Robert watched her, and she tried to remain focused on his eyes, but it was all too much. Her body arched and her head lolled back—and a new pressure appeared between her legs, directly onto that swollen bud, a fierce touch that rubbed hard.
And she seemed to shatter, a stark cry rocketing from her as her body bucked and her internal muscles pulsed with a relentless wave.
Robert called out her name, but shoved her away, lifting her off him in a move that surprised and momentarily horrified her. He rolled away as his body arched repeated, his face buried in one of the pillows.
Then Eloise realized he had just spent himself into the mattress. She touched his shoulder as his breathing eased. “Are you all right?
He nodded but took several more moments before he turned his face out of the feathers. “We”—he swallowed hard—“we should probably not do it that way again. That was a bit too close.”
Yes, I suppose one Timothy is enough.Eloise wanted to say it, but she did not. The implication was all too clear in his words. She sat up. “Well, since we are safe, I suppose we should get dressed.”
Before she could move, Robert grabbed her arm. “That is not what I meant.” He urged her closer, and after a moment, she complied, lying next to him. He stroked her hair. “I think you should have a houseful of children.”
She stared at him, sure she had not spoken. “I do not—”
“But it needs to be a with a man who has finally come to his senses and married you. Given you the home you have always deserved. Not with a man who is living two lives, who is unconvinced he will ever have a home again. An outcast who may shortly be bound for prison.”
“Not even if he is the one she loves?”
The words were out before she could stop them, riding on a wave of disappointment she hoped to cast aside. But there was no taking them back.
Besides... she meant each one.
Eloise bit her lower lip, waiting.
Robert froze. Silence hung between them for several moments, then, almost imperceptibly, his eyes began to glisten.
Then with a jerk that caught her off guard, Robert covered her with his body, his weight pressing her hard into the mattress. His lips found hers, a desperate, driving kiss that sent his tongue delving deep into her mouth. She flung her arms around him, gripping his back, her fingernails biting into his skin. His hands clapped on either side of her face, his fingers spread. As he broke the kiss and looked down at her, wet drops hit her face, which she knew could only be tears.
“Oh, my darling,” he whispered. “If only I could claim you as my own.”
Eloise lessened her hold on him, tracing soft patterns on his back. She did not ask why he could not—he had just stated the reasons—and she knew she would never change his mind. Not now. Perhaps not ever, but definitely not now. Too much lay in store for both of them.
“Then I will merely dream,” she said, “of a day when that may be.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, 19 July 1825
Campion’s Gentlemen’s Emporium
Three in the afternoon
Robert’s afternoon callto Nora Campion had been painful but not as excruciating as he had expected. The house remained crowded with mourners, relatives, and food. Nora appeared to be past the worst of the shock and greeted him with fondness. Hannah, too, had found a center, treating everyone with grace and reserve. Only Prudence had taken to her room, not to be seen. He informed Nora of his plans for the afternoon and made arrangements with her to meet the solicitor on Thursday.
A lot of elements had to be in place before that time. Robert headed for Campion’s Gentlemen’s Emporium, settling behind the big desk to make notes about what he planned to say to all the employees. He asked Gilley and Ophelia to gather everyone at the foot of the office stairs at three. He knew they would have a lot of questions—and more than a few would feel a deep betrayal. Lord Robert Ashton was contrary to everything Robbie Green stood for. He might lose some of them on the pure principle of it—and the deception.
He took off his coat and Highland bonnet, rolled up his sleeves, and began to write. His notes jumped from one topic to the other, and he scribbled wildly, tossing out long passages, rewriting others. As he scratched through one passage, he noticed a smear of ink on the heel of his hand and paused, his mind immediately on Eloise.
After her startling declaration, they had held each other for a long time, talking quietly and making plans for the next few days. He wished she could be with him now, standing at his side as he made these pronouncements, but she also needed to return home, to see if her father had returned from Eton. So they had dressed, had a late luncheon at a nearby coffee house, and he had put her in a hackney for home.
As he had watched the hackney disappear, he knew at his core he had to find a way to end his situation with Lady Lydia Rowbotham. For Robert, this was no longer a matter of marrying a woman he did not love simply to beget an heir. Even if marrying Lady Lydia would help dig his family out of the scandal he had wreaked up on them, another woman—another heart—was now involved, and Lady Eloise Surrey deserved his respect and as much honor as he could bring to the table. Although, at the moment, there was not much of that quality left to proffer. With his own future in complete disarray, he had little to promise Lady Eloise. And he could not yet foresee a solution to his pending betrothal that would not ruin either Lady Lydia or add more scandal to his own family. No one walked away from the daughter of a duke without expecting to spend either a morning on the dueling field or a great deal of time out of the country. No matter what direction Robert turned, he could quite possibly ruin them all.
But any of that would have to wait.
First, he had to get through the rest of Tuesday.
At a few minutes before three, he could hear a low murmuring from downstairs. Going to the window, he saw that the word had reached almost everyone—close to a hundred people, most of whom he knew well. Some stood, shifting and chatting, while others sat on the floor. They had gathered, for the most part, in obvious groups—dealers, doxies, footmen, maids. The boys clustered together, jostling and teasing each other. A few faces he recognized but knew did not work at the emporium had also joined the crowd, including—Robert grinned—a man standing at the edge of the crowd who wrote for two of the scandal sheets. He tried to look as if he belonged, but several of the hell’s employees sent sour looks his way, and one of the guards wandered over to talk to him.
