She admired that even a trace of the loving, sweet child remained. His life had been nothing but betrayal, from the moment he was declared bastard. Even earlier than that, when his mother died and his father descended into a chasm of sorrow.
She couldn’t continue to betray him.
Once she returned to Barstowe Hall, she’d make sure Roberta was hidden out of William’s reach, even if it meant her sister was forced to live as a fugitive. Then she’d write to Jonas with the truth about his legitimacy. She probably should tell him immediately, but she couldn’t forget the way he’d spoken to the duke, dismissing Roberta’s claims on his compassion in favor of his quest for revenge against his cousin. Once Roberta was safe, Jonas Merrick was welcome to take back his inheritance.
Stiff and tired, Jonas eased himself off Casimir’s back in the stables. Instead of removing the horse’s tack, he leaned against the beast’s heaving, sweaty sides. It was late, nearly midnight. And cold as a witch’s tit. He’d been out since before dawn after days of interrupted sleep and no sleep at all last night. Leaving Sidonie, he’d fled the house—and temptation—to one of the dilapidated follies that punctuated the overgrown garden.
Casimir whickered and turned his head to bump his master in wordless comfort. The horse’s company was about all he could bear today.
Although encroaching company wasn’t exactly a pressing concern. The vast house awaiting him was empty of the one person who’d given it life. Since boyhood, he’d felt alone and despised, but he’d never before sunk so low. He felt like a mongrel cur booted to the gutter. He felt like shit stuck to his worst enemy’s shoe.
He felt remarkably sorry for himself.
Impossible to summon the joyless, dogged determination that had always kept him going through life’s vicissitudes. All he could manage was the gloomy premonition that he’d be lonely as long as he lived.
He’d done the right thing this morning. Sending Sidonie Forsythe back to her family as innocent as the day she’d arrived put him on the side of the angels.
Almost as innocent.
No, he refused to recall her pleasure. Or her kisses. That way lay only misery. His father always said doing the right thing was its own reward. Just now Jonas would dearly love to take issue with that opinion.
He didn’t know how long he huddled against Casimir. He appreciated the horse’s uncomplaining placidity. But a man couldn’t spend his life skulking in a stable, however much he might wish to. Still, he wondered why he bothered to go through the motions as he settled Casimir, then plodded through the freezing, starry night to the castle. His candle lit the way through the silent, cold house. He’d got used to it as silent and cold before Sidonie arrived. He’d get used to it again.
The assurance rang as hollow as his footsteps on the flagstones.
He could sleep in his own bed tonight. But how could he endure lying in sheets that smelled of Sidonie? Until he arranged for another room prepared to his standards, he was consigned to the dressing room.
Not that he cared. He wasn’t likely to sleep.
Right now, even though his eyes were gritty and every muscle ached after hard riding, he doubted he’d ever sleep again. Castle Craven was rumored to be haunted. For him it was. Sidonie’s memory would linger forever.
With his wicked plan in ashes, he could leave. The problem was, unless Sidonie waited at the end of his journey, he had no interest in going elsewhere. If he could gather the energy, he should get a gun and put himself out of everyone’s misery.
Inured to its atmosphere of ancient malevolence, he stepped into the hall. Nothing, not even the threat of spiteful ghosts, competed with the chill inside him. He would come back to life again. Eventually. People did unless fate took a drastic hand, he supposed.
Jonas was so sunk in gloom, he was halfway across the cavernous room before he noticed a light against the far wall. It was unlike Mrs. Bevan to leave a lamp for him after he’d been carousing. Not that he’d had the stomach for drinking. One day he might find fleeting solace in the bottom of a tankard. Tonight his sorrow extended beyond alcohol’s reach.
He trudged forward to blow out the lamp. And stopped as if he’d crashed into a wall of glass, astonished to realize why it was there.
“Sidonie?” he whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly she’d disappear. His heart thudded so violently, he was surprised the sound didn’t wake her.
If he’d been drinking, he’d doubt the evidence of his eyes. Unless he’d gone mad indeed since this morning, Sidonie Forsythe hadn’t left at her first chance. Instead she stretched across two of the hellishly uncomfortable chairs that formed the hall’s principal furnishing.
She stirred at the sound of her name, but didn’t wake. With an unsteady hand, he raised his candle to study her. Her cheek upon her hand, she’d curled up like a cat under one of his old coats. Thick lashes resting on pale cheeks lent an impression of innocence. He felt like a satyr for what he wanted from her. This was why he’d lurked in a dank stone pagoda all night, cursing unruly desire and virtuous women and his inconvenient conscience.
Damn it, he should have left a note telling her she was free to go. During the short hours remaining of last night, in his head he’d written thousands of words to her. Because he couldn’t say enough, he’d said nothing. He’d assumed she’d immediately understand that he relinquished all hold over her.
Why the deuce hadn’t she gone?
The world accounted him a brave man. He wasn’t sure he was brave enough to send Sidonie away when she hovered within reach. Such a coward was the infamous Jonas Merrick. After all his weaselly avoidances, now he still had to say good-bye to her face. The prospect of putting a bullet in his brain became more appealing by the minute.
“Sidonie,” he repeated more insistently.
Her eyes cracked open and stared at him groggily. For a dazzled interval, he swam in endless brown and felt so damned happy to see her, devil take the rest of the world.
Sidonie wasn’t sure where she was. Except she’d heard Jonas speak her name. Just the sound of his voice filled her with elation.
She stared at him, transfixed by the unabashed delight in his face. Then he straightened and stepped back. A chill dropped over his expression so he looked stern and not at all like the man who had smiled at her as though she was his dearest treasure.
Oh, how she wished she was his dearest treasure.
“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply.
Disoriented and stiff from her makeshift bed, she struggled to sit. Mrs. Bevan must have dropped a coat over her at some stage. Even so, she was frozen. She clutched the thick folds to her and remembered Jonas giving her his coat last night to keep her from the storm.
“Is it late?” Her voice emerged as a croak.
“After midnight.” His scowl didn’t lighten. “Answer me.”
It didn’t occur to her to lie to save her pride. What was the point? He’d discover soon enough she’d flattened every defense. She brushed back the strands of hair tickling her face. She must look a complete disaster. “I’m waiting for you.”
He made an impatient gesture. The ruby glittered evilly in the candlelight. “No, I mean what are you doing still at the castle? I thought you’d be long gone.”
She flinched. He sounded irritated. The tiny kernel of certainty that he couldn’t turn from her so abruptly shriveled. She’d never been fool enough to expect a declaration of undying devotion, but this irascible stranger made her cringe. “I thought—”
He silenced her with another angry wave of his hand. “This is madness. You’ve got Roberta’s vowels. I didn’t expect a good-bye. I expected you to take your precious chastity and run.”
She flushed as the last mists of sleep faded. God help her, she’d made a terrible mistake. “I thought—” Her voice cracked and she started again. “I thought you surrendered Roberta’s vowels to leave me free to choose what happened between us.”
His mouth tightened. “That’s why I gave them to
you. So you were free to bring this disaster to an end.”
He was blunt to the point of spite. She’d only known him a few days. He shouldn’t be able to carve her heart into bloody strips with a few words. She’d derided pride as a useless luxury when she decided to challenge her dismissal. Now pride insisted she couldn’t cry before him.
“I should go,” she said shakily.
“Exactly.” He stepped back as if her presence offended him. “But it’s too late tonight.”
She rose on unsteady legs, feeling sick, wishing herself anywhere but here, wishing she’d taken the powerful hint and left this morning. “I’m sorry.”
He scowled at her. Had she imagined that smile when he first saw her? “What are you sorry for?” He sounded bitter although she had no idea why. “All blame in this mess is mine.”
“I acted like an idiot last night.”
“Leave it, Sidonie.” He sounded tired. Tired and disgusted with everything. “Go to bed.”
Still she didn’t move. She wasn’t sure why. Actually she knew why. It was because of a smile. And because she had a sudden piercing memory of his expression in the mirror after he believed he’d put her in danger.
He did a fine job now of pretending indifference. Last night he hadn’t been indifferent. She refused to believe he was shallow enough to change in a few hours. She drew herself up and stared directly at him. “Why did you give me Roberta’s vowels?”
An intensely masculine growl of frustration. She wondered why she wasn’t even a little afraid of his temper. “For God’s sake, Sidonie!”
“Jonas…”
She faltered into silence as he grabbed her hand and hauled her out of the hall and into the library. Thank goodness this room had a fire. The hall provided a frigid setting and she’d imagined a thousand ghosts eavesdropping on their argument. He released her the instant they were inside. Like a naughty schoolgirl, she stood trembling on the Turkey carpet before the desk.
She raised her chin. He might want her gone. He might find her person distasteful. If either of those were true, she’d make… damned sure he told her so. “Why did you give me Roberta’s vowels?” she asked again in an uncompromising tone.
“So you’d leave.” He sounded equally uncompromising. His fists opened and closed at his sides, indicating his resentment.
She stiffened her backbone. She already knew this wouldn’t be easy. “Why do you want me to leave?”
“Why do you want to stay? You were desperate to get away last night.”
She flushed. “You know why I ran away.”
He sighed and turned, but not before she caught a flash of desolation in his face. No, he wasn’t nearly the furious monolith he wanted her to believe. A fragile tendril of hope unfurled toward the light and stopped her retreating.
“I know I pushed so far that you were desperate to escape.”
Guilt weighted her belly. Why, oh, why, had she been such a henwit? “I wasn’t running from you.”
He cast her a disbelieving glance. “Looked that way.”
“What happened… frightened me. I was running from myself.”
She waited for some hint of understanding. Instead he strode across to the window and rattled the curtains wide to reveal the starlit cliffs. “It makes no difference.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Sidonie, listen to me.” He was back to sounding tired and sad and dauntingly immovable. “Go to bed. In the morning, take my carriage and go wherever you will. Hades, for all I care. I don’t know what you hope to achieve by this confrontation, but whatever we shared is over.”
Right now she was glad he didn’t look at her. She suspected her face betrayed her despair. The question she forced through her tight throat emerged husky and uneven. “How can it be over when it hasn’t started?”
Jonas stared out at the cold world and wondered just what hell he’d wandered into. How strange that tonight all was calm beauty outside when his inner landscape was a blasted wilderness. He should have kept riding and never come back.
“What do you want, bella?” he asked with an idleness he didn’t feel. “Blood?”
He heard her step nearer. Her hand curled around his arm. She rarely touched him—unless he tricked her into it. Now when it could lead nowhere, confound her, she lost her shyness.
“I want… honesty.”
He fought the urge to shake her off. Even through his coat sleeve, her touch burned. He yearned to sink into the numbness that had possessed him before her advent into his existence. What he wanted didn’t matter. Long ago he’d learned that lesson. He resisted the impulse to touch his scars.
“Why?” he asked despairingly, his hand clenching in the gold velvet curtains.
“Jonas, talk to me. Yesterday you wanted me. Is that no longer true?”
She did want blood, it seemed. Reluctantly he turned to her. “I’m sending you away for your own good.”
“Does that mean you still want me?”
What to say? He could lie but he had a nasty feeling she’d never believe him. “I don’t want to want you.”
She stepped so close that her haunting fragrance teased his senses. Her face was pale and intense. “I don’t want to want you either.”
This time Jonas managed to shake off her hand and step away, telling himself he controlled this encounter. When he knew he was at her mercy.
How ruthless a sweet woman could be.
She still wore his greatcoat. It lent her appearance an incongruously stately air. Her hair was rumpled and tendrils curled around her beautiful face. The sight was powerfully sexual, as though she started to undress for a lover.
He stifled a groan. Exactly what he needed to think about when he tried so desperately to be noble. All his animal instincts shrieked that Sidonie was here; for once she didn’t appear unwilling, and the carpet was soft enough for what he had in mind. “I’ll destroy you,” he said bleakly.
“You might prove my salvation.”
His lips twisted in an unamused smile. “I’m nobody’s salvation, least of all yours.” He knew it was unwise to prolong this encounter, but he couldn’t let it go. “Last night you were convinced I was the devil incarnate. What’s provoked this self-sacrifice?”
“It’s not self-sacrifice.” The look she shot him contrasted with the innocence of her pink cheeks. “If you touch me, I promise not to run.”
Dear God…
The impulse to accept her invitation at face value and roll her under him was overwhelming. But he’d learned self-control in a hard school. “I intend your ruin.”
An uncharacteristically cynical expression crossed her face. “Today I thought you’d lost interest in ruining me.”
“Oh, hell, Sidonie…” He swung away and slumped onto the window seat, staring down at his hands linked between his knees. If he kept looking at her, he’d touch her. If he touched her, all good intentions were dust.
After a pause, she sat beside him. Reckless chit. Didn’t she perceive the risk? He clutched his hands so tightly together that the knuckles shone white.
“You’ll think I’m disgustingly forward,” she said in a subdued voice.
Jonas didn’t dare look at her. “Go away, Sidonie.”
She didn’t heed his gravelly plea. “I’ve decided I’d rather like… to be ruined.”
Her voice trailed away so he needed a moment to realize what she’d said. His head jerked up so fast, he hurt his neck. He stared at her in disbelief. “What the hell?”
She raised her chin and met his eyes. He read uncertainty and hard-won courage in her face. “I said—”
He leaped to his feet as though he were the offended virgin and she the pursuing rake. “You’re out of your mind.”
Sidonie remained seated, watching him as though she gradually made sense of his behavior. He wished he could say the same.
“You had a week to seduce me, Jonas.” She had the temerity to smile at him. “Congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”
Cha
pter Fourteen
If she’d felt less on edge, Sidonie would have smiled at his shocked reaction. Her surrender flummoxed this notorious man of the world. Her surrender left her flummoxed, too, but the last few minutes had answered some urgent questions, however uncommunicative Jonas proved.
He went against his strongest inclinations when he sent her away. He still wanted her. That clarified the most important issues. The rest she’d work out.
When she sat beside him, she hadn’t mistaken how he’d trembled, a slow combing wave that ran through his body. Over the last days, she’d learned so much about this man and his reactions. Thrilling to imagine what remained to learn. She was apprehensive and excited. If she relinquished this chance to explore the passion flaring between them, she’d regret it all her life.
He scowled at her. “You don’t mean it.”
She stood as he backed away. “Of course I do.”
His jaw set hard as stone. “I won’t do it.”
“Heaven help us, Merrick. You’re suffering a temporary surfeit of honor. You’ll get over it.”
He glowered at her. “The promptings of my conscience aren’t a minor illness. I’m trying to do the right thing, tesoro.”
“I know.” She hesitated, seeking words to explain her capitulation. “When you returned Roberta’s vowels, I realized I didn’t want to leave you.”
If she expected her bald confession to crack his resistance, she was disappointed. His expression remained austere, his slashing eyebrows lowering over his eyes. “I’ve set you free.”
“Free to give myself to you.”
Still he didn’t relent. “Why?”
He was so suspicious. Life hadn’t dealt him an easy hand and he’d learned to be wary of happiness or love or kindness. Her heart ached for him. She wanted him with her body, but more than that, she longed to offer him rest from his demons. Because for all his strength and determination, demons tormented him. She’d known that from the first time she saw that bizarre mirror-filled room upstairs.
Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed Page 14
