Brethen 03 - Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

  She was too addled to notice she could not smell him.

  He was standing right before her, a shadow of darkness, and she should have noticed his scent immediately. When BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  he reached out and glided his fingers along her jaw, she jumped, surprised she had not realized just how close he was to her.

  “I’ll not leave you, not yet. I sense you do not really wish for solitude tonight.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I see it in your eyes. You miss them already, your brother, and Rosie.”

  Quickly, she glanced away. She did not want him looking at her blind eyes. And she wished he had not said Rosie’s name, for her eyes immediately began to well.

  She had not been without her pet for years, and knowing that Rosie was going to have her puppies without her own love and assistance tore at Lizzy’s heart. Rosie was more than a guide dog and a companion. She was a friend. A treasured friend. And a confidante. Elizabeth would be desolate during the nights without her.

  “Already you feel bereft, do you not?”

  “I would have liked to keep her here, but how…” She swallowed, tried to smother her feelings. “I can’t care for her in her time of need the way Adrian can—and he will see her well tended and comforted. I know that. It’s just that… Well, it was the only thing to be done.”

  “It’s never easy to do what is right by the one you love, is it?”

  His statement evoked so many feelings inside her; frightening, tumultuous feelings she didn’t dare give thought or voice to.

  “Ah, Beth,” he murmured as he wiped a traitorous tear from the corner of her eye. “No, you will not be alone tonight.”

  He brushed against her, reached for her hand and pulled her to the window that overlooked Grosvenor Square. Carefully, he placed her palm against the glass.

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  It was frigid, the chill stinging her skin as he pressed his large hand overtop hers.

  “Let me take your mind off your worries, Beth. Just one night, let me stay.”

  “To talk,” she murmured. To stave off the loneliness…

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice deeply masculine, “to talk.”

  Oh, what a fool she was to allow such a thing. He was a dangerous man, always had been. Yet she could no more resist him now than she had all those years ago.

  “Night has blanketed the city, and with it, snow has begun to fall.”

  “Has it?” she asked in wonder. “I can hear the wind whipping itself into a howling frenzy, but the snow… I didn’t know.”

  “Would you care to see it, Beth?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “I could show you a way.”

  Intrigued, she could not help but turn to him, to the sound of his voice in the quiet room. “How?” Reaching for her hand, he entwined his fingers with hers and led her from the room. In silence they made their way to the hall, where Hastings, the butler, awaited them.

  “Your coat, my lord. Lady Elizabeth, allow me to aid you with your cloak.”

  It was a matter of seconds and she was dressed warmly, her hair covered in a bonnet, the ribbons of which Iain had insisted upon tying himself. Then he was leading her through the kitchen, and the garden door, where only days ago the deceased body of Anastasia Lockwood had been found.

  “Hold on to my hand,” he ordered, and Elizabeth realized he did not wear any gloves. But he had taken care BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  to help her put on hers. The knowledge made a warmth grow deep in her belly.

  “It’s slippery, Elizabeth. Your hand.” She had no choice but to obey him.

  Clutching his fingers tightly, Elizabeth followed him outside, gasping as a gust of wind caught at her bonnet, surprising her with its biting chill. The wind brought the first few flakes of snow against her cheeks, and she lifted her face, allowing the flakes to settle over her, and onto her eyelashes. She knew—could feel Iain’s gaze upon her, watching her with his dark blue eyes.

  “Can you feel them, Beth? The snowflakes?” She nodded, bit her lip at the pure enjoyment of such a childlike indulgence. “They’re melting on my lashes,” she said, smiling at the feeling.

  “How could they not?” he murmured as he brushed the wetness from her eyelashes. “Such an enticing place to flutter to, lie upon and melt.” She turned her head, averting her face. After last night in her room, she was much too weak, much too in danger of capitulating to a desire that he had awakened. Like a sleeping dragon, he had poked and prodded, and awakened the hungry beast inside her. She must keep her desire carefully tethered. She must.

  “Shall we walk to the bench? It’s beneath the trees, which may or may not protect us from the wind. But we could try it.”

  She should not be out here with him, but the lure was far too enticing. She relished the cold air, the feel of the snow. To know that night blanketed them, and that his world was almost— almost—as dark as hers.

  Iain helped her to sit on the bench. The snow was falling heavier now. She could smell it, circling, the wind carrying not only the flakes, but the scent of a winter BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  storm. This was not going to be a light sprinkling of snow, but a blizzard that would blanket the earth in a white carpet. It would be the kind of storm that made one burrow beneath the bedcovers at night and listen to the howling winds in the darkness.

  “You always did love a good storm,” Iain said beside her. “A marvellous clapping thunderstorm, with streaks of angry lightning, or a terrifying blizzard.”

  “Yes.” And he used to sit with her, in the years before their affair and during it, and watch the storms with her.

  It had started to rain moments after he had left her lying in the grass upon his plaid blanket that afternoon years ago. She had lain there for what seemed like hours, her tears blending with the raindrops that soaked her prone form. She recalled the rumbling of thunder, the fierce flashes of lightning that forked over the rolling sea. She remembered how much hotter her tears were than the late-August raindrops.

  “I always loved to watch a storm blow in, too,” Iain mused. “Angry, volatile, Mother Nature unleashing her fury. So many times I would watch the sky and feel a kindred spirit to her. Inside me, the same tempest brewed.

  The rolling darkness, the howling winds. You used to say that my expression could turn as black as a thun-dercloud.”

  Indeed, it could. He had been as wild and wicked and volatile as Mother Nature in a tempest. It had frightened many girls off, made many young men give him a wide berth. But not her. Somehow his volatile nature had only drawn her in. Once she realized that volatility led to other fierce passions, well, she had been consumed by the par-adox of him. She had wanted to save him, she thought, mentally laughing at the absurdity of it. A mere mortal BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  did not hold off the storms, but succumbed to them. And Iain had succumbed to his.

  She knew they were storms created by his parents. He had talked of them, of the years of growing up cold and alone. She understood what living a solitary life could do to people. It changed them. Her life after Iain had been solitary. And most certainly, it had changed her.

  But they had never been solitary with one another. It had only ever been Iain that
she had allowed to glimpse deep inside her. Only Iain she had talked to with open ease, and unguarded honesty. Despite what had happened between them, Elizabeth knew it had been the same for him. Iain had discovered how easy it was to share himself with her, and as a consequence, they had spent nearly as much time talking as they had making love. There had been more to them than the physical aspects of their relationship —much, much more. And that was why his betrayal had hurt so much. Why it had destroyed her. Had it been only sexual, she could have borne it, but it had become much more than that. It had become a union of friendship, and need, and kindred spirits.

  “This reminds me of sitting on the cliffs,” Iain said, drawing her to the present. “Watching a summer storm come in from the North Sea, you beside me, your hair blowing in the wind. I remember looking down at you, thinking you the most beautiful creature in the world.

  Your eyes were alive and sparkling, your skin flushed with the aftereffects of my lovemaking. I wanted you again, to slake the impending storm inside me. Only you, Beth, calmed the storms. The rage inside me. You still do. Even now there is peace stealing over me. Just sitting beside you, I can feel it, breathe easier. Think clearer.

  You have a way with me, a way that no woman has ever come close to. The rage only grew with them. Never sub-BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  sided. I never watched a storm while with them. That was a private indulgence. I would stand at my window, or wander around the garden, watching the sky, thinking of you. Thinking of how I had ruined it all and wishing upon those storm clouds… If I could only have one more chance…”

  “Iain,” she whispered, unable to find the words, unwilling, perhaps, because she did not want to argue, or put an end to this moment. Yet she didn’t feel she possessed the strength to withstand any intimate discussions. Thankfully, he did not press, but he did shift closer, shielding her body from the wind with his broad shoulders.

  “It’s a full moon tonight,” he murmured. “The silver glow makes the snowflakes glitter, and the wind makes them swirl as though they were white orbs dancing in the night. The sky is white now with the heavy blanket of flakes raining down upon us. When you tilt your head up, it’s blinding. You have to blink so fast to keep snowflakes from falling into your eyes. It’s like powdered sugar being poured through a sieve.” She could see it so clearly in her mind, visualize the very spot where they were sitting, and how the storm was going on around them, two figures sitting side by side in the dark.

  “Is your hair white with snow?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” He gave her no time to protest, but reached out and slowly drew off her gloves until her hands were bared to the chill wind.

  “I have waited for this, Beth, this moment,” he whispered as he took her hands in his and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing each fingertip before placing her palms on either side of his face. “When Sussex, Black BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  and I returned from the East, I watched you as you did this—touched Sussex, then Black. And I waited, holding my breath, barely able to control my feelings, waiting to feel your touch on my face. But you did not. You made a polite enquiry after my health and left me standing alone by the hearth. And, then, the other afternoon with Sheldon, you touched him, and I was alone, and apart again.

  Remembering what it was like to await your touch, and then never to feel it. Beth,” he whispered as he moved closer to her, “won’t you touch me? See me?” Her hands moved, unbidden. She had not commanded them to, but they were suddenly reaching for his hair, which was damp and heavy with snow. The wind took strands of it, blowing it forward, over his brow. She followed the melting flakes, revelling in the thickness, the softness of his hair, which he wore long. She had loved to run her fingers through it before. Tug at it in mounting pleasure. Snuggle into it in the shared intimacy of their loving.

  Moving her hands down his neck, she explored the lean cords of his throat, the jut of his Adam’s apple, and the skin of his cheeks, covered with the first dusting of a night beard. Then upwards, until she reached his forehead, felt the strong brow, the silky eyebrows, which she knew were black. His eyes were closed and, hands trembling, she allowed her fingertips to skate over his lids.

  “Beth.” She felt his hot breath on the exposed skin of her wrists. Heard the agony and pleasure in his voice over the quiet wail of the wind.

  His cheeks were chiselled, his jaw strong and angular.

  She wanted to feel his lips, but didn’t dare. She tried to pull away, but he reached for her, pressed her fingers to his mouth and forced her to seek the courage to touch him there. His lips were soft, his mouth lush, causing memo-BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  ries to return, of kisses, deep and slow and consuming.

  Of his mouth traversing her body, learning her, discovering her. How they’d curved in a masculine smile when he’d looked down at her after piercing her maidenhead.

  He was as beautiful as she remembered. His features formidable. Masculine. “Beautiful fallen angel,” she whispered, not intending to give voice to her thoughts, to the memories she had of them. But he heard her, and wrapped his cold fingers around her wrist, holding her hand to his mouth. He kissed her, breathed against her, and she felt with her free hand that his eyes were pressed shut. He wasn’t looking at her. Could he not bear to? Or was the moment too powerful, too overwhelming, that he had to close his eyes in order to savour every nuance of her touch?

  He was so beautiful. Always had been. And fallen so far from grace and honour. He was looking for redemption, she knew. And she was dangerously close to giving it to him.

  “Beth, what do you see?” She felt his lips tremble beneath her fingers.

  “I wish… I wish I could see the lies in your eyes,” she answered, giving voice to the truth, and her fears.

  “They were there before, and I didn’t see it, even though I possessed sight.”

  “No, Beth.”

  “They’re there now, I’m sure. Carefully concealed by your words, the press of your lips against my hand. But if I looked deep within, I would find them. Wouldn’t I?”

  “There are no lies. Never again. I vow it.” How she wanted to believe him. How little it would take for her to do so. “You wanted to know what I saw, Iain? I saw a beautiful liar. You always were, you know.”

  “You wouldn’t see lies, Beth. You’d see hopeful dreams.

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  Wishes. Perhaps even a prayer. But no lies. Just naked honesty, and stark need. A very deep regret, and the hope of forgiveness. The dreams of a fallen angel, as you call me, trying to find his way back to heaven. Which for him was always in your arms.”

  She sensed his desperation, and she tried to move away from him, to put space between them, but he would not allow it. “Give me a chance to earn your forgiveness.

  To make you forget the past.”

  “How can I when the past has shaped me into what I have become? I can’t forget it, Iain, because to forget it makes me vulnerable, makes it too easy for me to slip back into being the creature I was—naïve and foolish.”

  “You were never those things.”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “Look beyond that, Beth. See me with your other senses. They will confirm what I’m telling you. They will show you what your eyes cannot. That I am a man desiring change. A man who wants to find himself, to give himself to you.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t want to look, Iain. I don’t want to see you.”

  “I know you still do. During the nights, when you’re alone, you see me. See what we were to each other. I think you even see into the future, and that sometimes you see me in that future.” He clasped her hands in his, his large palms swallowing hers up. “I want to make you see past my betrayal, Elizabeth, to the truth of what we had. Of what we still have. The feelings are still there, they just need a chance to come out of the suffocating darkness we’ve both buried them under.”

  It would be so easy to place her hand in his and allow him to take her upstairs, undress her, caress her.

  Tempt her.

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  “You ask for too much, Iain,” she murmured. “More than I can give.”

  “Do I?”

  Movement against her made her pause, made her stiffen as she felt him press forward, felt his body shift until his back and shoulders were pressing indecently against her belly and his head was turned, the curve of his cheek lying on her lap.

  “Can you give me this, Beth? Just one moment to lie here and close my eyes, and feel you beneath me, soft and curved?”

  “And what would you find?” she asked, her voice little more than a breathless whisper.

  “Solace.”

  Closing her eyes, she bit hard on her lip, trying not to weaken against that one word. There had been no hesitation when he said it. It was as if he’d known it—what he’d desired all along, a feeling of tranquility. Peace.

  Rightness.

  Her hand hovered over his head, her fingers itching to touch, to run her fingers through his hair, which would be damp with snow. What picture did they make, seated on this bench, a tempest of white swirling around them as he laid his head in her lap?

  “Do you believe a mere mortal can change, Beth?” Whatever he was once is not the man he is now…

  Lucy’s words came rushing back, and Elizabeth bit her lip, forcing herself not to answer in haste.

  “Or do you believe that he is forever condemned to be what he was, what he allowed himself to be?” Yes… The word hovered on her tongue. Yes, you are condemned. A soul cannot change. But, then, if that were the case, she had to be honest and say that if one could not change, if one was condemned by previous actions BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012