Chapter Twenty-one
That card … it was more than a blow to the stomach. More than a shot to the heart. More than a lightning strike, or even a grenade. It was a split-second deluge of ten thousand tons of snow. The obliteration of everything. Life as he knew it, replaced by cold, blank, oppressive silence.
For a fraction of time, Julian’s world ceased to exist.
And then it rushed back, in a million crystalline facets. His senses opened like floodgates, taking in every available stimulus. The myriad sights and sounds and smells that typically melded into a patchwork of “city street” sorted themselves out, announced themselves one by one in his consciousness. Especially the sounds. He heard everything. The clop of each individual horseshoe against the cobbled street. Rats scrabbling in the gutter, their tiny claws shredding through autumn’s last few desiccated leaves. The cries of street merchants hawking apples, posies, herbs, newspapers, snuff, and “Ink, black as jet! Pens, fine pens!”
Across the street, some dozen doors down, hinges creaked. An old man coughed and spat.
Julian’s heart pounded through his whole body, beating down the encroaching panic with grim, steady blows.
With frantic composure, he scanned the vicinity. Who? Who knew? Who’d done this?
“Goodness,” Lily said, leveraging his grip on her arm to steady herself. “That was unexpected. Are you well?”
No. No, he wasn’t well, and this was hardly unexpected. How could he have ever relaxed his guard? He was a fool. A bloody goddamned fool. He’d wanted to believe, so badly, that Leo’s death was mere coincidence and he had no mortal enemies. That he’d escaped his squalid past and left it behind to embrace a bright future with Lily. But he’d been wrong, all wrong.
“Julian?” She tugged at his sleeve. “Really, I’m perfectly well. Let’s just go on.”
They couldn’t continue to walk in the open street like this, with Devil-knows-who following them. He needed to get her home, but could he even risk a hackney? The drivers perched atop their boxes peered down at him, vulturelike, their necks sunken into their high, black collars.
Threat menaced from every direction. The wrinkled old fellow with his box of doubtless tainted fruit. The gray clouds looming overhead, squashing them all. Even the wind’s cold bite made him want to snap back.
He trusted no one.
He put one arm about Lily’s shoulders, bent to slide the other under her thighs, and with a small grunt of effort, swept his wife into his arms. As he made his way down the street, he barked at the people before them. “Make way. My wife is ill. Let us pass.”
“Julian,” she insisted, “I tell you, I’m fine. No injury whatsoever.”
He paid her no mind, simply continued striding down the center of the walk, forcing all others to scramble out of his path. It was unreasonable. The behavior of a madman. He didn’t care. This woman was his responsibility, placed into his keeping by sacred vows, and he’d exposed her to danger. Now he was going to personally rescue her from it, if it exhausted all the strength in his body.
If it killed him.
He carried her all the way back to Harcliffe House. After the first quarter-mile, Lily gave up protesting and concentrated on being portable. None of her objections had any effect. Her husband was a man possessed. He didn’t even seem winded from the exertion. His heartbeat thumped against her body, almost preternatural in its unflagging, deliberate rhythm.
Goodness. As they finally approached the square, she made a mental note to save the news of her next pregnancy for a location closer to home.
He carried her up the steps of the house. A footman opened the door, and Julian swept her inside, barely acknowledging the servant or Swift, who stood slack-jawed in the entryway.
“I’m fine,” Lily called out to the butler, as Julian carried her straight past and mounted the stairs. “Don’t be concerned.”
When they reached the door of her suite—now their suite—Julian temporarily transferred her full weight to one arm and opened the latch with the other. Off-balance, he lurched through the open door, kicked it shut, and collapsed against it, still holding her fast against his chest.
She felt his lungs expand with a deep, gasping breath. His knee shook, fluttering her draped skirts. Her hand flew to his face, and she found his skin clammy to the touch. He was so pale.
He looked as though he’d come face-to-face with Death.
“Julian, truly. I understand a bit of male protective impulse, but this is nonsensical. Women have babies every day. It’s hardly cause for alarm.”
He swallowed hard and gave a little nod. “I know. I know.”
Seeming to recover a bit of his strength, he stood once again and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. Straightening, he shrugged out of his coat and paced back and forth, patrolling the bedposts.
“Julian?”
He pushed a hand through his hair and continued pacing, mumbling something to himself.
“Julian.”
He halted mid-step, still staring straight ahead, glaring a hole in the wainscoting.
Lily rose to her knees, pulled off her cape and tossed it aside. Leaning forward, she took him by the wrist. “Come,” she said, tugging firmly.
He gave in with numb resignation, sitting on the edge of the mattress and reclining to join her on the bed halfway, wrapping an arm about her waist. Even in this moment of emotional upheaval, she could tell he was trying to keep his boots off the counterpane, unwilling to muddy the lace. A pang of tenderness wrenched her heart.
“Never mind it,” she said, pulling him down beside her. “Just be with me.”
At last, she had his full surrender. He stretched out alongside her, and they tangled together, holding one another tight.
She tried to calm him, stroking her fingers through his dark hair and pressing kisses to his temple. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand. Parenthood is rather overwhelming to contemplate, isn’t it? I’ll admit to being a little scared, too. There’s so much to be anxious about. Not just the pregnancy and birth, but after. What if our …” Her voice faltered. Perhaps she should have held her tongue, but the words came out anyway. “What if our baby needs me, and I can’t hear his cries?”
With a quick flex of his arm muscles, he drew her close and tight.
Lily took refuge in his strong, secure embrace, allowing herself a few private teardrops. There were so many fears, more than she could possibly express. Fears she’d been tamping down for years, preferring to remain unmarried just so she wouldn’t have to face them. What if she inadvertently neglected her own child, when he was in pain? What if she needed to call out in warning, and her voice failed? There was already deafness in Julian’s family; what if their baby was born deaf, too? What if he wasn’t, and he grew to be ashamed of his mother?
Julian’s arms released her, and he maneuvered back, putting just enough space between them to sign. His leg remained thrown over her hips, holding her close.
“Never think,” he said, his eyes fierce with sincerity, “that I doubt you. You will be the kindest, best, most capable mother to ever live. I am certain of it.”
She nodded. If Julian’s mother could give birth to him in a vacant warehouse and raise him alone in the streets, surely Lily could cope with this. She had a comfortable home; she would have nursemaids to help. Most of all, she had a husband who would always understand, as few people could.
“I tell myself it will all be fine.” She tried to sound braver than she felt. “Of course it will be. I have you.”
His face drew tight.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, suddenly understanding his distress. She smoothed the hair from his brow. “That’s what has you so concerned. What if something happens to you?”
He nodded, closing his eyes and resting his brow against her hand.
“Will you tell me what happened before? With your mother, when she fell ill?”
She recalled his heartrending emotion when he spoke of being jailed and letting his mother die alone. Perhaps if he talked about it, he would feel more at ease. He would see how different matters were now, and how unlikely it was that something similar would happen with Lily.
“Please,” she urged. “I’m your wife, Julian. You can tell me. You should tell me.”
“Yes,” he finally agreed. “You should know.”
He helped her to a sitting position, and they separated, folding their legs and facing one another. Carefully, he undid each of his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves up to the forearm.
“You told me you were jailed,” she prompted. “You ran afoul of the wrong aristocrat.”
“It starts before that.”
She recognized him settling into his lengthy-discussion posture. Arms and hands at the ready; facial features relaxed, ready to lend nuance or emphasis to his words. He went slowly with his story, using both spoken words and signs, repeating himself or offering clarification at her slightest frown.
“The coffeehouse,” he began. “You already know it was entirely staffed by the deaf. That was the establishment’s draw. Gentlemen met there to feel charitable and noble, ostensibly. But other times, to discuss matters they didn’t want overheard, not even by a serving girl. The place offered private meeting rooms for that purpose. Since I worked there and signed with the others, the clientele just assumed I was deaf. I was careful to never contradict their assumption.”
“So,” she said, “you heard things you weren’t meant to hear.”
He nodded. “Honestly, most of the time I paid no attention. I was a boy. Their political intrigues and business affairs didn’t interest me. But one day, when I was fourteen, I brought a tray up to a private meeting room, and I heard a group of noblemen celebrating their scheme to fix a horse race. They were in collusion with the jockeys and several gaming lords. A certain horse was set to win over the favorite, at very long odds, and these men would rake in a fortune.”
“That sounds terribly unethical, if not illegal.”
“Probably both, but I didn’t care. I just wanted my cut.” A wry smile touched his lips. “I knew my mother kept money stashed beneath a loose board in the garret. I went and pried up the board. I found two pounds, three shillings. I took it all, stuffed the coins in a purse, and hurried off to place a wager on the race. The odds were twelve to one. Can you imagine? That meant I’d win five-and-twenty pounds. More than my mother earned in a year. Poor as we lived, I saw this as our chance to taste luxury. For myself, I wanted shoes that fit. At that age, I was growing an inch a month, it seemed, and my shoes forever pinched my feet. So it was shoes for me, and a warmer cloak for my mother. Then something pretty. Perhaps some combs for her hair.” Moisture gathered in the rims of his eyelids. “I planned to surprise her.”
“And what happened?”
“Stupidity happened. Greed happened. There I was, on my way to place this bet. I had two pounds, three. And I thought to myself … why not try for two pounds, four? Before we found Anna’s coffeehouse, I used to beg pennies in the street. I have this ability to reproduce voices, you know?”
She nodded.
“It was how I learned to speak,” he explained. “Since my mother could not. I would listen carefully to well-spoken men and mimic what I heard. Once I hear a voice, I never forget it. As a boy, I would go down on the Strand with the West Indian minstrels, and imitate overblown, pompous men as they passed. People would laugh and toss me a coin or two.” He paused, finding his place in the tale.
“But that day something went wrong?”
“Everything went right, for a while. I’d amassed a bit of a crowd and a smattering of coins in my hat. Then I became too cocksure, and I picked the wrong target for my mimicry. He was a lord, with a bloody enormous manservant who appeared out of nowhere. When he challenged me, I tried to joke my way out of it. He only took more offense. He told his man to take me in custody, said they’d show me down to the Fleet and bring charges of mendicancy.”
“Charges of begging?”
He nodded. “It’s unlawful. But here is where my stupidity reached its pinnacle. I pulled out my purse, shook the coins into my hand. Said, ‘Look here, I have two pounds, three. Why the devil would I be begging?’”
Lily’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. “Oh, no. You didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. I was that foolish. I’ll never forget the smug jubilation on that man’s face when I proudly whipped out those coins. Of course his reply was that I must have stolen it, and unless I handed the purse over to him, he would bring me up on charges of thievery.”
“But you didn’t steal it!”
“I know that. But what judge would believe a smart-mouthed guttersnipe over a lord? This whole world is arranged to value the word of a man like him over that of a man like me. Even with the truth on my side, I had no chance.” A vein pulsed angrily on his temple. “I was a fool, but not ignorant. I knew stealing anything over a pound was a hanging offense.”
“So what did you do?”
“The only thing I could.” He shrugged with defeat and obvious frustration. “I gave up the purse and let him charge me with mendicancy. My sentence was a month in Bridewell. I couldn’t even send word. And during that month, my mother took ill again. Perhaps a doctor could have helped her, but I’d left her with no money …”
He broke off. Lily impatiently dabbed her tears with her sleeve. Julian’s eyes were moist and rimmed with red, but he refused to wipe them or even blink. As if ignoring the tears might make them go away. After a prolonged, stoic struggle on the brink of his lashes, one drop shook loose and plummeted to the counterpane.
Lily longed to embrace him, but she could tell he wasn’t finished speaking.
“I will never know,” he said at length, “what my mother thought of me when she died. I’d argued with her earlier that week. Over everything and nothing, much as we’d argued many times before. Just as any young man argues with his mother when he chafes against the leading strings. I was sorry for it. It was one reason I hoped to surprise her with a gift. But then I vanished, by all appearances having made off with her savings. I tried to get word to her, by sending a message with a boy released from jail the week after I arrived. But who knows if he relayed it, or even if he did, whether she was able to understand.”
He inhaled deeply. When he continued, his manner was listless, resigned. “I have to live with it now. Knowing she may have gone to her grave believing I’d left her alone. That I didn’t care.”
There was no stopping the tears now. Not his, not hers.
“Perhaps …” He stopped to swipe angrily at his eyes. When he continued, his signs were rich with pathos, tugging at her heart. “Perhaps the money could have saved her. Perhaps she would have battled harder against her illness, if she’d known the truth. What if she succumbed because she felt I’d abandoned her?”
“No,” Lily said firmly, not even bothering to sign. “I cannot believe that.” Her beginner’s finger-spelling was too slow and clumsy for this. Besides, she needed to touch him.
She raised her hands to his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs. He wouldn’t look at her. “Your mother was so brave and strong. She sacrificed so much for you. A woman like that would never just … succumb. She would never lose faith in herself, or in you.”
“Lily.” His features twisted with emotion. “Lily, no matter what happens, you must never doubt that I love you.”
“I won’t.” She kissed his brow. “Oh, darling. I could never.”
“If something should happen to me—”
She clapped her hands over his, stopping him mid-sentence. His fear was palpable. She wasn’t sure she could vanquish it completely, and yet she had to try.
“If something should happen to you,” she began, “I would be inconsolable. Devastated. I would not want to go on.” Her fingers tightened reflexively over his. She hated even talking this way, but she knew it was what he needed to hear. “I would not want to go on, but I would. After my illness, I learned to live without hearing. When Leo died, it was as if my right arm had been cleaved from my body. And yet I adapted, found a way to make do.”
She leaned close and pressed her forehead to his. “If you were taken from me, I would feel as though I’d been cracked apart and a piece of my very soul removed. I would never be the same. But I would go on. For you, for our child. For myself. I am stronger than you know, Julian. Stronger than even I know. Life has proved this to me, time and again.”
She spoke the words with certainty, determined to convince him. And as an unexpected benefit, Lily managed to convince herself.
They sat there together, legs crossed on the bed. Both leaning forward, her brow pressed to his. From the side, they must have resembled a gothic arch. But the space between their bodies was hardly empty. It seethed with passion and anguish and love and heated breath. As they slowly leaned in, the space grew smaller, compressing all that emotion into a tense, volatile coil, ready to spring.
They were breathing so hard. Almost in unison. Lily was sure she’d never been so fully aware of another person, another body, another soul in her life. And as one half of twins, that was saying something.
Want, he signed.
Or was it need? They were almost the same gesture, he’d taught her. A flick of the wrist, drawing the hand down the chest and then slightly away. The difference between “want” and “need” was subtle, and mostly in the intensity of expression.
He repeated the sign. Her breath caught.
Need. This was definitely need. I need.
And she knew exactly what it was he needed, because she needed it too.
Buttons. The next minute was all about buttons. The carved horn buttons on his waistcoat, the silk-covered buttons chasing down the back of her dress. The closures of his fall. True nakedness was an unattainable goal—for he still wore his boots, which meant his pantaloons were going nowhere below the knees. They had no patience for the knotted tapes of her stays, and so her corset and chemise remained on, as well.
But they were bared enough. Enough to kiss. Enough to taste. Enough to press skin to skin and feel each other’s heat, each other’s need.
He rolled atop her, hiked her shift, spread her thighs—and thrust home with no further preliminary. She was tight and not quite ready for him, but she didn’t complain. She knew how badly he needed this, to join with her. To feel surrounded and safe. To get inside.
She wrapped her legs over his hips, and he stroked harder, deeper, as though he would lose himself in her embrace. Or dig a trench for them both in the mattress ticking, whichever came first. Moisture dripped from his brow, splashing her chest. Tears, sweat, or some mixture of both. His movements were desperate, tortured. Pained, and a bit painful, too.
She took it all, ignoring the sharp pinch of pain, wondering if he meant to test her resiliency by doing his devil’s best to break her apart.
Take this, he challenged with brutal digs of his hips. And this. And then more.
She would hold together. She could take whatever he gave. But she also had needs of her own, and truth be told, Lily was growing a bit weary of being the object of concern. If it was proof of her strength he desired …
On his next deep thrust, Lily cinched her legs around his and rolled over, reversing their positions and coming to rest atop him. The pantaloons tangling about his knees restricted his ability to retaliate. Even if he wished to, and from the look on his face, she would wager that he didn’t. She had her captive well and happily pinned.
She sat tall, straddling his hips and centering herself on his monumental erection. With a little smile, she told him, “Be still. I’ll take matters from here.”
Obviously bewildered but not at all displeased, he reached to stroke her thigh. “Lily …”
“Now, now.” She flicked his touch away. “I said, be still.”
Placing her hands flat atop his chest, she lifted herself in a slow, torturous glide before sinking onto him again. His resonant groan tickled her palms.
He clutched her hips, nudging himself even deeper.
“Naughty.” Lily tsked, stopping midstroke to remove his hands from her backside. “Don’t you want to see that I’m strong? That I can manage without you?”
His eyes flared with lust, and she knew he’d finally understood.
A thrill of power surged through her. “Hands out to the sides,” she demanded. “Flat against the bed.”
He complied, stretching his arms to either side.
“You won’t move?”
“I won’t move.”
“Promise. Or I shall have to tie you down.”
Oh. Part of him leapt at that idea. How very interesting. Well, perhaps another time.
“I promise,” he said, arching his back. “Anything. Just hurry.”
She grinned. This posture gave her a beautiful view of his chest and arms. His muscles and tendons were taut with the effort of restraint. A sculpture of sensual agony.
Devouring him with her eyes, she began to ride him once more, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm. Each downstroke sent delicious friction just where she needed it. His deep moans of pleasure resonated in her bones.
“Do you see?” she said coyly. “I know what you need. And I know how to take what I need, too.”
With a curse, he squeezed his eyes shut.
As her arousal gathered and built, she increased her pace. She let her hands wander over his chest, tweaking his flat nipples and sinking her fingernails into his skin.
He gritted his teeth. “Lily,” he said, lifting his head just a bit. His gaze dropped to the place where their bodies joined. “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”
“No.” Then with a sweet smile, “I’ll do it.”
She raised her hands to her breasts, long since popped free of her stays, cupping and lifting the globes through the thin covering of her chemise. They were tender and swollen, no doubt because she was with child. Her nipples were so sensitive, just the chafing of the thin muslin shift sent sharp ripples of pleasure to her core. She gave the dark, turgid peaks an experimental pinch.
“God.” Julian bucked beneath her. “You’ll kill me.”
His desperation pleased her beyond measure. Yes, this was what she wanted. To tower over him, rounded and feminine and merciless as a heathen fertility goddess. She was creating a new life inside her. What could be more powerful than that? Never mind protected. She deserved to be worshipped, feared.
Flattening her hands, she slid her palms down her belly, down to where their bodies joined, sending her fingers to burrow beneath the gathered fabric of her chemise. She found that swollen, sensitive nub, covered it with a fingertip.
Then she stilled, resting her pelvis to his, savoring the feeling of having him so deep inside her as she touched herself, circling her finger over her needy pearl. The joy spiraled and spread, and again she began to move her hips, moving up and down on his hard length. She couldn’t look away from his face. And his gaze was riveted to her hand where she pleasured herself. If he’d ever been more transported by lust, she had not witnessed it. His fingers twisted the bed linens as he thrashed beneath her.
Close as she was, she held back. She wanted more. She wanted him to acknowledge her control, beg for his own release.
“Lily,” he pleaded. “God, Lily. I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Yes. Yes.” Her peak came in a hot, dizzy rush. It came, and it stayed, going on and on as he broke form, reaching to clutch her hips and pump his release into her depths.
In the aftermath, she collapsed atop him, panting and shivering with bliss. His arms wrapped her snug against his chest.
“We’ll be fine,” she told him, blanketing him with her body and pressing a kiss to his parted lips. “Just fine. Believe me, Julian. Trust in this. I love you, and you love me. All the hurting is in the past. We have our whole future ahead of us, and it will be wonderful.”
Never had she believed her own words more.
And never had she been more wrong.