Chapter Eleven
To Jacob’s disgruntlement, the heat of the day had brought every member of the ton left in London to Gunter’s Tea Shop. Didn’t they know they were supposed to be residing in the country at this time of year?
Glancing around him as he stepped out of the carriage, he realised he had made a fatal error. The place was riddled with biddies who would have a field day when they saw him escorting Rose without the company of his grandmother.
He could bring the ices into the coach, but it was far too hot to be sitting inside a stuffy carriage. And besides, he didn’t want the seat cushions ruined just because of a lot of gossipy old besoms.
To hell with them. He had promised Lucy an ice and he wasn’t going back on his word.
With the skill born of long practice, along with the newly acquired ducal stare, he contrived a seat in a corner beside an open window where what breeze there was would help keep them cool until their ices arrived.
He made his ladies comfortable, seating himself between them and relaxed. Sitting here beside Rose seemed right somehow. With her at his side, he felt more settled inside himself than he had for months.
He smiled down at his niece, who was sitting with her hands folded in her lap as if ice cream would never melt in her mouth, let alone on her frock. ‘I know Lucy wants a raspberry ice, but what about you, Rose?’
Rose looked thoroughly uncomfortable. He turned in his seat. Blast it.
Everyone present was looking at them, some covertly, others openly interested. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said with an encouraging smile. ‘I can assure you, they are ogling me.’ Probably regurgitating the stories around the accident, if he knew them. He handed her the menu.
She gazed at it with what he could only describe as awe. ‘I have no idea what to choose.’
‘Have raspberry. It is the best,’ Lucy pronounced.
Rose lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Is that your opinion also?’
‘I like them all.’ A wicked idea formed in his head. ‘Trust me?’
She nodded.
He hailed a passing waiter and turned aside so Rose could not hear while he placed his order.
Lucy frowned. ‘Raspberry, Uncle Jake.’
He grinned. ‘I didn’t forget.’
‘What a lovely place this is,’ Rose said. ‘They are even taking ices out to that carriage.’
‘An open carriage is the only place a gentleman can be alone with a single lady of marriageable age,’ Jake said, ‘and not cause talk. On a hot day like today an ice will make a gentleman very popular with his lady.’
A moment later, the waiter returned with a tray full of small glass dishes, each containing a different flavour, and one large one with red ice cream. He arranged them on the table, making sure Lucy had her favourite, the smart observant chap.
Rose gasped and looked at Jake in dismay. ‘They must have made a mistake. These can’t all be for us?’
‘They are. There is one of every flavour for you to try. You like tasting things.’
Her face went fiery red and her expression became mortified.
He cursed. He’d meant to tease, not embarrass. What was the matter with him? He seemed to be behaving like an awkward schoolboy. ‘Rose, I mean it as a treat. These are samples. Look, over there, they are doing the same at that table.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh.’
The other table did not have quite as many dishes, but they had several. Her feathers settled. She picked up her spoon and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucy was already tucking in to her ice. He grabbed her napkin and tied it beneath her chin. ‘Your mama won’t be pleased if you ruin your dress.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Which one will you try first, Miss Nightingale?’ she asked.
‘This one.’ Rose drew the white one closer and inhaled. ‘Vanilla?’
‘Indeed,’ Jake said and the next moment, watching her scoop a small amount into her mouth and seeing her eyes go particularly dreamy, he was as hard as a rock.
‘Oh, my word,’ she breathed, staring at him. She gave a little shiver. ‘It is cold, but it simply melts on my tongue.
He wanted to melt on her tongue. He couldn’t stop recalling how she had licked...
He looked down at the dishes, trying not to shift on his seat. ‘Try that one. It is strawberry.’
And so it continued, the sensual torture of Rose’s first experience of ice cream.
Her surprise at the taste of lemon made him laugh.
One or two people sent startled glances their way and Rose’s face mirrored worry.
‘I told you,’ he said. ‘Pay them no mind.’
‘It is not that,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Challenger just walked in, with a lady.’ She swallowed. ‘What if he...?’ She glanced at Lucy and winced.
‘People only see what they expect to see.’ He shifted so he could see the door. ‘Mr Challenger is my friend. He won’t say a thing. The lady with him is his wife.’
They made a lovely couple, too. Imagine, Frederick married. The first of the founders of Vitium et Virtus leg-shackled. And happily so. Times were changing. He, too, would have to marry. But not for a long while yet.
‘What flavour will you choose next, Rose?’
‘Have the raspberry,’ Lucy said with the wisdom of the very young. ‘You will like it the best of all, I promise. It tastes just like raspberries and it is pink. The first time I came here, Uncle Jake said raspberry was the best.’
He gave Rose’s hand a squeeze where it rested on her lap out of sight of any of the watching crows. ‘Why not let Miss Nightingale choose for herself.’
‘It is all so extravagant,’ Rose said.
He loved the way she rolled the word of her tongue as if tasting its meaning.
‘But I hate to think of it going to waste, when it must have cost a fortune.’ Her spoon hovered over the raspberry ice.
He also loved it that she was considerate about spending his money. So different from any other lady of his acquaintance, he realised with a sense of deep admiration.
‘Do not worry. I’ll eat anything you don’t want, so nothing will go to waste.’ He wanted to kiss her again. Taste all those flavours on her tongue. And not a sneaking kiss in the dark as he had at the rotunda, but a possessive this-lady-is-mine sort of kiss for all the world to see. Wouldn’t that be scandalous? He grinned inwardly at the thought, even knowing he would never embarrass her that way.
‘Westmoor.’ Fred stood looking down at him. Jake rose to his feet.
‘Challenger.’
‘Well met, old chap. Can we impose ourselves on you? There’s not a table to be had and we walked over, so I cannot even offer my lady a carriage in which to partake of her ice.’
‘Please, do join us.’
While Fred went for a couple of chairs, Jake bowed over Georgiana’s hand. ‘It is good to see you again, Georgiana. Please, allow me to introduce my grandmother’s companion, Miss Rose Nightingale, and my sister’s daughter, Miss Lucinda Robertson. Ladies, this is Mrs Challenger.’
Georgiana smiled warmly at both of his ladies. ‘How lovely to meet you. And please, call me George. Everyone does. What luck for us, meeting you here, Jacob. I feared we would have to leave without our ices and I would have been most disappointed.’
Rose visibly swallowed and took Georgiana’s outstretched hand. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs um... George.’
A flush stained her cheeks and she looked nervous, her gaze flitting to his face and back to Georgiana as if the sky was about to fall. A feeling of impatience took Jake by surprise. He didn’t want her feeling embarrassed when meeting his friends. He wanted her to feel...comfortable. At ease.
‘I am pleased to meet you, too,’ Lucy added. ‘Can I have another ice, Uncle Jake, if the waiter ever comes back? I am still hot.’
Jake gave her a mock-stern look. She had been such a good girl today and he didn’t want to crush her high spirits as long as they stayed within bounds.
Georgiana, bless her, looked indulgent. ‘It is hot,’ she said.
He became aware of Fred giving Rose a narrow-eyed stare and his stomach knotted. Not much slipped by Fred.
‘Why don’t I go and order at the counter?’ Fred said. ‘It might be faster.’ He gave Jake a pointed stare.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Jake said. Might as well hear what he had to say.
He followed in Fred’s wake, the man’s shoulders militarily straight and an aura of disapproval distinctly visible. When they reached the counter, Fred gave him a chilly stare. ‘Nightingale? I recognise her name. She’s employed at Vitium et Virtus. Damn it all, I’m sure I have seen her there. You certainly have a nerve to introduce her to my wife?’
‘To the devil with you, Fred,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You joined us. Don’t you think that if she’s good enough for my niece, she’s good enough for your wife? And besides, she worked there as a maid, nothing else.’
His friend looked mollified. Slightly. ‘What on earth is she doing as the Dowager’s companion?’
‘My grandmother likes her and she is doing a very good job. First one the old lady has agreed to tolerate, in fact.’
‘If that’s the case, where is your grandmother?’
‘I don’t see that it is any of your business.’
‘I saw the way you were looking at her when we came in.’
‘The way... Blast your eyes, man. You are as bad as all the other gossips in this place.’
‘So you don’t have seduction on your mind? Or do you plan to make an honest woman of her?’
That was the question, wasn’t it? He’d promised his father he would be the Duke his brother would have been. Sworn it. His brother, Ralph, would have done his duty. Married for political or financial advantage, for the sake of the title. He would not have married a scullery maid, even if he had fallen in—He froze. Cut off his thought before it could fully form. Love was not an option for him.
He’d keep his promise.
Fred thrust out his chin, wanting an answer.
Jake glared at his friend. ‘Miss Nightingale is a perfectly respectable young woman, Fred, and if you say one more word suggesting otherwise, I swear I will draw your cork.’
Fred stared at him for a long moment. He let out a long sigh. ‘Have it your way, Jake. But I advise you to be very careful. She seems like a nice girl.’
Rose was a nice girl. Very nice. The nicest girl he had ever met. Fred was right. Much too nice for him. He ground his back teeth.
Across the room, the ladies were engaged in a lively conversation.
Rose really was amazing. It didn’t matter where he took her, she could hold her own.
He had never felt prouder.
Or, given Fred’s admonition, more miserable as reality struck home.
Rose had spoken of children and family and he had heard the longing in her voice. Under the circumstances in which he found himself, he could never give her that. And children out of wedlock were out of the question. No child of his would suffer the way Oliver had.
He ought to stop what he should never have started. Send her on her way with a generous gift and wish her happy when she found a good and decent man who could make her an honest woman.
The thought of Rose in the arms of another did not sit well in his gut as he maintained his outward calm beneath Fred’s stare.
Fred waved at one of the servers behind the counter who was looking around for his next customer. ‘Over here, man.’
They placed their order and returned to the table, but all through the chatter and pleasantries, Jake could only worry about Rose and what he should do.
* * *
On the way home in the carriage, Lucy leaned against Rose’s arm and closed her eyes. Rose pulled her close and made her comfortable. ‘Dear little soul. She’s fast asleep.’
‘It has been an exciting day for her.’
Rose raised a worried glance to his face. ‘I met Mrs Challenger once before, you know. At the club. I don’t think she remembered me.’
‘You did what?’ He realised he had raised his voice when her eyes widened.
‘I helped her dress. Mr Challenger was most annoyed with her at the time.’
Jake could only imagine. Good for George. Perhaps she’d shake Fred up a bit. He’d become far too stuffy since coming back from the war. ‘You must never mention the club again and especially in relation to Mrs Challenger.’
She paled. ‘Oh, I would never...’ She turned her face away. ‘I would not want to put you to shame.’
Dash it, now he’d upset her. Fred was right, he was bad for Rose. He could never offer her what she truly deserved. Things could not continue as they were. The resolution came to him in a flash. ‘I have to go to Hertfordshire. To my estate. Something has come up there that requires my attention.’
Surprise filled Rose’s expression. ‘Has something gone wrong there? I thought you seemed distracted.’
He might have known she would sense his mood, though he’d been careful to keep his thoughts hidden. But her concern was misplaced. She should be worrying about herself. Guilt twisted in his gut. He really did have to make this right. ‘My steward has written concerning problems with the harvest. I need to see for myself.’
Her brow cleared. An understanding smile curved her pretty lips. Her gaze softened. ‘Will you be gone long?’
The longing not to go at all shook him to his core. Never before had he had any trouble parting from a woman. He took a deep breath, kept his expression cool. ‘I am not sure how long I will be away, actually. A week or two. Maybe longer.’
‘Oh.’ She looked nonplussed. ‘I see.’
‘I am relying on you to care for Grandmama in my absence. She depends on you.’
She gave a nod. ‘Anything I can do to help, I will.’
‘I am most grateful.’ The words sounded stilted and formal and he saw the hurt in her eyes, but he could not let that sway him. The risks were too great no matter what precautions they took. He needed to make a clean break of it. To set her free of any obligation she might feel to him so she could get on with the life she had planned for herself. ‘I will leave the moment we arrive at the house.’
Rose’s little gasp of shock, quickly hidden, cut his heart to ribbons. He ignored the pain. ‘If I leave right away, I can make it there before it is dark.’
The evenings were already drawing in, but he could do it, if he rode hard. The staff would be surprised to see him, but it was a ducal household and they were always prepared.
* * *
The days after Jake left were the longest of Rose’s life. There had been one letter from him, a single line to his grandmother announcing his safe arrival in Hertfordshire and no mention of when he might return.
The household had continued in its usual routine, despite the strange emptiness the house evoked without him. She missed him terribly.
On the third afternoon, Rose sat with Eleanor and her grandmother in the drawing room, the other two ladies sewing and chatting as if nothing had changed, while an uncomfortable thought kept going around and around in Rose’s mind.
Did Jake’s departure mean something more than a need to visit one of his estates? He’d decided so suddenly. And had been so distracted in the carriage ride home from Gunter’s. Had he intended that she should hand in her notice in his absence?
Every time that thought crossed her mind, as it had several times since he’d bid her farewell, her heart squeezed with a pang so painful she couldn’t breathe. Over the past few weeks, she had grown to love his grandmother as if she was her own. She adored Lucy. And wondrously, Eleanor treated her as an equal. She had the feeling they might have become friends if things had been different.
But she could not allow it. Not when she was living a lie.
Eleanor would be disgusted if she knew the truth of her history, what she was. Not to mention her horror if she learned of Rose’s relationship with Jake. What decent mother would want someone like her near their child?
Shame rose up in a horrid wave. She ought to leave before Jake returned. A voice inside her, a niggling discomfort, kept reminding her that as sure as eggs were eggs, the truth would come out. A servant would see him entering her room. Or Mr Challenger would say something. Or...
‘Your Grace,’ the butler said, walking in with a silver salver. ‘A note came for you. Hand delivered. The messenger said it was urgent.’
The Dowager Duchess took the paper with a smile of thanks and spread the paper open. ‘Well, fancy that.’
‘What is it, Grandmama?’ Eleanor asked.
‘We are all invited to a musicale evening at Lady Buckhurst’s.’
Rose rested her embroidery frame in her lap, intending to refuse any attempt to take her along.
Eleanor frowned. ‘Why would that be considered urgent? When is it?’
‘Tonight. A last-minute affair. Lady Buckhurst discovered that Signora Calvetti, a brilliant soprano fêted in Paris and Rome, is visiting London. She is due to depart on the morrow. Lady Buckhurst has managed to get her to agree to one performance only. Quite the coup, from her note. Shall we go and add to the consequence of the evening?’
‘You may go if you wish, Grandmama,’ Eleanor said softly. ‘I prefer not.’
‘You need to go about more, my dear, now that we have put off black gloves. It is not right for someone so young to be cloistered away.’
Eleanor sighed. ‘I am perfectly happy as I am, Grandmama. You will not flex your matchmaking muscles on my behalf. You have enough to do with Jake.’
Her Grace frowned mightily. ‘Rose, you will add your pleas to mine.’ The old lady turned to Rose. Her hopeful expression pulled at Rose’s heartstrings more than it should. The old lady was right, though. Eleanor was too young to remain a widow. She ought to be out among society, seeking enjoyment.
‘You told me you like music, Eleanor,’ Rose said, a little weakly even to her own ears. She forced confidence into her voice, along with a dab of persuasion. ‘You might regret not hearing this singer if she is as good as your grandmother says.’
Eleanor grimaced. ‘I don’t know.’ Her face brightened. ‘I will go, if you will. You have been moping about, since my brother left.’
Jake. She meant Jake. Shock hit her hard. She couldn’t believe Eleanor would have noticed. And now her cheeks were hot and she couldn’t meet the other woman’s gaze for fear she would give herself away. More than she already had.
‘It is true, Rose,’ the Dowager Duchess said. ‘You have not been your usual cheerful self. An outing will do you good.’
Oh, no. She had noticed, too. Why was she not demanding she leave? Instead she looked...sympathetic?
‘I know nothing about opera, my lady,’ she managed to mumble. ‘It would be better if I stayed here with Lucy.’
Eleanor looked startled. Perhaps even shocked.
Oh, dear. Was opera a part of every young lady’s curriculum? The only thing close to what she thought might be opera were the bawdy ditties at the V&V.
Her Grace wagged a gnarled finger in her direction. ‘A lack of education in a young lady such as you will not do, Rose. The sooner you add music to your repertoire the better, my gel.’
Her repa—What? A young lady such as her would likely be on the next ship to Botany Bay if Her Grace ever guessed the lies she’d been told.
She opened her mouth to refuse again.
‘Please, Rose,’ the Dowager said and the hope in her old wise eyes made Rose feel as if she’d stepped into a bog and was floundering around for an excuse when Her Grace knew Rose would never refuse her anything she wanted. As an employee, she didn’t have the right.
Still she tried. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Oh, please don’t say no,’ Eleanor said. ‘Grandmama is going to insist I go, I can see she is. Having you with me will make it bearable. It doesn’t matter in the least that you don’t speak Italian. It is the music that counts.’
Italian? Heaven help her.
How could she refuse? These people had been good to her. So good that sometimes she forgot herself and thought of them as family. And to have the chance to hear such music... What a treat it would be. She raised a hand. ‘I give in. I will go.’
Hopefully they would not run into Mr Challenger. As kindly as his smile seemed, that man unnerved her.
* * *
Seated between Her Grace and Lady Eleanor in Lady Buckhurst’s opulent music room, Rose had never heard anything quite so beautiful as Signora Calvetti’s singing. True, she did not understand the words—but, oh, the feelings her voice evoked. They tore at her heartstrings in nameless ways. Sorrow. Loss. Joy. It was all there in the music. Rose sat entranced. Thrilled they had persuaded her to accept the invitation.
Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sounds issuing from the woman who stood at the front of the room with diamonds glittering in her hair, at her throat and on her eloquent hands.
The music came to a close and the audience clapped heartily.
The dark-haired voluptuous flashing-eyed singer, curtseyed and blew kisses to her audience.
‘Encore!’ someone shouted.
The cry was picked up around the room.
The singer smiled but shook her head.
Lady Buckhurst hustled up to stand beside the woman, signalling for silence. ‘Thank you everyone. I promised the signora we would understand that she has a long journey tomorrow and must guard her voice for a performance in Paris booked many months ago. If you would like to follow my major-domo, refreshments are served in the conservatory.’
The crowd, good-natured if disappointed, began to shuffle their way out. Someone tapped Rose on the shoulder with a fan.
Wondering who it could be, she turned around. It was the girl who had played croquet with Jake. ‘Oh,’ she said surprised. ‘Lady Alicia.’
The girl’s smile was less than friendly. ‘He won’t marry you, you know.’
Rose blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The Duke.’ She nodded to the back of the room. Jake was standing there, talking to another gentleman.
Rose’s heart soared.
He was looking a little haggard. Something like the way he had looked when they first met. What could have happened during the past few days to make him appear so? Or was it merely weariness from his journey?
‘He won’t marry a nobody from the country,’ the girl hissed in her ear as people shuffled around them as if they were an island in the middle of a fast-flowing river. ‘A libertine and a rake he may have been, but he will do his duty by the title. You’ll see.’
Rose glared at her, her hackles rising at the scornful tone. ‘You don’t think he will marry you, do you?’
The girl primped the cluster of curls resting on her cheek. ‘If my father has anything to say to it he will. After all, it is his fault I didn’t get to marry his brother.’
‘His fault.’ Rose’s jaw dropped. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘He wanted the title and he arranged to get it. Everyone says so.’
Rose’s fists clenched. Was one allowed to strike a horrid girl in the face at a musicale evening? Likely not. But, oh, how she was tempted.
‘How could you believe such horrid gossip?’
The girl sniffed. ‘There’s no smoke without a fire. He owes my family a marriage. And my papa isn’t one to leave a debt unpaid.’
She flounced away to join an older lady who was looking daggers at Rose. The girl’s mother.
Instead of shrinking beneath that stare as she might have a few weeks ago, Rose straightened her shoulders. Poor Jake, if that young woman was his ultimate fate.
A horrid suspicion crossed her mind. Was he aware of this family’s expectations? Was that why he had played croquet with the girl?
* * *
Rose sat in the chair beside the window, looking over the gardens. Night had fallen a good two hours before and still Jake had not come to her.
Not only that, while he’d been his usually gentlemanly self in the carriage on the way home from the musicale, he’d returned to his former coolness. He’d barely spoken to her and only answered his grandmother’s enquiries as to the affairs at his estate with brusque brevity. In the end, Eleanor had taken him to task for his rudeness and he’d made more of an effort.
Had he finally realised how unsuitable she was as a companion for his grandmother and was trying to pluck up the courage to let her go? Mr Challenger had recognised her. She was sure of it. And if he had not, she had certainly seen the reservation in his gaze, despite that he’d been the soul of politeness and his wife had been lovely.
And noble.
Her hands clenched in her lap. That was the sort of woman Jake would marry. A girl of good family. One who would not cause him to be ashamed. She just hoped he didn’t choose Lady Alicia for a bride. That girl would not make him happy. And no matter what happened, she did want him to be happy.
A knock at the door startled her. She shot to her feet.
Jake strode in. Fully clothed.
He usually came in a dressing gown of green silk covered in golden dragons.
Her stomach fell away at the grim look on his face, the intensity in his eyes as he took in her dishabille.
‘Rose.’ His voice had a rough edge to it.
‘Jake?’
‘I came to tell you...’
She held her breath, her heart balanced on a knife-edge of expectation, ready, but in no way prepared for the pain of his words of parting.
He closed his eyes briefly, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
‘You came to tell me?’ she prompted in a whisper, tipping her face to meet his gaze, seeing heat there, desire flaring between them as it always did.
He kissed her, hard and deep, a low growl rising up from his throat. Feral. Not tender, not sweet, but wild and hungry. Full of dark passion.
A rush of desire ran hot through her blood, her heart picked up speed, her body trembled. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back hard. How could she have thought she had lost him?
Their tongues tangled, her heart pounded against her breastbone making it hard to breath and she sank into the fire of a blazing kiss. Moments seemed like for ever until they fell apart, breathless.
He attacked the ties of her robe, she tore at the buttons of his coat. He shrugged out of his jacket, then his waistcoat; she let the dressing robe slide to the floor. He tore off his neckcloth. Ripped his shirt off over his head.
She jerked at the ribbon holding her bodice closed.
He groaned as the gown dipped down one shoulder, pulled her close and kissed her again. In a movement so swift and effortless she felt weightless, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, depositing her carefully on the mattress. It took him mere seconds to strip out of his nether garments and, gloriously naked, he joined her on the bed, giving her no time to admire his rampant erection and manly physique.
Never had she seen him so demanding, so urgent, so fierce.
It called to something inside her she had not known existed. The need to be overpowered, to feel vulnerable, yet powerful in a different way. As if in breaking through his control, he had given her something strange and wonderfully exhilarating.
Without thought, without modesty, she drew her nightdress off over her head and brought his mouth to her aching breast.
He drew deeply on the aching nub. A pain of such piercing sweetness arrowed deep to the heart of her femininity. She cried out. Her hips arched, pressing into him, feeling his hardness against her mons. Seeking him inside her.
A knee pressed between her thighs and the pleasure of opening herself to him made her heart lift and soar.
He settled himself between her legs and drove into her body with a groan that welled from deep in his chest.
She shattered, melting around him, surrendering beneath him.
He stilled. A shudder ran through him, so strong it resonated in her bones.
Him, too? Never had he shown such urgency.
But, no. She could feel him inside her, still hard.
He slowly rocked his hips. Tension inside her began to build. A ripple of pleasure spread outward from her core, intense, soul stirring. Again?
And still he had not—
He moved again, slow easy thrusts of his hips, gradually increasing the tempo. The restlessness started up again, tightening every nerve in her body. He drove deeper and again she reached the pinnacle and let go.
Overwhelmed by the beauty of the sensations he instilled, a joy so vast filled her and tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Supported on his hands, looming over her, the rigid tension of his body, the ripple of hard muscle and the straining of tendons in his neck left her in awe.
Balancing on one hand, he lifted her buttocks, opening her more to his penetration, filling her completely.
Somehow she managed to lift her head to nibble at his earlobe, to trace the outer ear with delicate strokes of her tongue, then plunged into the depths of it, tasting salt and inhaling the scent of his soap.
His hiss of indrawn breath sent shivers across her skin.
He raised his head, gazing down at her, his eyes dark with passion, his expression strained by longing and need. The same longing and need echoing in her heart.
As if their souls had merged into one.
‘You undo me,’ he rasped, driving into her harder.
I love you, she whispered in her mind, finally recognising the truth of the depths of her feelings and revelling in them even as she grieved that he would never be fully hers.
She closed her lips on the words, held them tight to her heart, for she had a shred of wit left to know that to admit them out loud and see rejection in his eyes would tear her apart.
Instead, she showed him all she could never say with her hands and her body and her lips.
Feeling him unravelling inside her body was the greatest joy of all. And the saddest moment of her life. Because in a moment of clarity at the moment before she followed him into bliss, she sensed he was saying goodbye. ‘I will always love you.’
They lay tangled together, damp with sweat, hearts beating a wild rhythm, breathing harsh in the quiet room.
After several moments he shifted. Moving away. She reached to hold him, but he slipped from her grasp, leaving the bed in a surge of movement. She rose up on her elbows and was startled to see him hastily dressing. He glanced over his shoulder.
‘I am so damned sorry, Rose. I did not intend this.’
Her heart stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. ‘What is it? What did I do?’
He straightened, now fully clothed, his expression stern, closed off. ‘You did nothing wrong, Rose. You are everything that is—’ He choked the words off, made a slicing gesture with his hand. ‘I actually came to tell you I have business at Vitium et Virtus this evening and cannot stay.’ He closed his eyes against her surprised gaze. ‘I am sorry.’
He bowed and, with his shoulders straight and his steps determined, he left.
While he had said nothing of any import, Rose had a strange feeling that everything between had changed.
He’d donned the reserve he’d worn when they first met like a coat, or some sort of suit of armour, as if he sought protection.
Protection from her?