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Pride slotted in and made him swallow this rubble flogging his guts. He didn’t know what it was and would thrash anyone who did. “You’re sure you want to give up on all this.” He drew an encompassing gesture to their surroundings. The imprint of contempt on his tone hit her as she snapped up her head and shot him a burning look. Hester showed no sign of attachment to material comforts, but he had to meet a woman who didn’t cling to them.
“No one can give up on what’s not theirs.” The vehemence added to the rubble roiling in him. Had she asked he’d have given anything and everything she might wish. He’d have settled her for life, bought her a house in Mayfair, paid for books, jewels, art, and taken her to the moon and whatever else the hell he might think of.
“I gifted them to you, it’s all yours.” He emphasized.
If possible, she became even more rigid, a magnificent statue emerging from the sloshing sea contained in her eyes. The haughtiness that tilted her chin up wasn’t regal, regal was feeble, vulgar. It was downright imperial. Katherine the Great and Messalina wrapped in one.
And he wanted nothing more than to carry her to bed and worship every inch of her. Breach the marble on the surface and delve in the warm, responsive woman beneath. She might be an actress, but this was no act even if he’d not seen her like this before.
“I don’t want anything.” The coldness turned to frost.
He looked at her and, through the haze of these foreign emotions she incited in him, he wondered if she had another reason for this preposterousness other than a man. “Are you with child?” Most mistresses understood that if that should be the case they were in for a rough ride, and despair caused people to make wild decisions.
The possibility of a child nearly doubled him over with more strange reactions. He’d protect any child of his, though if it came from her, he’d treasure it. In one year, there had had no sign of her getting with child. For an unfathomable reason, he’d not taken any precautions. Perhaps he had not, because touching her caused him to forget king, country, and his wits.
The question plunged in Hester like a boulder in a deep river. One minute, the waters ran down to the ocean already in turmoil, the other everything overflowed and whirled. There wasn’t the remotest probability of that. In all this time revelling in the joys of the bedchamber, being in the family way didn’t happen. Every month, fear and expectation had twined in her only to be disabused by the stains of her bleeding. She didn’t have the faintest idea of what she’d do if that came to pass, but the notion melted her insides with tenderness. During these months, she wondered if the cause there had not been any news on that front might be barrenness. Hers.
“No.” She blurted, trying to disguise the disappointment at a possible inability to conceive.
Drake abruptly gave her his back as she wondered if he aimed at hiding his relief. After a heartbeat of silence, he pivoted to her again. “Why this?” The quiet question came laden with how ludicrous he thought it.
Her eyes bulged on him and she would have sold her soul not to answer and lay bare how affected she’d been by the gossip. It crossed her mind to lie, say that she didn't welcome his attentions anymore. Say that she would move on and focus on the theatre. Find someone and settle down even. But the single truth, the one she didn't want out, was that he and another woman together disgusted her, unleashed so much bile, and rage, and hopelessness she possessed no words to describe it.
A deep breath gave her courage to draw slight nonchalant shrug. “The whole town is abuzz with your impending betrothal.”
Long fingers raked through his wavy brown hair and an ugly imprecation escaped his expert mouth. The memory of what that mouth had taught her, had incited her surrender until she’d begged for more, made heat course through her. “Betrothal? To whom?”
Hester would have laughed if those two laconic questions didn’t soar her rage to out-of-control heights. How could he ask when everyone knew? If he insulted her intelligence by trying to pretend he had nothing to do with it, she’d be hard-pressed not to react physically.
“Don’t fake ignorance!” She accused.
He cast her a hard gaze. “I’m not. I don’t lie as you are well aware.”
True, he didn't. He didn't lie when he approached her at the theatre after the play she acted in finished, and invited her to dine at his townhouse, to hear a blatant refusal. He didn't as, the next day, flowers in hand, renewed the invitation with a wicked glint in those luminous brandy eyes. Neither did he lie when he offered whatever she wished if only she accompanied him to one of those licentious places where everything happened.
It didn’t cross his mind to suggest a walk in the park where anyone would see them, not a ride in an open carriage for the same reason. An extended invitation for a garden party, a tea party or some such whimsical ton functions wouldn’t even cross hers. Even a remote tavern didn’t figure in the whole farce. Her role was to lurk in the shadows so his pleasure didn’t suffer shame or limitation.
Though, as he grazed his lips on the sensitive skin of her hand when they first talked, she faltered. And after a rehearsal, in the darkened hallway of the theatre, he towered over her, melted her with his scent, his breadth until she almost begged for a kiss. He lowered his head and took her to heaven. All in the dark, hidden and illicit, because that was where a simple actress belonged. He kissed her to a point after which she’d be willing to accept any terms of his proposition. How stupid!
“Lady Millicent, clearly,” she said as she held her temper by a thread.
The daughter of a duke, said lady would elevate Drake's status and connections to new heights.
Stupid she might have been, but Hester would take this as a lesson. Lords married ladies. Bricklayers married tavern wenches. Lawyers married lawyers' daughters. Actors married actresses. In this patriarchal aristocracy, ranks didn't mix. Not officially, only when the man in the higher rank wanted to bed a woman in the lower one. Because they could, and would, whether or not the woman in question had a choice. Fortunately she, Hester, did. She fell into this willingly, eyes wide open, for the first and last time.
“And you believe them?” Came Drake’s vexed rasp.
Believe? There was nothing to believe, they were facts, proven again and again by the actions of those in power, who abused the less fortunate, for those who had no voice, no chances of being heard. He’d marry a flawless lady like all the snotty ancestors who preceded him.
“A tricky choice of words to be sure,” she dismissed.
“Nothing needs to change.” The veritable eruption his words almost caused her to go on a crazed reaction.
The last thing she’d allow was for him to see how much it, he, affected her. Nothing needed to change. Ha! For him, for the ones in power to continue wielding it, using it to subjugate people, and keep their humble heads low. The pomp and circumstances of royalty justified it. The bowing of the inferiors to the superiors enacted it. The moral lessons in books and plays fed it. But she wouldn’t buy it, not any longer.
Instead of venting her fury, she put on a mask of indifference. This comedy had to end here. She had a life to begin anew, happiness to achieve. No one would hold her back, not even a peer of the realm. She'd consider this year as a one-off and build on it. Learn with it, because she was done with being the pliant woman who served merely for the urges of the moment. He could marry sodding Lady Millicent and go to hell. She'd go back to reality.
Measuredly she walked to the front door and calmly opened it herself as the inferior she should be. "I'll leave in the morning. Have a good night." It nearly killed her to keep her composure and the cold glaze in her eyes, but she did. Crumbling inside with his words and what they meant though, she would collapse at any second.
