by Anne O'Brien
She accepted it. Raised it to her lips, took a little sip. ‘It is a beautiful house. You are very fortunate, my lord.’
He watched her, caught up by the trace of wistfulness here. All he could think was that here was no vestige of the flighty débutante who had played fast and loose with his emotions and then deliberately driven him away, as carelessly as she might discard a dress that no longer became her. She sat at the end of the table, the candlelight in her eyes and gilding her skin, composed, beautiful and most desirable. Neither flighty nor frivolous.
‘I like it,’ he replied. ‘But it seems that I am not destined to spend much time here.’
‘So Master Furness told me. You have loyal people around you.’
‘I suppose. I inherited most of them. Perhaps I am fortunate.’ He hesitated. Then, for the first time, he introduced a personal note into the dialogue between them. ‘Where do you call home?’
‘I have never had a settled home,’ she replied willingly enough, but looked down at the rings of apple peel. ‘We have a small estate in Yorkshire, but we have tenants who occupy it because of our long absences. All I recall from when I was a young girl is living in embassies and rented town houses. Always very comfortable, some of them luxurious even. The one in Paris was so splendid as to be positively intimidating.’ She laughed a little at the memory of the overpowering grandeur. ‘But it was not home, you understand …’ Again that breath of regret, of which she was perhaps unaware.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by a faint crackle from the fire and the soft ticking of a long case clock.
Then, ‘Why did you come here today, Thea?’
She looked at him down the length of the table, astonished that he should ask so direct a question, thinking quickly. The truth could be dangerous. It could indicate the state of her heart. It could destroy all her careful and painful strategy. And she would have no one to blame but herself if she showed her vulnerability to him. Yet she found that she had no compulsion to lie.
‘Because I wanted to see your home.’
Nicholas sat for a long moment, fingers holding the stem of his glass, considering her reply.
‘Why did you deliberately reject me in London, Thea?’ Thea was not the only one driven by honesty, it seemed.
‘I did not!’ A wash of shame brought guilty colour to her face and made her dissemble, which made the guilt even stronger.
‘You did. I would suggest that it was a carefully constructed little charade to drive me away.’ His voice remained low, soft, but there was an implacable quality about it. ‘I did not see it at the time. But I do now. The girl I saw in London who went out of her way to ruffle so many feathers—and with remarkable success—was so out of character, I think, as to be ludicrous. I should have seen it, but did not. Perhaps because it touched me so personally.’ He watched her every move, every expression that flitted over her lovely features, his eyes demanding that she tell him the truth. ‘Why did you do it, Thea? You cannot deny what is between us, however uncomfortable it might be. However much we might wish that we could.’
She raised the tips of her fingers to her lips as if to stop incriminating words. For once she did not know what to say.
He rose to his feet with fluid grace and came towards her. Held out his hand. For a moment she looked at it and then up into his face. Finding that she had no will of her own against such silent insistence, she closed her fingers over his. Stood and moved away from her chair, where they faced each other in the centre of the room, both her hands clasped in his.
‘Tell me the truth, Thea. You are attracted to me as much as I am attracted to you. Don’t tell me that you do not feel it.’
‘Yes.’ It was hardly more than a whisper, but she did not hesitate. ‘I feel it every time that you look at me.’
‘So what was all that about, when you resisted every attempt of mine to spend time with you? When you tried to give me a disgust of you?’
‘I cannot say.’ She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, but kept her eyes on his. It was suddenly imperative that he did not doubt her. ‘But however it might have seemed, my lord, I did not deliberately intend to hurt you.’ She sighed a little. ‘I would never do that.’
‘Very well.’ He could press her for more, knew that he needed to do so. But intuition told him that it was not the time. He would leave it for now.
Time stretched out as they looked at each other—a minute, an hour … it could have been a lifetime. Then he drew her slowly forward into his arms. Giving her the chance to refuse if that was her inclination. His intention was clear.
‘Tell me no, if you do not wish for this, Thea.’
‘I cannot, my lord.’
‘Call me by my name.’
‘Nicholas.’ A sigh, as soft as a caress, skin against skin. This was fatal! But she could not resist. She wanted more than anything to feel the strength of his arms around her, the demand of his mouth on hers. So she stood as Nicholas ran his hands in one long caress from wrist to shoulder and then on to frame her face. With gentle fingers, a little callused, he traced along the line of her eyebrows, across her delicate cheek-bones. Then to follow the same path, equally gently, with his lips. She held her breath at the featherlight touch, closed her eyes at the sensation of his fingers and mouth, his own breath a whisper against her hair.
‘Open your eyes, Thea.’
As she did so, obedient to his every demand, he lowered his head, holding her in submission. Not that he needed to do so. She could not have moved, drawn into the enchantment of the occasion. Aware only of his lips, firm and cool. Seeking and exploring, without haste. Yet it was not the chaste kiss that they had shared in London—far from it, as he changed the angle for his own pleasure, increased the pressure, until her lips parted beneath his. He allowed his tongue to caress the soft skin, outlining her lips. Still gentle, as if he, too, were holding his breath against the promise of passion.
She was soft and responsive and willing. He knew that he should be filled with exhilaration at holding her in his arms at last. And yet … It was not a straightforward matter at all. He determined to close his mind against the sharp edge of doubt, almost in the way of a premonition, which refused to let him rest, and concentrated on enjoying the awakening of her responses to him. On keeping his own demands light and uncomplicated, mindful of her inexperience. But it became increasingly difficult when she sighed against his mouth, when her fingers dug into the hard flesh of his shoulders as if to anchor her in the present, when she took a little step, moulding her body against his, hip and thigh and breast.
She was everything he could ever want in a woman. And he was afraid—of her and of the emotions that she aroused in him.
With a low growl in his throat, Nicholas was the one to end the kiss, lifting his head as he put her away from him. Dropping his hands from around her slender body, he stepped back, his breathing as heightened as hers. When Thea lifted her hands to stop him, he took another careful step in retreat, his face austere as if he had just made an almost impossible decision.
‘Why?’
He knew her meaning. ‘I must not.’
‘I am not resisting you, Nicholas.’
‘I know. And that is part of the issue! If we are into honesty, which we appear to be …’ a touch of humour deepened the colour of his eyes ‘… it is my inclination at this moment to take you to my room—to my bed. I doubt that you are aware of how much I want you. Your innocence would be no shield against the passion that fires my blood when your lips open beneath mine.’
Her breathing caught at his outspoken intent. But she was not shocked. ‘And if I agreed?’
‘No.’ Another step away. ‘You must not. And I will not.’
‘I see. I have no experience of this. So you will not.’ A little smile curved her mouth, but her face was sad. ‘Because, in spite of your … your desire, you do not like me enough?’
‘Because it would be unworthy of me to take advantage of that innocence.’
‘And if I am willing?’ She tilted her chin, a hint of challenge in the gesture. The sapphire glint in her eyes bridged the gulf between them. Unmaidenly indeed!
‘No. You do not understand. How could I risk your reputation? As a gentleman my honour is at stake. And of course there must be no breath of scandal around your name that is of my making.’ He suddenly turned on his heel, presenting his back to her, so that he could not see the invitation in her face. ‘I wish you had not come here today, Thea. It compromises my control where you are concerned.’
‘And you would not risk scandal.’ A statement rather than a question. Perhaps she knew why. Of course she knew why!
‘Never. For scandal can wound beyond bearing. Can destroy.’
‘For you or for myself?’
‘Thea …’ He sighed ‘You do not know what you ask of me.’
‘I do. And now I am the one to be rejected.’ She stepped forward across the space that he had deliberately created. ‘Is this a punishment? Because I hurt you?’
At first he did not respond, nor did he turn towards her. Instead he picked up the neglected glass of port and drank it in one swallow, then twisted to face her again and answered, a hint of weariness in his voice, ‘No. Such a suggestion would dishonour me.’
‘Forgive me. I know that it was unworthy. It is just that … it hurts.’
She looked so desolate as she turned her face from him and, in so doing, destroyed all his honourable intentions to preserve the distance between them.
‘Theodora …’ He reached for her, encircling her once more into his arms. The gentle encouragement of his previous kisses deserted him. Possession. Demand. His need for her swept through him as his mouth ravaged hers, the glorious curve of her throat, the lovely slope of her shoulders to the lace edging of her garment. His arms banded round her as steel, preventing any escape. But in Thea, under the onslaught of new emotions and sensations, there was no desire to escape and he sensed it as she allowed him to take her mouth in a searing possession. Her innocence was a delight, but her willingness fanned the flames to a raging fire. For Thea, the searing kisses forced her to acknowledge finally and without question the ultimate loss of her heart to Lord Nicholas Faringdon.
At last he released her, but not before he pressed a final salute to her hair, to the tender skin at her temples, deliberately gentling the touch of his hands at her shoulders. ‘It is better that you go to bed alone.’ He smiled to reassure her, just the slightest curve to his mouth, then took her hand as if she were a child and led her from the room to the foot of the staircase. There he lit a candle for her, then bowed low and lifted her hand as if to kiss it in a formal leave-taking. Instead he turned it, cupping her hand in his and pressing his lips to her palm in the most intimate of caresses, then closed her fingers over it before he released her.
‘Nicholas …’
He shook his head to stop her. ‘Go up, Thea. There are limits to my control. I would not wish to regret my actions tomorrow in the cold grey light of dawn.’
Her lips parted, as if to argue, to beg even. Where were all her good intentions now? Destroyed to ashes, consumed in the fire of passion, ignited by his lips. She had all but thrown herself at him. And he had refused. And she knew why—and could hardly blame him. She could ask nothing from him that he was not prepared to give. She allowed her lashes to veil the sense of hurt and loss that assailed her as she realised that there was no possibility of a future for them together. So be it. With a deep breath she called on all her pride and dignity. Now she was cool and calm again.
‘Of course. Forgive me, if I have made your situation difficult.’
‘There is no need for forgiveness. Perhaps neither of us has shown wisdom this night.’
She trod the stairs, aware of his tall figure standing quietly. How foolish she had been to press him—and how forward. Her mother, however liberal Lady Drusilla might be, would be horrified if she had seen and heard her daughter this night. But the touch of his mouth, the power of his body, the timbre of his voice, every quality of Lord Nicholas Faringdon was imprinted on her soul. She must leave as soon as she could. It would be unfair of her to do any other.
Nicholas stood and watched her until she turned the bend in the stairs and vanished into the gloom of the corridor, only the faint glow from her candle marking her passage. He pushed his fingers through his hair. What an incredible complication this was. And one that he did not fully understand. Theodora—a complicated weave of contradictions. He liked her—more than liked her. Oh, God, he wanted her! Imagined stripping the soft velvet from her body, lifting her in his arms to lay her on the cool sheets of his bed and to cover her body with his own. To possess those elegant, slender limbs with hot caresses and wild kisses, giving her no choice but to shiver beneath him with a passion of her own. She had no knowledge of such things, as she had said. It would delight him to give her that knowledge, to take that innocence for himself until she cried out with uncontrollable longing. And he would bury himself in her, possess her utterly. The thought, the taste of her lips, her skin, heated his blood beyond bearing. He returned to the dining room to pour another glass of port and pace a track between window and fireplace.
Perhaps he had seen the true Theodora tonight. A little vulnerable. Haunted, surprisingly, by a longing for a home of her own. And perhaps he had seen himself. His own desires, rather than those demanded by his family. He wanted her. Her kisses had roused him beyond sense; her honesty, her openness, her intelligence, had touched a chord within him. But there was something between them, something to cloud the brilliance of her eyes, to draw a faint line between her brows. Something which, in London, had driven her to put a distance between them. He did not know what—and she had refused to explain her deliberate wilfulness. Perhaps it would be wiser to keep his distance after all. He had without doubt made the best decision possible.
At this moment, wisdom was far from his thoughts.
Chapter Eight
On the following morning over breakfast in a sunny parlour, Thea, with the brightest of smiles, assured Agnes that she had slept perfectly well, not stirring until a maid brought her a cup of hot chocolate. Agnes, on seeing the rather strained expression on Thea’s face and even the hint of a shadow beneath her lovely eyes, could have argued the point, but realised that there was nothing to be gained and so remained silent on the subject. Nor did she ask about Lord Nicholas, who had already broken his fast and was, they were given to understand by Mrs Grant, somewhere about the stables and had been since dawn.
‘I see that you survived the ordeal,’ Agnes ventured, watching carefully to see Thea’s response.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Thea smiled brightly. ‘You would have been proud of me. We did not discover one topic to disagree over throughout the whole of the meal.’
‘Remarkable. A miracle, some would say.’
Thea might have replied with some acerbity, but a footman entered the room to inform them that their horses were ready and awaited their convenience, which silenced her as she finished the meal, understanding Nicholas’s decision to make the parting as public and as impersonal as possible.
So their final meeting, as he had planned, was in the courtyard beside the stables. He smiled at their approach, inclined his head in greeting, wished the ladies a good morning. But his eyes were flat, not reflecting his smile. And he did not touch her, allowing Dacre to hand her up into the saddle of The Zephyr as he himself aided Agnes. But the memory of that shared moment of passion when he had kissed and held her, as if he wanted nothing more in life than to keep her with him, lingered around them, an almost visible swirl of emotion, like smoke on an autumn day.
‘You should make good time.’ He spoke to Edward Dacre as the groom and the servant mounted. ‘Take care of them. Any problems on the road, don’t stop. You should be safe enough on the Aymestry and Burford estates.’ He thought that he should provide the little group with an escort, but understood that the lady would be more than likely to refuse.
There were ways around that which he was prepared to take.
He approached the shoulder of the little mare for a final leave-taking.
‘Goodbye, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’ Not farewell or adieu. Or Godspeed. Thea noted and understood the deliberate choice of words and followed suit.
‘Goodbye, my lord. We are grateful for your hospitality.’ Her voice as light and uninvolved as his. And her eyes just as carefully guarded.
But now, as if it were beyond him to resist, he took her hand from where it lay loosely on her reins and raised it to his lips, first turning it, as he had the previous night, to press his mouth to her palm, then released her. She raised that hand for just a moment, tempted to bend and touch the dark hair where it lay at his temple. But did not, of course, could not prolong the pain of this brief and dispassionate farewell for either of them. But she pressed her palm with its burning imprint against the bosom of her velvet jacket, against her heart.
He watched her go. If Furness thought his expression a little bleak, he decided that it had more to do with a colicky mare than the departure of the guests.
‘Jed.’ Lord Nicholas beckoned one of the stable boys, a likely lad, who was emerging from the stable. ‘Follow them. Take someone with you—George Abbot, perhaps. And keep your eyes open on Lord Westbourne’s acres.’
‘Afraid of trouble, my lord?’ Furness frowned, not liking the possibility.
‘No. But I would not wish harm to come to them. I have heard that the Maidens have been active this fortnight.’
Stepping forward to hold Jed’s mount steady, Furness grunted his disgust. ‘Men dressed as women!’
‘Disguised they may be, but they are a rough crowd with little respect for the law when their wages are low and their children starving.’ Lord Nicholas turned back to the lad as he mounted. ‘Stay with them until Tenbury is in sight, Jed. Anything that worries you, anything at all, one of you ride to get help.’
Some little time later Nicholas, sleeves rolled up, was inspecting a newly arrived foal, all long legged and satin smooth, as it lay and dozed in the sunshine beside its protective mother. He looked up and rose to his feet, a finger of disquiet touching his spine, as Jed galloped into the courtyard with a hasty clatter of hooves, the horse in a lather.
