“Of course they haven’t been—”
“Then where’s the difference? Max, she has a spot on her face. It doesn’t mean she’s more vulnerable than anyone else. All it means is that she’s got a spot on her face. If you give her the support she needs to deal with how other people react to it, she’ll be fine.”
He walked around me, heading for the stable. “You don’t know anything about what she has to deal with. You haven’t been there during the nights she cried herself to sleep because her classmates made fun of her.”
“Max.” I grabbed his arm and stopped him. “No, I don’t know exactly what she’s gone through, although I think I have a good idea. I didn’t have a terribly happy childhood, either. I was the fat kid in class, so I know what it’s like to be ridiculed and poked fun at, what it’s like to feel different. But I also know that you trying to keep her from experiencing life—the good along with the bad—is going to backfire on you. Rather than sheltering her from hurt, she’s going to end up neurotic and even more unhappy than she is now.”
“Thank you, Doctor Riordan,” he snapped, and continued around me. “I suppose your solution to keep her from being neurotic and unhappy is to let her run wild and encourage her to take dangerous chances?”
I trotted behind him. “Not dangerous, no, but—”
He stopped and spun around to face me. “Riding horses, for instance.”
“Yes, that is a perfect example of what I mean.” I put a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Max, I know you’ve got something against horses—I don’t know if you were scared by one when you were a kid or you just haven’t been around them or what—but I can assure you that it wouldn’t be dangerous for Melody to learn how to ride. She is crazy about horses, just like every other little girl her age. What can it hurt if you lighten up a bit and let her learn to ride?”
He grabbed my wrist in a hard grip, pulling it from his chest. “What can it hurt? She could end up dead!”
“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous—”
“Am I? Tell that to Trevor Benedict.”
I wiggled my fingers to let him know he was hurting my wrist. His eyes were bright with anger, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Who’s Trevor Benedict?”
“My friend. We grew up together, went to university together. He was the best man at my wedding, and I at his. He’s dead now.”
Uh oh. I didn’t like where this was heading. I swallowed. Hard. “I’m sorry—”
“You don’t think horses are dangerous? Neither did Trevor, until the day he fell off a horse and broke his neck. He lived for three years after that, lived in a hell where he was completely paralyzed, unable to do anything for himself, unable to care for his wife and baby. He wasted away—slowly, bitterly, his body destroyed— but his mind lucid to the end. He died cursing himself. Tell me again how horses aren’t dangerous, Tessa. Tell me, because I’d like to go to Trevor’s heartbroken wife and fatherless son and explain it to them.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks. There was so much pain in his eyes, I wanted to cradle him to my body and keep him safe. I understood why he was so adamant about keeping Melody from hurt, but I knew that it was wrong. “Oh, Max, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I see now why you think riding is such a bad idea, but you have to understand that for every tragedy like the one that happened to your friend, there’s thousands of other people who ride without once hurting themselves. Trying to shelter Melody from the pain that comes with being a member of the human race isn’t the answer.”
“Being a member of the human race doesn’t break your neck.”
“No, it doesn’t, but it can break your heart. Oh, Max, don’t you see, you’re doing more than just trying to keep her physically safe; you’re trying to protect her from everything, every hurt, not just physical, but emotional pain, too. You’re trying to wrap her up in a protective cocoon of your love so nothing will harm her, but if you do that, you also cut her off from the things she needs from people, things like companionship, and friendship, and loving and hating and all the emotions in between. I know what it’s like to live emotionally withdrawn from the world, and I wouldn’t wish that sort of limbo on anyone, especially not a young girl ready to step out and make her life what she wants it to be.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” Max’s voice was low, throbbing with pain. “She’s all I have. Her mother has started a new life for herself and doesn’t want to be burdened with an awkward twelve-year-old with a ruined face. We only have each other, and I won’t allow her to endanger herself over some foolish childhood desire she’ll grow out of in a few years. I won’t allow her to throw away her life the way Trevor did his.”
“You’re not alone, Max,” I said softly, moving closer to him despite the warning his body language was screaming. I traced my thumb along his tight jawline, willing it to loosen up a bit. I knew what I wanted to say, what my heart wanted to say, but to say it would be to risk the sort of anguish I hadn’t felt since Peter died. I looked into his angry eyes filled with so much agony, and the last little barrier around my heart crumbled away to nothing. “You’re not alone—you have me, too.”
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, then slowly, finger by finger, he released my wrist and walked past me toward the house.
I stood there for a minute, so overwhelmed with pain that I couldn’t draw a breath, then slowly I turned and headed back to the lake.
Max’s issues with Melody went much deeper than I had imagined, and now they were tangled up with both of us. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy untangling them, but I couldn’t let things stay as they were. It might destroy everything between us, but I had to try. I had to help them both.
I sat back against a tree overlooking the lake, and thought about things for a long, long time.
Monday
September 6
8:40 P.M.
Fainting couch
I have a plan.
Tuesday
September 7
7:33 A.M.
Library
The plan is good. Which is nice, because nothing else in my life is good right now. Well, except the nights. The nights are breathtakingly splendiferous.
Wednesday
September 8
10:57 A.M.
Linen closet
Tomorrow the plan goes into effect. It is simple, it is straightforward, and I’m praying it works. Because honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can go on spending wonderfully warm, sensual, erotic nights in Max’s arms but have a cold, unforgiving stranger wearing his face during the day. I want more from him than just his body. Why can’t he see that?
The last three days have been very hard for all of us. I haven’t been writing because . . . well, I haven’t felt like it. Who wants to write about life when it’s so sucky? Not surprisingly, Max’s bad mood has seemed to trickle down to everyone else in the house. Barbara and Henry had a rousing spat over something he did with one of her friends—I’m not quite sure what; she won’t say— and now they’re not talking to each other. Frankly, I wouldn’t think that was the end of the earth except Barbara needs an audience, and without Henry, she’s turned to me. She’s worse than a limpet. I’ve taken to hiding from her.
And then there’s Max. . . . Ah, Max. Such a nummy but frustrating man. I didn’t know quite how to take his noncomment on Sunday—you know, when I told him he had me if he wanted me, and all he did was walk away. At first I figured it was a rejection, then I decided I wasn’t going down without a fight and if he wanted to reject me, he’d have to do it with words right to my tear-stained face.
His actions that night also gave me pause.
I had allowed Ellis to get me ready for bed, something I hadn’t done to that point because I really felt like I needed some privacy, and bedtime was the only time I had it.
“How long have you and Reg been married?” I asked Ellis as she unbuttoned the rich brown-and-gold dinner dress that for some reason made me feel very pretty despite th
e fussy kilted underskirt and draped panniers.
“Mr. Crighton and I have been married eighteen years.”
“Wow. That’s a long time. I was married for sixteen when my husband died.”
She peeled me out of the dress and shook it out, peering closely at it to see if she had to clean any spots.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I spilled Hollandaise on it. And there’s a spot on the bodice that’s lobster salad. And a tiny dab of orange cream on the sleeve. I tried to wipe it off as best I could.”
She just glared at me.
“I said I’m sorry!”
“Some people can feed themselves without throwing their food around.”
I turned around and let her strip the corset cover off. “Yeah, well, I’ve always been a messy eater. I’ll try to confine my food to my plate tomorrow.”
“That would be a pleasant change.”
She loosened the corset. I gave a sigh of relief and scratched myself through my combinations. “So, if you’ve been married such a long time, you must have learned something about men, right?”
Her nostrils flared as she handed me the frothy silk nightgown. I skimmed out of my combinations and into the nightie.
“The same might be said of a woman who was married for sixteen years.”
“It might be, except for the fact that my husband was twenty years older than me and he’d worked out all of his emotional issues by the time I met him. So with regards to men with baggage, no, I haven’t learned a lot. Oh, that’s not to say that Reg has baggage,” I added quickly, seeing her eyes open wide in affront. “I just meant that he is your age and that you guys probably grew together.”
Ellis conceded that was so as she started brushing out my hair.
I gnawed on my lower lip for a minute, trying to think how to come right out and ask what I wanted to know. There was certainly no love lost between us, but I trusted Ellis to tell me the truth, no matter how painful I might find it. In fact, I was sure she relished those sorts of truths more than anything flattering to my ego. “Do you . . . do you think I’m all wrong for Max?” I finally blurted out.
She stopped brushing for the count of three, then resumed. “It’s not my place to speculate about my superiors.”
“Oh, come on, Ellis, it’s just you and me here. I know you don’t like me, and I know I make your life a living hell, and I’m sorry I’m not the duchess you envisioned for the job, but I’d really like to know what you think. You’re smart and . . . and . . . well, to be honest, I have a feeling you see more than you let on. I’d appreciate you sharing your thoughts. Am I just fooling myself that I can help Max? Is the whole relationship going to end in disaster? Do I stand a chance of succeeding with him?”
She tied my hair back at my neck with a satin ribbon, gathered up the dinner-stained dress, and headed for the door, pausing for a moment before leaving. “No. That’s up to you. Yes.”
The door closed quietly behind her, leaving me a bit stunned. Did she just say something nice to me, in a roundabout, Ellis sort of way?
I curled up in bed, thinking about what I was going to do with Max. Male voices rumbled from the shared bathroom, indicating the man in question was taking a bath. I toyed with the thought of trotting in there and offering to scrub his back, but the cold, icy depths of anger visible in his eyes earlier when he’d turned away from me had my heart in a frigid grip. I didn’t need to add rejection of my body on top of everything else he’d decided he could do without.
I was just snuggling down to read the Illustrated London News when there was a brief tap at the bathroom door. I stared at it in surprise. “Max?”
My heart did an interesting combination of somersaults as he came into the room. His hair was still damp from the bath, curling wildly at the bottom. He wore his blue dressing gown, the one that emphasized his broad shoulders and long legs. I immediately started drooling.
He frowned down at me, then shucked the dressing gown and got into bed.
“Um. Max? I thought you were angry with me. Again, I might add.”
“I am, but it’s not an all-consuming anger.” He rolled onto his side to glare at me.
“I see. Would you care to tell me why, if you’re angry with me, you’re in my bed?”
“You didn’t come to mine.”
He didn’t touch me, just lay there and looked at me, a furrow between his silky black eyebrows, his eyes hot with emotions that made my skin flush.
“Do you know that you have eyes that my Irish grandmother called being put in with a smutty finger?”
He blinked. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Just trying to make conversation. Do I take it that your presence here, especially since you’re all suited up and ready to romp, means that despite the fact that you have behaved in a dastardly and cruel manner to me, don’t want to listen to my opinions, and are angry at me for trying to help you, despite all that you’d like to make love?”
He didn’t bat an eyelash before he answered. “Yes. That’s what it means.”
“I see.” I thought about this for a minute, coming to a sad conclusion. “Much as I desire you, and want to do all sorts of wickedly wonderful things to your lovely body, I don’t want you when you’re angry at me.”
His face was a study in discomfort. “If I am willing to put aside our differences until such time as we can find a resolution, would that be acceptable?”
He sounded so pompous my lips twitched, but I kept them serious as I considered his offer. He wanted to find a resolution to the problem—that was promising. He was reaching out, trying to find a common ground—or in this case, bed—and far be it from me to refuse his offer.
“How noble of you. Very well. I won’t kick you out of my bed, and instead will be the understanding, caring woman you need.”
He made love to me with his mouth and hands, not allowing me to participate, not speaking except to murmur little bits of praise against my skin. I cherished every word, every stroke of his fingers and lips on my body not because of the fire and need and something profound he stirred within me, but because I knew that he was just as moved as I was. He made love, not gratified himself, he sang a siren song of wordless desire with his entire body as it moved over mine, clearly needing something more than just a physical outlet for sexual tension. I realized that he truly wanted me, a thought so sweet it brought tears to my eyes . . . until I realized what he was doing.
“Um . . . Max?” He pushed my legs wider and kissed a very intimate path up my inner thigh. “Max, what are you doing down there? Why don’t you come back up here where I can touch you? Look! I have breasts! Come and get ‘em!”
He shook his head, the silk of his hair brushing against my intimate parts sending little zaps of electricity through me. “Relax, Tessa. You’ll enjoy this.”
“No, I don’t think I will. That’s not a terribly scenic vista down there, so why don’t you just come back here and you can play with my breasts some more. They’re lonely, Max. They want you back. Look, I’ll even smoosh them together and you can do naughty things to them with your penis.”
“Later,” he said indistinctly, his mouth being busy at the moment with kissing closer and closer to the part of me that had plans for entertaining one particular part of him.
“Later is too late! Now is better. Max, I’d really rather you came up here than—holy Mary, mother of God!”
He found a very, very sensitive spot and gave it a quick flick with his tongue, then went to work arousing me to a fever pitch.
“This is embarrassing,” I gasped, clutching his hair and trying to tug him closer. “This is horribly embarrassing. Not even my gynecologist has stared eye to eye with my personal parts, let alone shoved her face in them, which is good because I’m not in the least bit turned on by her, whereas you make me break out into a sweat just looking at you. I can’t even begin to tell you what you do to me when you’re going to town down there. How can you stand to do that, Max? How can you breathe with your face bur
ied in me like that? Oh, my god, not the fingers again! I can’t hold out against the fingers, Max, not when you’re nibbling and sucking and doing that wonderful swirly thing with your tongue, you’ve just got to stop, yes, yes, stop right now, because if you don’t stop, I’m going to—”
His tongue swirled over me again. I bucked, thrusting my hips upward, clutching his head even harder. “You’re going to make me sing again! Dear heaven, where did you learn to do this? Do they teach this to men, or is it something you’re born knowing?”
Max gently pulled my fingers from where they were entwined in his hair. “Tessa?”
“What?” I cried, almost blind with the ecstasy he was bringing me with just two fingers and a tongue. “You’re stopping? Now? Right now? As in, you’re stopping? Max, you can’t stop now! Not now! Maybe later you can stop, maybe in three or four years you can stop, but not now, Max, please God, not now!”
“You’re babbling.”
“Yes, yes, I know that,” I answered crossly, pushing his head back down to where I wanted it. “Now is not the time for trivia, Max. Now is the time for paying attention. Now is the time for taking pride in a job well done. Do that swirly move again. And the sucking. And the thing with your teeth, I really liked that.”
He chuckled a hot, steamy chuckle into my crotch and did everything I demanded and more, many more things I couldn’t begin to identify in my mind as separate touches because they all blended together in one harmony of bliss. He pushed me higher than I had thought possible to go, and just when I was sure I was going to fracture into a zillion little (extremely happy) pieces, he rose up over me, grabbed my hips, and thrust into me hard and deep.
I was the one yodeling now, screaming my pleasure in his ears, biting his shoulders, kissing his neck, trying to pull him closer, deeper into me as I went over the edge in a wonderful, blinding haze of rapture. I felt the tension in his back and knew he was about to go over the same edge. Muscles I didn’t know I had tightened and rippled along him as he shouted hoarsely into my neck, his body shaking and spasming with the force of his climax.
Corset Diaries Page 19