why are you here, Beatrice?” He slid yet another step toward her.
She shook her head, her gaze dipping. “Because…because I want to know what I shall be missing in the years to come. Because…I want to know what it means to be lovers with a man in the truest sense of the word.”
He closed the gap between them and lifted her downturned chin on the edge of his hand. “Is that the only reason?”
Eyes swimming in tears fought their way back up to his face. “Because I wish to know what it is to…engage in sexual intimacy with a man…with a man I might love.”
SOMETIME LATER, Ralph pulled the sheet over them both. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Bea let out a laugh. “I believe I’m doing it now…or rather recovering from doing it.”
She supposed she should be grateful he’d so far refrained from bringing up the embarrassing bit about her loving him. That he hadn’t made a like declaration wasn’t lost on her despite the tenderness of the sex they’d just shared. Not that she’d expected him to. Still, it would be nice.
“Come now, turnabout is fair play. The other evening I answered your question about my tattoo.” His teasing voice brought her back to the moment.
Rolling over on her side, she stared at him askance. “Since when have you cared about playing fair?” She congratulated herself on making a rather fine and irrefutable point.
“Touché,” he conceded with a slight nod. “Then in the spirit of fun rather than fairness, answer me this—what is the one thing about your history I could be counted upon never to guess?”
“Beyond growing up as an earl’s daughter wearing darned stockings and shivering for want of fuel?”
“Yes, beyond that.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Very well, I was a gluttonous, fat child.”
He drew back to look at her, his gaze scanning her sheet-sheathed body as though expecting her to suddenly inflate. “You were never fat!” Beneath the covers, he moved his hand over her belly. “You’re slender as a sylph.”
“I wasn’t then, I assure you. My sister, I believe, has the photographic proof stowed away somewhere.”
Food had been her solace, the resulting padding of extra flesh a sad little protection against hurt. Beyond a cursory pinching of plump cheeks or chucking of doubled chin, no one was particularly interested in fawning over the chubby child, no one save Kate. As curt as her sister could sometimes be, she’d always shown Bea a kind word and a soft hand.
For the first time it occurred to Bea that perhaps she and her father had something in common after all: weakness. He drank to fill the void and fend off the monsters. She’d sought solace in the pantry. And always, always she’d longed to be more like Kate. Kate who never ate or drank to excess, who never seemed to question the correctness of her course, and who had sacrificed herself for the family, for Bea, for the better part of two decades without once uttering a word of resentment or reproach. Growing up as she had surrounded by all that loving perfection, how could such a flawed creature as she ever feel close to whole?
Instead, she’d put her energies into those traits of which she was already master: petulance and pettiness and a great many foolish fronts that gained her adult attention and a vague indulgence that might almost pass for love—almost.
He spoke at last. “Gluttony is accounted to be one of the seven deadly sins, but I’ve never considered it on par with the others.” He was making a joke, or trying to, but suddenly Bea found none of it funny.
Grimly aware he’d yet to say “I love you” in return, she stared up at the plasterwork ceiling. “You’re not the only one with a past. I’ve been spoiled and selfish, vain and weak. Befriending my brother-in-law’s former mistress and bringing her into my sister’s new home counts as a rather substantial sin, wouldn’t you say?”
“You had no way of knowing Felicity and Rourke had a prior liaison, let alone that she had designs on him still.”
The fierceness of his tone had her dragging her gaze back to his. He was making excuses for her. A part of her liked that. A lot. Ever since she could remember, she’d craved a champion, a knight-in-shining-armor who would wear her colors and take her part. And yet adulthood demanded she not let herself off the proverbial hook quite so easily.
“My bringing Felicity Drummond north last winter nearly cost Kate and Rourke their happiness. That they can bear to look at me let alone have me here as their guest is a testimony to how very good they are. Had I been in their place, I’m not at all sure I would be quite so forgiving.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Rather than argue, she turned away from him and onto her side. “You’re forever instructing me to ask for what I want in bed. Well, we are in bed now and I would very much like not to talk anymore.” Nor did she especially wish to get up, gather her clothes, and make her way through icy corridors and winding turret steps to her room.
His hand settled over the top of her shoulder. “Will there be any other directives or requests?” he asked, a smile in his voice.
Honesty was made easier by not having to look him in the eye. “I want to spend the night here, the whole night, with you. I want you to hold me, hold me as if we were lovers, true lovers, and not playing a part. I want you to hold me as though we have all the time together in the world instead of only a few more days. Will you do that for me, Ralph?”
Silent, Ralph wrapped his arms about her. He tucked her against him, his lean body molding to hers. Pressing a kiss into her hair, he settled her head at his sternum.
Closing her eyes, she cuddled closer. Having Ralph’s warm, strong body spooned against hers wasn’t only better. It was the very best feeling imaginable.
Drifting off to sleep, it struck her she hadn’t even had to say “please.”
KATE SAT PROPPED UP IN BED late that night, her manuscript pages lying in an untouched pile on the bedside table along with a mug of tea she kept forgetting to drink. Sprawled across the foot of the bed, Toby lifted his head from her now numb toes and turned to the knob twisting in the chamber door. Kate tensed, wondering who would enter her room at this late hour without bothering to knock. Seconds later her anxiety was allayed when a russet head poked inside.
“Patrick!” She greeted her husband with a wobbly smile and open arms. “I didn’t expect you home until tomorrow.”
“I came as soon as I could.” He dropped his attaché case by the door and bounded over to the bed, not stopping to remove his greatcoat or his boots. The latter were likely to be caked with mud, but Kate was altogether too happy to see him to care about that now.
He swooped down on the bed beside her and lifted her onto his lap. “Och, Katie Girl, I’m so verra sorry about Princess.”
“But how did you know?” She stopped herself. “Ralph telegraphed you, didn’t he? I forbade him to bother you and yet he did.”
Rather than deny it, Rourke snorted. “Dinna worry, my love. Sylvester takes orders from no one, not even me. And in this case he was in the right. I would have wanted to know. I’m so verra sorry about the horse, doubly sorry I wasna here to be of comfort to you.” He pressed a kiss against her temple, and Kate tightened her hold on his big, broad shoulders. No matter what befell her, be it a rejection letter for her manuscript or the loss of her precious Princess, her big, bluff Scotsman could always, always make it better just by being near.
She pulled back to frame his dear, blunt-featured face between her hands. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
She pressed a kiss onto the bridge of his bent nose and then buried her face against his solid shoulder, chafing her cheek against the scratchy folds of his tweed overcoat, inhaling the scents of peat smoke and single malt whiskey and the bay rum he used after shaving. She might have just experienced one of the saddest days of her adult life and yet she was a lucky woman indeed.
For a while they stayed as they were, with him gently rocking her and stroking her hair. But as always the passion between them flared to life in bad times as well as good. When his big hand brushed her breast, Kate had no thought of moving it aside. This was love, pure love, and losing a beloved family member, even if that family member was four-legged, begged not only for proper grieving, but also for celebrating life, including the new life growing inside her.
Features taut, he drew back. “Och, Katie, I meant only to hold you, but…”
She laid two fingers along his lips. “You are holding me.”
Beneath her fingers his mouth curved into a smile. Gently, very gently, he eased her back onto the mattress. Still wearing his coat, he found the hem of her nightgown and slid it up and off.
Laying her down, he pressed soft kisses over her still flat belly. “When I think how close we came to losing one another last year…” He looked up at her, his eyes filling.
It was difficult to fathom that nine months ago she’d asked him for a separation. It only went to demonstrate how two people who deeply loved one another could be led astray by a misunderstanding. Such was the circumstance with Bea and Ralph, she strongly suspected.
She opened her mouth to say so, but before she could form the words, Patrick’s head dipped lower. His beard-bristled cheeks brushed the insides of her thighs. His mouth moving over her mons had her gasping. Shutting her eyes, she ran her hand through his hair and gave herself up to the peace and the pleasure.
Some time later, Kate fought her way back from sleep to say, “I’m worried about Bea-Bea. I believe she may have feelings for Ralph for all that she insists on going through with marrying Mr. Billingsby.”
Beside her, Rourke shifted, lifting his leg to accommodate the dog sprawled at their feet. “I thought you wanted her to wed Mr. Billingsby?” Dark though it was with the lamps turned down, she could feel him rolling his eyes.
“That was before I saw how good she and Ralph are together. What I dismissed nine months ago as an infatuation seems to run far deeper.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “Your sister is a grown woman. It’s not our place to interfere.”
“You can’t really mean that.” She’d been “interfering” since Bea was in nappies and she saw no sense in giving up her maternal role now.
“I do. Remember the muddle nearly made of our marriage when others piped in with their advice giving and hold your tongue. You’ve enough to do managing Lucy and me, not to mention the bairn on the way and the wee book you’re writing.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a yawn, not because he was, but because she was too weary to argue, at least for the night.
“Katie, I know that tone of yours. Consider yourself warned—leave it alone. It’s been more than a year since you’ve felt the flat of my hand on your backside but—”
“Patrick, you promised!” she broke in, lifting her head. “Besides that, I’m pregnant. And you love me. And…and I’ll turn Toby on you. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s my dog now.”
“I’ve noticed.” He cast a gimlet gaze downward to the snoring dog.
“Regardless, ours is a marriage of true minds, or so you swore. Or was quoting Shakespeare just a ploy to soften me?”
“Of course it wasna.” Voice mellowing, he patted his shoulder for her to lay her head. “I’ll never again put so much as a finger upon you in anger, though if memory serves me, you gave as good as you got.”
Hearing the smile in his voice, Kate kissed him and rolled onto her side, a luxury she’d have to relinquish in not so many more months. “I always do, my love. I always do.”