by Lara Temple
‘Miss Osbourne.’
Rafe looked up with a grimace.
‘I was wondering about that advertisement. I knew it wasn’t that unctuous little worm Pettifer. How did you figure it out, by the way?’
‘We had some help. But what has that to do with being stabbed?’
‘That was purely my foolishness. I thought I had a lead on finding her brother.’
‘Brothers appear to be disappearing at an alarming rate recently.’
‘As amusing as ever, I see. I never really disappeared. I always knew where I was.’
‘As annoying as ever, I see. You do realise you are now Duke of Greybourne and have been back in England for almost a month and have not yet even contacted the lawyers let alone the brother who you led to believe was now about to assume your title?’
‘I planned to do so once I resolved this little issue. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I shall have to admit defeat. If Dashford Osbourne is alive, he is likely long gone from England. And I made sure that fellow you paid to look out for me in Cairo followed me to Alexandria so you would know I was alive and well and on my way to England.’
‘I would have appreciated a note to that effect. The fact that you disappeared again once you disembarked was not precisely encouraging.’
‘Yes, well, I was distracted. I needed to arrange some matters.’
‘Yes, meeting with fraudsters and convincing them to pay debts they’d never considered paying and then securing a companion’s position for Miss Osbourne while making her think she’d done it herself. I can see why your only brother’s peace of mind would rank below those.’
Rafe grinned. He was sweating now, his cheeks sallow beneath the ragged beard, and Edge knew he should pull back at his anger, but it was like trying to hold a team of four frightened, bolting horses. He set to pacing the room instead, following the geometric design of the rug.
‘I’m sorry, Edge. If it’s any consolation, you dealt me quite a shock when I heard you had somehow managed to marry your Sam while chasing me down. Good for you. I don’t know quite how, but I feel I ought to receive some credit.’
Edge continued his pacing. There was too much to say and too much he didn’t even understand himself... No, he understood it, he just didn’t want to.
‘That is good, isn’t it, Edge?’ Rafe’s voice shifted into uncertainty. ‘I mean, you’ve wanted her for ever, as far as I could tell. We’ve never talked about it but, devil take it, man, I would have had to be blind and dumb not to realise how important she was to you. The only times I’ve ever seen you light up were around Jacob or when you received the drawings she made for your books. And when I came to haul you out of Chesham after the funeral you were quite voluble about—’
‘I was drunk,’ Edge snapped, not stopping. Trust Rafe to throw every weakness and tragedy in his face in a couple of sentences.
‘In vino veritas, as they say. When I heard she was widowed as well I thought...if Edge had an ounce of sense he’d go see the lay of the land. But, no, he stays stuck in Brazil like a barnacle. So I decided to scrape you off and see what happened. You can only write love letters so long, brother mine.’
‘I’ve never written a love letter in my life.’
‘No? I’ve read four of them so far and so have thousands of other adoring readers. Damn long ones, too, but at least there’s some adventure and excitement and history along the way while we all wait for Gabriel and Leila to come to their senses. That’s why this last book has everyone swooning, from what I hear. I’ve been damn busy these past few weeks, but even I’ve heard the raving. I mean everyone has been waiting for Gabriel and Leila to admit they are batty about each other. I managed to leaf through someone else’s copy and those last lines, on the cliff? It was only ever you. Damn romantic. No wonder Sam agreed to marry you. She finally discovered the romantic pudding under that dour exterior.’
Edge shook his head, trying to form the words to dismiss Rafe’s ridiculous interpretation.
They weren’t love letters. Only stories. He’d begun writing them for Jacob.
Had he written those words?
It was only ever you.
Heat spread through him and he sat, as shaky as his brother looked.
He couldn’t stop this final rearrangement of his internal map of constellations. At the Howling Cliffs he’d known Sam still held his body in thrall. In Bahariya he’d admitted he wanted her in his life. Now he had to face the fact that he’d always kept her there, at the centre of his being. Not Najimat al-Layl, star of the night, unreachable and tantalising. Not just inspiration for his stories because she’d unconsciously set them in motion and given him something to cling to when Jacob died, but the sun—warming him while he revolved around her. She, gleaming hot, while he remained a barren planet in his predictable, empty orbit. Writing love letters.
He was blind. Blind, stupid and hopeless.
While Sam had been falling in love with some Venetian fool who couldn’t or wouldn’t love her and escaping her disappointment by marrying a man who would drive her to guilt and despair and solitude, he’d been writing her stories, tying her to him and talking to her in the only way he knew.
Like a juvenile admirer sending anonymous love poems.
‘My God, I’m pathetic.’
Rafe shifted in alarm.
‘Damn it, Edge, that’s not what I meant. Any woman would kill to have someone write masterpieces about her and for her. Don’t tell me Sam doesn’t appreciate them—her illustrations are a work of love in themselves.’
‘Not to me. She had no idea I was the author. That is just the way she is.’
‘But...you told her, didn’t you?’
‘She found out a week ago. In a bookstore.’
‘Oh. Well, that must have been...uncomfortable.’
Edge shoved his hands through his hair.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mean to say you proposed to her, but didn’t think of telling her?’
‘I didn’t propose. She did.’
At least that silenced Rafe. His sigh, though, was eloquent.
‘I told you I am pathetic.’
‘No. Stubborn. Wary. And luckier than you deserve. What is wrong, then? You should be in seventh heaven.’
Edge laughed.
‘I was on fourth and climbing, but I’ve fallen a few rungs. I knew from the beginning Sam wanted to marry me because she wanted a family and a home and I was willing to make that devil’s bargain. This shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.’
‘What shouldn’t?’
Edge wished the doctor would come. He didn’t want to talk about this, even with Rafe. He wanted to push it underground as he’d been trying to ever since her revelations in Richmond. To be patient and woo Sam and hope he’d win her warm loving core. But he knew he was pulling away from her and he couldn’t seem to stop.
Rafe was right about him. He took his pain into a cave and hid. He didn’t want to be second best with her. Another Ricki—filling a void created by someone else. It was like living with a thorn lodged deep into his chest, gouging at him every time she smiled or touched him. He was greedy—he wanted to be at her centre as much as she was at his. He wanted to reach into her and rip out the bastard that had left her trying to patch her life around him.
He sank his hands into his hair again and told Rafe everything.
* * *
Sam stood outside the parlour door, trying to rally her courage. She staked her impatience to the ground and dropped a pyramid atop it, but it still had her by the throat.
She knew the doctor had come and gone, that Tubbs and Edge had moved Rafe to a guest room. She’d watched the various members of the Tubbs family come and go—with clothes and towels and food and shaving implements. Tubbs had taken pity on her and told her the doctor had cleaned and dressed the wound and given his opinion
that it would heal well now. But other than that she’d asked no questions and made no demands aside from a pot of tea which was now cold.
She kept waiting for Edge to come tell her something...anything. That everything would be all right now. His brother was safe. Now he was free to...to what? With a strange sense of panic she realised she did not know what he wanted from her. The only thing she knew, with a clarity that ranked alongside a Cartesian certainty, was that she loved Edge. Everything else felt flimsy, like a set upon a stage. She thought she’d wanted a home, children, but she was no longer certain. Of anything.
Except Edge.
And he was fading away again.
She closed her eyes and knocked on the door.
Patience, patience, patience.
‘Sam?’
She opened her eyes. Edge stood in the doorway. He was in his shirtsleeves and had taken off his cravat and waistcoat. Just as he had looked on the Lark—beautiful but distant. Her heart squeezed; she wanted so desperately to reach for him, but of course she didn’t.
‘How is he?’
He glanced over his shoulder towards the open door of the bedroom.
‘Asleep. A little feverish, but the doctor believes that is more loss of blood than infection. He says he needs rest and feeding. I would like him to stay here a few days if you don’t object.’
‘Of course I don’t object, Edge. I am so happy for you...’
She stood like a fool, waiting for him to touch her, to ask her in or to take her to their rooms. Anything but stand there.
‘Did he explain? About disappearing and Miss Osbourne and everything.’
‘Yes. It is...complicated. Nothing that need concern you.’
She breathed in, her temper finally snapping into life.
‘Under the circumstances I believe it does concern me.’
He straightened further and she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. Sometimes she wished he was shorter.
‘If you are concerned about his presence at Sinclair House, I assure you...’
‘Don’t be an ass, Edge. I am only too happy for him to be here, but I won’t have you talking to me as if I were a stranger. I am your wife.’
‘Yes. I am aware of that.’
‘What on earth does that mean?’
‘Never mind. I must change now and leave for Greybourne.’
‘Edge, won’t you tell me what is wrong? Is there something wrong with your brother?’
‘Nothing but his own particular brand of imbecility. Once he is settled at Greybourne I will return to oversee the house at Richmond. It will probably be ready for us in a couple of weeks.’
‘Edge. Please talk to me.’
He took a step forward and she realised she wasn’t the only one who was angry. ‘About what, Sam? You wanted a tame spouse so you could go ahead with your nice little dream of a family to replace what you really wanted. Very well. I’m here, aren’t I? But, by God, Sam. Don’t push me—I am in no mood at the moment to be told how wanting I am in that role. I am telling you as clearly as I am capable without breaking something that you, too, must honour your side of this devil’s bargain! Right now I intend to see that Rafe is well and back at Greybourne. After that you can play cat’s paw with me to your heart’s content as you try to fill the hole left by the man you could not have.’
‘Edge, that’s not true...you don’t understand...’ Sam reached for him, but he shook off her hand.
‘I don’t wish to understand. Any of it. I’m sick and tired of understanding.’
He strode past her, leaving the air thick and clanging with his anger.
Tame spouse... He could not believe that was how she thought of him. He was about as tame as a desert lion. No, it was his anger at being trapped. And she had trapped him. He’d been vulnerable, worried, alone, and she’d sunk her talons into him and not let go.
What would he do if she told him he was the man who’d left this hole in her? Right now he would probably fling that away as well. It would be one more shackle around his neck...
‘Ho, there! Sam.’ The voice, deep and rusty, barely reached her. ‘Sam Sinclair. In here. I’d come introduce myself, but this leg of mine...’
Sam moved through the parlour a little blindly and stopped in the bedroom doorway. Rafe did look like Edge, even with his ragged hair and the scars twisting the skin along the side of his jaw and throat into milky rivulets. Under his swarthy colour he was pale and his pupils were dilated, making it hard to determine the colour of his eyes.
‘I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while. I’m Rafe.’
‘Yes. Hello, Rafe. I am Sam.’
His brows rose at her flat voice.
‘Yes, well. I was just dozing when I heard my brother’s bark. I can’t remember the last time he let slip his dogs of war.’
Sam tried and failed to make sense of what he was saying. Her mind was locked on the image of Edge’s face. His fury and disgust.
‘Not a fan of the bard, are you? Never mind. What did you do to make him so angry?’
‘Forced him to marry me.’
‘No one forces Edge. Well, I did once. Dragged his carcase to Cumbria, but he was unconscious at the time. Stubborn lug. Don’t look like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like your heart’s breaking.’
She touched her forehead, her cheek. Her eyes were dry as dust. How could they show this crashing storm inside her?
‘Come inside. You need some whisky, girl.’
* * *
Edge stood by the bed. Sam lay with her back to him, curled into a ball around a pillow. Inky was also curled into a ball, back to back with Sam, but the feline was awake and glaring at him as if she knew he’d been a fool.
Worse—cruel, childish, jealous. Sam had been honest with him from the start. It was not her fault he was finding it so hard to live with her terms.
The familiar burst of pain struck in his chest. Every few hours it happened, like water slowly filling a vessel and then spilling over on to flames, setting everything hissing. It was absurd and he hated it. He was becoming something he despised—resentful, maudlin...desperate.
He wanted to take her to the house they’d found and start over—wipe everything away and tell her the truth.
That he needed her.
And worse—he needed her to love him.
A thousand questions snapped at him like rats in the dark, only chased off when they were together in her bed and even then they burrowed under his skin, wondering if when she closed her eyes that man was there, a memory, a wish, a need...invisible but between them.
He’d married her knowing she was dangerous, knowing she was the only woman who’d ever reached past his defences. He’d married her without knowing where it would take them. And he had no reason to complain—she was giving so much of herself. She was passionate and compassionate and trying so hard to accommodate him, but it only made him more desperate. He didn’t want her to make an effort. He wanted her to love him, need him. Not the children or the home he could give her.
Him.
Inky hissed and hopped off the bed. Sam whimpered, wrapping her arms more securely around the pillow, and heat hit him like a pugilist’s blow to the sternum. He wanted to wake her, turn her to him, have her reach out to him as she did at night when weariness overcame his scruples and he gave in to the need to love her, holding the words so deeply inside him it was like swallowing a mace—every move made the spikes grind and gouge.
Instead he left the room and went down the corridor to see if his fool of a brother was still alive.
* * *
‘How was your visit to the ancestral pile?’ Rafe asked, putting down the book he’d been reading as Edge entered the room. With a grimace he realised it was Treasures of Siwa.
‘Depressing as always. Mother will
be arriving tomorrow morning.’
Rafe groaned.
‘You are punishing me, aren’t you? Why the devil couldn’t she wait until I came to Greybourne?’
‘I told her. To which she responded, not without cause, that she was not at all convinced you would come. Perhaps now that the tyrant has expired she’s remembering her motherly instincts. Rather late in the game.’
Rafe sighed and smoothed the page he was reading.
‘Sam gave this to me.’
Edge straightened his back.
‘She came to see you?’
‘No, she came to see you and you lambasted her and stalked out, remember? I called her in and tried to soothe her, poor thing.’
‘Why don’t you give the knife another twist, damn you?’ Edge’s voice grated in his own ears.
‘I imagine you’ve been doing nothing but twisting it since you left. And before. You hurt her deeply, Edge.’
Edge could do nothing about his visceral satisfaction at those words. Good—because she is destroying me. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was there, like a starving hyena, grinning and waiting for its chance at the carcase because it was not strong enough to win its own prey.
‘You are right. I have no excuse. I will apologise tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think an apology will cut it.’
‘Why the devil did you have to interfere in my life in the first place? I was finally beginning to settle into...’
‘Into what? Into your comfortable little hole in Brazil? Doing nothing but writing books?’ Rafe waved the open book in front of him. ‘This is damn good, I grant you, but it was never meant to be everything. Deuce take you, you should be on your knees thanking me! You have the one person you have wanted in your life more than anyone else outside of Jacob and you are cursing me for pushing you into her arms. The best you could do was tie her to you with those books. You’re not only ungrateful, you’re a coward.’
Rafe could always unravel him. One of the very few people who could. He didn’t want to be unravelled because he was not certain he could gather himself together again. He dug his hands into his hair, tugging until it hurt, until his eyes burned. He could feel Rafe’s gaze on him. Probably pitying him.