Never make a defence or apology before you be accused.
—Charles I
It took Christian but a few moments to slip back into the ballroom and make his request of Treyhern. As always, the earl was reticent, but he agreed to serve, and went at once in search of Roth to see if an apology could be elicited. Christian nodded tightly, and went off to find Amherst. He did not think Roth would apologize, for he feared too much what Christian might know. And Christian was not at all sure he wanted an apology. He had come here, he reminded himself, to kill Roth. Moreover, just when he had begun to doubt the righteousness of his intentions, fate had laid open a path. It was a sign. He must go forward. It was meant to be.
He found Amherst standing near the veranda doors, his expression almost as black as Christian’s mood. “I have taken care of Robert,” said the vicar grimly. “Another such trick, and he’ll be sporting a blistered backside and a pair of colors. I thank you for handling the matter with such discretion.”
Christian stared past him and into the darkness beyond the veranda. “You may return the favor now, if you will?” His voice was without emotion. When Amherst lifted his brows, Christian turned and let his eyes run over the still-crowded ballroom. “There was a solicitor here from the village,” he murmured. “Ah, yes—that balding fellow who is at present boring Lady Trey-hern to tears? Would you be so obliging as to fetch him up to my bedchamber in half an hour? There are some legal documents which I must execute. It must be discreetly done, and with a credible witness.”
Without answering Amherst’s look of surprise, Christian went at once to his room and laid out a sheaf of papers. Then after excusing Stallings for the night, he took out the banded rosewood box which was never far from his side. He snapped back the lock, then lifted his double-barreled dueling pistols and their various accoutrements from their blue baize casings. The monogrammed escutcheons winked in the lamplight as he turned each weapon this way and that, methodically inspecting them. It was a ritual he had performed more times than he allowed himself to remember. But this time, the precise preparations which he performed like some bizarre sort of sacrament brought him no peace.
Carefully, he gripped one. Cold and heavy in his hand, the weapon did not seem to balance properly tonight. He was almost relieved when he heard Amherst’s knock. “You wished a document drawn, my lord?” said the rotund, meticulous-looking gentleman who followed the vicar into the room.
Christian motioned both men toward a small escritoire. “A conveyance for a piece of property,” he said very quietly. “And I wish it done with the utmost care, so that there can be no question of my intent should some—er—misfortune befall me.”
“Wise, very wise!” murmured the solicitor, seating himself and taking up a sheet of paper. “Now which property, and to whom?”
“This one,” said Christian softly, his eyes catching and holding Amherst’s. “Gotherington, and all its contents, acreage, and tenancies. To Major and Mrs. Maynard Onslow. And once that is done, sir, would you be good enough to draw me a will?”
It was late, long past midnight and far too close to dawn when Elise dredged up the nerve to go to him. The fact that she would be striding into a gentleman’s bedchamber uninvited—and worse, that she scarcely knew what she meant to do once she got there—did not strike her as unusual. Nothing about this night had been usual, and Elise was almost beyond expecting that her life would ever be normal again.
Christian answered the door on her first knock, and she slipped inside. There was a lamp still lit by the bedside. He wore a sapphire silk dressing gown and little else, save a heavy shadow of beard. Both his bed linen and his hair were disheveled, as if he had attempted to sleep, and found that Morpheus eluded him. She looked up into his eyes, which were still cold and utterly without emotion. Again, he looked so very like the man she had seen sprawled by the tavern hearth, it took her breath for a moment.
He did not seem surprised to see her. Slowly, he let his gaze slide down her nightclothes, and when he saw her bare toes peeping from beneath her blue flannel wrapper, he gave that strange, rueful smile of his. “Are you some sort of angel, Elise, come to ease my final night on earth? If so, rest easy. Roth has not a prayer.”
Elise pushed past him. “Do not bother to act the heartless gamester with me, Christian,” she said grimly. “I know you for the fraud you are. And Denys probably hasn’t fought a duel in his life. He’s too craven.”
Christian’s brows arched at that. “Figured him out at last, have you?” he murmured, following her into the depths of his bedchamber.
She whirled about to face him, but he was lingering at his small dressing table, absently picking over his toiletries. “Oh, just stop it, Christian!” she demanded, her anger further fueled by his nonchalance. “Denys’s fate is not what concerns me.”
In the pier glass above the table, she saw him lift his chin and shoot her a blasé look. “Then what does, pray?” His voice was soft but impatient. “Elise, really, I need my rest.”
She pointed a tremulous finger at the face in the mirror. “And I need the truth, Christian!” she insisted. “I think you owe me that, after … after what we have been to one another.”
Lightly, he laughed. “Elise, my dear, do you imagine I make it a practice to be honest with the women I bed?” he asked, turning from the mirror. “Good Lord, I’d have been knifed in my sleep years ago.”
Her eyes fell upon the rosewood box, laid open on a marquetry table by the window. Even in the lamplight, the barrels reflected a dull sheen. “You came prepared, I see.”
“Always,” he said dryly. “A man in my line of work finds it necessary.”
She had begun to pace the room, but she jerked at once to a halt and walked purposefully toward him. “Damn you,” she whispered, looking straight up into his silvery eyes. “Damn you for what you have done to me, Christian.”
For the merest instant, he faltered. “To which of my sins do you refer, Elise?”
She resumed her pacing, the blue flannel whipping wildly about her ankles. “You let me see the merest glimpse of the man who hides beneath all that conceit and fury,” she snapped. “A good man. A decent man. And that was what I fell in love with, Christian. Not your charm. Not your looks. And now you have the gall to stand there and insult my intelligence? Stop it! Just stop it right now!”
But he was looking at her incredulously, his face drained of all color. “Oh, you do not know me, Elise,” he said quietly. “You really do not.”
And then he surprised her by going to the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. It was as if something inside him had crumpled inward. Christian let his head fall forward, pressing the heel of one hand against his eye socket. “What, then, Elise?” he asked hoarsely as he stared down into the carpet. “What the devil do you wish to know? I’ll tell you. And then I want you to get the hell out of here, before one of us says or does something we will forever regret.”
She had followed him through the room to the bed, and simply stood looking down at him. “I want to know if any of Denys’s allegations are true.” The emotion had left her voice now. “And I want to know why Maynard invited you here.”
Until that moment, she had not noticed the sheaf of papers which lay atop his rumpled bed. He snatched it up, and thrust it at her. A little fearfully, Elise turned it toward the lamp. After a moment, she looked up at Christian, her expression blank.
“When I want something, Elise,” he said grimly, “I get it. By hook or crook, it matters not one whit to me.”
For a moment, Elise could not find her voice. “And so you took this from Maynard?” she finally asked, trying to make sense of what she’d just read. “At the card table? And then you—you forced …”
“Blackmailed, Elise,” he interjected. “It is called blackmail. Are you too innocent to know what that is?”
Elise tossed the conveyance down beside the lamp. “I know what it is,” she answered, sitting down beside him on the bed. “What I want to know is why. What is the score you wish to settle with Denys? Do you not owe me that much, Christian?”
At last, he looked up at her. His eyes were no longer cold. “I—yes, perhaps I do,” he said quietly. “That, and a vast deal more, I do not doubt. But my quarrel with Denys has to do with my sister as much as it has to do with his unutterable discourtesy to you.”
Elise looked at him in amazement. “With Lenora?”
Christian lifted his chin, and stared up into the bed hangings. “That bastard seduced her, and left her with child.” He clasped his hands between his knees, an oddly boyish gesture. “She tried to reach me by letter, but as usual, I was flitting about Europe. She had no one else. No one. My father—he cared very little for her. I believe she thought he would make her life a living hell when he found out. I wish I could say that she was wrong.”
“Oh, my God,” whispered Elise.
Christian shook his head. “She was such easy prey for the likes of Roth. I do not doubt for one moment she thought herself loved, and in love. Had my father not been such an egregious snob—had he not hesitated to approve the marriage—perhaps she would have eventually seen the truth. Or perhaps not. But one thing is certain. She would not have taken her own life.”
“Christian, why would Denys do such a thing?”
“Listen to me, Elise!” At last, Christian looked straight into her eyes, and gripped her shoulders hard, as if the pain would force her to absorb his words. “Roth’s creditors have become merciless. He is ruined, and he is desperate. The man is a predator. Whatever happens, you must stay away from him. He tricked Lenora, and told her that if she were with child, nothing would stand in the way of their marriage. God only knows what ruse he might try with you.”
“But Lenora did not marry him?” Elise’s voice was weak.
“No,” he bit out. “Somewhere between his sweet persuasions, he met someone else.”
“Someone else? After he had … ?” Elise could not get the rest of the words out.
Christian laughed bitterly. “An American heiress with a dowry thrice Lenora’s. Within the month, he set sail, following her family back to Boston without so much as writing Lenora to see if she carried his child. But his golden goose caught a chill, and lingered on her deathbed for weeks. She didn’t live to see her wedding day.”
Elise bent one knee and turned toward him on the bed. “Christian, I am so sorry.” Gently, she cupped one hand on his stubbled cheek and turned his face into hers. “You must believe I did not realize the truth of Denys’s character until tonight. But you must also know that killing him will not bring Lenora back. I beg you not to do this. For us, I beg you.”
Again, he shook his head. “Elise, are you a fool? Don’t you realize what I’ve done? And there is no us. Were those not your very words some three days past?”
Elise blinked back the tears which threatened. “Perhaps I must accept that,” she said, her voice choking just a little. “But when tomorrow comes, what am I to tell Henriette? That you have killed Mr. Roth, and run away forever to France? Or worse, that he has put a ball through your heart? She is nine years old, Christian. And she believes that you hung the moon. So what, pray, am I to tell her?”
Christian shook his head. “Oh, no, Elise,” he said grimly. “You will not do this to me. You are not going to make me feel responsible for a child’s welfare and happiness.”
For once, Elise let her posture sag. “Oh, Christian, I won’t have to,” she answered very softly. “I think you will do that yourself. Is that not the very thing which has brought you to this awful crossroads? Your infinite sense of responsibility? Your concern for Lenora? Your belief that had you stayed with her, you could have somehow kept her safe and happy?”
“Do not make me out some sort of saint, Elise.”
“Oh, I don’t!” Her tone was emphatic. “You are just a man, and one with more than a few shortcomings. But you have honor, and an almost infinite capacity to feel guilt. In short, you are very human. And that is why you will suffer for this, as you have suffered over Lenora. Killing Roth will not expiate your sins, it will but add to them.”
“You have asked me why, Elise.” His face was again emotionless. “And I have entrusted to you my sister’s secrets. She is buried in hallowed soil, and her name is unblemished, thank God. But this one last thing, I must do for her.”
“Then I suppose we must add loyal to your list of virtues,” she said quietly. “And it is just one more reason why I love you.”
He surprised her then by taking both her hands in his, and leaning slowly forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Oh, you are such a fool, Elise,” he whispered, brushing his mouth over her eyebrow. “You do not love me. What you feel is lust, pure and powerful.”
Elise let her eyes drop shut and savored the feel of his lips feathering over her eyes, down her cheek, then over her jawbone. “Are you really going to do this, Christian?” she whispered. “Are you going through with this no matter what I say?”
“I am.” Delicately, his tongue touched the swell of her bottom lip.
His merest touch was enough to make her pulse climb. “Then make love to me, Christian,” she begged, her eyes still closed. “Make love to me just once more.”
His hands went to her shoulders, and he gave her a little shake. “It won’t change my mind,” he whispered. “Open your eyes, Elise, and tell me that you know it will be just sex.”
She shook her head and pressed her eyes tighter still. “Tomorrow you will leave,” she said, apropos of nothing. And everything.
And then, he was on his knees beside her, the mattress creaking beneath his weight. She felt his hands run through her hair, from the temples and all the way down her back. “It is just for tonight, Elise,” he whispered. “That is all it can be.”
“Just for tonight,” she echoed.
His hands went to the throat of her robe, and deftly undid it. “Let me see you, Elise,” he demanded gruffly. “Take this off.”
She swallowed hard and felt the rush of heat wash through her as Christian loomed over her, the breadth of his chest shutting out the lamplight. Quickly, a little desperately, he stripped away her clothing, and when her gown breezed up, baring her breasts and teasing her nipples, he made a little growling sound in his throat. “My God,” he whispered. “Oh, my God, Elise.”
Christian set his hands on the turn of her waist and slid his thumbs up and over her ribs, until her breasts were held captive in his fingers. Gently, he ran his thumbs around and around her nipples and then he leaned into her, kissing her. But Elise wanted more. Much more. She felt suddenly alive with her every fiber. He was dark seduction in the flesh, and his skill sent an urgency thrumming through her, a wish to be pressed down beneath the weight of his body. A wanton desire to be impaled on him, to feel the sweet pleasure and throbbing pain which only he could bring.
She shut her eyes again as his mouth closed over her left breast. His beard scraped harshly over the tender flesh as his teeth closed over her nipple, biting and sucking until her desire was drawn through her like a twisting silk ribbon. “Ah, I have to taste you, Elise,” he rasped. “All over. Every sweet inch of your skin. And then I want you beneath me.”
“Yes,” she answered, and opened her eyes. He was staring at her, and there was something which looked like true tenderness in his gaze. “Christian …” she murmured, mystified. “I don’t know when I came to love you. And I don’t know why. I know only what is so.”
She watched his throat work up and down. “Elise,” he groaned. “Don’t. Don’t do this to me. It is not fair.”
“Life is not fair, Christian, and we can rarely make it so,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his face with her fingertips. “If I do not tell you how I feel, I’m afraid I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
“God, Elise.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “When this day is done, don’t ever think of me again. When I am gone, you will meet someone who deserves you. Someone who can be a good father to Henriette. Someone better than Roth, and better than me. Promise me that you will.”
Weakly, she smiled. “And will you promise, Christian, that you will never think of me?” she softly returned. “Will this night not be, at the very least, a pleasant memory for you?”
The shattered expression was back. “Elise,” he rasped, his eyes searching her face. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?”
“Just make love to me, Christian. As if it were the last time. Because you have said that it is.”
He cradled her face in his hands. “Then I will make it last for you, Elise. I will make it good enough to last for a very long time.”
He opened his mouth over hers, and kissed her long and deep, slowly molding his body to hers. She answered, sliding her hands up his chest and beneath the soft fabric of his robe, until she had eased it off his shoulders. As it parted down the center of his chest, the silk slithered off his arms and caught on his elbows, forming a pool of blue on the counterpane.
Elise drew a little away from him, and let her eyes drink in his body. Lamplight limned the breadth of his shoulders. Though she would not have believed it possible, he was more beautiful out of his clothes than in them. Gone was the sophisticated tailoring, the civilizing influence of well-starched linen, and in its place was pure, masculine splendor. His chest was smooth and layered with muscle, his arms taut with power. And there was a youthful vigor to his body that his ageless eyes belied.
She pushed away the robe, and let it slither onto the floor. Christian sat back on his heels, his erection pushing up between them. The flesh was taut and thickly veined, the tip crimson against the nest of black hair. Hesitantly, Elise reached out and took him between her palms. Christian’s fingers dug at once into the flesh of her thighs, and he sucked in air between his teeth. “Ah, Elise.”
A pearly drop of liquid seeped out, and curious, she touched it with the tip of one finger, smoothing around and around. He moaned again, and squeezed shut his eyes as his flesh throbbed insistently between her hands. “Ah, Elise,” he said again. “So sweetly artless … my most dangerous fantasy come true.”
“Am I?” she softly asked, stroking the full length of him.
He did not answer. Instead, he opened his eyes, seized her hands, and pushed her down onto the bed. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes raking over her. “God, Elise, you are beautiful. So small and so … perfect.” With his warm, long-fingered hands he shaped her shoulders, her waist, and the flare of her hips. His palms slid beneath the round fullness of her breasts and he massaged the tips with his thumbs. Elise arched against him, feeling wanton and desperate. He followed her down and brushed his mouth over hers, kissing her again lingeringly, as if they had a lifetime instead of an hour, his tongue circling and stroking hers as his hands stroked over her body.
He pulled away, and she looked up to see that Christian’s eyes had softened again. With an impulsive gesture, he drew the weight of her hair over her shoulder. “Your crowning glory, Elise,” he said, sliding his cheek over it in an almost feline adoration. “I want to make love to you, and I want it to be as beautiful as this. Tell me, Elise. Tell me how you would like it.”
Elise was startled into silence. “I do not know,” she admitted. “You must show me.”
He lifted his cheek from her breast. “Shall I put out the lamp?”
Elise felt herself color. “No,” she answered. “I want to see you, Christian. I want to remember every inch of you. I am not frightened.”
He shifted his weight on top of her then, and bent his head to take her breast into his mouth. For long moments, he sucked her nipple while his hand played through her hair, which he’d spread across the opposite breast. And then with his open palm, he rubbed her nipple with a gently abrading rhythm which left her whimpering.
Elise moaned at the sensations which rippled through her. Soft, eager vibrations which left her aching for more. Her hands slid down his back, feeling the solid sleekness of his muscles there. She stroked the curve of his spine and shaped the firm muscles of his buttocks as the restless ache inside her built and built until she wanted to cry out. Perhaps she did, for through the haze of desire, she heard Christian gently shushing her.
He was kissing her, soothing her all over with his mouth. And then he rolled to one side and slid his hand down her belly, and lower, until his fingers found the damp place between her legs. With gentle but demanding pressure, he forced her thighs apart and let his thumb slide into the folds of her flesh until she gasped and arched upward with her breasts. His lips closed over hers as he shoved his fingers inside her body. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth in rhythm with his fingers until Elise was left thrashing and whimpering.
And then he feathered kisses between her breasts and down her belly, pausing to probe her navel with the hot tip of his tongue. “Shall I?” His whisper was suggestive.
Elise let her head roll back into the pillow. “What?” she demanded, the words choking in her throat. “Oh, what … ?”
She sensed him lifting his head, felt the hot burn of his eyes on her face. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want, Elise.”
“I don’t know. Just …”
She heard him chuckle softly in the darkness. “Mmm, this?” he murmured, sliding his tongue from her navel and into her thatch of curls. “Tell me, Elise.”
She was drowning in sensation. “I—yes, I want, I want … oh, I don’t know.”
And then, very gently, he stroked his tongue against the place his fingers had aroused, making her suck in her breath sharply.
“Oh. Ohhh.” She could find no other words.
“You like that?” His voice was rough and thick.
She could not answer, and he did not wait. He shoved her legs wider, shoved her knees up until his hands could slide beneath her thighs, until her most secret parts were fully exposed. And then he buried his tongue deep into her flesh. Her eyes flew wide at the incredible sensation. His tongue licked and teased, sliding through her warmth until her breathing became erratic. Her hands fisted in the sheet beneath them, and still he stroked. Her body was trembling now. Oh, she yearned for something. Yearned to arch her hips closer to his mouth. But when she tried, his strong hands forced her hips roughly against the mattress.
Every touch of his tongue sent a shuddering madness through her body, and Elise began to gasp and gasp for breath. He sucked the hard nub between his lips, and she gave a little scream. The pleasure was too much. Her hands came down to stay his. “No, Elise,” he whispered. “Just let me. Just let me pleasure you in this way. Let it come, love, let it. I will make it good for you, I swear.”
He touched her again, the pressure of his tongue a sweet, searching circle, and Elise lost control, her ordinary world splintering in a kaleidoscope of lamplight and colors. She reached out for him, and felt Christian drag her into his arms.
Long moments later, Elise came back to awareness, only to realize that she had dozed, but for how long, she did not know. She lay on her side, and he had nestled himself against her back. The remnants of a dream fell away, some gauzy memory of lying in a warm pool of water with the sun hot on her flesh. The warm, familiar smell of Christian’s body enveloped her, and for a moment she felt secure and happy. And then the aching sense of grief was back, reminding her that loss was imminent. But on its heels came an almost feverish desire to celebrate what was left. To savor the moment and this man who had come so fleetingly into her life.
Christian was awake, too. Very much awake. She could feel the hard, warm length of his arousal pressed against her buttocks and the strength of his chest against her shoulder blades. “Mmmm,” he said, his lips pressed to her neck. “You are back from Nirvana?”
She gave a sleepy laugh. “No,” she mumbled into the pillow. “I am lost, Christian. Lost forever.”
“Come back,” he demanded, dragging her hips hard into his. “I have need of you.” And then he was kissing her neck, suckling her earlobe. She could not see his face, and in her drowsy condition, it was like surrendering to some nocturnal fantasy. Fantasies she had always shut away and refused to acknowledge. But this one would not be refused. And she was not, apparently, quite sated. Instinctively, her hips arched backward.
His arm curled over her waist, and his hand slid down her stomach, his palm warm against her skin as he pressed her into him. “Ahhh,” she heard herself moan. As the hardness rubbed her, a dark warmth began to flow through her, weighing down her limbs, rekindling that simmering urge until it became an almost tangible need. Suddenly, she felt his erection probing insistently between her buttocks.
“Christian?” The word was a thready whisper.
He answered with a low growl against the nape of her neck. “Open, love,” he demanded. “Open for me. Lift your leg.”
Obediently, she did as he commanded, and on another subtle move, the hard weight of his penis forced its way between her thighs. For long moments, he let himself slide back and forth through the slick, wet heat of her desire. “Ahh,” he breathed. “Ah, Elise. Yes.”
She reached down to touch him where he moved, but his hand slid from her belly to cover her fingers, dragging them away from his hardness. Firmly, he pressed her fingertips against her own flesh, encouraging her to rub and circle. It felt wicked. And good. Oh, so very, very good. Like a cat being stroked, she arched her back, her hips instinctively writhing against him.
It was, it seemed, just what he wanted. On a guttural sound, he shifted his pelvis and drove himself into her. Elise moaned from the shock of it, holding herself perfectly still as he pushed deeper and deeper into her still-wet sheath, stretching her almost beyond bearing.
“Ahhh, God almighty—!” she heard him grunt, his mouth pressed against her neck. “God. Elise. Are you all right?”
Very tentatively, she rolled her hips backward. Yes, she was very much all right. It felt strange but wonderful to have him buried so deeply inside her. And then, his hand slid beneath hers, his impatient fingers searching for the swollen nub of her sex, to do for her what she was not yet ready to do for herself. With a practiced hand, he touched her, and she gasped. Then, with a moan, Christian sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck and rocked his hips.
At once, Elise understood, and gave him what he demanded. For long moments, they moved in perfect harmony with one another, her hips rolling, taking him deep as he teased her with his fingers. The mounting urge possessed her. The rhythm moved through them, his into hers, building and building, until Elise was gasping in tempo with his thrusts. The soft sounds filled the darkness, and Christian began to drive harder and deeper.
His urgency was like a flame to tinder, and soon she was sobbing and struggling, whimpering his name as she fought for release. She could feel the heat of his sweat against her back, could hear the raw need in each breath as the air heaved in and out of his lungs. And then she was beyond waiting, beyond thinking. Her entire body went rigid, her every muscle pulsing as she came. It pushed Christian over the edge, and he shoved himself home on one final thrust. She could feel him throbbing deep inside her, could feel the warm flood of his seed pouring into her. Could feel herself falling deeper and deeper in love. With this man who was going to leave her.
Afterward, they drowsed, Christian still inside her. And then she felt his fingers playing through her hair, combing it across his pillow. “Elise,” he said sadly. “It is time.”
Elise pretended to be asleep, but he was not fooled. He eased his palm up and down the softness of her belly. “Tell me, Elise,” he whispered. “When I am gone, and our lovemaking fades from your memory, do you think you will find it in your heart to forgive me?”
She came fully awake at that, stiffening in his embrace. “Forgive you?”
His lips brushed the nape of her neck. “For using you, I mean. To antagonize Roth.”
She rolled a little away from him, and came up on her elbows, instinctively grasping the sheet and drawing it up to cover her breasts. “I was not—” she awkwardly began. “I never thought that …”
She could feel the blood draining from her face. Christian shoved back the pillow and sat up. “Elise?”
“Oh—!” She closed her eyes and shook her head, pressing her lips together for a moment. “Is that what you were doing, Christian?” she asked softly.
“Oh, God.” His voice was weak.
Elise opened her eyes and forced a faint smile. “I suppose that I never considered myself Denys’s possession,” she admitted, her voice tight. “It never even occurred to me that I was being used. And if you were using me, I fell in love with you despite it. Are you laughing at me, Christian? That is how naïve I am.”
Christian spun about to sit on the edge of the bed. “Naïve, Elise?” he asked, propping his elbows on his knees and staring once again into the carpet. “Yes, I suppose you are. And I took advantage of that. Now you have little cause to mourn my going. At least you can see me for what I am. I use people, Elise. And I do it very, very well.”
“Yes,” she answered. “You do.”
His shoulders seemed to slump farther. “And so I will consider your words of love undone, Elise,” he said quietly. “I restore them to you, as if they were never spoken. That is my parting gift to you, precious little though it may be.”
She laughed a little bitterly. “Then you are the naïve one, Christian, if you believe that love is a gift one can simply return,” she answered. “Or worse, that it can be simply whisked away when it becomes emotionally inconvenient.” Then Elise rose from the bed as soundless as a wraith, and began to pull on her nightclothes.
God, what a night it had been, Christian thought, as he watched her dress in the faint lamplight. He prayed he would never have another like it. And he prayed he would never forget it. Wordlessly, he drew the sight of her into him through his eyes and held it close to his heart with an invisible strength. It was another of those otherworldly moments, much like the one he’d experienced while warming her hands in that ramshackle inn. It was as if he watched her through a gossamer veil spun of almosts and maybes. A window onto what might have been; one which opened for him only in Elise’s presence.
And then she secured the tie on her wrapper, and the moment was gone. “Elise,” he said, scarcely recognizing his own voice. “You are not one of those foolish women who will turn up behind a tree or come charging into the midst of this mess, are you?”
“No, Christian.” She smiled faintly. “I am not one of those foolish women.”
“You will not come?” He jerked to his feet and clasped her tight against him. “Good God, promise me you will not.”
“I promise,” she said quietly. “Because I will not likely see you again, Christian. And so I would prefer to remember you as you are tonight; beautiful, naked, and strong in your convictions about right and wrong.”
He pushed her away and let his eyes drift over her face for a long, uncertain moment. “Elise,” he began abruptly. “You could, you know, come with me. To France, I mean. Both you and Henriette.”
The smile came again, fainter still. “I cannot, Christian. I cannot do that to a child who so recently lost a parent. She needs familiar surroundings, and a sense of normalcy. And in your world—the sort of life you’re going back to—you would soon grow weary of us.”
He would not. He knew it, but his saying so would do neither of them any good now. And so he returned her faint smile, and lifted her hand to his lips, watching her carefully as he did so. He knew her well enough now to realize that Elise was on the verge of saying something. He could see her, carefully weighing her words, and he wanted desperately to know what was on her mind; yearned to hear some sliver of he knew not what in her voice.
He was still holding her hand when she spoke. “I have a proposal for you, Christian,” she finally said. “Let us do this your way; coldly and calculatingly. We will cut a deal with the devil. If you will withdraw your challenge, I will become your mistress. Unless you have no further need of me now that your quarrel with Denys has been provoked—”
“It is not just that, Elise!” he growled, his fingers digging into her wrist. “If it ever was, it isn’t now. You know that. Tell me you do.”
Elise lifted her shoulders. “Does it matter?” she asked softly. “I am willing to be your lover. And I will not hide it, Christian. I will do it publicly.”
“Elise,” he said sadly. “You know you do not mean that. And even if you did, as you say, you must think of Henriette.”
“Perhaps I am, Christian,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I am.”
Vehemently, he shook his head. “Society will not consider me the sort of man a child of tender years ought to be exposed to.”
Elise turned slowly from the door to face him. “Would they not?” she answered a little sadly. “And yet I wonder, my lord, what your sister would say to that?”
He looked at her, unable to form a coherent answer. Unable to comprehend the strange mix of rage and longing which was beginning to roil up inside him. He felt the hot press of tears behind his eyes, and knew that if he spoke, it would be to curse her and to damn her and to plead with her to stay with him forever.
But it seemed that Elise did not expect him to answer. Within infinite weariness, she laid her hand on the brass doorknob, and gave him one last look over her shoulder. “I will be waiting, my lord,” she said very quietly. “I will be waiting, should you change your mind.” And then the door clicked softly shut behind her.