He paused at his door for a moment, and was about to go back to bed when something alerted his senses to movement. It hadn't exactly been a sound, more of a perception that something was amiss in his mansion. Without bothering to put on his robe, he quietly opened the door. Cold air met his bare chest, but he was far too intent on listening now to be bothered with his state of undress. He peered out into the darkness of the hallway. Michaela's door was ajar. That in itself was not so odd. She was probably downstairs getting more paper. Still, his senses remained alert. He had an unusual feeling that something was not exactly well in his world.
Downstairs, Michaela paused outside Christopher's office. She stared at the closed door. That was odd. It was usually open. She reached out and twisted the knob, and was surprised to find the door locked. She'd never known Christopher to lock his office door. Perhaps it was a precaution against all the guests staying at the mansion. That was certainly understandable. She wouldn't want just anyone prying into her private affairs, either.
She sighed. Her desire to write was strong tonight. She needed more paper, but now she would have to squelch her imagination and wait until tomorrow. Disappointed, she started to turn away but glanced up sharply when a movement in the hall caught her eye. She gave a little gasp when James Telford stepped out of the shadows and blocked her path.
"Did I frighten you?"
Though she was not at all pleased to encounter him there, she managed an answer. "A little."
He just stood there looking at her. She stared back at him, a bit confused, the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears with every beat of her heart. He was in no apparent hurry to make his intentions known. Rather, he seemed to simply be assessing her. The way he looked at her was disturbing, and her heart turned over with dread. She could sense that he was up to no good, and being trapped there in the darkened hallway with him frightened her. There was no one about but the two of them. Anything could happen.
His eyes slid to the door behind her, narrowing as he contemplated it, then went back to her face. There was something dark in his expression, something sinister and threatening.
"At first, I wondered if you were sleepwalking," he finally said, his eyes roving her face. "But now I see that I was mistaken. Do you often roam the house at night?"
"I...."
"Do you often snoop into your host's office? You go through his things while he sleeps?"
Michaela started to shake her head, to negate the hateful remarks, but he ignored her.
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
He took a step closer. Michaela froze, instantly afraid for herself. There was something malevolent about him. He was staring at her with undisguised disdain in his eyes.
"Were you out snooping around trying to find out how much he's really worth?"
"You're mistaken," she murmured, her voice disappointingly tremulous. She had wanted to sound stronger, more sure of herself, but she only managed to sound frightened out of her wits.
"Am I?" he mused.
She didn't like the way he was looking at her, didn't like the direction of his gaze, the way it lingered at the open throat of her nightgown, the way it slid down the length of her only to return to her face and rest rather lustfully on her lips. Thinking to ignore him, she averted her eyes and started past him. He didn't move an inch. Instead, he made it so that she had to brush close to him in order to get by him. Swallowing hard to squelch another stab of fear, she carried on. She was almost past him, almost thought he would let her go, when he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her up against his side so that her shoulder was pressed into his chest. She couldn't help the small cry of alarm that escaped her throat, but still she didn't meet his eyes. She knew it was what he wanted, but she wouldn't allow him that. She stared straight ahead, too terrified to look at him, her body rigidly opposed to his assault. She hoped he would make an end of his ill-mannered game quickly and leave her to go on her way, but she feared that he had no such intentions. She sensed what he was after, and it made her blood freeze in her veins.
He lifted his free hand and traced the backs of his fingers down the neckline of the white silk nightgown she wore. She sucked in a breath of panic, and her body went even more rigid. She began to tremble all over with the knowledge of his intentions, and her throat filled with dread.
"Did your Mr. Standeven give you this gown?" he murmured, invasively close to her ear.
She turned her head away, tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip on her arm.
"Favor for favor?" he whispered, his lips so close to her ear now that they almost brushed her hair.
Her eyes closed, and her chin trembled in revulsion.
"What? No answer." He laughed. "No one is fooled, not even by your formality with Christopher. We all know what you do behind closed doors after everyone else has gone to bed."
She gasped in outrage, but fear choked off any protest she might have made. Her terror seemed to excite him, and he slid his hand to her throat, then roughly tugged her robe off one shoulder. Her breathing became fast and ragged, and she whimpered a little in objection. He lowered his head to kiss her, but she strained away from him. She tried to break away then, thinking to catch him off guard, but his grip on her arm was much too tight. He was hurting her now, bruising her flesh, deliberately being cruel.
In a panic, she shouted, "No! Please!"
Suddenly, Christopher stepped out of the shadows, his eyes full of rage. "Get your filthy hands off her!"
Michaela was relieved to see him, but memories of another incident not so long ago with a man not unlike James Telford kept her rigid with shame.
James didn't release her right away, just whipped his head around to stare at Christopher in surprise. But then the snide expression settled around his mouth again, and he glared back at the other man.
Michaela's eyes were riveted on Christopher. He was a lifeline, perhaps her only lifeline. He stood there like a god, his bare chest heaving with rage, and his eyes brilliant with warning. Her heart sang at the sight of him.
Lord, she loved this man. With all her soul she loved him. She'd never loved anyone so strongly, so deeply, so completely as she loved Christopher Standeven. And she knew she never would again.
Christopher stepped closer, his voice menacing, little more than a hiss of warning as he said, "I didn't invite you here to paw my guest."
Angry now, James shot back, "She's not my sort, anyway."
Explosive rage pushed Christopher to shout. "I want you out of my house! Now!"
"Father will hear of this," James hissed, his eyes narrowed in anger.
"You can count on that," Christopher returned, his eyes glittering a warning. "And I can assure you, he will not be pleased."
James laughed, a bitter, rebellious sound that came from deep inside his throat. "It won't change anything. It's too late. The ball is already in my court. Things will be different now. You won't be cock of the walk for long."
Christopher stared at him, undiscerning.
James gave him a disdainful smile. "Oh, yes. I intend to change everything. It's what he came to tell you. I will soon be your new partner. The ink is drying on the page as we speak."
"Father?"
When she heard the tentative voice, Michaela glanced up and saw Gerald standing a few feet behind his father, his eyes full of concern as he stared at all of them.
Christopher didn't even turn around, just barked, "Go back to bed, Gerald. I will take care of this."
"Michaela?" Gerald began.
Christopher turned to look at his son, insisting, "Go back to bed." He'd spoken with much more force than he'd intended, but it was out now, and there was no taking it back.
Gerald just stood there for a moment, staring back at him, and Michaela could see that the command had hurt him.
"Please," Christopher said, his voice much gentler now. He hadn't meant to treat his only son like a child, but this situation was intolerable, and his
nerves were stretched to the breaking point. "This is embarrassing enough for Michaela as it is."
Gerald seemed to understand then and ducked his head in acknowledgement, already starting to back down the hall. "If you need anything...."
"I won't hesitate to call on you," Christopher assured him.
Michaela watched Gerald slowly take the stairs. Just before he reached the landing, he paused to meet her eyes, and she could see the reluctance in his expression. He didn't want to leave her.
Christopher turned dangerous eyes on the man who still held Michaela captive, silently threatening. "You have no concept who you're dealing with. I could crush you like a grape and never blink twice."
Even James couldn't deny that Christopher was a powerful man, a man few could match and win. The two men stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity before James finally released Michaela. At first, she was too frozen by fear to move. Seeing her hesitation, Christopher stretched out a hand and motioned for her to come to him. She took a tentative step, her knees feeling oddly weak and unwilling to move.
"You command her like a dog, and she obeys," James quipped. "She's not even aware that she's doomed to a life of eternal servitude, at your beck and call."
"Get out," Christopher seethed, something in his voice more deadly than Michaela had ever heard before.
James glared at him in open hostility for a moment, then thought better of any further contention and obligingly started up the stairs. Portia stood on the landing above, staring down on the scene below. She looked both smug and unhappy. Christopher glared up at her, his jaw tight with disapproval.
"And take your sister with you. Neither of you are welcome in my home again."
The moment the two of them were out of sight, Michaela ducked behind the nearest bureau and tried to hide herself. Christopher dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out to pull aside the curtain of hair that hid her face. She flinched away, mortified to even be in the same room with him.
"Don't look at me. Please," she whimpered, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her tears.
"It's all right. He's gone," Christopher assured her. "Both of them are gone."
She shook her head. "There must be something terribly ugly about me to make people treat me so."
"You're beautiful, Michaela. You are a beautiful human being. Both inwardly and outwardly."
She shook her head again, shaking several tears free of her lashes. "No one will ever...love me," she sobbed.
Then, in a flash, she was on her feet, bolting away from him and up the stairs. Christopher was after her just as quickly, reaching her room just steps behind her. She raced to the closet and threw it open, frantically searching its contents. Her aim was all too clear. She meant to leave him.
Intent on calming her, he closed the distance between them in two strides and reached out to take her arms, pulling her away from the closet.
"Please don't stop me. I'll only take what I have to," she swore, weeping bitterly now, her shoulders shaking with every sob.
"Where would you go, Michaela?" he gently reminded her. God, to see her in such pain was tearing him apart.
Her weeping was momentarily interrupted as she contemplated his words. She knew what he meant. He meant that she had nowhere to go. And he was right. Deflated, she slumped onto the bed. "Does it matter?" She shook her head, then buried her face in her hands. "Does anything matter anymore?"
"It matters a great deal to me," he whispered.
She stopped weeping and stared up at him, not quite certain she'd heard right. He gazed back at her, and there was something in his eyes that she'd never seen there before, something like pain.
Christopher silently opened his arms. Never thinking to refuse him, Michaela stood up and moved toward him. And then she was in his arms, wrapped in the peace and security he offered. It was all she needed. He was all she needed.
"No one will ever hurt you again, Michaela. Ever. I promise you that," he murmured against her hair.
Christopher rested his cheek against her hair, breathed deeply of the fragrance of her, reveled in the feel of her in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything, that he had her novels safely in his possession, that Yelvington was no longer a threat. She need never go back to her family again, and she could remain here with him forever if that's what she chose to do. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know that she was safe. But he wasn't sure if the timing was right.
"Something inside me snapped when I saw him touching you. I nearly lost my mind," he told her.
"I'm just glad you were there," she answered, her cheek pressed against his chest. She tipped her head back to look up at him. "Oh, Christopher, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused you."
His heart twisted as he looked down at her, all his resolve flying in the face of reason. She had called him by his given name. For the first time since she'd come to them, she had actually spoken his name. Coming from her soft lips, it sounded almost angelic. He was captivated by the beautiful image she made in her nightgown. She felt so right in his arms, like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there, her warm body pressed against his, so provocative.
Suddenly, his hands were in her hair, the strands spilling out over his clenched fists, and he was pulling her closer, claiming her lips with his. He groaned against her mouth and crushed her to him. He couldn't deny himself anymore. He had to touch her.
His lips were on her mouth, on her throat. He pushed aside the robe so he could feel the soft, rounded swell of her shoulders. He couldn't stop himself. He was reckless as he raked his lips across her tender flesh, claiming the tender bud of her mouth, her name falling from his lips over and over again. She sighed against him, returned his kisses with a fervency that matched his. She melted into him, her beautiful, tempting body brushing his, making him rigid with need. He molded her to him, pressed her tightly against his masculine core. When she moaned against his mouth, he nearly lost his mind. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could have her now, take her with all the fire and passion he longed for.
"Oh, Christopher," she sighed.
He knew he was bruising her mouth with his own, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. This passion had gone too long suppressed. It cried out for freedom, with a voice far too powerful to ignore any longer. He couldn't have stopped it if he'd wanted to.
His hands left her hair to trail down her back. Silk frustrated his fingers, and he tugged it away, anxious to feel her bare skin beneath his hands. He heard something rip beneath his onslaught, and she gave a little cry of something like pleasure. It jolted him to his senses: the torn cloth he still clutched in his hands, the little cry that reminded him so much of the cry of fright he'd heard fall from her lips only moments ago when she'd been under attack by James Telford.
He lifted his head and stared down at her, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. She was looking back at him, her eyes glazed with desire, her lips red from his impassioned kisses. God, how he wanted to touch her more, to make love to her. But he couldn't. She trusted him, and he couldn't bring himself to destroy that bond, so fragile between them. He was behaving like an animal, no better than James Telford.
Ashamed, he let go of her nightgown and took a few steps away from her. She stared at him, a look of surprise on her face. He half turned away to hide his body's response to their passion, but he didn't turn his eyes away from her. He couldn't. He had to drink her in, had to remember the way she looked just now, wanting him, her hair falling disheveled about her shoulders, her eyes pleading with him to tell her what was happening, to tell her why he was rejecting her.
He reached out and gently traced her cheek with his palm. Then he bent forward, started to place his lips on hers for one last kiss, but he never quite made it. He knew if he kissed her again, he would never stop. He would never be able to tear himself away. He raised his head, traced his thumb along her jaw, and then turned his back on her. He had to force himself to leave.<
br />
It wasn't until he was safely locked in his own room that he realized he hadn't told her about her freedom, hadn't explained. He'd needed to get away so badly that he had inadvertently left her with nothing. He pounded a frustrated fist against the mantelpiece and glared down into the empty grate in the fireplace.
No matter his desires, he would have to stay away from her, at least for a time, long enough to convince himself that he didn't want her, didn't need her.
Indulge yourself. It was one of Gerald's favorite sayings. But would he be so quick to allow it given the present circumstances? Would his only son despise him for what he'd done? Would Michaela even tell him?
Blast, he was in an agony of indecision. Wanting, needing. Not knowing. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless. It was not a feeling that made him proud.
Michaela stood in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the closed door Christopher had so recently disappeared through, her torn nightgown trailing from her bare shoulders. She touched her lips and smiled. Though he had left so abruptly, without any explanations, she didn't necessarily feel rejected. She'd never been kissed like that in all her life. Surely, it meant something. At the very least, she knew he wanted her. That in itself was something.
She shivered at the memory of him standing there in the middle of her room, his bare chest heaving with passion. She'd traced her fingers down his lean back, across his broad chest, down his muscular arms, and it had felt good. Forbidden. Exciting. And warm.
She turned away from the door and accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Stunned, she took a step closer to peer at her image. She looked...beautiful. At that moment, she saw what Christopher had seen, and for the first time in her life, she thought she was beautiful. She smiled again. It was Christopher. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel intelligent, strong, capable. And most importantly, he made her feel worthy.
No, she didn't see this night as rejection. Quite the contrary, it gave her hope, a hope she intended to cling to. She mattered to him. He had said so. And that was all she needed.
The Whisper Of Wings Page 27
