Simply Irresistible (4 page)

It felt like they were both attending a wake in which hope had ended, and there was nothing left to do but rake over the cold ashes and scatter the remains to the wind.

“I won't stay here,” Abby said. “I intend to move to a hotel.”

“Won't that cause more gossip?”

There was a bite to his words that made her look up sharply. Perhaps she was the only one who considered the matter settled after all. Did he need to hurt her, to fight with her so that they ended up hating each other? If that was what he wanted, she was more than willing to oblige him if it lessened his pain.

“I assumed you would prefer to stay here with the people who love you.”

“They love you, too, Abby.”

She didn't reply to that, concentrating on forcing a little of the scalding tea down her aching throat. “You must promise me one thing.”

“What would that be?” His smile was as distant as his frosty blue gaze. “Do you wish me to promise to keep away from you?”

She blinked and bit down hard on her lip. “I . . . hadn't even thought of that. I wanted to ask you not to start drinking or using opium again.”

He stared at her in silence for a long moment and then laughed, the sound harsh. “You do realize you no longer have the
right
to tell me what to do when you are the one who insists on breaking my heart and leaving me?”

“I know, but I'm still going to ask for your word on this.”

“And if I won't give it?”

“Then I would have to assume you mean to go to the devil and blame me for it.”

He looked amused, which made her itch to slap his face. “How would you know what I choose to do if you have no contact with me?”

“Because I can guarantee that Valentin would be after me if you tried to destroy yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow and sat back, “It is interesting how you and Val both assume you can control my behavior, yet both have ultimately chosen to champion your partners' needs over mine.”

And there it was, the gaping hole within Peter that needed to be filled with one true love. A love she was unable to offer him. In some strange way, his pain strengthened her resolve. She slowly stood up and looked down at him.

“Then perhaps it is time for you to go and find someone to love who isn't married to somebody else? Someone just for yourself?”

His skin paled. For a moment, she thought she'd gone too far, but he rallied and gave her a gracious smile.

“What an excellent idea. Why didn't I think of it myself? Thank God I have you and Valentin to set me on the path of righteousness and stop me coveting my neighbor's wife. Don't worry about me, Lady Beecham. One thing you should know is that I'm a survivor.” He inclined his head a frigid inch. “Now, if you will excuse me? I'm sure you have to pack, and I have a meeting at the shipping office. Seeing as my time is now my own again, I intend to keep busy.”

She barely had time to curtsey and he was gone, leaving her staring at the fireplace, a cold, empty sensation deep where her heart had once resided and an awareness that she would never be able to smile again. Knowing Peter existed in the world and not being able to touch him, to hold him, to
love
him would have to be borne. For his sake as well as for hers. But at the moment that seemed impossible....

The door opened again, and for a moment she hoped it was Peter so that she could take back every single stupid word she'd uttered. But it wasn't him. It was Sara, who took one look at her face and held open her arms.

“Oh Abby, I'm so sorry.”

She allowed herself to be drawn into her friend's warm embrace and cried as though her heart would never mend.

When she reached her room, her maid was already busy packing. She sank down into a chair and answered questions as to where things should go without really paying much attention. After a while, she decided to read James's letter, which contained no imminent threat of his intended return but instead told her not to concern herself about the changes he was making to the estate and that they were for the good of everyone.

“I almost forgot, my lady. There is another letter for you.” The maid pointed to the dressing table, where a folded sheet of paper addressed in Peter's distinctive hand lay. Abby opened the single page and read his formal resignation.

“When was this delivered, Betty?”

“Just after you left to see your solicitor, my lady.”

Abby folded the letter and slid it into her reticule beside the one from James. Peter had obviously written it before their meeting, which meant he was as accepting of his fate as she. Then why the need to confront her? What had he hoped to achieve? All they'd done was made each other angry.

But perhaps that was for the best.

How else could she let him go?

Chapter 4

 

Abigail replaced the book she'd been considering at the lending library and turned back to the front of the shop. Her maid followed her out of the door, and they walked along the flagged pavement toward the hotel. It would be foolish to borrow any books when she planned to return to Beecham Hall within a few days. She missed young Jamie so much. And if she was honest with herself, being in London, where she caught the odd glimpse of Peter at social functions with Sara and Valentin, was almost too painful to bear.

She'd completed all her social obligations, visited ancient relatives and made sure that the Beecham name was untainted by any further scandal. She could now return home to her son and live out the rest of her days as a virtuous and unwanted wife. Damn James, and damn Peter for agreeing to show them all how real love could be....

As she entered the hotel, one of the desk clerks approached her and bowed.

“Lady Beecham? There is a gentleman here from a shipping company who wishes to speak to you. He insists that the matter is urgent.”

“Which shipping company?” She hoped to God it wasn't Howard and Sokorvsky.

“I'm not sure, my lady. Do you wish me to go inquire? I have put the gentleman in one of the parlors.”

“No, it's all right. I'll go and speak to him.”

He bowed and took her down to one of the rooms that were available for patrons to rent out if required. A tall young man jumped to his feet as she entered the room. He wore a suit of clothes that were too lightweight for the weather and had obviously been warming his hands at the fire.

“Lady Beecham? My name is Ian Carter.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. How may I assist you?” Abby gestured to the chairs that stood by the fire, but Mr. Carter remained standing. “Would you like some tea?”

She glanced back at the clerk, who nodded and left the room, leaving them alone.

“Lady Beecham, I—” Mr. Carter stopped talking and looked helplessly at her. “I don't know how to tell you this—but your husband, Lord Beecham, is dead.”

Abby wasn't aware that she was rising to her feet until the floor came up to greet her, and she knew no more.

 

 

“Please calm yourself, Mr. Carter. Lady Beecham is quite well.”

Abby opened her eyes and looked up at Sara. Her bonnet had been removed, her head was in her friend's lap and her feet were up on the couch. The sweet scent of lavender surrounded her as Sara dabbed a wet handkerchief on her forehead.

“Sara?”

“Abby? Are you feeling more the thing? Do you wish to sit up?”

“Why are you here?” Abby asked as she gingerly sat up against the cushions.

“Your maid came to get me. We were supposed to be having tea together today, so I was already in the hotel. Don't you remember?”

“That's right. I—I . . .” Her gaze moved away from Sara to the anxious face of Mr. Carter, who was sitting by the fire. “He said . . . he said James was
dead
.”

“So he told me.”

Mr. Carter rose to his feet. “I am sorry, my lady, I didn't mean to alarm you so greatly. I am a complete fool.”

Sara took Abby's hand in a firm grasp. “Perhaps you could tell us exactly what happened, sir?”

“Yes, of course.” He fixed his earnest gaze on Abby. “I'm employed by the owner of the plantation that runs alongside your husband's. Two months ago, there was a terrible fire at the sugar refinery at Trade Winds, and we all came out to help subdue the flames and rescue as much of the cash crop as we could.”

“Not the workers?” Abigail asked, marveling at the calmness of her own voice.

Mr. Carter shuddered. “Anyone who was within the building was already doomed, my lady. It was an inferno. Apparently, Lord Beecham did try to rescue some of his people. He was seen running into the building and . . .” He shook his head. “He never emerged.”

“How typical of James to run the wrong way,” Abby said. “Did you, did
they
, recover his body?”

“We did, my lady. His overseer and my employer both recognized Lord Beecham's pocket watch and the signet ring he wore on his finger.”

Abby breathed slowly through her nose, and black flecks danced in front of her eyes again. Sara increased the pressure on her hand.

“Lady Beecham has not received official word of her husband's death. Has Lord Beecham's solicitor been contacted?”

“I just delivered letters to Mr. Bell from my employer and from the overseer at Trade Winds. I was due home leave and my superiors tasked me with delivering this sad news. When I heard that Lady Beecham was in London, I wanted to give her the news in person.” He swallowed hard. “Lord Beecham was always very kind to me.”

“Thank you,” Abby managed. “It was good of you to think of me.”

“Lord Beecham always spoke of you with immense respect and admiration, my lady.”

Abby nodded. “He was a worthy man.”

Sara rose from the couch, and Mr. Carter stood, too. “Are you staying at this hotel, Mr. Carter?”

“No, my lady. I have family in Mayfair. I haven't seen them for almost a year.” His eagerness to be gone was almost palpable.

“Well, we appreciate your attention to this sad matter and regret that we have kept you from your family.”

“It was nothing, my lady,” Mr. Carter said hastily. “I wanted to do this, and it was scarcely out of my way.” He reached into his pocket and took out a card and then something else, wrapped in a handkerchief. “If Lady Beecham wishes to speak to me further, she can contact me at this address.”

“That is very kind of you.”

As Mr. Carter made a swift exit, Abby reached forward to touch the knotted handkerchief and brought it across to her lap. The linen smelled of smoke and a burned sweetness that caught in her throat.

“Oh God,” she whispered as the last fold of linen fell away to reveal the battered remains of James's watch and the blackened gold of his signet ring. “Oh dear
God
. . .”

“Abby.” Sara knelt in front of her, her gaze direct. “I hope you don't mind. I've already sent Valentin a message and told him I am bringing you back to stay with us. Your maid is packing your belongings, and my carriage will be ready to take us whenever you are recovered.”

She managed a deep breath. “Yes, I will come. But what about Peter? Is he still with you? Will he object?”

Despite everything, she wanted to be with him, to be held in his arms so that they could mourn the person they had both loved together.

Sara squeezed her fingers. “Abby, Peter isn't with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He left from Southampton four days ago on one of the company's ships.”

 

 

 

The ship's captain was staring up at him, his hands cupped around his mouth as his lips moved with some kind of message that the shrieking of the wind made unintelligible. With a sigh, Peter shut his eyeglass, heaved one leg carefully over the side of the crow's nest and contemplated the long and vertical descent to the deck of the ship.

In their twenties, he and Val had thought nothing of shimmying up and down the masts like a pair of monkeys. Since joining the ship two weeks ago, he'd learned that he was no longer quite so nimble, and rather less willing to risk his life. He still loved being at sea, though. It gave him a sense of freedom he'd never found anywhere else.

Avoiding a sudden gust of wind that made the sails billow out, he made his way down to the bottom of the mast, where the captain, Jason Ford, awaited him.

“Land ahoy,” Peter said, grinning.

“We noticed that a while ago.”

Peter shrugged. “I didn't want to come down.”

“I wish I had that freedom.” The captain walked toward the steps leading down to his cabin. “I intend to call in at the port. We'll only stay one night.”

“I'm totally in your hands and have nowhere I have to be. It's quite exhilarating.”

“I should imagine it is.” Captain Ford hesitated. “Do you wish to dine with me again tonight?”

They were now belowdecks in the cramped passageway leading to the captain's cabin and the best of the guest cabins, where Peter was sleeping.

“If you would like me to.” Peter stepped closer, deliberately allowing his body to press against the other man's, and enjoyed the slight hitch of his breath. “In truth, I expect more than dinner. I expect to be entertained.”

“And what would that entail?”

“You, naked on your knees, sucking my cock?” Peter met the captain's flushed gaze. “That would be my first request.”

“I . . . would be more than happy to oblige you, Mr. Howard.”

“Good.” He turned to his door. “And Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Howard?”

“Actually, I'd like you to be naked when I arrive. I'd also expect you to be hard for me.”

The captain groaned. “I already am.”

Peter half-turned to meet the captain's eyes. “Then stay hard and don't touch yourself or make yourself come. If you do that, I will have to punish you.” The sound of voices behind him made him nod. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

He escaped into his cabin and firmly shut the door, his smile dying. Sharing a night of passion with his old friend wouldn't be a hardship. He was skilled enough to give the other man exactly what he craved without his lover knowing that his heart wasn't in it. He'd decided while up in the crow's nest that he had to move on. Had at least to try to get past the huge hole in his heart that Abigail had left behind. He'd even found the courage to admit that she had done the right thing. They weren't happy, and despite all the fairy tales, love hadn't been enough to protect them from the rules and regulations of society.

If he and Abby had been married and chosen to look elsewhere for sexual pleasure, no one in the
ton
would've blinked an eye. But because they wanted to be honest and yet still protect James and his heir, their liaison was considered a threat to the standards of society. If it hadn't been for young Jamie, they could've lived together in sin quite happily and never ventured into the
ton
again. But the title and Jamie's expectations made that impossible.

Peter stripped off his shirt and washed his face and upper body in the cold water from the jug by the basin. It was almost time for dinner. He could smell a hint of burnt chicken wafting up from the galley. Being on Captain Ford's ship was quite strange. If he'd chosen to leave Valentin all those years ago and sailed the seas with his lover instead, he might never have met Abigail and James.

He sat down on his bunk to towel down his torso. Would that have been for the best? He shook his head, even though there was no one there to see it. No, despite everything, he couldn't regret finding out that love did exist, even though it appeared that love for him would always come with complicated and painful conditions.

A knock on the door had him reaching for a clean shirt.

“Come in.”

“Captain's compliments, sir, and would you care to join him for dinner in his cabin?”

“Now, Rob?”

The cabin boy grinned. “Yes, sir. He should be finished with his ablutions.”

“Then I'll join him.” Peter patted the boy on the top of the head and followed him out into the cramped passageway. He knocked on the captain's door. “I think I can find my own way from here.”

Rob winked at his rather lame jest. “Good for you, sir. I'll be off to have my dinner now so you won't be disturbed.”

Peter waited until the boy disappeared down the ladder and went in. Jason Ford was standing naked on a sheet of canvas sail, sluicing the remains of a bucket of water over his head. Peter watched in appreciation as the droplets slid over the captain's muscular chest and stomach, caught on the hair on his chest and at his groin and pooled around his feet.

“I wish I had a fountain like this in my garden at home,” Peter remarked.

Although he no longer had a home, did he? Unless you counted his rooms over Howard and Sokorvsky Shipping, where he'd retired to lick his wounds a month or so ago.

“Mr. Howard!” Captain Ford spun around and almost dropped the bucket. “I thought you were Rob.”

“I should hope not. He's a little young for you.” Peter strolled forward and caught a droplet of water from Jason's cheek on his fingertip and slowly sucked it into his mouth.

“Aye, too young, and far too interested in women to have any interest in an elderly sea captain like myself.”

“Elderly?” Peter studied his friend. “You are in your prime.”

Jason held his gaze. “I am certainly fit enough to take whatever you wish to give me.” He hesitated. “If that is what you wish. I wouldn't want to assume that—”

Peter pressed his finger to Jason's lips. “I am more than willing to use you, Captain. I still remember what you crave. Get down on your knees.”

He waited as the captain complied, noticing that his cock was already hard and ready. Picking up the drying cloth Rob had left hanging on the chair, he started to rub Jason's long hair and then moved lower, wiping the moisture from his shoulders and chest.

“Stand up.”

Peter continued drying him, paying particular attention to his companion's tight arse and the tops of his thighs and groin but avoiding his cock altogether. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit of Jason's cock. Using the rough towel, Peter rubbed it off and then pretended to sigh as more drops emerged.