Edith Layton (24 page)

“You expect me to sleep in there?” she asked.

“More easily than you would out here,” he answered. “The enclosure will keep you warmer.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay just outside the crate.” He saw her expression. “Do you want me to sleep on the stair? Look, Ally, you’ll be safer this way. And so far as compromising positions go, I doubt ours can be more so.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, flustered.

“Well, I did. When the world hears we were kidnapped and held here at risk of our lives, they’ll consider the proprieties. I’d never presume, you know that. But I want to be where I can watch over you. When we’re free we’ll face whatever’s said, if we have to pretend we were tied up or in a swoon the whole time, we will. You won’t be harmed by gossip, I promise. The thing is to
get free, the rest will be simple compared to that. Now, please go to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

He saw her indecision and added in what he hoped were prosaic tones, “If you have to use the necessary, you can go to a dark corner before bed.”

“Oh no!” she cried. “I can hold it—I mean I don’t have to—oh, lord!” she said. “You know what I mean. I will if I must, but it’s not that terrible yet.”

He chuckled. “It will be, and you don’t want to go out in the darkness later, do you? Go now, you’ll have privacy. I’ll escort you, then come back when you call me to escort you back. Look, Ally, you’re a practical woman, and a human one. Will you lie awake wriggling all night?”

She laughed. She protested. But in the end she let him walk her to the furthest wall, waited for him to leave, then hurriedly attended to things so she’d be able to get through the night. Because it was more vital than she’d let on. It had been hours since she’d visited the ladies’ convenience at the Gardens. The process now was awkward and embarrassing. She was glad she had a handkerchief and had no hesitation sacrificing it for her cause. It was a good thing it wasn’t her time of the month as well, she thought;
that
would have put the icing on it.

Women had the worst of it in every way, she thought gloomily. No doubt he was glad she’d gone so he could find relief as well. But he had the whole Thames for his purposes, and she had this musty corner…where she heard something small make a scribbling sound as it scurried over the stones. She bolted as soon as she decently could, and called for Drum’s escort back.

“Do you think I dare wash my hands and face before
I lie down?” she asked, to make conversation as they walked back to her improvised boudoir. It was such an awkward situation she had to say something. Of course men knew women used the convenience; it just wasn’t something decent females discussed with them. Life was absurd, she suddenly realized, at least hers was, because it was so hemmed round with the petty and inconsequential. Here they were facing death, and she worried because he knew she’d just relieved herself!

“I wouldn’t drink that water,” he told her, “but if you want to wet your handkerchief and wash, I think you could.”

“I haven’t one,” she said with embarrassment.

Well-bred women always carried one, he thought—and thought again, remembering basic biology. “Here’s mine. Go, I’ll rinse it out and use it when you’re done.” He grinned as she snatched his handkerchief and went to kneel at the brink of the platform so she could wet it down.

He watched to be sure she didn’t tumble into the water, then used the handkerchief himself when she handed it back to him. When he rose, he saw she’d settled herself and was sitting on the floor at the entrance to the crate.

“I don’t feel like going to sleep yet,” she said softly.

“Frightened?” he asked as he sat beside her, stretching his aching leg out in front of him. “Don’t be. I’m here, on my feet again, or at least I can be, so there’s nothing to fear now. The morning will bring us light as well as insight.”

“Well, I hope so. But I feel too on edge right now to sleep.” She waited a second then said, “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I mean, there we were having a lovely
time at a pleasure garden, and the next thing we knew someone was out to kill us! Who would’ve guessed such ugliness could come out of nowhere in the midst of such loveliness?”

“It’s the way of things.” He shrugged. “Ugliness is the other side of beauty, the way death is the opposite of life. Both can happen when you least expect it.”

“What would you know of ugliness?” she murmured almost to herself.

His head swung round, so she saw his expression of hurt surprise. She was aghast at her rash comment. “I didn’t mean that,” she said. “I only meant that since you’re a gentleman you…”

He took her hand. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I’ve found ugliness, but I had to go out to find it. Even so, it has never touched me personally—at least, not as personally as this has. I’ve seen war, privation, and pain, and have been in danger before. But I always felt at a remove, even when I was in the thick of it and my life was at risk. In fact, I’ve lived this long—and you know? Now I realize ugliness hasn’t touched me very much until now.”

“Because you feel responsible for me.”

He gazed at her a long moment. “I suppose so,” he said. “Tired enough to go to sleep?”

She shook her head. He hadn’t released her hand, and she clung to it. The room was growing cooler, the darkness seemed to press in on them from every side. Their lantern was the only sign of warmth and hope, she was reluctant to leave its glow, and his side. She could feel the warmth rise from him and, perversely, she shivered.

He put an arm around her. “Chilly? It’s damp as a
ditch in here. I wish I’d worn a cape, that would be the thing. Come, sit closer.”

They sat in silence. The sound of water lapping was soothing, but the occasional small squeaks and stirrings made Alexandria crowd closer to him. He blessed the mice, and drew her closer still.

“Drum,” she said after a moment. “I wasn’t, you know.”

He turned to look at her.

Her face was solemn. “I wasn’t his adopted daughter, he never made my presence in his household in any way legal. I never told you or anyone because it shamed me. Nothing else did, I promise you. Because I wasn’t his mistress either, or anything like that. But I might have been. That’s why I left. I thought you should know. Well,” she said, but her voice broke. She cleared her throat and went on more firmly. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I was ashamed so I didn’t tell you before, but there’s no sense lying when things are so…there’s no sense to so much when I think about it now. Anyway, that’s another reason I was so ineligible at home. But I want you to know I never lay with him.”

He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, but it did, so he stayed silent.

“He only kissed me—well, not exactly even that,” she went on with dogged determination. “He never touched me, or said anything to make me think he even saw me as more than a nanny for the boys and a housekeeper for himself. But in the last few years I could see he was watching me. We never talked about my future, but once, when a local boy began hanging about the kitchen after he delivered produce to us, Mr. Gascoyne
told me that I wasn’t to encourage him, oh, for a number of reasons, all valid, I suppose. But then he said he had great plans for me, if I continued to be a good girl.

“I believed him,” she said quietly. “Then, a few days after the birthday the Foundling Hospital assigned to me, when I thought I was eighteen years old, I was doing the dishes one night after the boys had gone to bed.” She paused, swallowed, and went on.

“It was such a little gesture,” she said sadly. “But lord! It changed everything. I felt something on my neck, and I couldn’t believe it. He put his mouth on my neck! I froze, it felt terrible. My skin crawled, my stomach felt cold as his lips did. I thought of him as a father, no, not even that. But close to that, you understand? I turned around, astonished. He laughed. ‘It’s time,’ he said. He was actually being playful! It was such a rare and terrible thing to see. ‘Alexandria,’ he said, and bowed. ‘You’ve been a good girl, and a hard worker. So. It’s time, I think. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?’

“He must have seen my face, because his smile vanished, and he said, in very businesslike tones, ‘I’ve decided I might as well make you Mrs. Gascoyne now, so that you can stay on here. After all, you are of an age when people will start talking.’

“Well,” she said, looking down at her folded hands. “You can imagine. I said no. He was appalled. And very angry. He told me he wouldn’t keep me on if I didn’t agree. He told me not to be stupid, not to throw away the only chance at respectability I’d ever have. He said everyone knew I’d been living with him with no chaperone, and they’d all believe the worst of me when he told them he’d never even made me his ward, and he would.
When I asked what they’d think of
him
, he said they’d congratulate him on making me an honest woman, and would shun me if I didn’t, because then what would that make me? He said I had nothing without him. He finally called me…a great many names. And told me he hoped I’d see things differently in the morning.

“I did,” she said simply. “By then, I’d packed and left. I went to Bath, hoping to stay with a girl I’d kept a correspondence up with from the old days at the foundling home. She’d married a haberdasher who set up a shop there. I told Kit and Vincent my direction and they promised not to tell him. But I only was there for a few days when a messenger came to tell me Mr. Gascoyne had gone out looking for me and got a chill. It led to his lungs. By the time I got back he was already gone. So I killed him, I think.”

Tears were streaming down her face. “But I
couldn’t
have married him. He gave me so much, but I couldn’t, I just could not!”

“Ah, Ally,” he said, drawing her close, “don’t weep. Of course you couldn’t. And you didn’t kill him, of course you didn’t.”

She turned and blindly sought to hide her face against him. He held her close and cradled her head to his chest. It was a cruel, dark world, and he’d always known it, but as he said, he’d never really felt it before. Now he felt her sorrow and his sympathy for her actually hurt. He held her close, rocking her, trying to comfort her.

That was his first mistake.

S
HE WAS WARM, SHE WAS FRAGRANT, SHE WAS DOCILE
in his arms. She was braver than he’d ever imagined, and he’d known she was courageous. But even so, Drum could feel Alexandria’s breath hitch every so often as she struggled for control. It reminded him of when he’d once held his friend Ewen’s boy Max after a storm of the child’s weeping, though it was nothing like it. Alexandria’s body reminded him of other things, and he never forgot who it was he held. Or why.

The night was deep and dark and he knew too well it might soon become deeper and permanent for both of them. He felt as though they were the last two humans on a bare and bleak planet. It was inconceivable to him that death might come to this brave, bright, vibrant woman, in spite of all his efforts. But lack of food and nothing but foul water…His hands tightened involuntarily, as though he could hold her to life. She grew quieter, as though she knew just what he was thinking. Then she raised her head and looked at him. Her
cheeks were pink, her lips were parted, her breath was stilled.

He told himself he was a gentleman, he reminded himself of his control, he remembered the next day might very well bring their freedom, while he accepted that it could bring his death.

Then he lowered his head and kissed her as he’d wanted to do for so very long, because if this first time was the last time, he would, at least, have that.

It was far more than he’d imagined.

She exulted. He could feel it on her lips. Where he led, she gladly followed, lending a sweetness that with all his wide experience, he’d never known. He expected desperation. He received ecstasy. Her soft lips parted against his, she let him taste the dark sweetness of her mouth, then tentatively tasted his. The touch of her tongue triggered his own response. There was such excitement and pleasure that it was a while before he came up for breath, smiled down at her—and then kissed her again.

Of course he knew he had to stop soon. This could never be. Still, for all he always thought he was in control of himself and his body, he’d never had to stop the act of love once he’d begun it. But then he’d never felt this way before. He’d never begun the act of sex with any woman he wasn’t sure he would complete it with.

This was
Alexandria
, he told himself as he cupped one of her firm breasts and felt her shiver, then press closer to him. If only she would draw back, he could stop. If her small capable hands weren’t feathered against the back of his neck, if she weren’t urging him on, as eager as he was. Whatever she said, she couldn’t be inexperienced, Drum thought as he struggled with
himself against the insistent joy of her, against the overwhelming desire he felt for her now. An innocent wouldn’t press herself so close, or throw her head back when his lips moved to her neck, or make such small sounds in the back of her throat as she did, urging him on, making
him
shiver with anticipation.

Her lovely rose-colored gown was only a whisper of material. An exhalation moved it from her shoulders as he lowered his mouth to taste the cool honeysuckle nectar of her skin. A small tug dragged her gown from those smooth fragrant white shoulders as he sought the firm breasts that were lifting to his lips. But the taste of one of those small puckered peaks was like an electric shock that went through his entire body, waking his mind to what his body was doing.

With difficulty he broke from his attentions to her, fighting for his famous control. He drew back a fraction, though he couldn’t drop his hands from her. She watched him, her eyes half closed, breathing rapidly. He regained some power over his emotions by reminding himself that this was a woman who was depending on him. Moreover she was a social inferior, a woman he was honor-bound to protect from himself. But he couldn’t protect himself from her. Because he saw her smile at him with sad fellow feeling.

He lowered his mouth to her again, and he was lost.

This was for now, and he didn’t know if there’d ever be a then. They could be dying even as they simulated life. This was too much pleasure, much too much. And she burned like a fever in his arms.

“Ally,” he murmured helplessly against her breast, “I can’t seem to stop. Tell me to. Tell me to leave you if you want me to. Because I will. In a moment I won’t
be able to, I think.” He waited for her answer, because though he was driven, at the last, he had too much training even for passion to overcome.

She knew it. He’d moved away, and she realized that somehow they were lying on the cold stone floor. She hadn’t known it until then. He was propped on his elbows as he looked down at her. His lean face was intent, his eyes blazing blue even in the dimming lantern light. She saw a fine tremor in those arms and realized it wasn’t from the effort of holding himself up. He’d given his passion as well as his honor entirely over to her. She was so moved by his lovemaking she could scarcely think. He’d made love to her! And swamped her senses enough to make her forget her fear, her terror of the night and what would come after it.

But her mind was clear. No passion was enough to make her forget what she was doing. This was too new, she’d been virtuous too long, it was too important for a single woman to be virtuous for her not to think of consequences even as she gave way to his passion.

If she lay with him she’d be ruined. But she didn’t know if she had a life after this day anyway.

He’d think worse of her after his passion was spent, everyone said men reacted that way. But this was Drum.

If they escaped this place, she’d never see him again or feel this way again unless she became his mistress, which was a destiny she’d fought against all her life. If they didn’t escape this place at least she’d know love.

And what of pregnancy? And what of it? If she lived she’d never regret a memory of him or a child of his. If she didn’t, it didn’t matter.

She’d never even have contemplated such an act if
they hadn’t just seen death and didn’t wonder if they’d be next. But then it felt as if she’d contemplated it from the moment she’d met him. Mr. Gascoyne said she was the daughter of a whore and would become one too. She’d denied that all her life. Her life wouldn’t be very long, it seemed.

The look in his eyes as he gazed at her now! She wished she had the time and courage to really look at him too.

Her body clamored, her mind resisted. Obviously his did too. She knew if she said no, he’d rise and go, and come back to her after a while as a friend, and forgive her this. She didn’t know if she would forgive herself, though.

“Ally?” he asked.

But there was really no decision to make. They were victims of fate and desire. For the first time the inequality between them didn’t matter. Neither did the matter of her virtue. Only life mattered. Affirmation of it was everything. He wanted her. That was everything else.

“Please don’t stop,” she said. And swallowed the “I love you,” because she was afraid that was the only thing that might have made him stop.

He smiled. A smile of such charm and relief and congratulation for her cleverness that she thought it made her decision worth everything. Then he lowered his body to her again and she realized she hadn’t known the half of it.

He stripped off his shirt and waistcoat and bundled them behind her head. She shivered at what she saw, more at what she felt. This was so bold of her, so strange, so impossible, so incredibly sweet. His chest
was lean and muscled and felt hard as wood under her fingers, warm as his breath in her ear. He used one arm to cradle her head further from the cold stone floor, the other hand to kindle her desire, and his mouth to send her up in flame. His lips and tongue on her breasts made her gasp. His hand roving over her body made her shiver. His hand on her stomach, then lower, circling, pressing, then slowly entering her
there
, made her squirm against him. His mouth following his hand made her tremble, and then when he put it
there
she was so shocked that she tried to sit up. But he brought his head up and chuckled in her ear, until she relaxed so he could shock her again.

He stripped her gown away, he stripped off his breeches, assuring her his leg was fine and not to worry because it didn’t hurt half as much as his impatience did. Then he showed her how patient he could be as he bore her back and toyed with her again.

It was all thrilling and tender, and then less so and more so. She stopped thinking so she could feel it all more.

He thought she was marvelous: willing and giving, robust enough for all his passions, lady enough for his sensibility, and female enough to make him feel potent and in control again. He’d been duped and imprisoned. He didn’t know if he could save them. But this, this lovemaking, was a thing he knew how to do, and her every reaction proved it to him. This was Alexandria, and her every movement showed she wanted him as desperately as he needed her now. He could rejoice over that now that he’d ruthlessly banished all the warning voices in his head.

He trifled with her and let her need drive his higher.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so consumed by lust. But still he restrained himself. Brute passion was good in its time and place, but this was neither. They lay locked in the dark on a stony bed, if he couldn’t give her other comforts he’d give her this sweet wooing instead.

When his desire became so close to pain he couldn’t tell one from the other, and when her body was damp with desire and she moved fretfully beneath him, he knew it was time to stop and begin the glorious end to their play. He rose over her and positioned her, parted her, raised her bottom in both his hands and brought himself to her, to the very core of her.

She tensed. He paused. One last second of his famous control was left to him. Her eyes were wide. “Ally?” he said.

And she gave him a tremulous smile. He entered her in one long swift fluid movement that he couldn’t have stopped if the world had stopped around them. Then he knew, of course. But it didn’t matter anymore. He went on because there was no control now. He moved rapidly to a harsh rhythm far beyond any man’s control as he sought the ecstasy that shimmered at the edges of his last consciousness.

He found it, with a gasp and a cry, and found it again and again as he heaved against her. He went on without her.

There was no way she could follow him now. Suddenly there was nothing for Alexandria to do but stiffen in shocked surprise. The stretching ache of it made her pause in her anticipation, the sharp pain of his thrusts hurt enough to stop all her pleasure. But not her joy. She’d never been this close to anyone, and this
was
Drum
. And she was giving him such enormous pleasure that he’d moved beyond himself. She felt pride mingling with her alarm and pain and disappointment. And fascination. As he went on, somewhere in the completion of their joining she felt the tingling seductive promise of what might have been for her if she’d known more.

He shuddered one last time and dropped beside her, breathing hard. His body was damp with perspiration, his voice hoarse. He cupped her cheek in one hand. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she said, touching his forehead, his cheek, his lips.

He gathered her close, and buried his face in her neck.

She lay looking up into the darkness of the ceiling somewhere high above them. His heart beating next to her was the loudest thing she could hear in their prison. His arms held her safe from the night. She felt at peace, angry only because she knew that when he moved away from her, she’d be afraid again. As her body cooled, the room grew darker as the dying flame in the lantern spluttered, going into a wild fluttering dance.

“I hurt you!” he said suddenly, sounding appalled, raising himself on one elbow.

“No, no, it’s inconsiderable.”

“But you’re weeping.”

She realized she had tears on her cheeks and dashed them away. “No, it’s only that I was thinking. After
that
—what we just did?—it will be even worse to die.”

“Oh,” he said, relaxing, considering her words. He was silent for a long time, then he raised himself over
her again. “Then let me show you how very much worse it will be.”

“What?” She looked up at him, her surprise and hesitation visible in the flickering light.

“No, we won’t do
that
,” he said gently. “There can be too much of a good thing for a beginner, you know, and I’m only human. But you didn’t find what I did in what we shared. I’d like to show you a glimpse of what can be.”

“Here and now?” she asked a little fearfully.

“Yes. It won’t hurt, I promise. If we could do that, we can do this,” he said, his mouth at her ear, his hand drifting over her again. “We can do anything we please until morning. And I think you need something to help you sleep.”

He kissed her again and caressed her, doing everything only for her this time, while he kept whispering, “No, don’t be afraid. Don’t be ashamed. Yes, this is what men and women do too.”

She was embarrassed, she was shocked. She hoped he’d never stop, she knew she wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t put out the fires he started in her body. Then he did, and she shivered and shook, and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

“There, let it go, Ally, yes,” he breathed. “Isn’t it good?”

She could only nod, exhausted by the deepest content she’d ever known. Then, as confused as she was sated, she gave up trying to understand and drifted off into deep and dreamless sleep in his sheltering arms.

He was gone from her side when she woke in the morning.

She knew it was morning because sunlight showed at the edges of the door and slithered through the long cracks in it. Light infiltrated from other tiny chinks and crannies in the walls, suffusing the place with dim dawn. It wasn’t bright. Only less dark.

She rose and clambered into her gown, looking for him as she did. He was standing at the water’s edge, frowning down at it. He heard her stirring. “I think I know what to do,” he said without turning his head. “I believe we have a chance. A good one,” he added as he turned and saw her.