Chapter Sixteen

 

 

ANOTHER MINUTE. THE TIME piece had counted thirty-two past the hour. She was thirty-two minutes late.

Malvern drummed his fingers against the desk, his gaze trained on the pocket watch he had propped up seventeen minutes ago. He wasn’t worried. Nothing had befallen Elizabeth. A mere delay, that was all. It was entirely possible she had decided not to come, in which case he should get off his arse and out of the study and do something with his evening, rather than sit around obsessing over her absence.

Tearing his gaze from the watch, he instead stared out the window. The glacial late February night pushed against the glass, coating the panes in a frost that obscured view of the dimly lit street. Yet, for all its frigidity, the turning of the season was in the air. Each day was incrementally warmer, daylight clinging to the earth just a little bit longer. After the last few weeks of intense cold, the warming of the air was welcome relief.

The waning of winter brought about new complications. Elizabeth could arrive only after the fall of dark and as the days lengthened, the time she could be absent decreased. Rubbing his chest, he frowned. Already they had too little time together, their evenings reduced to thrice weekly with the return of her family and the resumption of her other obligations. With no family of his own, and precious few obligations, he had little to distract him and thus found his days consumed with battling impatience for her imminent return.

Good Lord, he had not thought what summer would bring. Would Elizabeth retire from London for the warmer weather? With nothing to keep her, the temptation of amusement in the country might prove irresistible. If she so chose, it was entirely possible he’d have to endure an entire turn of a season without her.

Not bloody likely. If she must go somewhere, she could go to Brighton for the sea-bathing, but he would take her and they would stay in the best hotel the region could offer. No matter that he did not have the authority, that he could not dictate to her so. It only meant he had to broach the prospect in language that would appeal to her, so she would not leave him alone in London for all those months. What would amuse her in the seaside town?

His gaze strayed to the pocket watch again. Thirty-four minutes past the hour.

Nothing to worry about, but just to be safe he should summon Cartwright to send a footman to Elizabeth’s home. Maybe a team of footmen. If she had come to some grief on the way to Malvern House—

No. She was fine. Absolutely fine. She was late, was all. Just because she’d never been late before did not preclude an instance of it. Any number of things could have occurred, not the least of which was simply a desire not to see him. There’d been no sign she was tiring of their arrangement, but such a possibility could not be discounted. In any event, he would rather that than the other.

Fear shuddered through him, his blood cold and the beat of his fingers against his desk erratic. Potential scenarios rose to torment him, each more gruesome than the last.

Nothing had befallen her. Nothing was wrong. She was simply late. That was all. Late.

Footsteps in the hallway, a quiet murmur of voices. Then, the door opened and Elizabeth walked through.

His heart stuttered, then sped to life once more. He shot to his feet, so fast he nearly stumbled over his chair, and had to forcibly restrain himself from bounding to her side. Fighting the urge to examine every inch of her to ensure she was unharmed, he ran his gaze over her instead of his hands, noting she appeared intact, no obvious distress or wounds about her.

As he became convinced of her well-being, his heart resumed its usual rhythm, the panic that had consumed him abruptly dissipating. Only in its absence did he discover how tense he had been, his muscles screaming their relief.

Determined the affectation of nonchalance would disguise his distinct lack of it, he prepared to chastise her for her lateness. Before he could formulate a coherent phrase devoid of any hint of concern, it finally struck him how quiet she was. Usually, she bounded into the room, covering him with affection as if it had been months instead of hours since last they’d met.

Now she seemed…lost.

Seating herself in her chair, she arranged her skirts about her precisely. And yet, not a word. Not a question, not a greeting, not even his name.

Apprehension built in him. He ignored it though, certain if it was not acknowledged then it could not be.

She was wearing one of her god-awful gowns, the ones he had told her to dispose of. This one was a disgusting shade of brown, the buttons marching right up to her throat. In her new gowns she’d appeared vibrant, alive. This gown, it made one think her…dull.

“My dear, I had no idea we were to dress as dowds this evening. Some sort of warning was warranted, don’t you agree?”

His attempt at teasing raised no smile from her. Apprehension could not be ignored now. “Why aren’t you wearing one of your new gowns?” Unease made his voice harsh.

“I didn’t feel like wearing them.” Her voice subdued, she seemed to disappear into the chair. She appeared the mouse he’d first thought her, and the image was now so incongruous he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been.

His fingers were drumming against his thigh. Stilling the rhythm, he clenched his hands to prevent a resumption. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” With her lashes downcast, hands bundled in her lap, she was the picture of a meek little mouse of a woman.

He hated that she seemed so.

Striding to her chair, he knelt before her. Bloody hell, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hold hers? “It is not ‘nothing’. You haven’t asked me one question as yet and you’ve been here for at least two minutes. What else am I to think?”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “I’m that predictable, am I?” Just as a trickle of relief ran through him, a shadow dimmed her smile. “So I do it to you, too?”

“Do what?” He had no idea what to do, how to proceed. Damnation, usually she was an open book, but now, when it mattered, she was as forthcoming as a clam.

She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is nothing. You don’t want to hear my troubles.”

How could she believe that he would not want to hear what was troubling her? Imbecilic woman. Did she not know it tore at him, to see her like this? Elizabeth was happy, cheerful. Whoever was responsible for that look on her face, the clenched hands in her lap, would regret it. Severely.

Swallowing his ire, he forced himself to concentrate. “Truer words have never been spoken, my dear.” Keeping his tone light, he even attempted a smile. “However, it appears we are not going to engage in anything remotely sexual until whatever it is that has you worried is out in the open. And you know I am all about sexual gratification.”

That startled her enough to raise her eyes to his. Slowly, deliberately, he raised a brow.

She gave a little burst of laughter, a glimpse of his Elizabeth shining through. “Yes, I can see the truth of that.”

“So, take pity on me. I can’t be deprived. It will disturb the rest of my night.”

“We can’t have that.” Her eyes searched his. “Are you sure I’m not troubling you?”

As if impatient he exhaled, the act designed to disguise his concern. “Remember about the sexual gratification? Get on with it, woman.”

A faint smile, barely there before it was gone. “If you are certain?” When he said nothing to dissuade her, she continued. “Last night I went to a dinner Bel—my sister held. It was at her house. Which is why I wasn’t here.” She picked at a loose thread. “I wish I’d been here instead.”

If she had been, she would not look so now. His hands clenched.

“Anyway, it was…well, it was boring. I’m always bored at those things. You know what they’re like—people you don’t really know talking about things that don’t really matter. Bella always invites the dullest people, the ones she thinks can benefit her or Burfield. Or she invites them according to some grand design only she perceives, because Lord knows, she doesn’t actually like these people.”

The turn of the thread turned her finger white. “Anyway, one of the guests. This man. He was there and he was talking about—Bella had invited him to talk about—you know, she just did it because she wanted to be risqué, but when it comes down to it, she doesn’t really want to be. She is so comfortable in her conservativeness.” Bitterness soured her every word.

His nails bit into his palms. He could see the pain beneath the bitterness. Damn it, he should be out destroying these persons responsible for making her hurt.

“This man, he was allegedly an expert on erotica. Pleasure. The lascivious arts.” She laughed. “Ridiculous, is it not? But this man….” Her gaze flew to his. “His name was M. Harlow Brown. Have you heard of him?”

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Neither have I. This man, this Mr. Brown, he talked and talked, but he didn’t actually say anything. Nothing definitive anyway. Then he talked about Sophia, and he was getting it all wrong. He was making such a beautiful story into a horrible discourse on the vagrancies of sin and how if anyone anywhere dared to enjoy the erotic they would burn in the fiery depths of hell….”

She balled her hands in her lap. “Anyway, he had no notion of what he spoke, and yet he somehow maintained credibility by talking in circles and deeming everything too delicate for a lady’s ears. Too delicate. Lord, that always infuriates me. And so, I asked him some questions. Stupidly. Like I always do. Bella shouldn’t have invited me if she didn’t want me to ask. She knows what I’m like.”

He said nothing though he could see where this was going and, damn it, he should have been there to shield her.

“Of course, I managed to horrify everyone. It should have been amusing, all those gaping faces. You would have been amused.” A smile did little to disguise her hurt. “And I couldn’t let it go. I had to talk of specifics…I…. Anyway, I won’t bore you with the particulars. Suffice it to say, none were appreciative of my comments, and then Bella….”

Christ, she looked so small. So broken. “Bella took me to task. I had ruined her dinner party, made her seem the fool. She was well within her rights to say what she did, to say I’ve no care for her, for others, but she doesn’t understand the need—I don’t understand.”

He said nothing, though he had to fight to remain quiet. He wanted to hold her, to somehow draw her pain so she didn’t suffer as she did now. And he wanted to kill her sister, who had made her appear thus.

“I’m driven to know. I blunder forward and ask things better left unasked. I have no care for the sensibilities of others, nothing save the satisfaction of my own curiosity. And I don’t understand why I’m like this.” Her hands clenched tighter. “I see my sisters and they don’t feel that burning desire to know why things are the way they are. They sit calmly and their husbands love them. Our parents are proud of them. Why do I need to know?”

She dashed a hand across her cheek. “One only has to look at us. I went out and found a virtual stranger to teach me things I probably should know nothing of. What does that say about me? What does that make me?”

Tears glistened on her cheeks, her eyes fierce. “What does that make me, James?” Then, her expression crumpled, and she buried her face in her hands. “I just don’t understand.”

He didn’t know what to say. How he could make it better for her. He felt so bloody useless. She seemed so defeated, her shoulders slumped, her expression hidden. She hurt, and he had no idea how to make it better.

Hatred for this unknown woman, for her sister, coursed through him. How dare she make Elizabeth doubt herself? Elizabeth may ask a few more questions than others of his acquaintance, but she was never malicious in her curiosity. It was abhorrent to him, to see her customary grin obliterated by uncertainty and despair. He would do anything to make her smile again, to rid her of her pain.

“Elizabeth.”

She glanced at him, tears clinging to her lashes. Damn it all to hell, he couldn’t take it when she looked at him like that.

“I admire you.” Frustration filled him. Bloody hell, where were the words when he needed them? “I admire that you go after what you want. That you want to know why. Any idiot can sit and let life pass them by, never questioning, never knowing if there’s anything more out there. But not you.

“You push and you prod and you have the gumption to pursue what you want. Do you know how rare that is? You make others—you make me—want to ensure you get all you desire. You inspire me. You are brave. Courageous. And you make me….” He ran a hand through his hair, angry he couldn’t articulate all she made him feel. “You are the best person I have known. Fuck them,” he said fiercely. “Fuck the lot of them if they can’t see that.”

Thin tracks of silver wound over her cheeks, her bottom lip bitten raw. He couldn’t tear himself from her eyes, great pools of green in which he’d willingly drown. In her, he saw the ignominy of his past transformed, the best of himself reflected through what he could bring her. He saw laughter and pain, joy and desire.

In her, he saw what he could be.

Shoving the apprehension such a thought caused aside, he cupped her face, wiping away all evidence of tears. This wasn’t about him. Gently, he placed his lips against hers, a delicate touching of mouths, comfort offered. Her lips clung to his, soft and warm and slightly salty.

When he pulled back, she brought her hands to cover his. “Your view of me is lovely,” she said softly. “Grossly inaccurate, but lovely.”

His lips quirked. She smiled in return and he held her to him, stroking her back, giving her comfort and whatever else she asked of him. Her hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the bone before she placed her lips against his.

He didn’t know when it changed, when passion burned through comfort, but she held him as she devoured him, as he devoured her, as passion and desire devoured them both. He wasn’t sure how he had removed her gown, or how she had stripped his clothing, but her legs were wrapped around him and he moved inside her. Her hands clenched in his hair, and he buried his face in her neck, his lips against her skin as she stiffened in climax, her breath escaping in a sigh.

Only then did he let himself come, releasing inside her in waves of pleasure that were more intense because he knew it was her.

 

***

 

HE HAD NEVER FELT like this.

Malvern stared at the wall, the thought running through his mind, giving him no peace, no quarter.

They had made love. He knew it, just as he knew that all that had gone before had…not been. Even with her, there had been distance, an indelible barrier that kept him separate. But this time, tonight, he couldn’t divorce himself from the act. From her. Instead, he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.

How had she managed it? Resting the sleep of the exhausted, a slight smile on her face, one would never suspect she had the power to destroy a life and remake it into something wholly unknown. Somehow, she had become necessary, so much so he could not think of his day without her in it. It had crept upon him slowly, without fanfare or warning, stealing insidiously into his life, his mind, his hea—

He needed away from her. Now.

Extracting himself, he froze when she mumbled. She did not wake, though, instead turning to make herself comfortable on the bed of their clothing before falling deeper into sleep. Blonde hair twined about her arm, snaked across the pillow made of his jacket, and he remembered awakening with it tangled around him, often a hank of it in his mouth. Then, it had been amusing. Now, it was a damning indictment on her influence in his life.

Leaving her to her rest, Malvern sat himself on the chaise only to stare at her. The events of the evening rushed through his mind, the nights leading up to it, the whole five months of their arrangement. Had it only been five months? There had been a time before her, but it was hazy, indistinct.

The beginnings of panic rose within him. He’d been satisfied with his life as it had been. Always he’d known what to expect. No picnics, no surprises. No Elizabeth. Now, his days were spent in want of her, and when she arrived, he lost who he was, instead becoming a man he no longer recognised.

How could this mouse have changed him so completely? Who was this stranger who existed solely for her, whose whole life revolved around seeing her, pleasing her? His calm existence had been disordered by her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at him. The way she made him feel.

She made him think there was more, when he knew there wasn’t. His father had few lessons to impart, but on that point he’d been distressingly clear. There was no gold at the end of the rainbow, no silver lining in a cloud. There was only what you saw, what you could measure with your hands. More than that, the Earls of Malvern were who they were and nothing could change that. Just as eventually he’d had to return from Italy, this too would end. Elizabeth would leave, to continue her life without him. It was inevitable.

And he would once again be alone.

Launching to his feet, he paced. And paced. And paced. No answer presented itself, no solution. They could not continue thus. There could be no misunderstandings, no illusions.

Cold filled him, the ice of February finally claiming him. Stopping mid-pace, he stared at the wall, one thought running through his mind, giving him no peace, no quarter.

He had never felt like this.