A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(84)

“I’m not finished with you,” he told her, digging his fingers into her hips. “You do know that, don’t you? I’m going to take you upstairs and strip you of every last stitch of clothing and have you in as many different ways as I please. In crude, animal ways that will turn you pale with shock and then pink with pleasure. And tomorrow, the beggars and foundlings of London will just have to fend for themselves, because my wife will be too exhausted to move.” He raised his head and stared straight into her dark, almond-shaped eyes. “What say you to that?”

She smiled. “How long will it take us to get upstairs?”

Laughing softly, Toby nuzzled the curve of her neck. “I love you. My God, how I love you.”

He couldn’t help but say it. He couldn’t hold it in a second longer. Her fingers stilled in his hair. “Oh, Toby. I—”

“Hush. Don’t speak, I beg you.”

She blinked at him.

Toby’s heart pounded in his chest. This night had been so perfect. If she didn’t love him in return, he didn’t want to know. Not tonight. Heartbreak like that could wait for tomorrow …

but tonight, he would embrace ignorance. If he wanted her to love him, the way that he loved her—it seemed logical that he should first let her know how very much that was.

“I…” He smoothed her cheek. “I’ve never said those words before, to any woman. I’ve never felt this before, for any woman. You’re so rich with love, my darling. You give of yourself so freely to even the most undeserving wretches, and I include myself in that group. When it comes to love, I’m but a pauper next to you, but even we paupers have our pride. Perhaps I have just this one coin to give, but I should like to watch it glitter a bit, before you go burying it under ten-pound notes like the generous angel you are. So for tonight, just… just listen. All right?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Isabel, my heart. My own.” He kissed her tenderly. “I love you.”

Her fingers laced behind his neck. “Toby, take me to bed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

As it turned out, Bel did find enough strength to move the following day. Eventually. Long after Toby had left for the hustings, she dragged herself from their rumpled bed. As she stretched, her body protested with pain. It was the sort of mild, dull ache one typically experienced the day following some strenuous exertion—the muscles clinging to their memories of flexing, stretching, drawing taut. The ache ensured she would think of him and their passion, all day. It was not at all unpleasant.

She examined herself in the mirror, finding other ways in which he’d marked her. Her fingers lingered over a berry-stain bruise at the crest of her right breast. No daring necklines for her today.

She found another small purpling mark, just below her nipple, and she remained there for several minutes, transfixed by its reflection.

It had been a long time since Bel had stood before a mirror thus, contemplating wounds inflicted by love. Not since she was a child. Bruises, scratches … bite marks, on occasion—her mother had given her all these, and more.

El amor es locura. Love is madness.

There had been so many good days. So many lovely hours spent in that quiet, sunlit room. Her mother would brush and plait her hair, all the while humming pleasant melodies and murmuring words of love and praise.

It took only an instant for everything to change. It didn’t matter how good she was, or how carefully she followed the rules. And Isabel knew, because she had tried hard—so very hard—

to be good. In the space of a heartbeat, the spit of a curse, the smack of a silver brush—the madness would take hold. The madness would clutch at anything within reach: clothing, hair, flesh.

Then it would release its grip, just as quickly. So quickly, Bel could have imagined the whole feverish, violent episode to be only a dream, were there no bruises or marks to bear witness. But they hadn’t been a dream, all those years of love twining inexorably with hurt. And last night hadn’t been a dream, either. It had been a revelation.

Toby had wounded her, here—her fingers drifted to her other breast—and here. And this morning, she looked upon those marks without a trace of shame or self-loathing or fear. In fact, she found them thrilling.

Yes, he had marked her in a moment of wild, mindless passion, just as her mother had done. But these marks were different, so different. Everything was different. He’d changed her life, this dear, sweet man who would never lie to her, never let her come to harm, who would risk his life to guard hers. With Toby, at last she felt safe.

Not only safe, but loved.

He loved her. How many times had he told her so, the night before? She’d stopped counting at four. She might have—now that she thought about it—briefly lost consciousness at four. At any rate, it was clear that he’d been wishing to say it for some time, and now she could expect to hear it quite often.

He loved her, and she loved him. And shouldn’t life be wonderful now?

Perhaps it was the first whisper of madness speaking, but as Bel bathed and dressed, she began to believe it could be. Surely her heart was strong enough, surely her love was sufficiently deep. She could devote herself to both Toby and charity. Passion by night, good works by day. Why couldn’t she have it all?

She found herself humming a theme from Don Giovanni as the carriage conveyed her to the printer’s shop, where she retrieved two stacks of Society leaflets bound with twine. Bel scanned one with satisfaction. Augusta’s clear prose described the plight of the climbing boys and articulated the argument in favor of replacing horrific child labor with grown men and modern machinery. And while Augusta’s text appealed to the reader’s reason, Sophia’s deft illustrations pulled at the heart. Now it fell to her, as a lady of increasing social influence, to convert sympathy into action. That was the purpose of the demonstration Friday. And Bel’s mission today, as befitted a lady of influence, was to issue personal invitations. It was time to pay a call on Aunt Camille. Otherwise known as Her Grace, the Duchess of Aldonbury.