Chapter 14 #2
“His ship was waylaid,” Rosalie explained, her voice soft. “He was meant to be here already, but now it may be another three months. We’re not sure. His correspondence has been so irregular.”
Madeline’s heart broke for her friend. It hadn’t escaped her notice the tone of longing in Rosalie’s last letter as she talked of his return. At the same time, Madeline felt what little hope she had kindled inside her snuff out. “He isn’t here,” she repeated.
“And even if he were,” Mr. Burke went on, “He will never marry . . . not even to help out a friend as lovely as you,” he added a little more gently.
Madeline sniffed, fighting the sharp sting in her eyes. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if she wanted to marry the captain. She didn’t want to marry anyone. He was perhaps just the most appealing of her limited options.
“But I do think Madeline’s judgement is sound,” Rosalie offered, glancing over at Mr. Burke. “Someone like Tom would be ideal. Kind and courteous, willing to accept whatever terms she sets.”
He raised that dark brow again. “And what are Madeline’s terms?”
Rosalie turned to her expectantly.
Madeline glanced between them and stifled another groan.
How was she supposed to talk to a man like Mr. Burke about such a topic?
“Well, the money from my dowry would go to my husband, obviously,” she said.
“But the money from Aunt Maude would remain in my control. He would have to agree never to seek ownership of the Leary Fortune. A woman has served as caretaker for four generations. I mean to be my own mistress.”
Burke beamed at her. “Well, look at you.”
“And I . . . I don’t . . .” She fell into silence, her blush burning in her cheeks. She couldn’t possibly say these words aloud.
“She doesn’t want to offer marital services,” Rosalie supplied.
Mr. Burke’s lips parted slightly as his stormy eyes flashed, his proud smile falling. “What never? You expect to marry a man and never fulfill your marital duties? Not even on the wedding night?”
“Burke,” Rosalie warned, drawing his attention with a shake of her head.
But he slapped his glass down. His eyes narrowed on Madeline as if he were trying to see down to her deeper truths. “What do you know of sex, Madeline?”
Madeline gasped, immediately thinking of her dream, as Rosalie rounded on him. “Burke, that’s enough.”
“It’s hardly enough,” he countered. “She’s asking me for help, and I can’t give it without holding all the facts.
She says she must marry within a fortnight.
Fine, I know plenty of eligible bachelors,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“She says she will offer up her dowry but retain control of her own fortune. Still manageable. For what peer would fail to understand that marriage can be a sound business arrangement? It’s unusual, but not unheard of, surely.
” He leaned forward in his chair. “But now she says she will never fulfill her martial duty, which implies to me either that she is deformed in that area—”
“Burke,” Rosalie snapped.
“I am not deformed, sir,” Madeline cried, not quite believing the turn of this conversation.
“Then I am left to believe that these are the words of a virgin girl, rooted in fear,” he went on. “So, I will ask you again: what do you know of the thing you so roundly shun? Have you ever even been kissed?”
“I . . .” She blushed furiously, unable to make her mouth make words. What on earth did Warren say to him? “I don’t . . .”
He gave her a knowing look. “You don’t know anything do you?
” When she merely spluttered some more, he nodded.
“Yes, I thought as much. Madeline, as a friend, I cannot in good conscience let you make this decision without having all the facts. Now, is it my place to educate you on the matter? Of course not—”
“Too true,” Rosalie growled, clutching tight to her glass of wine.
“So, the duchess must do it,” he went on, gesturing at her with a nod.
Madeline’s eyes went wide as Rosalie spun on him. “I will do no such thing! Her mother would murder me if she knew we were even having this conversation.”
Burke grunted and got to his feet. “Utter madness.” He stomped off to pace before the fire.
“How is it possible that this is the way of things? A bright young woman, forced to make a decision that will affect the rest of her life, and she has no idea what she’s even deciding.
What is so wrong about discussing sex with young ladies?
Why must the truth be veiled from them? I’ve never understood it. ”
The duchess sighed. “Burke, it is not—”
He rounded on her. “If you’re about to say ‘proper,’ I swear to god, I will eat my own hat.”
“Well, it’s not,” Rosalie charged.
“How can you say such a thing? You, who sits before us now, round with child. Another babe sleeps upstairs, the product of the passion you share with your husband. Will you really help Madeline bind herself in a sexless marriage before she’s ever even had a chance to know that’s truly what she wants? ”
Madeline’s eye darted between the two of them. How had their conversation taken such a scandalous turn? She’d never seen a man and woman discuss sex so casually.
Scratch that. She’d never witnessed a men and woman discuss sex. Period.
But something in Burke’s anger was soothing Madeline’s anxiety. He was angry on her behalf. He cared. For the first time since she found out about the inheritance, she didn’t feel so alone.
Meanwhile, Rosalie crossed her arms. “What exactly are you suggesting? You expect me to pull out a sketch book? Perhaps you mean for me to demonstrate—”
“Lord, no,” he said with a laugh. But then he stilled. “I mean . . . well . . . maybe.” He grinned. “Not the demonstrations, surely, but you’re a fine artist. And you can certainly paint a vivid picture with words. Enough to explain the mechanics to the girl.”
“Burke, you are mad,” Rosalie declared. “This conversation has gone so far off the beaten path. We are lost in the dark woods, and I must beg that we return to the light.”
But Mr. Burke seemed to like wandering in the dark, for the next words out of his mouth were, “You know, if I were you Madeline, knowing my financial future was all but secured the moment I said, ‘I do,’ I wouldn’t seek out a kind, sexless man to hitch to my plow.”
She found herself leaning forward. “What would you do?”
“Don’t encourage this, Madeline,” Rosalie warned.
But Mr. Burke leaned against the mantle and flashed her a devious smile. “I’d throw caution to the wind and have a torrid affair—”
“Burke, for the love of god,” Rosalie cried, throwing up her hands in frustration.
Lost in the storm of his eyes, Madeline whispered, “An affair?”
“Yes, with multiple men,” he replied, grinning wider now. “I’d let them ravage me and teach me the secrets of pleasure. And whichever ravaged me best, that’s the one I’d marry.”
“Burke, you are impossible,” Rosalie cried. “We came to you for honest help—”
“And how am I not helping? As I see it, I’m the only one helping. You want to keep her in the dark. Honestly, I’m surprised at you, Rosalie.”
“I am just trying to forge a path that will keep her safe, while giving her what she wants. And thrusting her into the world with ideas of torrid affairs is a terrible idea—”
“It’s a brilliant idea! Set for life with a fortune all her own and a husband giving her boundless pleasure?” He huffed another laugh. “She would be a goddess among mere mortals, her own Aphrodite.”
Madeline’s heart was racing out of her chest. This was madness. This wasn’t done. She couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying.
“Madeline, you will leave this to me,” Rosalie directed. “I will find you someone suitable if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll ask James—”
“Oh yes, ask James,” Mr. Burke snorted. “He’s sure to have just the idea for a boring, sexless man willing to be Madeline’s paper husband.”
The duchess and Mr. Burke exchanged a few more barbed retorts as Madeline’s mind spun wildly. Had she been looking at this all wrong? Ought she to consider a man who could be more to her than a business partner? A man of passion and power. Someone to help her run free. Someone to unleash her . . .
Someone to make you feel the way Warren does.
Bees buzzed in her chest at the thought. She couldn’t possibly. Lady Madeline Blaire was quiet and controlled. She was patient, reserved. She was—
NO!
The word screamed through her. Those were all the traits her family wanted her to have.
Demure. Sweet. Submissive. A proper lady always dresses her best—face clean, hair curled, cheeks the perfect shade of blush.
A proper lady keeps her opinions to herself.
A proper lady is witty and obliging. A proper lady does not question her role.
But Madeline was tired of doing the proper thing. Her mind filled with images of Mr. Warren pressing himself against her, his lips on her lips, making her ache with some unspoken need. But she had to push him away. He was a stranger. A laborer. Completely off limits.
But still, she must marry. What might it be like to pick some strong and passionate, yet still kind . . . someone clever and entertaining . . . someone handsome beyond words . . .
She rose to her feet, eyes only for the black-haired devil that spoke with such confidence about pleasure. He was still bickering with the duchess, both heated, hands gesturing.
Madeline stepped forward. “Mr. Burke . . .”
He raised a dark brow. “What?”
Squaring her shoulders, she held his stormy gaze. “Marry me.”