Chapter 13
Thirteen
Dear Sisters,
Gentlemen of the ton are ‘dull of tongue and dwarfish.’ Spend time with one and you will find that beyond his pretty words of flattery and handsome visage, he is ‘not worth the dust in which a rude wind blows in your face.’ I will not marry a gentleman of the ton ever again.
Frailty is not my name. Our parents raised us to think, to feel, to love.
Do not short yourself. You will not find such a man in London who can allow you to flourish as our mother did.
She was happy and joyful and our parents’ love was a rare thing not found amongst the ton.
Look at the unhappy wives deep in their cups, seeking pleasure in the dark rooms of any ball, or the many who seek fulfillment at the modiste.
Is that not why our mother fell in love with a quality man of business from the Highlands after two seasons in London?
Be true to your heart. dear sisters, not their silver tongues.
With all my love,
Caillen
—A letter to the Blair sisters at Harding House where they were living under the roof of the Duke of Ross, Nash Harding, and their older sister, Iseabail, who had found a love as cherishable as their parents. One year and one month after the death of Baron Bredlebane.
“Marry you?” She sputtered the word as if it were mud in her mouth. “‘Your kisses are Judas’s own children!’”
His lip quirked. “Darling, I believe the quote you are looking for is from Act Three of As You Like It. “Something browner than Judas's; marry, his kisses are Judas’s own children.’”
“Are your kisses like Judas’s own children?
Do they betray even as they’re given?” Because his kisses were what dreams were made of.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his lips.
Those tantalizing, sensual lips that awoke something in her William had killed.
Rather, had never brought to life in the first place.
Although she had found William’s kisses pleasant enough before their marriage, they lacked a tenderness that was inherent with the man holding her in his arms, with his large hands kneading her buttocks even as they spoke, driving her mad with a desire she had been incapable of feeling—until him.
She watched every word form on his lips, mesmerized by the strength and conviction behind them.
“No, they are everything that is real. For the first time in my life, my kisses are full of meaning. Perhaps you should use a different quote from As You Like It and ask me to marry you.”
She really shouldn’t ask. It didn’t matter. The answer to marriage was an absolute no. She would not trust a man of the ton ever again. They were full of falsehoods and lies. Yet, she was unable to stop herself from her query. “If I were to ask, what quote would I use?”
Simon cleared his throat, batted his eyes and pursed his lips in what a Shakespearean actor would claim was the visage of a snobbish woman of the ton.
The fact that their lower bodies were still entangled and his arousal was driving her mad with longing deep in her core, did not help his portrayal of her.
The expression on his face was everything his hard masculine body was not.
“‘I must tell you friendly in your ear,’” he bent over and whispered, “‘Sell when you can,’ Simon. ‘You are not for all markets.’”
She laughed and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest as she rubbed the front of his shirt.
She had never truly admired his form while she bathed him in his sick bed.
That had been an act of caring, not admiration, but now, feeling the hard lean muscles across the wide expanse of his chest and hearing the strong, steady rhythm of his heart against her ear made her want to explore more of this man in a way she had never done before.
Except what made her want him more than anything, was the unique bond they shared.
The ease in which they spoke. The arguments they couldn’t seem to avoid and the manner in which they had each cared for the other, without expecting anything in return.
“We are perhaps the only two persons on earth to appreciate such a proposal, and yet, that is hardly a proper proposal of marriage.”
“Why not? A gentleman goes on the marriage mart just as a lady does.”
She snorted. “That is utter drivel. Have you been to a ball, my lord? Young ladies are carted out in hordes every season by their mamas and papas, with their hair curled just so, their dresses all virginal white, and manners rapped into their knuckles at a young age so that they may catch the eye of gentlemen nearly twice their age who are inspecting them as if they are cattle. And then a contract is signed between the father and the groom, and the young lady is handed over to the gentleman with only a few final words from her parents.”
“I’m afraid to ask what that final conversation might entail.”
“‘Don’t come back.’”
His chin drew back in horror. “Even my father wouldn’t say that, and he had no scruples whatsoever.”
“My sister Edeen has been volunteering at a home for jilted brides and wives. A lady has no say in whether or not she marries, nor does she have a say in what happens to her after her marriage. The discarded ladies count their blessings that they escaped before they were put in Bedlam.”
His brow drew down, hooding his beautiful brown eyes, that were like deep rich caramel in this lighting. “You will always have a say, and you will have your own money as well.”
“You can’t give me my own bank account.”
“If I could I would, but I will give you a weekly allotment of jewelry for you to sell as you please, on top of your more than generous pin money you may stash at will.”
He was too good to be true. “And my current holdings, the funds I have from my dowry?”
“Will be written into the marriage contract as your funds. I do not require any of it.” He searched her face as if he feared her answer. “Is that a, yes?”
She lifted her head and spoke to the man she loved more than she had realized before that moment. “How is it that a gentleman of the ton, an earl who was pursued by countless women, who is holding me in his arms and stealing my heart with Shakespearean insults cannot be certain of his own worth?”
“That is precisely why the quote is perfect for you to say to me. You, Caillen, are so above me in station.”
Caillen pulled away. “Please don’t ask me, Simon.”
He reached for her hand, pulling her closer than she wanted to be, and yet not close enough. “I was a rogue, I’ll admit, but that was before I met you.”
“That is exactly what a rogue would say,” Caillen started to back away, but he stayed her with a hand to her cheek.
“That is exactly what a man says to the woman whom he wants to spend the rest of his life with. The woman he wants to help raise his children.”
“I can’t have children.”
“We have four children under this roof right now who need both of us.”
“And if William has more bastards scattered across the city?” She deliberately used the word she swore she would never use to make him understand exactly how ugly being married to her could be.
“Then the more the merrier. You forget my upbringing, Caillen. My siblings are just as much my mother’s children as I am. How could I view any child we chose to bring into our household as anything less?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and for the first time in a long time, she honestly was.
She was sorry she couldn’t trust his heart to be true.
She was sorry she would not spend the rest of her life sleeping in a bed next to him.
She was sorry they would not share Shakespearian barbs until they were old and grey, but most of all, she was sorry for the pain she saw flash in his eyes just before he put on the protective mask he used so well.
“Ah, ‘frailty, thy name is woman,’ and not mine heart.” Simon sketched a deep bow before her and then turned and walked out.
It was only when she stood alone, with the crackle of the fire as her only companion, that a tear trickled down her cheek. He had quoted Hamlet not to insult her, but to tell her his heart would always be true.
And perhaps that was something she should believe, because standing there, as the gap between them grew larger and larger, the hole in her heart began to expand, not close.
The vast ache she couldn’t escape grew to a proportion she never thought possible and she did the only thing she could to survive.
She ran. “Simon!”
His footsteps faltered in the doorway to his rooms, and he turned with the slightest glimmer of hope in his eyes.
She didn’t give it time to grow before she launched herself into his arms, not stopping until she was wrapped in his embrace, kissing him with all the love she possessed.
He met her with a fervor she had not experienced before.
It was magical, heart-healing, and glorious in its innocence, a passion grown of love never experienced by either.
Simon stumbled backward into the room and began laughing as he closed the door.
“What is so funny?”
“‘Doubt the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.’”
She began untying his rumpled cravat. “Are we exchanging Shakespeare’s quotes of love now?”
“Only if you feel them as deeply as I,” he responded as he began unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat.
“Will this be a habit of ours going forward?” She pushed his jacket and waistcoat from his shoulders as one, and he pulled them off the rest of the way.
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
She looked up at the gloriously hopeful look in his eyes as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes, for ‘my love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both, are infinite.’”
He kissed her then, his lips sealing hers with a promise of tomorrow and every day thereafter.
It was nothing like the kiss William had bestowed on her when she agreed to run off to Gretna Green with him.
This was more real, more earth shattering, more everything.
The more she’d never found before Simon.