I wonder if she shall weep when she is made to leave the children? I wonder if she will curse me forever, for I promised her she would never have to fear being sent away.
And damn her anyway, for finding him at his rawest and placing her infinitely attractive self before him to taunt him with all that was precious to him—all he would never have.
Why not? Was it the whiskey or his pain prodding him to question—why not? She would hate him soon enough, what was one more night? Just one more time to hold her, feel her strength and her softness and all of her beauty…
Why not? Tomorrow would be soon enough to part. And then he could spend the rest of his life despising himself.
She was saying something. It was his name, he realized as he surfaced out of his thoughts. “Jareth? Jareth? Are you well? Oh, mon Dieu, I knew you were disturbed by the diary. You see this is why I could not sleep, I sensed—”
His hand shot out, and in a single instant he had yanked her into his arms and smothered her words with a kiss. A moment’s hesitation was all she offered, then she melted against him.
“This is what tortures me, Chloe,” he murmured against her skin as he trailed kisses down her neck. “You, my love. Only you have the power to wound me.”
Her hands made a weak show of pushing him away before grasping the wide lapels of his silk wrapper, holding him as she kissed him back.
He pulled her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The bed was a huge monstrosity where generations of Hunts had been conceived and birthed. As he tumbled her onto the thick mattress, he thought briefly that this would be the place where his own children would be born.
Children another woman would bear him.
But before he gave himself over to all of that, like a sacrificial lamb on the altar of social acceptance, this old bed would bear witness to all the tender passion within him. And for the rest of his days, he would look upon it and smile to remember this night, a pair of nights he had spent with a woman beyond measure. With Chloe.
Because that would be all he had.
It was happening again, the sensuous abandon that had claimed her once before and robbed every shred of sanity from her poor wretched brain. She had thought about the last time, the first time, until the memory was a familiar path and every moment was seared into her mind. This, what was happening now—his touch, his kiss, his tug on the tie of her wrapper—this, therefore, was a mere wisp of a dream, elusive and too wondrous to be real. She wasn’t in his chambers, she wasn’t in his arms.
He wasn’t promising his forever love in an anguished, furtive whisper. He wasn’t holding her face in his hands, gazing at her with turmoil in those dark depths. He wasn’t promising her that she would always hold the best part of him, no matter what happened in the future.
The future—she didn’t wish to think about the future. She wanted to scream this at him, but his mouth closed over hers as his hands worked quickly to divest them of their clothing.
The oil lamps still burned, enough light to see his beautiful male body. The warm silken skin over molded muscle tempted her hand to glide along it, feeling the tensile strength under her fingertips. He bent to her breasts, his mouth awakening unbelievable sensation, and then he was kissing her breathless again. His hand grasped one of hers, drew it down to where he was swollen and ready to take her. “Touch me,” he murmured in her ear, his tongue coming out to trace the curve of it and multiply the shivers racking her frame.
She grasped him, holding him for a moment before she remembered the motion that had driven him wild the last time, so she began a clumsy stroking, one he helped along with the thrust of his hips against her thigh.
“Stop, my love,” he breathed, catching her hand and pulling it away. “We must go slowly. This night needs to last us forever.”
His words washed over her, dismissed by her feverish brain. Sensation filled her, need filled her, and her questing, gentle hands grew more insistent, pulling him closer, signaling her impatience to join.
He made her wait. With extraordinary precision, he petted and teased. Slipping into the secrets of her most intimate parts, he brought her to near release, only to pull away. She asked at first, pleaded next, and then full out demanded that he cease his torture, but he only smiled and began anew, and her voice failed her as the pleasure took over again.
But he dallied at his task, amused when she moaned in frustration. Finally, she pushed him onto his back. He brought her with him, rolling until she was on top of him.
His hands pulled her knees to either side of his waist. And then she saw what he meant and that she would have the power to sate her inflamed desire. He guided her, raising her hips, then lowering them over him until he was fully sheathed inside her.
The feel of him was exquisite. She arched her back, moaning softly as his hands came up over her breasts, teasing them until she writhed. He pulled her down to be kissed, stroking her back until his hands settled at her hips, grasping them tightly as the pleasure built. Their matched strokes allowed him deeper, filling her, bringing her higher until she spilled over into light like a thousand shattered stars. He thrust deeper, deeper, and she felt his body go rigid, bucking powerfully as the hoarse sounds of his climax tore from his throat.
She collapsed on him, spent and exhausted. His arms came around her, nearly crushing her, but she only smiled against the velvety skin of his breast. The feathery ripples of pleasure floated through her limbs, lulling her into contented bliss.
But when she looked up, resting her chin on his breastbone, his face held a disturbed expression.
“What is it?” she asked, touching his cheek.
As if an afterthought, a smile appeared on his lips, but it seemed a sad one despite his effort. “No words yet. There will be words enough later.”
Of course, she couldn’t allow a comment like that to go unchecked, but something in the way he said it, with a mixture of dread and acceptance, frightened her. She laid her head down again, silent and alone with her thoughts until his hands began to move again.
He took her again, this time with a wild fierceness that surprised her, especially after the lazy, teasing manner that had nearly driven her to insanity before. She gloried in his abandon, knowing this was the man at his most elemental. He was passionate and free and beautifully untamed.
Their bodies came to rest, limbs intertwined, hands caressing lazy circles on heated flesh in the contented silence.
Tenderness faded all too quickly as Chloe felt his body tense next to hers. His hand stilled its meanderings, his face grew dark as he stared at the ceiling. He was slipping away from her and she could do nothing, not understanding but knowing it was inevitable.
Jareth rose from the bed and punched his arms through his dressing-gown sleeves, pulling it over his broad chest and cinching it at his waist.
He spoke, his voice, which only moments ago had been soft and seductive, now rang hard and sharp. “You are to be dismissed. Tomorrow I go to see Lord Rathford and ask for Lady Helena’s hand and set the date for the wedding. You must be gone by then. I cannot have you about when my new wife comes to Strathmere. It would be highly…untenable. You may stay on until the wedding day. You should use this time to prepare the children for your departure.”
If he had struck her with his fist, he could not have hurt her more. Breath came in short, strangled gasps as she blinked away the shock and pressed her hands against her forehead, trying desperately to clear her mind.
She wanted to rail against him, remind him of his promise never to part her from the children, appeal to him—something!—but the stony, cold expression on his face told her the matter was final.
Letting the knowledge of his betrayal settle inside her, twist up her insides until they ached, she drew on the pain to feed her anger. She stood, not caring that she was naked. It made her feel powerful, for she could see his eyes flicker over her body. Undisguised was the fact that he still coveted her. Throwing her head back, she said, “I hate
you.”
He nodded, as if he found this reasonable and understood perfectly. “That is good. Hold on to that hate, Chloe, throughout all your years.”
There were French epithets she knew that she would have liked to fling at him, horrible phrases in English she had come to know, as well, that would wound him as deeply as he had her, but she bit them back. With as much dignity as she could muster, she dressed and went to the door. She faltered a little at the threshold, pausing to look back.
She had to credit him with this much—he didn’t flinch. He watched her, every step, as she walked out of his room and his life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Jareth asked Lord Rathford for his daughter’s hand, the man said simply, “Good God, man, I thought you were going to leave us hanging forever! Take her!” To which they drank a toast of sherry and Rathford spoke with relish to his imminent return to his former life.
“Now that you’ve come around, I’ll have that shecat of a wife of mine off my back. The woman can drive a fellow batty with her conniving and demands.”
Jareth sipped his sherry and made no comment. If he appeared more dulled, less animated than a prospective bridegroom should, it drew no notice from his host. It was decided that the Rathfords should come to Strathmere for dinner that very evening and an opportunity would be availed for Jareth to make the request of Helena.
On the way home, he rode hard, pushing the gelding to his limits. He arrived at the front gate breathless and sweating and uncharacteristically disheveled to find a hired carriage waiting by the front doors.
Since the last thing he wished was company, he groaned and set himself to avoid whoever it was as he entered the hall. He would have bounded up the stairs to his chamber or perhaps ducked into his library to avoid the unknown guests, when a familiar voice caught his ear.
Colin Burke.
A jolt of delight stirred his deadened heart. Unmindful of his appearance, he swung open the doors to the large parlor to find it was indeed his old partner, and a surprise—Serena Cameron.
She was as breathtakingly beautiful as he had ever seen her. The muted copper of her hair betrayed a feisty nature, but she looked demure just now, with her hands folded on her lap and her gray eyes holding her pleasure to see him again as she watched him enter the room. Jareth’s eyes slid to her left. Gerald was seated at her side, no doubt making a fool of himself fawning on her.
His mother looked up. “Ah, Strathmere is returned.”
Colin swung toward the door, a wide grin spreading across his face. “There you are. I thought perhaps you saw me coming and sneaked out through the kitchens.” He strode toward his old friend, right arm extended.
They shook hands vigorously, Jareth clasping the man’s shoulder with fondness. “Good to see you, Colin. To what do we owe this pleasant surprise?”
“I was on a run to York and thought—what’s a few more hundred miles?”
“I see. Well, in the face of such extraordinary effort, I insist you stay on as our guests.”
“Only for the night, since you have offered.”
“Certainly. Mother, have Mrs. Hennicot have two of the guestrooms made up.”
“Ah,” Colin interrupted. “Just one will be fine. Serena and I have been married.”
Jareth should have guessed as much. The man’s excitement was palpable and the pleasure on his face was positively insuppressable. He congratulated Colin soundly and turned to Serena. “This is wonderful news. We shall celebrate tonight at dinner,” he said as he bent to bestow the customary kiss.
She blushed, her joy apparent in her artless discomfort. Turning back to Colin, Jareth caught him beaming at his bride.
Tonight, he was to ask Helena to be his wife, but he would never gaze at her like that.
Jareth was immediately aware of a desperate need to get out of the room. “Come, Colin, let me show you what I am doing with my investments.” They adjourned to the library.
Dinner was an ordeal. It might have been in any event, with the duty that awaited him at the meal’s conclusion to ponder through six onerous courses, but their guests’ presence made it much, much worse. Not that Colin or Serena did anything to make anyone uncomfortable, but one would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice their happiness. The scintillating tension between them was something one could feel in the air.
He tried to eat, if only not to draw comment, but it was difficult with his stomach clenched tight.
The faces around him were like a travesty. Lady Rathford, flushed with triumph, for tonight would bring the fulfillment of her dream. Lady Helena looking composed. Looking, in fact, the same as she had every day he had known her. Lord Rathford eating with relish, no doubt thinking of his freedom ahead now that the pesky business of marrying off his only child was behind him.
His mother, serene and catlike as she surveyed the scene, and Gerald, whose only amusement tonight was to stare openly at the beautiful Serena.
And then there were the Burkes, seeming as foreign and attractively exotic in this assemblage as a sheikh and his veiled concubine would have been.
After the meal, the ladies adjourned, leaving the males to their masculine traditions. Jareth could read Colin’s concern, but the presence of the other men prevented him from pursuing it.
When they joined the ladies, Jareth requested that Helena take a brief stroll with him. The entire room fell quiet as she inclined her head in acquiescence. They left amid this expectant silence.
In the garden, he did it as it was to be done. Down on one knee, he proffered the family betrothal ring and asked if she would do him the honor, and so on.
She accepted and he rose, slipping the ring on narrow finger. The murky blackness held no stars tonight, so the large sapphire did not dance or show off any of its brilliance.
When they returned to the others, he announced the engagement and stood stiffly to receive their congratulations. Colin came up, questions in his eyes that Jareth had to ignore.
It was done.
Chloe took the reticule containing her wages from the past year and spilled its contents out onto the counterpane. It was a great deal of money, for she had spent little since coming to Strathmere. Just presents for Rebeccah and Sarah on their birthdays and Christmas.
Plenty of funds with which to return to France.
There was no time to write to Papa. She would see him soon enough to explain.
She would leave in the morning. Suppressing the urge to look in on the children one last time, she gathered up her savings and deposited them back into the old reticule, then placed that with her bags and the letter to the duke.
That was how she would think of him from now on. Only as the duke.
At breakfast the following morning, the duchess was in an unprecedented mood, all but purring in contentment. Gerald, still intent on the fantastic reality of Serena’s gorgeousness, had offered a curt congratulations and went back to his gawking and fawning. Serena suffered this nobly, helped along by her husband’s solicitous touches. These unconscious movements were subtly protective, as if part of Colin’s brain was always trained on his new wife even as his sharp eyes never strayed from Jareth.
Frederick came in to stand behind his master and quietly whispered in Jareth’s ear. Jareth knew Colin’s gaze didn’t miss the way his shoulders slumped slightly or the resigned nod he gave the servant in dismissal.
His friend and his new bride were set to depart directly after the meal, but when they were finished eating, Colin begged Serena’s pardon and asked Jareth if he would help him oversee the loading of their bags into the carriage.
It was a flimsy enough excuse that Jareth was braced for the challenge when they stood alone outside.
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Colin began.
Jareth nodded, squinting at the clustering clouds. God, they reminded him of Chloe’s eyes—steel gray against sapphire blue. “It’s going to storm. You might want to think about delaying your departure,” he said.
“You might want to think about this marriage, Jareth. Anyone can see you are miserable.”
Jareth looked at him then. “Things have changed from when we were friends, Colin.” His voice surprised him in its coldness. “This marriage is the right one for me.”
“The devil it is.”
Jareth said, “‘Helena is…perfect.”
“She’s admirable, certainly. You just don’t want her. Is there someone else? Is that what has you as distant and stony as a statue?”
“There can be no one else for me.”
Colin waited a moment, then nodded. “I see. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Things aren’t the same as they used to be. You are…well, things are different. I should have remembered that.”
Jareth felt a moment of panic pierce his numbed state. Since the news this morning that Frederick had whispered in his ear, Miss Pesserat is gone, he had felt a curious and blessed detachment from all feeling. It was merely the culmination of what he knew would come, and strangely, it hadn’t hurt. Yet.
But his friend’s reaction did. Losing Colin’s partnership had been difficult enough, but to allow the duchy to come between them and forbid the continuation of their friendship, that he couldn’t bear.
“Please, Colin, forgive me. I…just cannot discuss this, not with anyone. Suffice to say you are correct. However, those facts change nothing. It is done.”
Colın looked as if there were many things he would like to say in response to that, but instead heaved a sigh. “I’ll wish you luck, then. And happiness. One day.”
Jareth almost winced. He held out his hand and they shook. He said, “The same to you, friend. Never take for granted what you have. Never. Serena is…she’s splendid, and I know…”
He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.
Colin swallowed and nodded before going back into the house to collect his wife.
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