The Strength of Baffin Page 15

  Sighing, she placed the glass on the table and turned to the tray of roasted lamb, cheese and loaf. “I just don’t think I have the appetite for much this morning.”

  “And why is that?”

  She glanced wearily at Mrs. Smythe’s hands as they busied at remaking the bed with fresh linens. What was the woman thinking? Did she suspect-- No, of course not. She sighed again, twisting her hands before her. Since Tethran had left the chamber, she’d started experiencing a form of hollowness inside of her that didn’t seem at all like hunger. She felt void, empty. Wanting. Heat rose in her cheeks as she considered the thought. Jolin could still feel the sensual yet torturous path his hard length had tunnelled within her sex. Thinking over it only made her want him more, now more than she had even before laying with the dratted man. She wanted to feel his hands on her body again, to have his lips on hers…to feel his weight angled ever so scandalously between her spread thighs.

  Christ Jesus. Such pondering was definitely far too wicked for her to be entertaining. She was ruined beyond the pale. She had given herself to a cutthroat, a man who probably had far more scars on his soul than he had on his face. Her father will lose his mind, her mother must undoubtedly be writhing beneath her grave.

  But as Jolin pressed her fingers to her lips, the very lips Tethran LeMark had so diligently--so fervently caressed with his own--she could not, for the life of her, bring herself to regret any part of it.

  She felt a touch on her shoulder and looked up to see Mrs. Smythe staring quizzically at her. “Are you sure you are well?”

  She cleared her throat and nodded. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just…”

  “Yes?” The woman said the word so eagerly, with such force Jolin was starting to wonder what exactly Mrs. Smythe knew.

  “Well, it’s not a question I know how to ask precisely. But…” She glanced at the bed again and swallowed. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t ask as it may be a bit too personal and you might wish not to share seeing that--”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, blurt it out, Miss! I’m no green maiden.”

  Her cheeks burned but she nodded. “But you must start calling me Jolin, instead. I insist.”

  “Very well, then. Jolin, it is. And you may call me Grace. Now what is the question you wish to ask?”

  Jolin held her breath tight, moving towards the bed but decided against it and sat in the chair next to it instead. For many reasons, she wished not to be too close to that bed while she blurted exactly what was troubling her. After shifting in her seat for the umpteenth time, she managed to raise her face to Mrs. Smythe--Grace--and smoothed her palms over her lap with far too much effort than was necessary.

  “Do you…” She cleared her throat so her voice would not break. “Do you…enjoy…coupling?” Grace’s eyebrows shot up instantly so she rushed on, “With your husband, that is?”

  The woman laughed. Laughed! “Great heavens, my dear. With the way you’re blushing, I could have sworn you’d be asking another question altogether.”

  Jolin squirmed in her seat but her curiosity got the best of her. “Such as?”

  She tsked a couple times and perched on the edge of the bed right in front of Jolin. “Such as positions.”

  “Positions?”

  “Why, yes! Positions. There are many ways, and very enjoyable ones too, in which a couple may join during coupling. But I’m surprised you do not know this. Your husband doesn’t look at all like the sort who would be selfish in bed.”

  “I--No. H-he is very giving, I assure you.” Jolin’s neck scorched as the words babbled out of her mouth. Drat it, this was far harder than she’d anticipated. “I was only curious if it was normal…to, er, enjoy the act.”

  Grace patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Some might say it isn’t at all, Jolin. But I say, when a man can love you to the point of screaming your heart out, then that is all passion ought to be. Now don’t be shy; have you ever screamed with joy from your husband’s lovemaking?”

  Jolin swallowed. “Well, I couldn’t possibly do such a thing but I’ve…I have wanted to.”

  “Ha!” Grace grinned and rubbed her palms together. “And that is a good enough sign, my dear. But being vocal is good. And you must give him an idea of what best pleases you…”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Lady Dalila de Gesch smiled fondly down at her daughter, her throat working with emotion as the little girl sketched a picture of what seemed to be an over-large rose garden. Two thick vertical lines illustrated a column, resembling one of which supported the front entrance of the castle, a lone stick figure standing beside it. Or was it behind it? She couldn’t really tell but now, said stick-figure was growing long flowing locks and sporting a smiling mouth. Sprawled on the thick rug, little Cat worked studiously, her tiny fingers working hard to perfect her drawing. Lady Dalila felt her heart tug. Her sweet darling was so full of life and determination; something she herself had very little of these days.

  “And who might that be, sweetheart?” she asked, smoothing a hand over her daughter’s crown of blonde curls.

  “Her name is Jolin.” Cat’s eyes remained fixed on her drawing until she’d managed to properly add a disfigured moon to the sketch. She looked up then, eyes lit with joy. “She’s very nice.”

  Lady Dalila frowned only slightly, glancing at the drawing more closely. “And this ‘Jolin’ wears trousers?”

  Cat nodded, lifting the parchment high and staring at it as if she could not believe she had achieved such an accomplishment. “I saw her the night of Papa’s party.”

  Swallowing, Lady Dalila gave her daughter a tight smile. Her husband’s brazen party had been almost five nights ago, an event she did not enjoy remembering. But it was not as if she had not grown accustomed to such behaviour by now. Her twelve years of marriage to that man was a nightmare and with every passing day of it, she was constantly reminded of her own insignificance as his wife. Her only duty was that of a broodmare. A broodmare that had grown extremely worthless in Viktor de Gesch’s eyes. Dalila supposed she could look forward to being replaced quite soon as she did not think she could survive another birthing. Her dear Cat was the only babe who had survived of her entire seven pregnancies, and throughout all the ordeals, she had almost shared a grave with her stillborns. Her husband was a heartless fiend who deserved a dull knife through his heart but she would never be brave enough to accomplish such a feat. When her own greedy father had dangled her, at the age of nineteen, beneath the alderman’s nose, Dalila had been set against the union from the very start. Even from her lowly station as assistant to a washerwoman within the castle, she had never desired a life of luxury for herself. As a girl, her only dream was to live comfortably enough and possibly gain the attention of a footman or even a valet. So when her father, Darmack Spaniff, had dragged her off one night in her nightrail to be escorted to the alderman’s private chambers, she’d been beyond terrified. She’d been frantic and most reluctant. But her wishes had not mattered. Her wishes still did not matter. And the alderman had brutally salvaged her innocence that night with no care for her feelings. The following morning, she had been ordered to the altar.

  Blinking, Dalila swallowed tightly, grateful that her daughter had returned to her drawing. She would not like Cat to see her pain, her tears. She tried her hardest to shield her from Viktor’s lashing tongue and punishing hand but for how long would that last? How long could she protect her daughter? And when her husband finally decided to cast her aside, how would she support her then? Where would they go? Dalila’s father had died five years past--not that she missed the dreadful man--and she had no other family to call upon for help when the time finally arrived. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to calm her fluttering heart. She must not worry over what she could not control. When the alderman did secure himself another wife, she would survive. Just as she had been doing for the past twelve years.

  “Do you think she’ll visit again, Mama?”

  The sudden jerk back to the present star
tled her. “Who, dear?”

  “Jolin. She was very sad, Mama. Her face was like how your face looks now.”

  Dalila flinched and sat up straight in her chair, trying her best to soften her expression. “I’m not sad, sweetheart. Only a little tired. Perhaps, that was all that she was, Cat. Tired.”

  Cat shrugged her tiny shoulders. “I guess. It was late.”

  Apprehension flooded her throat, almost making her choke. “And you mustn’t do it again.”

  “But--”

  “Catherine! I mean it.” Dalila shifted out of the chair and sunk to her knees, tugging her daughter into her arms. “Do not wander without me or your nursemaid again. Your father would not be pleased if he saw you.”

  It truly hurt her soul to see the burning questions in Cat’s glossy green eyes. But what was she to tell her? That her father did not want her? That Viktor de Gesch hated even the sight of a daughter? No! She would not ruin the sweet innocence in her dear darling’s eyes or corrupt the rosy view Cat had of life. She would not. And however long it would take, she would protect her from the heartbreak.

  “Okay, Mama. I promise I won’t go off again. But could you stay with me tonight? It’s so dark at nights.”

  Dalila smiled and kissed her on both cheeks. Her husband hadn’t visited her chamber in the few days past so she suspected he must be far more satisfied with his whores. Not that she minded at all. “Of course, Cat. And I’ll read that story you like about the princess while we munch on chocolate cake and warm milk before bed. How does that sound?”

  Her little girl’s smile was so wide, Dalila couldn’t help laughing. Her darling Cat. Her heart. Her reason for living.

  Two hard raps sounded on the door to the nursery and Dalila glanced up as it opened, rising to her feet as Captain Carlisle stepped over the threshold. Swallowing, she fidgeted with her hair and then regarded him with as much coolness as she could afford. The man had a piercing stare that seemed to burn through every layer of her clothing.

  “Lady Dalila.” He gave a brisk bow, bending only slightly at the waist, thick brown hair curling over his forehead. He was a handsome man, touches of gray threading through his wavy mane and spotting the edges of his neat sideburns. Carlisle was possibly ten years her husband’s junior and even though his gaze was ever so penetrating and his manner stern, she often found herself wondering if he possessed the same callous soul as the alderman.

  “Captain Carlisle.” She remained where she stood, glancing once at Cat who seemed to be unbothered by or completely uninterested in the captain’s presence. “How may I help you, sir?”

  She noticed his sharp gaze dart to her daughter for a brief moment before clashing back with her own. Dalila wasn’t quite certain she liked the way he regarded Cat…or her.

  “The alderman sent me to fetch you, my lady,” he said. “You are to visit his private chambers directly.”

  So, he had summoned her… A sickly flutter coursed through her abdomen and up her throat. He would try again to plant his seed within her womb. To ram himself inside of her like a dog at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dalila was most certain she would lose the late lunch she had consumed only a half hour ago.

  “Is Papa sick?” The question came from Cat who was now standing, her artwork clutched tightly before her.

  Dalila did not know what answer to give. Of course, Viktor de Gesch was sick. He was sick in mind, heart and soul, and such an ailment could only be cured by swift divine intervention. But she prayed daily that even God would not show mercy to such a wretch.

  “He’s well, Miss Catherine,” the captain answered. “No need to worry.”

  “Oh. Well… Would you like to see my drawing? I--”

  “Catherine!” Dalila almost stomped her foot in outrage. “I’m sure Captain Carlisle has much more important things to do. As a matter of fact, he’s only here to escort me--”

  “I don’t mind at all, Lady Dalila.” His voice took on a slightly amused quality that she did not particularly care for. And to her utter astonishment the towering man sank to his haunches, beckoning Cat forward. “Now let’s see that masterpiece of yours.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, get up, Captain!” She watched in horror as her daughter rushed readily over to him, already babbling on and on about what her drawing was supposed to be. Oh, no. It would not serve at all for Cat to form even an ounce of fondness for any her father’s men. No matter how handsome or willing they were to entertain an eight year old girl. “Captain Carlisle, I do not think my husband will be pleased with me if I do not respond promptly to his summons.”

  The captain looked up at that moment and for a second she thought she saw sympathy in his eyes. But it disappeared in a flash and Dalila breathed a sigh of relief when he straightened to his feet.

  “I believe Her Ladyship is correct, Miss Catherine,” he uttered, one corner of his mouth tilting in the briefest of smiles. “It is a lovely drawing, by the way. You should be sure to nurture such fine talent. You seem to have quite a gift.”

  Cat looked delighted and Dalila was even more annoyed. She’d never known the captain to be so…amiable. And it troubled her. Deeply. Moving forward, she tugged her daughter back into her arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll have your nurse bring you some cookies. I shall see you as soon as I’m through speaking with your father.”

  Dalila just hoped this talk with the man would not last very long. It rarely did anyway. Quick and brutal was always Viktor de Gesch’s preference when it came on to coupling. When she finally slipped into the enclosed corridor leading towards the wing that housed her husband’s chambers, the captain’s presence seemed even more forceful behind her. It was if she could feel his stare piercing straight through the back of her skull. Or maybe the feeling was only an aftermath of the dread she often experienced whenever she was to share immediate breathing space with Viktor. Dalila sighed and straightened her back. She would prevail. She would not crumble. She would survive this. She would not shed one tear.

  “Take a breath, my lady, before you grow any paler.”

  Her teeth gritted all on their own. “Do not pity me, Captain. Your false concern does very little to soothe me. I know my role.”

  There was a brief silence, save for the heavy thumping of his boots and her much softer steps. “I believe the alderman thinks you a feeble creature, my lady, and yet you lash out at me with such force. Are you deceiving him on purpose then?”

  Dalila kept her face firmly averted but the captain’s words did strike a nerve. Was she deceiving her husband? Hardly. If the alderman thought her weak and fragile, then he might very well be correct in his assumption.

  “You think me a fool to admit to such a thing even if it were true?” A bitter laugh sputtered from her throat and she shook her head sorrily. “I’d rather not be the second wife Viktor de Gesch has murdered, thank you very much. If it means being his footstool, then I will do exactly that to protect my daughter and myself, as she would have no one else to love her if I’m dead.”

  Dalila cursed herself for even speaking so much but she had been weighed down with the burden for so long, her emotions were sure to go wild with just the right amount of provocation. And Captain Carlisle was provoking her. Very much. His presence. His voice. His ease at sparing Cat far more attention than her own father had ever done. And those damnable sharp eyes that seemed far too knowing. Far too intrigued.

  God, help her and her sanity.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Captain Carlisle’s hand at her back was oddly comforting as he steered her down the empty hall and towards the large double doors of her husband’s chamber. Before it stood two armed guards who inclined their heads dutifully as they approached. The captain waved a dismissive hand and the two armour-plated men stepped aside. Dalila swallowed. The beast was most likely behind those very doors, drowning in a bottle of brandy and waiting for her to lick his damnable toes. Bile churned in her throat. Death would be a more welcoming sentence.

  “I
won’t collapse, Captain. You may release me now.” The large hand fell from her person but she could still feel an odd tingling in the spot where his fingers hand been. A tingling that she was intent on ignoring. Dalila turned to face him right as they reached the door, noticing as the guards marched away in the direction from which they had just come. Had the captain relieved them from their duty and why? “Thank you for escorting me, sir. Good day.”

  “I believe our alderman may very well be in his cups,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you certain you are alright?”

  Alright? She was too busy measuring just how small the distance between them was getting at the moment. Very close, indeed. Did this man think she would toss her skirts up for him too? Well, he was sadly mistaken! “I believe that you ought to maintain your distance, Captain. It wouldn’t do at all to earn myself a sound beating because my husband’s commander has suddenly lost his sense of propriety.”