Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (21 page)

D
inner that evening was a miserable affair.

Although she and Gabriel carried on a conversation, their words were all polite small talk, with none of their usual relaxed banter or the lighthearted verbal jousting she had so come to enjoy.

She attempted, more than once, to ascertain the cause of his abrupt change in mood. But he rebuffed her each time, telling her she was mistaken and that nothing was wrong.

Finally, she gave up, hoping that whatever it was would pass, and quickly.

Even though she found herself doubting again that his difficulty was related to his stomach, she fixed him a posset containing peppermint, licorice root and basil not long after they’d arrived home. He’d thanked her, then drunk it down in a few quick gulps, handing her back the cup as if relieved to be free of her ministrations.

It was with a kind of relief that she went upstairs to bed early.

After her maid helped her change out of her gown, Esme bathed, then brushed her teeth and hair and crawled into bed. Lying in the semidarkness cast by the fireplace, she waited for him to join her.

And waited.

And waited.

She was just drifting off to sleep when he let himself into the room, closing the door behind him. Quietly, he eased between the sheets.

“Gabriel,” she murmured sleepily, more relieved than she had realized that he was there.

Leaning over, he kissed her. “I’m sorry, Esme. I know I’ve been a bear today.”

Reaching up a hand, she stroked his cheek, some of her sleepiness fading. “It’s all right. We all get blue deviled sometimes.”

He stared at her, something mournful and distant in his tawny eyes.

And abruptly she was afraid. “Gabriel?”

He kissed her again, his touch devoid of passion. “You are tired. Go to sleep.”

“No, I’m not.” She stroked a hand over his chest and arm. “Really.”

But rather than gather her close as he always did, he rolled onto his side away from her. “Good night, Esme.”

Her chest ached with disbelief, words lodged in her throat so tight she could not speak.

And for the first time since coming to Highhaven, he did not make love to her.

•   •   •

“Pack your belongings,” he told her over breakfast the next morning. “We’ve been here for weeks. It is time we departed.”

She laid down her spoon, the porridge she’d been trying to make herself eat turning even colder in its bowl.

Earlier this morning when she’d awakened, Gabriel hadn’t been in their bed, nor had he roused her near dawn to make love, as was his habit. After ringing for her maid, she’d bathed and dressed, then gone downstairs to the breakfast room, Burr trailing faithfully at her side. At least he wasn’t avoiding her like Gabriel was.

Finally, ten minutes after she’d sat down at the table, Gabriel had joined her. He’d offered a brief greeting—no kiss—then tucked wordlessly into the plate of food Mrs. Canby laid before him.

Once the housekeeper had gone, Esme tried again to ask what was troubling him. But he brushed her off with a shrug and told her to eat her meal.

She’d wanted to press him further, half-angry, half-alarmed by the change in him, and painfully aware of the wall he’d put up to keep her out. It was a distance she neither understood nor approved. Whatever had happened yesterday, it was something that had clearly not been resolved by a night’s rest.

“Leave? To go where?” she asked, one hand fisted in her lap.

He raised his coffee cup to his lips. “To Ten Elms, my estate in Derbyshire. Make whatever preparations you require. We will set out tomorrow morning at first light.”

“But—”

“Yes?” He met her gaze, his expression remote, chilling. “Can you not be ready by then?”

“No, it is not that. It is only . . .” She glanced down, twisting her napkin between her fingers before she looked up again. “Gabriel, what have I done? Why are you so angry with me?” She spoke fast, her words running together with sudden desperation. “Just tell me so we can resolve whatever it might be. I cannot make amends if you will not even tell me what it is that has distressed you.”

For an instant, she saw a softening and an odd hint of longing, as if he might yet bend and tell her why he had become a stranger to her overnight. But then the wall came up again, the cool mask lowering again across his face.

“You have done nothing and I am not angry with you,” he said. “You mistake the matter, my dear. You need to remember that not everything in the world is about you.”

His words struck her like a slap. “Then what is it about?”

He looked away, reaching for the coffeepot to pour himself a fresh cup. “I am just weary of this place and have business that can no longer be put off. It is as simple as that.”

Weary of you,
he meant.

Had his unexpected meeting with Mark Dennis reminded him of his former life and of all the things he was now missing? She mustn’t forget that he hadn’t wanted to marry her. She had never been his choice. Until today, she had almost forgotten that fact.

“I thought you liked it here,” she said dully. “That we were having fun.”

“I did. We were. But surely even you must realize that our honeymoon cannot last forever. As they say, all good things must come to an end sometime.”

The warmth drained from her cheeks, a sick suspicion forming inside her that it wasn’t just their honeymoon to which he was referring.

Abruptly she pushed back her chair, the legs screeching discordantly across the wooden floor.

Burr leapt to his feet, whining faintly as he sensed her distress.

“I have a great deal to do if we are to depart tomorrow,” she said, careful to keep her head turned away so he could not see the devastation on her face. “I shall be abovestairs if you have need of me.”

She hurried toward the door, Burr on her heels.

“Esme,” Gabriel called.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t, not without him seeing the tears filling her eyes. Racing out into the hall, she took the stairs as quickly as her feet could carry her.

•   •   •

Gabriel dropped back into his chair and rubbed a hand over his jaw, only barely keeping himself from following her.

He’d seen the shock and confusion on her face, read the hurt in her eyes, especially when he’d made those last few cutting remarks.

He knew he was acting like a brute, but he could see no other way around it. He needed space, a bit of separation between them, so he could get his emotions under proper control again. This thing between
them—whatever it might be—was dangerous and had to be stopped.

For as much as he’d snapped and jabbed at his old friend, Mark Dennis had done him a service; he had made him see things with clearer eyes.

It might appear cruel now. It might even hurt him and Esme both. But in the long run, she would come to agree that it was all for the best.

Esme fancied herself in love with him. He could see that now. But it was an illusion and nothing that would last once the romantic bubble between them burst and faded away.

Even now, he remembered how it felt—that giddy flush of first love, that golden haze of passion and joy that seemed as if it knew no bounds.

He’d loved Amanda Coyning, or at least imagined he had, and thought she’d loved him back. For a few brief, shining moments, it had seemed as if heaven had come down to earth in the form of a single bright angel named Amanda.

But then his uncle had informed her that should she and Gabriel wed, he would be cut off, without so much as a ha’penny to his name. The only things he could offer her would be an incomplete university degree and a small, isolated house in the wilds of southwestern England where no one of any great import ever ventured.

She’d dropped him like a plague carrier, ending their engagement without so much as a tear as she gave back the small ring that had been all he’d been able to afford at the time.

Determined to marry well, she’d quickly found a very wealthy, very old baronet who had been delighted to offer a ring in exchange for the pleasure of having a pretty young thing like her in his bed.

Her rejection had been devastating and had left Gabriel’s heart bloodied and battered. But time and distance had healed the wound, leaving his eyes
wide-open to the puerile fantasy known as love. He’d vowed then never to let himself be so weak and gullible again.

Not that Esme was trying to dupe him; she had none of Amanda’s cunning charm or vicious duplicity. Still, it was time to put an end to the pleasurable idyll in which they’d been living these past few weeks. He’d let himself get too close to her; that was all. Allowed himself to indulge his passions too deeply, too freely.

Obsession was what Mark Dennis had seen, not love. And he would manage that obsession by putting some much-needed space between them. Time and a change of scenery would put everything back in the proper perspective. It would bring clarity and allow them both to set new boundaries in their marriage and stop confusing sex with affection and lust with love.

He could have tried to explain it all to her but knew she would fail to see the truth. She was too inexperienced in such matters to realize that feelings changed, and that whatever infatuation she might feel for him now, it would not be how she felt next month or even next year.

So he would make the hard choice for her.

As for himself, he would vanquish the gnawing hunger he had for her, a craving that still rode him like a beast. As for the deep closeness that had developed between them, it would mellow into comfortable affection with time, the kind that would allow them to coexist and eventually raise a family together without all the messy inconvenience and ridiculousness of so-called love.

That had been his parents’ mistake, their marriage beset by vicious arguments and jealous rages, horrible door-slamming, vase-throwing fights so loud every person in the house had heard them and cringed.

As a small boy he’d been confused, even frightened, by the tumultuous swings in their relationship. One minute they would be wrapped around each other, lost in a world that excluded everyone but themselves. The
next they would be screaming, hurling vile insults and recriminations meant not just to wound but to eviscerate. Later, as an adult, he’d come to understand more of the details of his parents’ ill-fated union, learning of their impassioned, whirlwind romance as well as the affairs and infidelities that had followed.

He’d been a fool in his youth to think anything good could ever come of love.

He would not be a fool again.

F
ive long, hard, unforgiving days of travel later, the coach pulled up to the front entrance of Ten Elms.

As had been the case with Highhaven, the staff were not waiting at the ready to welcome their master and mistress home. But at least, Esme thought as she climbed stiffly down from the coach, Burr leaping out behind her, it was not full night this time but rather midday, a weak autumn sun spreading comforting light in every direction.

The house stretched wide and tall before her, the facade cut from blocks of muted gray limestone that rose three stories high to a slate-covered roof. Multiple chimneys dotted the structure, while multipaned windows gleamed in the muted light.

Yet despite the grand Baroque style of the house, it cast a faintly neglected air, like a once graceful lady whose beauty had faded after the splendor of her youth. Still, the house looked solid and capable of providing her with a bed and bath and hopefully a decent meal.

Without bothering to comment on the state of her new home, she trailed Gabriel to the front door, which opened to reveal a surprised-looking young man who appeared to have only just finished buttoning his black livery jacket.

“My lord, my lady, welcome,” the young man said in a slightly breathless tone that made Esme wonder if he
had just raced upstairs from the servants’ hall to meet them.

“Where is Starr?” Gabriel strode past him, a scowl on his face that did nothing to alleviate the servant’s obvious unease.

After five days of seeing the same scowl, Esme was used to it. Silently, she followed him in.

“Mr. Starr is away, my lord. Visiting his sister.”

“And Mrs. Foy? Is she absent as well?” Gabriel said, cutting him off.

The servant shook his head. “No. She is upstairs, making up your rooms.” He wrung his hands. “If we had received word of your impending arrival sooner, everything would have been ready.”

“Not to worry,” Esme said, giving him a little smile as she drew off her gloves. “His lordship makes a habit of not informing his staff of his travel plans, so it is only natural that you are all aflutter trying to accommodate. I am Lady Northcote, by the way. And you are?”

“David, my lady.”

“Well, David, I thank you for greeting us. Now, if you would be so obliging, I would be vastly grateful for a cup of tea, a sandwich—cheese and cucumber, if possible—and a dish of water for my dog. Do you think that could be arranged?”

“Certainly. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Since my bedchamber is as yet being prepared, where should I wait?”

“In the drawing room, of course,” Gabriel said with a wry twist of his lips. Sweeping a hand toward a hallway that led off to the right, he motioned for her to precede him.

Repressing a sigh, she moved across the spacious marble foyer in the direction he had indicated.

She located the drawing room with little difficulty, the chamber pleasant but old-fashioned. The heavy green draperies and antique furnishings clearly had originated several decades earlier.

A slightly stale scent hung in the air as well, as if the
room had not been occupied in a very long time. She suspected the dust sheets had only recently been removed, perhaps even within the past hour.

Rather than take a seat, she went to the window and looked out, pleased to find a spacious lawn with a garden that managed to be pretty despite its slightly overgrown appearance. Ranged across the gently rolling hills were thick stands of trees, burnished in crisp autumn colors of red, gold and orange. Nearer the house stood a number of immense elms planted carefully along a lovely winding path that led up to a small Roman-inspired folly.

She counted and found precisely ten.

“How long has it been since you were last here?” she asked, not looking around but aware of him standing somewhere behind her.

“I’m not entirely sure. A year, maybe more. I don’t come often. Why?”

“I just wondered, since the house doesn’t seem much loved.”

“No, there was never much of that here.”

And doubtless will not be again,
she thought.

Over the past few days the rift between them had not healed, much to her sorrow. Although Gabriel was unfailingly polite—too much so on some occasions—the coach ride to Ten Elms had been nearly as unendurable as that first dreadful journey from Braebourne to Highhaven. Yet on that occasion, she’d had no expectations of enjoying his company. This time she had been keenly aware of its loss.

And yet in spite of his emotional distance, some small part of her continued to hope that he would warm to her again. That she would wake up one morning to find the old Gabriel in her bed, kissing and teasing her to laughter while he made her heart and body sing from the pleasure of his warm, lusty embrace.

But she didn’t see how that was even a possibility when he no longer came to her bed. All along the way to Ten Elms, he’d gotten separate rooms for them at
the inns where they had stopped for the night. Initially, he’d made some excuse about them both needing a proper night’s rest since they were traveling such a long distance. But she knew that lack of sleep had nothing to do with the situation. Instead, she feared it was a case of him being tired of her.

Of course she could have gone to him; there was a time when he would have delighted in her being the one to initiate their lovemaking. But as much as she longed to bridge the distance between them, even if only in a physical way, she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he rejected her.

So she did nothing. Just as she said nothing either.

A quiet knock came at the door. To her relief, Esme turned to see a kitchen maid enter with a laden silver tray. The wide-eyed girl set it down on the tea table, bobbed a curtsy, then hurried back out again, all without once looking at either of them.

“Your servants seem a bit nervous,” she said once the girl had left.

“Do they? I hadn’t noticed.”

Likely not, if he always spent his time scowling when he came here. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he didn’t much care for Ten Elms. Was it because of his brother and the memory of his loss that he had a dislike of the place? Or was it something more?

A bowl of water had been sent up for Burr. She put it down on the floor and watched as he lapped happily. She didn’t usually feed and water her animals in the drawing room, but until he got settled here, she wanted to make sure he had everything he required.

Burr seen to, she took a seat on the sofa and proceeded to serve, arranging sandwiches and cakes on plates and pouring cups of tea for them both.

After passing a filled plate to Gabriel, she began eating her own.

Neither of them spoke.

Another knock came nearly fifteen minutes later.

Esme looked around to watch a slender woman with
a sleek bun of downy white hair enter the room. The heavy fabric of her black bombazine rustled as she walked, a set of keys jangling at her waist. Somewhere in her late fifties or early sixties, the woman had a narrow face, clear gray eyes and a thin mouth set in a stern pucker.

She stopped, her hands clasped at her waist. “My lord. My lady, I am Mrs. Foy, the housekeeper. Pardon the delay in attending to you personally. As David was to have informed you, I have been upstairs seeing to the preparation of your rooms. They are ready and await you at your convenience.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foy,” Gabriel said, offering the woman no more than a cursory glance. “We shall ring when we have need of you again.”

Her thin lips tightened. “Very good, my lord. My lady, would you care to inspect the menu for dinner? Cook is doing her best to accommodate on such short notice. I believe she plans to serve chicken this evening.”

“Oh, actually, chicken will do very well for his lordship, but I shall require a dish without meat.”

“Without meat?” the woman repeated, looking even more pinched. “Such as, may I inquire?”

“Vegetables, bread, noodles, soup made without meat stock, cheese, milk, fruit. Anything, really, so long as it is not made from killed meat.”

The housekeeper sniffed, then gave an aggrieved nod. “I shall inform Cook as to your . . . preferences. Now, if there is nothing further?”

Esme hesitated for a moment, then set down her plate. “Actually, Mrs. Foy, I will have you show me to my room now. I would like to change out of my traveling clothes and take a hot bath, if one can be prepared.”

“Very good. If you will follow me.”

Gabriel stood as she left the room but made no effort to follow. Unlike her, he knew his way around the house.

•   •   •

Dinner—at least her dinner—consisted of cream of mushroom soup, fried potatoes and onions, buttered carrots, purple beets, bread and butter.

Dessert was an apple tart with brandied whipped cream and a slice of golden cheddar cheese.

Gabriel had been served all of that in addition to the aforementioned roast chicken, which he consumed with apparent enjoyment. Throughout the meal, he drank wine, followed by coffee and a glass of port. She had a glass of wine and tea.

Despite the somewhat plain nature of the food, it was quite good and more than plentiful.

Their conversation during the course of the meal was politely desultory, confined to casual topics, such as the weather and the meal, each of them careful to avoid anything that might touch on the personal.

Weary from the long days of travel and the strain that lay between them, she excused herself early and went upstairs, Burr trotting at her heels.

One of the housemaids came to assist her since the maid she’d had in Cornwall had not wanted to accompany her so far north.

She thought longingly of Mrs. Grumblethorpe and wished she could send for her. But just before she’d left Highhaven, she’d had a letter from Edward telling her that her old nurse had asked to be pensioned out and that she had gone to live in Kent near her brother and his wife.

She was happy for Mrs. Grumblethorpe, since no one was more deserving of a rest and a place where she would spend her later years at her ease. Yet the departure of her old companion left Esme feeling lonely and oddly adrift, as if one more tie to her old life had just been severed forever.

After bidding the housemaid good night, she climbed into bed and blew out her bedside candle, pitching the room into near blackness that was relieved by only the fire burning low in the grate.

She wasn’t certain how much time had passed or
exactly what disturbed her, but suddenly she was awake, her eyes opening again to the darkness.

And then he was there beside her, bending near as he slid his fingers into her hair and plundered her mouth with long, drugging, openmouthed kisses. He tasted of brandy and heat and unbridled need.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

But he hushed her and stripped off her nightgown, leaving her naked beneath his questing hands and hungry mouth.

“Let me,” he murmured against her ear as his fingers found all of her most sensitive places and worked them with irresistible skill. “Just let me.”

And she did, quivering while keening gasps issued uncontrollably from her throat. His touch fanned the flames of her desire, driving her hard and fast as he forced her body to accept his demands in ways that left her aching and enslaved.

With no further preliminaries, he parted her legs and thrust heavily inside her, filling her completely.

“Take me,” he commanded as he pulled back, then thrust again. “Take all of me.”

Reaching down, he positioned her again, opening her wider, arching her hips and angling her knees higher, so that on his next thrust she did take more. Her entire body shook, his thick shaft buried so deep it seemed for a moment as if they had joined into one.

She closed her eyes and held on, giving herself into his keeping as he rocked them both to a stunning, mind-shattering completion.

But even as she floated, her inner muscles twitching with the pleasurable aftereffects, she realized he wasn’t through. Inside her, she felt him turn stiff again, his erection as hard as if they hadn’t just finished coupling.

“Turn over,” he said gruffly.

Pulling out, he rolled her onto her stomach, then gave her bottom a stinging smack with the flat of his hand. He did it again, then a third time.

Her already satiated need sprang abruptly back to life, hunger burning like wildfire. Her breasts ached, the tips tight nubs.

“On your knees.”

He smacked her bottom twice more as she scrambled to obey, her skin hot and stinging where he’d struck her. Using his knees, he parted her thighs and sheathed himself to the hilt with a single powerful thrust.

“Aaah,” she cried as her inner flesh stretched to receive him.

Almost impossibly, he was bigger than before, thicker. He throbbed within her so that she seemed to feel him everywhere all at once.

He started to move, swift and sure, one arm curved over her shoulder, the other underneath her stomach so that her back was pressed tightly against his chest.

Finding her breasts, he kneaded one, then the other, rolling and pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He kissed her cheek and throat, and the length of her shoulder before nuzzling the spot at her nape. Opening his mouth, he fixed his teeth on her and bit down.

She went over on a sharp, high-pitched cry, her dripping sheath spasming around him.

But he was far from done.

Driving them both at a relentless pace, he brought her to another explosive climax, his fingers working the flesh between her legs while he continued to pump heavily inside her, every stroke lodging him deeper than the last.

She screamed as pleasure burst like a lightning storm inside her, rattling her bones and searing her blood until it all but threatened to tear her apart.

Her brain went blank, her entire body limp and satiated.

With her cradled securely inside his hold, he thrust once, twice, three times more, before roaring out as he claimed his own powerful release.

Together they fell forward against the sheets.

Minutes passed as she drifted.

She mumbled, sleepy and satisfied, when he rolled them onto their backs and tucked her gently against his side, one of his hands moving in a slow glide up and down her arm.