by Diana Bold
Patrick clamped him on the back, steering him toward the edge of the village. “I haven’t much experience, son. But I’ll do the best I can.”
For a long while, they walked in silence, the full moon lighting the familiar path to Aldabaran. Dylan still hadn’t managed to absorb everything he’d learned, but he was very aware that he’d promised he’d tell Patrick what had happened the night of his mother’s death.
The words were not easy to find. He’d held them inside for far too long.
Patrick didn’t push, did nothing to reveal the impatience he must be feeling.
“My mother was terrified when the earl arrived at Aldabaran,” Dylan said at last. “We were in the tower when she saw a coach pull into the courtyard. She sent me to my room, made me promise not to come out until after he was gone. But I didn’t listen. I crept downstairs to listen, hoping he hadn’t come to fetch us back to London.”
“I was crazy with jealousy when I heard he had arrived, so I took myself off to the pub to drown my miseries.” Patrick’s voice was heavy with regret. “I should have hurried to Fiona’s side. But I thought my being there would only cause more harm.”
“You were right to leave,” Dylan assured him. “If you’d been there, he would have killed you, too. He bribed my mother’s maid to report back to him, and he knew every single thing that had ever transpired between the two of you.”
Dylan sensed Patrick shaking his head in the darkness beside him. “He drove her into my arms, the fool. If he had given her the least little bit of affection, she never would have broken her vows.”
For the first time, Dylan wondered what he would have done if Natalia had been forced to marry Ivanovich. Would he have been strong enough to resist her if she’d return to London for a few months every year? How would he have borne to see her neglected or abused?
He knew the answer. He would have found a way to see her. He would have tried to comfort her. Like Patrick, he would’ve found himself caught up in a romance destined to end in tragedy.
Tearing himself away from such thoughts, he forced himself to return to the story. “I couldn’t believe what he was saying, didn’t want to believe it.” The terrible betrayal of learning the earl wasn’t his father still seemed fresh in Dylan’s mind. As a child, he’d been devastated to realize his mother and Patrick had lied to him. “I turned to leave, but before I got very far, he hit her. She sobbed your name and ran from the house, out into the storm.”
“You followed them?” It wasn’t really a question, and Dylan could tell Patrick was having a hard time keeping his own emotions under control. How must it feel to know the woman he’d loved had run to him, seeking his help, and he had not been there to give it?
“I was afraid of what he might do to her.” Even then, Dylan had known what violence the earl was capable of. It hadn’t been the first time he had beaten her. “He chased her out to the cliffs, and they fought again.”
Dylan had been too far away to hear the last words that had passed between them, but he’d seen the earl’s fury escalate and sensed his mother’s growing desperation.
“The bastard pushed her, didn’t he?” Again, it wasn’t really a question. Like Dylan, Patrick had always known the truth. “She never would have jumped. Not my Fiona. She was far too strong to give up on life that easily.”
“He struck her again, but this time, she’d had enough. She hit him back, and he went a little mad. He shoved her. She scrambled to keep her footing.” Dylan paused in the middle of the trail, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh pants. No wonder he’d blocked all this out for so long. “I can still hear her screaming...”
Patrick put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, again trying to offer a bit of fatherly comfort. And it came at great cost because Dylan knew how hard this was for Patrick to hear. Dylan couldn’t imagine how he’d survive if he were to lose Natalia in such a manner.
Gathering his courage, Dylan managed to go on. “I must have made some sound because he turned toward me... That’s when I started running... I don’t know how long I ran, or if he even chased me...”
Patrick’s hand slid from Dylan’s shoulder, and he sank to his knees in the middle of the trail, silent sobs wracking his body. “Forgive me,” he managed, his voice broken and lost. “Forgive me for not knowing, for not being there when you needed me.”
Now it was Dylan’s turn to offer comfort. He lightly touched his father’s bowed head. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Natalia will leave me when she finds out the truth.” Dylan spoke casually, as though the imminent loss of his wife’s affections didn’t really matter, but inside, he died a little at the mere thought.
He didn’t want to lose her.
“Then don’t tell her.” Patrick, too, kept his tone neutral, devoid of any emotion—an excess of which had already been expended this evening.
They’d almost reached Aldabaran, having spent the last few hours catching up on the past twenty years. It was late, past midnight. Natalia would be furious with him when he arrived.
She’d be wondering if the things he’d said—the promises he’d made in the heat of passion—were all lies. She’d assume he’d been unfaithful, drinking and carousing while she worried and waited at home.
In the long run, perhaps it would be better to let her go on thinking those things. Let her believe he was the rake she’d first assumed him to be.
He didn’t want her to know the truth—that he was a bastard, so far beneath her in Society’s eyes he wasn’t even fit to lick her boots, let alone all those sweet pale places he’d kissed and touched last night.
But, dear God, he wanted to make love to her again. He wanted to lose himself in her arms, forget how dramatically his life had changed for just a few blissful moments. She would hold him so tenderly, kissing him with that beautiful soft mouth...
With a defeated sigh, he wrenched his mind back to the matter at hand and his father’s ridiculous suggestion. “What do you mean, don’t tell her? We can’t all live in the same house without her finding out eventually.”
Dylan paused near the front door of the keep, where a torch still burned. He gave his father a hard look. He knew what Patrick was suggesting, and he wanted no part of it.
“I gave up twenty years with you so you could be a bloody aristocrat and marry a woman like the one who waits within these walls.” Patrick gave him a weary smile. “I won’t have you give all that up so I can hear the word father from your lips now and again.”
Dylan shook his head, humbled to know Patrick was once again willing to sacrifice his own happiness for Dylan’s benefit. Having a father who loved him was going to take a lot of getting used to.
All of which made him even more determined to do what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt.
“What am I to do, pretend as though you and Grandmother are mere servants, just so Natalia will continue to think I’m good enough to be her husband?” Dylan met Patrick’s eyes, determined not to back down. “I’ve spent my entire life pretending to be something I’m not, and I’m tired. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“There’s nothing in this world I’d like more than to claim you as my son, Dylan.” Patrick smiled, and Dylan knew he’d managed to say the right thing. “But not if it means you wind up with a broken heart.”
“If she looks down her nose at my family, she isn’t worth getting my heart broken over.” More truthful words had never been spoken, but Dylan knew they wouldn’t protect him in the end. After all, Natalia couldn’t help her aristocratic sensibilities any more than Michael could.
“I’m glad you feel that way. And if you do, I think you should tell the lass the truth, son. She can’t blame you for things you had no control over. It isn’t as though you hid this from her when the two of you wed. You never know, she might surprise you.”
She might surprise you.
Dylan wanted to believe su
ch a thing was possible, but he’d been disappointed too many times, by too many people. “I’ll tell her I’ve changed my mind, that I think we should live apart. She’ll have access to her blasted dowry, and she can live like a queen in London. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance.”
“I don’t think you’re giving the lass enough credit. But then, you know her far better than I.”
But that was the problem. Dylan really didn’t know Natalia at all.
He let his head fall back against the rough stone, staring up of the starry sky. He tried to imagine Natalia’s reaction to the news, tried to envision a scenario that did not end with her walking away.
His father was right—it would break his heart to bare his soul in such a manner, only to receive the ultimate rejection. No, far better not to give her the chance.
Patrick gave him a little shove. “You can’t sleep out here, lad. Best to get it over with.”
Dylan nodded in resignation and moved to open the heavy front door. Patrick entered first but paused just a few feet inside. “She waited up for you. That must be a good sign.”
Dylan shut the door behind them, then turned to follow Patrick’s tenderly amused gaze. Natalia slept awkwardly in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. She was still fully dressed, her dark hair trailing in a silky pool on the floor. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. His heart squeezed as he realized that if he went through with his plan, he would never see her like this again.
“She looks like a wee angel, son.”
“Aye,” Dylan agreed hoarsely. “That she does.”
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone, then. But remember what I said.” Patrick smiled over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. “You’re a good man, Dylan, and she knows it.”
You’re a good man. She’d thought so once, but Dylan knew he’d already destroyed that opinion.
After his father left, Dylan moved toward Natalia with the slow precision of the walking wounded. The only other time he’d been this numb and confused was during the Crimea. After the doctors had dressed his wounds, he’d defied their orders to rest.
Instead, he’d limped back to the battlefield and stared down into the lifeless faces of men who’d been like brothers to him. He’d tried to count them, to put a number and a price on all that had been lost. Their deaths had hurt far more than Ivanovich’s saber.
As he stared down at his wife’s sleeping face, he once again tried to add up the loss of something irreplaceable.
Despite his initial anger, learning Patrick Macpherson was his father was one of the best things to ever have happened to him. He couldn’t wait to get to know his father better, to bask in the unconditional love Patrick had already shown him time and again.
Unfortunately, the only other good thing in his life was Natalia, and he didn’t see how he could possibly keep them both.
NATALIA WASN’T SURE what woke her, but when she opened her eyes, Dylan loomed above her. He said nothing, just stared down at her, looking so troubled, so lost and alone, she forgot her anger.
“Dylan.” She scrambled to a sitting position and fumbled to put her hair back into some semblance of order. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and sank to his knees on the floor in front of her. “I just want to touch you,” he breathed, burying his face in her lap. “I want to feel your hands on my skin.”
She caught her breath, overwhelmed by his sweet words and unexpected actions. “I missed you today.” She brushed his dark hair away from his pensive face. She wanted him to tell her where he’d been, but she didn’t want to sound like a shrew, demanding to know his whereabouts every moment of the day.
He turned his cheek into her palm and pressed a warm lingering kiss to her wrist, making her pulse race. Looking up at her through his extravagant long lashes, he reached out and stroked her nipple through the fabric of her gown.
“Make love to me,” he demanded. “Right now. I need you, love.”
His intensity frightened her. Something was terribly wrong. She wanted him to talk to her, wanted him to tell her what had put that desolate look in his eyes. But if making love to her would give him the same sense of peace and contentment she’d known in his arms last night, how could she refuse?
Without a word, she rose from the chair. Taking his hand, she led him through the darkened house toward the bedchamber.
After he closed the door, he sank into one of the plush chairs and gave her a moody look as he unbuttoned his cravat.
She sat nervously before him and wondered what she should do. She no longer felt as though she knew him. He seemed unapproachable, a far different man than the tender lover who had initiated her into the joys of the marriage bed.
“Tell me what to do,” she said, her voice husky and hesitant. “I want to please you, Dylan.”
“Do you?” He raised a mocking brow, as though he didn’t believe her, as though she had offended him in some way.
Swallowing, she lifted her hands to unfasten her gown. Slowly, deliberately, she let the heavy fabric fall off her shoulders. It caught for a moment on the fullness of her breasts, before pooling at her feet. Clad only in her lace chemise, she knelt between his thighs.
“I don’t know what happened to make you act this way.” She ran her fingertips across the taut fabric that restrained the thick length of his erection. “But I wish you’d talk to me about it. I want to help you.”
Her touch made him gasp and clench the arms of the chair with both fists, but his face remained impassive. Still, he said nothing. The watchful look in his eyes made her think he was testing her in some way.
Testing her... and expecting her to fail.
Holding his stormy gray gaze, she unfastened his trousers with a boldness she didn’t feel. As much as she wanted him, she’d rather he confided in her. Lovemaking was a temporary fix, at best.
But perhaps, in the tender intimacy that followed, he would open up and tell her what was troubling him.
She trapped his face with her hands, kissing him with devastating hunger.
He tasted of anguish and desperation. For some reason, she felt those things, too. It seemed as though this was the last time he’d ever hold her, as though he were saying goodbye.
Fumbling in his haste to remove her chemise, he gave up and tore it down the front. Her breasts tumbled free into his hands as his tongue pillaged every corner of her mouth.
She was completely bare, while he remained fully clothed except for his loosened breeches. The feeling was both frightening and erotic, especially when he pressed more fully against her and his clothing chafed her sensitive skin.
He slid his hands up her thighs. She gasped when his fingers probed her intimately. “You’re so beautiful. So passionate.” His breath was moist and hot against her throat, and he sounded as though the words pained him.
She feathered her hands through his hair with infinite tenderness. “You’re the only one who has ever made me feel this way,” she assured him. “The only one.”
Lifting his gaze, he stared into her eyes as though all the secrets of the universe lay within. “I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel you.”
He shifted her weight, thrusting forward at the same time, sheathing himself deep within her. Natalia clung to his shoulders, overwhelmed by his fierce possession. He flexed his hips, a long slow slide.
Gasping at the exquisite fullness, she leaned forward and kissed him, trying to tell him without words that her anger was gone.
Only love remained.
Chapter Twenty-six
Dylan pressed his lips to Natalia’s temple, allowing himself this one last moment of intimacy before he said the words that would drive her away from him forever. They lay tangled amidst the blankets upon Natalia’s bed, having moved from the chair sometime after the first incredibly erotic episode. Even now, having made love to her twice more during the night, he wanted her again.
God, what a colossal mistake.
; He should never have touched her, never should’ve admitted how badly he needed her. He’d meant it to be goodbye, wanted to create one last memory to cherish.
All he’d done was fall even more deeply in love with her.
He loved that she wanted to please him. He loved that she hadn’t questioned or nagged him about the way he was acting. Most of all, he loved the way she’d held him after their passion was spent, touching his face as though he were precious to her.
She’d given him everything and asked for nothing in return.
But all these things only made him more determined to send her away. He wanted to remember her exactly like this—flushed with desire, instead of pale with fury. He couldn’t stand to watch the love in her eyes turn to disgust and dismay, couldn’t bear to watch the slow and inevitable destruction of their marriage.
Better to end it now, while he still could.
NATALIA LAID CONTENT in the circle of Dylan’s arms, her back pressed against his chest, his thigh flung over her hips. She’d never felt so safe, so loved.
He still hadn’t told her what had been bothering him, or why he’d arrived home so late, but she was confident he would. Their lovemaking had gentled him, perhaps even exercised his demons once and for all.
She knew it wasn’t easy for him to admit to any weakness. He found it impossible to ask for help. But she was certain if she just kept showing him how much she cared, eventually he’d realize she would never use his secrets against him.
He shifted restlessly against her. To her amazement, she felt him hardening against the cleft of her bottom. Smiling, she turned to face him, only to have the smile fade from her lips as she saw the troubled look on his face.
She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but somehow, she restrained herself. He was obviously struggling to find the words to begin. She didn’t want to say anything that might dissuade him.