Ruined

by Jess Michaels

  She smiled as the fine horse stopped in front of her, and reached up to stroke the filly’s nose. “Beautiful,” Claire breathed. “What’s her name?”

  War hesitated, for the name of this horse was so tightly related to his feelings about Claire. Finally, he swung up on Shakespeare in one smooth motion as he said, “Regret.”

  Claire blinked up at him, her mouth thinning to a pressed line. “Not a very pretty name for a pretty horse.”

  He shrugged. “I would have regretted not taking her.”

  Claire said nothing more and took her own mount. War shook his head. Of course she sat astride rather than sidesaddle as was proper. Just as she would ride him.

  He turned his head. Damn these thoughts.

  “Well, are we off then?” Claire asked, oblivious to the turns of his heated mind. She urged the horse forward and rode out toward the gate to the property without another word about the horse.

  War followed, nickering at Shakespeare to catch up with her. For a while they rode along in silence as they bypassed the village of Idleridge and around to the main road that would take them all the way to London in two days’ time.

  He cast a few side glances at Claire as he went. She stared straight ahead as she rode, her gaze focused on the horizon even though he got the sense she wasn’t exactly seeing it. By the way her lips were pressed together and her knuckles were white on the reins, she had other thoughts on her mind. Her daughter, no doubt. But he wondered if she also considered him and what he had offered. Thus far, she had made no answer to him about what he wanted.

  Wanted so desperately.

  “You said your horses earlier,” she said suddenly, and turned her green gaze on him. “And that you would regret not taking this horse. But don’t you mean Edward’s horses? Edward’s regret?”

  War shifted. This, at least, was a safe topic. There weren’t many of those between them.

  “You’ve been gone a long time, Claire. Not all the horses in the stables are Edward’s. None of the horses in the paddock are your brother’s either.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean? Are you not still his horsemaster? And if not, why are you still on the property?”

  “Trying to kick me off, my lady?” he teased, hoping to coax a smile from her lips. He was not rewarded, though. She bent her head.

  “I have little to do with whatever decisions are made by Woodleys.”

  He shook his head. “There you are wrong. You are the driving force behind many of their recent decisions, Claire. Perhaps all of them.”

  Her face twisted, reflecting her pain so clearly that War sucked in a breath.

  “We were talking about Edward’s horses,” she said softly. “If the bulk of those in the stables and the paddock do not belong to him, who do they belong to?”

  He allowed her to guide the conversation back to the horses. He’d made his point at any rate and he intended to keep doing so until she saw her family. He owed them that and so much more.

  “Well,” he said, drawing in a breath. “Right before your brother returned to London and met his new bride, Mary, his favorite horse got ill. He turned to me and I saved her life. Edward gave me a large bonus and suggested that I use it to further my own fortunes. I think he meant for me to invest in the rail or some other futures nonsense, but I decided to buy a horse.” He patted the mount he rode.

  “Shakespeare?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He was for sale by a very stupid earl who had gotten himself into a financial pickle and had no vision. I bought Shakespeare and put him up for stud fees. He has an excellent pedigree, you see.”

  The laugh he had been trying to coax earlier fell from her lips easily now. “I imagine he does. He is gorgeous.”

  War swore that Shakespeare lifted his ears in pride, and grinned. “The stud fees soon multiplied and I bought four more stallions from four more idiots who didn’t recognize an investment when they had it in their own stables. The money from stud has allowed me to buy even more horses. I breed, I offer stud and I break animals for others now, not just Lord Woodley.”

  “And Edward approves?” Claire asked.

  “You think he would not?” War said with a shake of his head. “You know your brother’s character.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

  “Then you know he is nothing but supportive. And I think a little afraid to lose me. So he offered up his stables for a small fee and also the ability to breed any of his horses to Shakespeare or my other studs once a year. It’s been a lucrative business for us both. He even has plans to expand the stable in the fall.”

  “You have become a shrewd businessman,” she said. “How very bourgeois of you.”

  He heard the smile in her voice as she said it, knew she was only gently teasing him, but his fist clenched Shakespeare’s reins nonetheless. “You are shocked due to my low beginnings, Claire?”

  She turned to look at him with a gasp. “No. Great God, no, War. You were always so intelligent and so good with animals. I’m not shocked in the slightest. You have made good after a hard beginning. You should be proud.”

  “I am,” he said, and it was true. His growing business and the increasing accounts that came with it were a great source of pride for him. Even if he didn’t deserve them.

  “I am surprised, though,” she said. “I knew you bought a townhouse in London, but I had no idea you were doing this.”

  “Spying on me, were you?” he asked, not certain whether he liked the idea or not.

  She shrugged. “I had to, didn’t I? I was coming to you for help—I had to know the situation.”

  “Well, that is the situation,” he said. “I run a small horse empire. And why would you know? You’ve been gone a long time. A lot has changed.”

  Her smile fell and her shoulders slumped forward slightly. For the next few moments, they rode in silence again and War couldn’t help but look at her, even as he allowed her space to digest those words.

  Finally she sighed. “Nothing you have ever said has been truer. In the years I’ve been away, it seems everything has changed. Not only did I throw away my innocence, become a criminal and have a child, but my family changed. Every one of my siblings has married.”

  “And your mother,” he said.

  She shifted slightly. “Yes. And her. I missed it all.”

  “You did,” he said, not making an effort to soothe that hurt. She felt it, and there was nothing he could say to make it better at this point.

  She gave him a side glance. “Will you…”

  She cut herself off with a curse beneath her breath. War arched a brow. “What do you need, Claire?”

  Her cheeks flooded with color again. “Will you tell me about it? All of it? Tell me about their spouses and their lives?”

  War nodded slowly. This was a big step for Claire, who had been trying to pretend it didn’t matter. That she had separated herself from the Woodley family, that she didn’t belong. But wanting to know about them was a step toward steering her to them at last. And maybe if she knew more, she would allow herself to go home for good.

  That would be his best gift to her. To them. Even if it meant he would surely lose her. But then, he didn’t think he would ever have her, even if she gave in to the desire he had described to her earlier in the day.

  “Where shall I start?”

  “Go in order of their marriages,” she suggested. “Edward first.”

  “Lord Woodley met a young lady named Mary in London,” War said. “They had a whirlwind courtship with a tiny bit of scandal attached and they have been married a year now.”

  Her lips pursed. “Yes, I heard the facts. But what kind of woman is she? Edward was so unhappy with that harpy of a first wife. Is Mary better for him?”

  “The new Lady Woodley is a very kind, gentle person. She obviously adores your brother and I have never seen Lord Woodley happier,” he said. And it was the truth. He was determined
not to give Claire anything less.

  Her tense shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I’m so glad. No one deserves happiness more than Edward. I’m glad his Mary is worthy of him. Audrey went next, I know. With Jude Samson.”

  “Yes. That isn’t a surprise though, is it?”

  “That my baby sister married Edward’s man of affairs?” she said, eyebrows lifting.

  “Come now, she always liked him,” War said with a look of incredulity for her. “You’re too clever not to know that.”

  She leaned back with a light laugh. “There you go, surprising me again, War. You knew of Audrey’s interest in Jude?”

  “I knew.

  Knew and understood, though he wasn’t about to elaborate on that. He had watched Samson trace Audrey’s every move for years. He’d understood the man’s desire for what he could never have.

  But in the end, Samson’s past was far different from War’s. Jude Samson had won his prize, earned his love. It wasn’t going to end that way for War.

  “You are right, though. It’s clear they love each other,” Claire said with a small smile. “I saw them together once.”

  “They do,” War said softly.

  “And then it was Evan, wasn’t it? And my Josie.”

  He saw her flinch. With Evan’s marriage Claire had not just missed the wedding of her brother, but of her best friend from childhood.

  “They are also very happy,” he said.

  “He truly loves her?” Claire pressed.

  War knew why. Her friend Josie had always been a wallflower while the second Woodley son was the most popular bachelor in Society. From a distance it seemed like an odd match. But in reality…

  “He loves her very much,” War reassured her. “I caught them once, walking in the moonlight right before they married. And they were very, very happy.” Claire was blinking rapidly now. Trying to hold back tears, it seemed, and War’s heart ached. But he pushed forward because he knew this conversation would help steer her home. “Gabriel was next. Just a few months ago.”

  She nodded. “When I heard he wed, I was shocked. He avoided such things so strenuously. The girl must be most uncommon.”

  “She is. A beautiful young woman named Juliet. She was your mother’s healer when she took ill last summer. She has intelligence to match your brother’s and she seems to balance his studious nature well.”

  “She almost died because of me,” Claire whispered. “That still keeps me up at night.”

  “But it shouldn’t,” War insisted. “Juliet didn’t die. And they are very happy newlyweds. Which leaves Lady Woodley.”

  “I was shocked to hear she wed again. She mourned my father for so long,” Claire breathed, almost to herself it seemed rather than to him.

  But he answered regardless. “Mr. Gray is Juliet’s father, and he and Lady Woodley were apparently old friends.”

  “Really? Juliet’s father?” Claire said, eyes wide.

  He nodded. “They were thrown together again when Juliet and Gabriel courted, and some old feelings between them were resurrected.”

  As he said the words, her head snapped up. Her blush grew deeper. Old feelings resurrecting certainly described their current situation. Perhaps he and Claire had never been old friends, as he had described the dowager and her new husband to have once been. But by God, there had been feelings to resurrect on both sides. Their passionate joining in his bed this afternoon proved that.

  “Is she happy?” Claire asked.

  “From what I can see, very,” War said. “The two of them came to Idleridge together to spend some time alone after their wedding, and I saw them often. They are well matched and your mother seems very content.”

  “Then they are all settled,” Claire said, though it was hard to tell from her tone whether that news pleased her or made her sad. Perhaps a touch of both. With a heavy dose of longing mixed in.

  He nodded. “They are. But you’ll see for yourself soon enough as you’ll be visiting them when we get to London.”

  Her lips pursed with that declaration. She was still not happy about the promise he had forced from her. He could see her working out ways to avoid fulfilling it. He almost laughed at the thought that she believed she could convince him to release her from that vow.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “You’re afraid of them,” he said, arching a brow.

  She shot him a dark glare. “No. Of course not.”

  “Yes, you are, Claire.”

  Her grip tightened on her reins. “I don’t want to talk to you about this,” she snapped.

  He couldn’t help it—he tipped his head back and he laughed. Her angry expression grew even deeper.

  “And just what the hell is so funny?”

  “You pretend to be so tough, Claire,” he said with a shake of his head. “But I see the cracks. You are afraid to need them, to need me. To need anyone.”

  He expected her to argue, to refute his claim. But instead, she put her focus on the road ahead again. When she spoke, her voice was tight, like she was forcing the words from her lips.

  “Needing another person is dangerous, War. Now, why don’t we pick up the pace? We left so late today and I want to get to London as soon as possible.”

  With that, she urged Regret forward into a gallop and left War to catch up with her once more. But as he chased her down, he rather felt like a fox trying to capture a sly rabbit. If he had his plans, she had her own. Ones he might have to thwart.

  Chapter Seven

  The inn was not particularly large, but as Claire sat on Regret, staring up at the building, it seemed nice enough. Still, she shook her head.

  “Can’t we just ride on, War?” she asked. “If we rode through the night—”

  “We are a full day’s travel from London still,” he interrupted as he swung down. “And I will not run Shakespeare, Regret or us into the ground. Now let me go inside and see if there is a room available. Wait here.”

  Claire fought the urge to be willfully defiant of the order and nodded. “Fine,” she ground out.

  War stretched his back and then walked into the brightly lit inn. She sighed once he was gone. For the first time all day, it felt like she could breathe again. Riding with War should have been far more comfortable than this, but it wasn’t. He was so damned distracting. He was always so straightforward with her. And alongside that, every time he shifted or spoke, she thought of his dark, erotic promises about what he would do if she gave herself to him.

  Did she want to be broken? Dominated? It would mean giving up control to him. And that thought both pebbled her nipples beneath her shirt and turned her blood cold. War was demanding a level of trust. After the past few years, trust was a commodity she was rather short on.

  Especially since she feared what would happen if she gave it, especially to War. She was terrified she might just tell him all her secrets, all her deepest fears. She didn’t want to show him those. They were too dangerous. She was already giving him so much in order to force him to help her.

  He returned to the drive and she shook away the troubling thoughts as she prayed he would tell her there was no room here and they would have to ride on. Instead, he smiled.

  “There is a room at the top of the stairs waiting for us,” he said as he held up a key. “Go wait for me there while I tend to the horses.”

  She stiffened, not moving from Regret as she stared at the key in his hand. “One room?”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I told the woman we were married, Claire.”

  Her breath vanished in an instant. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because if Aston is looking for you, tracking you, I doubt he thinks you’ll be traveling with a companion, a husband.”

  When he said it that way, it made sense. She frowned.

  “Are you going to take the key or not, Claire?” he asked. “There is food there, and a bath will likely be ready for you by the
time you go up. The innkeeper’s wife already had some water heated for another guest and I convinced her to give it to us instead.”

  Claire shut her eyes. War was seducing her. Not to have sex, though she didn’t think that offer was off the table yet. No, he was seducing her with what she wanted in order to get her to do as he wished. Food and a hot bath. The man knew what she was weak to presently.

  “Go on, Claire,” he said softly, motioning to the inn.

  She sighed and swung down from Regret’s back. “I’ll see you in a while,” she said, then forced herself to walk away. She moved through the door where the cheery innkeeper’s wife ignored her odd attire, called her Mrs. Blackwood and directed her to the room upstairs.

  She trudged up the stairs and opened the door. To her surprise, the room was actually quite nice. It was a large, open space with a roaring fire, a tub filled with steaming water on one side of the room and on the other a huge bed. A bed made for two. A bed made for lovers.

  She winced and put her back to the bed. She would deal with that later. There was a couch by the fire too. She could sleep there. If she could convince herself that was what she wanted, rather than to tangle herself in War’s dominant web.

  “Shut up, Claire,” she admonished her loud mind. With a grunt, she tugged her clothing off, tossing it on the floor in a heap and stepped into the bath.

  The hot water seeped into her bones and she let out a long, deep sigh of pleasure. How long had it been since she’d had a luxurious bath like this? Lately she’d been hand-rinsing in streams or using a washrag and a basin like she had in War’s bedroom this morning. This? This was heaven.

  Swiftly she soaped up her hands and began to run them over her body to wash away the dirt of the day. To wash away the grime of the past two and a half years. Not that she could, but it felt good to try regardless.