BLACKTHORNE FELT OVERWHELMED by the unfamiliar emotions bombarding him. He had no experience with betrayal, unless one counted what his uncle had done to his father.
It was the elder son who inherited in England, so even though Blackthorne’s father, Randolph, had been older than his twin brother, Alexander, by only a few minutes, he was the heir. According to Alex, his mother had assured him on her deathbed that he was the elder son, that she’d done her best to persuade their father that he was mistaken in thinking Randolph was born first. But the duke had attached himself to his younger son and refused to accept the truth.
Alex had fought his brother in court to prove his right to the dukedom. But neither their father nor their mother had been alive to attest to anything. In the end, a nursemaid had been brought in, and she’d sworn that Alex was the younger. His uncle had left London and never been heard from again.
Had his father felt this awful emptiness? Had his father wondered how someone so close to his heart could want to hurt him so badly? Had his father felt this growing rage that threatened to erupt in violence? If so, it was no wonder Uncle Alex had run away and never come back.
His best friend had been the raft that kept Blackthorne afloat as Fanny’s illness worsened. Seaton had provided a shoulder to cry on—something Blackthorne had actually done—which had made the difference between mere agony and total madness, as he watched his beloved wife dying before his eyes. Having Seaton there to reassure him that life must go on had kept him from putting a pistol to his head. And after his wife was gone, sharing his memories of Fanny with his best friend had made it possible to move on with his life.
It was devastating to learn that Seaton had been lying to him all along. That his friend had been manipulating him behind his back. That his friend had never been his friend at all.
Blackthorne felt a terrible ache in his chest, as though his heart was being squeezed by rough, uncaring hands. He wanted…He needed…
He found himself blindly taking the stairs two at a time to reach his room. Something was there, someone was there who promised surcease from pain. He opened the door and saw by the light of the lantern that the rumpled bed was empty. He searched the small room for his wife and found her standing barefoot in the corner, her tangled curls flowing over her shoulders, her mouth open wide in shock. She was wearing a chemise and tying the ribbon on a pair of pantalettes. It was unclear whether she was dressing or undressing.
He crossed to her without speaking, hauled her into his arms and held her tight, as though her physical presence could keep his thundering heart from beating out of his chest.
“Where have you—” she began.
He pressed her face against his waistcoat, cutting her off, and said, “Let me hold you.”
She stood rigid in his embrace for a moment, before he felt her arms slide around his waist and her body align itself with his. He nudged her chin up with a forefinger and found her mouth with his. His tongue surged inside seeking comfort and found a sweet haven. He angled her head to find better purchase and plundered the treasure he discovered within.
His wife was no passive partner. Blackthorne felt her tongue in his mouth, tasting, touching, seeking. She caught fire in his arms, tugging at his cravat and tearing at the buttons on his waistcoat. He let go of her long enough to help her, yanking the silk cravat over his head and sending waistcoat buttons pinging across the wooden floor, as he tore off coat and waistcoat and threw them aside.
She shoved his shirt up out of her way, her hands greedy with the need to touch, as he stripped it off. He pulled her close again, pausing only long enough to tear her flimsy chemise in two, so that he could feel warm flesh against flesh.
His hands found their way to the scars on her back and he groaned as he tenderly traced the marks. She froze and pressed her forehead against his chest, her breathing labored.
“Don’t look,” she begged. “Please don’t look.”
“I don’t need to look,” he whispered in her ear. “I see these marks in my dreams. I’ve never forgotten you, Josie. Not for one moment of one day.”
She lifted her face, and he saw the wonder in her eyes, before he lowered his mouth to capture hers. Her arms circled his neck and held him tight, as his hands caressed her.
It never occurred to him to wonder why Josie wasn’t fighting him, why she seemed to need him as much as he needed her. He only knew that merely kissing her and holding her was no longer enough. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed, stopping only long enough to tear off his shoes and socks and trousers and smalls before joining her.
His eyes flared with desire as she wriggled out of her pantalettes and kicked them away, presenting a brazenly naked feast before him. Her arms were open wide, welcoming him as he covered her body with his own, pressing her knees wide and plunging inside her, making them one.
He slid his arms around her, but as he pulled her close, gravity sent him rolling with her into the deep trench at the center of the sagging bed, so that she ended up on top, their bodies still joined.
She looked astonished, as she pushed herself upright, her golden hair tumbling across her naked breasts, her knees bent on either side of his broad chest.
He arched his body into hers and watched as her eyes closed, and her mouth fell open in ecstasy. Her hands slid across his chest, and she looked down at him with passion-glazed eyes, apparently surprised to discover that his nipples had turned into buds as tight as her own. He pulled her close enough to reach her breast with his mouth and suckle, causing her to moan.
Their bodies arched and swayed, the pleasure ebbing and flowing like waves on the seashore. Watching Josie’s face, seeing her wonder and delight, eased the ache in his heart. Then her face changed, and he saw a pleasure akin to pain. She threw her head back as her body began to convulse, and a raw, animalistic sound emerged from her throat. Her breathing became ragged, her body boneless, until at last, she fell forward and lay in a trembling heap on his chest.
He closed his arms around her and turned her under him, his body still pulsing within hers. He held his weight on his arms as he looked into her heart-shaped face, waiting for her eyes to open, waiting for her to come back to herself. She opened half-lidded eyes, and a satisfied, cat-with-the-cream smile curved her lips.
He moved inside her and saw her eyes go wide with amazement. He felt the corners of his mouth curve upward in the beginning of a smile, as her hands threaded into his hair and drew his mouth down to hers. Her eyes slid closed again, as her hips thrust upward, and her tongue came searching. She slid her fingernails down his nape, as her body arched against his. He made a guttural sound as he thrust deep, deeper, until he spilled his seed, and they became one body, one soul, finding a haven of bliss.
Blackthorne slid onto his side next to her, and she rolled into him. He reached for the sheets and covered their sweat-slick, heaving bodies. He pulled her close to his pounding heart, then reached over and extinguished the lamp on the table beside the bed.
He was nearly asleep when she said, “I was worried when you didn’t come back. I thought you might have gone without me.”
He kissed her forehead and hugged her tighter. “I think it’s what I should do tomorrow morning. Leave you here, I mean, while I go ahead on horseback. You can come on the train, once it’s repaired.”
He wanted time to deal with whatever he found when he arrived at the Black Swan, without his wife there to ameliorate the situation. He wanted the chance to yell at his sister like a big brother, rather than treat her with the calm expected of the head of the family. He wanted to confront Seaton with all the fury he felt toward a man who’d been his friend and confidant for most of his life, before betraying him so heinously.
“All right,” she said, snuggling against him. “I’ll wait here. I know you’ll do what’s right, whatever you find when you get there.”
He hugged her close, but he said nothing. His throat was too swollen with emotion to speak.