The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (39 page)

“So she said.”

“But you did not believe her?”

“Of course I believed her. It was just a bad day. I did not have a clear head. You became caught up in it. I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Ah, at last, the apology.” His friend lifted his glass in the form of a toast. “So we are still friends then. And your wife?”

Drew lifted his hand and let it slide across his face, then grimaced. “Hates me…She’s asleep in there.” His hand indicated the bedchamber.

“I’ve seen her a lot about town. With her family,” Peter added pointedly. “And before you ask, or think it, I’ve not spoken to her. I was looking for you. Your absence has been noted you know. Society thinks your marriage already on the rocks.”

“It’s no one’s business.”

“I am merely saying what I’ve heard. It’s not my opinion. I only came tonight because I thought she’d be out and hoped you’d be here, seeing as I have not seen you anywhere else.”

“Mary’s unwell. That is the only reason she is here.”

“Unwell? And you? Where have you been?”

A bitter sound of amusement broke from Drew’s throat. “Here, there and nowhere, and tonight I am here because my conscience has kicked. She is leaving me, I think. I overheard her aunt persuading her to go.”

“You will let that happen… Have you been spending any time with her? Or have you been hanging on to this damned grudge against the both of us, for dancing one dance. I know how stubborn you are.”

Drew’s hand ran through his hair, then fell. “It is not that.”

Peter drank his brandy, then stood and walked over to collect the decanter. He brought it back and filled Drew’s glass then his own. “You love the woman, does she not know?”

“She does not believe it. I have a certain reputation you see…” Drew lifted his glass in a salute and gave Peter a wry grin.

“And you have a certain temper, and a streak of pig-headedness as strong as iron.” Peter set his drink down and then caught Drew out; leaning a hand on either arm of the chair Drew sat in, his face hovered before Drew’s. “What do you think of Kilbride?”

“What?” Drew looked into his friend’s dark brown eyes with bewilderment.

“Do you agree with the way he treats Caro?”

“Of course not. You know I do not.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?

“What?” Drew had no idea what Peter was speaking of.

“How frequently have you spoken to your wife since the night you caused that fracas?”

Drew did not answer.

“Have you taken her out once? No one has seen you together since then, yet she has been out.”

Drew took a breath, but he was not explaining to Peter how unlovable he felt himself.

Peter pushed off the chair with a growl, and straightened, then stood staring down at Drew. “You said she is unwell, could that not be due to your silence and your distance?”

It was no more than he had feared himself… But his conscience kicked too hard for him to admit it. “She has her family.”

“While enduring your iron will, and your will when it is against a person is not a pleasant thing, Drew. You more than most should know how painful silence and being disregarded are. As painful as violence, perhaps… I have watched it create and change who you are. Do you think me blind? You have hidden who you are within, but I know.”

Drew would have stood, but Peter leaned and gripped his shoulder to push him back. “Have no fear, I have no desire to fight with you again. I am not touching the subject you hate. But I wish you to know, that I know. I have seen the impact of such bitterness on you. Do not emulate what happened to you and destroy what you have with this girl… She is in love with you too. It screamed from her the night I came here. She was afraid for you. Making excuses for you, when I presume you had charged off in some rage…” Peter lifted an eyebrow.

Drew did not deny it. It was true.

Did she love him?

I hate you, when you’re like this. I suppose this is what you hoped for? You have pushed me away from the moment we wed. We will not let her suffer like this.
Everything Peter said was endorsed by the words Mary and her aunt had thrown at him earlier.

“I know.” Drew replied simply, “I have become very aware of the mess I have made of things today. Mary made it clear – I was sitting here digesting it when you arrived.” Drew looked up at his friend. The person who had been his sole supporter for many years of his life.

Silence was equal to violence… had he been that dreadful a husband…

Peter emptied his glass, his adam’s apple shifting as he drank.

Drew drank down his brandy too. Its fiery heat burnt his throat in a satisfying penance. Peter reached for the decanter and filled his and Drew’s glass again.

He set the decanter down beside the broken chessboard and retook his seat. “Anyway, I have said my piece, but just beware, if you have treated her with distrust and pushed her away, I am not surprised the girl is thinking of deserting you.”

Drew smiled at his friend, his lips stiff, accepting the advice for what it was… “and yet you have never deserted me…”

They both laughed, because they both knew there had been numerous times when Drew’s anger and stubbornness had tested their friendship.

But then Drew’s mind turned to his sister. She knew the truth of rough handling.

“I’ve seen Caro too,” Peter said.

Obviously the link with Caro was clear to Peter too. There was desirable roughness that women enjoyed in a bed, and then there was cruel brutality. The second his sister had in droves.

“I’ve bought a house for her. I’m moving her in there next week. But say nothing, I cannot risk it getting out. At least some good has come of my marriage, Mary’s money has let me do it. Whether Mary stays or not I’ll have Caro settled.”

* * *

Male laughter rang from the sitting room as Mary opened her eyes and sat up. The bedchamber was dark but a line of light spilled in through a crack where the door had been left ajar.

The pain in her head had eased, but her limbs were shaky.

The laughter died.

“I’ve seen Caro too.”

Lord Brooke. Andrew must have reconciled with his friend at some point.

“I’ve bought a house for her. I’m moving her in there next week. But say nothing, I cannot risk it getting out…”
It’s true. He has a mistress
. “At least some good has come of my marriage, Mary’s money has let me do it. Whether Mary stays or not I’ll have Caro settled.” Nausea gripped at Mary’s empty stomach, but her heart was empty and sick too.

She lay back down and pulled the covers over her shoulder. She did not cry, the well of her sorrow was dry. She could not continue crying for him. She
would
leave. She could not stay. Tomorrow when he went out to ride she’d go, and then it would be over.

The men’s voices continued in more bland conversation on clubs and horses, and eventually the sound lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight; your wife will come about. You should simply let her see how you feel for her, and do not ignore her, and hold your temper and there you have it.”

Drew smiled. “Goodnight.”

“May Cupid be with you, my friend.” Peter turned away and walked along the hall. Drew shut the door. His hand stayed on the handle and his forehead pressed against the wood.

He thought of the day her father had found them in the inn. Of lying awake and watching Mary the night before her father had come. That had been how it ought to be, the two of them. Wholly and entirely together. Melded. She had been made for him, he was still the first few footprints in her snow…

He thought of Caro, lying in the snow as a child making snow angels and making him laugh.

Instead of fighting with Mary’s family, and trying to pull her away from her family, to keep her to himself, he and Mary should have been lying in the bloody crisp fresh snow of their life and making damned snow angels, completely claiming the ground.

But it was the wrong time of year for snow… Hay then, they ought to be in fields crushing the damned hay.

He smiled, a twisted smile. Solely for himself.

He would repair this. He would make it right. He would try harder. He would be what she needed, who she needed… if it damned well killed him.

She would have to show him how to be that man, but she was capable of that.

He let go of the door handle and turned to the bedroom. The first thing to do was share her bed again.

He sighed out his breath, then began unbuttoning his evening coat. He did not go into the room. He slipped it off and draped it over the back of a chair, then undressed until he only wore his shirt. He walked about the room quietly snuffing out the candles. The last one, he picked up and carried into their bedchamber. She was facing toward the door, on the side of the bed he had always slept until she had come into his life.

She had taken it over – his bed, his life. His body. His mind. His heart.

He’d made mistakes. He was going to correct them…

He would ensure she knew how he felt every day of her life from this day forward. He turned the sheet back, put the candle down on the chest beside the bed and then slipped beneath the covers beside her.

His heart ached. Terribly. It hurt as much as when Marlow had first broken his rib. No. It was even more aggressive than physical pain.

Her dark hair spilled across his pillows and the sheet, not plaited.

He turned and blew out the candle, wrapping them in darkness.

His fingers reached out and touched her hair, he let it run through his hand a couple of times, as he listened to her breathing. Then he moved closer to her, and rested a palm on her hip.

It had been far too long since he had loved her physically. He’d pretended he did not love her with his heart, because of the pain he was in now, and yet if she left him, he would be in even greater pain. He did not wish her to leave. In the morning he would show himself to her – naked in body and heart and soul, as she had shown him how to be, and he had rejected, because the idea scared him to death…It still did, but losing her scared him more.

He wished her to be happy; to be able to rely on him. He had been so insistent that she only rely on him before… but that had been about fear… possessiveness had torn him apart. Now things would be different. She knew who he was, exactly who he was, she had seen all his faults. If she loved him, if he could win her back, then, there could be no weakness, he need not fear, just love. He would just love her.

He fell asleep thinking of hay fields, and snow, and Mary, and what they would do in them when they found a property for themselves.

Chapter 29

When Mary woke in the early light of dawn, it was as if she was dreaming. She had dreamt of this so many times.

Andrew lay flush against her back, and his hands were beneath her chemise, splayed across her stomach and kneading her breast as his erection rubbed against her bottom in shallow stokes.

She was aroused. He’d aroused her body while she’d slept. The short and shallow rhythm of her breaths filled the room, and her skin burned hot, she glowed under his spell. She had missed this so much. This had always worked between them, and like this she could believe he loved her.

Desire swelled in the place between her legs as she let it continue, half awake, and half in a blissful dream.

His hand slid down across her stomach.

A moan slipped from her throat. She’d longed to feel adored, to feel wanted and treasured again, and yet the moan was part bitter pain.

He does not love me.

His teeth nipped at her neck as he drew her bottom more firmly back against him. His erection pressing between her buttocks.

“I love you,” he whispered against her neck. “I’m sorry. I have been a fool. Let me show you, that I love you again. Let me prove that I can be the man you need. I want to be inside you again. I’ve missed you, sweetheart. Oh God, I’ve missed you.”

Lies, all lies.

Mary shut her eyes. She should tell him to stop, but she could not. The need inside her burned to know his love making just one last time before she left. She would never experience this again.

I love him even if he does not love me.

She could claim this moment from him – let him give and just take. What harm in that? The harm was already done.

She’d never love another man. This was her last chance to feel like this.

What harm in grasping one last memory, even if it was a lie, it would be precious to her.

His fingers slipped between her legs and into her. He must know she was aroused, she was soaking wet for him.

She let him roll her to her back and he stripped off his shirt then took off her chemise. The smell of last night’s brandy carried on his breath, and his own personal musky cologne hung in the air. Lust spiralled in her abdomen with a tight longing and her arms slid above her head as he kissed a path down between her breasts and across her stomach. She shut her eyes tight, she did not want to see his face, or his eyes, and know the lies they carried.

He took his pleasure caressing the place between her thighs with his tongue and teeth, and she came for him, the little death swirling over her, shattering into bright lights and spinning pieces. Her arms fell and her fingers gripped his soft hair.

She absorbed every sense and sound to preserve it to memory, for all the years she would be alone.

When he opened her legs with his, and slid into her, the moan that came from her throat was half sob.

He withdrew and pressed back in, coupling with her in an enchanting intimate dance.

“Open your eyes for me, Mary, darling.” His whisper brushed her cheek.

She swallowed back the urge to cry and did – looking at the dark amber and honey shades in his eyes – one last time.

She could not see lies there. She saw love, as he withdrew from her and gently slid back in, weaving an excruciating bliss into her blood.

“I love you,” he whispered, withdrawing and re-entering.

You do not!

“God Mary, I am such a fool. Can you forgive me? I will be a better a man, I swear it to you. No more games. We will work things out between us.”