“Have you changed your mind then?”
“It’s not possible.” He spoke each word slowly, strained as though the effort gave him pain. “No change in course is possible now.”
“Then why are you here?”
He flinched, so slightly, she might have imagined it. And then she knew that she had spoken sharply, unintentionally, from the repressed hurt inside her.
The leafless trees gave no relief from the midday sun. It shone in glaring starkness upon his face, an unbearable harshness, revealing every fine line that creased the skin around his mouth and eyes. Glinting in brassy tones upon his gold eyelashes.
The dull, dark green color of his coat clashed with the red that marred his eyes and seemed to accentuate the ashen cast to his complexion. She had never seen this coat. Had never seen him wear this particular color. And she hated it on him.
If she had her way, it would go straight into the ragman’s bin.
How peculiar that she should feel that pang of possession towards Alex. Now when they were at an end.
He’d always been far too above her.
Too handsome, too charming, too sophisticated, too wealthy.
Too everything.
He would never have married her. But he had seemed so sincere! But that had been because he’d been lying to himself as well as to her. Now he was using the flimsiest of excuses to withdraw.
She’d been so scornful of John’s warnings. He’d been right all along. She owed him a heartfelt apology, she truly did.
Her nose was beginning to run again and she was forced to take her handkerchief from her pocket and blow. The raw sensation of the linen scraping against her flesh reminded her of how she must look, with her too-large nose now red and slightly swollen from the cold.
What a portrait this moment would make, with the bare trees, the stark sunlight and his horrid green jacket: Romance in Winter, The End of the Affaire.
She would never be able to bear sketching it.
He just kept staring at her. Self-consciously, she folded the used cloth carefully to a dry side and laid it on the far side of the bench.
“You’ve lost weight.” Again his tone was accusatory.
“I’ve had a cold.”
He took his foot from the bench and came to sit beside her.
His greater proximity made her heart flutter.
“You’ve not been well?” His voice was softer, concerned.
“Oh, just a cold.” She swiped at a stray tendril of hair. “Food lacks taste. I have no appetite.”
“You should take better care of yourself.”
“Yes, I suppose I should.”
“You had only just regained the weight you’d lost from the fever.”
“Stop…” She put a hand up. “Alex, please, just stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This. I cannot bear the pretense. As though nothing were changed between us.” Her throat closed up and she had to pause.
His eyes grew brighter until they seemed almost to glow. The effect transfixed her. It took her a moment to realize that their surface had grown glossy. He blinked several times then turned away.
The tightness that clutched her throat increased, as though someone were slowly choking her. She felt oddly disconnected, her mind frozen. Witless.
“Damn it all, Emily, I have never been in love before. I don’t know how these things are supposed to end.” His voice sounded hoarse, strained, as though he were suffering the same tightness in his throat as she was.
His pain lashed into her like a fury of hornet stings, sudden and beyond her ability to bear.
“Well, I certainly don’t know either!” She had to force the words out past the squeezing, aching sensation.
Shame flooded her instantly. She had spoken sharply to him again. Out of her own pain, yes, but it was no excuse. She reached a shaking hand out and touched his arm. “Alex…” Words failed her.
He looked down at her. “I spend all my time thinking of you, wondering how you are faring. I just wanted—” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingertips. “I had to see you.”
“Oh, Alex,” she said, softly, weakly.
He moved closer, until his thigh touched hers. Tingling energy crackled over her nerve endings and her heart beat rapidly. But this wasn’t right. Run, run, you’ll be lost if you don’t!
She couldn’t move.
He cupped her face. Bent towards her.
His touch, dear sweet heaven, she had longed so dearly for his touch. Elation consumed her.
But this was too dangerous.
Run, run!
“Oh, Alex,” she repeated dumbly, her voice scarcely a whisper this time.
He put his mouth on hers then slid his tongue along the seam of her lips.
She turned away. “No, don’t.”
“Emily.”
The ardency in his voice threatened to soften her resolve.
Don’t you believe him. He lies, to himself, to you. He’ll never, ever marry you!
“Don’t.” She pressed hard against his chest.
He looked down at her with a stunned expression. Then he removed his hands from her face.
At the loss of his touch her spirits crashed all over again and energy drained from her body. She slumped on the garden bench.
He backed away. “All right, that was wrong and I am sorry for it.”
She looked up and stared at his mouth and every part of her body longed for his kiss.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I wish you had not come here today.”
“Certainly, the best ending must be softer than just stopping all contact at once.”
“Sometimes the harsher cuts are the kindest, Alex.”
“Surely we shall remain friends?”
“I think it is too soon for us to simply be friendly with each other.”
“I see,” he said. Yet he made no move to leave. Several moments passed and then he stretched his legs out and crossed his hands over one knee. “She’s leaving.”
Of course he was speaking of Aimee. Sympathy for him sliced through her heart. “When?”
“In two days.”
He sounded so toneless. Resigned. But Emily could feel his pain right down into her bones. She didn’t know what to say but she also sensed that a response wasn’t needed.
When she had first met him, he had seemed like a brilliant, beautiful star that had fallen from the heavens into her lap. He had introduced her to sensual pleasures, taught her how to make love, and it had all been such a wonderful, exciting adventure. But now, here in this moment, she realized that she had never loved anyone or anything, not even her art or her causes, as much as she loved this man.
His happiness and well-being were paramount. If he were miserable, could she ever be happy or find satisfaction in anything else ever again?
“Alex.” A wealth of emotion charged her tone.
He looked down at her and the need in his expression seemed to pull her. She moved closer to him. She put her hand on his cheek. His lips touched hers. Had she leaned up? Had he bent down? She didn’t know.
All she knew for sure was the soft intensity of his mouth on hers. She opened her mouth and teased his lips with her tongue. He groaned deep in his throat and the sound vibrated into her body. Thrills shot through her. He cupped her face and at the same time thrust his tongue against hers. Hungrily, ravenously.
She dropped her hand and it landed on the warmth of his thigh. She ran her hand along that muscular solidness until she reached his erection.
He groaned again and shifted his body to give her better access.
She grasped his throbbing heat, caressing him.
He tore his mouth from hers. “God, how I adore your increasing boldness,” he said hoarsely. He put his lips to her neck.
“Emily!”
The childish voice carried on the wind. For a moment, it didn’t mean anything to her.
“Emily, where are you?”
/>
Elizabeth.
Emily tore herself away from Alex.
He gaped at her, appearing dazed.
“Betsy,” she said, unable to fully collect her thoughts. She twisted away from him and put her hands to her face and rubbed slightly, as though trying to wipe away her lustful thoughts. Then she lowered her hands.
Elizabeth came into view, her pale blonde ringlets bouncing wildly as she ran.
Emily jumped to her feet, a quick, guilty move. “Elizabeth! Where is your cloak?”
The child laughed. “You said we would make cookies today.”
“Cookies?” Emily blinked, nonplussed, for the request seemed so inane in the face of the passionate moment it had interrupted.
Elizabeth’s icy blue eyes widened. “Don’t you remember?”
“Of course, I do. Go back into the house and wait for me.”
Elizabeth looked over Emily’s shoulder. “Will Alex be coming too?”
“No, I don’t think he will. Go on now, I’ll be along shortly.”
“You’re not going to forget again?”
“I’ll be there very shortly.”
“Well, all right,” Elizabeth said, sounding uncertain.
“Good-bye, Betsy,” Alex said.
The little girl backed away slowly then finally turned and walked towards the house.
“You’re not staying in Cornelia’s employ. I told her that you’re not to work here any more. You are to be a guest. She agreed and if she doesn’t hold to that, you are to let me know.”
“I don’t mind working for my keep.”
“You’ve more important things to focus on. You must turn your attention to developing your artistic career. It is time you resumed your lessons.”
“She cannot be happy about being ordered to accept me as a guest.”
“You’ll soon be back at Dalton House. I’ll be leaving for New Orleans and you can live in the blue room again.”
There was that pressure in her throat again. He was leaving? And soon? Yes, she had wanted some time away from him. Just time to become more accustomed to their end as lovers. But there had been some comfort in knowing he would be close at hand. There would always be a chance, wouldn’t there?
But if he left now…
“Alex, do you have a mistress in New Orleans?” Despite all their recent turmoil, they were still close enough emotionally, still friends to a degree that such a question cost her no loss of pride. After his revelations, they could tell each other anything. They could show each other everything of their hearts and feel no shame.
She had never imagined feeling so close to anyone. Now he was leaving…
“I have no current mistress. Anywhere.”
“But you have women friends there.”
He took her hand. “No one is ever going to take your place.”
He was speaking of his heart. But there would be others. In his bed. Especially once he put geographic distance between himself and Emily.
They both knew it.
And it hurt her. Deeply. Because she also knew that she could never give herself to another man. Not now.
“When you’re gone, you’ll be gone.” Her voice broke a little on the last word.
He squeezed her hand. “Emily, don’t.”
“You’ll just be gone. Forever!” She pulled her hand from his and ran for the house.
****
A knock awoke Alex from a fitful slumber that night. When he arose and opened his door, he found Zachariah waiting there. The valet’s brown face was engraved with seriousness.
“Yes?” Alex asked.
“Mr. Alexander,” he said with his characteristic dignity. “Mr. Calabria’s servant sent word that he’s gotten himself into trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“A little too much belladonna.”
“Too much belladonna?” Alex repeated dumbly.
“Yes, sir. It doesn’t appear to have been an accident.”
Christ. Belladonna. Poison.
“I took the liberty of sending for Dr. Howe.”
“Yes, thank God you did… All right, wait here a moment, Zachariah.”
Alex sat in a chair by the bed in Nicolo’s bedchamber. He took a deep sip of his brandy, willing it to clear the fuzziness from his brain. Despite having spent the past night helping the doctor fight to save Nicolo’s life, he had little pity for his old friend.
Nicolo had three wives.
Nine known children.
All dependent upon his continued good health and industry.
Alex slammed his glass down on the sideboard and Nicolo opened purple-shadowed eyes.
“Alex, please, my head hurts bad enough, believe me.” His blue eyes were red and his face still pale.
It didn’t lessen Alex’s ire.
“How could you do it? How could you even think of killing yourself when you have three families depending on you?”
Nicolo closed his eyes. “Because I have nothing to live for. I am not a man.”
Alex let his lip curl up.
Flames lit in Nicolo’s eyes. “Oh, I see now… I see how it is. You think you can judge me, eh?”
“You’re a husband and a father. You have no time for this sickening self-pity.”
“You cannot understand.”
“What is there to understand? You made your bed, three times over.”
“I am not a man, Alex.”
“What nonsense!”
“I have done nothing with my life.”
“You’re a successful businessman.”
“Ah, yes. Even my business, you helped me to develop. You gave me money—”
“I invested in your enterprise because I believed in it.”
Nicolo scoffed. “It was from pure pity.”
“It was not. It was belief in your abilities.”
“It was pity, just like you give money to all those sad-eyed women of yours. You select them based on their neediness, just as you have kept me as a friend solely because I was so in need of helping.”
“And you accuse me of judging you? Tell me, what is my motive for such behavior?”
“Pride and vanity. You enjoy bestowing your largess upon the less fortunate. It makes you feel that you wear the mighty, noble Dalton name so well. The lord of the manor and his generosity! Bah!”
Nicolo’s scathing resentment stunned Alex. He sat, gaping at his old friend for several moments. “How dare you accuse me thus?”
“I did nothing. You did everything. You helped me make the contacts. You still throw business my way.”
“Was it a crime to want to help you? After what we had been through?”
“Bah!” He waved dismissively at Alex. “What do you understand? You are the mighty Alexander Dalton, esquire. You get everything you want in life. Even that little waif you dragged in off the streets of Hell City.”
“What has Emily to do with this?”
“Your happiness with her was nothing more than a thorn in my side. Reminding me of my wasted life.”
“Damn it, Nicolo, cease your self-pity.”
“Ah, yes. Cease my self-pity. As though such a thing could simply be ceased like blowing out a candle’s flame.”
“Good God, I never knew you were such a selfish bastard. And, if you must know, my engagement to Emily is broken now.”
Nicolo laughed softly. “Ah, so your engagement, your own second chance, is broken now.”
“Yes, broken. Done. Ended.”
“How does it feel, Alex, to know you are no better than I? All these years you have judged me.”
Alex bristled and opened his mouth to deny this charge.
Nicolo held up his hand. “No, please, maybe not to my face, but how could you help but judge me, eh? You didn’t understand. Your way was to use too many women to avoid falling for one. But now you understand completely, do you not, my friend?”
Alex’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “And that pleases you? You’re happy that my engagement is broken. Don�
��t deny it.”
Nicolo shrugged. “There’s always comfort in company. Especially good company.”
He took a deep drink of brandy. “What will you do now?”
“I was thinking of accompanying the Sophia when she sails.”
“Aye, it’s good to make a clean break. Put some distance between yourself and the problem.”
The problem? Was that all Emily was to become to him? A troublesome ghost of his past? The thought twisted in his guts like soured wine.
“That girl will be better off.” Nothing could disguise the satisfaction in Nicolo’s voice.
It didn’t help that he was absolutely correct.
Chapter Eleven
Alex listened with half his attention to the table chatter. His food was settling in his stomach like a cold, lead ball. He couldn’t stop thinking about Nicolo. Had he really failed his friend so completely?
And this was the last evening meal he would share with Aimee. He couldn’t keep his gaze from lingering on her, trying to somehow commit her image perfectly to memory. He knew how time could soften the edges. He wanted none of her edges softened, wanted to remember as she was exactly.
“It is just astonishing,” Aunt Rachel said.
“What is so astonishing, Mama?” Nancy replied.
“How much Aimee looks like Alex.”
Tense silence fell over the chamber. Everyone else knew and yet none of them had spoken openly. Nancy wasn’t blind or stupid. Of course she knew as well.
But Aunt Rachel had always had a particular way of viewing the world, seeing only what she wanted to see. The women in Alex’s mother’s family seemed prone to casting an imaginative gloss over life.
Alex looked up and gave his aunt a smile and the effort made his face feel overly stretched from the effort. “She’s surely prettier than that, Aunt Rachel.”
Nancy laughed, a sound that carried far more humor than it should have.
François Leroy wasn’t smiling. He looked pale, his eyes wide. He reached for his wine glass and his hand shook so much it toppled, spilling blood red liquid on the stark white linen tablecloth.
“Oh pardon, me!” he said, mortification flushing his face. He began to attempt to sop up the spill with his napkin but his shaking hands made a mockery of the action.
Alex’s guts churned and he took a slow, deep breath. Yes, François was justified in being afraid. Alex was very wealthy. Powerful. And François was a stranger in this land.
Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle Page 108
