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After that wonderful evening at Astley’s, Eleanor awoke the next three mornings exactly where she wanted to be—in her husband’s arms. On this gloomy day, she noted a distinctly non-gloomy shape beneath the bed linens at the juncture of his thighs and her own juncture responded. She could easily slide onto that rigid length, wake him with a few kisses...
But there was something else she longed for, something she hadn’t yet broached. Despite Octavius’s seeming approval of her wild ways, she hadn’t quite spoken her secret desire to him yet. She might yet wait to see if he would do it on his own, without a suggestion from her, but even now, just thinking about it, her sex grew hotter and wetter. If he wasn’t interested in this sort of activity, she would let the matter lie.
Or would try to.
Carefully, she slid up the length of his body until she could kiss his sleep-softened lips. “Octavius?”
“Mmmm?”
He shifted his thigh against her mound, sending a thrill of pleasure through her. She moaned, and he dipped his chin to capture her mouth in another kiss. Meanwhile, his hand smoothed down her back to press against her bottom.
She had to ask—before the passion went to her head and she was no longer capable of speech. Octavius made a disappointed sound when she pulled back, but she kept her course, lifting her lips to his ear and whispering her request.
Splayed half over his body, she could have sworn she felt the instant blast of heat her words sent through him, and he opened his mouth twice before words came out. “I’ve never done that.”
“Oh.” Really, though, should she be disappointed? Surely she should feel the opposite that he’d never pleasured another woman that way.
“Eleanor, if I haven’t done it with you, I haven’t done it.”
Her ears must be stuffed with cotton. Surely she misunderstood. “Before we married, you hadn’t ever lain with another woman?”
He shook his head.
“And you’ve admitted you haven’t since.”
“That is correct.”
She rubbed a thumb across his lower lip, flabbergasted. “It’s true. You are the Monk. Tell me why, Octavius.”
“Given my parents’ marriage, I...I abhor infidelity. Even though our marriage had fallen apart, I couldn’t ever repeat my mother’s unfaithfulness.” He looked at her. “I regret that my faithfulness had little to do with you and more to do with my past.”
“I understand.” She did. And Eleanor’s regret now was that the conversation was so far off course from her original intent—
Octavius pushed his body against hers, pressing her back onto the mattress. “I’m more than willing to try your suggestion, though I cannot guarantee success.”
Her smile was wide and silly, and she didn’t care; three weeks ago she never could have imagined her husband would be game to fulfill this carnal wish. She rubbed her hand up his neck, letting her fingers curl into his hair. “I’ll return the favor sometime. Or any another desire you might have.”
His eyes darkened with lust, and every inch of Eleanor’s skin tingled with want.
Starting with her mouth, he began kissing his way down her body. Along her neck, across her chest, a brief suckle on each nipple that whet her appetite for what was to come. His hands gripped her hips as his lips trailed down her stomach to the place she’d never been kissed. She was nearly intoxicated with need by the time he arrived.
He parted her with his fingers and flicked his tongue into her most intimate place. Intense pleasure surged through her veins, and she clutched the bedsheets. Still, an irrational fear had her lifting her head to see if he was repulsed by what she’d asked him to do. He looked up, then, his face aflame with heat and desire, and while their gazes were locked he moved his mouth over her again, every spot he kissed and licked feeling the full force of his passion.
She could no longer hold her head up. Every sensation—the scrape of his morning beard against her flesh, the rasp of his tongue over her bud, the hot caress of his breath—was heightened beyond all she’d ever dreamed. Octavius had established a rhythm to his madness, and she writhed against the sheets, unable to stop the moans issuing from her throat. She was near the brink, so close, wallowing in the ecstasy of his laving tongue that her hips bucked off the mattress.
“Octavius, please. Oh, please!”
He reached a hand out to anchor her hips. And then...and then he slipped a finger inside her, gliding it back and forth, all while his mouth continued its assault. She was done for. A glorious ecstasy wracked her body until at last she could only sprawl senselessly across the sheets.
Octavius kissed her thighs. “I don’t think that was my best effort. I may need more practice later this evening.”
She let out a shuddering sigh. “If you insist.”
Though feeling too languid by far, she lifted her head a fraction. “Shall I...do the same for you?”
“Not right now,” he replied, his voice thick. He stretched his broad frame out beside her and turned her gently on her side, facing away from him. “Right now, I want to do this.” And with a firm hand on her hip, he slid his member between the cheeks of her bottom and entered her.
“Ahh...”
Given the strength of her climax, Eleanor hadn’t thought she’d feel desire again for a good number of hours, but the moment his hardness filled her up, her senses awakened, ready again to sing. Octavius thrust against her bottom in that same pleasure-building rhythm he’d perfected, and he tucked his face up against her neck, his kisses punctuated by erotic groans that reverberated through her. And when his strokes reached a feverish pitch and his seed spilled inside her, her own pleasure crested and swept over her.
“My God, Eleanor,” he mumbled against her neck as his whole body collapsed against her. He’d said such a thing many times after they’d made love, and she’d always taken his tone to be disgust, but now she heard nothing but wonder—and, dare she think it, affection? Her opinion of herself must have always distorted his tone.
“This was always good between us,” he was saying, “but now...now it’s magnificent.”
He withdrew from inside her, and she turned to kiss him. The faint scent of her body lingered on his lips, and she couldn’t hold back a smile. She’d asked, and he’d done that for her.
Nuzzling his neck, she whispered, “I love you. You are generous above all things, contrite when you need to be, and amusing if you try.”
He buried his face in her hair, holding her tight. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Eleanor.”
––––––––
“YOU HAVEN’T STOPPED smiling since we returned from Astley’s,” Portia said, a frown marring her features. “It’s unnerving.”
Eleanor picked up her spoon and swirled it around her teacup. “I have so many things to smile about—your return, the peace that has descended upon this house, the ball we are to host this evening.” Also, the love she had for her husband. The love she had expressed and he had faced, accepted even, with only the briefest of hesitations. Not to mention awaking in the morning to his diligent pursuit of knowledge in the marital acts. What wasn’t there to smile about? Eleanor had floated around the house the last three and a half days on a cloud of joy. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t claimed to love her too. He needed time, and she didn’t mind waiting. His actions spoke quite loudly, as did the words he had uttered: You are the best thing that ever happened to me.
“It’s raining,” Portia observed. “What a miserable day for a ball. Even if we had a sterling reputation, not many will likely attend.”
Eleanor reached over and tugged on her hand even as the rain splashed more violently against the window. “We are hosting a ball, sister dear. A ball! Could we ever have imagined this weeks ago, with you isolated in Somerset and me banished to Essex? I don’t care if rains, hails, or snows, we’ll be inside dancing, laughing, and enjoying our friends’ company. I don’t care if only few guests show up. They will be our most cherished guests for having had the fortitude to weather the elements and Society’s censure.”
The speech did nothing to lift Portia’s spirits. She sank back in her chair, pulling out of Eleanor’s clasp, and Eleanor winced. Portia unexcited about a ball was cause for concern.
She went to her sister-in-law and stroked a hand down her cheek. “What’s wrong, dearest?”
“I want to be excited, I do. I just have a bad feeling about tonight.” A tear slipped down her cheek, which Eleanor swiped away with her finger. “What if no one asks me to dance? What if I do something improper? It’s not as if I’ve been raised in Society. And, what if Lex explodes again? I know he promised not to, and I know you are thrilled with”—she flapped a hand in the air—“whatever is going on between the two of you, but I can’t help but recall that horrid night.”
“Oh, Portia.” Eleanor drew the girl up into her arms. “I cannot say your concerns aren’t valid. However, if you start the night off miserable, you’ll likely end it that way. Wouldn’t it be better to give yourself a chance?”
“You make everything sound so simple.”
Eleanor pulled back and framed Portia’s face between her hands. “Believe me, I know that everything isn’t simple, but I’ve learned that focusing on the positive aspects of life makes me happier. When Octavius sent me away, I didn’t wallow in the ostracization. I embraced the freedom. And now things are even better. Yes, his accusation that I cuckolded him cut me deeply, but he apologized. What do I have to gain by withholding my forgiveness? He’s trying, Portia, and I hope you can give him a chance to prove himself.” She tapped the girl’s nose. “And as for your inexperience with Society, you did quite well the other night at your first affair, so I have no doubt you’ll shine tonight as well.”
“As I said, your cheerfulness is annoying.” But the girl’s words were accompanied by a reluctant smile. “Annoying but infectious.”
Eleanor breathed a little easier. She did so want Portia to enjoy herself this evening. She wanted all of them, as a family, to have a good time. They deserved it.
“Let’s see how things are going in the kitchens, and then we’ll pick out some ribbons for your hair. Oh, and we’d best spend some time with Henry, as he is going to be very cross when he realizes he cannot attend the ball.”
Portia gave her a quick hug. “Thank you, Eleanor.”
They were sprawled on the rug in the nursery, Henry having pleadingly convinced them to stage yet another battle, when a roaring “Noooo!” echoed up the stairs. All three looked up at each other, Henry in concern and Portia in alarm. As for Eleanor, her chest ached at the clear anguish in the tone.
She caught Portia’s eye and pushed to her feet. “I’ll investigate. You two carry on with the skirmish.”
Hurrying down the steps, she nearly tripped twice. All had gone silent, so she wasn’t certain where to head, but she decided Octavius’s study was the obvious choice; it had been his voice. She tapped on the closed door. No reply was forthcoming, though a loud thump reverberated through the thick oak that she took as a sign to enter.
Octavius was there. He slumped over his desk, head in hands, a piece of paper crushed between his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice her.
She slipped around the desk and laid a hand on his shoulder. Not a muscle moved.
“Unfathomable. What am I to do?”
Octavius was naturally abrasive, stern, dictatorial, but never morose. Henry and Portia were upstairs, safe. Eleanor was well, too. The only other people her husband cared about were the Robsons.
The twinge of pain that had settled in her breast expanded, nearly rendering her speechless. She forced words to form. “What has happened? Is Mr. Robson unwell?”
Octavius gripped his head tighter but didn’t respond. Eleanor rubbed his back with one hand and plucked the paper from between his fingers with the other. She squinted to read the crinkled note, glancing first at the signature to learn it was from Mr. Robson himself.
Dear Lex,
I regret to inform you that the Alien Office has requested I leave England immediately. If you have not yet heard, my country has declared war on yours despite the repeal of the Orders in Council, and my history as an arms manufacturer has made my presence here suspect. Or so I am told. At first light, Mrs. Robson and I are to be escorted onto a ship bound for Canada, and from there we will be sent back to Baltimore.
We have graciously been allowed leave to attend your ball this evening, but I wanted to give you and Eleanor advanced warning so we do not cause a disruption to your gathering. We look forward to seeing you and yours one last time.
Yours,
Elliot Robson
Eleanor bent down and kissed his temple. Turning, he slipped his arms around her waist and drew her onto his lap. She held him tight and whispered, “Oh, Octavius, I am so sorry.”
“I can’t go on without him,” he mumbled into her neck. “The arsenal. I need his experience and his expertise. I can’t lose him.”
He wasn’t speaking of his factory, though. She’d seen how close the two men had become. How often Octavius turned to Robson for advice. He’d finally found a true father, someone he could rely on, and now Robson must go.
She pulled back and framed his face with her hands. “He won’t be gone forever.” Unlike your father. “This war can’t last forever...and I am certain they will stay in touch.”
Octavius shook his head. “His government warned him not to come here when tensions were so high. Who knows what the consequences of that threat might be?” He jumped up, deftly setting her on her feet. “I must speak to Lord Palmerston. Or possibly the Foreign Secretary. The government doesn’t realize how much the future of British arms manufacturing relies on Elliot Robson, and they do not know the circumstances they are sending him back to.”
“Do you think you can have any influence?”
Octavius lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed. When he looked at her again, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “I must fight for him, Eleanor.”
“Yes, you must.” He must fight for the entire family. She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Good luck.”
Before she could back away, he snaked an arm around her waist. “Thank you, Eleanor. I’ll be back before the ball begins. I promise. I won’t let you and Portia down.” He stroked her cheek. “Will you write to Mr. Robson and inform him of what I’m doing?”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “Of course. Now, go. Be persuasive.”
––––––––
LEX HURRIED OUT OF the house and headed toward Oxford Street. Hiring a hackney would get him to Whitehall much faster than ordering his carriage. Still, the streets were clogged with vehicles of all sorts and it seemed to take a lifetime before he was climbing the Treasury Building steps.
Inside, he gave his name and inquired if Lord Palmerston, the Secretary at War, or Lord Castlereagh, the new Foreign Secretary, would see him. He would prefer to speak with Palmerston, with whom he’d had an ongoing correspondence about arming the nation’s soldiers, however Castlereagh was in charge of the Alien Office from whom Robson had received his letter of expulsion.
After pacing the anteroom for another quarter of an hour, he was finally escorted in to meet Castlereagh. Though older than Lex, the secretary’s sandy hair and bright eyes gave him a youthful appearance.
He nodded. “Lexden. It’s good to meet you, though perhaps you don’t think so under the circumstances. I assume you are here about Elliot Robson?”
“Yes.” Lex admired Castlereagh’s desire to get to the heart of the matter. “If you know of our connection, then surely you know there is nothing to fear from the man. He may be an American, but he is here to assist me in creating an efficient arms manufactory.”
“You don’t find it suspicious that a man with his background has inveigled his way into your arsenal?”
Lex swallowed the frustration threatening to clog his throat. He splayed his hands in front of him. “I knew Robson through personal correspondence before I ever asked him to come to England and help me. I can vouch that he is an upstanding gentleman who happens to have been a former arsenal superintendent, and who has graciously agreed to share his knowledge for the efficiency and betterment of Britain’s arms production.”
“And now our countries are at war.” Castlereagh’s gaze was steady. “We’ve received word he might be a spy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Those polite words were nothing like the ones scrambling through Lex’s head.
“We are in the midst of war with France. The last thing we need is to engage on another front, and yet that’s just what the Americans have agitated for.” Castlereagh spread his hands wide. “Robson’s credentials are precisely why he’s suspect. He has ties with the American government and military, he was a soldier during the previous war, and he has vast knowledge of weaponry.”
The idea of Elliot Robson—upstanding gentleman, conscientious family man, abiding friend—spying on anyone was so ludicrous Lex wanted to laugh. Instead, seeing the gravity in Castlereagh’s face, he swallowed the sourness rising up in his throat. His words rushed out in a tangle of emotion. “He is a family friend, so of course I harbor no suspicions about him. I can assure you he is no spy.”
“We’ve heard otherwise.”
“I’m the eighth Earl of Lexden. Does my word mean nothing to His Majesty’s government?”
The Secretary didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t speak. A sharp, nearly painful silence fell upon the room. The ticking of the clock on the mantel grew louder and louder until Lex thought it might explode his eardrum.
At last Castlereagh tipped his head, his expression softening a fraction. “If it were left to me, I might accept your assurances regarding Robson. Others, however, are afraid to put much stock in your opinion considering your failure to take your seat in the House of Lords and your...recent display of character.”
Everything circled back to the one moment he’d lost control, and their reservations were no doubt bolstered by his father’s history of instability. Though, if Castlereagh spoke the truth, these other powers-that-be wouldn’t have taken his word anyway. Because they didn’t know him. He’d shut himself off, refused to participate in Society and politics, which had served his purpose then but was coming back round to bite him in the arse now.
He was going to lose Robson.
A fresh surge of panic iced his veins. With an effort he modulated all emotion from his tone and said, “The American government has threatened to punish him if he returns. The British government is expelling him for supposedly being a spy. He’s in an untenable position. Is there nothing I can say or do?”
Castlereagh strode to the backside of his desk and leaned over it, palms flat. “You can watch your step.”
Lex sharpened his gaze. “Are you threatening me, my lord Secretary?”
A vehement shake of the head. “No. That’s a warning that others may be. The one who informed us about Robson’s spying activities has made vague insinuations about your loyalty as well.”
Drummond.
Castlereagh continued speaking, his voice barely audible above the roaring pulse of anger pounding in Lex’s head. “I give such innuendo no credence, but the very fact that you brought Robson here has made it difficult for others to dismiss those suspicions. I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do for your friend.”
The sickening realization of just who was behind this ghastly farce nearly knocked Lex off his feet. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he couldn’t let Castlereagh see his fury. He couldn’t add fuel to his already flaming reputation.
With a grim will, he replied calmly. “Your concern is much appreciated. Thank you for seeing me, Castlereagh.”
He bowed and spun on his heel before the polite façade faded.
Drummond would pay for this.