The Love List

by Deb Marlowe

  He shook his head. “No, but there’s nothing to prevent him staying with a friend or in some other bolt-hole. My worry is—”

  He’d bit back whatever he’d meant to say. “Yes?” she encouraged.

  “He’s here. I know it. I feel in my gut that it’s exactly what he would do. It’s just—I wonder if perhaps this house meant more to me than to him.”

  She couldn’t help but soften a little. “Did you spend time here together, then?”

  Lips pressed together, he nodded. “It’s where we began to know each other again, as young men. Tru would come, abandoning school for the cricket or the mills in Kennington, not so far away, and I—” He stopped abruptly. “I used to spend a good deal of time here.”

  Brynne thought of what she knew about his old reputation as a gifted orator, a firebrand with the ability to sway men’s minds. And she recalled what she knew about Clapham and its most celebrated residents, united in one cause. “You were involved with the abolitionist movement?”

  He shot her an annoyed glance. “You are entirely too quick.”

  She laughed. “Not so difficult a leap.” She did rapid mental calculations in her head. “It must have been so exciting—you would have been here for some of their greatest battles and victories in Parliament.”

  He stared ahead. “Yes.”

  “How wonderful to think you had a hand in something so . . . monumental.”

  He snorted. “I was naught but a green young fool, all passion, bravado and ignorance.”

  “I don’t care, any small part of such a wondrous accomplishment must be admired.” She frowned. “But there is still work to be done there, is there not? Though the trade of slaves is abolished, still, men work to outlaw the institution itself, do they not? You have such influence, surely you must still—”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “But why not?”

  “Because I’m done chasing at windmills. I’ve accepted the fact that I cannot change the world with my words and the sheer force of my will.” She flinched at the intensity of his glare. “I’ve finished with dreams and all the havoc and destruction that comes from chasing them.”

  A well-deserved rebuke, she supposed. She wished she could reassure him that additional barriers were overkill, at this point. Instead, she merely leaned back into the hard bench they’d shifted before her window. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have asked. In any case, you know your brother, and you’ve followed your instincts. It will be dark soon. We’ll see soon enough how accurate they were.” She patted the wooden spot next to her. “Come and sit. There’s room. It’s better than a log, at any rate and you can see the house just as well from here.”

  Not until after a long moment’s hesitation did he let loose a sigh and leap heavily down from his perch to take the seat.

  Brynne was forced to press herself further into her corner of the bench. “I’ve changed my mind,” she grumped. “There isn’t room. I’ve suspected all along that you take up more than your fair share of space. Now I know that I was right.”

  She didn’t truly mind, though—and therein lay the danger. It felt as if men had been making her feel small all of her life. Yet here sat Aldmere, the biggest and most powerful of them all—and the only one who didn’t make her feel less than what she was.

  A dangerous, potentially life-altering thought. One she didn’t dare pursue.

  “When will we go in?” she asked, desperate for a distraction.

  “After it’s been dark a while. We’ll give the neighboring houses time to settle down for the night—and see if anyone else stirs around here.”

  “Is there no caretaker at all?” she asked, trying to angle herself into the corner of the bench. “No one who watches the house for you?”

  “I lease the place to a friend of Tru’s, a poet who enjoys the more natural setting along with the proximity to Town. But he’s taken the spring and summer to go and tour the Lakes. Tru knew that, I’m sure, and that was another reason I thought this would turn out to be his hiding spot.”

  He leaned forward and wiped a spot from the window. “Watch the rounded tower at the end of the east wing,” he directed. “Tru always did love that corner of the house. We lounged more than a few afternoons away there, debating cricket’s finer techniques, arguing politics and toasting bread and cheese.”

  She shifted again, searching for a way to sit without touching him, but gave it up as a lost cause. Curling her legs up, she sat back, ridiculously content and not even pretending that it had nothing to do with the press of his thigh along her calf, the warmth that spilled out of him and penetrated even the sturdy serge of her gown, or the spicy undertone of his cologne.

  Time stretched and dusk began to move in. The quiet between them grew too, and shifted. It all might have been uncomfortable, perhaps, between the isolation, the silence and the approaching dark offering cover for threat and uncertainty.

  It wasn’t. Not to her. Instead the dark eased in, thick with comfort, and yet alive with a heady, underlying thrum.

  She knew what that was, that reverberation centered down low in her belly and dancing along the edge of her pulse. The same low vibration had begun when she barged into his office and only grown in intensity since.

  Desire. Want. Need. All humming industriously beneath the silence and the calm.

  Foolishness. Utterly impossible to act upon, as Callie had said. Yet she had no wish to deny or ignore it. It was a lovely sensation, entirely pleasant. Surely these moments were not plentiful, after all. Who knew when or if she would ever feel such a thing again? She shifted slightly. Just a tad nearer, not away. She would absorb it—and enjoy it—while it lasted.

  “Are you smiling again?” he asked. “I can barely see you now.”

  “Yes.” Smiling wider now. “Would you like me to stop?”

  He pondered the question. “No.”

  “Good.”

  The dark advanced, deepened its hold on the tiny structure. Their window, framed by the forest’s first, rustling branches of beech, held a breathtaking vision of clear sky. Brynne sat, caught in a liquid state between contentment and anticipation. Eventually, she put her head back and watched the stars blink into life, one by one. Gradually the moon rose above the trees, shedding faint light across the lawn and into their snug space.

  Only one thought shattered her calm—the realization that this was likely the end. This was the last time she would sit alone with Aldmere, sharing this warm and lovely and oddly compatible mix of exhilaration and tranquility. Her heart rate jumped a bit, and she fought back a quick surge of panic. She wasn’t ready.

  She knew this couldn’t continue. They were opposites in situation, belief and nearly every other sort as well. But he bolstered her spirits and confidence, stirred her passions, forced her to think and evaluate herself and her course.

  It didn't matter. She had to give him up. She just wished it didn’t have to come so soon.

  She jumped when Aldmere’s hand snaked out of the shadows to grasp hers.

  For a moment neither spoke. Her focus narrowed, her world constricted entirely to the slide of his fingers as they laced into hers.

  “Miss Wilmott—”

  “Brynne.”

  “Yes. Brynne.” He sucked in a breath. “I have something to say, before we go into the house.”

  She nodded, then realized the motion would be hard to pick out in the gloom. “Yes?”

  His breathing had grown heavier. “There is no denying that . . . something . . . lies between us.”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Surely the sudden leap of her pulse beneath his fingers spoke for itself.

  “It doesn’t feel . . . in the common way.” He paused. “In truth, I’ve never felt the like.”

  “Nor I.” Anything louder than a whisper was beyond her.

  “I meant to let it pass unremarked. I told myself that even from our first meeting, our encounters have been intense and unusual. Small wonder that our reaction
s to each other might mirror that. It makes it seem likely that all of this will fade when we return to the cold light of our normal lives.”

  Glad of the dark, Brynne pursed her lips and let his delusions lay undisturbed. Normal had slipped her grasp months ago, and she feared it would take a disturbingly long time for her to forget . . . all of this.

  “You said once that our paths are wildly different, and you were right. It took a hell of a mess to bring us together and once it’s cleaned up, you’ll be busy chasing your goals and I’ll just be . . . busy. But sitting here, thinking back, looking ahead and wanting only to wallow in this moment, I realized I’ve changed my mind.”

  Unfair that a single statement could cause both a thrill and surge of disappointment. She ignored the shiver running down her spine and stiffened. “We had an agreement, your Grace. We pledged to act as partners only.” Please don’t make it harder to keep.

  “Don’t be prickly, Miss Wilmott,” he chided. “I meant no insult. I only mean to say that it would be a disservice—an insult, almost—if I didn’t acknowledge what lies between us. And thank you for it.”

  She blinked. “Thank me?”

  “Yes.” His grip tightened, but his tone grew faint. “I cannot begin to explain it. I don’t even understand it. But you . . . somehow you quiet the discord.” He breathed deeply. “You bring me a lovely feeling of peace, Brynne Wilmott, and that is something that I have not felt in a very long time. So I thank you.”

  Her heart rate ratcheted again. “I . . .” She sighed and gave up. “I’m glad. And you are welcome.”

  She started again as his hand brushed her face.

  “But it’s the promise implied that sets the hook in my gut.” The words came out low and ragged. His fingers lingered, exploring at the corner of her mouth. “The tantalizing hint of so much more to come.” He traced her lower lip, then, before moving to trail softly along the line of her jaw.

  That low buzz accelerating, she leaned in to the caress.

  “There’s more here than just excitement and adventure. I don’t want you to doubt for a moment, when you look back at this, that I felt the pull, the powerful allure.” He sighed. “But—”

  “But,” she interrupted. “I already know what you are going to say.” Her limbs had grown lighter, her legs straightening, her arms lifting easily to his shoulders as tongues of flame licked a weightless path along her bones.

  “Don’t say it yet,” he whispered. He loomed large over her. “Not yet. Kiss me, instead. Once more, then done—before we enter that house, find Tru and change everything.”

  She hesitated. And marveled how easily he’d just shifted her perspective. A moment ago, any further entanglement with Aldmere rated as foolish and self-destructive. Now, with his warm breath tickling her ear and her insides weightless and alight with heat and desire, a kiss simply felt inevitable.

  His arms gathered her close. She shifted to accommodate their positions on the narrow bench and flowed against him.

  Gently, as soft as the brush of a feather, he kissed her. And she allowed it. They were alone, together in the dim shadows and in a completely new and intimate way. The stone shed ceased to exist the moment their lips touched. They were swept away, transported to a precipice between worlds, and this moment, this kiss, was merely a nod to what might have been. Or perhaps this moment did not truly exist, after all.

  He deepened the kiss, and she quit thinking about it. Lost the ability to form a coherent thought altogether, as he teased and coaxed her mouth with his, and drew forth a flood of need.

  Exactly the right word—need. For suddenly, she needed more. They’d stolen this moment. It shouldn’t have happened. Yet here they were, by all the saints, and if this was all there was to be, then she wanted everything she could get.

  A sound emerged, from her heart, from her soul, but channeled through the back of her throat. A plea. A command. Her arms locked behind his neck and she opened wide, tasted deep and tangled her tongue with his.

  His body, that tower of bulk and strength, shuddered beneath her hands. Shaking off restraints, it would seem, for he kissed her hard and long. Dominant. Demanding. His hands gripped her shoulders tight, then fell away to spread possessively along the curves of her waist.

  God, what he did to her. More than his title, it must be something solid at his core, an absolute confidence that allowed him to not only accept her strengths, but to respond in kind. It filled her with joy and assurance, drove her wild and urged her to climb higher.

  Rejoicing, she broke away. Their gazes met. She arched as his hand stroked down over her bottom to grasp her thigh and tug, silently directing her to shift her weight.

  It was a question, a suggestion. Not an order or a demand. And that was a large part of why her answer could be affirmative.

  Yes. Just a little further. A little more, then she would speak the words. But first . . . using his broad shoulders as support, she rose up and straddled him.

  His breath caught.

  She gave it back to him in a long, slow and passionate kiss. Again, they plundered each other’s mouths, and again, while he fumbled with her skirts and at last they were bunched between them and she was gasping at the feel of his hands on her bare hips.

  She pulled back, stared down, barely able to discern the gleam of his eye.

  “Brynne,” he whispered. His hands, so large and hot against her skin, pulled, urged her closer. And she followed, pressed close, nestling vulnerable flesh against the hard ridge pressing tight against his trousers.

  He moaned. Pleasure and agony.

  And she sighed. Such beautiful, clever hands he had. They traced circles of fire on her hips, then dipped down to tease the sensitive skin along her garters before withdrawing altogether.

  She whimpered. Protest? Or agreement? Before she could decide, they were back, sliding up along her ribs to mold her bosom with palms pressed tight and fingers spread wide.

  Approval, this time, emerging on a gasp and triggering an instinctive rocking motion that left them both nearly mindless with pleasure. Arching her back, she did it again.

  He slid his hands up and around her neck. The buttons to her gown started on the high collar and marched down her shoulder. He started to work the first one loose.

  Surprise gave her clarity. A good thing, because she wished this to be a decision, not just a desire-fueled reaction. She’d promised Callie that she wouldn’t be foolish. That she’d be strong and independent.

  But Callie couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand this. She and Aldmere were equals in this; both giving, both taking. She didn’t feel pressured or forced or even hesitant. And this felt . . . right. Celebratory, almost. Odd in the midst of all of this trouble, but also dear because of it.

  But they couldn’t take it much farther. Perhaps she should put a stop to it. They were opposites, as she’d already reminded herself. Neither belonged in the other’s world.

  Yet they weren’t in either of those places now. They’d created this spot, stolen this moment, and Aldmere had reached the last of her buttons. He tugged, and heart leaping, her decision was made. She shrugged, helping him push the gown and chemise away. He pulled down on her stays, and cool air wafted across her flesh as her breasts lifted free.

  She wished she could see his face. Her own was aflame, flush with excitement and uncertainty. Her nipples peaked and she waited, breathless, for him to touch her there again.

  He licked her instead. Darted his warm tongue against one hard peak and drew a lazy wet circle around it before going back to do it again.

  She gasped, groaned and sunk further into him. He didn’t stop and she didn’t want him to. She could have spent eternity arched against him while he suckled one breast and teased the other with his fingers. It was shocking, sinful and wonderful. He created a storm of want, bolts of desire that branched between her breasts, her belly and lower, to the spot pressed so delightfully against him. Elation gripped her, and a strange impatience.

 
Until he pulled away with a moan. Grabbed her arms and pushed her back.

  “We have to stop.”

  She tried to squirm back, wanted to cry out a denial.

  “Here. While we still can.” His breath came hard and heavy. Say it,” he rasped. “Say it now.”

  “Not yet.”

  Just the smallest bit more. She dug her hands into the thick hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her forehead to his.

  “Damnation,” he breathed. “Say it.”

  “It’s real,” she whispered. “What lies between us is real and glorious.”

  “God, yes,” he groaned. “You are lovely, Brynne Wilmott, both inside and out. And you nearly tempt me beyond reason. But you must finish,” he insisted. “Say the rest.”

  He was so strong, yet he didn’t say it himself? Emotion surged as she realized he trusted her with the choice, was gifting her with the power. Because he knew her to be strong, as well. Trusted her to see the truth and make the right choice for them both.

  Hearts weren’t made to soar and ache at the same time.

  “Complicated,” she sighed. “It’s all so complicated.” Straightening up, she dropped her hands. “Impossible.”

  “We cannot act on it.” Thank God she could hear regret in his voice. “Not any further. But neither could we deny its existence.” He stood then, lifting her without effort, and squeezed her hand tight before letting her slide down the front of him.

  “Now. Give me a moment. Then let’s go find my brother.”

  Fifteen

  Blinded by love, seduced by theatricality, I agreed. The plan was laid. I slipped out in the dead of night. The Captain’s hired carriage took us deep into the countryside to a tiny, stone church. A private chapel on someone’s estate, I assumed, but the vicar awaited and there was the driver to act as a witness. Alas, there was no beauty in the ceremony. The vicar, possessed of a ragged beard and thin voice, grinned and leered his way through the sacred words. The Captain fidgeted. The driver yawned. I fretted over the Captain’s manner, but felt sure he would relax once the marriage was accomplished.