She stared after him, resisting the urge, the need, to follow.
Why was it all so complicated? Why couldn’t she join him in his bed and be done with it? Why could’t she throw her arms around him and confess her feelings and the confusion that accompanied them?
Why couldn’t she trust him?
No, it was far and away too soon. She’d spent ten long years hating the very earth beneath his feet. No matter what she felt, or thought she felt, she could not hand him her heart so quickly. So easily. She’d ignored her feelings for him for too long to accept them now without question.
She knew now he was not at fault for all that had happened between them, but the knowledge was in her head and not her heart. She was right when she’d said she needed time.
Rachael had vowed long ago never to weep again. Oh, she’d shed gentle tears when George had died, mourning the man who had saved her and loved her. Her husband and her friend. But only Jason had ever had the power to wrench sobs from the depths of her soul.
She would not weep for him again.
The book hit the door with a solid thud and afforded Jason absolutely no satisfaction whatsoever. Of course, he was getting nothing from his attempt to read the bloody thing either. The words swam before his eyes. There was only one thing that could hold his attention tonight.
If the blasted woman had licked her lips one more time, he would have reached across the table and jerked her into his arms, scattering china and crystal and silver. He would have made love to her right there in the dining room in front of the footmen and anyone else who happened by. Furthermore, he suspected her resistance would have been minimal if the kiss they’d shared was any indication. She wanted him perhaps as much as he wanted her, although she may not fully realize it yet.
Impatiently he got to his feet. He was far too restless to retire. He glanced around the room, hoping that Mayfield had seen fit to supply his chamber with a decanter of brandy to see him through the night. Nothing. He could ring for the butler. Or go back downstairs. But then he could well encounter Rachael, and he rather liked the manner in which he’d left her. His parting words should give her something to think about.
He ran his hand through his hair. She did still love him. He was certain of it. Could see it in the stunned look in her eye. A look that came not from anything he’d said but from a knowledge within herself.
He’d seen that look before, in the reflection of his own eyes when he’d realized three years ago he still loved her. And accepted it once more when he’d seen her again last night.
A knock sounded at his door.
“Come in,” he snapped.
The door opened and Mayfield stepped into the room. “My lord, Lady Lyndhurst summoned me. She said she’d heard a noise in here and was concerned that there may be a problem.”
So Rachael was in her rooms as well and obviously alert enough to hear whatever went on in his.
“There are any number of problems.” Jason sighed. “But that is not one of them. It was simply a book that slipped out of my hands.”
Mayfield’s gaze shifted from Jason to the volume lying on the floor halfway across the room. The butler picked up the book and placed it on a side table. “Will there be anything else this evening?”
“No.” Jason waved him off.
Mayfield hesitated. Obviously there was something he wished to say. Jason blew a frustrated breath. “What is it, Mayfield?”
“May I speak frankly, my lord?”
Jason narrowed his eyes. Apparently the butler had more on his mind than the investigation of an occasional noise. “Please do.”
Mayfield looked as if he was gathering his words or perhaps his courage. “My lord, I, that is, the staff and I, well, we…” He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Should Lady Lyndhurst be harmed in any way, I shall be forced to trounce you.”
Jason stared at the older man. Mayfield had to be on the far side of fifty and did not appear overly fit. Jason bit back a grin; his words were measured. “And do you think you would be successful?”
“Not at all, my lord.” A determined note sounded in the butler’s voice. “However, my endeavors would be followed by both footmen, the stable master, the—”
“The cook and the housekeeper as well, no doubt.”
“Should it be necessary, my lord.”
“Your loyalty is admirable, but I have no intention of causing any harm to come to Lady Lyndhurst.” He studied the butler for a moment. “Why would you think such a thing?”
Indecision flickered across the butler’s face, then he drew a deep breath. “In the year after your visit, the state of Lord Lyndhurst’s health progressed ever downward. In his final days, it was impossible for him to hold a pen, yet there were still a great number of things he wished to put down in writing.”
“Go on,” Jason said cautiously.
“The letters he left for you and Lady Lyndhurst…”
“He dictated them to you, didn’t he?” Jason said with sudden insight. “Therefore you know exactly what they say.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And I would wager each and every member of the blasted staff knows as well.”
“My lord, I would never reveal a confidence.” Mayfield’s voice rose in indignation.
Jason lifted a skeptical brow.
“They may have an inkling, I suppose,” Mayfield murmured.
So the servants knew all about the past he shared with Rachael and had known since George’s death. He shouldn’t be surprised. If anything, it was unusual that they’d been kept unawares for as long as they had. Still, they were a loyal lot, at least to Rachael if not to him.
“Tell me, Mayfield, is Lady Lyndhurst’s letter the same as mine?”
“It has been rather a long time, my lord.” Mayfield drew his brows together in thought. “If memory serves, much of what is revealed in Lady Lyndhurst’s letter was already known to you. While the letters are similar in tone, no, my lord, they are not identical.”
“I see.” Of course, George’s letter to Rachael would be as much a confession as anything else. While the one his cousin wrote to him was more in the nature of an apology with a deep and sincere note of regret. “Well, Mayfield, since you apparently know all there is to know, perhaps you can tell me what it is I should do now.”
“Do now, my lord?”
“Come, come, Mayfield.” Jason folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the mantel. “I’ve known you since I was a boy. You’ve always been able to come up with a decent piece of advice or two when the occasion called for it.”
“I would not presume—”
Jason snorted.
“Very well, sir.” Mayfield stared down his nose and considered Jason. “I would advise you to heed the counsel of Lord Lyndhurst.”
“What counsel?”
“The advice contained in his letter.”
“Mayfield, I have read that letter at least a dozen times.”
“Read it again, my lord.”
Jason stared at him and couldn’t resist a smile. “You always have enjoyed making me work for what I wanted, haven’t you, Mayfield?”
The butler’s expression was impassive, but a twinkle lurked in his eye. “Yes, my lord.”
Jason laughed and bid him good night. The butler nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Jason surveyed the room. Where would the servants who had unpacked his bags have put George’s letters and the various other documents he’d had in his valise? He moved to the secretary, pulled open the center drawer, and found his papers all neatly stacked. He sifted through them until he located the letter, then returned to his chair and sank into it.
There really was no need to read it yet again. He very nearly knew it by heart. Still, if Mayfield said there was advice contained in the missive, then, by God, there was indeed advice. He scanned the single sheet. There was nothing…
His gaze caught on the lines he’d paid scant attention to before now.
Do not allow the actions of others that have heretofore shaped your lives determine what is yet to come. Do not allow the mistakes of the past to eclipse the promise of the future. And do not allow Rachael’s memories to color what is here and now.
He stared at the passage for a long time. Mayfield was right. George had indeed left words of wisdom for him to follow. The only question now was, how on earth was he expected to keep the past from eclipsing the future?
He leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared unseeing at the shadows on the ceiling cast by the flickering of candlelight and the fire in the hearth.
What was done could never be undone. He could not vanquish Rachael’s memories. Not of one night at a single ball or anything that followed. He could not wave his hand and magically make the pain of the past vanish as if it had never existed. And as long as that long-ago yesterday overshadowed today, she’d never be able to put it behind her. She’d never be able to admit, and then accept, her love for him.
No—he heaved a resigned sigh—there was nothing he could do to change the past.
But…He narrowed his eyes with the glimmering of a vague notion, a far-fetched idea nudging the back of his mind. Still, it was no more absurd than ensuring the unavailability of every respectable hotel room in the city. At this point he certainly had nothing to lose.
If he couldn’t erase the memories of the past, perhaps he could replace them.
Nine
IF SHE REALLY wanted time, he certainly was giving it to her. Far and away entirely too much. It was at once a blessing and a curse.
Restlessly Rachael prowled her bedchamber, discarding the idea of sleep. It was as futile an attempt tonight as it had been every other night since Jason had come back into her life, although she’d scarcely seen him at all in the four days he’d stayed in the house. Or rather, she’d seen him, she simply hadn’t had the chance to speak to him privately.
Since his arrival, her home had become a virtual magnet for visitors. She couldn’t recall ever having been quite this popular. Every afternoon her parlor filled with curious callers, mostly eager mothers with marriageable daughters in tow, each and every one seeking information about the new earl. What was his income? Was he planning to stay in England? Were his affections engaged?
Were they? Hah! Who knew what the damnable man was thinking? She certainly didn’t. When he was present at these impromptu gatherings he was charming and quite delightful. Rachael had watched the proceedings with growing annoyance. She would have wagered a great deal that each of the ambitious mamas had left with the distinct impression that the Earl of Lyndhurst would not be at all averse to pursuing a match with her flirtatious offspring. It was revolting and more than enough to set one’s teeth on edge.
When Jason wasn’t occupied enchanting the sweet young things flitting through her parlor, he was constantly coming and going and scarcely home at all. Even when she’d had the opportunity to speak with him, he’d muttered something about errands or business in explanations that were less than vague. How was she expected to decide anything if he was nowhere to be found?
Whatever he was doing, it was apparently more important than resolving the issues between them. Reluctantly she had to admit, if only to herself, she missed him, even though he was always on her mind. She’d wanted time to think, and she’d done nothing but think, without reaching so much as a single conclusion.
No, that wasn’t entirely correct. In the last few days, observing his disarming manner, listening to his infectious laugh, watching the confident way he moved through life, if she’d resolved nothing else, she had faced the realization that she very much wanted him.
She pulled her wrapper tighter around her and paced the room. Jason was at home now, although, once again, he’d missed dinner. They hadn’t dined together since that first night. It was probably for the best. The way he ate…She pushed the memory to the back of her mind. There was far more to consider here than mere desire.
Could she and Jason truly be together again? The more she searched her heart, the more confused she became. One moment she was convinced she’d never stopped loving him. She’d simply hidden the too painful emotion under a veneer of bitterness and, yes, hate. Now there was no need for either, at least not directed toward Jason. Toward her father certainly. And as for George…
No, she could never hate George. Jason was right. George’s deception was prompted by love, and it was hard to fault him. Even now, through his letters, he was doing what he could to right the single wrong in an otherwise good and honorable life.
But what if it was too late? She certainly was not the same girl she’d been ten years ago. Life itself had forged her in ways she would never have foreseen.
Death had forced her to resolve, or at least face, her feelings about her father. Marriage to a kind and loving man had shaped her into a good and honorable wife. George’s illness had required her to take a hand in his affairs and shown her a shrewdness for business matters she’d not suspected. And the long years of his dying had bequeathed her a calm strength. Now she relished the freedom and independence that came with widowhood. A prize, of sorts, for survival.
And what if her feelings for Jason weren’t love at all but simply the memory of love? What if the woman she’d become was so far removed from the girl she’d once been, there was no possibility of rediscovering the lost love of youth?
Blast it all, what was she going to do? Her mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions, desires and fears. It was enough to drive her mad. She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep. Perhaps she was already mad.
Without thinking, she snatched a book off the table beside her bed and heaved it against the door. It hit with a dull thud and tumbled to the floor. At once she regretted the immature action. Was this what she’d come to? Throwing things like an undisciplined child? She retrieved the book and glanced at the title: Pride and Prejudice. How appropriate.
Wasn’t it prejudice that now held her back? A bias sprung from the knowledge that her life had been shaped by the deceit of the men in it and a reluctance to now trust any man at all? The motives behind the lies scarcely mattered anymore: her father had lied for power, George for love, and Jason’s lies, of omission but lies nonetheless, stemmed from his love for them both.
And it was surely pride that kept her from crossing the hall to Jason’s room at this very moment and demanding that he take her in his arms and…and what? Sweep away the uncertainty? The fear? Bring her back to a day when she had no question as to the joy the world could hold?
Maybe that was all it would take to resolve the confusion that plagued her. Could she find the truth, the answers to all her questions, in his arms? In his bed?
Probably not. Still, where would be the harm in trying? Jason was the only man she’d ever desired, and that, if nothing else, the years had not diminished.
It had been a very long time since she’d been with a man. George had been ill for several years before his death, and he and Jason were the only men to ever share her bed. In that she was surely unique. If even half of the gossip she heard was accurate, then Rachael was the only chaste widow in all of London.
She shifted the book from one hand to the other. That annoying pride of hers wouldn’t allow her to go to him, but she certainly couldn’t prevent him coming to her.
She drew her arm back, muttered silent apologies to Miss Austen, and flung the book at the door with all the strength she possessed. The satisfying thunk reverberated in the room. She waited and strained to hear footsteps in the hall.
Nothing.
She pulled her brows together in annoyance. She had noted the noise in his room when he had thrown a single book at the door a few evenings ago. Now she’d thrown two. The servants, at this time of night either finishing their duties downstairs or already retired to their rooms on the floors above this, would never have heard, but surely Jason would have. Then why wasn’t he at her door this very moment inquir
ing as to whether she was all right?
He could be asleep already, although it did rather seem too early for that. Or he could be ignoring her. She wouldn’t put it past him. For all intents and purposes, he’d been ignoring her for days. Perhaps if she opened the door and threw the book harder yet, at the wall beside the door, she could finally attract his attention.
She picked up the book and jerked open the door.
Jason stood before her with upraised fist, apparently about to knock.
For a moment she simply stared at him, and any courage she had mustered vanished.
“Good evening,” he said with a grin. “Is there a problem?”
“A problem?” He looked quite rakish in his dressing gown and altogether too handsome for his own good. Or for hers. At once her plan seemed ill advised. She swallowed hard. “Why?”
“I heard a noise and thought perhaps there was an intruder in the house.” He craned his neck to see around her. “Are you alone?”
“Of course I’m alone. I was”—she waved the book at him—“reading.”
“Really? I was reading myself just the other night.” Once again he peered past her. “Are you sure you’re alone?”
“Quite sure.”
“Perhaps I should check.” He stepped past her into her room. “One can’t be too safe these days. I believe I heard something about a recent rash of break-ins in this section of London.”
“No doubt mentioned by one of our numerous eager visitors of late,” she said dryly.
He raised a brow. “Jealous, my lady?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She huffed.
He glanced at the door. “If the servants should see me in your room…”
“Concerned about my reputation?” She shrugged. “You needn’t be. You said yourself you hadn’t heard anything scandalous about me. Besides, at this hour, the servants are rarely on this floor.”
“Nonetheless…”
“Nonetheless, if I close the door, there will be no risk of being seen at all.” She shut the door with an unconcerned air as if she were well used to locking gentlemen in her bedchamber. Indeed, this was precisely what she’d wanted. Then why was her every nerve stretched taut?
Secrets of a Perfect Night Page 20
