by Diana Bold
Christian came to visit her several times during her convalescence. They played chess and chatted of inconsequential things but always skirted the deeper issues that seethed beneath the placid surface of their relationship. He never mentioned her child or his sickness, and neither did she. It was much easier to pretend nothing was wrong.
How she wished she had the courage to break the ice. Their time together was slipping away. Christian's condition deteriorated daily. She didn't want to lose him while there was so much that still needed to be said.
Ethan remained conspicuously absent.
Heat suffused Jessalyn’s face every time she thought about the way she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms. She tried not to imagine how wonderful it would have been to wake up in those same strong arms, protected and cherished.
For those few moments, she’d pretended to be the wife she so foolishly wanted to be and pushed their relationship far beyond the boundaries he'd been so careful to set. What must he think of her?
She’d pulled him out of his self-imposed exile and forced him to participate in life instead of merely observing. Did he hate her for upsetting his carefully constructed world?
She feared he’d never forgive her, and that was why he stayed away.
* * * * *
Ethan managed to avoid Jessalyn for more than a week. He spent most of the time in his new greenhouse. But no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t forget the feel of her, the absolute rightness of having her in his arms. The desire to hold her again grew with each passing moment.
He wanted her, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. But he couldn't shake the nightmarish image of his lovely bride tumbling down the stairs. Her pain, her tears, and the copious amount of blood that had soaked her pristine white gown were all the proof he needed to know that he’d only hurt her.
No one would ever convince him her accident hadn't been his fault. He refused to dwell on the pleasure and excitement in her eyes in the moments before she'd fallen. Instead, he plotted his next trip and tried not to think about how much he’d miss her when he was gone.
He was in the library, researching the islands of the South Pacific, when Jessalyn took matters into her own hands and sought him out.
"Fiji?" She took a seat across from him and tucked her long legs beneath her. Then she met his surprised gaze. "Is that where you're planning to go?"
He snapped the book shut in a flush of embarrassment, which was followed by a surge of anger. What right did she have to judge him? She knew nothing of the forces that drove him.
"I'm thinking about it. I've never been there before."
She gave a bitter laugh. "How nice it must be to be a man. To be able to say I'd like to go somewhere simply because I've never been. Of course, that would be a rather long list, considering I've never been anywhere."
His anger faded as he remembered the adventurous little girl she had once been. "I doubt you would have enjoyed most of the places I've been. The heat and the bugs alone would make you glad to return to the gentle English countryside."
She frowned. "I’m not afraid of a little heat and a few bugs."
"How about spiders as big as your hand?" A teasing note entered his voice as he stared at his lovely little English rose. He couldn’t imagine a less likely orchid hunter.
A stubborn, mule-headed look settled over her features, and he was reminded that she was made of far sterner stuff than her appearance suggested. "What does it matter? I'll never have the chance to find out."
The thought of taking her with him on one of his trips flashed hot and bright through his mind, but he forced it away. What was he thinking? If he couldn't keep her safe inside a posh English manor, how could he do so in the jungles of Fiji?
"Do you need something?" His words came out far gruffer than he’d intended, but he wanted her to go away. It was too hard to be around her right now.
Her troubled gaze veered away from him, and she curled her fingertips over the arm of the chair. "I just wanted to apologize for the other night."
“What are you talking about?” He stared at her tense profile. “You’ve done nothing for which you need to apologize."
"I imposed upon your generosity. And I'm certain my tears ruined your shirt."
“I thought we were friends.” He sighed and pushed himself out of his chair. Taking her hands, he knelt on the floor in front of her. “You didn’t impose."
"Friends." She laughed and lowered her forehead to his. "I value your friendship more than anything."
"Then quit feeling as though you're somehow imposing upon that friendship every time we’re together."
He allowed himself to lean against her. The scent of vanilla and roses filled his senses, and he throbbed with arousal. She'd tasted so sweet on their wedding day, and he wondered what she’d do if he kissed her again. It would be so easy…
"I do have a tendency to make everything harder than it really is.” Jessalyn’s lost little laugh filled him with tenderness.
He pulled away with aching reluctance and cupped her face in his hands. "Should you be out of bed?" Dark circles bruised the tender skin beneath her eyes, reminding him how close he’d come to losing her.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "In fact, one of the reasons I sought you out was to ask if I can help you with your work once I’m feeling better. I really want to get started on my illustrations."
“Of course.” He forced away a renewed surge of fear for her safety. He couldn't very well insist that she remain in bed forever, but he dreaded the thought of being responsible for her. "But you must bring a chair and promise me you'll return to the house if you get the least bit tired."
"All right." She gave him a wan smile, stared at him for a long, breathless minute, then leaned forward and pressed a sisterly kiss to his forehead. "Thank you for being my friend, Ethan."
He remained on his knees with her kiss tingling on his skin long after she hurried away.
* * * * *
A few days later, Jessalyn hurried down to the greenhouse right after breakfast. Ethan had finally promised she could help him today. She shoved open the door and collided solidly with the object of her affection.
"Easy." Ethan grabbed her arms and smiled down at her. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"Nowhere." She stared up at him with such longing she wondered how he failed to see it. "I thought I'd come and see if you need any help."
"I don't need help." He released her with what seemed like reluctance. "But I always enjoy your company."
His words pleased her. "What are you working on?"
"I've been studying my purple beauty." Taking her hand, he led her toward his workbench, where a gorgeous purple blossom sat in a small glass case.
"Oh, Ethan," she whispered. She leaned closer and peered at the orchid through the glass. "I've never seen anything so beautiful."
"Why are you whispering?" There was a teasing note in his voice. He moved to stand behind her.
She straightened, and embarrassed heat rushed to her cheeks. "I don't know. For a moment, it seemed like it could hear me." She gave a nervous laugh. "Silly, isn't it?"
He shook his head. "Sometimes I feel the same way. As though they're more intelligent than I am. Sometimes I think they might run away if I come up upon one too suddenly."
She met his mysterious green gaze, and a moment of pure, unsullied understanding passed between them. For the first time, she believed he’d given her a glimpse of his deepest thoughts. The moment stretched out until it became something else altogether.
Ethan lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "Sometimes I feel the same way about you. All these months, and I still feel as though you'll bolt if I move too fast."
She swallowed and fought the urge to lean more fully into his hand. "I don't know what you mean."
He laughed, a low, lost sound. "Perhaps it's time I showed you."
Cupping her face with both hands, he lowered his face toward hers, givi
ng her ample to time to pull away. When she remained still, he captured her lips in a tender kiss.
His warmth and passion overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to his gentle invasion, drowning in the sweet hot taste of him. With a soft groan, he deepened the kiss, burying his hands in her hair and holding her still for his tender ravishment.
Pressing against her, he backed her up until the workbench stopped her progress, then trapped her with the solid weight of his body. She clung to him, kissing him as though her life depended on it.
His hands trailed down her back and cupped her bottom. He brought her up hard against his hips in a way that left no doubt he was aroused. Startled, she tore away from him, staring into his hot green gaze while she struggled to catch her breath.
Shame washed over her. What was she doing? She’d promised herself she wouldn’t overstep the boundaries he’d set, yet here she was, proving all the gossip about her was true. Only a few weeks had passed since she’d lost her child, and here she was participating in the same sort of reckless behavior that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She brought her hand to her mouth in a useless attempt to wipe away his kiss.
Ethan's flushed, passion-drawn face drained of color. "Is my kiss that distasteful to you?"
Realizing what she was doing and how insulting it must appear, she dropped her hand. "Oh, Ethan. It's not that. It's just—"
He held up one hand to stop her flood of words. "It's all right. I understand. I know you're still in love with Flint. I never should have touched you. I’d just hoped enough time had passed."
Scrubbing his hand across his own face, he turned away and moved purposely toward the door. "I'm sorry, Jess. I'm so damned sorry."
"No, Ethan—” More confused than ever, she stared after him.
Ethan bolted from the greenhouse and strode through the gardens behind it, desperate to get away from his infuriating wife. His blood pulsed heavily in his veins. If he'd ever been in such a state of sexual frustration, he couldn't remember it.
He’d been back in England for over two months now, and he'd done nothing to alleviate his near constant state of arousal. He should take himself off to the nearest tavern and find some uncomplicated wench who would enjoy his touch. It would be easy to find a woman who would accept his kiss without wiping her mouth afterward.
With a furious oath, he sank down on a marble bench beneath a rose-covered arbor. Bracing one of his hands on the cool stone, he used his other to wrench open his trousers and free the heavy weight of his erection to the cool evening breeze. With a tortured groan, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine it was Jessalyn's hand that stroked and squeezed him, Jessalyn's hand that brought him to a shuddering orgasm moments later.
Gasping, shamed, and trembling, he sank full length along the bench. He stared up at the stars as though he might find answers in their brilliant light.
Jessalyn wasn't truly his wife, he reminded himself sternly. What's more, he didn't really want her to be.
He shouldn’t care that she still pined for the love of the bastard who'd taken her virginity and left her to bear his child alone. Better to remain friends and not complicate their relationship.
It was easier this way. Besides, he was terrified that if she ever let him make love to her, he'd say things in the heat of passion he didn't want her to know. I love you. I want you to bear my children. I don’t ever want to leave you.
Stunned by the direction of his thoughts, he groaned and refastened his trousers with trembling fingers. Bloody hell. Perhaps she'd done him a favor by wiping away his kiss as though he were a leper.
He'd already proven he couldn't keep her safe. How could he blame her for not wanting him to father her children or bind himself to her any way but financially?
But he couldn't stop thinking about those first few moments of their kiss. She'd been pure, sweet fire in his arms. She'd kissed him as though she loved him, too.
* * * * *
After Ethan left, Jessalyn sought out her brother. She needed to talk to someone about what had happened. While Christian wasn’t her confidant of choice, he was all she had.
She found him in the library, huddled beneath half a dozen blankets in front of the roaring fire. A travel book lay open on his lap, but she didn’t think he was reading. His expression was melancholy and far away. Guilt flooded her as she realized Christian’s heart had probably been broken, too, at one time or another.
Looking back, she found it odd that he’d never been engaged or taken a wife of his own. Still, there had to have been someone, a girl he’d once loved and dreamed of marrying. Perhaps he’d thought he’d have plenty of time.
Her own confusion and fear faded. With a sigh, she drew a chair up next to Christian’s and stretched her toes toward the fire. Briarwood held the heat far better than drafty old Harding Hall, but it was late fall and there was a definite chill in the air.
Christian gave her a wan smile. “I didn’t expect to see you this evening. I thought you’d be out working with Ethan long past my bedtime.”
Jessalyn gave an uncomfortable shrug, unsure what to say now that she was here. “He kissed me. I didn’t know what to do.”
Christian gave her a sharp glance. “Surely, this isn’t the first time.”
“The second, if you count our wedding day.” She touched her lips with one fingertip, remembering the sweet heat of Ethan’s mouth moving against hers. “I shouldn’t have stopped him.”
“You stopped him?” Christian stared at her in confusion. “With as much time as the two of you have spent together, I thought you’d taken your relationship to a more… physical level a long time ago.”
“He hasn’t shown any interest.” Or perhaps he had. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “And I don’t want to do anything that will make him feel he has to stay when he obviously wants to go.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” Christian seemed relieved. “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken again.”
She sighed. “I think I’d rather have his love for a little while and lose it than never have it at all.”
Christian closed his eyes, and a strange expression flitted across his face. “You love him?”
“I always have.” Her curiosity aroused, she leaned over and took Christian’s thin, cold hands in hers. “Have you ever been in love, Chris?”
He looked away, and embarrassed color crept across his cheekbones. “Of course.”
“With who?” She scooted closer and tried to get him to look at her. “Do I know her? Do you want me to send for her?”
Christian shook his head and finally met her gaze. “The person I love has no inkling of my affection.”
“Well, you have to tell her. Otherwise, she’ll never know.”
“That would create more problems than it would solve.” Christian sank back in his chair with a defeated look. “There are… circumstances that make the entire relationship impossible. I have no choice but to take my unrequited love to the grave.”
“Is she married?” His words broke Jessalyn’s heart. “Is that the problem?”
“Yes.” Christian’s rough, wounded voice was barely audible. “The person I love is married. To someone I care deeply about. So, you see my dilemma.”
Jessalyn gasped. “Is it Jane?” Other than herself and Ethan, Julian was Christian’s only other true friend.
Christian gave a hollow laugh. “No. It’s not Jane.”
When she would have asked more questions, he held up a hand, his irritation obvious. “I don’t want to discuss it any further.”
Both hurt and chagrined, Jessalyn rose with uncertainty. She leaned down and pressed her lips to Christian’s forehead. “Don’t be mad at me. I just can’t bear to see you so alone.”
“I’m not alone.” He made an effort to smile. “I have you, and I have Ethan. Who could ask for anything more?”
Chapter Thirteen
The next few weeks passed with agonizing slowness. The easy friendship betw
een Jessalyn and Ethan had vanished, only to be replaced by a tense wariness Jessalyn would have given anything to bridge.
Christian's condition continued to worsen. He grew even thinner and paler, and his coughing fits became more frequent. At the end of October, he took to his bed and now rarely left it. She and Ethan took turns keeping him company. Christian undoubtedly noticed the tension between them, but he didn't remark upon it.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d grown to count upon Ethan’s companionship. He was the only bright spot in her life, and she missed him desperately. She knew her reaction to his kiss had hurt him, but she didn’t know how to apologize without bringing up the subject of their mutual attraction. He’d avoided her to such an extent she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about anything at all.
But it wasn’t until she came downstairs one evening and caught him preparing to go out for the night that she realized she’d truly lost him.
She stood behind him in the hall and watched with a sinking heart as he slipped on his coat and gloves.
She'd grown so used to seeing him in the casual trousers and soft linen shirts he wore around the estate, she'd forgotten how handsome he looked in black evening wear.
A sick feeling took root in the pit of her stomach as she considered what this meant. She should let him go and pretend it didn’t bother her to think of him in the arms of another woman. Instead, she moved toward him, her eyes welling with tears.
"Where are you going?" The question escaped before she could stop it.
He froze and then squared his shoulders. Without turning to face her, he pulled on his other glove with a flourish. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going out."
"Why?" It was a stupid, foolish question, but she had a masochistic need to hear every sordid detail.
He spun to face her, and anger sparked in the depths of his green eyes. "Why? Because I need a release for the frustration you've caused me. Something other than my own hand."
