Beatrice moved woodenly in his grasp, feeling more like a puppet than a person as she lifted her gaze to his. She shook her head from side to side, sending pale tendrils of hair sliding across her cheeks. “You would not understand.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then make me. Make me understand, Beatrice.”
“I cannot.” He was asking her to do the impossible. How could she make him understand when she didn’t fully understand herself? A normal person did not react as she had to the burning of curtains. She knew that, just as she knew what she felt inside her heart could never be explained nor understood, especially by the likes of Jack Emerson. He was a man without an ounce of empathy. A man without a conscience. A man with a heart as black as her own.
“Let me go,” she said, turning her head to the side. A leaf of hair fell like a pale curtain across her face, hiding her countenance from view.
“Why?” Jack pressed ruthlessly, his grip tightening until she felt his fingers sink into bone. He gave her a light shake. She bared her teeth and hissed, reacting to her captivity as a wild animal would. “Why do you need them?” he demanded. “Look at me. Look at me!”
Tossing her hair back, Beatrice lifted her tear drenched gaze to his. “I despise you,” she whispered.
“Damn you, why?” He shook her again, harder this time. “Tell me why.”
“Because they protect me!” she shouted, shocking herself both with the vehemence of her outburst and the honesty of her admission. “They protect me,” she repeated quietly. A line appeared between her eyebrows as her tone turned bitter. “Or should I say they protected me.”
Jack’s hold abruptly softened and gentled. “They do not protect you, Beatrice. They never did.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze when she would have looked down at the ground. “They hid you away from the world and everything in it, the bad and the good. They gave you an illusion of something that never existed. A feeling of peace that was never real.”
She flinched as his words brought both pain and truth. “So what if they did? What concern is it of yours? Why would you care?”
“You saved my life,” he said simply. “I am in your debt.”
They stared hard at one another, silently assessing. Looking deep into Jack’s eyes Beatrice couldn’t help but wonder what mysterious thoughts were hidden in the golden depths. When they first met she’d written him off as nothing more than a rogue and a rake, and while he certainly retained those qualities (and then some) she couldn’t help but think there was more to him than that. He was a man of many layers; just how deep those layers went, however, she wasn’t yet completely certain.
“Consider the debt paid.”
“No.” He shook his head as he slowly slipped his arms around her back and drew her closer, fingers splaying across the delicate line of her spine. “I do not think I will.”
“What are you doing?” Beatrice asked, mouth settling into a mulish line of suspicion as she dug her boots into the frozen ground and did her best to resist him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one she had to resist. Her own body was betraying her. What had begun as a vague tingling somewhere inside her belly the moment he touched her had grown into a full-fledged source of heat that burned low in her loins.
The sudden pull of attraction she felt for Jack was as surprising as it was undesired. Quite simply put, she did not want to want him. Even if she were not still in love with her husband, Jack was not at all the sort of man she normally found herself attracted to. For one thing he wasn’t a gentleman, at least not the kind she’d associated with in the past. For another she knew absolutely nothing about him except for his name. Why, she still didn’t even know how he had come to be shot!
Then why, a tiny part of her mind demanded, are you wondering how his mouth tastes?
“You are stiff as a board and look frightened as a mouse staring into the jaws of a lion. Relax,” Jack murmured as his hands began to slide up and down, following the tiny bumps of her vertebrae. “I will not eat you.” His mouth curved in a devilish grin. “Yet.”
“What are you doing?” Beatrice repeated warily.
“Comforting you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That is absurd. I do not need comfort.”
“If there is ever a woman more in need of comfort, I hope to never meet her.”
She did not want to ask, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Why?”
Ignoring the tension radiating through her body Jack pulled her steadily forward until she was burrowed in the heavy folds of his jacket, encasing her in warmth and the soft, woodsy scent of a man who spent more time outdoors than in. He held her against him when she tried to push away, gently resting his chin atop her head. “Because it would break my heart.”
His words, so honestly spoken, staggered her. Tears filled her eyes once more, except this time they were not born of sorrow or rage but something else entirely; an emotion she could not name, only feel. She rested her cheek against Jack’s chest and drew a deep, trembling breath as his words echoed in her mind.
Layers, she thought again. He was a man of layers... and she’d just discovered yet another one.
As Beatrice slowly exhaled the breath she’d taken deep into her lungs, air was not the only thing to leave her body. An invisible weight left as well, a weight carved out from somewhere deep inside, a weight she’d carried for so long she’d forgotten what it felt like not to have it pressing against her heart. In Jack she found understanding, but more than that she found something she hadn’t even realized she’d been searching for: acceptance.
And it terrified her.
Bringing her hands between them she shoved away from his chest, arms wind milling as she stumbled back and struggled to find her balance on the slippery ground. When Jack moved as though to steady her she shook her head rapidly from side to side, hair lashing her cheeks. “Do not.”
The command rose like a wall between them. Jack’s jaw hardened as his teeth clenched together. “You cannot hide forever,” he gritted out, eyes turning to molten gold as he stared her down.
Beatrice lifted her chin and met his gaze without flinching. “I am not hiding.”
“The bloody hell you’re not.” Sweeping off his hat with one hand, he raked his hair with the other, disheveling the dark inky mass and sending locks tumbling across his forehead. “That is all you have done since I came here and from what I can tell that is all you have done since your husband died.”
Her face paled. “Do not speak of him. You have no right.”
“Oh?” One brow cocked. “And what right do you have to waste your life away? Sulking about in the gloom and the dark night after night, feeling sorry for yourself day after day. It’s pitiful.”
“I do not feel sorry for myself!” Beatrice’s hands curled into fists, nails biting painfully into her palms. She welcomed the pain. It centered her. Grounded her. Reminded her why she guarded her true feelings so closely.
“You shouldn’t lie, love,” Jack drawled. “You are not very good at it.”
She gritted her teeth. How could she have ever thought, even for a moment, that Jack was more than he seemed? Her mouth curled derisively. If he had layers, each one was blacker than the last and she was a fool to have believed anything different.
“Nothing to say?” he mocked, causing her hand to twitch as she silently yearned to slap the smug sneer right off his face. She must have been crazy to think herself attracted to him! Far crazier than the villagers already thought her to be.
“I’ve plenty,” she said with a glare, “but I have grown weary of wasting my breath on you, arrogant bastard that you are!”
“And there she is,” Jack murmured with an approving nod.
“What are you talking about?” Beatrice demanded, thrown off guard by the sudden gleam in his eye. Was that desire she saw? No. Surely not. How could he desire someone like her? Why would he desire someone like her? Jack may have been an arrogant bastard, but he was a handsome arrogant bastard while she�
� she was no more than a ghost of her former self; a thin, pale shell of the breathtaking beauty she’d once been. He’d said as much himself.
She even suspected Jeffrey wouldn’t have looked twice at her if he saw her now. He had not been a shallow man, but he’d had his standards, and Beatrice knew one of the reasons he’d fallen so quickly in love with her was because he had found her appearance so pleasing. He’d loved showing her off to his family and friends, always introducing her with a compliment. My beautiful wife. My gorgeous wife. My stunning wife. On the rare occasion her hair had been out of place or she’d worn a color not complimentary to her complexion he’d kindly asked her to change, as any doting husband would. He’d certainly never looked at her like Jack was looking at her now… as though he were a man starved, and she a delicious piece of mutton.
“The woman who has been hiding,” Jack said. “The woman I have been waiting to meet.” He took one step towards her and then another, boots crunching loudly on the snow.
Mesmerized by the dark, sensual promise glittering in the depths of his golden gaze Beatrice remained frozen in place as he approached, suddenly finding herself unable to move or speak as though she were carved from the very ice she was standing upon. Jack’s voice deepened, roughened, sliding across her flesh like a caress as he said, “The woman I have been wanting to kiss...”
Beatrice’s flare of attraction towards Jack may have been unexpected, but his kiss was not. He trailed off as he leaned towards her, giving her a hundred tiny opportunities to turn away before his mouth descended on hers.
She took none of them.
His hand slipped inside the collar of her cloak, fingers closing around the nape of her neck. He dragged her against him until nothing separated their bodies save a few layers of fabric and whispered her name before covering her lips with his own.
Beatrice closed her eyes, pale lashes fanning out across her cheeks. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to be touched like this? To be wanted like this? To be consumed like this?
Too long, she thought as Jack’s grip tightened and tangled in her hair. Far too long.
He took her mouth greedily, tongue skimming across the seam of her lips. She parted her teeth and his tongue slipped inside, swirling with hers before he tugged at her bottom lip, drawing forth a moan from somewhere deep inside her throat.
Heat burned between them, threatening to ignite into flame as Beatrice tentatively brought her hands up to his chest and then higher still until she felt the soft curls at the back of his neck. The kiss deepened and turned into something more. Something she’d never felt before. Something she’d never even known existed.
Her bosom began to ache, nipples tingling as they hardened into twin points of arousal. As though he could sense the unspoken need building inside of her, Jack cupped one breast and then the other, thumb brushing across her sensitive flesh through the thin layer of her nightgown until she cried out, a mindless, keening sound filled with equal parts desire and desperation.
“Steady love,” he murmured, holding her upright when her knees threatened to buckle. “Steady.”
She opened her eyes, gaze silently imploring as she stared up at him, wanting things she had no right to want. Needing things she had no right to need. Her entire body trembled, fingers clutching at Jack’s nape as sensations long ago forgotten threatened to overwhelm her in a burning wave of lust.
“I… I…” She drew a sharp breath, unable to give a voice to what she was feeling. What she was experiencing. What she still wanted to experience. With Jeffrey any kissing or lovemaking had always held a certain rigidity. There had been a fire with him, but the flame had always burned low, quick to light and just as quick to extinguish. This… this burn with Jack was like nothing she’d ever felt before and she felt both shame and wonderment as she met his gaze.
“Beatrice?” He skimmed the back of his hand against her cheek, eyes filled with questions she didn’t know how to answer.
“I cannot,” she whispered as she slowly slipped free of his embrace and took a step back, granting herself some much needed distance. When he was touching her she couldn’t think or reason. In his arms she was a captive. A willing one, perhaps, but a captive nevertheless. “I simply… I cannot.”
Jack folded his arms across his chest, a scowl darkening his countenance. “You cannot what?”
She brought a trembling hand to her mouth, fingertips gently exploring her swollen lips. She could still taste him, even now. He lingered on her skin like a perfume, sinking into every part of her. Mind, body, and soul. “Do not ask me that.”
“I will ask you. I am asking you.” His stare bored into her, demanding things she wasn’t ready to give. Demanding things she didn’t even know if she could give. “Why can you not let yourself be free? You did not die with him.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Her hand fell away from her lips as the fire that had been burning inside of her turned to ice. She drew her cloak tightly closed and meticulously adjusted her scarf, taking great care to see the ends were tucked in before she lifted her head and met Jack’s gaze. “Part of me did.”
Jack opened his mouth, but before he could say a word Beatrice shoved past him with a muffled sob and ran for the house without looking back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He let her run.
Waiting until Beatrice’s flapping cloak had disappeared around the side of the stables, Jack settled onto his haunches in front of the fire and extended both hands, mindlessly warming his cold fingers as his thoughts turned to the brown-eyed, blonde-haired fairy who had both captivated and infuriated him since the first moment he charged uninvited into her house.
How angry she’d been, he recalled with the faintest trace of a smile. And how brave.
Jack still did not know how she had stomached cleaning his wound. Most grown men would have quailed at the sight of so much blood and yet Beatrice, a woman who appeared so frail a stiff wind could blow her sideways, had not only stopped the bleeding and prevented infection from setting in, she’d saved his life… a debt which he would never be able to repay.
The rest of the world may have written her off as a crazy widow, broken by the death of her husband, but he knew there was more to her than that. Much more. There was strength inside of her. Passion as well. It may have been hidden beneath layers of ice and sorrow, but it was there.
He’d felt it with his heart. Touched it with his hands. Tasted it with his mouth.
She was a woman all but begging to be loved, and even though Jack knew he was undeserving of her, every part of him bristled at the very thought of another man claiming her as his own. That meant something. What it was he couldn’t be certain, but he did know one thing: he wasn’t leaving Stonewall until he had an answer.
As a rogue and rake with a reputation for loving and leaving, Jack had had his fair share of women, each one more beautiful and alluring than the last. He’d adored them one and all. Their voluptuous bodies. Their gleaming hair. The way their noses wrinkled when they laughed. And yet for all that he had adored them, he had always been able to leave them, be it the next morning or the next month, with nothing more than a tiny twinge of sentiment and the vague feeling that there should have been something more. What that ‘more’ was he didn’t know, but he was beginning to suspect he’d found it with Beatrice.
The damn woman had done something to him. Scowling, Jack rocked back onto his heels and stood up, a grimace tightening the corners of his mouth at the sharp pain he felt in his shoulder. The bullet may have passed through, but it had certainly done its fair share of damage on the way out. Then again, considering who the shooter had been he was lucky it hadn’t been his head or his heart.
Lord Aspen had always possessed a hot temper, something which Jack had conveniently chosen to forget when Aspen’s wife, a brunette ten years her husband’s junior with a wicked smile and wickeder tongue, cornered him in the drawing room at some holiday party or another. Drunk on scotch
and feeling a bit sorry for himself as he was the only one in attendance without a partner, he’d not exactly used his best judgement. Long story short, Aspen had come into the room to find his wife with her heels up around Jack’s shoulders.
Suffice it to say, the rest of the party had been a bit of blur.
Shouting. A few fists thrown. A shot fired.
Only when Jack touched his shoulder and came away with a hand slick with blood had he realized he’d been the one shot. Ironically enough, Lady Aspen was the one who had saved his life. She knocked her husband’s arm aside at the last second and then held him at bay long enough for Jack to stumble out the back door. He still didn’t know how long he had blindly walked through the midst of a snowstorm; only that somehow - either through sheer dumb luck or some unforeseen twist of fate - he managed to stumble across Stonewall.
It had shone like a beacon in the night, beckoning him forward with the soft glow of candlelight and the promise of warmth. Out of the corner of his eye he’d caught a flash of red as he struggled up the front steps, but the fox had been forgotten as he used the last of his strength to bring his fist crashing down against the door in a desperate attempt to rouse Beatrice from her sleep.
Of course at the time he hadn’t known her name was Beatrice. He hadn’t known anything about her. When the door opened to reveal a tiny, delicate waif with long hair spun of gold and gleaming brown eyes that dominated a pale, heart-shaped countenance he’d thought he was staring at an angel and for one breathless moment he feared himself dead until she spoke. Only then had he realized she wasn’t a mystical being sent from heaven but a flesh and blood woman. A flesh and blood woman with fear in her eyes and a warrior’s heart.
He could admit now she’d entranced him. Despite all his bluster and cocky bravado he had been under her spell since the first moment he laid eyes on her. A bit of a problem, given that she most certainly did not feel the same way about him.
Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection) Page 20
