by Edith Layton
Justin had sat with Della in the library until all hours just last night, hadn’t he? And gone out with her for a drive today and come back smiling as if he had no troubles on his mind or heart, hadn’t he? He and Della had kept laughing together at the same dinner he’d sat brooding at tonight. No, Justin wasn’t grieving; it looked to Jared like he’d found himself a replacement already.
Leave it to Della to comfort the homeless and the loveless. She’d consoled him when she’d been a girl, Jared remembered, and now she comforted his brother. But there was a big difference. He’d been a boy; Justin was a man—very much a man. A man of elegance, humor, and self-sacrifice—with all that had happened, he’d never said a word in protest or anger.
But then, he had a wonderful distraction, didn’t he? Jared thought, his eyes narrowing in the darkness. Della had laughed with him at dinner, her sparkling blue eyes fixed on his. As they’d left the table, Jared had seen Justin’s strong hand close over Della’s little white one as she’d placed it on his arm, and he’d seen the smile they’d given each other then. In that moment, he’d seen Della as he’d never seen her before: more than vivacious, she was a bewitching creature, tiny, but every inch of her dainty and curved, a darkly exotic woman in this land of blonde women. Woman? he thought. Yes, fully a woman. It had been a strange revelation, even stranger to see Justin falling under her spell.
Did all brothers feel this way when their sisters grew up? It felt almost as though he’d envied Justin. But why? Della still loved him; she’d always love him, he knew. She’d had admirers before. Why should it disturb him now? Was it because Justin looked so much like himself? That was an odd, disquieting thought, and combined with all his other doubts made sleep impossible.
But unlike his other problems, this one he could deal with immediately. He only had to talk to her about it, to assure himself it was what she really wanted. Della was like a sister, and as her brother, he had to be sure she wasn’t just feeling sorry for Justin. God knew, the girl had a tender heart and a place for every stray in it. He couldn’t let her sacrifice herself out of pity for Justin. She was perfectly capable of doing it, too, he thought uneasily.
Justin was a good man—none better—and a good match. But Jared had to make sure she was thinking clearly. Bad enough it looked like Jared himself was about to steal his brother’s wife; he couldn’t pitchfork Della into a bad marriage by doing so, could he?
He’d talk to her in the morning, he decided as he strode barefoot into the darkened library to find the decanter of liquor he sought. He’d talk to her, reassure himself, and maybe then he could turn to other problems. He’d solve them, too, make decisions, and then maybe his heart wouldn’t trouble him, his dreams would fade, and he could face the future as he faced the night tonight—daring it to bother him again.
But the liquor would definitely help.
He had downed two glasses and felt the cold leaving his feet, or at least felt them becoming as nicely numbed as the rest of him, and was yawning, thinking bed might not be such a bad idea, when the door opened. A tall, robed figure stole into the room as silently as he himself had a half-hour before. He hadn’t bothered to light a fire or a lamp because he hadn’t wanted any company. But though it was dark and shadowy, he knew who it was.
“Here, I’ve got it,” he told Justin as he saw him bend to the sideboard. He squinted at the liquid in the decanter as he held it up. “And there’s some left for you, too. But what the devil are you doing up at this hour?”
“Same as you, I suppose—looking for a drink. But not in an icehouse. Practicing economies already, brother?” Justin asked, looking at the cold hearth as Jared poured him a glass. “I know I was a free spender when I held the reins here, but I’m sure the estate can afford an extra log or two.”
“I agree,” Jared said as his brother tipped back his head and took a long swallow, “but I didn’t think I’d be here long enough to need a fire. I’m surprised you didn’t keep one burning all the time. You’re the one who usually spends the night in this place, aren’t you?”
“Only when the company is prettier,” Justin said calmly, seating himself on the arm of a chair opposite his brother.
Jared grew still. He was glad of the darkness, because it meant he could avoid his brother’s eyes. He took another drink from his glass and cleared his throat. “About that…” he said, and then changed his mind and said gruffly, “I heard about you and Fiona. I’m sorry, Justin, sorrier than I can say, and that’s the truth. I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t come back, or if I’d come a few months later…”
“We’ve been through this,” Justin said wearily. “There’s no point to it. Fiona’s…very young. It’s as well that I learned that now. And I wouldn’t have postponed your return for anything.”
“You make it harder,” Jared said in a tight voice.
“Why? The simple truth is that her father has higher ambitions for her than marrying a second son, and he’s a great influence on her. She’s a very dutiful daughter, you know: she stayed with the bargain our parents made, in spite of all her other admirers, until I lost the title. What do you think my life would have been like if you returned after the wedding?”
“Are you trying to make it even harder?” Jared muttered.
“Want me to challenge you to a duel, then? But who’s to say it’s because she prefers you? You may fancy yourself an Adonis, but consider: once the word is out that she’s free, she’ll have a hoard of suitors trailing after her, some even richer than you. Unless, of course, I’m making a fool of myself because you’re going to announce your betrothal to her now?”
“No,” Jared said quickly.
“If you were, I wouldn’t challenge you then, either. I can’t hold what I don’t have, I’ve told you that before—and I think it covers just about everything I had before you came here.”
Tonight, in the dark, Jared thought his brother sounded too casual, too aloof and cold-blooded, too much an unapproachable aristocrat, nothing like the boy he remembered. He sounded alien and terse, nothing like the good-hearted boy he’d known or the good-natured man he’d come to know. But though neither knew it, they sounded very much alike now, so much so that they seemed to speak in the same voice. Both were tight-lipped; both now had reason to be glad of the concealing darkness.
“I think it would be easier if you were angrier,” Jared said, gazing down into his glass.
“Would it be, for you? I mean, if you were me now?” Justin asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Jared said. “Well,” he said, letting out a deep, liquor-scented breath, “at least you’re not brooding. In fact, seems to me, you’re having a really good time these days—and nights.”
“With Della? Yes.”
“I see. Or do I?”
“Going to ask me my intentions?” Justin asked mockingly. “Why not? You say she’s like your sister. Then rest easy. My intentions are honorable, my brother.”
“Honorable?” Jared said in surprise. “Early days for a statement like that.”
“Early? Not as early as being betrothed at birth, though, is it? This time, at least it would be my choice.”
“Especially then,” Jared said, swirling the last of the liquid in his glass. “I’d think you’d want to think about it a long time. Take your time, look around…”
“Look around? Why? I was engaged, not blind! Do you think I never looked?” Justin laughed. “I’m not a successful merchant like you are, brother, but I’m not a fool, either. It’s not a matter of looking—it’s finding, isn’t it? Sometimes life looks out for you. You should know that.”
“And you think you’ve found…Della?” The question hung in the darkness.
“Yes. Perhaps. Why so surprised? You know her like a sister. Think of her as a woman for a moment, if you can. Then tell me you’re surprised.”
There was a stillness. “You don’t make it any easier,” Jared finally murmured.
“Is it that you think I don’t hav
e enough money now?” Justin asked blandly. “Not as much as you, certainly. Not anymore. But still enough to make any bride blush, I’d think. Or is it that you disapprove of me?”
Jared made a sudden motion, then sat back. “Fool,” he muttered.
“Mighty sullen, aren’t we? Oh, I see: that is not your first glass, is it? Are you going to drink all night? Might I ask why?”
“No,” Jared said tersely, and drained his glass.
Justin laughed and got up from the chair. “Sometimes a man needs to do that. If I can help, call me. But I’m tired now. I was reading late, but it’s late enough now, I think. Good night, brother,” he said pleasantly, and left.
It was only when he was out the door, with it closed firmly behind him, that Justin remembered to let out his breath and unclench his jaw. Though he was used to being a gentleman, he wasn’t used to being an actor. He’d wanted a drink, and had gone to the library because it was always his best refuge in troubled times. That was why tonight it had been especially hard for him to remember that he hadn’t the right, that it wasn’t his house or his library or, strictly speaking, even his liquor anymore.
Jared sat in his library, in his house, in the dark, with everything he always wanted in his hand, or within his reach, and wondered if it was possible that if a man tried hard enough, he could actually hold back the dawn. Because he didn’t know what he was going to do when it came.
He put down his glass and stared into the empty room. Then he put his head down on his folded arms.
That was why Della was sure no one was there when she cracked the door open, peered into the room, and then tiptoed in. And why she dropped her candle in surprise when Jared called her name out of the darkness.
He shot from the chair to help her search for the candlestick, but she didn’t see that. The room was so dark, she had to drop to her knees, frantically feeling around the floor for the rolling candle, hoping she wouldn’t see a glint of candle flame beginning to eat its way through the polished floor. She saw no flame; he felt no fire. But their hands met on the candleholder, and when they did, they remained there, knee to knee, like worshippers of a blind god, holding up a dark candle between them.
Chapter 15
What the devil are you doing here?” Jared demanded.
“I didn’t know it was forbidden,” she snapped back, glad of an angry answer to lessen her shock at finding him here, when she’d only come down here to get a book to chase him from her mind in the first place.
“It’s not,” he said, “but you should be sleeping.”
“I’m not, and I’m not ten anymore, so I don’t have to be,” she retorted.
He was very aware of that and so surprised that he didn’t answer her right away—or move. Neither did she. They still knelt, knee to knee, looking into each other’s faces as best they could in the darkness, until he grew aware of the hour, their silence, and the fact that they were entirely alone together in the night. That had happened too many times to count before, but after his conversation with his brother, everything suddenly seemed different.
He got to one knee, and then the cool air he felt on his naked thigh reminded him he was wearing nothing under his robe. Despite the darkness, he paused to quickly rewrap his robe around himself as prissily as any old spinster might, before he stood and gave her a hand to stand up beside him.
“Is anything bothering you?” he asked gruffly.
Everything was, but especially him, so she only shook her head. It was dark, but not so much so that he couldn’t see that something was bothering her—her distress was obvious.
“Come on,” he said in a gentler voice, “you can tell me, Dell. There’s nothing you can’t tell me, you know.”
She swallowed hard and hung her head. Her hair was braided for the night, but some dark curls still tumbled across her face and concealed her expression—she hoped. There was so much she couldn’t say she hardly knew what to say. His nearness, the actuality of him alone with her in the night, made it harder. But the darkness was her ally now. She tried for as much truth as she could, because the truth was always easiest for her.
“Nothing you can help me with, Jared. I know you always could help me with my problems before—with anything, actually. I remember how you even made death bearable for me. Remember? When Thomas died? You dried my tears and told me a story about rebirth. You had me watching for daffodils all through that winter and thinking there was some incredible miracle when spring came and they actually popped up out of the earth everywhere they’d been planted.” She chuckled now, remembering, and then she sobered. “But that was then; this is now. There’s nothing you can do for me now.” Except to love me, she thought, which would be an even greater miracle than daffodils in spring.
“I’ll always be ready to help you. If you don’t think I can, I’m sorry. But I’m sorrier that there’s something troubling you. Listen, Della…” He took a breath and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt how delicate those shoulders were, and his gentle grip grew tighter as he thought of how infinitely fragile and precious this little almost-sister of his was to him. “You may think you have to please me, but you don’t. You should please only yourself. That’s all I ever wanted. I know…that is, I think you might feel you have to… Ah, Lord. The sum of it is that maybe you think you have to please me by liking my brother, but we’re two different men. And you don’t have to show me that kind of loyalty. Do you understand?”
She didn’t. Her eyes grew wide. “But I do like Justin; he’s everything a gentleman should be.”
“Yes, everything I’m not—I know. But the thing is—”
She didn’t let him finish. She flew to his defense as always, even against himself. “You are a noble gentleman,” she said, unconsciously putting a hand on his chest as though to put her thoughts right into his heart. “Always, in everything. I don’t know why you think he’s more of one than you are. You were raised the same; in fact, he says he’s always looked up to you.”
“Right—of course he does,” he said bitterly. “Looks up to a man who once scrubbed out chamber pots and worried only whether he’d done it right. Looks up to a man who once ate table scraps and was glad he—instead of the pigs or the dog—got them. Looks up to a man who once was beaten if he dared look up to any other being full and steadily from both his eyes.”
Della stamped her foot, then winced because her slippers were so thin. “Listen!” she said angrily, mad at herself and him and a world that had thrown them together only to pull them apart. “You just listen: a pig raised in a palace will grow up to be a pig no matter what you do for him. And a prince raised in a pigpen will grow up to be a prince, unless you kill him straight out. Enough! You were a bond-boy. You were hurt and abused. But you were never less than what you are. Never. And…and if you let any high-nosed, blue-blooded, pompous old Englishmen make you feel bad about what happened, then you’re just—just plain stupid! But I don’t think you are, and so…oh, Jared—you’re good enough for her, you really are,” she said, hating herself for having to say it. But she couldn’t bear to see him suffer anymore.
There, she thought, looking up at him, feeling the warmth of his hard chest against her hand, feeling his steady heavy heartbeat pulsing against it. I’ve done it. I’ve gone and said it straight out. I’ve given him permission and my blessing, and what a fool I am. But if it is to be done, then let it be done by my own hand. There. She withdrew her hand and stood with her head down before him, defeated and bereft of what she wanted most from life.
But he laughed, and she raised her eyes in confusion.
“And if I murdered a king, you’d stand at the gallows and swear I was right to do it, too,” he said, marveling.
“No, I would not. I’d weep for you, but that’s all. I know your faults, Jared, and I regret them. But you do make too much of the past and not enough of yourself.”
“Oh, you think I have faults, do you?” he asked with a smile.
“Of course. You think you
’re always right, you don’t give me enough credit for being a grown-up, you’re wary of strangers, and…and…”—she closed her eyes as she listed all his faults—”…and you won’t eat a single lima bean, and you can’t sing a tune on key for more than a minute, no matter what you say! And you say you don’t hold grudges, but you never, ever forget a slight. Remember what you did to Old Man Potter’s prize sow on market day?”
“Oh, Della!” he said, and laughed. He pulled her close and hugged her hard. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”
She laughed with him then. But when they stopped, they realized they were in each other’s arms, and neither wanted to be the first to pull away.
It had been a long time since he’d held a natural woman close, a woman without all the artifices of modern fashion.
She wore no hoop or stays, had on no stiffened bodice; there were no girdles, laces, padding, or petticoats between herself and him. The last time he’d held such a woman it had been Della—and he’d promised himself he’d never do it again. But he had, and now he couldn’t bring himself to do more than stand with her in his embrace and wonder at it—as she seemed to be doing.
He became painfully aware that she had on nothing but a nightgown, a thin covering of cotton, and he, nothing but his silk brocade robe. He couldn’t feel her robe or hers. He couldn’t feel anything for feeling all those intricate, wonderful curves against him, all that firm softness pressed against his own body, all the sweet, warm, perfumed womanflesh of her. No, not womanflesh—Della. His own Della—infinitely precious, infinitely needed in this darkness—and needing. He knew it; it was in her body, in her quick silent breaths. She said nothing.
There was nothing she could say. She could only lie against him, breathing in the special scent of him, feeling him against her hard and real and everything she’d ever dreamed. Her Jared, this close—him, and only him, really him. She was stunned with pleasure. And so for that one sweet moment, she allowed herself to lie against him, knowing it was the first and last of him she’d ever know.
