Nathan's face was a mask of confusion, but Nora did not understand what was so troubling to him.
"Jane told you about...him?"
The last word came out as if Nathan were afraid to speak it.
Nora nodded.
"Of course, she did. It is something in the past, Nathan. The past can no longer hurt us unless we let it."
Nathan sat up. The motion was so abrupt Nora would have lost her balance had Nathan not grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Jane...talks to you about these things?"
Nora nodded.
"She once told me that the only way she got through her first marriage was seeing you and Alec. She called you her boys. She said no matter how difficult it was she would keep moving forward because you simply delighted her."
Nathan did not speak. He merely sat, staring at her as if she had suddenly grown another head. So she continued.
"Jane could not have children, Nathan. That was likely one of the reasons her husband was so abusive. Jane could not fulfill her duties as a wife, but the man was already stuck in the bargain so to speak. He was an earl, I think. To have no heir for the title is quite upsetting, I know, but not so upsetting that one's wife deserves to be beaten."
Nathan still did not speak, and Nora grew worried.
"Did you know how much you meant to Jane? How much you still do?"
Nathan finally blinked, finally spoke, but his words did not make sense.
"I thought I could not help," he said.
Nora frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw Jane after...her husband would beat her. She was always so sad, and her skin was mottled with bruises. I would see it, and I would hate it, and I would hate it even more that I could not help her."
Nora finally understood and smiled, raising a gentle hand to his own bruised face.
"You did help, Nathan. You helped by bringing joy into her life."
Nathan's face relaxed although he did not quite smile or even return to the jovial Nathan she was growing used to seeing. But it was better than the perplexed and disbelieving Nathan of moments before.
"And you helped me, and you helped Samuel. More than you can imagine."
Nathan pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping so tightly about her, the breath rushed from her lungs.
"I need you, Nathan," she whispered as she could not get the breath to speak louder.
"I need you, too, Nora," he said, and the most incredible feeling of warmth flooded through her.
Eventually, she pushed back.
"Then you need me well rested and ready for whatever is going to happen next, because although I have my Samuel back, I have a feeling this is not over."
Nathan shook his head.
"I am afraid you would be right."
He stood and helped her up. She kissed him one more time and drew away to gather her discarded clothing. Nathan helped her put her shift back on. He found her slippers and her stockings. Together they buttoned the gown enough for her to be decent during the short dash back to her own bedchamber.
"Good night, Mr. Black," she said with her hand on the knob, looking over her shoulder as the firelight danced across Nathan's soft smile.
"Good night, Miss Quinton," he returned, and then she let herself out of the bedchamber, slipping into the darkness beyond.
~
Three blocks over and across the park in the Earl of Stryden's townhouse, Sarah reassured herself that she was just going to check on him. That was a normal, everyday occurrence. It was a humanitarian act, really. From one person to another, a show of concern was typical. Even from an orphan to an earl.
Oh, right.
Sarah adjusted the tie on her dressing gown for the fifth time and knocked resolutely on the door. When Alec said, "Enter," she jumped. Breathe. She had to breathe. And she had to open the door and go in.
He was sitting on the sofa staring at an empty fireplace. The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms. She took only two steps inside, staying behind Alec's line of vision. She had suddenly lost her nerve.
"What is it, Sarah?" Alec asked, without looking back at her.
He, too, wore a dressing gown, but his feet were bare. She shivered in cold for him.
"Sarah?"
"I was just seeing if you were all right," she whispered, knowing he could not possibly have heard her.
"What?" Alec asked, finally turning around. And then he stood, a look of concern on his face as he came toward her. "Sarah, what is wrong?"
She knew she was shaking, and she knew she could probably tell him it was the cold. But she did not want to tell him it was the cold.
"I am cold," she whispered though, unable to say more.
"Is that all?" he asked, studying her face.
"Yes," she lied. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he answered too quickly for her.
"Are you sure?" She saw where the bruises had darkened to a dull purple on his cheeks and jaw.
"Yes." He walked away to pour a glass of liquor that he did not drink from. He walked back to the sofa and sat, still holding the glass, still not drinking.
"Good night, Sarah," he said.
He was dismissing her. And her hand was on the doorknob before she realized she was not going to be dismissed. She strode over to the couch, sat next to him, and stole the glass of liquor. She drank it in one gulp that burned the entire way down. She did not cough. She would not cough. And she kept her eyes shut so he would not see the tears the burning had brought on. He had seen too many tears from her tonight.
"Christ, Sarah, that was a lot of whiskey. I am not made of money, you know." He took the empty glass away from her.
When she was sure the tears had stopped and the burning was only a glow in her stomach, she looked at him. He was looking back at her. So she just leaned forward and kissed him.
He did not respond, so she tilted her head and kissed harder, bringing her hand up to pull at the back of his neck. He still did not respond, so she bit him.
"Ow!" Alec pushed her away, and she almost fell off the sofa.
Tears stung her eyes again, so she stood and walked to the door before he could see them.
She did not make it.
He grabbed her and spun her around, kissing her harder than she had been kissing him, bruising her lips. She dug her fingers into his back until she was sure he felt it and sure that it hurt. He pulled on her hair, arching her neck, so he could bite kisses along the length of it. He bit harder on her collarbone, and she retaliated by biting his ear.
He pulled away, bent to stick his shoulder into her stomach, and then lifted her up. He carried her from the library to the stairs.
"What are you doing?" she screeched.
He did not answer. He went up the stairs as if he were not carrying another human being over his shoulder at all. At the top, they turned right and not left. He was taking her to her room. Her stomach clenched, and a burning began low, flaming up through her.
Alec kicked open her door and threw her on the bed. She bounced so hard she almost fell off. She grabbed at the quilt and struggled to sit up. Her robe came loose, and her nightgown was tangled high around her thighs. Alec shut the door, and the sound of the lock clicking into place split the silence.
She backed up against the pillows, slipping on the satin of the shams. He came towards her, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Her eyes would not move from his face. And then he was kneeling on the bed bedside her. He reached out a single finger and brushed it along the length of exposed thigh.
"Beautiful," he said, just before he attacked her.
Before she realized, Sarah grabbed handfuls of the quilt and dug her heels into the bed. Her hips came up off the mattress, driving her into Alec.
"Shh, not so fast," Alec said.
Not so fast?
Her robe was long gone, and her nightgown was barely still on. Her hair had come loose from its braid and was sprayed across the pillows. Alec kissed the
tender skin behind her knee and kept going up the inside of her thigh. That was when she had bolted off the mattress. But that had not stopped him, and he was still making his way further up, closer to the spot that ached for him. But as much as she wanted him there, she did not want him there. The sooner he reached it the sooner he would be done with her and leave.
But finally he did reach it. She grabbed his head, not sure if she was pushing him closer or pulling him away. He sucked and nibbled and drove her crazy. The ache was building, growing, changing. She did not know what was happening.
She said his name, but maybe she did not. She was not sure if she could speak.
The ache was building to something, something she was sure was almost there, but then he stopped. She opened her eyes, forgetting when she had shut them, and he was there above her. He traced the outline of her lips before lowering his mouth to hers. His hand disappeared. Suddenly it was between her legs, cupping her, stroking her, and her hips moved against it. He slipped a single finger into her, then another, still stroking. Now she did say his name, but it was against his mouth and did not really sound like anything at all.
She grabbed the wrist of the hand that was torturing her just as she exploded. She pushed herself more urgently against that hand as her body shook with the force of the blast. The spasms went on forever, flowing from one end of her body to the other.
When she finally opened her eyes, Alec was smiling down at her. She smiled back with energy she did not know she had. She reached a hand toward him, but he slid off the bed before she could reach him.
She sat up, suddenly frightened, and that was when she realized he was still wearing his robe. He straightened it as he walked toward the door.
"Alec?" she said, her voice soft and shaky.
Alec stopped after he turned the lock.
"Good bye, Sarah," he said.
And left.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nathan was fairly certain the only thing that made him get out of bed the next morning was the thought of seeing Nora at breakfast.
It was hard to imagine that he had only known her for little more than a week, but he also knew there was something greater than themselves working between them. There was the sense that whatever it was that they were feeling, that it was meant to have happened. Meant to have existed. And there was nothing they could do to get in its way.
And what she had told him last night, about Jane, about how Jane had always thought of him and Alec during those years of her first marriage, it seemed somehow right that Nora would ease his feelings of guilt. He was not certain what it meant or even if it were enough to lift the guilt he had been carrying for years. The guilt of not being able to help Jane when she needed help most. But if he had truly brought her joy at that time in her life, then that was something.
But Nathan still felt awful that morning, and there were many valid reasons for this.
The first of which was the floor. Whoever said making love on a rug before a fire was romantic deserved to be shot. Nathan was intimately aware of every muscle from the top of his head to the heels of his feet. He just hoped that Nora felt better. He would feel like a complete idiot if their first attempts at love making had left her with a sore back from the floor.
The second reason he felt awful was that Nora had spent the night in a bed without him and would probably continue to do so for some time. Last night had made it obvious that Nora's scars ran deeper than he had imagined. When she had retreated to that dark place in her head, his insides had frozen. It was not a sensation he was familiar with, but he had recognized it immediately. He suddenly could not feel his extremities, and he was not sure he could control them. He had rolled off of her, grabbed the quilt from the sofa and stuffed it around her before grabbing his own robe. But she was still there, in the past, when he had finally come back to her. And he had not known what to do. He had not known how to help her.
The feeling paralyzed him, and even now thinking of it in the light of day, his stomach still churned. Why was it that he always felt inadequate around women he cared for?
But Nora had helped herself. His name was the first thing she had said, coming to on the floor beneath him. She had latched onto him, used him as a buoy to save her from scary, turbulent waters. And if he were her buoy, he would stay her buoy for as long as she needed. Had she not told him that she needed him? That would have to be enough.
He looked at the door to the hallway as he pulled on his other boot. He had not heard the occupants of the chamber down the hall get up this morning, but it was still fairly early. So he stood and left the sitting room.
And was surprised to find Nora stumbling out of the door down the hall. She caught herself against the opposite wall and stood a moment blinking dazedly.
Nathan watched from his own open door, both confused and delighted. Miss Quinton was not infallible this morning.
"Nora."
She jumped and turned toward him, her hand coming up to her mouth to stifle whatever noise had been about to emerge. Her hair was pinned up in a bun but looser than she normally wore. And the gown from the day before had been replaced with an emerald one. This gown was a touch more demure, but it still sent Nathan's heart racing with the way it sent sparks through her hair and turned her eyes into pools of pulsating color.
And she was smiling.
"Good morning, Nathan," she whispered and pointed at the door. "Samuel's still sleeping."
She tiptoed toward him, and a hot thrill spiraled through him.
Her arms slipped around him, and her head fell back with her eyes shut.
He kissed her before whatever mood had overcome her disappeared. He let his hands stray down to her buttocks and pulled her closer. A moan came from deep in her throat, and she wiggled even closer. Nathan was hard in an instant and wrenched Nora away from him. He pulled in deep breaths holding onto Nora's shoulders to keep upright.
And then Nora giggled.
He glowered at her. "This is not funny."
She turned serious instantly. "I know, Nathan."
She brought her hands up to take his in her grip. She was not wearing gloves, and the skin on the backs of her hands was raw under his callused fingertips. He felt a little of the fire die in him. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted it so much.
"Nathan?"
He drew her back to him, cradling her softly. She laid her head on his chest, tucking it carefully under his chin. They stood just like that as the grandfather clock ticked somberly somewhere behind them.
"I slept," she said after a few ticks. "I slept a lot."
Nathan felt a grin, and -
The front door flew open banging against the wall, and someone screamed hysterically, "Nora!"
The sound shot up the stairs from the front foyer and smashed into them, making both of them jump.
"Nora!"
Nathan pushed her toward the stairs, following two steps behind her.
Downstairs in the foyer, Sarah was frantically tearing at her hat and gloves. Her hands shook so badly neither of them would come off. Her hair was in complete disarray from all the tugging. Tears were pouring out of her eyes as her cheeks blotched with red.
Nora ran to her and dragged her into her arms.
Sarah was mumbling, and Nathan could not understand a word. But Nora held onto the woman, rubbing her back and making cooing noises to her as if to soothe her.
Richard and Jane appeared on the stairs above him, both still in their dressing gowns, just as Samuel slipped under Nathan's arm, rumpled from sleep. Nathan pulled him closer as they watched Sarah hysterically crying in Nora's embrace.
Sarah reared back once and shouted at Nora, "He left! He left! Do you understand that? He left!"
And she dissolved. She collapsed right there, and Nathan sprinted to catch her, knowing in his gut that he was going to kill his little brother even as confusion as to what had happened still lingered. He scooped her up and carried her into the library.
"Send for
tea, Richard," Jane said behind him.
Richard grumbled, "She is going to need something a bit stronger than tea, I think."
Nora sat on the sofa, cradling Sarah's head in her lap, stroking her messy hair away from her face. Sarah had stopped sobbing, the tears now sliding soundlessly down her cheeks and into her hair. Nora kept silent. Nathan kept silent. Samuel kept silent.
And Richard poured Sarah a tumbler of whiskey while Jane fussed with a teacart from where, Nathan could not say.
He stood behind the sofa with Samuel under his arm feeling as uncomfortable as a nun in Madame Hort's House of Leisure.
He was definitely going to kill Alec.
And he was going to enjoy it.
"He just left," Sarah mumbled now, the words soft and without context, confusing.
"He left? Did he leave willingly?" Nora asked just as quietly.
Sarah shook her head in her lap.
"He left me. And I cannot find him," she said before her eyes closed and her breathing evened out.
Finally, Sarah slept.
~
Nora eased out from under her head, replacing her lap with pillows. Jane covered her with a quilt, and they left the library, the tea growing cold on the cart and the whiskey untouched in its glass.
"Where the bloody hell did he go, and why would he go there, the bastard!" Richard roared as soon they reached the morning room.
Nora sat heavily on one of the chairs, which brought Nathan quickly up behind her, clearly worried. His hand was tense on her shoulder. She smoothed it with one of her own.
"Nathan's the bastard, dear," Jane said, also taking a seat.
A maid scampered in setting dishes on the sideboard. Nora smiled in reflex. The maid shyly smiled back and scampered out faster than she had scampered in. Nora wondered for a moment how she really felt, sitting there as maids bustled about her.
"She was afraid he was going to leave," Nora said into the sudden silence, "and he did."
"But where would he go?" Jane asked.
Samuel, who was once again under Nathan's arm as if he had become permanently fixed there, said "Maybe he went to Dover."
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