Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (33 page)

She wasn't the foolish, sheltered spinster she'd been. He'd seen to that, and she wanted no part of whatever new twist he might insert into her staid, solitary existence.

She was fine without him. Fine!

Pushing past him, she ran for the manor, her cloak billowing out, her breath swirling around her like a cloud. She raced in the rear entrance and up the stairs to her room. With trembling fingers, she slammed the door and spun the key in the lock. She dawdled, steadying herself, listening to hear how rapidly he'd follow. Shortly, he sauntered down the hall and halted directly outside.

"Open up," he cajoled.

"No. I'm pretending you're a bad dream. If I hide in here long enough, maybe I'll wake up and you'll be gone."

"Is that any way for a loving wife to behave?"

"At the moment, I'm not feeling very loving, and I'm barely your wife—as you've worked hard to ensure. Go away."

"Don't you want to know where I've been and what I've been doing?"

Her curiosity soared. "No."

"If you let me in, I'll tell you."

His voice was low and seductive, as if he had a secret he could share with her and nobody else.

"Go away," she said again, which made him sigh.

"I guess I should buy more locks. The ones I own keep getting ruined."

He kicked at the wood, and as it bowed with the force of the blow, she jumped with fright.

She should have simply let him in and avoided all the drama, but she couldn't. There was too much at stake. He'd tarry at Gladstone for a week or two, then he'd depart, and her poor heart couldn't survive another rebuff.

She grabbed the dresser and shoved it over as an extra barrier, but it provided scant fortification and only protracted the wreckage through a few extra jolts. The door gave, the dresser tumbled out of the way, and he marched in.

He took a step toward her, and she stepped back. He took another, and so did she, the two of them gliding across the floor like a pair of dancers until she was at the wall and could go no farther.

He advanced till he was so near that his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. He'd shed his winter coat, and she could smell the cold air on his skin, the laundered scent of his clothes, the essence of him as a man, and she yearned to reach out and hug him, or to rest her palm on his cheek. He looked so inviting, and she was lured to him like a magnet to metal, but he was lethal to her well-being and, rigid with resolve, she kept her arms pinned to her sides.

After all he'd done—and not done—why couldn't she resist him? What was the matter with her? Had she no shame? No sense?

She flattened herself to the plaster, wishing she could be subsumed by the wall and vanish.

"You get prettier every time I see you," he absurdly said, the comment like a warning shot across her bow.

Buck up! she scolded. She wouldn't be sucked in by a few obsequious words from a maniac.

"Really?" She glared at the wrecked door. "You haven't changed a whit."

"Oh, I have. A little." A corner of his mouth quirked up in that fiendish smile that made him so enticing. "Do you want me to tell you how?"

"No."

"I'm going to anyway." "Why am I not surprised?" Stunning her, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hand in his own. "I'm sorry."

It was the very last remark she'd expected, and she frowned. "You're ... sorry? What for?"

"When I married you, I swore that I'd always protect you, that you'd always be safe here at Gladstone, and you weren't. Can you forgive me?"

He appeared so young, so torn, and she couldn't bear to see him prostrate and begging for absolution. If he was repentant, it would be so difficult to keep him at bay.

"Yes, yes," she hurriedly declared, "you're forgiven, so if that's all you came to say, you can leave now." 'There's a tad more." "What is it?"

He kissed her knuckles, and at the feel of his delicious lips on her skin, she lurched away and went to the window. She peered out across the park, watching the snow trickle down.

Behind her, she heard him rise, heard him approach, and she stiffened as if bracing for an attack. Didn't he understand that each touch was painful? His presence was a petty torment that was deadly in its intensity.

He placed his hands on her hips, and he snuggled himself to her backside.

"You didn't let me finish," he complained. "That's because you've already said more than enough."

He chuckled and nibbled her nape, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Let's have sex," he suggested. "Are you insane?"

"No. I want to make love to my wife. It's been ages."

Inundated by fury, she whipped around, eager to do battle, but on seeing the odd, tender expression on his face, she was flummoxed.

"I don't plan to lie down with you ever again," she asserted. "I can't believe you had the gall to ask."

"So who's asking?"

He picked her up and spun them so that they bounced onto the mattress. In an instant, she was trapped beneath him, which was precisely where she didn't wish to be.

"Let me up."

"No."

"Let me—"

He leaned in and kissed her, just a soft brush of his mouth to hers, and he was very tentative, as if he was afraid of being pushed away. Could it be? Could big, bad Jamie Merrick be worried that she no longer desired him? It was ludicrous to think so, but nevertheless, she experienced a vain thrill.

The arrogant prig! Although he had no heart, so he couldn't possibly feel any distress, she yearned to hope that he'd suffered as she'd been suffering.

"I missed you," he contended.

"I didn't miss you."

"Yes, you did. Quit lying. You're terrible at it. Now about what I've been doing ..."

"I said I don't want to hear it!"

From how he was gazing at her, it was obvious that he was about to announce some perfectly charming gesture destined to placate and enchant, and she refused to be tempted with incentives to like him. She hadn't the wherewithal to deflect them.

"I sold my ship."

"You what?"

"I sold it, and I have to admit, it was deuced difficult to let it go." "But... why?"

"I didn't need it anymore. I have the town house for sale, too." He frowned. "You didn't want to ever spend time in London, did you?"

"No, I hated it there."

"So did I. I didn't suppose we should keep a house we'd never use."

What was he saying? He seemed to imply that he'd come home for good, but she'd never trust that he was sincere. He'd tricked and hurt her too often to count, and they were far beyond the day when he could spew any story she'd deem credible.

"We've dispensed with the preliminaries," he continued, "so let's get down to business."

He started kissing her again, and she shoved at his shoulders till he drew away.

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?" he queried, appearing confused. "You've been gone for months!" "Yes, I have."

"You can't just waltz in here and expect that we'll take up where we left off." "Why not?"

"How many reasons do you need? How about your cavorting with strumpets?" She was amazed that she'd mention the humiliating fact aloud, and tears flooded her eyes. "It shamed me."

"Oh, Anne." He kissed one moist eyelid, then the other. "What would you say if I told you I haven't had a lover since I fled Gladstone?"

"I'd call you a bald-faced liar."

"There's been only you and no other. I won't claim I didn't have many chances to misbehave, but why do you assume I came home? I couldn't abide the frivolous coquettes I met in London, and I've been dying for female companionship!"

Could it be true? She had no idea, but she stupidly, desperately wanted it to be. She was struggling to remain firm, but the foundations of her anger slipped a little.

"I can't begin again," she moaned. "You've exhausted me. I can't keep on as we have been."

"But I relinquished my ship for you. It was like cutting off my arm. I need wifely sympathy to get over the loss. Aren't you going to give me any?"

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was draped across his torso. His hand was on her bottom, her loins pressed to his, and he rooted to her bosom and nestled at her breast through the fabric of her dress.

At feeling him so close to where she wanted him to be, she hissed with agony. He knew how to entice her, how to wear her down, and she was rapidly capitulating.

"What do you want from me?" she wailed.

"Let me show you."

In another quick flip, she was on the bottom, and he was hiking up her skirts and unbuttoning his trousers. To her ultimate disgust, she didn't put up the slightest resistance. Since he was extremely aroused, he didn't bother with any seduction. He simply gripped her thighs and impaled himself.

Immediately, he started to flex, and she groaned with delight and arched into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and swiftly he was at the end. He came in a deep, satisfying rush of pleasure, and as he emptied himself against her womb, she joined in. They soared to the heavens, then floated down.

But as the commotion waned, he murmured, T love you."

She froze. "What did you say?" "I love you, Anne. That's what I hurried home to tell you."

The remark was the worst, most insulting thing he could have said. He had no notion of what love was, and she was crushed that he'd offer the pathetic sentiment.

"No, you don't. You don't love me."

Her dubious scowl humored him, and he chuckled. "It's shocking, I know. I can hardly believe it myself."

"No ... no ... no ..." She shook her head, her dread rising, her heart aching. "You are not going to do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You are not going to lie—not when the subject matters so much to me."

She squirmed out from under him to perch on the edge of the bed.

He moved to the floor and knelt in front of her.

"How am I lying to you?" he gently asked.

"You've returned to Gladstone—when I have no clue why you would—and you've dragged me off and had sex with me, and now, you're whispering all these ridiculous comments."

"They're not ridiculous."

"They are when you don't mean any of them. This is all a big game to you." "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know! And I'm such a gullible fool that I'll sit here and listen to you and fall in love with you all over again. Then when you're bored, or your wanderlust takes over, you'll disappear." She grabbed his shirt and shook him. "I won't do this with you. I won't! You never get to break my heart again."

She slid by him, and she wanted to run off, to find a quiet place where he would leave her be, but where could she go that he wouldn't follow? Instead, she went to the window seat and climbed onto the cushion, and she gazed out at the gray day that perfectly matched her mood.

He came up behind her, but he didn't reach for her, and she was glad. When he touched her, she couldn't concentrate, and she made all the wrong decisions. They stood apart, silent and morose, like two strangers on the street.

"I always loved the snow," she finally said.

"I've rarely seen it."

"Really?"

"I hate the cold, so we mostly stayed in the south."

An awkward pause ensued, and she used it to muse over what a little gem of information he'd provided. He never discussed himself or his past. She didn't know his favorite color, his favorite food, or his mother's maiden name. What kind of a marriage was that?

'Turn around," he urged. "Look at me."

"No."

He sighed with resignation. "It's probably better if you don't. Keep staring outside."

"Why?"

"It will be easier for me to tell you things."

She'd rather have bitten off her tongue than inquire, but she caught herself asking, "What things?”

"While I was away, I had a lot of time to think. I couldn't eat or sleep, and I couldn't figure out why."

"And ... ?"

"It dawned on me that I was in love with you," he claimed. "I'd persuaded myself that I didn't care about anybody, that I liked being alone."

"But not anymore?"

"No, not since I was with you over the summer." He swallowed twice and took a step nearer. "I've been so lonely without you, and I want to come home."

The request was so earnest, so filled with emotion, and she pressed her forehead to the cool glass and prayed for guidance.

"I thought you didn't have a home."

"Of course I do, silly. It's wherever you are."

It was the sweetest statement he could have uttered, and a spark of hope flared. She peered at him over her shoulder. He seemed weary and beaten down, his battles against the entire world having taken their toll.

"I left because I was afraid," he admitted.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of caring about you. Everyone I ever loved left me, so I learned to be the one who left first. I didn't know how to carry on any other way."

"You hurt me."

"For which I'm eternally sorry, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If you'll let me ... ?"

He extended his hand, and it hovered there, a link, a tether, to everything she'd ever wanted. Dare she believe him? Dare she trust him?

She spun toward him. With her on her knees in the window, and him standing on the floor, they were eye-to-eye for a change.

"Swear to me that it's forever."

"I swear it," he said without a flicker of hesitation.

"There can't be any other women."

"I don't want any other women. Only you."

"If I ever hear that you so much as glanced at a parlor maid, I'll do to you what Ophelia did to Percy. That kind of rage appeals to me."

He gave a mock shudder. "You drive a hard bargain, but I agree to your terms. If I hurt you again, I'll accept whatever punishment you choose to inflict."

"I want children."

"I'll give you a dozen."

"And I'll expect you to be around to help me raise them."

"I can't wait."

Tentatively, she reached out and twined her fingers with his.

"You'd better mean it," she warned. "I do."

"If you leave again, I'll find you and kill you for going."