The Only One

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “Oh. You’re leaving?” she gasped.

  “I must.” He tightened the hold on her hands.

  “For how long? When will you return?”

  His gaze plunged to her trembling lower lip. Lifting one delicate hand, he brushed a kiss into her palm. “I won’t.”

  She stared—as if she’d not heard him or did not understand the import of his words. Silence stretched for several moments.

  “I don’t understand,” she said in a feverish whisper. Her obvious attempt at bravery lanced his soul.

  This damned torture was of his own making. He’d given in. Surrendered to his lust. Guilt weighted on his shoulders like a block of iron. But he must plod forward.

  “We live in two different cultures. Our worlds could never coexist.”

  “But . . . wait. Even though we’ve been acquainted only a short time, we’ve developed a bond. I’m sure I could fit into your world, with Aunt Cornelia’s help.”

  “Alex. You’re young. You’ve never been away from your home. You’re a lovely young girl whom I admire very much.”

  “Is it my years?” She recovered from her flinch, but he’d seen her balk when he’d used the word girl.

  “My time with you has been important to me.” He held her fingers so tightly, he had to remind himself not to crush her bones. “You are very dear to me. I cannot stay in America, Alex. My home is in England. I can neglect my duties no longer. I must leave.”

  “Are you asking me to go with you?”

  Bloody hell. He dug the pit deeper. He would give anything to spare her his answer. Maybe he should just take her. Carry her away on his ship like a pirate and damn the consequences. But her father’s words halted the action before he could put any deed to motion.

  Would Alex hate him later, when she grew bored, or when she missed her family? Or God forbid, if she no longer wanted him. Would a quick break now spare her agony in a few years? If he only knew . . . if he could trust what she felt now would last . . . But he’d never been a man to dwell on ‘ifs.’ He was a man of hard facts.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She jerked her hand free, covering the gasp on her lips. After a heartrending pause, she murmured, “I see.”

  “It has never been my intention to hurt you. You gave me a gift I will treasure to my dying day.” He was doomed for unconscionable damnation. Even though, unbeknownst to her or any member of her family, he’d secretly made preparations in the event of a babe. Any word of such would end this unwarranted charade. The burning pits of hell would not keep him from claiming the child and his mother, should the status arise.

  Pain burned in her eyes. Her palms covered her chest—as though they could provide some small protection against her breaking heart—and she sprang from the sofa.

  Maybe the best thing would be to place some distance between them. He ran a frustrated hand through his mop of hair. Damnation. He hated this. Damn his soul to hell. And damn her father for forcing him to do this.

  Force?

  Giles closed his eyes and swallowed his agony. This was best for Alex. He did it for her. He could not bear to see the light leave her eyes, or suffer her resentment when she wanted to return home to her family.

  Leaving me.

  Yearning for her to turn around, see the lie for what it was, he stood. Hoping she would not turn, praying she did not cry, for then he would surely confess all. His love, his need.

  Foolish, foolish man. Didn’t you learn long ago, dreams were for others?

  “You are special, Alex.” Her name rolling from his tongue was enough for him to struggle with the words clogging his throat. “You are wonderful. But my time here has come to an end.”

  “You no longer want me.” Anguish laced her words.

  And ripped his heart.

  “There is no future for us. The English insist on the eldest son—in my case, the only son—doing his duty, to marry and produce an heir.” Giles fought to keep his voice even. “A dukedom. I must follow my path. The course plotted for me. I have no choice in this matter.” With every word he knew he carved another chunk from her ruptured heart.

  She whirled with a vengeance. “Your duty? What of your duty when you held me naked in your arms?”

  Images punctured his mind of an innocent face, a sultry gleam in beguiling eyes before she kissed him so shamelessly. Her fire and spirit while sharing their bodies in passion.

  He hated being the villain in her eyes. Drawing on years of self-discipline governing his emotions, he dredged up every ounce of strength of will to form his next words.

  “You are too young.” At her gasp, he held up a hand. “I know what happened between us was not your fault. I am older, and supposed to be wiser.” God, he hoped there were no consequences of his foolishness.

  “Wiser?” Her hands shook with anger. “You . . . you’re leaving? And telling me you plan to marry another?”

  Giles nearly choked on his despair.

  “What of love? Did you not profess your love for me? What of our future? Did you not make assurances to me?”

  “In the heat of the moment, I declared my fondness of your body. My liking of your attributes,” he said, trying to be reasonable. Good God, he bungled this. Why not rip her heart out and get it over with?

  “I gave you my virginity. You held out a promise of affection and hope. Now with words of honor and duty, you cruelly snatch your pledge away?” She could hardly speak through her tears.

  Rage threatened. He wanted to pound something. Break something. She’d branded him with her scent, her taste, her zest for life. God’s blood. His entire being felt twisted in knots. Knowing he’d never see her face again, he committed to memory every detail, every fleck in her enticing brown eyes . . .

  Now filled with hurt and anger, her anguish sharp enough to shred him. Pain more raw than salt on a gaping wound pierced his chest. Enough. He had to end this torment.

  “I am a duke. This is my heritage. I don’t expect you to understand my way of life. Aristocracy allows no breach in etiquette. What’s inside me demands I comply with the mandates of my ancestors. You may accept it, or not.”

  He shoved his hat on his head and spun on his heel. The devil collected his due this day. As Giles marched across the tiled floor, the doorman practically ran ahead of him. Grabbing the brass handle, he jerked the door open just as Giles stomped through, headed for his ship.

  Destination . . .

  Hell.

  Chapter 20

  Everything seemed to fade around her. The room dwindled and blurred before her eyes. Alex was aware only of the blinding agony that wrenched her soul. Like a body with no will of her own, she drifted, crossing the corridor, climbing the round staircase, padding down the hall to her room. Her feet moved, she saw the portraits on the wall, yet her mind floated in a dark cloud. Somehow she closed the door and stumbled to her bed. She threw herself across the coverlet and clutched a pillow to her shattered heart. Grief nearly swallowed her whole.

  Her eyes burned. Tears threatened. She could never let them start for she feared once begun, they wouldn’t stop. With her heart breaking, she needed a firm rein on her emotions. If she cried, she would sob uncontrollably.

  The first tear ran down her cheek.

  Then another.

  A knock on her door startled her awake. Eyes puffy, nose clogged, she shoved the hair out of her face. She must have cried herself to sleep. Another rap on her door.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Papa.”

  Oh. Maybe she could blame the puffiness on sleep. “Just a minute.” She scurried from the bed and adjusted her clothes. No need to brush her hair. Father had seen her at her worst. She opened the door. When he extended his arms, she choked on a sob and the tears flowed again.

  He held
her for several seconds, allowing her to sob in misery.

  “Papa. I love Giles.” She swiped at the scalding tears on her cheeks.

  “I know you think you do, pet.”

  “I do.” She shoved away. “You have no idea of what I feel for him. You think I’m too young.”

  “You’re only seventeen.”

  “Aunt Cornelia was only sixteen when she married Uncle Toby. And they have a passel of children.”

  With a raised brow, he stared at her the same way he always did when about to give a lecture. “Things were done differently then. Your aunt lived in England and met her husband at a coming out ball.”

  “Still, she was but sixteen,” Alex huffed.

  “You are my only daughter. We do not live in London.”

  “But Giles does.” She threw her head back and glared in defiance.

  “My point exactly! He is an Englishman, born to wealth and position. A duke.”

  Seeing her father was trying to control his temper, Alex tried a more gentle approach. “I understand. He is an important man.”

  “You are unfamiliar with English customs.”

  “Aunt Cornelia has been educating me.” She absorbed every tidbit about England’s traditions and all the proper behavior her aunt was willing to share.

  “Cornelia,” he spouted as if he had eaten turtle soup. And he didn’t like turtle soup. “She’s filled your head with fantasies. Life in London can be kind and cruel. It is an entirely different world. One I would hope to keep you from.”

  “But, Papa. It was your homeland.”

  “I was born there. I moved here and made a life with your mother. America gives a man opportunities, a whole new way of life. England is very confining. You are at the mercy of your peers. If you are nobility, you are under the ton’s scrutiny. The gossip mongers can be harsh and ruthless.”

  “But Aunt Cornelia lives there. She likes living in England.”

  “All it takes is one mistake. Or one comment to ruin one’s reputation. Aristocracy may accept you and welcome you into their midst, or cut you where no one would dare speak to you or call you friend.” His shoulders lifted in a heavy sigh. “I would rather spare you a life of scorn and ridicule.”

  A sudden thought struck. “Papa. Did you send Giles away?”

  “What? No. Why would you ask me such a thing?”

  “You just said . . .”

  “I know what I just said, girl. You do not need to remind me of my own words.” He glanced to the floor as his hands closed into fists.

  Alex stared at her father. She’d never seen him nervous, if that was what his fidgety behavior could be called.

  “Papa?”

  “I did not send him away.” His voice seemed louder than he’d ever spoken to her. “A member of the aristocracy does not ignore his responsibilities. Giles made the decision to return to his home.”

  Alex stepped to her vanity and plucked a handkerchief. Dabbing her nose, she crinkled the linen in her fist.

  “I love him, Papa. I thought he . . . cared for me, too.”

  “I’m sure he did, in his own way. But not as a candidate for a wife.”

  A pain stabbed her chest as if Giles had plunged the knife himself. She’d made love with him. Did their joining not present her a prospect for consideration of marriage?

  “Your skin and lips are so pale. I’m worried about you.” He stepped behind her and met her gaze in the mirror. Lines creased the corners of his eyes. Frown lines marred his forehead. “Time will heal. You must accept this. Giles is gone.”

  “Papa, I am old enough to marry.”

  “You are half his age. You’re still a child.”

  Her last thread of patience snapped. She whirled around at his accusation. “I. Am. Not. A. Child.”

  “You are my child!” he shouted. His brows drew together and his jaw muscle flexed. A sure sign he would not budge on the issue at hand. “I am your father. You will give up this foolishness. Your life is here. The Duke of Nethersall will enact a duke’s role and produce more generations of dukes.”

  While Alex hid in her room, days had gone by and the pain had not lessened. Mama heard Papa bellowing, so she brought Alex her meals, and made excuses for his anger. Knowing her parents loved her, Alex felt even more miserable for causing their worry. She had no appetite for food, and even less for enduring another day of heartache.

  Why did it hurt so much?

  She leaned on the window seat, her knuckles propped under her chin. Dark clouds in a dreary sky threatened rain. She’d not even gathered the energy to check on Stardust.

  Another pain pierced her at the black’s name. Would everything remind her of Giles? She really should not waste tears over a man who did not want her. Who tore her heart out.

  She should never have embarked on such a mad scheme in the first place. What a fantasy, thinking she could fill the role of a duchess. Yet it was not the excitement of being courted by a handsome nobleman. It was Giles himself. Handsome, adoring, kind . . .

  Oh, her romantic heart.

  Alex covered her eyes with a groan. Her cheeks felt puffy and her head hurt. A night of weeping would do that. She supposed she should leave her room. How would she face the day? Did she really want to encounter her brothers? If she stepped one foot outside her bedchamber, there would be no doubt. She couldn’t stand their scorn or their sympathy. And Kit had told her not to set her cap for the duke. Her humiliation grew by leaps and bounds.

  A rap sounded on her door. She really didn’t want to see anyone. Although, she shouldn’t cause her mother any more concern.

  “Come on, imp. You can’t sleep the day away.”

  Kit. She ignored the cajoling voice.

  “Alex, if you don’t open this door, I’m coming in,” Kit thundered.

  She wondered if her thoughts had conjured him up.

  “Just a minute.”

  With a frantic glance about, she realized she wore the same clothes she had on yesterday. Tilting up her chin, she shrugged. No sense in delaying the inevitable. She only hoped when he confronted her, she did not fall apart again.

  “All right. You can come in.”

  The door knob turned and Kit’s shoulders filled the doorway. Alex took a deep breath and held it until he stepped inside and shoved the door closed behind him.

  “Don’t you look a fright.”

  “Good morning to you too, brother dear,” she huffed.

  “You slept through break1fast.” He arched a brow the way he always did when ready to give her a dressing down. “It’s nearly noon.”

  “I was exhausted.”

  “Your face betrays you. Your cheeks are swollen, and it pains me to see the haunted look in your eyes.”

  Haunted? I’m bruised. Crushed. I’m a desperate, pathetic creature wanting what is impossible. Refusing to cry, she gathered the fortitude to put on a brave front.

  “What a nice compliment.” She moved back to the cushioned seat under the window.

  “May I join you?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  “Come on, imp.” Kit joined her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You’ve been cooped up for days.”

  She grunted in response—but secretly, she relished Kit’s presence.

  “Why don’t you grab your breeches and we’ll take the black for a ride.”

  “He has a name, you know.” She stared out her bedchamber window, feigning a bored expression.

  “Blackie? Thought you were going to change it.”

  “I did. Giles did. It’s Stardust.” She’d actually said his name without bursting into tears. If Kit noticed her stammer, he ignored it.

  “Hmm. Nice name. So why don’t we get Stardust and Brusor, an
d go for a ride?”

  “Brusor?” She dropped her arm and stared suspiciously at her brother. “Ben gave you permission?”

  “What makes you think I need his permission?” Kit angled a brow the way he always did when he wanted to lord his advantage of being the oldest over his siblings. His attempt to lift her spirits warmed her heart. He knew mentioning Brusor would get her attention.

  “Sam won’t let anyone near him since the race at Mr. Hardcastle’s.” She turned back to the window.

  “Funny thing, that. Seems the problem with Brusor was lu—uh, love.”

  “Huh?”

  “Brusor was sniffing after a mare.”

  “A mare caused him not to race?” She crinkled her nose and studied her brother. “You are teasing me.”

  “Just checking to see if you were paying attention.” Kit slapped his hands on his knees. “So, how about a ride?”

  “Looks like rain.” Again she feigned tedium.

  “Afraid you’ll melt?”

  She glanced out the window to the trees beyond. Picturing Giles, racing Gent alongside her, to their hideaway lagoon. Envisioning his handsome smile, the dimple in his chin, watching his eyes darken just before his lips met hers.

  “If only he would have believed me when I told him I would leave my home,” she sighed.

  “What?” Kit glared at her like she’d grown another head.

  Mama had tried to console her. Papa didn’t comprehend. But all of her brothers were close to her. She needed a man’s way of thinking to help her understand.

  “Giles. I told him . . .”

  “I heard what you said. I just don’t think you grasp what you’re saying.”

  “Kit, I realize you think I’m foolish to have once thought him worthy of my consideration.” She raised her pleading eyes to her brother. “But I love him.”