When She Loved Me (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 1)

by Rebecca Ruger

  “You’re going to preach about forgiveness when you offer none?”

  She sighed. “I forgive you, my lord—people make mistakes, myself more than most, perhaps. I just don’t want to know you.”

  These, then, he was sure, were likely the most heartbreaking words he’d ever heard.

  I cannot... not know you, he thought, knowing this was what had driven him back to her.

  She shifted on her feet and he knew she was going to leave him again.

  Trevor blocked her escape, his eyes on hers. She stared back, undaunted, not the girl he’d married anymore, he was reminded again.

  “I’ll leave, Nicki.” He was sorry to see the relief she bothered not to hide. “On one condition.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but he wouldn’t have said she was wary.

  “On the condition that you kiss me—or rather, allow me to kiss you.” Ah, here was a response finally. She drew in her breath. He was aware of her chest rising and falling noticeably. A good sign, it seemed. “You must allow me to kiss you. If you do not respond, if you truly feel nothing at all, I will leave.” He let that sink in, was quite sure her mind whirred just now, surely wondering how difficult it could truly be to have no response at all to only a kiss. “If you do respond, if you feel anything, I remain. And we’re going to do things my way.”

  “I-I don’t need to play little games—”

  “But you’ve said you don’t even want to know me,” he challenged. “Surely one little kiss can have no effect on you. I could be out of this house today.”

  Her chin raised, and he was just fiend enough to happily note that her eyes lit for the briefest of seconds upon his mouth, mayhap recalling their too-long-ago bewitching kisses.

  “One kiss, Nicki.”

  She was torn, he could quite plainly see. She cried, “Why won’t you just return to London? Can’t we just continue as we were? I’m happy here. I could be happy here for years, maybe forever. It’s all right that you didn’t want me as a wife. I mean that—I’m over it. Why do you even want to be here?”

  He said nothing.

  Before his eyes, she composed herself, recovering from her almost frantic outburst, and again presented a rigid demeanor. And some spark entered her gaze just then. If Trevor read it correctly, she was thinking just now that her present fury would protect her from the tempest of any coming kiss. Her stormy green eyes lit with a calculating gleam; he knew he read her correctly, that she believed her anger would make her impervious to his kiss. “I’ll give you one minute. And I want you gone before supper.”

  He knew his smile then was both predatory and gloating. He couldn’t help it.

  “Remember,” he said softly, taking one step closer, “we’re going to do things my way from now on.”

  Now her brow lifted in haughty rebuke. “You can do as you please when you’re returned to London.”

  He took another step and saw that she worked hard to not retreat. He placed one hand on her hip, listened to her breathe through her nose. He stared into her beautiful green eyes, brightened now—finally—with wariness. The hand at her hip slid slowly around her back, drawing her near, bringing her chest to his. Her hands lifted, but touched nothing, just floated next to his arms. She bent her face away from him and closed her eyes. Trevor lowered his head, his lips hovering just near her turned cheek, waiting, breathing softly onto her. The hand at her back flexed, pressing her more fully against his chest and thighs. Her breathing intensified. He slid his hand down over her bottom, pushing her into his groin. He urged his head forward until his mouth touched her, just breezing his unmoving lips along her cheek toward her mouth at a tantalizingly slow pace. Her breath came hot and fast now. Her lips parted but he held back yet. Her hands now touched his arms, gripping the fabric of his sleeves. He moved his mouth again across her lips, provoking a sound so slight as to be almost unheard from deep within her chest, and only then did Trevor finally capture her lips fully, bringing his other hand to wrap around her and crush her to him. He thrust his tongue deep within her mouth, twisting and turning while he ground his growing erection against her.

  She tried to resist him, he knew, felt her hands on his arms pushing him away even as she began to kiss him back. And then she cried as she surrendered, her fingers digging into his biceps then, slanting her head to receive him and return his kiss, pushing her tongue back at him.

  They were frantic and noisy and sloppy and neither one of them cared. Her hands moved up, stealing into his hair, holding him close while her hips, of their own accord, swayed against him. Trevor brought one hand between them, sliding upward to cup the fullness of her breast, then his fingers curled around the nipple hardening beneath the light fabric. Every muscle in his body was tensed with expectation and heightened awareness. He caught her shiver, relished it, and continued to kiss her senseless as he gripped the shoulder of her gown to get the blasted thing out of his way.

  But his hand stilled, caught just there at the neckline.

  “No,” he growled thickly against her lips. “Not like this.” He put his hands at her hips and held her at arms’ length. She whimpered, her confusion vital between them, the sound solely in response to his pulling away. “Jesus, not like this.” Trevor was hardly able to comprehend his own words, wanting to cry as well for what he denied them just now. He lowered his head, trying to make his breathing normal.

  When he lifted his eyes to her, he saw only her tortured desire, though her lips trembled. Faintly, slowly, her head moved side to side, her eyes pleading with him not to stop. Her hand found his, pressing her fingers into his palm though not drawing him back to her.

  There wasn’t any part of him that wanted to exult now in this triumph. He wanted only to bury himself deep inside her. But he knew it wasn’t the manner in which he wanted to advance with her, not like this, not after what he’d done to her.

  “I will communicate to Mrs. Abercorn to have dinner ready at seven,” he said, endeavoring to keep his tone even, “in the blue dining room.” He gave her hand a tender squeeze and then released her and removed himself from the room, from her still-longing gaze.

  He found the servants gathered now in the kitchens, all save Ian, which was perfect, as he hoped to speak to that man separately. They stared at him with their utterly bothersome habit of making him feel unwanted in his own home. But he had come straight from the library with the feel of Nicole’s kiss still upon his lips and then was inclined to be generous. It was his intention to find with them some fine line between his own mother’s almost always autocratic and demeaning treatment of those beneath her—and in her mind, that was nearly every other breathing soul—and Nicole’s over-familiarity, her insistence that these people before him were her friends.

  He addressed first Mrs. Abercorn, who stood at the counter wringing her hands in her apron, as if she’d only just washed them and now was set to give attention to the pheasants before her. “Please have dinner in the blue dining room at seven this evening—and every evening thereafter.” He turned then to Franklin, who looked up at him from his stooped position, the now emptied tea tray dangling from one hand. “Dinner shall require the provision of wine, Mr. Franklin.” He glanced at the very young footmen. “I assume these boys here can manage to accommodate us at dinner?”

  “They’re learning what they need to know to serve,” the butler answered, a bit defensively.

  “Let us allow them to practice this evening, attending us.” And to the very young maid— Lorelei, he thought her name might be, “My lady will require half-dress this evening—silk gown, hair dressed, fine slippers. You should be available to her at least an hour before.” He watched her eyes dart to Franklin, whom Trevor caught giving a quick little nod, and he let that go just now as the maid returned her gaze and nodded, bobbing a quick and sloppy curtsy.

  And to all of them, moving his eyes from each to the next, “I appreciate that you are quite attached to the countess, as she is equally devoted to you. As such, I hope I can count o
n you to assist her ladyship in taking her proper and rightful place here at Hyndman Abbey and eventually in London as the Countess of Leven. She is to be addressed as my lady. You may keep to your informal luncheon here in the kitchens and even your three o’clock tea time en famille, but going forward, breakfast will be served precisely at nine and should be set for three people in the morning room. Is that understood?”

  A chorus of “yes, milord” greeted him, being neither too eager nor occupied with disdain. He gave then a curt nod and turned on his heel to depart, hearing behind him, “I thought Franklin was your first name,” this from the little maid, to which the butler’s response was, “My given name is Alvertos.”

  The door swung closed behind Trevor just as the older footman intoned, “Makes sense, then, that you prefer Franklin.”

  Next, Trevor found Mr. Wendell in the steward’s office at the rear of the house. He pushed open the door to find the man at his desk with several books opened before him, the topmost appearing to be a ledger of sorts. Trevor called upon a reserve of forbearance for the coming conversation. It was not in his best interest to sack the man as was his want, to literally remove the bounder from his home—not if he had intention of proving to Nicole that he was sorry for his behavior, that he deserved a chance to prove himself, that he wanted a real marriage.

  If he had actually believed Nicole had been unfaithful—even to their thus far sham of a marriage—he’d have by now knocked this man on his ass.

  Ian stood when he noticed his presence just inside the door, though Trevor hadn’t bothered to knock.

  He met the man’s steady gaze, finding neither arrogance nor a challenge, which allowed Trevor to assume only protection as the motivation for his noteworthy response to Trevor at their first meeting yesterday morning, and not jealousy or possessiveness.

  “Mr. Wendell, I am to understand my wife herself hired you for this position.”

  “She did,” said the man, answering in a level tone as Trevor had begun.

  “Had you experience before this assignment?”

  “None, save for what was learned in reading.”

  “And aside from your particular affinity toward the countess, how are you finding your responsibility here at Hyndman Abbey?”

  “The countess,” he said, with no small amount of deliberate emphasis, “is of too kind a nature and often needs reminding that there are people in this world who will take advantage of that.” Before Trevor could even raise a brow at the man’s daring, he clarified—though the initial point hung there still, “But she’s learning to deal with unscrupulous merchants and insincere tenants just the same, though luckily they be few and far between.” He glanced down at the books on his desk. “In regard to the abbey, the books are a mess, neglected and error-riddled, my lord, but I am beginning to make sense of them. There is no waste here at the abbey, as you can see, but we have no directives from your men in London.”

  “Yes, my wife has said as much. I will look into that immediately.” Trevor didn’t like the man but could certainly appreciate the earnestness with which he approached his position, and this was a good thing indeed. “I’d like to start going over the estate with you. Hyndman Abbey is likely the property I know the least about. We shall take meetings over breakfast each morning, as I’m sure my wife will want to be included, and then ride about in the afternoons for a bit.” At Ian’s nod, given without even a hint of surprise, or any that was shown, Trevor said, “I’ll be sending for my valet and I’ll leave it to you to hire several more maids for the house and the kitchen and the scullery, and a few good stable hands. If you feel those boys are fit to be proper footmen, we’ll leave off hiring more of them.”

  “They are young yet but anxious to please...the countess.”

  “Very good.” And with an agreeable nod, Trevor left the office.

  He indeed felt a lightness to his step afterward, considering he’d made much progress this day. He looked forward to this evening and dinner with his wife.

  Nicole had left the library only moments after Trevor had. She took the back stairs to her chamber and closed the door, her back sliding against it. It made no sense for her legs to give out now, but they did, bringing her down to the floor. With her knees drawn up and her elbows upon them, she dropped her face into her hands and cried.

  Oh, this was not going well at all! How could her body betray her like that?

  But oh my, his kiss! Had she actually forgotten how it felt? How it had made her feel? Obviously, or she’d not have agreed to his ridiculous little trick—and a trick it was! He apparently had not failed to recall how quickly, how very capably he could turn her to pudding in his arms.

  Nicole lifted her face, staring around the pretty blue room she’d called her own since that first night almost a year ago. It was likely meant as only a guest room, one of many, but with its soft blue and ivory color scheme, in the subtle chintz wallpaper, the counterpane and bolster and pillows, and the long cotton draperies, she’d quickly chosen this room as hers, deciding it was by far her favorite room, so delicate and pretty compared to the other chambers, which were decorated in a more handsome, distinctly masculine fashion.

  It was a good thing, indeed, that she enjoyed this room, for it might become her refuge if her husband did for certain plan to stay. And, “we’re going to do things my way”—what could that possibly mean? She hoped this was stated only in regard to her very cozy routine with the servants, as she believed this could easily be gotten around.

  She lowered her arms and let her shoulders slump, pushing out a heavy sigh. Unbidden— she certainly didn’t want to be recalling anything from the last few minutes in the library with Trevor! —the picture of his hungry gaze came before her. Truly, he had stared at her as if he might have consumed her, body and soul, if she but allowed it. As if she and her very treacherous body had a choice!

  She shook her head in disgust with herself. And here she’d thought she might be able to be so unaffected by his presence that she might carry on with her daily routine as if he were not here at all. How insufferably pitiful I am!

  Nicole rose from the floor and flopped herself across the wide bed.

  The truth of the matter was this: she wanted Trevor to love her, but she was afraid that she might, as she’d done before, mistake passion for love. And she wanted to love Trevor, but she was afraid that this big ugly thing—their wedding day—lay powerfully and resentfully between them.

  She had heard of the expression ‘emotionally exhausted’ but had never understood the phrase before this moment. She grasped it completely just now and as her tears dried upon her cheeks, she fell off into a rather deep slumber.

  Nicole was wakened only an hour later by a nervous but excited Lorelei.

  “Oh, miss—I mean Lady Leven—you must wake!” The little maid shook Nicole’s shoulder gently and she rolled over to see Lorelei pull open both doors of the wardrobe. “We’ve to get you ready for—oh, no! Where are your fine silks?” Lorelei turned her startled gaze to Nicole, who now was sitting up on the side of the bed. “There are only these two.”

  “I took them to Mrs. Lemmon,” Nicole explained groggily, wakeful enough now to wonder why Lorelei was here. She hadn’t ever had need of her assistance before. “There’s no need for them here. She will make some serviceable gowns for me instead.”

  Now Lorelei appeared truly panicked. “But, miss, I mean milady!” —this, with exasperation— “the earl says you are to dress for dinner. He specifically said silk!”

  It was beginning to make sense to Nicole. “Do not fret, Lorelei. ‘Tis just the earl and me to dine. The muslins will be fine.”

  “I have never seen muslin at a dinner, milady. At least we have these two.”

  Nicole shrugged and rinsed her face in the basin Lorelei had brought up. She dabbed the towel against her skin and then allowed the maid to help her remove the cotton gown, hardly able to not recognize the young woman’s excitement.

  “It’s my first ti
me dressing a lady,” Lorelei confided and slid the chosen blue silk over Nicole’s head and arms. It fell down to the floor, and Nicole glanced down at the buttons at her chest. Lorelei had already moved over to the dressing table, pulling pins and brushes and combs from the drawer.

  “We should—” Nicole began.

  “We must hurry, milady. We have less than an hour and I’ve never actually fixed a proper lady’s hair—I’ve only ever practiced on my sisters.”

  “Lorelei,” Nicole called her attention. “We have plenty of time.” And she giggled a bit here, “We even have enough time to dress me properly.” She held out her arms to show that the gown was on backwards.

  Lorelei’s pretty eyes widened. “Egads.”

  They laughed together then and Lorelei did settle down. The gown was righted, and the buttons closed appropriately at her back and then Nicole sat down upon the stool in front of the mirror at her dressing table.

  Lorelei began to unbraid and brush out Nicole’s long hair.

  “When I lived in London, my maid was Amelia. She worked my hair every day,” Nicole said, “but it didn’t always conform to her intentions. Ofttimes, she’d spend thirty minutes on a certain style only to have us both decide that it was unbecoming, or unlikely to hold, or just outright awful, and she’d end up just whipping it into a neat chignon—or as neat as my hair would allow—and that would be that.”

  “Oh, but I’ve wanted to get my hands on your hair since first I saw it,” Lorelei promised her. “I have many ideas.”

  “But only one at a time, I hope.” Nicole made a face at her friend in the mirror.

  Lorelei giggled. “Yes, miss—ugh, I mean milady.”

  “Is that also a directive from the earl? The ‘my lady’ bit?”

  “It is. He came to the kitchen and scolded all of us—” she caught Nicole’s frown in the mirror and was quick to make clear, “not at all mean-like, milady, just reminded us of our roles. I’ll admit, I was rather afraid of him when he came, but I think he just pretends at the lordly stuff mostly, but is really nice, as you are.”