Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Andrew woke with an aching head and the disconcerting sense that his bad dreams were lingering just a thought or two away. But right before him, closer than a thought, Jessamine lay in his arms, her hair tangled by his nose.
He froze, hard and wanting behind her. She made everything feel so impossibly easy and difficult all at once.
He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted her, and he had never been so afraid.
Oh, he’d been afraid of losing his men’s lives, and that had happened. But that was a different sort of fear. Most of the men in the army knew of the dangers of war before they set foot in France. They knew there was a chance they might not emerge alive.
But Jessamine… She was everything that was sweet and innocent. She believed that with enough faith and love, anything was possible.
For William, innocent as he was, perhaps that was true.
But how could that ever be true for Andrew? How could someone as broken as him ever contrive to deserve someone as beautiful—as wonderful—as her?
It was impossible.
He was fundamentally damaged. He had killed in the war, and he had let his own cousin die. His friends had died. Last night, he had drunk enough to avoid the nightmares, but what of the other nights?
Men like him did not deserve to have beautiful, loving things in their lives because the temptation was to crush them. The damage was so easily done, and so very long-lasting.
He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. And if he allowed this closeness to continue, the hurt would be unavoidable.
This was a marriage of convenience.
Yet here she was, sleeping peacefully in his arms, oblivious to all the thoughts running through his head. He looked down at her, at the tiny freckles that dusted her nose, the luscious sweep of her lashes against her cheek. Sleep rendered her face soft and innocent, more so than ordinarily.
How could he have this and no more? Was it worth pursuing something else, or should he just accept what he had?
Keep her this close and no closer?
Another impossibility. He wanted her too much.
And by wanting her, he risked crushing her entirely.
“I think,” Jessamine announced over breakfast, “that we should host a masquerade ball.”
Andrew, who had been trying very hard not to think about his wife in any inappropriate attire all morning, started. The image of her wearing the clothes of a shepherdess or Marie Antoinette, or Aphrodite, or any other of the common costumes ladies enjoyed, seared through him.
How was he supposed to resist her if she kept packaging herself in such irresistible ways?
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because I’m a duchess, and strangely enough, I would like to host. We went to Lady Marwich’s ball, and I think that did a great deal to cement our place in the world, but we should host our own.
William will grow up in a household that is well-respected by the ton.
” She sipped her tea. “And a masquerade ball will be the event of the Season.”
Andrew almost wanted to refuse. Not to deny her, but because it had never been his desire to host the ball of the Season, and certainly not to invite the ton into his home en masse so they could gawk at everything.
Then again, she made an excellent point. This was not about him.
William’s future did not wholly rely on their societal standing, but that did make a difference.
And they had done so much to forward that goal; why should they not do more?
“All right,” he said. “When?”
“I was thinking in ten days. That way, everyone has a chance to anticipate it, and we give the servants time to prepare.” She offered him a sunny smile. “What do you think?”
“I can deny you nothing,” he said honestly.
“Excellent. I shall use that wholly to my advantage.”
“I have no doubt,” he murmured, but he found himself unable to bite back his smile. Her joy was infectious. “Do you have a list of invitees?”
“Oh, yes. All the most notable gossips will be there, you may be sure. Anyone who is anyone. And if they insulted us, then we will treat them with particular kindness.”
Andrew felt his entire body go still. At the thought of someone entering his home and insulting either Jessamine or William, rage threatened to swallow him.
“If someone dares come to insult you in my house, then they will not be in my house for very long, Jessamine. You may be sure of that.”
“Oh,” she said merrily, “one look at your face, and they would never dare.”
“I mean it, Jessamine.”
“I know, but don’t you see? Those are the people we must win over the most.”
“No. Those are the people whose opinions will be least likely to change. What they want is a source of gossip, something they can spread among their friends and that will ideally cause some sort of stir when they announce it. Approving of us—liking us—is simply not something that benefits them.”
She reached across the table to lay a hand over his. He glanced down at the contact, half unable to believe that she had done such a thing. Every time she reached out to him, he had to resist the urge to take and take and take.
“These are just the kinds of people who will think to benefit from a connection with us. You forget, we are a duke and duchess now. If there’s something shocking we have done, such as adopting William, then of course that’s sensationalist enough to spread.
But once they understand how firmly the ton is on our side, and how much we like and approve of one another, they will begin to give other factors more weight.
And they will be eager to befriend us for their own gain. ”
The idea of allowing anyone who had insulted them—who befriended them merely for their own gain, who thought to use them with the same breath as they had offended them—irked him almost beyond belief. But he restrained himself from saying anything of the like.
Jessamine looked too happy for him to interfere with that happiness.
“Do as you would,” he said, wishing he had not over-indulged as much and that his head ached a little less. “I trust you.”
Her answering smile was almost enough to quieten the guilt in his chest.
He had failed Rebecca; he had failed everyone else in his life, but so long as he kept his distance, he would not fail her.
Jessamine threw herself into the preparation for the masquerade. Ten days passed like sparkling jewels. Andrew was at times both distant and attentive, but she chalked that up to his dislike of grand social events.
No doubt that went against his philosophy as a soldier.
Never mind. This was more important. She wanted to be accepted. Until coming here and marrying Andrew and being William’s mother—for all intents and purposes—she hadn’t known how much fitting in mattered to her.
It was important that the world came to accept her. They had accepted Rebecca, and Rebecca had entrusted the care of William to her.
More than that, she had been sent to a remote corner of Scotland because her father no longer wanted to deal with her, and although everyone had been kind, she had always been the odd one out. The stranger.
No more. This would be the best, most extravagant masquerade ball the world had ever seen, and everyone would be talking about the event for days to come.
In a fit of generous spirit, she even sent an invite to Baron Lorthey. Perhaps his biggest problem was his lack of acceptance, too. Perhaps all he needed was a little kindness, and he would come to view Andrew with—
Well, perhaps not friendship.
But peace.
And so, when the day of the masquerade finally came around, she felt as though she had done everything right.
Things with Andrew were good, and she had created the event of the Season.
Everything was as it should be. She had invited all the gossips, everyone who would cast judgment over them, and she had even extended a peace offering to their only known enemy.
Rebecca would be proud.
She dressed with especial care that evening, her maid doing up the back of her black, lacy gown.
A mask lay beside her. She was Hel, the Norse goddess of death.
She could have gone as someone beautiful, but somehow—she’d lost a brother, her mother, a friend - but the child in the next room was proof that death could bring renewal as well. The goddess of death felt appropriate.
Andrew had not told her who he had chosen to go as. She looked forward to seeing him.
Her Andrew.
They had still not fully consummated the marriage, but what did that matter when they were so together?
He read her some extracts from his newspaper in the mornings, and he shared in the caring of William.
At night, she lay in his arms, and sometimes they slept, and sometimes they pleasured one another, and sometimes she woke to cold sheets and knew he’d had another nightmare.
One day, he would be free of even those.
Tying her mask around her head, she descended the stairs and through to the ballroom. Andrew had yet to descend, but she wanted to check on all her preparations.
The servants were ready, the footmen prepped with silver trays and glasses filled with lemonade and wine.
Vibrant flowers from the hothouse gave the room a heady fragrance, and she had ordered vines to be tied around the pillars that framed the edges of the room, giving a bohemian touch.
The doors to the balcony were thrown open, letting in a little air.
Everything was perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
The air shifted behind her, and she felt rather than saw Andrew enter the room. Somehow, over the course of the past few weeks, she had become attuned to where he was. If he was in the same room as her, she knew. And if he was absent from the house, she knew that too.
She turned with a welcoming smile and found a man dressed humbly as a shepherd. But not just any shepherd; she gathered from the pouch of stones slung at his belt; he was dressed as David from the story of David and Goliath.
As he took her in, a line appeared between his brows.
“Hel,” she said in explanation. “The Norse goddess of death.”
“Unconventional.” He spread his arms. “What do you think?”
“Far too regal to be a mere shepherd boy.” She stepped closer, into his arms. They closed around her. “Who is Goliath?”
“What, rather.” He pulled away her mask to kiss the very tip of her nose. “Fatherhood is my Goliath. I volunteered to fight, and I will defeat it.”
She laughed. “Fatherhood is not something to defeat.”
“Every obstacle in life is something one might defeat,” he said. “I’m not trying to say I’m waging war against William.”
“Well, if fatherhood looks like this on you, then I say all is well.” Jessamine pressed a kiss to his throat, feeling his pulse increase.
Desire swirled in the air between them. For all the times that they wanted one another, they had thus far done little to assuage that need.
“Are you looking forward to tonight?” she asked.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you slay the gossips of London.”
“You’re still stuck in Rome,” she teased. “This is no gladiator battle. There will be a disappointing lack of slaying involved.”
“You are the goddess of death,” he pointed out.
“And I have power over it. That is the point.”
His face softened. Like always, he seemed able to see through her bravado to the very heart of her fears. She had not been able to save Percy, and she had not been able to save Rebecca, but she would ensure that no harm came to William.
“He’s safe,” Andrew murmured, sliding his arms down to her waist and locking his hands at the small of her back. She loved it when he held her against him like this, as though nothing could ever harm her. “Everyone is safe. They are healthy, and no harm will come to them.”
“I know. I know that. I just…” She took a deep breath. “I know it’s foolish, but being like this—dressing up like this—feels as though it gives me some small semblance of power and control over it. If something happened to him, I don’t know how I could ever live with myself.”
He stroked her cheek. “Then allow me to protect him.”
That was always how it was supposed to be. She would give William love, and Andrew would give William protection and safety.
Except, somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, something had changed. They both now offered protection and safety, and they both offered William love. Jessamine had seen it multiple times as Andrew held the tiny baby, cradling him close to his chest.
Still, the offer touched her, and she smiled, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the mouth. As always, he responded with perfect politeness, his body tensing with coiled energy, with need that she knew he felt for her.
Just let go, she wanted to beg. Show me what you want. Take what you want. Stop holding back.
Then she chided herself for wanting more when he had given her so much.
She would be happy. This was more than she could ever have asked for. This was enough, and in time, even if she didn’t have access to his love, she would have access to that other side of him.
The need.
Yes, she would take that.
“Well then,” she said, leaning back and aching at the expression of ravenous hunger on his face before he blinked and it smoothed into that impassive mask he so often adopted. “Shall we greet our guests?”