Heartless (46 page)

34

The duke’s plan failed. Michaella was too shy, too withdrawn an individual to draw out the stubbornly silent duchess. She tried but when her attempts came up against monosyllabic replies time and time again, she gave up, weary and utterly defeated—and a little disappointed in her sister for being so selfish.

Life might have progressed this way for quite some time had not the duke finally decided it was time to move on. He loved his wife desperately, worried over her constantly, and was blindingly jealous of his own dead child who seemed to be the only focus she had in her life. He grieved for the child too but life had to go on and one had to grow away from tragedy to survive.

Three months after the child’s death, Derringer marched into his wife’s morning room where Leandra sat with Michaella. The ladies glanced up at him as he entered, their expressions faintly curious. Leandra sighed once and looked away.

The duke, while being heartbroken by this same attitude every time she saw him, felt his temper rising at the same time. “Madam, a word,” he bit out.

Michaella squeaked in alarm and darted a look at her sister. She was worried about Leandra and although she didn’t like the duke’s tone or angry stance, even she had to agree that this grief of Leandra’s was bordering on obsession and therefore unhealthy. So she turned to the duchess, who was staring at her husband as if he’d suddenly sprouted a third arm, and urged her to go with him.

Leandra rose to her feet and started across the floor. Derringer turned on his heel and walked out, assuming she followed. He did not stop until he stood outside her bedchamber. With a mocking gesture, he indicated she precede him into the chamber. With a questioning look, Leandra obeyed. She swung around with a start when he turned the key in the lock.

“Hart, what are you doing?” she asked.

The duke circled around her, giving her a long searching look. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He seemed to be trying to decide something and Leandra wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what it was.

He took two steps forward, backing her into the door. Leandra, startled, could do nothing but stare up at him as he placed both hands on the wood above her head, successfully blocking her in with his tall body.

Leandra swallowed with difficulty when she recognized the emotion blazing in her husband’s eyes was not anger, but rather desire. How could he still desire her after…?

“Not acceptable, Merri,” he whispered harshly, lowering his mouth to hers.

She had been wrong. Some of it had been anger, after all. But he did desire her, his kiss heating her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, stopping off at some critical places in between.

Leandra gave as good as she got, arching into him, drawing him closer, begging with her body for the mastery of his. She craved his lovemaking, had been afraid for months that he’d never touch her again.

It was with a severe shock that she realized her face was wet. And something had changed in her husband’s kiss. Pulling away, she wondered if she were crying, not the least surprised to realize she was.

What effectively stunned her was the fact that the duke was crying, too.

Feeling more tears well up and slip down her cheeks in the face of his obvious pain, Leandra choked on a sob.

His hands no longer lay flat on the door, but were holding her face, his forehead pressed to hers. She copied him, her hands framing his face, gently, her thumbs wiping away the tears.

He growled, in anger and frustration. Manfully swallowing the convulsive sobs that begged for release, he shook her a little, saying, “Dammit, Merri, tell me!”

She blinked up at him. “Tell you what?” she asked, her voice a harsh, tear-choked whisper.

He met her eyes. “What do I have to do? What will it take? What do you want from me?”

Her heart skipped a beat at his suffering. She could have asked him the same question, really. But she didn’t.

Gazing up into shimmering black eyes, Leandra whispered, “Make love to me, Hart.”

“Merri, my love, seduction was not what I intended,” murmured her husband later. He wound a lock of her hair around his finger, seeming quite fascinated with the play of the late afternoon sunlight on the glossy dark strands.

Leandra smiled. “Indeed? You did not set out to seduce me, dearest husband? I must confess I’m disappointed you only wanted to talk.” She pretended to pout.

Derringer leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her. Serious lines etched his face, a tinge of sadness curving his lips. She reached up, tracing one finger along his face, along the scar marring an already harsh countenance. How sad she’d been upon beholding his injury! To learn his own cousin was the cause, a man she’d once considered a friend, had only served to deepen her agony.

He didn’t flinch away though his eyes closed, briefly, at her gentle caress. His lashes fluttered open, black eyes spearing her where she lay, half beneath him.

She tensed, knowing what was coming. “I am sorry about the baby, Merri. And I know how much you wanted our child.”

She reached up to stop his words, still too grief stricken to talk about it. “Please don’t, Hart. Not now. I can’t—” Her voice broke on a sob.

“Don’t you see, Merri? You have to. Prestwich told me that although you converse with him as if nothing weighs upon your mind, you would never discuss the baby. I know you don’t speak to Lady Michaella about it. How will you grow away from the pain if you refuse to even acknowledge it?”

She pushed him away from her and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. What an abrupt change from her mood of just moments before! Tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want to grow away from the pain, Hart! I lost a baby. Your baby. I will never stop thinking about it, never stop remembering, grieving. Just let me be!”

She swung her feet toward the edge of the bed, attempting to escape her husband’s demands but he snaked his arm around her waist before she could. “Leandra, this is cannot go on! I will not let you avoid me as you’ve been doing.”

“I have to avoid you, Hart,” she cried in anguish. “It’s all my fault. Don’t you see? If I had listened to you, to Levi, and to Adam, I would have been safe at home. The baby would be safe. I killed our baby! How can you ever learn to love me now?”

Derringer was so shocked at this that she was able to wrench from his arms and dart into her dressing room. He didn’t follow. How did he miss that her despondency was due to guilt? The thought had crossed his own mind that perhaps it would not have happened had she obeyed his command to stay put. But he had just as quickly determined that the anxiety over the months of his disappearance would have been enough.

It was her final words that succeeded in propelling him from the rumpled bed. She believed he didn’t love her? That he never could? How could she think such a nonsensical thing?

He found her huddled in a chair before the fire in the sitting room. Her shoulders shook with the force of her silent tears. She looked so tiny, so dejected that Derringer thought he might cry as well… again. He was becoming a veritable watering pot, he thought in disgust.

He approached her cautiously, like he would an injured animal. He reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and sat down in the chair. “Leandra, love, we really do need to discuss this, I think.” She shook her head, still too distraught to speak. “You say it is your fault.” She nodded. “All this time, you have been blaming yourself.” Again, a dejected little nod. “And you believe I blame you as well.” This time, she didn’t nod. She sobbed harder.

“Oh, Merri, Merri,” he said fondly, forcing her head up, forcing her to see his sincerity. “I do not blame you. I think it might have happened no matter what you did. I am surprised you did not lose the baby when you were informed I was dead.”

Her tears stopped falling and Derringer gently brushed the moisture from her cheeks. She still said nothing, just gazed at him through huge gold-flecked eyes.

“As for the never loving you part,” he said with a half-smile, “No, don’t you dare start crying again, Leandra Derringer. Wait until you hear what I have to say.” She sniffed once and dutifully held back the sobs that threatened. “I have a confession to make.” Her eyes widened slightly. “It’s true, I’ve been keeping secrets.” He nodded at her, his lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Despicable, I know, but there it is.” And he stopped.

Leandra stared at him in disbelief. He had actually told her nothing. What great secret did he keep from her? Other than every other thing about him she’d only recently learned.

His smile grew and she felt the urge to hit him. “What secret?” she finally asked.

“I love you.”

The End

Continue reading for an excerpt

from Jaimey Grant’s novel

Deception
.

Chapter One

London, 1818

“Levi Sterling, you must be jesting!”

Lord Greville had the grace to look abashed, but he was desperate. He fixed Bri with his warmest smile, a smile designed to melt the coldest of hearts, and replied, “If I wasn’t in such trouble, I would not ask.”

She released a sigh of exasperation. “Will you ever learn? How many times must I rescue you?”

Despite her frustration, Lady Brianna Prestwich was genuinely fond of her incorrigible cousin. He was quickly earning a reputation as a wastrel, however. The strain in her answering smile spoke of her concern.

All smiles fled when she saw a smashing racing curricle pull up in the square outside. The devilishly handsome driver had black hair and chilly gray-green eyes. He would be in a rage if he found out about Levi’s latest debts.

Bri’s husband, Sir Adam was home.

Levi joined her at the window just in time to see Adam’s graceful leap from the carriage. He may have appeared small next to the more muscular Lord Greville, but there was something about the older man that made Levi just a bit nervous.