Chapter Eleven
Where desire deepens into devotion.
The day started in what was becoming an ordinary but joyous pattern.
Louisa and Dominic made love with reckless hunger, as if their discovery of each other could never be exhausted. Sometimes it was hurried, all fire and grasping hands; sometimes slower, tender, but no less consuming.
Afterward, the rhythm of their days unfolded in the business of the house.
Together they walked the echoing halls of the manor, making lists, checking off repairs, discussing which rooms should be readied first, debating whether to hire two more footmen or another housemaid and a gardener.
By late morning, he disappeared into his study, contracts and correspondence demanding his attention, while she retreated with equal purpose to her little laboratory, the shelves scattered with glass and copper, the air already sharp with potassium nitrate and sulfur.
In the short span of seven days, it became a place she loved dearly.
Nonetheless, desire was never far from her mind.
More often than not, before dinner they found themselves pressed together in the linen closet or half-hidden among the shelves in the library, where the dust on the volumes was the only witness.
He was teaching her, or perhaps she was teaching him, that love could be shared without hours at the ready, or even a bedchamber at their disposal.
Happiness slipped into Louisa’s life in silent increments, so natural she scarcely noticed until it was there in full.
A bit dazed, she began to believe it might last. I love you was on the tip of her tongue every time she looked at her husband, words begging to be spoken.
The only thing holding her back was the caution in his eyes, as though he were still weighing the risk of them.
The day she’d decided to tell him, Louisa was bent over her workbench, coaxing powder into the narrow throat of a retort, when the mixture hissed and spit.
A sharp crack split the air, the table jolted, and she was tossed backward onto the floor.
Her skirts tangled about her legs, glass clattered across the flagstones, and the sharp sting of sulfur scorched her throat.
Pain flared where a sliver had cut her cheek.
She touched the spot and her fingers came away red.
Before she could gather herself, the door banged wide. Dominic filled the frame, his cobalt eyes wild, his boots hitting the stone with dull thumps as he barreled in.
She was already bracing herself on one elbow, irritated more by the loss of her experiment than the pain. “I’m fine,” she insisted, a shaky laugh escaping her, though her voice was hoarse from the smoke. “I may have added a touch too much saltpeter.”
His answer was to sweep her into his arms, silk rustling, as though she weighed nothing. He carried her out into the cooler air, jaw set like iron. She hadn’t often seen him vexed. Irritation, even directed at her, looked good on him.
She was coming to find that everything looked good on him.
“Put me down, Dom.” She wiggled in his grasp with the trifling hope that he’d carry her back into her laboratory and delight her in other ways. It would be the third time there, if her count was correct. “I can’t pause the experiment, or I’ll lose my progress. Unless—”
“You’re bleeding,” he growled, his arms tightening instead of loosening. “No more goddamn chemistry today, Lou. Do you hear me?”
The spark of lust died at once, replaced by anger, hot and swift. “Was that a demand or a request, Dominic Beckett?”
“Demand,” he murmured, arms shaking slightly as he let her slide down his body until she gained her feet.
His heartbeat pressed hard against her cheek through the rough cambric of his shirt.
This was how she liked him best—stripped of society’s trappings, without waistcoat or cravat, nothing between them but his truest self, laid bare to her.
However, she did not like this. His fear turned to command, the edge in his voice making her feel less partner than possession. Did he imagine he owned her? One reason she loved him so was because he’d never acted like he did.
Dismayed, Louisa pressed her hand to her cheek. It smarted, blood sticky against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire in her veins. “You dare,” she whispered, gaze narrowing on him. “A dictate, as if I were one of your warehouse employees to be ordered about.”
The sting in her chest was harsher because she’d been on the verge of telling this dolt that she loved him, and he’d ruined it.
Dominic’s lips parted as he realized he’d said the wrong thing. Typical male, he forged ahead anyway, only making it worse. “As if you weren’t my wife, bleeding in my arms, nearly blown to bits.”
“It was a miscalculation, not a disaster. This has happened hundreds of times.” She lifted her chin, fury stiffening her spine. “I’m quite capable of tending to myself, Dominic.”
“You call that capable?” He pointed to her cheek, the muscle in his forearm jumping. “One slip and you might have been really hurt!”
She drew herself up, brushing shards of glass from her skirt with trembling fingers.
“Better a slip than a husband who can’t keep his promises.
Where’s the man who advised me to hold my breath before saying something I’ll regret?
” She exhaled, blowing a strand of hair from her face.
“You might want to take that breath now, Dominic.”
Her words hitting their mark, his eyes darkened, the threads of gold circling the outer edges glinting. “Lou—”
“Don’t,” she cut in, giving his chest a weak shove. “You swore you would never stand in the way of my work. That you would accept all of me. And yet the first time I make a mistake, when mistakes happen, you think to change your mind?”
He didn’t dispute her point. Or apologize. Or beg her forgiveness by sweeping her into one of his magical kisses. He merely stood there, mulishly fidgeting, his gaze fixed on the thin smoke leaking from the stone cottage—anywhere but her eyes.
Stubborn to the end, she would give him that much, almost as stubborn as her.
Silence stretched, taut and aching, until Louisa turned from him, silk a whisper over flagstone as she gathered herself. “My sister-in-law has invited me to the modiste. Now I have every reason to go. Perhaps London will prove a safer place than Marylebone.”
Louisa didn’t look back to see if her words struck. She didn’t need to. The decision had already taken root, hard and immovable, and with each step away from him it grew stronger.
“Your first marital tiff certainly didn’t take long to occur.
I was two months in before Willie left me.
Lasted about six hours, when you’re going on two days.
Impressive. But you always were the more strong-willed Beckett.
I’m a pushover in comparison. Bessie’s going to be extremely disappointed if you don’t clear this up soon.
” Seated in an armchair before the library’s hearth, Griff stretched his legs with a yawn.
Henry, their six-month-old infant, hadn’t slept well the prior night, meaning his proud papa hadn’t either. His brother appeared ready to drop.
“She nearly blew up that pile of stones out back you recommended I buy for her,” Dom muttered, draining the last of his whisky.
He knew he sounded irrational, but the image of Louisa bloodied and dazed refused to leave him.
What if she were pregnant the next time this happened?
“If my wife had a preference for watercolors instead of pyrotechnics, one of us would be happier.”
He loved her. Had decided to tell her—then ruined everything, as he always did.
But he wasn’t wrong, either!
“Mm. Frustration and fondness, blinding love, wrapped up in one troublesome package. Sounds like marriage. You had to pick a chit who’d eventually bring you to your knees.
” Griff’s grin was lazy, blue eyes close to the color of Dom’s heavy with exhaustion as he saluted his brother with his tumbler.
“So you shouted, said something stupid, and she’s gone.
It happens. One of those gifts is going to overwhelm her ire, you’ll see.
You just have to keep trying. That’s what I do when I’ve made a hash of things.
The Belgian chocolates from that shop on Bond worked wonders last time. ”
Dom’s scowl deepened. He hadn’t shouted, but out of fear he’d said something foolish enough to hurt her. Make her feel as if he didn’t accept every part of her, when he did. He loved her curiosity about life, about science, about him.
He loved her, period.
Once his temper cooled enough to realize the hole he’d dug, he tried to climb out with flowers.
Lilies, roses, hothouse blooms were delivered to his brother’s home, where Louisa had gone in a rage.
He’d even found a damned portable chemistry set in a polished mahogany case—the most gorgeous to be found in England—thinking she would surely be bought back with glass and copper.
None of it worked. She hadn’t returned. Even Rocket had been pouting since she left.
Dom guessed his next step was poetry, when he wasn’t a very able writer.
“Did you say you were eternally sorry in the notes?” Griff asked, his voice thready with fatigue. “Truly, miserably sorry? Dashing-all-self-regard-to-bits sorry?”
Dom grunted, staring into his empty glass. “I did.”
“Jewelry?”
He tapped his glass on his knee, having hoped for better suggestions from a once-celebrated rake. “Some silly necklace isn’t going to impress Lou, though I know gaudy trinkets worked for you back in the day.”
“Indeed they did,” Griff whispered with a sly note in his voice he’d never let enter it in the presence of his beloved wife. “Well, then, tougher measures for your Lou are called for.”
Dom turned to stare at his brother, willing to entertain any suggestion that might bring his wife home.
He was lonely; the house was unbearable without her.
Every corner carried her now—the kitchen where she burned her fingers sneaking a freshly-baked tart, the study where she perched in his lap one morning while he worked, even the linen closet where they had tumbled together, laughing, unable to wait.
They had begun to build a life here, together.
Sighing, he dragged a hand down his face. Anything to ease the gnawing ache inside him. “I’m listening.”
Griff set his glass down, his grin lighting with a trace of mischief.
Even if he’d never admit it, his brother loved a little drama in his life.
“The lock on Louisa’s window doesn’t latch, and we intentionally selected a bedchamber with easy access to that towering elm, you know, the one you climbed on a drunken tear the day you left Oxford.
If she doesn’t want your gifts, well, I suspect she wants you.
Go to her, a surprise attack, daring enough to astound.
After you apologize and vow undying love, kiss the breath from her.
I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Dom.
What you’re feeling, she’s feeling. Being around the two of you is like waiting for lightning to strike. ”
For the first time in days, the tightness in Dom’s chest eased.
What he was feeling, she was feeling.
If flowers and science had failed him, perhaps a midnight climb and a kiss would not.