Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ I am so terribly confused,” Lydia admitted, shaking her head wearily.

Barbara and Alice sat across from her at the table in her room. She had also contemplated inviting Juliet and Helena, but Lydia decided that she needed to speak to women who were already married. Women who, like her, had not been in love with the men they had married.

Upon their arrival, Lydia had made them swear, not just to secrecy, but also to loyalty. She knew it would be asking too much of them to keep their minds open, but she implored them to listen to her fully. Though they were skeptical at first, both had agreed, and Lydia finally told them everything.

She told them of their first kiss and how it had shocked and thrilled her; how she felt such excitement when they teased and taunted one another until they were right on the cusp of intimacy, and how she would feel both relieved and disappointed when they would withdraw just before giving in. She told them of her reward at the party and her punishment in Ezra’s study.

She had expected Alice and Barbara to interrupt her, gasp, perhaps even start to gather her belongings, but instead, the more she talked, the more they exchanged knowing glances. When she finally finished and demanded to know why they were doing that, she was shocked by their answer.

“Our darling dukes are a rather peculiar breed,” Barbara had said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

“It seems that none of them handle emotions very well,” Alice included, and with a compassionate look added, “especially Ezra.”

“And when they are confronted with them; especially those of affection, they get a little…” Barbara continued.

“Agitated,” Alice offered.

“Precisely,” Barbara agreed.

“Yes, but I feel the same,” Lydia interjected, “Perhaps I am just now starting to accept it a little better, but we are similar in that way. On each occasion when he got too close, I pushed him away, even if I did not want to, until the night of the masquerade. Now I cannot stop thinking about him in that way, but I am also furious with him, and I am angry that he does not want to talk about whatever it is that is clearly unfolding between us!”

“Oh, dear,” Barbara murmured, sitting back in her chair. “It has happened.”

“Even with Ezra,” Alice mused as if amazed, “Who would have thought it possible?”

“What are the two of you going on about?” Lydia demanded.

“Let me just say this,” Alice sighed, smiling at Lydia as she grasped her hand, “Our orphans seem to be all torn up about love. Believe it or not, Ezra is acting this way because he is starting to care for you and that terrifies him deeply.”

“Ezra is not afraid of anything,” Lydia scoffed, but neither of her friends joined her.

“For a man that feels almost nothing at all, feeling anything can be terrifying,” Barbara replied, her tone gentle.

“Ambrose,” she went on, taking a steadying breath, “was not quite as distant as Ezra with his emotions, but it was clear that having feelings for me unnerved him.”

“And look what Duncan did when he first realized he loved me,” Alice said.

“Do not remind me,” Lydia said quickly, “I wanted to throttle him for the heartache he caused you.”

“He made up for it one hundred times over when he came back,” Alice said gently. “He has not left my side since, nor will he. Duncan cares deeply for me, and I believe Ezra may be starting to care deeply for you.”

“Ezra is neither Duncan nor Ambrose,” Lydia replied, her heart sinking.

“I am grateful that you kept your initial promise by not being judgmental and demanding, but you do not have to give me false hope.”

Barbara let out a loud laugh and asked, “Hope? You truly think we wish to give you hope for this man? No. He does not deserve you now, nor will he ever. Despite that, however, you are changing him. I saw it, we all saw it at the party, and it is for the better. That mask of numbness he always wears is slowly crumbling away.”

Lydia’s lips quirked. Yes, that was true. In fact, she had come to enjoy the various new expressions she’d seen on her husband’s face. All of them seemed to make him annoyingly more handsome, but yes, she had relished not seeing his usual blank look of dull boredom.

“There is something else,” Lydia ventured slowly, her cheeks growing hot. “Not an emotional issue per se, but a…a, well…” She laughed nervously, unable to say it aloud.

“Physical,” she forced out, stretching her hand to her side to wave at her body, “And no, before you ask, it is not that he strikes me or anything like that it is…it is…well, I do not know what it is, exactly but it, it…”

Lydia stopped trying to find the right words for a moment as she took a furtive look at her friends. She saw Alice peering down at the table, her lips pressed together tightly as if trying to hold back a wide smile. Barbara seemed equally excited, her eyes alight with curiosity as she leaned forward on her elbows. Lydia gave them an odd look. It was not quite the reaction she had been expecting.

“Go on, dear, you can tell us anything,” Barbara said quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“When he touches me,” she began slowly, unable to make eye contact with either of them, “it is like my entire body wakes up. He may touch only my hand, but I feel it so deeply everywhere, almost like a pulse. It is so enjoyable, yet it steals my thoughts in the most annoying fashion.”

“Oh, heavens,” Barbara murmured, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

“And then he mocks me for it when he sees he has this effect. When he is not touching me I can mock him right back, tit for tat, you know? But if he is touching me and he mocks me, I…” she paused, unsure whether or not she should actually share such a shameful admission.

Lydia pressed her eyes shut tightly as she recalled her time with Ezra in his chair and she felt her body heat up and tighten all over again.

“It excites me, somehow,” she finally breathed out, “and I do not understand it! I am wicked, surely I must be.”

“You are not,” Alice said defensively, speaking up for the first time.

Her smile had slowly faded as she heard the distress heighten in Lydia’s voice and was now giving her a calm, comforting look.

“Ezra is not the only man that possesses this “trait,” Barbara added delicately, reaching a hand for Lydia, “And you are not the only woman that draws excitement from it.”

Relief and surprise filled Lydia as she took in the calm, honest faces of her sister and friend.

“Truly?” she asked.

They both nodded, then Barbara stood up and said, “I have an idea. Come back to London with us. Allow Ezra to do what he needs to do there, you do not need to stay at his house. The four of us ladies and our two babes can reign free the rest of the week at the Curtis House. We can share wicked stories of our husbands and perhaps find a way to help you and Ezra smooth things out.”

Lydia smiled, the idea sounding truly delightful. She had enjoyed her work with Ezra greatly, but there was no doubt she missed spending time with her friends and sisters. She was not sure how much more she was willing to share with her friends and could not imagine spending a week discussing such issues. But there were plenty of other things they could discuss and do together.

“I would love to,” Lydia replied, remembering Ezra’s command, “but Ezra stated that I should wait here.”

“That was while discussing his travel plans,” Barbara retorted, “We are now discussing ours. He will not even know you are there.”

“Well…” Lydia mused, liking the idea more by the second. “Yes, I suppose you are right. And it is not as if the staff requires me to be here to function properly. Very well then, I shall ask my maid to pack my luggage. Shall we leave in an hour?”

“George Nicholson,” Ezra said aloud, staring at the glass of whiskey in his hand. “Earl of Ridlington. I vaguely remember him. He used to work for my father right before he passed.”

“You mean with?” Ambrose asked.

“No,” Ezra stated firmly, meeting his friend’s eyes. “The earl worked for my father, not with him, although I do not know what he did or why.”

He held up his injured hand toward Ambrose, one brow raised.

“Are you saying that is who gave this to me?”

Ambrose nodded his head at Ezra from across his desk. It had been a complete happenstance that Ambrose had just been getting ready to send for him when he’d suddenly appeared in the gaming hell. Ambrose had immediately insisted they go to his office. As he shared the news, even Ezra had to admit that he was a little baffled.

Why would he want to hurt him? Especially now. It must have been at least thirteen years since Ezra had last seen the Earl of Ridlington, so why did he wait this long to exact his revenge? And revenge for what? The relationship had dissolved a couple of years before Ezra was named the next Duke of Frampton.

Suddenly, like a slap in the face, it hit him; a certain forgotten memory, and Ezra sighed wearily. How old had he been when he’d walked into a servant’s cupboard to find to a certain man and woman pushing parts together? He had likely been eight or nine years of age. He shivered in disgust and pushed the memory back into the very darkest corners of his mind where he kept all such vile recollections.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Enlightening,” Ambrose retorted dryly, “Care to share a bit of what you are thinking?”

Despite his annoyance, Ezra let out a wry chuckle.

“I have a theory,” he sighed, rising from his chair. “But I need to conduct some research first. Unfortunately, I think it is time I paid a visit to my darling mother.”

Ambrose balked and made a face.

“Jesus, mate, why do you not just hop on down to hell and visit Satan himself? It would be easier and far more enjoyable.”

Ezra chuckled, relieved that they were once more back to their old ways. It had been strange not having his friends near, and though he would never admit it, he truly did not enjoy it.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “But it would not give me the same results.”

“You really think it is her?” Ambrose asked, standing as Ezra walked toward the door.

“It would not be the first time she has tried,” he replied with a shrug. “Or the second.”

Ambrose’s grin slid a little.

“You still have some eyes and ears out there looking for information on the fire,” he said, “Maybe someone is trying to get you to stop looking.”

“We haven’t touched that subject in months,” Ezra said dismissively, “No, I am certain it is my mother. I will take care of it.”

“Should I pretend to offer to go with you?” Ambrose asked.

“And have Barbara blame me for your death?” Ezra mused as he walked away, “No thank you.”

“Ezra, wait,” Ambrose said, coming around his desk.

“Something else?” Ezra asked, turning a bored look toward Ambrose as he stopped.

Ambrose huffed a laugh as he took a casual stance by the door.

“Well, yes, actually,” he answered, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Ezra drew a brow up at him and waited.

“I want to say that, even though I did not approve in the beginning, I am happy that you and Lydia have wed. Now that I have seen the two of you together, I can clearly see that there is something genuine between you two, and I just want to apologize again for misjudging you, old friend.”

Ezra felt his gut clench tightly as the thoughts he’d so carefully pushed away came flooding back. Lydia. Her touch, her taste; never had he been driven so wild by a woman. He seemed to lose so much control over himself whenever she was present, and it irritated him greatly.

“Your apology is accepted, just as it was before,” Ezra stated blandly, his face void of emotion. “But perhaps you should worry about your vision, old friend, for I assure you there is nothing between Lydia and I for you to see. We are a partnership. Nothing more.”

Ambrose’s light-hearted expression slipped a little, and he drew in a deep breath through his nose as he nodded.

“As you say, brother,” he answered, his tone resigned.

“I have matters to see to while I am here,” Ezra stated, done with the conversation. “We will speak soon.”

“Take care, brother,” Ambrose called after him thoughtfully as Ezra finally walked down the hall.

He did not respond and continued walking until he’d reached his office door and let himself in. He was both annoyed and caught off guard when he found Maria lying naked across his desk. Her brown eyes glistened as she watched him walk in and her red-painted smile drew into a seductive invitation as she waved her fingers at him.

“Bloody hell,” Ezra muttered. Was he ever going to get some peace?

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Maria purred sweetly, arching her back like a feline.

Ezra did not react to the seduction of her movements as much as he noticed how they scrunched and mussed the papers she had not bothered to remove from beneath her. Papers with deals, debtor’s notes, loan requests; papers that meant money.

“I thought you said you were done giving me your time,” Ezra said, his tone dull as he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked to his desk.

Maria’s smile slipped a little, but she quickly recovered, pulling up on her elbows to thrust her chest higher toward him.

“After some contemplation, I have chosen to forgive you, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone both sweet and sharp. “After all, it was my honor you offended, not my body.”

She brought up a hand, her eyes riveted to his, and slowly stroked her fingertips from her tilted chin all the way down to her parted thighs. She squeezed her palm to herself when she reached her sex and let out a whimper.

“And my body is what misses you, Your Grace.”

“Your coffers miss me too, no doubt,” he muttered back.

Ezra gripped the edges of a wad of papers and pulled it out from under her with a sharp tug, making her gasp and lift her bottom so that she was forced to hold herself in a backward bow on her feet and elbows.

“Stay there,” he commanded sharply as she began to lower herself.

She stilled immediately, remaining in the uncomfortable position. He took his time gathering the papers, keeping his eyes purposely off her body and on his task. When he finished, he took the papers to a side table and took his time organizing them.

“Your Grace, may I…”

“No, you may not,” he stated harshly, interrupting her before she finished her request.

It was only then he turned back to her, his eyes null of emotion as he met hers, and he weighed his thoughts. She was trembling from the position, growing more uncomfortable by the second, but he said nothing to release her. Perhaps he should give in, if anything to prove to himself that he was still as unfeeling as ever, or at least to confirm what sex was supposed to be like for him. It was supposed to be fierce, harsh, and painful. It was a way to gain control when he had none.

With Lydia, it was the opposite. It was as if she had stolen that power from him and made him a slave to his needs. With Maria, he could regain his control. After all, Lydia had given him leave to do as he wished, even encouraged him. Yet as he tried to think of what he would do to Maria, he felt disgust rise in him and he sneered.

“Our business, as you stated the last time we met, has been concluded,” Ezra said, turning away from her to walk to his drink cart. “Get down, put your dress on, and leave.”

“Your Grace, surely we can come to an agreement,” Maria urged, her tone almost desperate, “I spoke in haste before, truly, and I beg your favor.”

Ezra poured his drink, drank it down in one swallow, and walked toward the desk as he pulled out his billfold. He said nothing as he saw Maria still holding her position and did not look her in the eyes despite her efforts to attract his attention. He pulled another two fifty-pound notes from his billfold and tucked them into the pocket of her dress before he tossed it at her.

This time Maria finally came down from her elbows and feet and stretched the dress around as she scrambled off the desk.

“Do you want to continue your work here?” Ezra asked curtly as she hurried to dress.

Maria froze, her eyes wide, and she stammered, “Yes, Your Grace.”

He stepped toward her, stopping until he was only a short pace away.

“Then I suggest you never step foot in this office again. Am I understood?”

Maria blushed deeply, but she hurried to finish dressing as she nodded.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied obediently.

Not bothering to fix the rest of her dress, Maria gathered her skirts, and after a quick curtsy, she left him. Unsure if he was now more or less frustrated by making her leave, Ezra locked his office door, poured himself another drink and focused on his work.

The next morning, after a night of little sleep, Ezra pounded the large brass knocker on his mother’s front door and waited. He could not remember the last time he saw Sophia. It might have been two or three years ago in passing at the opera. A few years prior to that he recalled seeing her at the horse races. They never acknowledged one another; both of them were particularly careful not to let their paths overlap.

“Hello, Walter,” Ezra stated dryly as his mother’s butler opened the door.

The old man’s eyes widened, first with surprise, then with panic.

“Your Grace! How good it is to see you. I…I…”

“Rest yourself before you cause yourself a coronary, old man,” Ezra stated with a sigh, brushing past him. “Just tell me where she is.”

Ezra only made it a few steps into the foyer before he heard the soft, whistling sound of an incoming projectile, and he ducked his head just as a teacup smashed into the wall beside him.

“What are you doing here?” Sophia screeched, stomping toward him with clear hatred.

“Hello, Mummy,” Ezra retorted sarcastically, rising back up to his full height. He brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder as he added, “I see your hatred and venom have kept your beauty and aim as flawless as ever.”

“Not my aim,” she hissed back, loathing sparkling in her blue eyes.

“Oh, come now,” he cajoled, unbothered, “You would have struck me if I had not ducked. I would say that your aim is as accurate as ever.”

“What the hell do you want?” Sophia hissed, her small hands curling into fists.

Age really had not touched his mother at all, he realized as he took her in. A few lines by her eyes, yes, and she had a strand of gray in her hair here and there, but her vitriol for life had truly kept her otherwise well preserved.

“Your old friend Georgie stabbed me the other night,” Ezra stated, getting right down to business.

“I want to know why.”

Sophia grinned cruelly.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said sweetly. “But I do love to hear a good story.”

Sophia raked her eyes over Ezra in a way that made him cringe with disgust, then turned away from him, thrusting her nose in the air as she walked away.

“I hear that congratulations are in order. You are a married man now,” she said whimsically over his shoulder.

Though he told himself he would not be goaded by her, Ezra felt a shockwave travel through him, and he immediately began to follow her.

“They certainly are not,” he stated casually, catching up to her easily, “It was a simple business arrangement, nothing more. You know all about that though, don’t you? Is that not how you became Father’s wife?”

“You have always been good with your insults,” she praised, a condescending sneer on her face, “I assume you got that from me.”

“It is not the only thing I got from you,” he muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

After all, it was from her blackened soul that he had been born.

“Do not pretend to know what my relationship with your father was like,” Sophia said, coming back around to his earlier comment. “It was no one’s business what he and I agreed to behind closed doors.”

“Whatever it was you had with him, it was not enough to keep you by his side though, was it?” Ezra asked, ignoring the faint hurt in Sophia’s voice. “The moment you found out he was dead you just left.”

“He was dead,” Sophia shot back, glaring at him. “What else was I to do? Simper over his lifeless body? Plead with bankers and debt collectors to leave me be?”

“That’s what I did,” Ezra stated, his tone blunt. “You left a fourteen-year-old boy in the claws of those debt collectors and bankers. You did not have to stay. I did not particularly want you to. But you could have used some of your family’s inheritance to help dig us out of debt. You could have failed to show up to Father’s funeral foxed out of your mind on opium and Lord knows what else and then attempted to put me in the coffin with him!”

“Your father wanted a son so I gave him a son,” Sophia spit out, giving him a cold, disgusted look. “He said all I had to do was make sure you made it out into the world as a boy. Well, I did all that I was tasked to do, did I not? You were to be his. You were never mine. I figured you would want to go with him.”

“Did you ever even want me?” Ezra asked though he was sure he knew the answer.

The disgusted look on Sophia’s face did not change.

“We are nobles, Ezra. Even when we do get what we want it always comes with a bite of bitterness. Even if I did want a child, you were never that. You came out cold and silent, you know that? You did not cry, did not move as they pulled you from me. Just glared at everyone in the room. Like you somehow knew you were just…a pawn and you hated us all for it.

I knew then that any hope of loving you was gone. How could I love you? It is not normal nor healthy to love a thing you know could never love you back.”

Hatred boiled in Ezra’s stomach as he drew in a shaky breath through his nostrils. He had expected some sort of derivative of that notion, but her eloquent if not vehement vitriol had certainly painted a more detailed portrait of his mother’s views. She placed no blame upon her own shoulders. She had been absolved of the sin of birthing an emotionless demon instead of a child.

Sophia looked down at Ezra’s knuckles which were turning white from the strain of his fists and smiled prettily.

“Little Lydia will soon discover such burdens herself,” she said, her voice soft and sweet as she slowly raised her eyes back to his. “Poor little thing. She has no idea what you are.”

Ezra felt his body lurch forward a step before he could even help it, and he fought with his anger to keep from taking another. She was goading him, he knew it, and he would not allow her to win.

“Do not speak her name,” he warned.

“Your wife, from what I am told, is very sweet,” Sophia went on as if she had not heard him. “It was so shocking to hear that you would accept such a bride. So much like your father, in that respect.”

She turned away from him to open the patio doors. Ezra quickly followed her out, not noticing the slight tension of the wind or the gray clouds slowly forming in the sky.

“Her sweetness is none of your concern,” Ezra quipped, keeping one eye on his mother and the other on the nearby street.

Not even thirty paces away, their fellow nobles walked by casually, but the trees and the gate offered them some privacy.

“Perhaps she should be yours,” Sophia replied, “After all, what happens to an innocent thing when it is cast into the darkness? Is it not the first to die? Or turn? What dark, twisted thing will you turn her into, Ezra?”

Alarm, rage, and an overwhelming urge to protect surged through Ezra as he turned his glare toward Sophia and clenched his fists.

“You will watch what you say, Mother,” he warned, his tone grave, “especially when it comes to my wife.”

Sophia laughed at him, the sound loud and obnoxious enough to draw the attention of the passing people.

“Oh, you stupid darling,” she taunted, shaking her head at him, “It is not I you need to protect your wife from. It is you.”