Chapter Twenty-Nine
The last of her strength left her. Janelle had never failed at anything she worked for.
She might have to sneak around to accomplish it.
She had hidden books and studied in the dark.
She had taught herself to lie and found people who would help her deceive her family.
And she had, bit by bit, created a life in two worlds.
It was hard, this dual existence. She’d appeared at parties right after delivering a baby.
She’d spoken polite nonsense while her heart was still aching from a stillborn birth.
And she’d been pleased as punch at never losing a mother to childbed fever, and yet she’d never told a soul about the accomplishment.
Then she’d met Major Vance, and her life began to unravel. Because of him, she had to choose what she wanted when she was so used to having it all.
With him, she could be Betty alone. No need to live up to some society image of an aristocrat. She could be with him as his wife. He would keep her safe as she worked. Together, they could provide for the mothers of London because she knew he shared her vision.
Or she thought he did. Just as she thought he loved her.
I will not marry you.
Never had she thought she would be the one to propose.
Never had she imagined she would lay her heart bare to a man only to have him refuse her.
And yet she had done it, and he had said no.
Indeed, he had refused her while her bodice lay half undone by his hands.
He had said it after demanding he see the bruises on her body and kissing her until she lay willing in his arms.
I will not marry you.
He didn’t say anything more, for which she was grateful.
He seemed to understand that another word from him would break her, and she was already trembling with the struggle to suppress her sobs.
Instead, he knelt on the floor beside her.
He was across from her, his hands gentle on her arms and his temple pressed against hers.
They were so close that they breathed as one.
She might even think he wept, though she could not see for certain.
She stayed there on the floor, and he with her, while exhaustion overwhelmed her. Too tired to fight, too weary to feel. She sat there and breathed because it was all she could do. And he waited in silence with her.
Eventually, the silence ended. In time, she grew tired of her own anguish. She was not one to remain defeated, even in love, but she also needed to hear it one last time.
“You want me to marry Lord Benedict?”
“Yes.”
“And what of my love for you?”
A pause, then words spoken firmly though his voice broke in the middle. “I am grateful,” he said. “It will sustain me for the rest of my days.”
“Even if I hate you tomorrow? Even if I curse you with every breath I take?”
“Even so.”
She let his words sink in. She understood that even if he did love her, he would not admit it. He had weighed the options of their future, marked what was and wasn’t possible for them, and decided on the best course.
She lifted her gaze to look at him. Her next words came out without conscious thought. “Will you be my lover?” If she couldn’t have him for life, perhaps she could have a piece of him now. Something.
Desire sparked in his eyes. “I ache for you, Janelle. I have thought of little else since the day we met.”
She heard the refusal in his tone, so she voiced his objection before he could. “But your honor will not allow it.”
Hurt flashed in his eyes. “You are another man’s wife.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon enough.”
“There is no love between me and him.”
“But there is between me and him. Would you have me throw away all my self-respect?”
Her heart squeezed as she tumbled even further into love. “No,” she whispered. “I love your honor. I love your strength. You have far more than I.”
“Not true,” he said as she pushed herself upright. He matched her movements, his gaze searching her face. “You are—”
“Shut up,” she rasped. “Just shut up. I don’t want to talk anymore.” She closed her eyes as she pulled out the pins in her hair. “I need a bath.”
He stood up and threw more coals on the fire.
The heat would be welcome. There was a screen behind which she could remove her clothes.
She made her way to that now. Easy enough to strip off her dress, stays, and shift.
These were Betty’s clothes and would be cleaned by Madame Florina.
And here, she saw that Gabriel had thought of everything.
Folded in a neat pile atop a travel bag were Janelle’s clothing for afterwards.
But for right now, she was neither Betty nor Janelle. Neither married nor single. She was simply herself seeking a hot bath after a long day.
She knew he was in the room and part of her wanted to hurt him. Let him see the woman he refused. Let the sight of her naked body fill his lonely nights the way she dreamt of him.
But in this she erred. She was so used to her bruises that she had forgotten they were even there.
Certainly, her body ached, but it often ached and the pain from her beating had passed.
All that was left were the black and green marks on her back because she had curled tight to protect her face and belly.
So she forgot, and he saw when she stepped into her bath.
She heard his gasp and felt a flash of embarrassment. She was not an immodest person, but she regularly saw women’s bodies at the extreme of endurance. She thought of her own form as functional more than an object of beauty or titillation. But now she hunched, thinking she had been too bold.
But then he was at her side, his large hand skimming the edge of her back.
“Who did this?” he rasped.
God, she was an idiot. How could she forget? “It’s over,” she said as she pulled away from him and sank into the bath. “Go away.”
The water felt good. It was hot and cleansing. She wanted nothing more than to relax back into the peace of it. But even as he let her sink into the bath, his eyes scoured her body, no doubt seeing every blemish, ripple, and scar.
She closed her arms down tight and let her head drop forward to hide behind her hair. “Go away Gabriel. I am fine.”
“Who did it?” he demanded.
“My father.” No reason to protect the man. It was a parent’s right to beat his children.
“I will kill him.”
She lifted her chin, flicking back her hair to stare at him. “He will not touch me again so long as I marry Lord Benedict.”
She saw his face strain under violent emotions. His hands were fists planted on the side of the tub. “You tried to end the engagement?”
She shrugged. She hadn’t gotten far enough to suggest it before her father had turned his rage on her, but that had been her intention.
“He has beaten you before?”
She shot him a wry expression. “Not often. Certainly not to excess, by most men’s standards.”
“Not mine,” he said, and the violence in his tone soothed her. She didn’t want him to beat her father. Not really. But the idea that he wanted to made her smile.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“Only the weakest kind of man beats a woman.”
She didn’t argue.
“He will never touch you again. I vow it!”
She forced herself to uncurl. She allowed herself to rest back against the side of the tub knowing that he could see her breasts and belly, her mons and every curve of her body. Because of the light, it would be in shadow, but if he looked, he would see.
“I told you,” she said. “He won’t touch me again now that you have refused me.
I will marry Lord Benedict as arranged. I will honor my marriage vows, and I will use his money to build a place for women.
” She closed her eyes as she envisioned it.
“I will be a countess,” she murmured. “People will call me, my lady. And my house for women shall be called My Lady’s Birthing Place or My Lady’s Hospital.
” She grimaced. “That doesn’t sound right.
Too grandiose. It needs to be something quiet, so no one will notice it.
Something the women know but the men will ignore. My Lady’s…”
“Apothecary.”
She opened her eyes. “That is her place. I will not meet your mother’s terms. She will not dictate to me who I will and will not have in my life.”
He nodded, and yet she saw determination in his eyes. He would find a way to give it to her. She should tell him to forget it. She had no desire for either of them to say one more word to his mother. But she was also angry with him, and so she held her tongue.
She looked at him, her body relaxing in the water, her mind steadfastly refusing to give in to the emotions churning between them.
She would not acknowledge the violence of her father’s beating.
It was a thing of the past. She would not address Gabriel’s rejection.
He had given his answer, and she would not beg him to change his mind.
Her mind was fixed upon the future, and what she wanted to build.
“You really think I can have it. A place to treat all women with respect. A place for good medicines and healthy births.”
He tried twice before he answered. On the third try, he nodded. “I will see it done.”
Of course, he would. Logistics weren’t exciting, but they were the hallmark of any successful endeavor. And Gabriel managed those better than anyone. Hadn’t her fiancé said as much?
“Thank you,” she said.
He broke at that. He gasped as his body convulsed. He gripped her hands and pulled them to his mouth.
“Gabriel?”
“Do not thank me,” he said. “Do. Not.”
It was then she realized that as much pain as she was in, he experienced an equal share. He wanted her. She knew that. And he was denying himself. The reasons didn’t matter anymore. The decision had been made, and he grieved as much as she.
She curled her arms around him, wetting his shirt, and letting their tears mingle cheek to cheek. “Come into the bath with me,” she murmured. “I will not ask for love. I do not even ask for more than your flesh against mine. For a little bit.”
He shook his head. “I will not risk it. You do not know how much you tempt me.”
“As much as you tempt me,” she said. “But in this, we will both be strong. And weak.” She didn’t know what she was saying. It was all jumbled about in her head.
“Let me bathe you,” he begged as he lifted his eyes to hers. “Let me…please.”
She smiled, though the effort brought tears to her eyes. “Of course.” Then she kissed him. She put all her love, all her wishes, and even her most precious dreams into that kiss. As their lips touched, her mind’s eye handed him everything she wanted, knowing he would keep her desires safe.
She gave him the image of his strength behind her as she strained, and their child held between them in the aftermath.
She poured into him the whisper of their children grown and the sight of him walking their daughter down the aisle or meeting their son on equal ground as adults.
And when she broke the kiss, she knew their tears had mingled.
He’d felt what she passed to him. And he’d accepted it while his eyes dripped with loss.
“Gabriel,” she began, but he shook his head.
“Shh. Just let me soothe you.”
She nodded, and at his urging, she leaned back in the bath. He gathered a washcloth and stroked it over her body. Such attention to every inch of her, peppered with kisses, infused with caresses, and finished with a climax that had her crying out while the water sloshed around her.
Then before she could object, he scooped her out of the water.
He set her on a rug before the fire and kissed her as he had the time before.
His mouth between her thighs, his shoulders so wide as he braced her legs apart.
He gave her such pleasure that she could not contain it and her cries echoed in the room.
But then it was her turn. Completely naked, she sat before him and demanded his clothing. “We will share this now, Gabriel. Or I will never speak with you again. I swear it.”
She already knew the pulse and thrust of his organ. It lay thick and hot beneath his clothes. He removed his shirt first while her gaze roved hungrily over his torso. She noted every bulge of muscle and ripple of scar.
“I am going to kiss you everywhere, Gabriel,” she said. “And what my mouth touches, I stake claim. For this night, you are mine.”
“For always,” he said, but she shook her head.
“Do not say such things. You have already refused that.”
He pressed his lips together and said no more.
Instead, he held her gaze as he stripped out of the last of his clothing.
And then he knelt before her, a man naked with his cock sprung up between them.
He spread his arms wide and gave himself to her so long as she did not ask for the loss of her maidenhead.
What a man, she thought. Strong with sculpted muscles and hardened bone. But that was the least of his appeal. His honor pulsed through him with his blood, and his devotion remained in the way he waited upon his knees for her tiniest whim.
She lay him back as he had done for her.
She took her time, washing his body with a wet cloth, bathing him with her kisses, and then teasing him with her teeth.
She learned the ripple of his stomach when she bit his nipple.
She kneaded the strength of his muscles when she blew kisses across his belly.
And she gloried in the power in his thighs when he thrust into her mouth like a man unleashed.
He gave her everything he had to give, and she took it with pleasure.
Until he collapsed in exhaustion, and she curled into his side.
They held each other that night. And they whispered to one another such thoughts.
They didn’t talk about her woman’s place or his role for Lord Benedict.
Nothing of their future and not a whisper of their dreams.
Instead, they spoke of childhood things and lessons taught to the young. She told a tale about escaped pigs, and he confessed to stealing sweets from angry vendors. They shared everything they could of the people they were. And then, well before dawn, he roused them both.
While she checked one last time on the new mothers, he called a hackney. Then he wrapped a dark cloak about her and escorted her down the outside stairs. They said nothing in the dark carriage but held hands while pressed hip to hip.
One last kiss. One last desperate, wishful, anguished press of lips and tongue. Then she ripped herself away and ran to the servants’ entrance at the back of her house.
Two days later, her father appeared for tea with a hideously swollen black eye. He glared at her over his drink, his mouth tight with pain and hatred. If there were other marks on him, she didn’t see them, though he moved with the care of an injured man.
“You will marry Lord Benedict,” he growled at her.
She bowed her head.
“Yes, Father,” she said. “I will.”