by Edith Layton
Jared couldn’t answer—he couldn’t take his eyes from Della.
She felt as though she’d been sleeping and someone had ripped the covers off her, leaving her naked and blinking at the light. She wanted to flee; she wanted to see Jared—so she couldn’t move at all. Until he spoke.
“Della?” Jared asked, looking at her in disbelief. “Della? You heard it all?”
“I’m sorry,” she babbled, wringing her hands, backing up until she hit the door Justin had closed behind him. “I heard my name and I couldn’t go away. I should have said something, but it was never the right time. I’m not a sneak. I…”
“I know you’re not. I don’t blame you,” he said as he came toward her. He took her two hands in his to stop their shaking, and then he looked down into her eyes. “In fact, I’m glad you heard it. This way, I don’t have to say it all over again. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it that right again. I meant every word. But if you want, I’ll try to say it again: none of this inheritance matters—only you do.
“I love you every way there is to love a girl—a woman. I loved the child, and now I love the woman, but it’s much more, because it’s liking and loving all mixed together. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t want to know. But I won’t be an earl or have this grand house. Will you forgive me and have me anyway? Della?” he asked, as she lowered her gaze.
“I never even kissed her, Dell,” he said a little desperately, when she didn’t answer. “Honestly. Pretty as she was, I never did, though I never realized why. But how could I kiss her, when there was you? Always you. Everything else was only a substitute, as Justin said. How do you think I got this old without finding a wife? I’m not that bad-looking a fellow, am I?” he asked, hoping to make her laugh. “Surely someone would have had me—but I never even asked anyone else. It turns out that even when I didn’t know my heart, it was true to itself. It wasn’t until I saw you with Justin and I realized I wanted to rip out his— But—do you prefer him?”
She shook her head, and heard his sigh of relief.
“Then is it that you only think of me as a brother? But no, that can’t be, not after last night. Is it because you doubt my constancy? Because it took me so long to know my heart, do you think I’d ever be untrue to you? Never! You are the other half of my heart. Della? At least say something, so I know what to say to you!”
“How can I?” she wailed, finally looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I’ll make a fool of myself. It can’t be true. It’s because of what Fiona said, isn’t it? You feel sorry for me. You feel indebted to my father. You’re saying all this so you can—can repay him.”
“No, I was wrong; I think I have to stop saying things to you,” he muttered, then kissed her.
Chapter 17
He had meant it to be a persuasive kiss, a thing of passion and love, a kiss that would leave her with no doubts, though gentle enough not to frighten a young woman of her inexperience. Somewhere along the way, Jared had lost sight of what he had meant to do—he couldn’t stop kissing her.
They’d clung together until they realized they couldn’t stand anymore. Somehow they’d stumbled to a couch; somehow they got her gown off her shoulders, off her breasts; somehow she’d got her hands up under his shirt and on the warm skin over his heart, and that made him gasp as much as his lips on her breast made her sigh. But it was more than his heart involved now; it was something much more urgent and blinding than love, something both less and more than adoration, something so basic that he was wondering how to get that damned hoop off her—when he realized exactly what it was he was going to do when he did.
He broke from her and took a deep breath. Then he hastily buttoned his shirt. He gazed at her, winced at how she sat blinking, still dazzled with desire, her hands over her breasts, her mouth bruised to the color of peaches from his kisses. He took another breath, frustrated at his rekindled desire, because the latest fashion didn’t lie about what it promised. The damned gown seemed to be purposely made so that her breasts could pop out easily enough, and they did. Her breasts were firm, tilted, and rosy tipped, and he had to swallow hard and brace himself until she came to her senses enough to cover them with more than her hands.
She just sat there, growing cold without his arms and hands and mouth to give her warmth. When she realized what he was staring at, she became hot with shame and confusion, and she crossed both arms in front of herself. But before she did another thing, she had to understand what was happening between them. There were a dozen things to say, but they all came out in one question.
“Just what is it that you want, Jared?”
“You, of course,” he muttered, gazing at her partially covered breasts, “but not now.”
Red-faced, she turned away. After a moment, she faced him again, her gown in place, her breasts covered by as much as fashion allowed. He felt safe again, until he looked at her face.
“I see. You obviously don’t want me, no matter what you say. What is that you do want?” she asked haughtily, an effect that was ruined by the tears that started to course down her cheeks.
“Oh, Dell,” he said, gathering her in his arms again, “you—”
He never got a chance to finish what he was saying. She pushed him away with surprising force. She ran the back of her hand under her nose, sniffled, and raised her head high. “Liar!” she said. “A man who wants a woman doesn’t throw her away.”
“I’m not throwing you away.” He laughed in exasperation. “I’m putting you away, which isn’t the same thing. I can’t handle you—in every way, I guess,” he added with a crooked grin. “Dell, the truth is that I can’t control myself with you. It’s all or nothing at all with us, every time I touch you. I care for you too much to consummate our love here in the library, with everyone knowing we’re together here. But I think I lust for you too much to be content with merely kissing and cuddling. I never did understand bundling.…
“Nevertheless,” he said with decision, rising from the couch to pace a few steps away, “I love you. Don’t doubt it. We’re going to be married as soon as we can; in the meantime, I flatly refuse to make you mine on a couch in the library, like a suitor in a bad farce. You see?” At her look of stubborn disbelief, he said, “You don’t? Throw you away? Before God, Della, did I act like I wanted to? Do I look as though I want to now?”
She had to admit that he looked at the end of his rope. He hadn’t been tidy when she’d first spied on him, and he looked on the ragged edge now. But oh! she thought, his hair did look wonderful unbound, framing his handsome face like comsilk—it had felt that soft, too.
“And don’t look at me like that. I have wonderful intentions. I don’t plan to ruin them,” he said distractedly, seeing her wistful look, that lovely, pouting pink mouth swollen from kisses.
He squared his shoulders, drew in his breath, tucked in his shirt, buttoned his vest, and shook out his cuffs.
“Now, then,” he said with determination. “I think we should go to London as soon as possible. I understand you’ve already sent a note to your father. There’s no point in sending another. London will suit our purposes. The sooner we’re married and on the ship back to Virginia, the happier we’ll be—all of us—you, me, Justin, and…Fiona.”
“You just don’t want to face her and her parents,” Della said tartly.
“Well, would you, if you were me?”
“No. I don’t even want to face them as me.”
“But Jared!” she said in alarm, remembering. “What are we talking about? You can’t leave; you’re the earl of Alveston. You can’t give it up—not the title and this wonderful place. It’s everything you ever wanted. It’s yours by right.”
“No. If it was mine, it would be wrong,” he said gravely. “Didn’t you hear what I told Justin? I meant it. I’ve taken too much from him. Besides, I was the earl, and I felt like an impostor. It’s not my life or place anymore. So I won’t be the earl of Alveston—we’ll hardly starve. I’m very rich, you k
now, and bound to become richer, even Alfred says so. But the title, this place—do they matter that much to you?”
“Not to me—to you. Can you ever really be happy if you give it up?”
“I’ll be happy so long as I’m with you,” he said, taking her hand and helping her rise. Then he brought her hand to his lips. He felt her fingers close over his and looked down into her troubled eyes. Blue, he thought, bemused, blue as a jay’s wing, blue as the part of the flame nearest the heart of the fire.
“I don’t know…” She frowned. “I don’t know if I can bear being all that to you. What if something happens between us? Will you regret your bargain every time we fight? Married couples do fight sometimes, Jared; you know that’s true. And what if anything happens to me?” she said fearfully. “There are fevers—there’s childbearing; Jared, if you give all this up and anything terrible happens to me, you’ll be left with nothing.”
“That’s true,” he said. “If anything happens to you, I will have nothing—whether I have the title or not. Della, listen closely: I meant every word I said. Now you make me wonder about you. Don’t you want me? If not, just say it. Justin will be glad to take you—”
She didn’t let him finish. She pummeled his chest with her small fists until he laughed, and then she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. He stopped laughing. Her mouth was eager, and he was delighted by how quickly she’d learned to seek his tongue with her own. And at how she made such soft noises in her throat as she did, how she pressed forward into his hands, how she…
“Della,” he said shakily, putting her at arm’s length, “we have to leave here as soon as possible. Your kisses are delicious, but they don’t help right now—exactly the opposite. We have to find Justin immediately and tell him what we’ve decided. Then we’ll say good-bye and leave in the morning.”
“But Jared,” she said, “does this—does this mean you won’t touch me until we get to London?” Her teeth fretted at her lower lip, and she looked at her hands. “I—I don’t want to seem forward, but if you don’t want to kiss me, I can’t believe you really want me. When you won’t come near me, how am I to know?” she cried.
“Oh, Della.” He sighed. “Here’s how.” He bent his head and kissed her. “I can’t say it better than that,” he said, drawing back. “Now, let’s go tell Justin and set something other than my damnable lust in motion.”
“Is it so bad that you want me?” she asked.
“Yes. Because we’re not married yet, and I want you very much. Whatever else I do, I’ll never betray your father’s trust. We’ll be together for an eternity, Della. A few more days won’t make any difference.”
She nodded, but wasn’t sure she agreed. Jared was a man of strong ideals and a deep sense of duty. She couldn’t help but worry and wonder if all this—even to his returning to Virginia, wasn’t really for her father and Justin, no matter what he said. But he was determined once he made up his mind, and he obviously had. It was what he wanted, and he was all she wanted. She consoled herself with the thought that it would be only one more night here and then a carriage ride, and then London. Then they’d be married, and she’d know the bliss of his lovemaking, and though she could regret many things about what they were about to do, she could never regret that. Only a few more days, she told herself, and left the library with him.
“Are you mad?” Justin threw back his head and laughed. “It will take more than a few days to clear this up, Jared. You won’t be able to leave for weeks.”
He had said congratulations first, when he heard the news. He had hugged his brother hard, clapped him on the back, and then smiled down at Della and kissed her cheek very tenderly. But now he was roaring with laughter as Jared fumed.
“Legalities,” he explained, when he stopped laughing. “You can’t simply leave, leaving me holding the title. It wouldn’t work. I won’t do it. And there are the uncles to be told—and to argue with, unless I miss my guess. Then, if and when they agree—even if they don’t—there are papers to be witnessed and signed, a judge or two to pocket your coins and mumble over the papers, look up any precedents, and make up some new ones if they have to.”
“We can do that in London,” Jared said.
“Oh. I see, desert the hall, and leave it with no owner, no one to oversee it?” Justin asked blandly.
“You own it, you have it, you can do it,” Jared said tersely.
“No. It’s not mine, not legally or otherwise. Now, if you want to know whose it will be, you’ll have to do it legally. It’s not so easy to give up a title. Oh,” Justin said nonchalantly, seeing his brother’s fierce expression, “I suppose it is if you don’t care what happens to the estate or the poor soul who eventually takes it over. The barristers will certainly love you if you just leave. I imagine the entire estate will have to be sold just for there to be enough to pay them to decide who’s entitled to own it then.”
“You,” Jared said angrily.
“No. I believe I already said no,” Justin said. “Are you sure you don’t want to send for Alfred? If you stay to see this through, I doubt you’ll be able to leave for London for a while.”
“Alfred’s up north. By the time he gets the message and goes to London, we’ll be there. Money can grease any wheels, even in England,” Jared said. “I won’t leave the title in jeopardy. And I won’t leave it to anyone but you.”
“I see. Can we argue about it after dinner?” Justin asked, glancing at the mantel clock. “I’m awfully hungry.”
Not very much got eaten at dinner, or if it was, none of them paid much attention to what they were eating. The servants were shooed from the room once the food had been served, and then the brothers argued from soup to pastries. They and Della were the only ones there. Fiona and her parents had gone without a word of good-bye to Jared and Della. They had said some things to Justin, but he wouldn’t discuss it. He’d only shrugged and said that Fiona was amazingly resilient, and that was very good for her, and then added thoughtfully that it wouldn’t do her much good at Hawkstone Hall, though.
It wasn’t until after dinner that Jared asked for a truce.
“I know what I’m going to do, brother,” he said as he stood by the hearth and gazed into the fire. “I’m set on it. You might not know me well enough to know what that means, but Della can tell you. Poor girl, she’s had to deal with it enough. She once said I had all the flexibility of an oak—so there’s no sense arguing about it.”
“Good,” Justin said calmly, staring down into his glass of port, “because I know what I’m going to do, too. You mightn’t know me that well, either, but anyone ’round here could tell you that we must be related—because once my mind is made up, it is graven in stone. But you’re right. Let’s not argue.”
“You mean to say,” Jared demanded, “that you’d pack up and leave the hall without a backward look—and let some miserable little toad spawned by our cursed uncle take over as the earl of Alveston?”
“No,” Justin said calmly, “there’d be many a backward look, and a few manly tears to the bargain, I’d think. But I’d leave it to Satan himself if he inherited it. I’ll say it again: I don’t deserve it while you live. And since I won’t take it—or kill you, though sometimes your stubbornness tempts me—it will go to whomever it will go to. And that’s the end of it.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Jared shouted.
“No more than your leaving is,” Justin said grimly.
“I think it’s time we went to bed,” Della said.
It was the first thing the brothers agreed on all evening.
*
Della was in bed, but not asleep. She couldn’t stop worrying. She loved the hall and grieved for Jared because after all he’d done, he still felt unworthy of it. She knew she was intricately tied up in his decision. She’d carry any burden for him gladly, but this was a huge one to take on for the rest of her life if she wasn’t sure of his love. And she wasn’t.
She wasn’t even sure of his lust.
His kisses had been impassioned. His touch had made her drunk with desire, but then, she thought worriedly, she’d always desired him. No wonder his touch set her afire. She’d kissed a few boys, but she really didn’t know much more about men’s desires than what she’d overheard other young women talking about. Men were supposed to be tinderboxes. They were supposed to actually ache if their desire was denied. Hadn’t Molly Smith told all the young women at her house that night that Charles Bodine had said he was in pain when she finally insisted he stop? Of course, Molly was a baggage, and Charles a rogue. But it was generally agreed to be the truth. Many young men claimed it, and every young woman was warned that men had great passion, easily ignited and hard to subdue. They were set off by a touch, a kiss, a caress, and once passion was awakened, it was difficult, if not impossible, for men to stop.
Jared had drawn back, put her at arm’s length, and while she couldn’t even get two thoughts together had quietly told her to wait until they were married. He wasn’t a cold man. A certain bar wench—and who knew how many others—could testify to that, Della thought darkly. So then it stood to reason that the fault didn’t lay in the tinderbox, but in the tinder. With everything he’d said, still it seemed clear to her that she didn’t really arouse him.
What a tragedy it would be if he left this place of his dreams and went back with her to live a life of sacrifice. All for his damned—yes, damned!—sense of duty, she thought rebelliously. She wanted him so badly she trembled with it, and he lay sleeping peacefully. That proved it. He was being so noble, and she, so— It would not do.
She crept down from her high bed and groped for her robe. She’d go to him now; she’d broach it to him now, while there was still time to right things. But what if—a small voice warned her—what if he really did desire her, and she went to him and he burst into flames as she did? It was nighttime; everyone knew men’s passions ran highest in the night. She knew what happened between man and woman, and it was much more than sweet kisses and thrilling caresses. Some said it was painful, and everyone said it was shockingly intimate. She paused, her hand halfway into her sleeve. Well then, good, she thought—a little frightened, but undaunted. At least I’ll know. Besides, she told herself as she shrugged the robe over her nightgown, she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than any kind of intimacy with him.
