The Earl of Windermere Takes a Wife (Lords of the Matrix Club #1)

by Jen YatesNZ

  Sighing over her naive stupidity, she finally acknowledged that the sun was now quite high in the sky and it was time to head for home. She would be better setting her mind to working out what she would say to Windermere and how she would comport herself in his presence. Foolish dreams would not help her decide whether she should act cold and aloof, wickedly seductive, calm and friendly, or simply fall into his arms and declare that she would be whatever kind of wife he desired her to be if only they could return to their old friendship.

  She still hadn’t decided what stance she was going to take when she came downstairs just before the luncheon hour to find Rogan ensconced in the sunny front parlor talking to his mother. Pausing in the doorway to drink in the welcome sight of him, she found her eyes suddenly filled with tears and the decision of how she would comport herself was taken completely out of her hands. She was simply going to fall into his embrace and rain tears of relief and gratitude for his return all over his perfectly arranged neck cloth.

  One step into the room and she knew it would not be so simple and faltered to a halt. Even through the blur of tears she could see the stern cast of his features, the dark warning in his eyes and the hands that clenched at his sides as he rose to his feet to greet her.

  What if she threw herself into his arms and he didn’t open them to receive her? What if he stepped back, pushed her away? How could she face that? Knowing she would simply die if he rejected her, she turned on her heel and dashed back past Fran who had followed her into the room, along the hall and into the warm comfort of the Abbey library. A fire burned in the grate there year round and Jassie dropped bonelessly to the rug before it and sat staring wide-eyed into the flames, hoping the heat would dry her foolish tears. She had been quite determined Rogan should not see her cry, that she would be strong, calm and dignified.

  A small hiccup of mockery escaped her at thinking she could ever act dignified. It simply wasn’t in her make-up, but strong and calm should have been possible. She had cried so much these last weeks in the solitude of her empty bed that there should have been no tears left to cry. Oh damn you, Windermere.

  Chapter 7

  She was sitting on the rug before the fire, sage green skirts fluffed around her like she’d simply deflated there. Her eyes were wide open to the flames, no doubt to burn away the horror of seeing him again.

  ‘Would you prefer I return to London?’

  She turned towards him, cheeks pale, eyes huge and shadowed—and swimming with tears. He’d done that to her. He was a gutless, selfish bastard who should have severed their friendship years ago once he realized he could never allow it to develop as it should—as he and she had both dreamed it would. Had he turned his back then she would probably have been married to some other more deserving bastard now. Wolverton most likely.

  And he’d have had to kill him, because Jassinda Carlisle was his. She’d been born for him.

  Nothing more could be said about him than he was a selfish, cowardly, brutalizing bastard.

  ‘Please—don’t leave.’

  Her voice was a watery whisper but the words rang in his heart as if sung by a chorus of angels. Miserable sap that he was, he could only feel joy and relief that she would not banish him from her sight. That he didn’t deserve such consideration was a given; that he would accept every moment in her presence she would grant him, was also. He’d been such a fool to think he could stay away from her.

  ‘No matter how I courted it, death evaded me. I thought of ending my life myself but I seem to be too much the coward for that. So I’ve returned, Jass, with the realization that somehow I have to talk to you.’

  How the hell did he interpret that wide open, shocked look on her face? Disbelief? Hope? Horror?

  ‘Now?’ she managed to squeak.

  ‘Well, perhaps a little later. Mama is holding luncheon and it would probably set her mind at ease if we could at least show we can be in the same room together.’ It was a poor attempt at lightening the air between them, not helped by the fact he couldn’t seem to form any semblance of a smile to accompany it. ‘Will you come and eat?’

  She rubbed at her wet cheeks with the unselfconsciousness of a child and he longed to fold her in his arms and kiss the tears away. They’d always been totally natural with one another, interacting with the ease and comfort of lifelong friends. Thank God that did not seem to have changed, at least on her part.

  ‘Um—in a minute. I just need to—get over—seeing you again.’

  Her words were a knife slicing deep into a heart already utterly shredded.

  ‘I’m sorry. Jass, I know this must be hard for you—after—after—that night. You can’t know how sorry I am about that—but you also have to know I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.—It’s what I’ve been trying to avoid all these years.—I’ll leave you then to—’

  ‘No! Oh please don’t go away again—you’ve only just arrived and you haven’t even kissed me or—or said ‘hello’—or anything!’

  ‘K—kissed you?’ he repeated stupidly. ‘But—aren’t you—I thought you’d be disgusted with me; never want to see me again.’

  ‘Oh Rogan,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t bear that.’

  His heart pounded a dull heavy beat in his chest and his brain throbbed in concert. Damn but he wanted to kiss her, wanted—needed her. But before he touched her again they had to talk. How was he to keep his hands still, and keep himself from condemning all talk to hell and just taking her—right there on the rug before the fire?

  ‘I—missed you, Jass.’ The words were not what he’d intended to say but now they were said he knew them for the profound truth they were. He pressed his clenched hands deep into the pockets of his coat. ‘Do you realize this is the longest we have ever gone without seeing each other?’

  A faint hiss escaped her lips and her soft hazel orbs suddenly blazed like the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. He’d forgotten how quickly her mood could change when she was under stress.

  ‘You ask me that? It has been exactly sixty-five days, Windermere,’ she snarled, ‘and I’ve endured every second of every minute in an agony of worry, anger, sorrow, anger, desire, anger, frustration, anger—’

  She scrambled to her feet, propelled by her intense emotions. Any minute now she was going to attack him and then—No!

  ‘I get the picture, Jass.—I’m sorry. I can’t say anything other than that. There are no other words.’ He stepped back quickly and interrupted the flow of her invective. He must not allow her to get her hands on him. ‘But if I had it to do again I would probably react in the same way. By far my greatest instinct right now is to run, flee to where I will never have to expose what I am to you—or confront it—but no matter how far I go, how deeply I try to mire myself in other people’s lives and problems, mine don’t go away. You don’t go away! You’re constantly in my mind whether I’m awake or asleep. And now that we’re wed, and having known one another in the way of husband and wife, however crassly done or maybe because of it, it’s so much worse. You’re like a haunting; torturing me day and night until I can’t rest.’

  She stood so still staring at him, eyes now wide with a terrible longing to believe what she was hearing. It would appear he had done a reasonable job of concealing the depths of his feelings over the years, to the point she could still undermine her own belief in their love with self-doubts. He was a low, callous bastard. She should know his heart at least; know that she held it, chained to her own for always. If he could give her nothing else today he would give her that.

  But it would be somewhere safe, where touching one another was not an option. He offered her his arm.

  ‘Let’s go to lunch then perhaps you would consent to ride with me.’

  Ignoring his arm, she looked up at him with a sulky pout.

  ‘I will have my kiss, Windermere.’

  One delicate finger prodded her cheek where he usually bussed her when they met. He bent forward and touched his lips to her brow and he thought he fe
lt her trembling.

  ‘You’ve lost weight. Mama says you’ve been fretting.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she averred so tensely and fiercely there was no doubt she was anything but. Now was probably not the moment to press that issue.

  He extended his arm and after a second’s hesitation she laid her hand on it and they proceeded back to the dining room.

  Luncheon was an endurance trial. Instead of seating her at the opposite end of the table from his lordly chair, he’d led her to his end and seated her at his right. Close enough to touch him, if she dared. Close enough that he would notice her inability to eat. She’d scarcely managed to get a drop of the delicious mock turtle soup past her lips and had spent the entire course mashing the croutons to a porridge-like substance in the bottom of her bowl, making her think nostalgically of meals in the nursery at Brantleigh, and Nanny’s frown when she ‘played with her food.’

  She managed a little better with the main of chicken and rice gratin flavored with bacon, onions and tomato puree served with carrots, asparagus and white haricot beans with a port wine sauce. Flaubert, the Abbey’s elderly French chef produced amazing meals but Jassie was afraid she was able to do it no more justice than she had over the last few weeks.

  When Melton brought round the almond cream ices to finish, Jassie waved him away. If she tried to eat anything more her stomach was going to revolt, it was such a churning mess of anticipation. Windermere, his thigh only inches from hers, had completely stolen her senses. She’d barely managed to acknowledge Bart Matthews sitting a little further along the table opposite Fran nor made any effort to follow or add to the conversation around the table. The others had been all agog to hear what the Earl had to say about the victory at Waterloo and the surrender of the French, and in particular, the little French martinet who had held Europe to ransom for the best part of twenty years.

  Although Rogan had not managed to eat much more than Jassie had, he’d certainly kept up his end of the conversational obligations. Perhaps it was his way of not dwelling on the ‘talk’ he had promised her. When he also waved away the dessert course, her heart started to flutter more wildly in her chest.

  Patience had never been one of her strengths. Regardless that it would have been polite to remain sitting until the Dowager rose, Jassie was almost to the point of excusing herself and asking Windermere to leave the table with her when he took matters into his own hands.

  Pushing his chair back and standing with a hand outstretched to Jassie, he said, ‘I beg you all to excuse us. Lady Windermere and I have—a riding engagement.’

  Jassie was on her feet before he’d finished speaking, her hand engulfed in his large, warm one and almost leading the way out of the room. His mother lifted her gaze anxiously to them both as they passed her chair and he bent to place a kiss on her forehead before they continued on out the door, leaving a room of arrested silence behind them.

  But anything other than their own concerns was forgotten once the door closed.

  ‘You’ll need to change,’ he began, but Jassie interrupted him.

  ‘It won’t take me long, Rogan. I’ll see you at the stables in ten minutes.’

  ‘Ten? Really?’ he raised an eyebrow teasingly at her. They both knew she could do it in less but that small precious exchange had righted something between them; reminded them of the strength of the bonds forged in childhood.

  With a toss of her head, Jassie ran lightly up the stairs, trying to still her crazy heart that would insist on quivering with hope.

  They took an easy path along the lower slopes, circled the entire Brantleigh estate, riding back round the south side of Neave Tor. They’d talked of the affairs of both estates. Jassie had allowed herself to be cozened into describing the redecorations she had planned for Brantleigh. He’d asked her what she intended to do with it and her answer was not well received.

  ‘If my presence at the Abbey is going to keep you from home I shall probably return to Brantleigh, so in the meantime I’ll retain a small staff and leave it empty.’

  ‘As my wife your place is at Windermere.’

  ‘As my husband, so is yours!’ Jassie couldn’t help but snap straight back.

  A dull color burned along his cheekbones and a muscle jumped in his clenched jaw.

  ‘Mama would be very disappointed if you did that, Jass. She’s so delighted to have your company at the Abbey. And as the Countess of Windermere it is inconceivable you would live anywhere else. It would create just as much of a scandal as—anything else.’

  ‘Mama will not enjoy my company for long if it means she is deprived of yours. You are her son after all.’

  ‘Damn it, Jass,’ Rogan exploded in a rare spasm of temper. ‘You will obey me in this!’

  Incredulity flooded through Jassie and she brought Chester to a standstill to sit and stare at her husband. Then, as her brain kicked into gear, she exhaled softly and gave him the benefit of a wickedly assessing frown.

  ‘I will obey you, husband, when you accord me all that is due to me as your wife.—You said you wanted to talk. So far we’ve not covered any topic that comes anywhere near what I expected you to talk about. Or satisfies me as to why you will not share my bed.—And here we are almost back at the stables!’

  The color deepened in his cheeks and she was sure she heard him mutter, ‘Bloody hell!’ under his breath. Had he hoped she’d forgotten? He knew her better than that.

  Rogan cursed himself for a fool. He’d meant to tell Jassie what she wanted to know as they rode so he wasn’t able to reach for her, touch her in any way. He’d not even noticed the passing of time or where they’d ridden. He’d simply been immersed in her company. He could scarcely suggest they turn the horses about and ride out again.

  Putting it off was no longer an option. In fact there was a growing yearning within him to lay the whole sordid tale before Jassie and let her make of it what she would. Nothing could be worse than how things stood between them at present.

  Without giving himself a chance to think better of his decision he dismounted, handed Raven’s reins to a stable hand and walked to Jassie’s side to help her dismount also. Once her feet were on the ground and Dobbie had taken the horse, Rogan quickly disengaged her hands from his shoulders, held out his arm and said, ‘Will you walk with me? It will be private down by the lake and—I’ll tell you all you wish to know.’

  Her relief was palpable and they maintained a tense silence as they walked through the neatly kept Capability Brown-designed landscape. Rogan tried not to consider the imprudence of being alone with Jassie far from the house and any likelihood of being disturbed. It seemed inevitable that their feet would take them to the Greek Folly, which was the main feature at the southwest end of the lake.

  As he handed her up the wide marble steps and noted the neatly swept interior with its gaily colored cushions on the wide benches, he grimly reminded himself he’d been able to keep his control round her for the last nine years. Just because he had succumbed a couple of times did not mean he no longer had the strength to deny her that which he knew she desired of him, should indeed expect of him as her husband. Heat and passion were a palpable energy in the air about them.

  She settled on the striped cushions with all the elegance of a woman gowned in silk and satins instead of a practical dark green velvet riding habit. Untying the silk scarf that secured her jaunty riding hat and tossing both aside she settled back and looked expectantly up at him.

  Her eyes had the same deep knowing that had snared him in her babyhood, her gold-tipped, sable lashes thick and gleaming against her fair skin. There was no one he trusted more, he reminded himself so why did the thought of telling her his story cause the sensation of a large feral animal tearing at his guts?

  She patted the seat beside her, jolting him back into an awareness of the necessity for keeping distance between them. He shook his head and turned to gaze out the doorway, his back to her. Perhaps it would be easier if he couldn’t see her eyes.

&nbs
p; ‘You were always to have been mine, Jass. From the moment I looked into your incredibly knowing eyes as a baby I think I knew that we were bound to one another in a way that was precious and that I innocently believed could never be sullied or destroyed. At twenty-one I learned that life is never so simple, so clean-cut or straightforward. At twenty-one any innocence I might still have had—for I was no saint as Philip would cheerfully have warned you had he lived—was ripped to shreds and forever debauched by a woman whose depravity haunts me to this day.’

  The soft fall of her boots was the only warning that she approached then her hand slid through his, drawing him back inside.

  ‘If you will not sit beside me, sit at my feet, Rogan. Then I can knead your head in the way I used to do when you would carry me on your shoulders. You always found that soothing. Unlike Philip who threatened to toss me into whatever handy water that offered if I did it to him. He said it was ticklish.’

  She tossed one of the cushions between her feet and for a moment he stared at it, bemused. This is how it could have been between them if he’d been able to allow himself to truly be her husband. He was so miserably lacking in willpower where she was concerned. His legs buckled and he sank to the cushion, his shoulders framed by her velvet-clad knees and her fingers immediately crept into his hair and began gently kneading, massaging. It had been years since she’d done this for him and a glorious peace seeped through his being.

  ‘Talk to me, Rogan. Please? I have to know what I’m dealing with here.’

  ‘Bart said I should tell you too. He said I just needed to off-load the horror of it to someone and in his book that someone had to be you. You are the one who has the most to lose or gain by it. It’s not the kind of story your genteel ears should be sullied by, Jass. I have never breathed a word of it to anyone, until Bart threatened to beat me senseless and leave my employ if I didn’t. Even to him I couldn’t reveal the whole of it.’

  ‘Has there ever been anything we couldn’t discuss with each other?’ she asked softly.