Alex put his hands up. “All right, Richard, I am not coming any closer and I do hear that you have to do what you have to do, but what does she have to do with any of this?”
“You. Told. Her.”
Alex shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, yes, you did. She knows. I can’t live with two people knowing what I did.”
“Why do you think I told her?”
“B-because when she looks at me, she has this tender, sad look—pity. She pities me. She knows what I did. I took the weak, coward’s way out!”
“Richard, please, let’s be rational about this.”
“Say it! Say it!”
“Green, you don’t want to hurt her. You know you don’t.” Alex’s voice was all smooth persuasion.
“No, I was a coward.” He tightened his grip on Emily and pressed the pistol more tightly to her temple. Her heart seemed set to jump clear from her chest. “Dalton, I want to hear you say it, damn it!”
“All right, all right. It was the weak, coward’s way out.”
“Ha!” Green’s voice was unnaturally loud, high-pitched and shrill. “So you admit it. You despise me for a coward and always have.”
“Green, it was years ago. Neither of us can ever know if different actions would have yielded different results.”
“Stop with your damned lies and platitudes—I am not going to hurt your fucking harlot, I just wanted to hear the truth from your lips one last time.” Green pushed her away with such force that she went flying towards the desk. She put her hands out to brace her fall, then looked over her shoulder.
Green stared at Alex. The look in his eyes was wild and filled with murder. Cold dread gripped her insides. He intended to shoot Alex. She glanced back at the desk and grasped the wine bottle. She turned and held it in her arms. Could she hit Green in the head with it? Would he still fire his pistol if she did, possibly out of reflex? It didn’t matter—it was Alex’s only chance.
Her thinking slowed and became clear. She’d never felt anything this firmly, but she knew she must pick her moment right. She must trust her instincts to lead her.
“Green, I am never going to tell a soul what happened back then. You think I would expose my own shame?”
“Shame? There’s no shame for you. You survived. You escaped. You’re a fucking hero. I am the coward, the villain in the tale.” Green’s head sank towards his chest and he brought the hand that held the pistol up to wipe his forehead.
This seemed like her moment. She lifted the wine bottle and prepared to take a step towards Green. But something made her glance at Alex. A tugging sensation through the center of her.
He shook his head infinitesimally.
Trust him—he knows what he’s doing. Her heart whispered the words.
Her head shouted that if she made the wrong decision, he would die and everything that really mattered to her in her life would die with him. But the feeling in her heart was too strong to ignore. She lowered the bottle.
For the first time, she had decided to put all her trust in her heart, and in Alex.
“You’re only going to compound your shame this way, Green. Put the pistol down and we’ll discuss this.”
Green dropped his hand. His green eyes were huge and he’d gone very pale. “You’re exactly right, Dalton. There’s no escape. No escape.” Green’s voice choked off and tears flowed down his cheeks. “It’s over for me. I see that now. Oh God, I didn’t realize.”
Green lifted the pistol.
“Green!” Alex gasped. “Don’t be a fool.”
“It’s the only escape.” He brought the pistol to his temple.
Emily stuffed her fist into her mouth and jerked her head to look at Alex. He was coming to her, swiftly closing the distance between them. Pulling her away from the desk and Green. Pulling her into his arms and pressing her head to his chest.
The shot boomed in the enclosed space. Alex tightened his hand on her head as she cringed from the force of the noise.
Chapter Seventeen
Coldness settled into Alex. The bitter dregs left by Green’s desperation. He sat at his desk, holding the gold band of a ring between his thumb and forefinger and studied the play of firelight through the ruby stone.
Suddenly he was boy again, laid out on the settee in the parlor, his head aching with fever. His mother sat in her rocking chair by the window. A long, heavy blonde plait lay over one shoulder, whilst her hands, always busy with embroidery, flew back and forth, and her ring glowed in the sunlight like a flaming red firefly.
Now his fingers fidgeted over the heirloom. He kept it here, in his top desk drawer. Touching it, studying it, always made him feel closer to her.
Today, it offered little consolation.
She had loved her nephew, Richard Green, when he had been a solemn, sad eyed boy. Alex knew she would grieve Green’s death, if she were alive to do so.
He had to believe part of her still resided within the walls and windows of this house. He also knew that was partly why he could never again be comfortable here for any length of time.
Just look at how he’d neglected the old house. That railing on the widow’s walk for one. It would have broken his mother’s heart to see such a lack of caring on his part for what she had always referred to as Dalton House. She’d always spoken of the house with pride and love for her family.
But surely, her heart was long since broken. She’d made no secret that Alex was her favorite son and that she held the highest hopes for him. However, he was no longer the good Christian son that he had been when he’d left home for the sea. He’d violated so many principles and standards that she’d raised him to believe in.
A true Christian, a loyal son, would have found a way to resist the twin seductions of torture and sensual pleasure. But Alex had fallen.
He was unclean. Corrupted with sin to the very bone.
And only a pure, uncorrupted man could have been the kind of savior that Catarina had needed to believe in. To have been able to inspire just enough belief in her so that she could have braved the hazards they had faced.
But what woman could possibly believe in a man whose soul had been debauched?
Was this how Green had felt? That he was so hollowed out inside, so soulless that he could never, ever be rescued from the defeat of utter failure?
No wonder he had sought death.
If a man couldn’t be comfortable within his own house, and within his own skin, where would he ever find solace?
Green had simply wanted redemption and in the end, Alex had found the forgiveness to be willing to give it. But it hadn’t been enough. Alex was incapable of reaching anyone. Not Green. Not Alicia. Not Catarina.
Catarina…
His heart cried out her name.
In his mind, he was jerked back to Turkey.
Back to his enslavement.
Back to the baths with their blue and yellow tiles.
Back to that one fateful morning, years ago—
This time he couldn’t find the will to fight it.
He looked into the private hell that was reserved for him alone.
He looked down into the red swirling water. Her skin was white as alabaster, her eyes blank, unseeing.
Catarina.
Beautiful, fragile Catarina.
His first wife.
Not by man’s law but by a higher one.
He had failed her.
Because of his failure, she had chosen death.
He deserved no redemption. No second chances.
* * * *
Late that night, Emily found Alex in his study, drinking whiskey and staring into the fire with a terrible, blank look in his eyes. She sat beside him on the settee.
He didn’t move.
“Alex?” She put all of her sympathy into her voice. He flinched and jerked his head to face her. His eyes were so wild that it made her heart jump into her throat. She swallowed, hard, and dared to touch his leg. “Alex?”
H
is expression softened. Without a word, he put his glass down on the side table and moved closer.
He had once said that she was scared of him. Yes, sometimes she was. Especially when he went into a distant or intense mood. He had been distant for weeks and now so darkly intense.
Zachariah had accused her of not being willing to fight for Alex. But it took real courage to fight something she couldn’t see or touch.
Alex’s demons frightened her.
She hadn’t wanted to admit that before. Not really. However, now it was time for her to be honest with herself.
You’ve got to grow up fast or you’re going to ruin not only your chance for true happiness, but Mr. Alexander’s too.
With effort, Emily forced her trembling lips to smile.
She felt his sudden increased presence. Felt him there with her. His gaze grew tender.
“You are so strong,” he said, reverence sounded in his voice.
“I wasn’t so strong today.”
“No, you were. I could think of fifty ladies of my station that I know—even my own cousin, who prides herself so well on her practical nature—and I can’t imagine any of them remaining so calm as you were and have remained in the wake of today’s tragedy.”
She didn’t know what to say. She had never thought of herself as being all that strong a person. She had done what she had to do in her life, no more, no less.
“Furthermore, I cannot imagine any of those ladies devoting themselves to a cause any deeper than presenting the occasional charity ball. Certainly none of them would have sold their virtue to fund a higher cause.”
“I was not strong. Not determined enough in my cause.” Shame washed over her.
He reached and smoothed a stray lock of hair back over her ear. “Who says?”
“I ran from you, that first night.”
“Ah, but you came back, didn’t you?” A small smile played about his mouth even whilst faint shadows remained in his eyes. A maturity showed in his gaze, making him seem a man of at least a decade older, and the firelight accentuated the fine crinkles about his eyes.
Had those mysterious, missing years of his life aged him so much then? Or had it been the events of the day just past?
It hurt her, in a strange way, that she didn’t yet know him well enough to know which had made the difference. Then it dawned on her: he was, at this moment, stripped of all his glib charm.
He was showing her something of his true, inner self.
He leaned closer.
He cupped her face and stared into her eyes until she felt she was drowning in their blue-gray depths.
His eyes seemed to devour her whole.
She felt that she was seeing deep inside him. All the way to the core of his true self. And what she saw, oh, dear heavens, what she saw…Its intensity made her throat ache.
He loved her. Really and truly loved her. And he needed her.
Her heart began to pound. The depth of his need was intimidating. How could she ever satisfy such a need? How could she satisfy him without losing herself? Without losing sight of her own mission in life?
She suddenly wanted to run back to her own chamber and lock the door. His needs would consume her, swallow her whole. She wasn’t ready to have anyone need her that much.
Yet today, in that terrible moment, when she’d known Green would shoot Alex, she’d also known that Alex was the most important thing in her life. Nothing else mattered as much as a future with him, whatever future they might have.
She understood, finally, what others had tried to tell her. Alex was wounded inside. He needed her to heal him.
Yes, she had her life’s work and mission.
But, she now came to see, that was her public life. No matter how much it meant to her, it wouldn’t keep her warm at night. What of her intimate life?
Maybe sometimes, one person out of the whole world was most important of all.
Maybe sometimes life required a leap of faith to trust in another person. Maybe she was meant to share Alex’s life just as much as she was meant to use her art to draw attention to the mariners in Algeria.
She’d been so focused on her mission that she hadn’t seen it clearly before. Instead, she’d reacted and rebelled and resisted him out of her own girlish fear of his effect on her emotions.
It takes courage to love. I can be brave. He needs me and I love him dearly. I can be what he requires. I can be stronger than my fears.
Yet, she wanted him, all of him, to herself. She would have to risk something in order to gain what she wanted, wouldn’t she? Even her precious liberty…
He took her hand.
The simple gesture pulled her out of her thoughts, and she startled.
He turned her palm upwards and then traced along its lines. “These hands, so delicate, so frail looking…the work they have crafted will turn the hearts of a nation. Just as surely as they have turned mine. I love you, utterly…” He bent over her hand, his golden hair glowing with an orange cast from the fire. He pressed his lips to her palm, avidly, passionately. “I love you.”
With her heart pounding ever harder, she forced herself to remain seated.
I am committing myself to him, by my actions, right now in this moment. I shall never be the same again. I shall always be his.
She became a little dizzy from the seriousness of her thoughts.
He raised his head and met her gaze, then put his mouth to hers and kissed her, so deeply, so hungrily, that it seemed as if he was stealing her soul from her body and feeding it back to her. Her whole body melted with love for him. Her fear melted away.
I am his. Forever. The rest will sort itself out later.
She clung to his strong, broad shoulders. He pushed her back on the settee and untied the belt of his banyan. He was naked beneath it and she ran her hands over his bare chest and abdomen, reveling in the silken texture of the fine, sandy-blond hair.
He lifted her nightdress up to her waist. She could feel the impatience in his touch and in his kisses along her neck. It resounded in his breathing near her ear. She understood his need. She needed him, too—needed the comfort of his closeness. She was wet and ready for him and he slid into her slowly, deliciously, inch by inch. Then he lay within her without moving and kissed her mouth with delicate butterfly touches.
This had much less to do with pleasure and far more with a desperate need for connection. She needed to be as close to him as possible and she sensed that he needed the same. A solace after the horrors of the afternoon. But even more than that, she sensed a deep desolation in him that sought to be filled. So be it. If that was what he needed, she would give of herself until he’d had his fill.
He moved with her just enough to keep both of them aroused enough to maintain the carnal embrace. He caressed her body with tender hands. Their passion built slowly until finally he was moving faster and faster. On the edge of coming, she wrapped her arms and legs about his waist, gripping him tightly when he tried to withdraw. He groaned, a sound of almost helpless defeat, then came, the hot surge of his seed within her. Her inner muscles reacted to the hot flood with deep, long-lasting contractions that seemed as if they would never end.
* * * *
Afterward, he held her in silence for a long time, stroking her hair. Then he spoke. “When I got Green’s note, my heart nearly died in my chest.”
Just as hers had nearly died when she’d seen the change in Green’s expression.
“And then, when you picked up that wine bottle, I was sure you were going to do something rash and bring his wrath upon yourself. I am glad you didn’t. He was always so nervous, so unpredictable, it would have been too dangerous to risk.” He paused, tightening his hands upon her. “I have hated him for years and dreamt of his demise. But today, when I saw how deeply he has suffered, I couldn’t help but pity him. I thought I could save him.”
They were quiet for a time, whilst he caressed her hair and, safely tucked into the crook of his arm, she snuggled against his che
st and drifted into a half-sleeping state.
“That evening we went to the Cogwells’…” Alex’s voice broke into her slumber.
“Yes,” she said sleepily.
“In the carriage, I said some beastly things to you.”
“Must we talk about that evening now?”
“Yes, we must. I had intended to explain myself the night of Cornelia’s ball, but all the events with Green distracted me. That night before the Cogwells’, I blamed you for your wanton behavior, and I put part of the blame for my lust, my weaknesses, on you. And that was borne of my frustration and anger with myself and most unfair to you. I take it all back, everything I said, even to say now, my love, that I am profoundly sorry that my remarks about your father’s profession offended your pride and hurt your feelings.”
His apology stunned her. She gaped at him. “Oh, Alex.” It was all she could think to say. Then—“But perhaps I was too determined to press you on matters; perhaps I am a difficult person to deal with, difficult to love.” Her voice broke on that last.
He shook his head. “No, sweetheart, you are easy to love, far too easy to love.” He put his lips to hers and kissed her long and thoroughly.
He lifted his head and she gazed up at him, a little dazed. He stared down at her, tenderness in his eyes. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Very easy to love,” he said.
“But I am too headstrong. Everyone says that.”
“You are stubborn. Exceedingly so,” he said, his voice fond, amused, and yet more tender if that were even possible. “It is that strength of mind that drew me to you from the start. The strength of your convictions, your unwavering devotion to your cause. I think it is time you saw the fruits of that dedication.”
He got up from the settee and went to his desk. When he returned, he handed her one of his large handkerchiefs, then turned away to give her privacy to clean all evidence of their joining from herself.
When she was done and resting on the settee, she opened her mouth to ask him more about Green. But he returned to her with a pamphlet in his hand. The quality of the booklet was apparent immediately from the fine materials and the gilded lettering on the cover.
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