White Lace and Promises (23 page)

Then, at her gregarious father’s never-ending series of week-long parties, she’d grown wild. Engaging in flirtations and raising eyebrows. Making him look a fool. And so unwise in her selections.

 
Juliana had never wanted him. She had wanted his name, his wealth and status. And what of Beth? She was beautiful. She had known the full value of that beauty and had used it to gain his attention. Perhaps she had only wanted his wealth as well.

He took another long drag on his cigar. He must focus on the positives. Beth might have gone inexplicably cold but at least she had yet to bar her bedchamber door to him. And, no matter how he felt about her coldness, he must continue to visit her bed. She wanted children and a child might make all the difference—might give her some purpose besides being his wife. Then maybe she’d be happier.

He burnt to ask how her work with the charity school was progressing. But he never asked. He didn’t want her to feel she must answer to him. While he’d happily given her business advice in the beginning on how to set up, the music school should be an area of her life where she enjoyed some independence. It must be something of her own, to give her a sense of pride and purpose. But she’d taken on a business manager and the school seemed to occupy very little of her time.

Yes, a child was surely the answer.

Still, he’d been rather difficult lately. He knew that. She deserved something for putting up with his ways. He pulled out a sheet of paper and hastily scratched out some instructions for his secretary, Mr Boyle.

* * * *

Beth opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light. What the devil? Who had dared to pull her drapes open? The servants knew better than to disturb her before she called them.

“It’s a quarter of two, Mrs Sexton,” Miss Fairchild said in crisp tones.

“Leave me in peace.” One of the benefits of being a refined lady was sleeping late into the day and waking up slowly while others waited upon her as if she were a queen. A lady must find her small pleasures where she could. She rolled over, her body seeming to sink deeper into the fine feather bed. She pulled the heavy coverlet over her head to block the light and the scent of stale sex that mingled with the lingering sweet lavender and starch on the sheets and overwhelmed her. Troubling images of the night before rose in her mind. She pushed them away and hugged her pillow until the softness of sleep began to slide over her once more. The covers were whipped away with a ruthless, snapping motion and cool air rushed over her, seeping through her thin lawn nightdress.

“You are expected at Mrs Clark’s for tea,” Miss Fairchild said in a pitiless tone.

Tea? Today? Oh, hell’s bells, that was correct. Beth blinked, trying to focus her eyes as Miss Fairchild placed a tray before her with her customary breakfast of toast points and a cup of steaming chocolate. A small wooden box with shiny brass hinges lay beside her plate. Beth picked it up and opened it. Against deep blue velvet, diamonds and aquamarines sparkled like flames of colour. She caught her breath and picked it up.

A butterfly-shaped brooch.

A very
expensive
butterfly-shaped brooch.

Sharp pain jabbed her finger. She dropped the brooch. A bright red droplet rose on her finger and she stuck it into her mouth and sucked. A metallic taste flooded her tongue. Her empty stomach began to burn—and not from hunger.

She knew exactly what he was doing. He was attempting to treat her like one of his kept women. As if all she wanted from him was jewels and luxury. If she’d wanted only that, she could have simply been his mistress and forgone all this tedious lady business.

As she stared at the brooch, the burn in her stomach increased and the smell of rich chocolate wafting up from her tray began to nauseate her.

Oh, this would not stand. She had put up with a lot but she would be damned if she would start accepting payment for services rendered in the marriage bed!

She snatched up her wrapper, jerked her arms through the sleeves, then bolted from the bed.

Miss Fairchild looked up from her work laying out Beth’s clothes and gaped. “Mrs Sexton, where are you going? From the looks of you, it shall take me every second of the next hour to get you presentable.”

Beth ignored her as she tossed the brooch back into the box, snapped it closed and thrust it into her pocket. She hurried to the door.

“Mrs Sexton, please—I cannot have you leave your chamber looking as you do. The other servants should not see you like this!”

Beth opened the door, left the room and stormed down the corridor to Grey’s study. He expected anyone, including his wife, to knock before entering. He’d made that politely but firmly clear. Well, today she didn’t give a damn. She turned the knob and flung the door open.

Odours of tobacco and coffee and the stale scent of dusty papers and books greeted her in a stomach-turning miasma. This chamber was dim, the walls covered with dull, deep green silk moiré with walnut wainscoting beneath the chair rail. Every stick of furniture was dark wood and stark plain in design and at least fifty years old.

She hated this room.

Grey sat bent over his desk, hastily scratching his quill over a ledger while a lone fly buzzed about a plate of congealing roast beef, peas and carrots and boiled potatoes. The sight of it sparked her vexation to a whole new degree of heat. He ate so irregularly and poorly of late. She had specifically instructed the housekeeper that if he was home around nuncheon, he was to be sent a substantial meal. But what good did it do if he refused to eat it?

He hadn’t even heard the door open or, if he had, he was choosing to ignore whoever was so bold as to ignore his dictates. Above his shoulder, Asahel Prosperity Sexton gazed at her sternly from the large, gilt-framed painting.

She cleared her throat. “Grey?”

He looked up, his eyes slowly focusing on her. The sight of his handsome face, of his coal-black forelock falling over his brow, made her heart catch. A burst of affection warred with her anger. His brows drew sharply together. “You are up early today.”

His dry tone sent a small spiral of shame through her. It was true. She’d fallen into sleeping very late. However, now there was rarely anything to look forward to. She had never felt so useless in her life.

“What is it, Beth?” His voice sounded languorous. To someone else it might even have seemed slurred, as if with drink, but she recognised it for what it was—extreme fatigue. She’d awoken some time around four this morning and he’d been gone from her side. She doubted he’d gone to his own bed but, rather, had gone to prepare to leave for his offices on Washington Street and start his business day.

Now he would have just returned from the Exchange at the Tontine Coffeehouse, and likely was expected somewhere for dinner at four. Then he had an appointment at an all-male supper party tonight. He drove himself and drove himself and no one could reason with him over it. He seemed bound to kill himself through work before he reached forty.

Suddenly, she wanted only to persuade him to leave his desk and come to her bed. She would let him rest his head on her breasts and caress his furrowed brow until he slept. And she’d make sure he wasn’t disturbed until he’d slept that pale, tired look away.

Ha! He was as likely to allow that as he was to allow the British navy to take over Sexton Shipping.

“You should eat.”

His jaw muscles tightened.

She nodded at his plate. “You need to eat.”

He tapped his fingers on his desk, slow and measured. Each rap sent a flare of pure irritation bristling over her nerves.

“Beth, I don’t need a keeper or a mother. I shall eat just as soon as I have reconciled the discrepancies in these audits.
I
am capable of keeping to a reasonable schedule. You’d do better to worry over your own habits.”

The censure in his voice reverberated guiltily in the pit of her stomach. She pushed a tangled lock of hair from her face. How dared this knotty-headed, impossible man criticise
anything
about her? Why should he care how late she slept or anything else she did when he’d shown her over and over how little she mattered to him?

For good measure, she lifted her chin and shot him a glare.

He didn’t see it. His eyes had already drifted back to the column of numbers he’d been scratching out on the paper. White-hot emotion and energy flared in her blood. Hell’s bells! Did he think she’d be so easily dismissed?

She studied that coal-black head bent over the desk. Yes, he did think she’d simply take his dismissal and be gone. The way everyone else in his world did. Well, devil take him! She wasn’t just anyone.

She slammed the box down on his desk, right under his nose. “You may take this back.”

He glanced up, his eyes distant, as if barely seeing her. He gestured at the box. “You would prefer something else?”

“I would prefer not to receive gifts as a substitute for your attentions—as payment for services rendered in my bed,
sir
.”

Some life flared into his eyes and his gaze intensified on her. “You’re rejecting my gifts now?”

“If you think you can ignore me for weeks and then placate me with something like this, then you are sadly mistaken, sir.” She let her lip curl.

He threw his quill onto the desk, leant back in his chair and vigorously rubbed his eyes. He sighed loudly, the sound reverberating with such exasperation that she bristled all over.

“Can’t you understand? I am very busy today. We can discuss this later.” His dark brows drew together fiercely.

She’d had her fill of being the object of his irritation. “Stop glowering at me like that.”

“Beth, I have tried to explain. Things are very strained right now. It’s just the war. I shall have more time when things ease off.”

There will always be some business matter. I know his type of gentleman.
Joshua’s words were an unwelcome echo in her mind.

Her throat began to burn and she waved her hand at the hated little brass-hinged box. “Just take that back, get rid of it—I never want to see it again.”

His face contorted with something that looked very much like contrition. The burn in her throat increased. She needed to get out of here before she fell apart. She took a few steps towards the door. “Just get rid of it.” Her voice sounded suspiciously high-pitched to her ears. God, she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
start crying.

He stood. “Now, Beth, please be reasonable.”

She blinked as her vision grew blurry. “Don’t tell me to be reasonable over something like this.” With her sleeve, she took several swipes at her eyes, then tossed her head back and glared at him. She would not show weakness. She would
not
.

He came to her, moving with such haste it seemed as though he’d taken only three steps.

She searched his silver eyes for any sign of the man who had once burnt with passion for her. All she saw was a grim, tired man.

He touched her shoulders and caressed them with gentle motions. “You know how precious you are to me, how much I love you.”

She took a deep breath, still struggling against the heavy lump of unshed tears in her throat. “Honestly, I am not quite certain any longer.”

“When things settle themselves out, we shall take a trip away from the city, just you and I.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “We’ll spend a month away from all of this.”

“But I don’t understand. Why can’t we just spend a few hours alone together in the evenings? Why must it either be that we are out at some dinner party or you go out alone and then, once you are back, you spend half the night working here in your office?”

He slackened his hold on her shoulders and sighed. “It is just that I am so absorbed with business matters.”

He possessed the uncanny ability to make her feel foolish and selfish… But no, not this time. This time he would not evade her. He would not manipulate her into believing she was the unreasonable one. “But surely you could spare me an evening or two a week?”

His silver eyes went glacial. “Beth, you won’t even
try
to understand.”

“But it’s not so much to ask.” It really wasn’t, was it? She bit her lip and shifted on her feet.

He smiled. Thinly. Her heart grasped at such a scrap and swelled with love. God, she was so pathetically eager for softness from him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not so much to ask. You can’t tell me it is.”

For good measure, she scowled at him.

He traced a finger between her eyes, his own silver eyes shining with sudden warmth. “Don’t do that—you’ll ruin your beauty.”

What good was beauty doing her? She might as well be an aged crone.

“I am dying, Grey—literally dying of loneliness. I do think you could spare me a little more time.”

“In the winter, we’ll go away. Alone. For a whole month.” His hard mouth softened into a slight smile.

A cold ache froze her heart. He was right here in front of her but she couldn’t reach him. It didn’t seem possible. And the hell of it was, she did believe him when he said that he loved her, that she was precious to him. But knowing that wasn’t enough. She needed him to prove it and to be present with her.