Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (36 page)

      
“What! You cannot—you said you'd never conceived in all these years—I assumed that you could not.” He sat up and pulled her into his arms.

      
“Then you are displeased,” she whispered, fighting back tears. ”I had hoped...you were so pleased about Beth—”

      
“Beth is but one and twenty! You are twice that! 'Tis not safe for you,
cara
,” he added, trying desperately to keep the fear from his voice. ”I cannot—I will not lose you, not now!”

      
Vittoria's tears evaporated and a beatific smile spread across her face as she took a fistful of his sideburns in each hand and pulled him to her for a hard kiss, then said, ”I come from hardy stock. My grandmother had seven children—the last one when she was older than I. The reason I never had a child was not barrenness. 'Twas the same as yours,
caro
. If it was not to be with you, it would be with no one else. I've always taken precautions...except with you. After my family separated us, I prayed nightly that your seed had been planted in me. But it did not happen...until now. Please, Piero, say you are happy, that you want this child as much as I,” she implored.

      
He framed her face with his hands and kissed her again, this time with exquisite tenderness. Smiling, he replied, “When you put it that way, how can I deny you? Of course I would love to have a daughter or son with you. We will be very careful of your health. No riding, no staying up late, definitely no sea voyages on the storm-tossed Atlantic until after you're safely delivered.” He searched her beaming face and chuckled indulgently. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this just to keep me in Naples until next spring.”

      
“Dr. Policella assured Beth and Derrick that it would do her no harm to travel. I'm sure he'll say the same for me,” she replied, so relieved that he accepted the idea of the baby that she did not even mind leaving her home.

      
“We will remain here where you shall be under Dr. Policella's constant care until the little one arrives,” he said sternly.

      
“As you wish it,
caro
, ” she replied, feeling as if her happiness was complete.

* * * *

      
And it would have been—if not for Beth. Vittoria knew Beth and Derrick's relationship had been strained ever since word of his brother's death reached them. No one had dreamed that the young couple would be forced to leave Naples and assume such burdensome responsibilities. She had hoped that the coming babe would mend things, but it seemed only to create more difficulties. Her friend looked wan and pale, was losing weight and had no appetite. Vittoria concluded that the fault lay with Beth's husband.

      
With only two days left before the young couple sailed, Vittoria decided to go to the shipping office on the quay and confront him face-to-face. She found him discussing a spice cargo with a Genoese captain. Seeing her, Derrick handed the man a copy of the manifest with curt instructions to make certain it was loaded before the morning tide. When he approached her, she could sense his wariness.

      
“Your Italian has improved markedly since first we met,” she said as he offered her a seat in his crowded office.

      
“You did not come to the quay to discuss my linguistic skills, contessa,” he replied, slinging his leg over the corner of his desk. He stared at her, waiting for her to get to the point.

      
“No. I did not.”

      
The ball had been returned to his court. “Has my wife been complaining of hardship now that she's been forced to become a countess?”

      
“Quite the contrary. Beth complains about nothing whatsoever. She just grows more pale and tense with every passing day. Tis good neither for her nor the babe.”

      
“And, now that you too are with child, you have become an expert on such matters?”

      
“In spite of Piero's fears, I have never felt better, but we're speaking of Beth, not me.”

      
“And, of course, the fault for Beth's malaise lies with me,” he ground out.

      
“I rather suspect the fault lies with both of you,” she replied, causing him to raise his head in surprise. “See here, Derrick, I did not come to place blame, only to try to help the two of you. You know, if a marriage is to be happy, husband and wife must put forth considerable effort.”

      
He smiled cynically. “And you, of course, speak from a vast reservoir of experience.”

      
Vittoria let the insult pass. “After my first two husbands, I certainly learned what does not make a marriage happy, but with Piero”—she was unable to resist a small, private smile—“well, we are very happy. I believe you and Beth could be, too.”

      
“What, pray, is the secret then, contessa?”

      
Some of his arrogant facade was slipping in spite of his best efforts to conceal his feelings.
Are you so afraid of the truth. Derrick?
“Love,” she answered simply.

      
Now some of the agony did show through. His shoulders slumped as he slid from his seat on the corner of the desk,and paced over to the window to stare intently out at the bay. She could see his face in profile, watched as he swallowed what must be a huge knot of misery.

      
“I know much of duty, contessa, but little of love.”

      
Those words spoke of a desolate childhood. “What of your family? Was there no love when you were a child?” she prompted.

      
“My parents despised each other, although it was an advantageous marriage, of which you are more than passing familiar, I'm certain.” She nodded, encouraging him to continue. “My elder brother and I were raised by a succession of nurses, tutors and other servants until we were old enough to be sent away to school. A fine old English tradition,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “My mother never showed the slightest interest in us.”

      
“What of your father?”

      
“My father took some pride in me. You see, I was an exceptional shot and rider, and my marks in school were much better than Leighton's. Poor Lee; he could please neither parent, even though he tried...for a while. What was inculcated into us was our duty to the Jamison name. After all, we were the sons of the seventh earl of Lynden. We owed society a return on its investment.”

      
“Noblesse oblige,” Vittoria murmured. “The English take it rather more seriously than is done on the Continent.” She was beginning to see another side of Derrick Jamison, perhaps one he'd never revealed to anyone else before. One Beth desperately needed to understand. “That is why you have risked your life in service to your country. And why you wed Beth—'twas your duty—or so Quintin Blackthorne made you believe.”

      
Derrick scoffed. “More like he threatened me with dire retribution.”

      
“Do not try to tell me that you wed Beth because you were afraid of her father. I'll not believe it for an instant.”

      
He shrugged uncomfortably, knowing that she had the right of it. “I did not want to kill him if he challenged me.”

      
“Because of Beth.”

      
“He is her father and she loves him.”

      
“She loves you even more.” Vittoria heard his sharp gasp before he could muffle it.

      
“Perhaps once she did—before I betrayed her and left

her here,” he said bitterly.

      
“Tis a strange thing about love,” Vittoria said musingly. “It cannot be willed away, even if the one you love hurts you or leaves you for many years. It lives”—she paused as he turned to look at her, then touched her heart—“in here.”

      
“You are speaking of yourself and Piero. Beth and I are different,” he said uncomfortably, unable to put his feelings into words.

      
“Why did you wed her?” she asked baldly.

      
“I desire her in my bed,” he replied equally as baldly. Cursing silently, for he had already revealed more of himself than was his wont, he admitted, ”I find other women of no interest...I want only her, damn it!”
Would that she had shared my single-minded obsession while we were separated!
“Does that satisfy you, contessa?” he snapped. “For if it does not, I can give you no other answer.”

      
Vittoria smiled beatifically. “Yes, I believe it does, Derrick.” She turned to leave, then paused and said, “Oh, by the by, since I wed Piero, I am no longer a contessa. In America I shall be plain Mistress Torres and all the happier for it. I will go with Piero to his world. Your wife will go with you to yours. Only allow her time to accustom herself to it. Beth loves you. Be good to her and all will be well.”

* * * *

The posset the physician had given her finally began to help—or her own body had become accustomed to the changes going on inside it. Either way, Beth felt better than she had in weeks. Even her appetite, alarmingly vanished, started to return and she was able to hold down what she consumed. That was a good thing since she had so much work to do overseeing preparations for the move to England.

      
England. London. The ton. Beth had read her cousin Alex's amusing letters describing his extended visit, sanitized for family consumption, she was certain. Alex had thoroughly loved the Great Wen's myriad enticements, but the sort of life he had enjoyed in London would be far removed from the life of an earl and his countess.

      
She knew her husband feared the repercussions if anyone learned about her past, but she refused to make up some Banbury tale about their falling in love while he was visiting Savannah. She was who she was, and there was no way to gild the lily. She had struggled to find her identity, to perfect her gifts as an artist, to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. If being American and an artist in the bargain scandalized the Quality, bugger ‘em!

      
“If he must be so stubborn as to drag me to London when neither of us wants me to be there, then he must pay the consequences,” she muttered to herself as she selected winter gowns, which would be sent aboard the
Lady Barbara
with them when they sailed. In route, Donita could begin to let out the seams as needed.
 

      
Since most of her clothes were airy and light for the year-round warmth of the Mediterranean, not to mention scandalously low cut and clinging, Derrick had instructed her to leave them behind. As soon as they arrived in England, she was to have a new wardrobe made up, including a number of gowns in various shades of gray and purple, the colors decreed for the latter stages of mourning for Leighton. She looked abominable in both, but it was the least of her problems.

      
Beth was busily tossing a rainbow hue of dresses—vibrant blues, greens and yellows—into the pile headed for storage boxes when she heard Derrick's footfalls on the stairs. Odd, but she could always tell when it was he, not one of the many male servants around the household. She turned as he entered the room. “Good afternoon, Derrick,” she said in the cool, civil tone they'd adopted. At least they were no longer yelling curses.

      
“The ship's master wants our trunks aboard by tomorrow.” he said, scanning the apparent disarray of the room. “If 'tis not possible, I'll tell him he must wait. I don't want you overtaxing yourself.”

      
“Everything will be ready. This is the last of it. All of those clothes will remain behind,” she said, gesturing to the huge pile strewn across the chaise longue in her dressing room. ”I am feeling much better, Derrick.”

      
“You still look pale. Vittoria has commented upon it.”

      
“When did you see her?” Beth knew her friend had not visited her while Derrick was home for the past week.

He cursed his errant tongue. “She and I chanced to meet earlier this afternoon.”

      
“Chanced to meet?” What had Vittoria been up to?

      
“She came to speak with me at the office on the quay,” he admitted. “She was concerned that I have been treating you ill. I have not intended that, puss.”

      
“I know, Derrick.” Her voice was soft. She looked away lest he see the naked longing in her eyes. How she wanted things to be as they had been. They had many difficulties to work out, but in the early days of their marriage it had seemed possible that they might, in time, be able to do so. At least then they had shared passion, but since he'd become the earl, they had done nothing but fight. And since he had learned about the babe, he had not touched her.

      
He's afraid he might harm the child. Always the child...never me.
Her thoughts were selfish, she knew, and she castigated herself for having them, but...

      
She stood there looking so lost and vulnerable that his heart ached. “Beth, I am truly sorry. I will not leave you and I cannot stay,” he said in frustration, stepping closer to her without realizing that he had done it.

      
“Cannot stay—or will not stay?” The instant she asked it, she wished to call back the words. “Now I’m sorry. I know you must go.”

      
“And you do not wish to go with me.” It was not a question, for he already knew the answer. She stood very close to him now—too close. He could smell the faint essence of vanilla, see the way her breasts had grown even fuller, her whole lush body ripening like succulent, forbidden fruit. To taste of her was to invite more pain into a life already overflowing with it. But to live without her, to live without touching her, that was most painful of all.