by Julia James
She shook her head. Automatically negating.
‘Marc—I told you. I can’t take it. I know...’ She swallowed. ‘I know you...you mean well...but you must see that I can’t accept it!’
Consternation was filling her. Why was he here? To insist she take those emeralds? She stared at him. His face was still as shuttered as ever, his eyes veiled, unreadable. But a nerve was ticking just below his cheekbone and there were deep lines around his mouth, as though his jaw were steel, filled with tension.
She didn’t understand it. All she understood—all that was searing through her like red-hot lava in her veins—was that seeing him again was agony... An agony that had leapt out of the deepest recesses of her being, escaping like a deranged monster to devour her whole.
Through the physical pain rocking her, from holding leashed every muscle in her body, as if she could hold in the anguish blinding her, she heard him speak.
‘That is a pity.’ He set the case with the emerald necklace in it down on the table beside her chair.
There was still that something different in his voice—that something she’d never heard before. She’d heard ill-humour, short temper, impatience and displeasure. She’d heard desire and passion and warmth and laughter.
But she’d never heard this before.
She stared at him.
He spoke again. ‘A pity,’ he said, ‘because, you see, emeralds would suit you so much better than mere diamonds.’
‘I don’t understand...’ The words fell from her. Bewildered. Hollow.
The very faintest ghost of what surely could not be a twisted smile curved the whipped line of his mouth for an instant. As if he was mocking himself with a savagery that made her take a breath.
‘They would suit you so much better than the diamond ring which Hans presented to you.’
Tara struggled to speak. ‘Presented? He showed it to me! Dear God, Marc—you could not...? You could not have thought...?’
Disbelief rang in every word that fell from her. He could not have thought that! How could he? Shock—more than shock—made her speechless.
A rasp sounded in his throat. It seemed to her that it was torn from somewhere very deep inside him.
‘We see what we want to see,’ he replied. The mockery was there again, in the twist of his mouth, but the target was only himself. And then there was another emotion in his face. His eyes. ‘We see what we fear to see.’
She gazed at him, searching his face. Her heart was pounding within her, deafening her. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said again. Her voice was fainter than ever.
‘No more did I,’ he said. ‘I didn’t understand at all. Did not understand how I was being made a fool of again. But this time by myself.’
She frowned. ‘“Again”?’
He moved suddenly, restlessly. Not answering her.
Here he was, standing and facing her in this place that had been almost impossible to find—hard to discover even by relentless enquiry.
It had taken him from a ruthless interrogation of her former flatmates, in which he had discovered that she had moved out...had hired a van to transport her belongings, to the tracking down of the hire company, finding out where they had delivered to, and then, finally, to hiring a car of his own and speeding down to that same destination.
All with the devil driving him.
The devil he was purging from himself now, after so many years of its malign possession. So much depended on it. All depended on it.
He took a breath—a ragged breath. ‘When you look at me, Tara, what do you see?’
What do you see?
His words echoed in her skull. Crying out for an answer she must not give.
I see the man I love, who has never loved me! I see the man who did not want me, though I still want him—and always will, for all my days! That is the man I see—and I cannot tell you that! I cannot tell you because you don’t want me as I want you, and I will not burden you with my wanting you. I will not burden you with the love you do not want from me... Nor with the gift you gave me.
But silence held her—as it must. Whatever he had come here for, it was not to hear her break the stricken silence that she must keep.
He spoke again, in that same low, demanding tone.
‘Do you see a man rich and powerful in his own realm of worldly wealth? A man who can command the luxuries of life? Who has others to do his bidding, whatever he wants of them? Whose purpose is to protect the heritage he was born to—to protect the wealth he possesses, to guard it from all who might want to seize it from him?’ His voice changed now. ‘To guard it from all who might want to make a fool of him?’
He shifted again, restless still, then his voice continued. Eyes flashing back to her.
‘You saw Celine with Hans—you saw how she took ruthless advantage of him, wanted him only for his wealth. You saw what she did to him—’ He made a noise of scorn and disgust in his throat. ‘I am richer than Hans—considerably so, if all our accounts were pitted one against the other! But...’ He took a savage breath. ‘I am as vulnerable as he is.’ A twisted, self-mocking smile taunted his mouth. ‘The only difference is that I know it. Know it and guard endlessly against it.’ He shook his head. ‘I guard myself against every woman I encounter.’
His expression changed.
‘And the way I do it is very simple—I keep to women from my own world. Women who have wealth of their own...who therefore will not covet mine. It was a strategy that worked until—’ he took a ravaged breath, his eyes boring into hers, to make her understand ‘—until I encountered you.’
A raw breath incised his lungs.
‘I broke a lifetime’s rules for you, Tara! I knew it was rash, unwise, but I could not resist it! Could not resist you. You taunted me with your beauty, with that mouthy lip of yours, daring to prick my amour propre! Answering me back...defying me! And your worst crime of all...’ His voice was changing too, and he could not stop it doing so. It was softening into a sensual tone that was echoing the quickening of his pulse, the sweep of his lashes over his eyes. ‘You denied me what I wanted—pushing me away, telling me it was only play-acting, tormenting me with it.’
His breath was ragged again, his eyes burning into hers.
‘And so when we were finally alone together, free of that damnable role-play, I could only think that I should not make it real with you—that I should not break my lifetime’s rules...’
He saw her face work, her eyes shadow.
‘Not all women are like Celine, Marc.’
Her voice was sad. Almost pitying. It was a pity he could not bear.
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘But they could be! And how am I to tell? How would I know?’ He paused, and then with a hardening of his face continued. ‘I thought I knew once. I was young, and arrogant and so, so sure of myself—and of the woman I wanted. Who seemed to want me too. Until...’ He could not look at her, could see only the past, indelible in his memory, a warning throughout his life, ‘Until the day I saw her across a restaurant, wearing the engagement ring of a man far older than I. Far richer—’
He tore his voice away and he forced his eyes to go back to the woman who stood in his present, not in his past.
‘How could I know?’ he repeated. His eyes rested on her, impassive, veiling what he would not show. ‘That last night you asked to come with me to New York...’
She blenched, he could see the colour draining from her skin, but he could not stop now.
‘But if you came to New York with me then where next? Back to Paris? To move in with me perhaps? For how long? What would you want? What would you start to take for granted?’ His voice changed, and there was a coldness in it he could not keep out. ‘What would you start to expect as your due?’
He drew breath again.
‘That’s why I ended it between us,’ he said. ‘That�
��s why,’ he went on, and he knew there was a deadness in his voice, ‘I left you the emerald necklace. Sent you that cheque. To...to draw a line under whatever had been. What you might have thought there was—or could be.’
He fell silent.
Tara could hear his breathing, hear her own. Had heard the truth he’d spoken. She pulled her shoulders back, straightening her spine, letting her hands fall to her side. Lifted her chin. Looked him in the eye. She was not the daughter of soldiers for nothing.
‘I never thought it, Marc.’ Her voice was blank. Remote. ‘I never thought there was anything more between us than what we had.’
She had said it. And it was not a lie. It was simply not all the truth. Between ‘thought’ and ‘hope’ was a distance so vast it shrank the universe to an atom.
‘But I did,’ he said. His jaw clenched. ‘I did think it.’ His expression changed. ‘I didn’t want to end it, Tara. I didn’t want us to end. But...’ Something flashed in his face. ‘But I was afraid.’
She saw a frown crease his forehead, as if he had encountered a problem he had not envisaged. As if he were seeing it for the first time in his life.
‘But what is the point of fear,’ he asked, as if to the universe itself, ‘if it destroys our only chance of happiness?’
His eyes went to her now, and in them, yet again, was something she had never seen before. She could not name it, yet it called to her from across a chasm as wide as all the world. And as narrow as the space between them.
She saw his hand go to the jewel case, flick it open. Green fire glittered within.
‘Emeralds would suit you,’ he said again, ‘so much better than mere diamonds. Which is why—’
There was a constriction in his voice—she could hear it...could feel her heart start to slug within her. Hard and heavy beats, like a tattoo inside her body.
She saw him replace the necklace on the table, saw his hand slide once again within his breast pocket, draw out another object. A cube this time, with the same crest on it that the emerald necklace case held. She saw him flick it open. Saw what was within.
He extended his hand towards her, the ring in its box resting in his palm. ‘It’s yours if you want it,’ he said. The casualness of the words belied the tautness of his jaw, the nerve flickering in his cheekbone, the sudden veiling of his eyes as if to protect himself. ‘Along with one other item, should it be of any value to you.’
The drumming of her heartbeat was rising up inside her, deafening in volume. Her throat thickened so she could not breathe.
He glanced at her again, and there was a sudden tensing in his expression that hollowed his face, made it gaunt with strain. ‘It’s my heart, Tara. It comes with the ring if you want it—’
A hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry in her tearing throat. ‘Marc! No! Don’t say it—oh, don’t say it! Not if...not if you don’t mean it!’ Fear was in her face, terror. ‘I couldn’t bear it—’
Her fingers pressed against her mouth, making her words almost inaudible, but he could hear them all the same.
‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘I’ve said it now. I can’t take it back. I can’t take back anything—anything at all! Not a single thing I’ve ever said to you—not a single kiss, a single heartbeat.’ Emotion scythed across his face. ‘It’s too late for everything,’ he said. ‘Too late for fear.’
He lifted his free hand, gently drew back the fingers pressing against her mouth, folding his own around her, strong and warm.
‘What good would it do me? Fear? I can gather all the proof I want—the fact that you returned my cheque, refused my emeralds, gave away a couture wardrobe! That my insane presumption that you had helped me dispose of Celine only to clear the path for your own attempt on Hans was nothing more than the absurd creation of my fears. But there is no proof! No proof that can withstand the one sure truth of all.’
He pressed her fingers, turning them over in his hand, exposing the delicate skin of her wrist. He dipped his head to let his lips graze like silken velvet, with sensuous softness... Then he lifted his head, poured his gaze into hers.
Her eyes glimmered with tears, emotion swelling within her like a wondrous wave. Could this be true? Really true?
‘Will you take my heart?’ he was saying now. ‘For it holds the one sure truth of all.’
His eyes moved on her face, as if searching...finding.
‘It’s love, Tara. That’s the only one sure truth. All that I can rely on—all that I need to rely on. For if you should love me then I am safe. Safe from all my fear.’
His eyes were filled with all she had longed to see in them.
‘And if my love for you should be of any value to you—’
Another choking cry came from her and her arm flung itself around his neck, clutching him to her. Words flew from her. ‘I’ve tried so hard—so desperately hard—to let you go! Oh, not from my life—I knew that you were over in my life—but in my heart. Oh, dear God, I could not tear you from my heart...’
The truth that she would have silenced all her life, never burdening him with it, broke from her now, and sobs—endless sobs that seemed to last for ever—discharged all that she had forced herself to keep buried deep within her, unacknowledged, silent and smothered.
As he wrapped her arm around her waist, pressing it tightly to him, something tumbled from his palm. But he did not notice. It was not important. Only this had any meaning...only this was precious.
To have Tara in his arms again. Tara whom he’d thrown away, let go, lost.
He had let fear possess him. Destroy his only chance of happiness in life.
He soothed her now, murmuring soft words, until her weeping eased and ebbed and she took a trembling step back from him. He gazed down at her. Her eyes were red from crying, tear runnels stained her cheeks, her mouth was wobbly and uneven, her features contorted still...
The most beautiful woman in the world.
‘I once took it upon myself to announce that you were my fiancée,’ he said, his voice wry and his eyes with a dark glint in them. ‘But now...’ His voice changed again, and with a little rush of emotion she heard uncertainty in his voice, saw a questioning doubt in his eyes about her answer to what he was saying. ‘Now I take nothing upon myself at all.’ He paused, searching her eyes. ‘So tell me—I beg you...implore you—if I proposed to you now, properly, as a suitor should, would you say yes?’
She burst into tears once more. He drew her to him again, muffled her cries in his shoulder, and then he was soothing her yet again, murmuring more words to her, until once again she eased her tears and drew tremblingly back.
‘Dare I keep talking?’ he put to her.
She gave another choke, but it was of laughter as well as tears. Her gaze was misty, but in it he saw all that he had hoped beyond hope to see.
He bent to kiss her mouth—a soft, tender kiss, that calmed all the violent emotion that had been shaken from her, leaving her a peace inside her that was vast and wondrous. Could this be true and real? Or only the figment of her longings?
But it was real! Oh, so real. And he was here, and kissing her...kissing her for ever and ever...
And then he was drawing back, frowning, looking around him.
‘What is it?’ Tara asked, her voice still trembling, her whole body swaying with the emotion consuming her.
He frowned. ‘I had a ring here somewhere,’ he said. ‘I need it—’
She glanced down, past where the emerald necklace lay on the garden table in its box, into the grass beneath. Something glinted greener than the grass. She gave a little cry of discovery and he swooped to pick it up from where it had fallen.
He possessed himself of her hand, which trembled like the rest of her. Slid the ring over her finger. Then he raised her hand to his lips, turned it over in his palm. Lowered his mouth to kiss the tender skin over the veins in
her wrist. A kiss of tenderness, of homage.
Then he folded her hand within his own. ‘I knew that I had gone way past mere desire for you,’ he said, his voice low, intense, his eyes holding hers with a gaze that made her heart turn over, ‘when on the evening of the bank’s autumn client party—which Hans always comes to—I realised that for all the blackness in my heart over what I thought you had done, there was only one emotion in me.’
He paused, and she felt his hands clench over hers.
‘It was an unbearable longing for you,’ he said, and there was a catch in his voice that made Tara press his hands with hers, placing her free hand over his. ‘As unbearable as my longing to see my parents again after their deaths—’
He broke off and she slipped her hands from his, slid them around him, drawing her to him. She held him close and tight and for ever. Moved beyond all things by what he had said.
Then, suddenly, he was pulling away from her.
‘Tara...’ His voice was hollow. Hollow with shock.
Her expression changed as she realised what he had discovered. And she knew she must tell him why she had made the agonising decision that she had.
‘You didn’t want me, Marc,’ she said quietly. Sadly. ‘So I would never, never have forced this on you.’
He let his hands drop, stepped back a moment. His face was troubled.
‘Are you angry?’
He heard the note of fear in her voice. ‘Only at myself,’ he said. ‘My fears nearly cost me my life’s happiness,’ he said. His voice was sombre, grave. Self-accusing. ‘And they nearly cost me even more.’ His face worked, and then in the same sombre voice he spoke again. ‘I tried to find proof—proof that you did not value my wealth above myself.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘But if I wanted the greatest proof of all it is this. That you were prepared to raise my baby by yourself...never telling me, never claiming a single sou from me—’