“I haven’t left this house once since I arrived.” Her head swung toward him, and then she was looking at him, her eyes shining silver. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “I think I’ll go mad if I stay inside one more day.”
“You cannot remain trapped here forever, Meg. That would be exchanging one prison for another.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Nothing would be worse than him finding us.”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said, perhaps for the hundredth time.
One of the many changes that had affected her in the past eight years: she had become stubborn. He couldn’t blame her for it, but it hadn’t been one of her traits when she was younger. Serena had always been famous for her stubbornness; Meg was known for her easygoing nature.
“It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged. “We decided this morning—I’m to leave in one week’s time.”
Everything in him went still. “Where will you be going?” She hesitated, and anger flared in him, hot and fast. “You’re not going to tell me?”
Her cheeks turned a bright pink. “I am. I mean, of course I am, Will. It’s just—”
Rising from the chair, he blew out a breath through clenched teeth. He turned away from her and stalked toward the window.
So she was going to leave London. Without any input from him. And she clearly didn’t want to tell him where she intended to go.
But who was he to have proprietary feelings over her? Good God. Leaning against a column, he closed his eyes. He couldn’t keep up with his own feelings about this woman. Everything she said or did seemed to pull a new emotion from his chest. He sighed, forcefully reining himself back into control. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
But his voice emerged strained, even angry. Briggs had been right—Will was known for his composure, for his lack of emotion. In the past year his stone-faced existence had become a source of rumor and speculation. But this woman—everything about her—rattled him.
She didn’t respond to his apology. He couldn’t really blame her.
“Will you tell me where you’re going?” His voice was soft and controlled.
She didn’t hesitate this time. The words tumbled out of her, as if she spoke quickly, she’d somehow prove that she trusted him. “My brother-in-law, Sebastian Harper, has a house in Lancashire. Lord Stratford and Serena have suggested I go there.”
“I’ve been there.” For God’s sake, Stratford believed she would be safe there? Only a few months ago, Jessica and her friend, Lady Fenwicke, had been kidnapped from that very house. “Will Stratford accompany you to Lancashire?”
“No. He and Serena must stay in London along with all my sisters, lest rumors start about their disappearance from the balls and parties they’re expected to attend this Season.”
Will pushed off from the column and stood very still, watching her. He intended to have words with Stratford the next time he was alone with the man. “Who will protect you, then?”
Her gaze settled on him, and her back straightened. “He’s choosing several trusted servants to accompany me to Lancashire. Jake and I will be safe—at least for now.”
That was the moment her sisters and Lady Fenwicke chose to pour into the drawing room.
Will walked forward to greet the ladies. Jessica looked lovely in a gown of deep red—her favorite color—with outrageously puffed, but fashionable, sleeves. Serena was dressed a touch more austerely, in a blue-trimmed seal gray, and he exchanged a real smile with her—defying all odds, they had become good friends after calling off their engagement.
Beatrice, Lady Fenwicke, was a widow, a voluptuous, pretty young woman, but there was a sadness in her demeanor that Will understood quite well—her husband, who’d died only a few months ago, had been a brutal man, and she hadn’t yet recovered from his abuse. She was dressed in black silk, and her excitement was more muted than that of the other two ladies.
Serena grinned at Meg. “Beatrice and I were wagering as to how many dance invitations Jessica will receive tonight. Care to place your wager?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Meg said, her tone kind but not containing the exuberance her sisters’ held.
Jessica put her hands on her hips and turned her nose up in the air. “I shall only dance with handsome men. If they’re ugly, they don’t count, because I will refuse them.”
Lady Fenwicke gave one of her rare smiles. “Does that mean we shall have to revise our wagers, Jessica? Not how many gentlemen will ask you to dance, but how many handsome gentlemen will ask you to dance? Isn’t that a rather subjective choice, though? Who will decide whether the gentlemen are handsome enough to count?”
“I will, of course,” Jessica said.
Serena made a scoffing noise. “They will all be handsome. After your antics last Season, I doubt any of the ugly ones will have the gumption to ask you.”
“Really, Serena, I wasn’t that awful.”
“Apparently, though, you’re planning to be awful to the gentlemen who don’t meet your approval this year,” Serena said, but there was a smile on her face rather than disapproval.
“Well, I need to be selective, you know. I’m nineteen. Certainly not getting younger. I’ll be on the shelf in the blink of the eye.” Jessica snapped her fingers for emphasis.
Meg and Serena groaned, then looked at each other, surprised by their simultaneous identical responses, and laughed softly. Or, rather, Serena laughed, and Meg gave the ghost of a smile. Serena narrowed her eyes at her youngest sister. “Watch yourself, Jessica. You’re among old biddies here.”
“Not true at all!” Jessica slung an arm around Lady Fenwicke’s waist. “There’s always Beatrice.”
Serena rolled her eyes heavenward, and Meg looked thoughtful. “Well, I never thought of myself as on the shelf, but I suppose I really am.” She frowned. “Now that’s an odd thought.”
Jessica and Serena sobered.
“We always believed you’d be the first to marry, Meg,” Serena said.
Will took a tight breath. He had believed she’d be the first of the Donovan sisters to marry, too. He’d expected she’d marry him.
Meg shrugged and smiled, but the bleakness in her eyes never faded. “Ah, well. Fate has a way of asserting itself in surprising ways, doesn’t it?”
Just then, Stratford entered and informed the ladies it was time for them to go. The sisters hugged good-bye, and Serena kissed Will’s cheek and told him to look after her sister while they were gone. Will cast a glance in Stratford’s direction and gave him a look that said, “We need to talk.” Stratford gave a terse nod, and then they all fluttered away, glittering like people their age and class should, leaving a penetrating silence in their wake.
After a long moment, both of them staring at the closed door, Meg said, “It’s growing dark.”
The fire was already burning strong, but she went around the room, turning up the lanterns and using one of the flames to light the wall sconces.
When she had finished, she turned back to him. “You needn’t stay, you know. Jake and I are perfectly fine here alone. Lord Stratford has an endless number of servants in this house. Honestly, I’ve no idea where he keeps them all.”
He met her gaze and held it in his own. He wouldn’t be comfortable leaving her and Jake alone tonight, servants or no. And it had been a long day—longer than he’d anticipated—and he’d missed her.
“I’ll stay.”
Just then, a knock on the door sounded, and a footman opened it. “Dinner is served.”
She nodded, then she clasped her hands together in front of her. “Are you hungry?”
He’d had nothing to eat since his mostly untouched breakfast. “I am.”
He slid a glance at her as they walked toward the door. “After dinner, would you like to play a game of cribbage?”
“That sounds nice. I always enjoy cribbage.”
“I remember,” he murmured, the corners of his lips tilting up in a smile.
&n
bsp; She was so beautiful, in her shyness and sudden embarrassment. God, how he wanted her. How could it be that he’d never wanted another woman even an iota of the way he wanted her?
She was everything to him. Even though she’d remained mostly quiet about the past years and she’d obviously changed in so many ways, she was still everything to him.
She’d wanted him once, too. Did she still? If so, she’d given him no indication…
No, that wasn’t right. She had: When he’d kissed her in the inn that night, she’d kissed him in return. She hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t pushed him away. She’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, just as hungrily as he’d kissed her.
Surely that meant something, especially coming from a woman as composed and controlled and self-contained as Meg was.
They walked to the dining room, where dinner awaited them. They ate and drank, speaking sparingly. Even though the dining room was vast, with seating for at least twenty, somehow the servants had prepared it in a way to make it seem intimate. An elongated vase filled with jonquils and tulips cut off their end of the table from the rest, and the candles in the crystal chandelier were lit to pour golden light over their place settings, while the remainder of the room was bathed in a far dimmer and softer glow.
Will was comfortable here, dining with Meg. He wasn’t much prone to conversation during eating—in the Navy mealtimes had been a chore that he’d accomplished with perfunctory attention before returning to more important duties, and since he’d sold his commission, it had never seemed natural to turn eating into a social activity. Though he had, on occasion, done so out of politeness, it wasn’t his preference. Eating with Meg, however, he was content just to watch her.
The meal was simple for a dinner in an earl’s home: turtle soup and salmon followed by a roasted pheasant, then frosted apples and a date tart and an assortment of cheeses. Meg only tasted the various dishes offered, and when a footman took the cheese course away, she twirled her fingertips in the perfumed water of her finger glass. Her hands were pale, the fingers long and slender. Moments later, cherries, grapes, strawberries, and tiny bowls of cream and sugar were laid in front of them.
“Oh, my,” she murmured. “Strawberries.”
Her gaze caught on to his and held. Years ago, Will had brought a bag of sugared strawberries to her aunt’s house. They’d walked through St. James’s Square, feeding them to each other. Later that night, they’d made love for the first time.
Not breaking his gaze from hers, Will took one of the strawberries from his plate. He dipped it in the cream then in the sugar. Leaning across the table, he held it toward her mouth. She moved forward and captured it with her lips. He remembered the feel of them, their softness and warmth, under his own.
She chewed the strawberry, then her pink tongue flicked out, catching a drop of strawberry juice staining her lip. “Mm,” she said softly, her eyes half-lidded in an expression of ecstasy. “So good.”
Will’s body went hard as she dipped one of her strawberries in the cream and sugar and held it out to him.
He grasped her wrist in both of his hands on the pretense of holding it steady. He brought her fingers close enough so that he could take the strawberry between his teeth. He chewed and swallowed the sweet fruit, taking his time, without letting go of her hand, her fingertips close enough that they brushed against his lips. After he swallowed, he licked the strawberry juice from her fingers, then released her.
He sat back, glass of Madeira wine in hand, his lips curving at the flush spreading over her cheeks. Using his free hand, he offered her another strawberry.
He remembered how gaunt she’d looked when he’d taken her from that jolly boat. Obviously, her sisters had been attempting to feed her well. Though she hadn’t seemed to eat much at dinner tonight, she’d gained a few pounds, and her skin, though still tanned by the sun, seemed to have more luster to it.
He took a deep swallow of his Madeira, then set down his glass as she held out another sugared strawberry to him.
They continued on in this way until the strawberries were gone, and the blood was pounding beneath Will’s skin.
He couldn’t stand without making his arousal patently clear, so he took his time finishing his drink in silence. Still flushed, she nibbled on grapes and cherries and sipped at her Madeira, and when her glass was empty and she seemed to have had her fill of grapes and cherries, Will asked, “Are you ready to return to the drawing room?”
She nodded and rose, and he rose along with her. In the drawing room, she took a cribbage board and cards from a gold-trimmed Oriental cabinet wedged in one of the corners opposite the window. She set the board on a small round black wood table, and he helped her to pull it between the two armchairs they’d occupied earlier.
She sat, then began to shuffle the cards. “We’ve both changed so much,” she murmured out of the blue, her focus on the cards.
“You still like cribbage. We both still like strawberries,” he pointed out, taking the seat across from her.
“True.” The cards slapped together as she shuffled again. “But we’ve changed in deeper, subtler ways, I think.”
“How?” Will asked, the challenge obvious in his voice. He didn’t want to think of how they’d changed. He wanted to think of how they were the same. Of how she still made him feel the same way she used to. Hot. Wanting her so much he ached.
“You’re so serious now.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” The sweetness in her voice pierced through him. Her voice certainly hadn’t changed. “You used to be quite lighthearted.”
“Was I?” he asked, bemused. He’d never thought of himself as particularly lighthearted. His mother had always laughingly told him he’d been born staid and even-tempered.
She nodded, laying the cards back on the table without dealing. “You’ve changed,” she repeated. “There’s… well, there’s a darkness in you now.”
He choked out a bitter laugh. “Perhaps that had something to do with discovering the woman I loved was lost at sea.”
She leaned on the arm of her chair, considering him seriously. Then she cast her gaze downward. “Was that really all it was, Will? If it is, I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want to be the cause of your darkness.”
“All it was? God, Meg, how could you think losing you—and in that way—could have been insignificant to me?”
With a jerky movement, she stood. He stood along with her, the movement an instant response to a lady rising from her chair.
“I wish… I wish you’d found someone else.” She clasped her arms over her chest. “I wish… more than anything, that my family and I hadn’t caused all your unhappiness.”
She was close, close enough to touch—to pull into his arms. And he did just that, moving around the small table and tugging her against his body, biting back a primal groan at the feel of her soft, supple body against him.
He’d experienced moments of weakness since she’d left London so long ago. But they’d been few. He’d quickly—too quickly—learned from his mistakes. For the most part, his existence had been an ascetic one. Touching her now, feeling her slight, warm body against him, her breasts pressing against his chest, nearly tore down all the control he’d so carefully constructed in the past eight years.
“It’s not your fault.” He bent down to press his lips into her hair, her soft, silky blond hair. She smelled like lavender soap with the ever-present sweetness of sugarcane beneath. He ran his hands up and down the soft muslin covering her back. “You had nothing to do with any of it, Meg. You had no control over what happened to me.”
“It was my fault,” she whispered, her voice muffled by his chest. “If I hadn’t fallen overboard. If I’d found a way to escape from him earlier—” Her slender body shuddered in his arms, and he held her tighter.
“Shh.” He hesitated and then spoke into her hair. “So many years, Meg. So much has happened… to both of us.”
There had been his two brief naval eng
agements while he’d served as Post Captain in the Navy. He never talked about those, but he would never forget the blood of the pirates flowing, like a strong current, over his hands.
Knowing that Meg was waiting for him had been his connection to peace and happiness. She had kept him going through those hellish times.
If he’d known the truth then—that she’d been lost at sea and was presumed dead—chances were, he’d be dead now. After that year he’d spent in the Aegean, he’d come home and the first thing he’d done was send that letter proposing marriage to her. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms. After so many years, to bury himself within her and forget.
But that moment had never come. He’d never been offered that peace he’d longed for. When he’d learned of her “death,” he’d believed he’d never achieve it.
Now, holding her close, he dared to hope again.
Slowly, Meg raised her arms and slipped them around Will’s waist. He stood there, hard and firm, a steadfast pillar in her world of danger and uncertainty.
If only her mother and Serena hadn’t hurt Will so terribly with their scheme to change Serena’s identity. And now, she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t involved him in the danger that Caversham would invariably bring.
She wished… well, she almost wished she’d never met William Langley. But she was too selfish for that. If she’d never met him, she would have never experienced love. And for so many years, the happiness of the few weeks she’d spent with Will had kept her going in her darkest days. She couldn’t wish that away.
“If wishes were horses,” she murmured, “beggars would ride.”
He pulled away, looking down at her. “What do you mean?”
She wanted to tug him back against her, feel the hard length of his body against hers again, but she controlled that primal urge, instead looking up at him through the sting in her eyes. “I wish so many things, Will. Most of all, I regret what I’ve done to you. I wish…” She swallowed hard. “I wish someone else had rescued Jake and me. I wish it wasn’t you.”
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