The Marker

by Connors, Meggan

  O’Connor placed his hand on Claire’s shoulder. Lexie didn’t doubt he would have killed Nicholas if he had even suspected there was a possibility his wife might get hurt. He lived for her and the boys, and, as she had witnessed firsthand, he would react first and ask questions later when it came to the safety of his family. Lexie found herself grateful O’Connor had never believed there to be any danger.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t furious with him for dragging her here to face her own broken heart.

  Allowing the anger to rise and drown out the hurt, she stood and said angrily, “How dare you? Why bring me here then?”

  O’Connor began to say something, but Claire put a restraining hand on his arm. “Because you need to have this out with him,” she said in her gentle way. “You need to tell him.”

  Lexie became aware of Nicholas rising to his feet. O’Connor looked down at Claire and said, “We should be getting back to those savages you call boys. I’m sure they’ve run Guillermo ragged by now.”

  Claire smiled up at him. Teasing, she said, “Who are you calling savages? That wouldn’t be a stab at my heritage, would it?”

  O’Connor laughed and tweaked her chin. “Certainly not. Though I will say they get their heathen ways from your side of the family.”

  “Blame Jamie. It’s clearly his fault,” Claire responded with a laugh. They’d obviously had this conversation before, and Lexie was jealous for yet another example of the domestic bliss the O’Connor family shared. O’Connor ushered his wife toward the door.

  In a rush, Lexie cried, “What about me? You can’t leave me here!”

  Claire turned away from her husband and approached Lexie. She gave her a gentle hug and said, “You will always have a place with us should you need it, but you need to tell him. Make him understand. This is where you need to be.” She turned her glittering dark eyes to Nicholas. “Remember what I told you, Mr. Wetherby. It’s up to you now.”

  “You can’t leave me here, Claire!” Behind her, she sensed Nicholas bristling. Panic set in and her heart began to race. She couldn’t tell him about any of it: about how much she loved him, about the baby, about the deal she had brokered with Buchanan and why she needed to honor the debt. She doubted he would even care if he did know. Tears filled her eyes, and while Claire’s gaze was sympathetic, Lexie knew she would refuse. Claire wanted Lexie to do the right thing and tell Nicholas, as if things would just work out, because, according to Claire, things always tended to work out. But Lexie was not lucky like Claire. To tell the truth would mean only heartache and death. The decent thing to do was to lie to save him.

  “Work it out, Miss Markland,” O’Connor said over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him as they left.

  Lost and alone, Lexie watched them go through the window.

  Slowly, she turned to face the man behind her. “Nicholas.”

  “Alexandra,” he responded, and the bitterness conveyed in that single word broke her heart. Something inside her shattered at the thought he would one day speak of another woman the way he had once spoken of her, that she would never again hear him say her name with affection. His voice remarkably calm, he asked, “Would you care for something to drink?”

  She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth, and shook her head. “I shouldn’t be here, Nicholas.”

  He turned and walked into his study and she reluctantly followed, drawn to him as a month drawn to a flame. “Why not?” he asked with feigned mildness. She could see his anger bubbling below the surface, evident in the slant of his mouth and the glittering of his eyes.

  Hot tears gathered, and she willed them not to fall, but failed. “You know why.”

  Nicholas turned from her, his shoulders stiff. “Ah, yes, Mr. Buchanan. I had quite forgotten.”

  The tears continued to fall despite her best efforts. Had their time together meant so little to him he didn’t remember her promise? He must remember. Her first, instinctive reaction was that he was a liar, but that made the idea of leaving so much harder. Better to believe him a cad.

  “So surely you can understand why I can’t be here,” she said, twisting her hands. “If he finds out...”

  Nicholas took a long breath. When he turned back to her, he had a glass of what she took to be gin in his hand. Odd. Nicholas had always preferred whiskey or brandy. She hadn’t even known he kept gin in the house. “He is liable to be furious, I’m sure,” he said with a mildness that belied the anger wreathing his features. He took a long drink, turned and poured himself another glass. Remembering her father, recalling the stench of Buchanan’s breath the last time he had threatened her, she took a step away from him.

  That one, small action broke through Nicholas’s mild demeanor. “Goddammit, Lexie, I’m not your father! It’s water! And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t beat you because I’ve had a drink, even though I’m so furious with you I can hardly breathe! If anyone needs a good beating to knock some sense into her, it would be you, but it won’t happen in this house, and certainly not at my hands!”

  Heart hammering, she asked, “What do you want from me, Nicholas?” Her voice rose and broke.

  “I want a fight!”

  Lexie gestured to the mottled bruises on his side. “Looks like you’ve had plenty of those.”

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw working. Had it been any other man—anyone other than Nicholas who looked at her with such fury—she would have been terrified, would have run. But Nicholas had every right to be hurt and angry, and she couldn’t look away. “But not with the person I’m really mad at.”

  Lexie squared her shoulders. “I take it that person’s me.”

  “Goddamn right it is.”

  “You bought me, Nicholas, and then someone was generous enough to pay my debt,” she hissed from between clenched teeth. She wouldn’t tell him she knew Claire’s money had been returned to her and Nicholas had released her. “We had an arrangement that has been settled. I owe you nothing.”

  “That’s a lie,” he said, and the venom in his voice gave her pause.

  She had gotten so adept at the lies and deceit she forgot where they ended and where the truth began. She owed him everything. Here was the only person to make her feel truly valued since her mother died, the only person with whom everything seemed right. He had shown her beauty she hadn’t even known existed. He had opened her eyes to a love and a life of possibilities, a life she wished she had never experienced, because having had it, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to live without it. Treasured memories would never be enough.

  Better this pain than the pain of knowing he had died for her.

  “Listen, Nicholas. We’re over. There’s nothing left to say.” Her heart broke as she said the words. She would never again see his glittering smile directed at her, never again feel his hands on her body or his lips against hers, or smell the scent of him on her pillow.

  The thought nearly broke her.

  “You don’t think so?” His deep voice was harsh, his body tense and rigid.

  Stomach churning, she sat down, folded her hands in her lap. Without meeting his eyes, she said, “No. I explained everything in my letter. You’d know this if you’d bothered to read it.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, and, of their own accord, her eyes flew to his face. Pure, unadulterated fury burned in his eyes, and she turned her gaze back to the floor. “I got your letter.” The softness of his tone lent the words the air of menace.

  Heart slamming in her chest, she tried to keep her voice calm when she said, “And you read it?”

  “Yes.”

  She tried to ignore the sound of his ragged breathing, the unvoiced evidence of his anger toward her. For a long time, she merely sat there, staring at her hands. Finally, he said, “And you really intend to marry Buchanan?” She refused to raise her eyes to his, but she did nod miserably at the floor. “For God’s sake, Lexie, why?” His voice shook.

  The pain in his voice, the h
urt, was unmistakable, even to her, as consumed with her own misery as she was, and she was forced to bring her eyes to his face and acknowledge what she saw there. Grief. Hurt. A pain that went beyond the words spoken between them. “I gave my word,” she said simply. “You aren’t the only one whose word is their bond, you know.”

  He pursed his lips. “You gave me a far sight more than just your word.”

  She found herself nodding and stopped herself. She had given him so much more than just her word, more than just her body, even. She had given him her heart, and without him in her life, she would never again feel whole. Quietly, she said, “I have to do this, Nicholas.”

  “Why?”

  The tears she tried so hard to keep at bay burned her eyes. Keeping them locked on the floor, she willed them away. “I have to. Please don’t ask me to explain. Please understand I have no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice, goddammit! Always!”

  She shook her head. “Not always. Not this time. Please. Don’t do this.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me. Do that, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  She raised her eyes to his face. She could do this. She could tell this one last lie to save him even if her lips trembled and tears splashed onto her hands while she did it. Raising her eyes to his, she took a long breath to quiet her racing heart, though the effort was futile.

  “I don’t love you.”

  He set his jaw, the muscle jumping in his cheek as he ground his teeth together. He drew his breath and released it shakily. Her heart broke as she heard her words standing between them, then shattered when she realized the damage her lie had done. She may as well have torn his heart out, from the expression on his face. God, she was the most wretched person in the world. Here was the only man she would ever love, the only person who would ever have her heart, and she’d destroyed him. She consoled herself she would prefer hurt to dead.

  He turned from her and poured more water. His back to her, he said, “Very well.”

  “I’m free to go, then?” she asked in a voice that broke under the weight of unshed tears.

  Without turning to her, he nodded. “You’ve always been free to go, Alexandra. Since the moment you first set foot inside my house. All you ever had to do was ask.”

  She cast a glance at his bare back and turned to go, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Heart breaking, she reached for the doorknob when she heard his voice behind her. “Lexie, wait.” The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in his arms, warm and safe. Tilting her head, his lips touched hers.

  Passion, hot and sweet, exploded between them, creating a delicious ache that settled in her stomach and had her craving more. She tasted the heady intoxication of his kiss. His tongue penetrated her lips to dance with hers, and she felt drunk from his touch. She couldn’t think, could scarcely breath from the force of her heart slamming against her ribs. She could do nothing but feel, aware only of his skin beneath her probing fingers, the strength of his arms. She ran her fingers through his tawny hair, the texture like silk sliding between her fingers. This was the only place where she’d been truly safe in the years. Here, in the circle of his embrace. Once gone, she would never feel safe again.

  He broke the kiss first, his breathing ragged. Beneath her fingers, his pulse drummed to the same mad beat as her own. He cupped her face in his big hands and said softly, “You’re a goddamn liar.”

  “What?”

  He gave her a small, sad smile. “A woman doesn’t kiss a man like that unless she loves him. A woman doesn’t look at a man the way you’re looking at me unless she loves him.”

  How well he understood her that he so easily read her heart. Never in her life had she been so at a loss for words, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She could never let him know the depth of her feeling for him. Taking a breath to still the heart that betrayed her, she said, “It’s just a kiss, Nicholas.”

  He searched her face. She was certain he saw right through her, but she wanted him to believe the lie. He had to believe the lie. If he didn’t, they were both lost.

  Instead of rage or grief or pain, his face gentled. “You’re a bad liar, Lexie.”

  He bent to kiss her again.

  His kiss was hard and demanding, the gentleness lost, and she responded to the need behind it. He wanted her with a passion matching her own. She felt the promise in his lips—he wouldn’t be content to stop with just this one kiss. Swept away on the tide of emotions swirling around her, she realized she had to stop him or submit completely. No compromise. There never had been with Nicholas.

  He bent to kiss her neck, and she said, meaning to stop him, “Nicholas, please.”

  He raised his head and kissed her again. He took her full lower lip into his mouth, sucked gently and she gasped with pleasure. His hands found the buttons of her bodice and he began undoing them. She saw the question in his eyes as he asked, “Please what?”

  She meant to tell him to stop, but his hands pushed away her bodice, exposing her corset and the thin chemise beneath, found nipples straining for him. They had ached for weeks now, sore to the touch, but when he caressed them, she found the ache was something different from the one to which she had become accustomed. This was the delicious ache she had dreamt of since their parting. She had missed him so much, and his was the touch she craved. She needed this. To touch and be touched, to love and be loved, by a man she loved who loved her in return.

  He stroked her shoulders leisurely, and his touch made her burn. She turned her face up to his, found his mouth with hers. She’d allow herself this one pleasure before she left him forever, this one precious moment of happiness. This would be her secret, the one thing she held dear to her heart, and what did it matter, anyway? She was already pregnant. One more time meant nothing, in the great scheme of things. Once she was married, if she had this one day, she could be a faithful with her body, if not her heart. Never her heart.

  He leaned into her and nibbled on her ear. “Please what?” he asked again.

  She plunged her hands into his hair, pulled his face to hers. He wouldn’t be able to resist her, not if she welcomed his embrace. She pulled his earlobe into her mouth and sucked gently in the way that had driven him mad when they had lain together before. She knew just how to torment him, how to make him hers.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He groaned and found her mouth again. Cupping her face in his hands, he said softly, “Say it, Lexie. Let me hear you say it.”

  She knew what he wanted. His hands were everywhere, unfastening her skirt, undoing the laces of her corset, touching the tops of her breasts through her chemise, stroking her arms. It took little doing for her skirt and her corset to meet her bodice on the floor. “Oh, God, Nick, don’t make me beg.” Her hands skimmed his chest, toying with the wiry hair, her touch feather light, and she only had to glance up at him to recognize the lust in his eyes.

  She thought he intended to take her in his study, to take her quickly on the rug in front of the fire. She welcomed that idea for two reasons: first, in such a public room, they would be unable to linger, and second, she didn’t want to wait for him to take her anywhere else. She wanted his hands on her body, wanted him to plunge into her and make her his. Instead, with a groan, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom.

  He laid her on the bed and knelt in front of her, removing her shoes and peeling away her stockings with seductive slowness, his hands running up the length of her thigh, under her drawers. “Nicholas,” she began, suddenly afraid of being here with him, afraid of what these precious moments would do to her heart. Were doing to her heart as she stood there and allowed him to continue with his sweet torment.

  “Shut up.” He continued to undress her in his leisurely manner, his eyes alight with lust. “Every time you open that pretty little mouth of yours, you lie to me. So just stop talking.”

  “Nicholas, I think...”

  The tenderness in his smi
le took her breath away. Soon she was dressed simply in her chemise. Taking her hand, he helped her stand up, and, in one swift movement, pulled it over her head. She stood naked before him. “No, you think too much. Don’t think, Lexie. Just be with me. Make love to me.”

  She pressed her bare breasts against his chest, his erection hard against her belly, the evidence of his desire for her thick and unashamed. He pushed her back toward the bed, and for a long moment, he just looked at her.

  His breathing was ragged, his desire for her evident. She was certain it would go quickly now. But instead, he lay next to her, kissing her senseless, driving her wild with need. She rubbed her legs against him, and yet he continued to give. Her mouth was greedy as she took what he offered. Here was everything she had ever needed. She opened her eyes, and when his eyes met hers, the desire for her naked on his face, it took her breath away. She had never been so desperately wanted in her life. She wanted to memorize every detail of this moment. Whatever happened after didn’t matter, if she had this to hang onto.

  He smiled, a smile that lit his entire face, as he regarded her with those glittering eyes like twin pools. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts. His lips trailed down her body, lingered over her belly where their child grew inside her. He worshipped her with his body, and she worshipped him with hers.

  She loved him, and he loved her, and for the moment, nothing else in the entire world mattered more.

  She rubbed her legs against him as the torment grew within her, and yet still, he waited, though there was desperation in the way he touched her. “Nicholas,” she began again.

  He raised his head, then propped himself up on his powerful arms to look into her face. He stroked her face with one hand, a gentle caress so tender tears stung her eyes. “Yes?”

  She arched her body against his and kissed him. She understood what he wanted from her: nothing less than complete surrender. “Make love to me.”

  Those words were all he needed. He plunged into her, the way they fit together so perfect, so intense, it stole every coherent thought from her mind. He surrounded her with his bulk, and she was safe and complete in his arms as he made love to her. When they found their release together, she wept for the sheer beauty of it. No one could take this moment from her.