Cross the Ocean (11 page)

She broke away, breathing hard when his hand reached her bosom. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Blake looked down and saw his large, tan hand around a plump white breast. Could he reach around the stay to her nipple? He groaned and dropped his hand.

“I’m terribly sorry. I seem to be caught up in the moment,” Blake said but could not drag his eyes from the breasts before him.

“Another apology, Sanders. Fawcett didn’t stick his hand down my dress or his tongue down my throat,” she hissed.

The liquor running through his blood loosened Blake’s mouth. “He better not have.” She was staring at him slack jawed and wide eyed. Blake straightened. “As unbelievable as it is to me I find I can not keep my hands off of you.” She bristled. “Anyway, you admitted Fawcett’s kisses were forgettable. Mine, I know, are not. Tongue and all.”

“Of all the conceited….” Gertrude said. “Of all the arrogant comments you have made to me, that is the biggest of them all.”

“Tell me it’s not true. Look me in the eye and tell me that Fawcett’s kisses make you weak-kneed. That you weren’t imagining further than a few simple kisses just a moment ago.” Blake grabbed her arms. “Tell me they don’t drive you near insanity with the passion they generate. And tell me why, woman, why they do.”

* * * *

Blake sat down in the middle of the staircase. Gertrude had run from him as if he were a specter. And why shouldn’t she, he asked himself? He was sober enough to know he had spoken of himself. About his passion and its source. He admitted to the woman, to his own chagrin, that he could not keep his hands off of her. Why? Did she see as clearly as he that he railed not at her but at his own miserable self? Blake stood, praying for peace with the blessed escape of sleep. But as he passed the door to her bedchamber he could not stop himself from wondering what she was thinking and feeling. Did she sleep soundly or toss? Did she stare at the door and wonder if he would open it or wish the time away until she could escape England and return to her home?

* * * *

The next morning Blake sat at his desk and held his head. He had more hangovers in the last month than his whole life. He stared at the papers Briggs handed him from his barrister. What nonsense did the man require answered now? Isn’t that why I pay the fool the ungodly sum I do so I don’t have to deal with trivial matters? Blake swallowed as he read. His wife was requesting he proceed with a divorce. He sat back and snorted. She will marry her merchant then, he thought. Ann will happily move along and I will be left with the stigma, the questions and the loneliness. The door to his office banged against the wall.

Anthony stood on the threshold, glaring.

“I’m busy, Burroughs,” Blake said and waved the papers.

Anthony slammed the door shut and marched to Blake’s desk. “Look at it another time, Sanders.”

“What do you want?” Blake asked.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

Blake stared. “Other than my making a fool of myself in a crowded ballroom, I wouldn’t know. It stands out singularly.”

“Between you and Miss Finch,” Anthony said.

“Miss Finch, is it now, Tony? Last week it was the ever interesting Gertrude.” Blake picked up his quill and dipped ink. “Nothing happened.”

“You are sure then you had nothing to do with her booking passage next week back to America? There would be no reason for her to run home, would there Blake?” Anthony asked.

Gertrude was leaving. Blake stared at his desk. “Not that I know of.”

“I know you waited up for her. You were drunk and angry about Fawcett,” Anthony continued.

“Poor taste, I’d say to send your host packing, not to arrive home until the middle of the night.”

Tony leaned over the desk. “Tell me nothing happened between Miss Finch and you that would make her scurry across the ocean weeks early.”

Blake recognized the anger and impatience in Tony’s words. He had heard the low growling tone before but never had been its subject. “I kissed her on the steps.”

Tony stood straight. “Is that all?”

“I may have been a bit forward,” Blake added.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “How forward?”

Blake tilted his head.

“Elizabeth is convinced this has something to do with you. My wife is rarely wrong. Perhaps you need to speak to Miss Finch.”

“Another apology,” Blake harrumphed. “Gertrude will not be swayed by me.”

“Swayed or not, Sanders, you will apologize.”

“Fine,” Blake said as he stood. “Fine. I will find her.”

Blake found Gertrude in the library, engrossed in a book. He hesitated to disturb her. The sun poured in the window behind her and cast a halo about her hair. He knew why she was leaving. It was for the best.

The distance of an ocean between them would certainly cool his ardor. Her image would fade from his mind. The memory of his hand on her breast would diminish. His life would be returned to him. Blake would march on, tending his estates and indulge himself with a new mistress. He would be dignified to all those around him and prove to them all he was still the Duke of Wexford. All would be right. As it had been.

* * * *

Gert had spent a sleepless night. She had held her pillow to her chest and stared out at the night landscape until the sun lit the sky wondering if Sanders had spoken of her longing or his? The man who kissed her was battling himself. Was his shock and wonder as profound as hers? Did he lay awake at night convincing himself there was nothing between them simply because there shouldn’t be? Did he allow himself dreams of what it would be like as she did, only to curse himself later?

He’s married, Gert said to herself as she closed the book in her lap. Still married. Would it matter if he weren’t still legally bound? Would she ever matter to a man such as him? A Duke accustomed to freedom in all things. Used to having his own way? She recalled young women she had spoken to in the States, bound by law and love to a man who treated them poorly. If he were free to ask and did, would she walk away? Could she? She had scolded herself for her weakness and decided at that moment to leave for home and not test her resolve.

And there he stood in the doorway. The cause of her discomfort, confusion and to be truthful, heartache.

Beautiful was not a word that came to mind for Gert when she thought of men. But that was the only word she could use to describe him. Arrogant, high-handed, self centered, those may describe the man but the face was without question the handsomest one she had ever seen. He walked to her and seated himself across from her. He knew.

“Anthony tells me you are leaving us.”

“Yes, I am. I’m homesick and have booked passage to sail next week,” Gert replied.

Sanders nodded and studied his folded hands. “Does this have anything to do with last night?”

He was so cool and detached. She laughed as if light-hearted. “Hardly, Sanders. I am old enough to understand men’s natures.” Gert looked at him square in the eye, as Uncle Fred had told her to do when a lie was the only solution. “It meant nothing to me.”

“I told Anthony that very thing. A few kisses hardly bind us together,” he said.

“And you are still married. We both understand a casual flirtation,” Gert said. “You have commitments as I do.”

“Absolutely right, Miss Finch,” he said. “You will be coming to the house party with us this weekend, won’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Gert answered. “I doubt it.”

“Do come. Morgan keeps magnificent stables.” Sanders rose and Gert opened her book to page one.

* * * *

“Won’t you tell me, Gertrude? This sudden change of plans. It’s not something Tony or I have said or done, is it?” Elizabeth asked.

Gert turned from the window of her bedroom and smiled. “Absolutely not. You both have been wonderful.”

“Is it a matter of the heart?”

“No,” Gert replied.

“But it does have to do with Blake, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth asked.

Gert straightened the dress the maid had laid out for her to wear to dinner. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Elizabeth. Can’t seem to let it drop.”

“I’m sorry, Gertrude. It’s just that I’ve had few friends in my life. In a very short time I’ve come to believe I could tell you anything. I feel badly you don’t feel the same,” Elizabeth said.

Gert sat down on the bed. “I’ve no women friends to speak of. Other than you.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “I thought you were close to the other women of your cause. You travel with them.”

“We’re friendly, I suppose. But they’re so single minded. Everything is the cause. Their whole life.” Gert turned to Elizabeth. “I never wanted that. Oh, I believe strongly in what I’m doing but....”

Elizabeth waited. “But, what?”

“Do you remember the things I told Melinda in the carriage coming here? All the things she should consider? They’re not her dreams. They’re mine. A handsome man to sweep me off my feet. Adventures and new sights to see with him by my side. A confidant. Someone to listen to my innermost dreams and fears,” Gert said.

“A lover as well?”

Gert laughed. “I suppose. Unmarried women aren’t allowed to think about those things.”

“I did,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

Gert tilted her head. “How naughty of you, cousin.”

Elizabeth preened. “From the first time Anthony kissed me, I could think of nothing else.”

Gert smiled resignedly. She had been doing the same. Her day, her very existence was consumed with Blake Sanders. But he would be no partner to share confidences or dreams. No cohort to explore the vast wilderness or grand cities in the States. The Duke of Wexford consumed those around him.

Gobbled them up along with their hopes and spit them out in accordance with English society. He had ruled too long to change. His wife didn’t stand up to him. She ran away to salvation. What was left of the woman to leave her children whom she obviously loved and loved her? But Gert would not deny the passion Blake’s kisses evoked.

“I know what you mean,” Gert said.

“You and Blake seem to set each other afire. The sparks are visible to all,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes lifted in understanding. “That’s it isn’t it?”

Gert went to the window. She nodded.

“You’re afraid.”

Gert turned in a huff. “Afraid of Blake Sanders? Hardly.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Gertrude. I don’t mean you’re afraid of Blake. I mean you’re afraid of yourself.”

“That’s nonsense,” Gert said.

“No, it’s not. You’re scared to love Blake Sanders. Afraid you’ll lose yourself in the bargain.”

Gert’s mouth opened and drew shut. “I’ve had so little sense of me. Of what I am. If I loved him I’d never find out. I would be like everyone else in his life. Used for his own purposes and discarded.”

“If you speak of Ann you should know why she married him. For the same purpose he did. To satisfy family and ensure her sons a title. William would be fourth in line to her father’s title if she hadn’t married someone with their own,” Elizabeth said.

Gert sat down on the bed and pulled her legs under her. “That’s so cruel. To plan out children’s lives before they’re born.”

“May be cruel as you say but it’s all they know. I could care less. It’s certainly nicer to have servants and a grand home but I’d live with Anthony in a hovel if I had to,” Elizabeth said with a shrug.

“I think you would,” Gert said and laughed. “I can’t see you as a wash woman though.”

“I can hardly imagine that. But it’s true, still. Would you live anywhere, do anything to be with the man you loved?”

“I don’t think I’d care for a hovel, either,” Gert said. “And I love the ranch and the wide open spaces of the west.”

“Or a manor in London? Would you live in England to be with the man you loved?” Elizabeth asked.

“And give up everything I’ve ever dreamed of? I don’t know,” Gert said. “This is silly talk, besides.

Blake Sanders does not love me. And I don’t love him.”

“Love is compromise, Gertrude.”

“Probably true if the man you love loves you. And if he is as willing to compromise as well,” Gert replied. But Gert could not imagine Blake Sanders bending to anyone’s will. Even for love.

* * * *

Blake had not expected a rejection from Gertrude Finch to hurt. But it did. He had not expected her casual tone, so like Helena, to make him swallow a ball of pain lodged in his throat. But that was what had happened as he spoke to her in the library. He had spent the latter part of the day in front of the fire in his study.

“Did you speak to Miss Finch?” Anthony asked over brandy when he joined Blake for drinks before supper.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Blake turned in his seat and faced his friend. “She’s homesick.”

“And nothing you did or said caused it?” Tony continued.

Blake slammed his glass on the table and stood to pace. “In her own words it was a casual flirtation.”

He ran his hands through his hair and stared away. How could she call what passed between their lips casual? She was an innocent, granted, but certainly she felt it as he had. Each kiss touching some long forgotten, stored away wish for a connection that transcended sex. He paled at his own thoughts. What connection is necessary past sex, he wondered?

“I’m glad it had nothing to do with you, Blake.” Tony smiled. “I know the kisses meant little to you but I feared with our Gertrude, untried, she may have felt otherwise.” Blake turned to stare at him. “I feel much better knowing she doesn’t care for you.”

Those words cut like a knife. Like a sword had severed a limb and his lifeblood gushed out. Blake picked up his drink and threw it back with a vengeance. “Would it have been such a shock to think she might care?” He swallowed. “About me?”

Tony stared. “Would take a strong constitution to care about you, Blake.”

Blake slouched and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Why’s that?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Tony said. Blake looked numb. “For God’s sake man, look at your life.

Married to a beautiful, kind woman and in another’s bed before Melinda’s birth. Tread about your home and town like you’re the bloody king. And can’t wait to marry your children off to the same fate. There’s more to life than your title.”