by Liz Tyner
He could not let the feelings take hold in himself again. But when he saw Melina stand back from the fireplace and look at the likeness of her family, he ached inside. It was too late. He wanted the dark-haired beauty. But now he had enough control he could keep himself from folly.
‘Warrington.’ Melina strode to his side. ‘You are not concerned that I am alone in your house and you’ve invited people who might see me?’
He let out a slow breath. ‘No. Daphne knows of my trials. We’ve shared letters. Before Cass died, Daphne visited Whitegate to help Cassandra’s spirits when she was going to have a third child. This one mine. Only the sisters seemed at cross purposes with each other. They argued. Cassandra locked herself in her bedchamber and refused to speak to us. Daphne left and Cassandra died a few days later. Daphne wrote to me of the sadness she felt because their last words had been unpleasant.’ He huffed out a breath. ‘I think my wife awaited the third birth with the same joy I had of the second.’
‘Daphne was caught between loyalties,’ Melina said.
‘She tried to warn me before I even proposed to Cass. I perceived Daphne jealous then. I believed Cass wanted to marry me, not my title.’ He turned to Melina and shrugged. ‘Titles are handy things—if you don’t expect too much of them.’
He moved close to the wall and touched the harpoon. ‘Like this, I suppose. Nice to have at rare times. Completely useless in daily life.’ He turned to her. ‘And I have a child in my house. A child who means nothing to me but a memory of betrayal. My illness. My father’s death. All seem tied in the little one’s face when I see her.’
‘Even your father’s death? You jest?’ She stepped within reach of him.
‘No. I am tall enough that if I walk into a hovel, I will have to bend my head, but an imp no higher than my knee has conquered me, her innocent face a trumpet blaring the past. She makes me remember—when all I want is a new beginning.’ He raised his brows and shook his head at the same time. ‘I cannot return to Whitegate because of the child Cass left behind. When my wife was alive, I pretended the little girl didn’t exist. But I can’t now. And she reminds me of everything bad of my old life. And the suspicion I have that I still don’t know everything that happened under my roof.’
‘You tell me your wife had a child by another man. What more could there be?’ She took his hand.
At first, he ignored her question. Instead, he pulled her fingers to his lips to brush a light kiss against her wrist. He caught the scent of her soap and his mind flashed back to the memory of childhood innocence and the sweetness of his youth. Before his mother died and his father remarried. When his life had held the promise of every difficulty being no higher than his knee. Before he realised the littlest-sized hurdle could be the biggest to overcome.
He shook his head. ‘I tell myself I’m wrong—and perhaps I am.’ He took her arms and moved her aside so he could leave. ‘But I believe I’d not even suspected the evilness in my home until now. I believe Cass had a secret that died with her.’
‘What?’ Melina stood so close. He would not have had to take a step to pull her against him for comfort. But he couldn’t.
He had brought Cassandra into his life. And the part that still confused him was that he didn’t think she’d loved him, but she’d not hated him, either. He felt certain she’d not hated him.
He needed to be alone. To think clearly. Without memories haunting him or the lustre of Melina’s eyes.
And now his hopes were fixing on Melina. A woman whose face caught the light with intensity. Melina had an allure of another world. He could not let an impossible illusion take over his life again.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose I can feel another storm coming and it gives me unease. I’ve not put her to rest yet. I wanted to bury her memory in the sea. I came home—but then I realised I had brought you, another lovely woman. The child is still here. The scar. Everything is just as I left it, only perhaps bigger.’
He walked to the window, peering through the opening between the draperies.
‘No platitudes?’ he asked. ‘No sympathy?’
‘No.’
‘I left Whitegate when Cass returned after her adventure and did not go back until shortly after the birth. I decided I didn’t want a whole nest of other men’s children popping up around me. I made my view clear—and I delivered my rules if she wished to stay. And she became faithful. Not by choice, I’m sure. A carriage wheel would not turn without my approval. Nor could she sneeze without my being made aware of it.’
He could see nothing but bare shapes in the dark. He pulled the curtains wide, but the moonlight was hidden behind clouds. ‘I tried to go back to where we were. To start over. I tried every day. Every night.’
He breathed in the blackness around him, putting his palms flat on the panes, feeling the coolness, wondering what would happen if he let his strength go and he pushed.
‘It’s not her I hate. It’s myself. I loved her. And I wanted her to have another child. This one mine.’ His heartbeats almost made him unable to hear his words. ‘She was a wanton of the first water, and after the girl was born Cassandra had to have another child for me. It was one of the many conditions I made for her to continue to live in my world. She loved the illusion around us and wanted it to continue.’
He turned. He wanted to leave the memories he’d pulled back into his thoughts. He already felt the shortness of breath and the darkness so thick he had to push himself to move through it. He had to leave the room. ‘I hope you have pleasant dreams, Melina.’
*
Melina watched Warrington leave, seemingly unaware of the world around him except for the shapes he needed to avoid to keep moving. If ghosts were real, the spirit of Cassandra would have been walking along with him. She didn’t believe in any kind of supernatural beings, except perhaps goddesses, but that didn’t mean his wife wasn’t still with him, as strongly as ever before.
She just wanted to touch him and comfort him. Putting her arms around him might not truly soothe him, but for that moment, he would know he wasn’t alone with his memories.
Curling herself into a chair, Melina imagined the life he’d lived. She would have thought his wealth made everything simple. But it hadn’t. Even now, as she tried not to think about the things of her past, she couldn’t. And she’d not had Warrington’s heartbreak. The betrayal.
Melina looked at the brown garment she wore and knew Warrington had wanted the frock made in such a fashion. Touching the sleeve, she ran her hand over it. A soft garment, but still a hideous sack.
In Melos, even a grandmother would not make such colourless clothes. If Melina wished to be unseen, all she’d have to do was stand close to a wooden wall. The strangling undergarment the dressmaker had forced on her made no difference because it didn’t matter how much her stomach was pulled to nothingness and her breasts were pushed up, out and over, the brown concealed everything.
She remained in the room, thinking about betrayal, until the darkness surrounded her with the same pressure of the suffocating cabin walls from the ship. Moving to the mermaid room, she began pulling her clothes from her body so she could dress for bed and remembered she was tied into the underthings from the back. Squirming and twisting did her no good.
With her dress left lying on the bed, Melina went back to the sitting room. She opened the desk drawer and found a penknife. Reaching behind her, she hacked the knife upwards under the ties. This garment pinched and should be burned.
When she loosened the strings enough, she wiggled free of the underthing and let it fall to the floor. She smoothed out her chemise and put the knife back into the drawer.
Taking the damaged garment, she walked the hallway to Warrington’s room and knocked.
A groggy ‘Yes?’ came through the wood.
Gathering her courage, she pushed open the door, peering in. Moonlight fell through open curtains, mixing light and shadows. The scent of shaving soap, and something that reminded her of trees with new leaves, li
ngered in the air. One pillow was on the floor, leaning against the bed. Warrington lay in the middle of the mattress, his fist clenched around tangled coverings. When she stepped into the room, he slowly opened his eyes.
‘Broomer—you’ve changed.’ He spoke without inflection.
She shut the door and moved to the side of the bed. She stood so close she could see the outline of his bare shoulder.
‘This thing…’ she tossed the corset over a boot stand ‘…is broken. And I do not want it repaired.’
‘What is this thing you just tossed over my boots?’
‘A noose for a woman’s stomach.’
‘They are ugly. Those nooses.’
‘I can’t breathe in it.’
‘Then I am pleased you removed it.’ His words were soft, reverent. The husky tones flowed into her skin.
‘I worried about you.’ She forced the words out. ‘You are alone, though you have brothers and a son.’
‘You needn’t concern yourself, Melina. Men are meant to be alone more than women. But I am thankful for your thoughts.’ He rolled to the side of the bed near her, took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss along the closed fingertips. He pressed his face against her knuckles while raising his gaze.
His lips parted and sleepy eyes watched her. Tousled hair fell across his forehead. In less than a second, she locked the image into her mind.
His eyes awakened fully. He moved again, the covers rustling, and he waited.
She pulled her fingers from his grasp. His breathing changed, almost stopping. She pressed closer to the bed, her legs touching the edge. He moved back, pulling the coverings and leaving an empty space between them. His eyes flicked to the bare spot and then to her. ‘It’s still warm,’ he said.
He propped himself on one elbow—a tower of strength capturing her senses so much she couldn’t blink. His fingers—still callused from his time on the ship—clamped over hers, tugging her forward. But the burning need in his eyes drew her into the bed.
She slid into the cocoon he’d woven with the air he breathed and with the beating of his heart. He bent over her and the force of a wave crashed into her. He was muscle, strength and sinew.
‘Aphrodite has risen from the night and captured me.’ His words, roughened by emotion, rolled over her. He looked at her and pulled her deeper into his embrace. ‘Is there a reason you’ve appeared before me? A reason you’ve graced me with your presence?’ He stopped, his breath brushed her lips and her body pulsed alive.
He kissed her, a warmed brandy taste. Her hands reached out and the strength under her palms overwhelmed her senses. The power in his body caused her breath to hitch—and she wanted Warrington even closer.
He pulled back and she looked up, completely overtaken by his presence. ‘I can resist you in the daylight,’ he said, ‘but in the darkness, I believe you aren’t real. You’re a spirit to tempt me and I am in your power.’
His eyes held emotions she’d never seen before and not known existed. Any goddess would have met her match with him. He was like no mythical creature she’d ever heard of. Perhaps one had been so wily as to escape detection and did not let himself be found in any tales, and now he was before her, more compelling than any imagined.
Warrington took one finger, touching the tie of her chemise, and with a tug he unfastened the ribbon and flared the opening. He only barely brushed against her, but she responded as if she had been stone before and he woke her.
His hands slid over her breasts, caressing, sliding down, covering her hips and reaching the hem of her chemise. Reverently, he pulled the garment over her head.
Her fingertips traced the wall of his chest and the pebbled nipples. She could sense the whole of him with the barest touch. He stilled, as though the sensations overwhelmed him.
She splayed her palm, feeling the hair flattened beneath. His chest seemed to go on and on and on and on, but it was only that time had stilled, magnifying her movements, letting her experience a treasure in the feelings.
He hugged her to him, tightening her against the ridge pressing upwards between them.
She ran her fingers over his shoulders, traced his neck and stopped at the tendrils of his hair, holding him. Her movements unleashed something behind his eyes, but it wasn’t as if he turned from marble to a man—the opposite. Awareness left his face and he became controlled by passions and light and pulses.
‘Let’s forget the ship. Let this be our first time, Melina.’
He kissed her once again. All she could taste or touch or know was the overpowering awareness of his body. Her heartbeat had changed into pulsations—sensations beyond what she ever could have imagined.
He put his hand to her legs—her inner thigh—and up, into the centre of her pleasure. He touched her, stroked her, and the sensations became stronger, building, until they burst throughout her entire being. Something surrounded her and caught her and filled her with intensity and wrung it from her, bringing every possible pleasure she could feel together at once, leaving her stunned, and alive and unable to move.
Warrington pressed himself up, the covers falling free. He rose—not from the sea, but like the earth moving a volcano upwards until it blocked out sun and all the rest of the world. Her hands reached up to him, but she had no control over them. Nothing remained in her control. Not him, or herself.
He touched her legs, opening them, but she didn’t truly feel his hand, the pleasure was too intense to belong only to one part of her, or to be felt in one place. He nuzzled his face against hers, whispering her name, and then he moved above her.
The moment his body united with hers—the warm rush of him—she bolted alive, pulling at his back, and pushed herself forward, wanting his touch to penetrate all of her.
And she knew when he lost himself in her. Sounds, simple heartbeats sounded as a thousand drums and even then the world became completely silent.
He looked down at her. She didn’t know if a second, a minute or a night-time passed, when he whispered, ‘Aphrodite.’
And then he rolled to the side and pulled her into the haven of his arms, but it was really no haven. Nothing could shelter her from the feelings he unleashed.
No person could have experienced what had just happened to her and not be changed for ever.
*
Warrington rhythmically touched the strands of Melina’s hair, her head resting on his shoulder. Melina slept, but he had no weariness in him.
How many times had he left his chamber to go to search out Cassandra in the night? And not once had she found her way to his bed. After his illness, he’d been tempted to find a mistress, but he hadn’t. Each time he’d sought Cass out after the betrayal, he’d hoped their joining would mean something more than his body’s desire for relief.
Cassandra had never pulled him closer—even before Jacob was born. Her fingers rested against him, but they didn’t move. Melina’s deep gasps had startled him, but they’d also inflamed him, and taken his control. And her hands—clutched at him, gripping him as if she could not bear to let him go.
He shut his eyes. He’d not known. He thought passion was from the body and had not realised it could begin in the deepest recesses of the heart.
Placing the lightest kiss on her head, he slipped his arm from under her shoulders and pressed the covers close. His movement caused her to roll towards him, and in the dimness, he could see her lashes touching her cheek, fluttering awake.
Her hand clasped the covers at her chest, and she sat up. He forced himself not to run a hand down the gentle ridges of her backbone, but to turn away.
Leaving the bed, he padded to his wardrobe and found his own dressing gown. He put it on and sat in the overstuffed chair.
‘Are you not sleepy?’ she asked.
‘No.’
Melina sat on the disarray of covers, hair tumbling around her shoulders. Pulling the counterpane close, she moved forward on the bed until she sat near the end. She wrapped a hand around the foot po
st and rested her head against the smooth wood.
‘Do you not sleep afterwards?’ she asked.
‘Usually.’ He brushed back his hair. ‘This is different.’
She shut her eyes, face still against the wood, bedclothes tucked under her arms, and he wondered if he dreamed the moments with her. But it wasn’t an illusion. His mind could not have conjured something so perfect.
Melina was more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen and the woman he desired more than any other. And his demons surfaced, asking him how many times his own heart had lied to him.
Chapter Sixteen
Before the day was out, Warrington intended to know who Cassandra had met after leaving him to die at Whitegate.
He dressed and left the chamber after telling Melina who would be visiting that evening.
He wanted to be alone so he could think with a clear head. But perhaps he’d picked the wrong room for solitude. In the sitting room, he stopped after one step on to the rug, looking down as if he expected to see shattered glass. He raised his gaze to the gouge on the fireplace.
The mantel was the most ornate thing in the house. Big, white, carved marble and one of the acanthus leaves had been broken off.
More than two years before, he’d been discussing changes at Whitegate’s stables with Dane and a messenger had arrived to let them know Cassandra had had the successful birth of a baby girl. The chair had been replaced afterwards. One of Ben’s mementos had been broken—perhaps some kind of ship made of twigs. He raised his eyes to the tops of the curtains. His mind flashed on pulling them down from the walls but maybe he imagined it.
He didn’t want to be told about that night, didn’t want to know what others knew of it and didn’t want it known he couldn’t recall the fury. He was thankful he’d been miles from Whitegate and wished he’d been far from any other seeing and hearing person.
Now, when the raps at the entrance alerted him of guests, he walked to the head of the stairs. Broomer wasn’t in the house to answer. He’d been sent on another of the special errands he excelled at. The maid of all work bustled from a doorway below, a cleaning cloth in her hands, and rushed to the vestibule to answer the knock.
