“You take it very well,” Lady Theresa said unexpectedly. “I like that in you.”
Hazel blinked. “Thank you,”
“I want you to know neither my brother nor I believe a word of these terrible rumors. We are guided by Lady Sayle’s judgment and not that of the scandal sheets.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” Hazel replied. “It means a lot to me, as you can imagine.”
“Well, it is best if you know my views—and my honesty—before I broach the rest of this difficult subject.”
Reluctantly, Hazel dragged her gaze away from the dancers. “The rest?”
“I saw the direction of your gaze when I came upon you,” Lady Theresa confessed. “Not that I blame you. I like to look at him, too.”
Hazel flushed but said nothing.
“My dear, you know it will not do,” Lady Theresa said with compassion that suddenly grated.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hazel said discouragingly.
“Yes, you do, and it is a shame in many ways, but he is not for you.”
Hazel’s brows flew up. She held Theresa’s gaze. “With respect, that is not up to you.”
“No, but it is up to you. It is a pity, for I see the way you look at him. And yes, the way he looks at you. A lot of women would sell their souls to be the object of such a look from Joseph Sayle. No, please don’t walk away,” she added as Hazel rose abruptly. “It is important that you hear me.”
Hazel hesitated, then sat back down.
Lady Theresa gave a rueful smile. “This is difficult for me, too. I am aware, as I’m sure you are, that Sir Joseph is a man of great passion. I suspect you are like him in that. And he may well want you at this moment, but you are not the lady he needs.”
“Again, that is not up to you,” Hazel said rigidly.
“Again, it is up to you. You have spent time in his company. You are an intelligent woman. You know his ambitions, which have always stretched beyond his land and family, even beyond his own country. He will be an ambassador one day, a man of some influence on the world’s stage. He may even be Foreign Secretary if he chooses. There are no limits to what he could do. With the right wife at his side.”
“I believe he is managing very well with no wife at all,” Hazel said dryly.
“No wife is better than a bad wife. He may want you now, Miss Curwen. He may even propose to you through some mixture of passion and pity. But what he needs is a lady without blemish or suspicion, a perfect helpmeet to keep his home running smoothly and comfortably, wherever that might be. To be a welcoming hostess, a lady worthy to stand beside him when he greets the most powerful men in the world. Not a woman who distracts and clings and demands his constant attention.”
Hazel almost laughed. “If you imagine I am such a pathetic woman—”
“Oh, not now,” Theresa said impatiently. “But what about in a year, two years, when passion has faded and his interests stray? As they will, for love is not the most important passion to a man like Sir Joseph. His career is.”
Hazel stared at her. “You are saying that I am unsuited by temperament to be his wife. That my ruined reputation will hold him back. That I will, in effect, ruin his career and his life.”
Lady Theresa held her gaze. “Yes,” she replied bluntly. “That is exactly what I am saying. A lesser woman than you might selfishly seize what is on offer, to save herself and obtain a year of happiness. But I have watched you weather this storm. I don’t believe you are a lesser woman.”
“But then,” Hazel said, rising to her feet, “you know nothing about me. Good evening, Lady Theresa.”
She walked away with her head held high. Her happiness was shattered, her whole being shaken by fury and doubt and turmoil. Circling the ballroom one last time, she tried to drag things back into perspective. She hated the nagging truths in Theresa’s words, but she had to recognize them.
Was marriage between herself and Joe impossible? No, for he had asked her, and she had never wanted anything more. Was it right? She no longer knew.
And now the dance had ended, and couples milled in front of her, returning to their families or approaching Lady Sayle and Emma, for the ball, too, was ended. The music had stopped, and the loud laughter and chatter seemed to echo in her ears, dizzying and almost frightening.
The sea of people came apart, and there was Joe walking straight toward her. For an instant, the noise faded, the world righted itself. Joe…coming to see if she had his answer. Twenty minutes ago, she would have given it, with joy and without hesitation.
Now, she met his gaze and panicked.
She didn’t know if Theresa was right. She didn’t want her to be right, which probably said more than anything. But a few words were repeating in her mind, constantly. He may even propose to you through some mixture of passion and pity.
A little passion, enough to enable him to do the right thing for her, to save her reputation in the only way he truly could. All this, Lady Sayle’s support and the gradual winning over of her guests…it was a drop in the ocean. It was marriage that would save her. All that would save her. And he cared enough to do that. She should be proud. She was proud. And maybe yesterday it would have been enough.
Now, after their passionate moments on the terrace, his words of love still ringing in her ears, she no longer knew what she believed. She only knew she could not answer him. Not tonight.
She changed direction, swerving through the crowd away from him. But still, she saw his expression change. One last glimpse of surprise and understanding. And hurt.
Tears clawed at her throat. But she had to go, had to flee.
*
By four o’clock in the morning, all the local guests who were traveling home had long gone, and everyone else had, Joe presumed, fallen into bed. Even the servants. Most of the windows were in darkness when he glanced up at the house.
But Joe could not bear the constraint of being indoors. He was torn between a long, brisk walk and dunking himself in the stream. And yet, he could not yet quite bring himself to walk away from the house, for she was there.
He had known as soon as the crowd had parted to reveal her that something had changed. Something was wrong. She was distressed, frightened, angry, and it all centered on him. He shouldn’t have been surprised. During the last dance, he had glimpsed her sitting beside Theresa Thorne and felt uneasy. Whatever stupid ideas the wretched girl had been feeding Hazel, he intended to remove it.
But she hadn’t given him the chance. He could not have stopped her without calling her name and running after her, forcing her to answer him in front of a ballroom full of guests. He would have done it, too, if he hadn’t known she would hate it. Even without Theresa’s nonsense, she would have hated it.
And so, he had let her go.
Not that it was the end of the matter. Tomorrow, they would talk again, and after tonight, he knew she would say yes. He knew she loved him. He was only here, staring at the sky, waiting for dawn, weighing up the relative merits of a long walk or a dunk in a cold stream to cool the urgency of his ardor.
He almost felt like a boy again, in the throes of first love—which he hadn’t then been able to distinguish from mere lust. For Hazel, in his maturity, they were inextricably bound, and this evening, particularly the latter part of it when she had been constantly with him, had been the sweetest torture of his life. The fun of laughter and amusing conversation, sitting by her side and not even touching. Waltzing with her in his arms, so close with the warmth of her waist under his hand, her delicate hand in his, gazing at him with eyes so full of warmth and fun, her smiling lips parted and so kissable…
Oh, yes. And those moments when he had finally kissed her, tasting her sweetness, her innocent and yet eager passion… She might not have answered his offer in words, but they had both known what it was. He would not force it from her any more than he would press her to spend the night in his bed, but God help him, he wanted her. His whole body had ached—still ached—for her.
Perhaps he should send someone to her, to make sure of her well-being. She would not thank him for it, but… No, he had to leave her for tonight. Anything else was unthinkable. Tomorrow, when she was no longer tired and confused, would be a better time.
But God, he yearned. He could almost feel her in his arms, naked, warm, aroused…
Muffling his groan, he strode off in the direction of the stream.
“Joe.”
He almost didn’t hear his name and attributed the faint sound to imagination, to wishful thinking. But it was enough to make him pause and glance back.
Hazel stood there, still in her ball gown, a shawl grasped around her shoulders. He could barely make her out in the predawn darkness. She seemed pale and delicate, and yet she had never been lovelier to him. Or more untouchable.
He took an uncertain step toward her, and as though his movement unlocked hers, she walked straight up to him and wound her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Very carefully, very lightly, he closed his arms around her, almost trembling with the effort of not crushing her against him. Her cheek was soft and yielding against his, her lips warm against his skin.
“As I love you,” he said huskily.
He felt her lips smile.
Was this it? His answer? He knew only that she had overcome whatever distress Theresa had caused her, and was glad. Now, he could go to bed at last, alone but happy.
But this was Hazel, and she could always surprise him.
She drew back, but she did not run. She took his hand as it fell back to his side. He felt the trembling of her fingers, but she smiled and began to walk back to the house, leading him.
He swallowed, not yet giving into the resurgent hopes of his body. “Do you know what you are offering me?” he asked hoarsely.
She nodded wordlessly.
He had another choice. To be a gentleman and escort her back inside and leave her. Until his ring was on her finger. Or he could give in to his own desires—and hers—as his whole body and heart was screaming at him to do.
In the end, it was care for her that won.
He would let no one else distress her. And so, he would make her his. He threaded her hand through his arm and took her back into the house.
*
She didn’t know where she had found the courage. The idea had simply come to her as she had gazed out of her bedchamber window, her vision blurred with tears. And she had seen him walking, pacing around the outside of the house.
Love had swamped her. But it didn’t swamp him. Although he cared for her, she was not his lightning bolt, and so much of what Theresa had said was true. Not all, for she didn’t know Joe as Hazel did. She did not understand his loyalty, his faithfulness, and sincerity. He was not some shallow creature who would desert his wife and humiliate her on whims of passing lust.
But Hazel was ruined in the eyes of the world, and she could not allow that scandal to contaminate the man she loved. Care and pity were not love, and she would not wreck his life or his ambitions.
But she was human. She needed strength to see her through the interminable years of loneliness to come. Even she deserved a few hours of happiness.
And so, she went after him to seduce him.
His formality as they walked into the house would have disturbed her had she not glimpsed the intensity of his eyes or heard the labor of his breathing. He was trying not to frighten her, still giving her space to change her mind, to leave, if that was what she wished.
She didn’t.
The dark floors were silent under their feet as he guided her upstairs by the light of a solitary candle. Her heart thundered. Awareness, urgent, melting desire fought with sudden fear of this strange solemnity. Had she lowered herself in his eyes? Or was this simply how such matters were conducted?
A set of double doors faced them. He opened one and bowed her through. The click of it closing behind them almost made her jump. He conducted her through the apartment that appeared to combine sitting room with study. She glimpsed a large desk and chair, a comfortable armchair, books, and a strange musical instrument with only three strings.
And then he stopped at an open doorway. To his bedchamber. All she could see was a large bed and heavy velvet hanging. Her mouth went dry. It took fresh courage to walk over the threshold.
Under her almost fearful gaze, he followed and set down the candle before turning to face her. And then the strange, stiff formality seemed to fall away from him like a discarded cloak. His shoulders dropped with massive relief, and the candle flame glinted in his warm eyes.
“At last,” he said softly, “I have you safe in my lair.” He advanced upon her, shrugging off his already unbuttoned coat and throwing it over the nearby chair. He was large, predatory, determined, and desire surged within her.
She had to look up to meet his hot, steady gaze as he came to a halt in front of her. He raised one hand and gently plucked the shawl from her shoulders. She made an instinctive grab for it, for her gown was already unlaced. But his flickering smile told her he had already seen and approved of that.
She let the shawl go.
He took her face between his hands, and she could not breathe. “You trust me. You give yourself to me.”
“I do,” she whispered like a promise.
“As I give myself to you. You may do as you wish, including bat me away. Though I hope you won’t.”
She couldn’t imagine ever pushing him away, certainly not when his finger was tracing a tender line across her parted lips, lingering at the corner of her mouth as he bent his head and kissed her.
She melted instantly, all doubts and fears vanishing into sheer pleasure. She moaned, pushing her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck. His fingers slid under the fabric of her gown, and he took her hands, drawing them down so that her gown fell first to her elbows and then to the floor. Her stays swiftly followed. His eyes remained steadily on hers, but she thought his fingers shook slightly as he untied her chemise. It fell, too, and only then did his gaze sweep over her body.
Fever flooded her, and it was not simply embarrassment.
“I never even imagined such beauty,” he said raggedly.
She gasped as he swept her up in his arms, and suddenly there was cool softness at her back and hot hardness at her front as he lay over her on the bed, devouring her mouth, her throat, her breasts.
She arched against him, wriggling to be closer, tugging at his shirt and waistcoat, which he soon discarded, along with the rest of his clothing.
The dim candlelight gave her only an impression of his broad, golden body as she reached for him. His skin was warm velvet under her fingers, the bone and muscle beneath hard and exciting.
She had no experience of such passages between men and women, but she had imagined he would take her in a wild rush of passion. Certainly, his body trembled at times, perhaps with the effort of not doing so, but he was slow and careful and tender, giving her time to get used to every caress, to enjoy every new intimacy.
He seemed to know exactly where and how to touch her. A feather-light stroking of her nipple with the tip of one long, sensitive finger. His breath on her skin as he explored with lips and tongue. A long, breathless sweep of his hand from knee to thigh. A teasing play of fingers circling higher, trailing fire and hunger as they closed in on the aching center of her desire.
He guided her hand to that most curious part of a man’s anatomy, let her see the delight her slightest caress gave to him. And slowly, gradually, he showed her the bliss locked in her body, fusing and heightening with his.
She did not cry out when he entered her, though sho
ck kept her still until he coaxed her to move with him, to fully enjoy the delicious caresses of his body, outside and in.
Only then did the wild storm of passion take control of her as well as of him. Gasps of need and words of worship dissolved at last into intense, exquisite joy.
And tears of love trickled down her face as she clung to him, rapt in the ecstasy he found in her.
*
She fell asleep in his arms.
She knew she had done so because she half-woke as he slid away from her and out of bed. She wondered if he would come back, or if she should go. She decided to wait a few moments and drifted back off to sleep.
She woke again as the bed creaked under his weight, and his arm drew her back against his chest, holding her as he curled his large body around hers. She had never suspected the pleasure of such quiet closeness, the trusting intimacy engendered by bodily love. She was glad to know it.
The experience, the joy of this night, would stay with her forever. Joe’s life would move on without her, and one day, when he found his true, eternal love, he would be grateful she had let him go. She would walk forward, too, to a new life, a good life, she hoped, making a difference to others in whatever small ways she could.
But this was the happiness she would never know again.
When his breathing lengthened into sleep, she lay a few minutes longer, stretching the contentment out as long as she could.
The servants would sleep in late today, as would their masters and guests. But even so, she should leave very soon for her own chamber.
She turned very gently to face him.
He slept like a boy, his hair tousled across his forehead, his face, quiet, contented, and peaceful. He had shown her such joy. She ached with love and knew the loss would come much later. For now, she merely looked, letting the smile curve her lips before she reached over and touched them to his. She was sure they parted in instinctive response. But she would not wake him. She dared not.
Very carefully, she slid across the bed and climbed out. By the light of the early morning sun, she gathered up her clothes and slipped into the outer room to dress. That done, she crept from his rooms and found her way through the silent house to her own distant chamber.
Pursued by the Rake Page 23
