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thirty-two

I sabella couldn’t summon much enthusiasm about the imminent journey, and she didn’t understand why.

Travelling and seeing the Mediterranean Sea and its flora had always been one of her dreams. It was summer, and the weather had to be lovely on Mytos. Yet an endless fatigue weighed her down, sucking her enthusiasm. Lawson had efficiently packed everything, stashing light-coloured gowns, parasols, and pretty large hats while Isabella finished a letter for Patrick. She’d postponed writing to him for too long, but he had the right to know what had happened. Although she didn’t want Patrick to say anything to Anthony. That was her duty.

Her parents were drowning her in letters although they didn’t know the truth. Only that she’d been sick. They’d wanted to return to London, but she’d persuaded them not to. She loved them, but they could be exhausting, and she was leaving, anyway.

Lawson served her a cup of tea. “Everything is ready, madam.”

“Except my mood. Why do I feel so tired all the time?”

“Because you think too much about what happened. The duke is right. Fresh air and sunlight will do you good.”

There was a knock on the door. “Your Grace, Lady Helen is here.”

Not even her sister’s visits had helped her feel better. Besides, like her parents, Helen didn’t know the whole truth. Only that a disease had caused Isabella to stay in bed for a while. Time had changed since the Dowager had married, but miscarriages were still little understood.

Helen walked in, stunning in a tight blue gown that exalted her curves. Her cheeks were full and rosy, and her hair shone with a glossy hue. She seemed taller and stronger than usual, even happier.

Isabella caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She looked like the elder sister, aged badly after a bout of cholera.

“I’m so excited for you.” Helen kissed her cheek. “An Ionian island. You must be thrilled.”

She searched for a free chair for Helen, but aside from the stool at her escritoire, the room was crowded with boxes, trunks, and opened suitcases. “We can have tea in the sitting room.”

“Do not worry. Don’t stand on ceremony for me. We can have tea here.” Helen sat at the escritoire in a froth of fabric.

Lawson bowed before leaving.

“How are you and the duke?” Helen asked, tugging at her gloves.

“I’m all right. He’s wonderful. He does everything he can to make me happy.”

“It doesn’t seem to work. You’re awfully pale.”

“You look lovely.”

Helen laughed, a deep, throaty laugh Isabella didn’t remember having ever heard. “I’m so glad I didn’t go to Boston. Since Mother left—” Her laughter died swiftly. “Sorry. How awful of me. I mean…”

She took Helen’s hand. “Don’t apologise for being happy.”

Lawson returned. “I’m sorry to trouble you, madam, but Mrs. Stamell wants to know what Cook should prepare for tonight’s dinner instead of the salmon. She couldn’t find fresh fish at the market.”

“Excuse me for a moment, Helen.” Isabella left the bedroom.

She wasn’t sure she enjoyed taking care of the menu and the other lady-of-the-house’s duties, not at the moment, but the Dowager had insisted, claiming that keeping the mind engaged was the best remedy for melancholia.

After she talked with Mrs. Stamell and chose to replace the salmon with duck, she had to pause before returning to her bedroom. She was breathless as if she’d climbed over one of the hills in the Lake District. Her body wasn’t used to exercising anymore.

When she entered, Helen jolted, a hand fluttering to her chest. She straightened on the stool. “All done?”

She frowned at her sister’s fidgeting. “Yes, sorry.”

She tried to focus on Helen’s chatter about Gemma Bellincioni, an Italian soprano who had launched a new style of hats, but she simply nodded and sipped her tea.

When Helen left, asking her to write from Mytos, she felt guilty at the relief of finally being alone.

Perhaps going to Mytos was a good idea.

* * *

Going to Mytos had been a terrible idea.

On the steamship Adventure , heading for the Strait of Gibraltar, Anthony was holding his wife as she cast up her accounts. The ship rocked right and left, slapped by a storm that didn’t have any intentions of getting calmer. The rocking wasn’t excessive, barely an inch or two per side, but Isabella’s body overreacted, and he cursed himself for the decision to take her on this trip.

“You don’t have to see this,” she said, leaning over the handrail.

“Don’t worry about me.” He put a hand on her forehead as she emptied her stomach.

When she finished, she grabbed the handrail with both hands. Even though they were on the covered deck, the chilly rain splattered against them, and her hair was soaked.

“We need to leave.” He put a hand on her waist. “I’m not sure we should be here during a storm.”

“Here is better than the stuffy cabin.” She leant against him, exhaling. “Where’s Lawson?”

“Doing what you’re doing but sensibly in her cabin.” He helped her along the slippery passageway leading to their cabin.

First-class cabins lined the covered deck, guaranteeing a nice, open view of the ocean that was now boiling with rage.

“Is your grandmother all right?” she asked as he opened the door.

“She’s in the dining hall, having dinner.”

“Oh, goodness.” She clamped a hand on her mouth. “It’s her duchess power for sure.”

He took a towel and dried her face. “I’ve never seen her feel sick. I don’t believe she’s human.”

She sagged on the floor, paler and more exhausted than she’d been in London. “I’m so sorry, Anthony. I’ve caused you nothing but problems, and lots of unpleasant moments involving me being sick here.”

“The first time I’d sailed on a ship, I wanted to die, so sick I was. I understand your pain, but it’ll go away. And going to Mytos was my idea. I didn’t know you suffered the sea so terribly.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Neither did I. I’ve taken short trips on the Thames, but this ship and the sea are another matter.”

He sat next to her. “You should eat something.”

She scrunched up her face. “I’d rather have a tooth pulled out.”

“Trust me, you’ll feel better.” He rose to take the tray with the food he’d ordered for her. “Hot, sweet tea and flatbread. Simple but effective.”

“Are you absolutely sure it’s going to make me feel better?”

“I am.” He poured her a cup and broke a piece of flatbread. “The stomach needs something to do. And you can’t be worse than how you feel now.”

“I’m not sure, but all right.” She did as told and sipped the tea.

He sat next to her, his back on the wall. “I like this gentle rocking. It lulls me to sleep.”

“Gentle? I feel like the floor is going to swap places with the ceiling.”

He laughed. “No, really. This is nothing. I’ve been on board ships when the sea was so enraged that all the cups fell to the floor and I was thrown off my bed. I couldn’t walk straight, and the ship seemed about to capsize at any moment. That was rough.”

“Why are you so good to me?” She chewed a small bite of flatbread. “You could be with the Dowager, having dinner. You could have sent me away. You could have asked for an annulment.”

He brushed a sable curl of her hair from her forehead. “I am where I want to be. You promised not to lie to me again. That’s enough for me.”

She put aside the cup to hug him. “I care about you, too. I do.”

“If you stop feeling undeserving of happiness, your health will improve tenfold.”

“Easier said than done.” She chewed another piece of flatbread.

“I want to ask you something.”

“Anything.” She paused drinking.

“Were you hesitant to marry me because you felt guilty or because of my face?”

“Heavens, Anthony. It was never your face.” She put a gentle hand on his scarred side. “I’m so sorry if my behaviour made you believe that. I was conflicted about what to do. I was scared, and I knew I was being horrible and selfish. But your scar doesn’t bother me.” She traced the scar with her finger as if to make a point.

Hell, her touch.

He wasn’t ready for the absolute shock going through him, so intense it was almost painful. He closed his eyes and leant into her soft palm, trying to remember when he’d last felt a woman’s touch.

Not that he cared about being with any other woman other than Isabella, but the kindness of her touch was overwhelming. The sensation was equal parts pain and pleasure.

“I’ll get better,” she whispered. “I’ll do everything to get better.”

“I’m sure of that, and let’s start with a change of clothes. Your gown is wet.”

“I can wait for Lawson.”

“We’ll be on Mytos if you wait for her. Even my grandmother’s lady’s maid is sick. Wilson is passed out in his bed. It’s a massacre.”

He helped her out of the gown as the cabin rocked gently. She avoided his gaze.

“Uncomfortable?” he asked.

“A bit.”

She unhooked her corset while he steadied her.

In her chemise and bloomers, she was simply stunning. Her smooth skin was the colour of the moon, and her dark hair fell like a silk sheet on her shoulders. He caressed her arm, amazed at how different it felt from his own—soft, smooth, and silky.

“I’m exhausted,” she said.

“Time to go to sleep.”

She circled his neck with her arms and rose on her tiptoes. He held her up from her waist. The ship gave a big jolt—even he couldn’t deny it—and she gripped him for dear life.

“What was that?”

“A big wave.” He laid her down on the bed, but she didn’t let him go, so he went down with her.

Another mighty jolt.

“Is that normal?” She gripped him harder.

“We aren’t going to sink.”

“Honestly, my stomach frightens me more than sinking. I don’t want to be sick again.” Her breath feathered on his neck, causing all sorts of emotions.

“Try to sleep. I’m sure the storm will pass soon.”

As if to contradict him, thunder boomed overhead.

She laughed. He propped himself up on his elbow not to crush her, wanting to see her face while she laughed. She was so beautiful his heart stuttered.

“You need to sleep.” He rolled off her and pulled up the covers.

She snuggled closer to him as usual, and he formed a protective cocoon with his arms around her.

He was happy just holding her.

Everything else could wait.

* * *

The storm had calmed during the night, and in the morning, bright sunlight poured from the porthole. The sea was a blue slab of calmness, all innocence.

Isabella stirred in his arms.

“Good morning.” He released her.

She stretched her arms over her head. “It seems like a good morning indeed. No more jolts, and finally sunlight.”

“How are you?”

Her cheeks were cautiously rosy. “Better.” She touched her belly. “The flatbread worked. I’m almost hungry.”

He beamed. He didn’t remember the last time she’d said she was hungry. “Excellent. We’ll have breakfast together in the dining hall. The view is wonderful.”

She stretched out again, yawning.

Her breasts pressed against the thin fabric of her chemise. He could make out her taut dark pink nipples. The temptation was too strong, and he ran a finger across her collarbone, touching the hem of her chemise. A flush crept over her neck to her cheeks, and her chest rose.

“Sorry.” He started to withdraw his hand, but she stopped him.

“Don’t stop. I like it. Please.” She put his hand on her chest.

Heart pounding, he trailed his fingers lower until he brushed her nipple through the fabric. She let out a soft moan as her nipple hardened. He could spend the whole night just caressing her curves and hearing her breathing.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you,” he said, brushing her breast again.

“Even now? I’m a scarecrow. Thin, pale, and wrinkled, not to mention chronically sad.”

“Even now. I don’t see what you see. I see a beautiful woman who charms me every time she smiles, talks, or simply exists.” He cupped her breast, feeling its softness in his palm.

Her lips flushed red and parted as he rubbed her nipple with his thumb. He slowly opened the front of the chemise, uncovering her beautiful breast. When he touched her again, she arched her back. Little moans came out of her as he rolled her nipple. She squeezed her thighs together.

He could watch her for hours, listening to her moans. When he sucked her nipple into his mouth, they both groaned. He ran the tip of his tongue over the hardened peak, and she tangled her fingers through his hair, pulling it.

“You can touch me more.” She took his hand again and placed it between her thighs.

He slid his fingers past the opening of her drawers to find her deliciously wet. “Does it hurt?”

She breathed hard. “I’m a little sensitive.”

“We should wait.” He went to remove his hand, but she stopped him.

“We’ve been married for a couple of months now, and we’ve never been together in bed properly.”

He rubbed her nipple again. The temptation was too strong.

“You can…I mean, I’m ready. Dr. Norris said you won’t hurt me.” She stroked his jaw, starting a series of shivers down his body. “You’ve been very sweet to me, but I know a duchess must produce an heir and a spare, and that’s the least I can do to repay you for your kindness.”

He stopped touching her, a bitter taste in his mouth. Now he wanted to throw up. “I want to be with you. More than anything. But only if you’re happy, and not because you think it’s your duty as a duchess.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “It came out wrong. It came out horribly wrong. What I want to say is I’m ready.”

Yes, but he wanted her to be eager, passionate, and enthusiastic, not just ready as if she were talking about having surgery.

He brushed her chin with his thumb. “We have time. And I want you to be absolutely sure.” He kissed her cheek and lingered for a moment on her soft skin.

Her eyebrows knit together. She didn’t say anything, but he could almost hear her thoughts.

“We haven’t consummated our marriage,” she whispered.

“Trust me, I’m painfully aware of that. But I don’t want it to be just an act. I want it to be meaningful and beautiful.”

And he wanted her to desire him as much as he desired her.