by Liz Tyner
Then the Duchess’s words bounced in her mind.
Except, blast it, the whole world now presumed she couldn’t consummate a marriage.
While the others continued the celebration, she took a third glass of wine, but didn’t even sip it, content to warm the glass with her hands while trying to remain inconspicuous beside the curtains.
She recalled the Duchess’s comments. Her reputation would be fairly locked in place if everyone assumed her unable to make love.
But Devlin would know otherwise and that would put her most chaste plans to the test. He could easily make her forget all the cautions she’d lived her life following.
Devlin appeared briefly at her mother’s side and Rachael watched the charm in his eyes, and the persuasion on his face. She didn’t have to hear the words. He seemed to be whispering softly, then her mother glanced at Rachael and frowned.
Devlin focused only on her mother, and she saw the encouraging nod. He stepped to the side and blocked the line of view between them.
Rachael knew she was being discussed, intensely.
The conversation lingered a bit longer and then Devlin left. Her mother glanced at Rachael as if she’d never seen her before and wasn’t really seeing her then, but watching a future unfold. A bleak future.
* * *
He stopped at the Albrights’ door. Three taps. Pause. Four taps. Pause. Then five taps.
He heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened.
Stepping inside, he longed to reach out and hold her, imagining their bodies swaying together in a simple, sensual dance in the faded light, but he’d promised her mother that he’d only be there for a few quick, respectable moments. He’d given the assurance freely at the time and would do so again for the chance to see Rachael, but he wished it hadn’t been required.
Rachael hadn’t changed her clothing, but her hair escaped from her knot, as if she’d loosened it after she arrived home. He didn’t think she wore shoes either because she’d lost the height she’d had earlier. She’d turned herself into a little bird ready to close her eyes and nestle into a fluff of feathers. The perfect woman to come home to. Come home to? he mused. Stay home with.
He was starting to think like...
Like someone he didn’t know. But someone he might like to become if it were possible.
He stepped into the tiny space as she shut the door, their fingers brushing, reminding himself that he must take care. ‘I cannot stay long. I am taking too much risk with your reputation as it is just by visiting you.’
‘I’ve already had a little notoriety. I don’t like people noticing me.’
‘Try to accept it. Some people love it.’
‘The other guests tonight suspected I was there because your mother feels responsible for the accident. I’m thankful for that assumption because it’s a positive one.’
‘She does want to help you.’ He couldn’t help himself. He reached out, clasping her arm, giving her reassurance that all was well. ‘But you survived tonight admirably.’
‘Well enough. I stopped shaking and feeling so nervous, but I don’t think trying to be society’s darling is an easy task. I couldn’t eat all day and was starved when I got home.’ She waved an arm to the platter on the small table. Crumbs of bread remained.
‘Everyone was taking stock of you,’ he said. ‘It is natural when a new member joins a group.’
‘Yes.’ She firmed her jaw. ‘Rather like a performing bear. Is her heart broken? Is she defective?’
He hated her pursuing that direction. ‘You’re not a theatre act. You’re a woman making the best of the hand she’s been dealt.’
‘I don’t want to lose everything. I don’t want my parents to lose all they’ve worked for their whole lives.’ She stared at the key as if it had the answer. ‘I want to return the favour they gave me by being such caring people. I want to have the strength to do right by them.’
‘You do. Strength is merely determination to put your feet in the direction you want to go and not focus on anything else but moving your body into place for the actions you want to happen.’
She groaned. ‘You make it sound simple, but it isn’t. My innocence has been embellished. As soon as Father left earshot, Mother said someone she’d just met consoled her on having a daughter who could never wed and empathised with the scarring. Mother said she was speechless and I explained to her what the Duchess of Highwood had said to me. The tales have grown with each repeating, apparently.’
‘That isn’t fair to you.’
‘After I considered it, I gained courage. If I’m to be above reproach, then it might be best if I’m seen as a woman who has been dealt misfortune. A little sympathy might open the way for me.’
She examined the key in her hand. ‘You were there. The burn. Surely you saw my derrière, just a bit.’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I saw flames and you.’
‘Afterwards.’ She put the key on the hook.
‘I noticed a beribboned chemise, and scorched fabric, and that you fitted in my arms nicely and you weren’t moaning in pain, so I took that to be a good omen.’
He’d not really taken stock of what she’d felt like when he held her, but now his mind filled in the blanks. Not with imagined scars, but the feel of Rachael. The wonderment of her.
‘I know it is to my benefit that some rumours circulate,’ she said. ‘But I am almost completely recovered.’
He didn’t need to be thinking of her as completely recovered.
‘I expect some scarring, but not tremendous ones. I’ve considered them. I can accept the damage to myself and be thankful I survived. You’ve helped me accept that the blemishes are just that.’
She inhaled, putting the force of her emotions into it. ‘Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me.’
Falling into his arms, she clasped him in a hug. ‘Thank you.’ The words whispered against his chest caused his body to react as if she’d touched the whole of him.
She pressed so close that he forbade himself the slightest movement, because any waver would bring him against her.
She burrowed against him and he remained immobile.
He gave her a brief pat, then took her shoulders and gently stepped away. The slight distance he’d added between them made him feel deserted.
‘It will heal.’ Who cared about the scarring? She was alive and he needed to leave so he could stop thinking about how alive they were and how wonderful it would be to be alone with her in a forest with a moss-covered bed. Or any quiet place where they would not be disturbed. He imagined himself able to watch her for hours, much like da Vinci would have looked at one of the women he painted.
‘You know, I’d considered the dark before. If I am to wed some day, my husband will never even have to view my derrière’ She lowered her arms and let out a relieved breath.
‘That—’ he’d not known his voice could go so high ‘—is what you are still worrying about?’
‘Yes,’ her voice peeped out. ‘I had decided no one would ever court me now. Because of my accident. My blemish.’
‘Rachael, you can put that idea so far from your head that you need never consider it again. I assure you, from the depths of my soul, that even a man who doesn’t care a jot for you will never concern himself with a scar on your derrière.’
He might even like it. Worship it. Dream of it.
‘Truly?’ she asked.
He had to convey the reason for his reluctance. ‘I can’t touch you because I can’t just touch you. I can’t. I can’t treat you like Tenney did. I can’t mislead you and then go on about my way when I wish.’
Again, he wanted to pull her closer, but he dared not.
He paused, surprised at the direction his imagination had taken.
She was a friend, not
just someone he wanted to save. Someone he wanted to be with. He’d not really considered marriage, other than as a necessity for heirs. But marriage could be a solution. For both of them.
He had to keep talking—to distract himself with conversation. ‘Can you manage another event in a few days?’
She groaned. ‘It’s easy to say that I will, but I can hardly stand the questions and assumptions about me.’
‘If you must imagine yourself as a trained bear, then imagine the scraps of questions tossed your way are morsels. Tests of mettle. Or stinging insects you can bat into oblivion with a thrust of your mighty paw.’
‘Mighty paw?’ She held up her hand. ‘It’s not. But continue with the plans,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the feeling that I had such a miserable night for no good reason. If I stop now, it was nothing but a waste of effort.’ She recalled the moments. ‘I couldn’t even have a conversation with the wallflowers. I was so afraid they’d ask a question I didn’t want to answer.’
‘Those questions. The ones you dislike, switch the words, and repeat them aloud when they’re asked. Give your mind a chance to muster. You’ll give a better answer. You don’t have to respond immediately with half an idea. But you can’t be offended. You have to give people the benefit of the doubt even when none is deserved.’
‘I don’t even want a friendship. I just want the evening to end.’
He shook his head. ‘You should get something pleasant from the encounter. The foremost thing about conversation during social events is to turn the talk to the other person. Things they’re proud of. Don’t ask curious questions, but caring ones about their life. You will make bonds of friendship with the kind-hearted people. And with the vipers, you can’t let their distance bother you. They will come to you later if they want, or they never will. Don’t fret about it.’
‘The bonds feel strangling. They make me think of escaping the room.’ She half twirled again and he caught her, taking her in his clasp and holding her just as he would a little bird. She felt as fragile as any fledgling, but he’d seen the strength in her and he wished for her to remain close.
‘Shush those defeating fabrications. Instead of a captive bear, then imagine you are game being hunted, but you also have an empty belly, sharp teeth and luscious claws.’ He pulled up her hand, drawing her fingertips along his cheek, feeling empowered by her as much as he hoped he gave her support. ‘These delicate fingernails are not where your claws are. They are in your head, resting, sheathed—a bite disguised as a purr. Your strength is in learning to use your wits and yet not skewer anyone.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘It is the intimate joust of human conversation and competition.’
‘The only reason I had someone to talk with besides Mother was because the Duchess was concerned about the scars on my face.’ She spoke into his shoulder, not wanting to observe his pity.
‘You’ve no scars on your face.’
‘Please tell the Duchess, but I doubt you can convince her of something so ludicrous.’
He took her shoulders and turned her to the mirror behind her. ‘Tell me the truth of what you see. You’ve a perfect face. None would fit you better.’
She squinted. ‘Perhaps in this darkness.’
‘Underneath the brightest sun. You would outshine it.’ He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see herself as he saw her. If she did, she would have the confidence she needed.
She rotated, slowly, facing him, or perhaps he was so aware of her movements that his mind had captured every nuance of her actions, slowing them.
She stayed in the reach of his arms, studying him in the dimness.
She must be on her tiptoes...her mouth was gliding so close. Or perhaps his lips had moved nearer to hers. He wanted to taste the perfection that she couldn’t believe, but which he could feel hovering about her, a caress of beauty that he wanted to touch, hold and savour.
She grasped his lapels and his hands naturally caught her waist. He had no choice. Rachael might topple on to him if he didn’t. Arousal thrummed in him and he gave in to the sensation of his body bursting to life.
She touched his shoulder and stilled, except for her eyes.
She didn’t take her hand away.
Falling into a kiss was easier than telling her goodbye. His lips brushed hers. Liquid. Warm. The edge of a crevasse. A ledge he would happily jump off of to be with her and he must not think such a thing.
He mustn’t.
But he did.
He cupped her head and she pulled herself closer. Just as he was dropping into desire that could consume him, he stopped, reminding himself of the promise to her mother.
She took his wrist and held his palm to cup her face.
His thumb brushed her lips. ‘I shouldn’t return here.’
‘You have to. I need you to further my survival in the world of society and of business. I get scared.’
Tentative lips touched his and he remained completely immobile. He attempted to be the perfect gentleman. He didn’t kiss her, yet he could taste the sweetness and savour the bloom of rosebud lips.
She retreated, puzzlement in her eyes and a bit of hurt.
He couldn’t bear for her to think he rejected her. He pulled her to him.
Their lips met, warm on warm and heat on heat beneath their moisture and the explosion of sensations. He clasped her, holding her upright and using the strength from the kiss to keep her in his arms.
Lips tasting of honey, a body fanning his desires with the vibrancy of thousands of bees’ wings.
He couldn’t stop her and wouldn’t. The kiss lengthened and grew into a second and a third and mounted to a fourth.
He wanted to be alone with her. Somewhere no one could interrupt.
Then he held her tightly and stepped to the wall behind him, feeling the waves of desire pushing at him, a pulsing crush against his body, yet he did not let it influence him. He didn’t know if sweat broke out on his brow, or if it was all on the inside of him, yearning to be released.
When he saw the longing in her face, he shut his eyes. It was the only way he could control himself.
Looking at her, he took his feelings, the situation and perhaps even the moon into his power. He needed that much strength to keep the moment chaste.
He couldn’t release her, or she would be burrowed against him.
This wasn’t right for her. He couldn’t ruin their friendship. She was too innocent to understand. She’d courted a man who didn’t want her to call him by his first name.
He took her face in his hands and the world stilled while he gave her a brief kiss on her lips, the springtime flavours of her infusing him with longings stronger than he’d felt before.
Forcing himself to do the right thing, he looked into her darkened eyes. Words of love rose to the forefront of his mind, startling him with their intensity.
He could not offer her meaningless phrases and he didn’t know the truth of them or if they were words generated to please her. He wanted nothing more in the world than to reassure and comfort her, but not at her expense.
‘I must leave. It’s late.’ He remembered his last words to her mother. ‘I reassured your mother that I would only stay for a few private words.’
‘But I don’t want you to leave.’
She was freshness and lightness and summertime, and he was far too jaded to be involved with a woman of such perfection.
He’d leave the sublimeness of caressing her to the husband she would some day wed. Just as long as it wasn’t that dolt Tenney. She would be best not to associate with Devlin’s friends either. None of them was worthy of her.
He imagined again her lying on that mossy bank.
Devlin would skewer Tenney if he tried to lead her on a path of lies again.
He would make sure to be careful after the next event she attended and he would not visit her afterwards. A
nd how invisible was his carriage parked on the street? He must leave.
He had to leave and stay away, because next time, leaving her would require more strength. It would require more strength than ten men had.
He was only one man. ‘I should be going home.’
She put a hand at his cravat, pulled the loop and slipped it into a firm knot. ‘Think of me when you untie that tonight.’
‘I assure you. I will.’
* * *
She shut her eyes and leaned against the door after she’d locked it, and wished he’d not asked her mother if he could visit, but had asked her instead. Rachael wouldn’t have extracted any promise from him.
Her mother’s lecture had lasted longer than Devlin’s visit and had consisted of a hundred or so warnings all delivered in an ambiguous, meandering speech, but she’d ended by waving her hand in the air as she left, with the final admonishment of Rachael not repeating the same mistake twice.
Rachael had no intention of it.
With Devlin, she preferred to make new mistakes.
That knowledge troubled her, because she had been able to put Tenney behind her so easily. Devlin’s presence had instantly banished Ambrose’s significance in her mind. The Viscount was potent to her senses in a way Tenney had never been and she wasn’t certain anyone else would be.
She would have to guard her emotions where he was concerned. For survival. She had escaped a mire so easily, but with him a romance wouldn’t be easily forgotten. It would never been forgotten and she wasn’t sure she was in his league.
She tried to remember seeing him out at an event and perhaps she had. In fact, she was sure of it. He’d had a woman at his side and all she’d seen was his profile, and it had captured her imagination. She’d not known who he was. No one had told her his name. But thinking back, she was certain it had been him. He’d been the forbidden fruit with a devilish attraction and she’d closed her mind to it.
Put it far, far from her memory so she wouldn’t be tempted to think of man who brought sunlight into the eyes of onlookers.
