Seven Years to Sin(52)
“Alistair …” Jess turned away abruptly, her free hand gripping the gunwale. Her back was ramrod straight, her head held high. There was defiance inherent in her posture; it won his regard and roused his body. “I feel as if you want me to say something—anything—that will lower your esteem for me or give you cause to retreat.”
Retreat? The very notion was absurd. He was addicted to the pure, innocent feeling of connection he’d found in bed with her. He could no more give that up than he could change the order of his birth. Reliance on anything was a circumstance he’d fought against his entire life, and now there was no escaping it. Leastwise, not for him. “What do you think you can reveal that will mitigate my captivation with you? Enlighten me, so I’ll know what I must hide from you to prevent a loss of interest on your part. Of course, if my whoring didn’t accomplish that, perhaps only proper behavior will make me unsuitable. Perhaps it’s because I’m unsavory that I am useful to you.”
“Stop it,” she hissed, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare. “I don’t care for your tone.”
“My apologies. Did I venture too far toward unacceptability for your tastes? Do you want only moderately aberrant behavior from a lover?”
Yanking her hand free of his grip, she turned away. “I’ll see you on the morrow, Alistair, and will pray that after a good night’s rest you’ll be in better spirits.”
“Don’t dismiss me,” he snapped, fighting the urge to forcibly stay her. He would never use physical force against her, especially not after learning what she’d suffered through in her youth.
Jessica rounded on him. “You are being impossible. Ugly. I don’t know why.”
“I’ve always believed I could have anything I wanted, if I worked hard enough. If I just sacrificed as necessary, made devil’s bargains and concessions, paid outrageous sums … I thought everything was possible and within my grasp.” He silenced the voice in his head that pressed for caution and self-preservation. “Now, I’m faced with one thing I want more than anything else on earth, and I know I can’t buy you or cajole you or force you to accept me. The feeling of powerlessness is one I cannot abide. It shortens my temper and leaves me extremely frustrated.”
Fine lines bracketed her lush mouth. “What are you saying?”
“I want you to start thinking of our arrangement as limitless, rather than finite. I want you try envisioning endless days like today. Mornings waking up in my arms. Nights passing with me inside you. Rides together in Hyde Park and waltzes in front of the ton.”
Her slender hand lifted to her throat. “You would be miserable.”
“Without you, yes.” He crossed his arms. A stiff ocean breeze whipped through his hair. Now it was he who felt rebellious and defiant. “I’m sorry I didn’t present these terms to you in the beginning. I know I spoke of our affair as fitting within a short duration of time. But my intentions—my needs—have changed.”
“I’m not certain I fully collect what your intentions are,” she said carefully. “What are you asking of me?”
“You said you’re no longer concerned with the end, but you still think of it as inevitable. I would prefer you to think of it as avoidable.”
“I thought we agreed that we would remain lovers until one of us lost interest in the other. What more can be done?”
“We can work at this”—he gestured impatiently between them—“thing between us, instead of allowing it to fade and wither. When problems arise, we can address them. If the attraction begins to wane, we can devise ways to reignite it.”
She licked her lower lip. “What would you call such an arrangement?”
Alistair pushed aside the anxiety that threatened to steal his voice. “I believe,” he said neutrally, “it’s called a courtship.”
Chapter 15
Hester drank her tea slowly, making a valiant attempt to keep something in her stomach. Though she was ravenous in the evenings, the afternoons found her still suffering from nausea. “I suggest swapping the ribbons, Your Grace,” she said to the Countess of Pennington. “Try the brown with the blue, and the green with the peach.”
Elspeth looked over her shoulder to where Hester sat on a settee in the countess’s boudoir. “Truly?”
The countess returned her attention to the material and ribbons laid out across her bed. She gestured for the modiste to do as advised, then nodded. “You’re right.”
Hester smiled. While she’d been slightly confused when Elspeth first began making persistent, yet friendly, overtures, she’d come to realize that the countess looked upon her in the capacity of a daughter. It was a role Jessica had filled, and Hester found herself enjoying the maternal companionship. She understood that Elspeth’s need was temporary, part of her re-acclimation to Society after years spent in the country. Hester envied her that idyllic life on the stunning Pennington estate.
“You should try the lemon scones,” Elspeth urged. “I vow you’ve never tasted the like. They melt in your mouth.”
“Thank you. I should like to. Another time, perhaps.”
The countess shook her head and came to her, settling on the settee opposite the one Hester occupied. “Have you tried ginger tea or broth, or both? Either will help to settle your stomach. And be moderate with greasy foods in the evening. Salted water crackers also help.”