Betrayal Page 15

  He sat slumped over his desk, his head buried in his hands, his frock coat gone, his neckcloth hanging limply around his shoulders. In front of him glimmered the metal of a pistol.

  For a moment, her heart stopped.

  But he was breathing and there was no pool of blood spreading over his papers. His breaths, though, were ruptured and much too loud.

  She took a step towards him. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

  His head jerked around, and her heart contracted at the sight of his blotchy, wet face.

  His mouth slack, he stared at her, before, with a jerky movement, he rubbed his sleeve over his face and turned his head away. “You remembered the secret passage.”

  “Of course.” With slow, measured steps, she approached the desk. “You showed it to me, remember? You said I could come and fetch you whenever I feel like it.”

  “A lifetime ago.” His voice was hoarse, his face still averted.

  “Yes,” she readily agreed. “But not forgotten.” She stopped beside his chair and leaned her hip against the desk. As she looked down on his head with the wild mop of tousled dark hair, it struck her once more how very much her sons resembled their father.

  A wave of tenderness swamped her, warmed her heart, and chased away the last remains of bitterness.

  She leaned forward and put her hand over the pistol on his desk. “What are you doing, Ash?” she repeated.

  He gave an unsteady laugh. One of his hands gripped the back of his neck. “The more honorable solution would have been to let Guy challenge me to a duel. But I could not risk inadvertently injuring him. I have destroyed enough lives as it is, don’t you think so?” He swallowed. “His young man might have been distraught.”

  “And so you decided to do what? Put a bullet through your brain?”

  His hand rubbed over his hair. “It seemed the cleanest solution.” He shrugged, then looked up at her, his heart in his eyes. “I wrote you a letter.”

  Pushing the pistol aside, she turned fully towards him. “Did you?” Gently, she stilled the hand on his neck. “And what does it say?”

  Uncertainty flickered through his eyes, tugged at her heart. “You can read it. It’s here.” With his free hand he gestured towards the desk.

  Yet she held his gaze. “Tell me.” She stroked his hair.

  He stared at her, then bit his lip. “How can you still bear to touch me?” he whispered bleakly, and closed his eyes on a shuddering breath.

  “Tell me, Ash.”

  Still she stroked him, even though he quivered like a wild stag under her hand.

  “An apology. It’s an apology for...” Pain spasmed his features. “For ruining your life. For believing those horrid things about you and Guy. For not trusting you.” His brows drew together. “And for not loving you enough,” he added hoarsely. Tears welled under his closed lids and slid down his cheeks, glittering like diamonds. “You must think me such a weakling. Such a stupid, stupid weakling.”

  She brushed the tears away, and he reached up to hold her palm fast against his cheek. His eyes opened and sought her gaze. “If it is any consolation, I wrecked my life and happiness, too. After you were gone, after both of you were gone, there was nobody left.”

  She ached for him. How could a mother do this to her child? “No friends.”

  Again, he glanced away. “No love. Not the simple, joyful kind. God...” He swallowed hard. “At the beginning I couldn’t even look at my son. You were right, you know. Right to take Finnian. It was bad enough to ruin one son.” He shuddered.

  Georgina put a hand under his chin and turned his head back to her. Her hands framed his face as she leaned towards him. “You did not ruin your son. Gareth has grown into a fine young man. Stubborn and obstinate at times, perhaps, but no more so than his father.” She gave him a gentle smile. “You did not ruin him, Ash.”

  It startled him, she could see. He searched her eyes. “I missed you,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible. His fingers curled around her wrists. “I missed you so much. You have no idea how much. Earlier you said that Guy was my dearest friend, but that’s not true. You were.” Closing his eyes, he turned his head a little and brushed his lips against her palm. Tingles spread up her arm and she had to bite her lip to keep back a moan. “I missed you night and day,” he whispered against her skin. “I missed the sound of your laughter; the smell of the flowers with which you filled the house. I missed you when I read or saw something that I would have shared with you.” He snuggled his face a bit deeper into her palm. “But most of all,” he continued, his voice now muffled by her hand, “I missed you at night. Not the intercourse, though I missed that, too. But simply to have you there with me. To reach out at night and be able to touch you.” He inhaled sharply. “You cannot imagine the vast loneliness of that bed.”

  Biting her lip, she brushed a strand of hair out of his face. “But surely there were other—”

  “Women?” At that his eyes opened. He took her hands in his and straightened. “A few times when I was in London.” He looked at their linked hands. A corner of his mouth quirked. “Paid sex to quieten the needs of the body. Coarse, is it not?” He glanced at her, his grey eyes stormy. “Never for the heart or the soul. Only to banish the loneliness.” He shrugged. “It never really worked, you know. When one has known...” He frowned. His thumbs rubbed over the back of her hands. “A simple rutting seems rather soulless in comparison.—Perhaps you know what I mean?”

  When she remained silent, he finally raised his eyes towards hers.

  She arched her brows. “Are you asking me whether I have slept with other men?”

  He had the grace to blush. “You’re right, I’m a bastard.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s just... Dear God, Georgina, the thought of you with Guy cut me up inside!”

  “But I never slept with your cousin.”

  “I know,” he said dully, and returned to studying their hands. “And I have no rights whatsoever...” He sighed. “Where do we go from here?” he asked quietly.

  Coldness seeped through her. The price... “I suppose Finn will stay here,” she said brightly. “It would be too heartless to separate them again.”

  His grip on her fingers tightened. “And you?”

  “I—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You really don’t need to say anything. You have got a life of your own in—where is it? That place near Frankfurt. And I suppose... Gareth said...” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, but he continued doggedly even though she could hear how much it cost him. “He said you have somebody who is courting you. I wish...” She saw how his brows knitted together, then he bent his head lower over their joined hands. “I hope he is going to make you happy, Ginny. I really hope he is...” His voice faltered.

  Dismayed, she stared at him. “Are you sending me away, Ash?”

  “No!” And a little less fierce, “No. But you must want to return to your life and your home. How could you want to stay in England after...” A drop fell onto her hand. “I ruined your life once, Ginny, and by God, I’m not going to do it a second time!” he gritted, his fingers digging into her skin.

  Another drop hit her hand, and suddenly her heart lightened. “Ash, will you look at me?”

  “Perhaps, for the boys’ sake you can bring yourself to visit from time to time,” he continued hastily, his head still lowered. “I would pay the expense, of course. And I would s-stay out of your way when you’re here. And if your... your...”

  “Ash.”

  “...husband wishes to accompany you...”

  Georgina rolled her eyes. And he called his son stubborn? “I am not going to marry Martin Renner, if that is what you are talking about.”

  “Oh.” He sounded startled. “No?” But even this was not enough to make him look at her. “Have I put you off marriage forever then?” he asked hoarsely.

  “I am not adverse to the concept in general, no.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Good. Then—
”

  “Ash, won’t you look at me?”

  “I can’t,” he said brokenly.

  “Whyever not?”

  He lowered his head until his forehead pressed against their hands. “If I look at you now I will go down on my knees and beg you to stay. And I can’t do that because I would only ruin your life once more.” Wetness smeared over her hands.

  It tugged at her heart. He tugged at her heart. Stronger and deeper than anybody else ever had. “Ash, please look at me.”

  She ran her hand through his hair, and he trembled under her touch.

  “Ash...”

  Finally, finally, he lifted his head and revealed his face—his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks wet. He stared at her and she thought she saw desperation in his gaze. His mouth tightened. “How you must hate me.”

  “For a little while.” She smiled to keep back her own tears. “A long time ago.”

  He drew a shuddering breath. “I despise myself. You have no idea how much.”

  “For believing your mother had your best interests in mind?” Georgina lifted a shoulder.

  “For not loving you enough to trust you.”

  “Oh, sweetling, we were so impossibly young back then. What did we know about love?” She gave him a rueful smile. “What did we know about life?”

  “But I knew you. And I knew Guy.” Slowly he shook his head. “There is no excuse for what I did. None.” He looked beyond her to where the pistol was lying on the desk. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “So you could put a bullet into your head at your own leisure?” she asked crisply. “So in the years to come, Mrs. Cornwell could lead visitors through the house and show them the room in which the seventh earl shot himself? Perhaps I should advise her not to remove the stains from the wall.” The thought alone made her blood run cold.

  His gaze flew to hers. “Wouldn’t it have been the more honorable thing? At least you wouldn’t have had to witness what sort of weakling I am. And—I wouldn’t have to witness you walking out of my life once again.” This time, he did not avert his eyes from hers, and so she could see the naked hunger in them and the desperation. Very slowly, he slid from his chair until he kneeled in front of her. “I am sorry for not trusting you. I am sorry for destroying your life. If I could rip out my heart and put it down at you feet, I would do so at once.

  Hot tears pricked in Georgina’s eyes, and she decided she would risk it all, would risk body and soul because only when he was near did she feel fully alive. “But what would I want with your heart,” she whispered, “when I need it to be in your body, beating in your chest, so very, very strong?” With gentle hands she cupped his jaw and stroked her thumbs over his cheeks.

  He stared at her a moment longer, before he leaned into her body. “Forgive me. Forgive me,” he said, his face pressed against her gown. And when she petted his hair and shoulders, his fingers clenched in the material. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Never,” she murmured, and putting two fingers under his chin, raised his face to her kisses. Soft and light like butterflies until his mouth opened underneath hers and need exploded in her stomach. Greedily she sucked on his tongue and moaned when his hands travelled from her waist to her bottom to knead her flesh.

  And then he stood and she was in his arms—and it came all back: all the wild emotions, the powerful longings and the all-consuming need she had ever felt for this man. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, her fingers pressing into his muscles as if testing his strength. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and she got the impression he would never, never let her go.

  She sighed a little, then gasped as he pressed his hips against her. Her eyes shot open. “God, Ash, you’re...”

  “Randy as hell,” he agreed.

  She wriggled against him and revelled in the pressure of his growing erection against her belly. He made an appreciative noise deep in his throat.

  Suddenly he grinned. “I could never control myself around you, don’t you know that?—Oooooh, do that again, will you?” His arms tightened and lifted her off the floor. “Do it again,” he whispered against her throat, and gently sucked her skin between his teeth, making little darts of pleasure shoot through her body and explode in her head. The last constrictions around her heart and soul fell away. Sudden, wild laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Ash... Ash, Guy is still waiting outside. He—”

  “Oh. Then please excuse me for a moment.” He set her back on the floor, one arm still possessively clamped around her back. “Guy!” he bellowed. “Go away and leave us in peace. So...” He turned his attention back on her, while she tried to smother her giggles against his shoulder. His brows drew together and he reached out to run the back of one finger over her cheek. “So...”

  Her hilarity slowly died away, and all her wild urges faded as her sense of reality set in. Somberly she looked up at him. “So?”

  His chest heaved with a sigh. “Where do we go from here, Ginny?” He searched her face. “If you decide to come upstairs with me now, you must know I will never let you go again. Is that what you want?”

  She laid her hand against his chest. His heart beat rapidly against her palm like a metronome of flesh and blood setting the metre for their lives, their lust.

  Their love.

  Perhaps it was madness to risk her heart again with him. But how empty would her life be without taking this risk! How lonely—and so full of regrets. And the dowager countess would have won the game after all.

  Never!

  And so she stood on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his tight mouth. “I love you.” She let her whisper caress his skin. “I love you.”

  His chest expanded. “God, Ginny... Ginny...” His mouth sought hers as if he were a wanderer in the desert, withered by the sun and the sand, and she life-giving water.

  Eventually he stepped back and, wordless, held out his hand. She slipped her fingers into his and let him lead her into the hidden passage of stone. Trustingly, she followed him into the dusty dimness, full of dark shadows that stretched over the walls. Yet this time, she hardly noticed them, for all her being, all her thoughts were focussed on the man before her, on the pressure of his palm against hers, on his scent, his heat.

  It was only when they reached his bedroom that sudden, inexplicable shyness gripped her as if she were a blushing virgin bride once again.

  He drew her against his body, and his warmth and scent enveloped her. “Are you nervous?” he murmured against her ear.

  She lifted her shoulder. “A little. It has been so long...”

  He laughed unsteadily, then gave her earlobe a quick, but tender lovebite. “And I am terrified. I am terrified I won’t please you, but most of all I’m terrified to turn around and find that this has all been only a dream and you have vanished.”

  She drew back a little to look up at him. “Oh, I don’t think I will.” A sweet smile bloomed on her face, filled her with warmth. Her hand wandered to the buttons of his waistcoat “Shall we find out?”

  Chapter 17

  And so it began.

  With her fingers slipping the buttons of his waistcoat free. With the tantalising brush of her knuckles against his chest and belly. Even through the fine lawn of his shirt, her touch set his body on fire.

  The feelings crowding in his heart were nearly enough to bring Ash to his knees.

  That she would touch him thus after all that had happened. That he could still invoke lust and desire in her. That she could still love him.

  The last he didn’t dare to believe, not fully. For how could she love him, truly, deeply, after all he had done? After he had ruined her and sent her fleeing the country, all alone, desperate and heartsick?

  “Ash...” She rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his cheek. “You’re thinking. Don’t think.” Warmth and humour coloured her voice and turned it into a caress. “Or have you forgotten everything about this act and are trying to remember? Perhaps I ought to supply you with some hints and pointers.”

&nbs
p; Surprised, he gave a choked laugh. “Minx,” he said, and caught her lips in another kiss. She had always been able to make him laugh. Smiles did not come easy to him, but with her, everything became easy. At the thought, regret sliced through him, about all the years that he could have had with her and that he had lost through his own stupidity and stubbornness.

  As if she had sensed his altered mood, she broke the kiss and stepped back. She raised a brow. “You have indeed forgotten how to do this, Ash,” she said lightly, and drew her hands up his shoulders. “First you shed your clothes, like this.” His waistcoat fell to the floor. “And like this...” Her fingers set to work on the fastenings of his shirt.

  Ash shook his head. “When have I ever taught you that removing one’s clothes is obligatory to the act?” he asked, trying to match her lightness. He knew he failed, though, because his voice sounded hoarse and scratchy even to his own ears.

  She threw him a look through her lashes as if to gauge his mood. “Really, my lord. Not obligatory.” Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, so sweet it made his heart ache. God, how he had missed her! “But so much more pleasurable,” she added, and then tugged at his shirt.

  He would have been a knave not to help her. He drew the garment over his head and let it fall to the floor. His chest expanded on a deep breath while he stared at her.

  She, in turn, stared at his naked chest. “Oh Ash, look at you!” She bit her lip, before she raised her eyes to his. “You’re magnificent!” As if against her own volition, her gaze dropped to his torso once more to roam lovingly over each dip and cord of muscle.

  His chest expanded on another breath. Her regard was... gratifying. No, more, so much more! Under her admiring gaze he felt the lingering misery slowly seep out of him.

  “There’s...” Her hands fluttered through the air, drew a circle. “There’s so much of you.”

  Again he gave a smothered laugh. “Touch me,” he said, and again his voice was hoarse—but with an altogether different emotion this time. “Touch me, Ginny.”