Silent Surrender (7 page)

How odd women were, to be capable of such a sudden switch. And how odd that her change in demeanor stung him, as though she’d rejected him. He felt a fool now, sitting on the parlor floor with his cock out. By the time he’d gotten up and righted himself, Honoria’s mind was far away, though her body still stood near to him. He waved his hand to get her attention. “You’re finished with me now, are you?”

She smiled kindly and nodded and rose on her tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Yet she was still not with him, and that bothered him more than it would have with a different woman. Probably because she was so fine, a real lady, not a bird he plucked against a tavern wall.

He had been dismissed, just like a servant would be dismissed, so he left her there and headed to his little attic room. It was barely more than a cupboard with two beds squeezed in it, but larger than the room he lived in at the boarding house, so he couldn’t complain. Still, it seemed far more lonely and stifling than his room ever had, and sharing it with the sour old butler had made him glad Honoria had wanted him in her bed the night before.

Ah, you fool. You’ve started to like her.
He would have to do something about that, and right quick, if he meant to forget her once she was gone. Never in his life had he found it difficult to forget a woman and yet here he was, wondering if he could go back downstairs and kiss away the troubled look that had been on her in the parlor.

He supposed it would be lonely, not being able to hear anything. To try it out, he pushed his fingers in his ears and looked about the little room. It still looked the same, but he supposed his temporary deafness wasn’t anything like her permanent state.

Her teacher was mad for her, that was clear enough. So why hadn’t he done anything about it? Why ship her off to France if he was so keen on her?

Truth be told, he would rather think of Honoria opening her legs to Jude every night than withering away celibate in some French school. Or worse, having off with a Frenchman. He thought of the seed he’d spilled in her and wondered what would happen if he got a child on her. Maybe he would have to do the honorable thing, then? He hoped not. He’d never planned to do an honorable thing in his entire life. She would do all right as a wife, probably, and give him lots of fat, squalling children. Worse things had happened to him, he supposed.

That was a fantasy, and not one he could afford to indulge. He had to remember his place, and next time she called on him, he’d have to give her what she deserved, not rut her like a boar. He could be tender, as he had been with her that first time. She deserved that much.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he glanced at himself in the small mirror over the washstand. The same face, ugly as ever, stared back at him, the long swoop of his scar shining pink beneath his eye. He couldn’t see his clothes but he knew how ridiculous he looked in them, like a bear dressed up in ballerina’s costume.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open and Jude’s head popped round. “Am I interrupting you?”

“Interrupting me doing what?” Esau asked, then corrected himself. He didn’t want to sound rude, no matter how he might dislike the man. Jude took care of Honoria. He was a good man, even if he was prickly. “No, you’re not interrupting.”

Jude stepped into the small attic room, ducking his head. He clasped his hands behind his back. “While you were out, Honoria was invited to play cards tonight with some of the ladies in her circle.”

“Ah, so she won’t be needing me, then.” Esau was a bit disappointed by that. He supposed he shouldn’t be greedy, but she was such a sweet thing—

Jude’s spine straightened. The man could put a line to shame, when he got a bee in his bonnet over something. “Whatever she might need from you is entirely between the two of you.”

Chapter Five

The evening at Miss Merriweather’s had gone well enough, Jude supposed as he settled beside the fire in the sitting room. Comfortable with a drop of good port, he was content to drug himself into a sound sleep. He wasn’t certain he could take another night of loud moans and furniture banging around.

The moment the peevish thought went through his brain, he regretted it. He wasn’t pleased at their arrangement, but he could not begrudge Honoria some small joy in this time of sadness.

The sitting room door opened and Esau slipped through, already looking apologetic for something. Never had a man looked so guilty as this one so frequently did, Jude mused, and then he stopped himself. He could not afford friendly feelings toward the man.

“She’s taking a bath,” Esau said, reaching behind his head to scratch the short stubble on his scalp. “She seems…sad. Did something happen tonight?”

Without answering, Jude reached for a second glass and poured from the crystal decanter. He offered the port to Esau, who accepted it but still waited for his damned answer.

Jude would let him have it then, and they could both feel miserable. “She’s upset to be leaving. The other ladies were talking tonight, planning a trip to the seashore. She seemed upset to be left out.”

This worst part had been when he’d had to tell her what her companions spoke of, even though it hurt her. It was his duty, and grossly unfair should he neglect it. He had quickly signed his answer, hating the way the veil of realization had fallen over Honoria as she’d caught up with the conversation. She hadn’t looked sad—no, far worse. Something had hardened about her, she’d gone cold and lifeless as she played at amusement to be a part of them. She knew she would not participate in any trips to the shore. By then she would be long gone, packed off to the school. She would make friends there, of course, and likely have a happy life. It just hurt him to see her sadness at the life she was ending.

But how could Jude make that clear to Esau? Was the man even capable of understanding?

“Are her friends here, do they…” Esau motioned to his ear as he took the chair beside Jude’s.

“No,” Jude said, grateful that the man had abandoned his earlier question. “And it wouldn’t matter. There is a language barrier. I’ve tutored her with the signs developed in America. The signs here are quite different. It isn’t a universal way of communicating. She’s only just learning the British system.”

“Then why didn’t you teach her the way to speak here?” Esau frowned. “Seems like you could have taught her Chinese and it would have been more helpful.”

“When her father wrote to hire me, he didn’t know there was a difference. After I explained it to him, he continued to insist that I tutor her.” Sheepishly, for he hated to sound as though he were bragging, Jude admitted, “I’d come highly recommended by a member of Mr. Gallaudet’s staff whom Honoria’s father met in Brighton, and nothing but the best would do for his daughter.”

“You’re the best, then?” Esau’s observation sounded casual and honest, not a jibe. “Can’t you teach her the way to sign here?”

“I learned some of the local signs when I first arrived, but Honoria has surpassed me in her understanding. There is something about the language that I can’t grasp.” It was a shame, for it would have been quite helpful when seeking out resources in England. “And truth be told, the emphasis on the oral method of education is appalling. The French inspired Mr. Gallaudet’s system, and it seems far more useful in teaching.”

Esau took a sip from his glass and grimaced at the taste of the fortified wine. No doubt he was used to spirits far less sweet. “What happens when she goes to France, then? Will they understand her?”

“The language of American signing has more in common with the French way than with the British way. She’ll do fine there. I liken it to a British person coming to America and struggling with our idioms.” Jude poured himself another glass. He intended to be well and truly drunk when Esau took Honoria to bed tonight. “She’s a quick study with languages.”

“Are you going to stay with her, then, in France?” Esau’s eyes moved to Jude now, almost nervously.

What answer did he dread? Surely he had no interest in Honoria once their arrangement was ended. The very thought of it made Jude uncomfortable. Would Honoria succumb to some foolish notion of love now that she had given her virginity to this man? That would complicate things tremendously for everyone involved.

Jude answered cautiously. “No, there wouldn’t be a need for me there, and I don’t think Honoria would want it. It wouldn’t do to tag along as a nursemaid.”

Esau shook his head. “I don’t think she looks on you like a nursemaid.”

“I don’t think I asked you.” Jude immediately regretted his rudeness. “I’m sorry. This separation is going to be difficult for me, and it makes me uneasy. I’ve known Honoria since she was fifteen. She’s become like a sister to me.” It sounded like the lie it was, Jude knew.

At least Esau pretended to believe it. “Well, you’ll miss her, I’m sure. And she’ll miss you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and then Esau asked, “Why can’t she just stay here? She seems sad to be leaving. Surely her inheritance—”

Jude shook his head and cut the man off. “Honoria’s father was a wealthy man, true. But he sank much of his money into his shipping company. His solicitor, Mr. Poole, owns the business now, as they were partners. He also manages Honoria’s inheritance, on the condition set forth in the will. If she walked away…”

If she walked away, there would be nothing for her to live on. She would end up—well, he didn’t want to think of where she would end up. It wouldn’t be as nice as the school in France, he knew that.

“It’s her money, she should be able to do what she wants with it,” Esau said. “It seems like I’ve heard of a place where there are a lot of people like her. Not an asylum, a real place, an island. But I can’t remember the name. One of the captains we see now and then hails from there.”

“Martha’s Vineyard.” Jude had been there. Their signs were a distinctly different language, but Jude had wondered if Honoria wouldn’t be happier there, where she could come and go as she pleased. Without her inheritance, there was no means of taking her there anyway, so he’d given up thinking about it. “But she’s better off in France.”

Esau looked down at his glass, a derisive curl to his lip. He wanted to say more, would have, Jude thought, but Honoria’s maid appeared at the door, an expression of disapproval pinching her young face. “She’s looking for you.”

“Duty calls, eh?” Esau handed his glass to Jude. “No sense in that going to waste.”

What had drawn her to him, Jude wondered? Esau looked dangerous, rough, and clearly he could be. Honoria had chosen a long-sleeved gown for her evening outing, in defiance of style, to cover her wrists and the marks he’d left there. But there was charm about him, and Jude reluctantly admitted that Esau was not a terrible man. Still, how could she look at him the same way she once looked at Jude? After only two days?

It didn’t matter. She would be in France soon enough and Jude would have to put her from his mind. She wouldn’t look upon either of them with such sweetness again. Perhaps she would find a new man to beguile in France, one who shared her experiences in a way Jude never could.

If he truly loved her, that thought would be a comfort. But his love was selfish, and he did not want her to look at another man the way she looked at him.

It didn’t matter, he supposed as he quickly gulped down the contents of the other man’s glass. She wasn’t for him.

* * * * *

In her bedroom, Honoria rested against the back of the bathtub, trailing patterns of droplets down her arm. The warmth of the fire beside her and the coolness of the water around her were a delicious contrast, and distracted her from the thoughts that had plagued her during the ride home. In the cab she had been seated between Esau and Jude, all of them crammed onto the single bench. It had been a fitting metaphor, she’d thought miserably, as her affection was split so neatly between the two.

Though she could not afford either attachment, what concerned her most was that she could not justify them, either. Jude had rejected her, made it clear that he would never accept anything other than fond friendship between them. Yet still her heart hungered for him. Esau, she had known only two days. Was it intimacy of the body that formed the bond between them? Or the kind of love written of in novels, where true love was recognizable in a single glance? Just thinking the word made her feel guilty. What right did she have to love anyone when she was bound for a life of spinsterhood?

Heavy footsteps echoed through the metal where she rested her head, and she opened her eyes. Esau stood over her, a pleased smirk on his face. The sleeves of his crisp linen shirt were rolled back, revealing his thick forearms and the hair that covered them. His collar was undone and his throat moved as he spoke to her. It was distracting enough that she almost missed the words on his lips. “You needed my services?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. It seemed absurd that she had actually employed a man with the job of pleasuring her. Though she had been bold enough to do that much, she blushed to speak of it openly, so she could only nod.

He grinned at her, the creases beside his eye interrupted by the ugly slash of his scar, and dropped to one knee beside the tub.

“How did you get the scar?” she asked, remembering her manners too late.

He dipped his hand into the water and sought out her ankle to lift her foot above the surface. When he spoke, he looked straight at her. He was making progress there. “In a fight.”

“Boxing?” She held up her fists.

He smiled as though remembering a private joke. “No, a real fight. He wanted to kill me. Went for my eye with his knife, and missed.”

She turned her gaze to his big hands as they slid down her ankle, over the top of her foot, before looking to him again. “Who won?”

“Who’s sitting here?” His smile faded, and he set to kneading the bottom of her foot with his fingers, easing away soreness she hadn’t even felt before. The pressure was so delightful, she moaned in relief.

She mulled over his answer as he rubbed her foot. It was a long time before she dared to ask for the answer she dreaded. “Did you kill him?”