by Julia Ross
"But you refused."
"I was married."
His fingers stroked her hair. "You believe so strongly in marriage?"
"I made vows and paid a very great price for them. Ι would never be unfaithful. If George lived, Ι wou1d not be here now."
"Yet you and he separated?"
"He left me. The night Ι met Kit and my mother that last time, there was a terrib1e storm. Their road home went through a ford. In the dark and the rain, their carriage overturned. They were all drowned, even the coachman."
He lay silent, his warmth and strength encircling her, but his fingers spoke of tenderness, of sympathy.
"There was no action left after that," she said. "Only blame. Ι don't know if my father would ever have accepted my eloping with George. My mother thought that he might, but after she and Kit died, George knew that any chance of wea1th with me was ruined. So he left. Ι never saw him again."
"He abandoned you then? When you had just lost Kit and your mother?"
"It hardly mattered. Ι only wanted to die. My desire had destroyed my who1e family."
His lips kissed away the sudden burn of tears. "Hush, hush. You had a right to your desire, to your own existence. You did not destroy your fami1y. Fate did that. Fate and bad fortune."
"But they still died. My father still lives alone with a broken heart. Ι have nothing left but my locket."
His hands stilled. "Your locket?"
The gold felt warm and smooth in her hand as she touched it. "My mother gave it to me when Kit was born. It's a Felton heirloom, said to contain the key to a treasure. It became a symbol, perhaps, of how much we all loved each other, especially of how much Ι loved my little brother. Kit and Ι played endless games based on some funny old writing engraved inside. Ι have nothing else left."
She heard his breathing, broken by distress, but he said nothing.
"Do you understand now?" she asked. "Whether we admit to desire or not, it was vital that we do this for Sherry - the tiniest recompense, perhaps, for what happened to Kit."
His chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "What we did, what is happening between us, has nothing to do with Sherry or with Kit - any more than it has to do with my brother. There is no recompense for our loss, for their deaths. But our life goes on, Juliet. Life! We are alive!"
His hands reached for her jaw and held her face captive for a moment. Then his lips burned down over hers, in passion, in heat, almost in anger. Was grief so close to rage? Was desire more intense than either?
Without hesitation, Juliet kissed back, reaching for him with both hands, for the splendor of his body, for that glorious submersion in passion.
Later she dreamed that they talked in the grape arbor, where he held her close on his lap and asked her again: Do you like it?
In her dream she answered with the truth she could not quite admit to awake: Ι have spent five years knowing that my husband lived. As long as he was alive, the future had closed all its doors. Those five years were lived in celibacy. Do you think they were lived without desire?
So you do admit to desire? his dream image asked.
Ι have just given you my soul for it. Now Ι know that George is dead, Ι am free, Alden Granville. Free to love again.
Do you love me?
Ι love you, her dream self said. Though it breaks my heart.
ALDEN WOKE UP TO DARKNESS, BUT HE KNEW IT WAS morning. Juliet's steady breath fluttered against his shoulder. He reached for the delectable curve of her flank. How many times had they made love? How many times had he poured all of his passion, his ardor, his very essence into her lush body? He'd lost count. But then, he never counted.
Her flesh felt cool under his burning palm. To his surprise, his desire remained banked, only a smoldering fire. Why did he feel so disoriented, giddy, as if his mind were not quite his own? He slipped his hand away from her soft skin and sat up. Α headache slammed into his skull. He shivered. Lud! Was he unwell? Another shiver racked him. He staggered from the bed. The door opened onto a silent corridor, lit by the dull light of a rainy morning. His naked flesh flamed in the cold air.
Fever!
He closed his eyes for a moment and. remembered himself soaked to the skin, getting Sherry into his bath, making sure that the child took no chill. All the while, like a fool, he had worn his own damp clothes, his wet hair plastered to his head, until his blood ran like ice in his veins.
He shuddered, naked and burning. Tremors ran across his shoulders.
It was vital that we do this for Sherry.
Bloody hell! The wager was not over yet. Somewhere in the house Lord Edward waited for his proof.
Alden stumbled back into the little room. In the beam of gray light from the open doorway, Juliet slept like a child, a tiny smile curving her lips. Something moved in him, something that carried with it a strange thud of panic. He touched her shoulder. His hand shook, clumsy. She didn't wake.
Ι have nothing left but my locket.
It would be a madness to lose the wager over this one last thing. The panic beat harder, fear writhing in his heart as if he were undergoing some odd transformation. He fought it desperately. He was a rake. It was his vocation to use women.
Ι wanted you to win your wager.
Α sudden sweat broke over his skin. Alden gathered his clothes from the floor. He found his handkerchief and wiped his face, before he strode to the door and tossed his clothes onto a chair in the corridor. He felt light-headed. His skin burned. His muscles wept over throbbing, aching bones. He stood in the doorway for a long minute, watching the rain trickle down the windows, hearing its dull hiss echo about the quiet house, while the fever played merry hell with his body.
He must win the wager!
She made a small sound. He spun about, but she had only turned in her sleep. In long drifts of powdered tangles, her hair spread over the cover. Alden strode back into the little room.
Wake up, Juliet! Tell me to go to hell!
Naked, shaking, he stood over her, willing her to wake. In her sleep she made a small gesture with one hand, as if to push him away. So they had shared a night of passion! What the hell did it mean more than that?
Cursing silently, he unsnapped her gold chain. Her locket flamed in his palm as if it would burn to the bone.
Next door he found an empty bedroom. Α half-full pitcher stood on the washstand. Cold water scorched over his face and limbs as he ducked his head in the basin, then shook himself like an otter. With clumsy fingers he dried himself and donned his clothing. His face looked flushed, eyes glittering, in the mirror over the dresser. In an ice-cold rage he searched the dresser drawers. He found powder and rouge, even a selection of patches in a small tin.
The powder looked stark, too white. He spread rouge along his cheekbones and added a large patch to distract attention from his fever-bright eyes. Α little cold water smoothed his hair before he tied it back. As a last gesture, he shook out his lace and strapped on his smallsword, before thrusting stockinged feet into gilt-heeled shoes.
He spun around and stared into the mirror.
Alden Granville-Strachan, Viscount Gracechurch, stared back. The rake who made a habit of breaking hearts. The man who had wagered his own ruin against a woman's virtue and won.
Very deliberately he picked up Juliet's locket from the dresser where he'd lain it. It was obviously more than a hundred years old, with an odd design on the back. He wondered briefly if there was anything inside - a lock of hair, a miniature painting. It would be a violation of both honor and her privacy to look. How simple to resist life's smaller temptations!
Her gold jewelry slipped unopened into his pocket.
ALDΕΝ FOUND LORD EDWARD SITTING IN THE PARLOR WHERE he'd played chess with Juliet. The pungent odor of coffee glazed the stale smell of drink and perfume from the previous night. Fingers steepled together, the duke's son lounged in a chair by the empty fireplace and stared into the grate. He did not appear to have gone to bed at all. On a side table at
his elbow, something glittered, sparkling in the gray light.
His rings! Alden had given them to Sir Reginald in London, then forgotten all about them. His heels clicked on the floor as he strode into the room.
"Good morning, Gracechurch." Lord Edward spoke over his shoulder. "Coffee? Help yourself."
"No servants this morning, sir?"
"Surely you would not wish Sir Reginald's staff to witness our upcoming exchange?"
The mad temptation was to draw his sword, to silence that smooth drawl forever. Instead Alden poured coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. "Why not? We had enough witnesses last night."
"When they had a purpose. Lud, sir! You make me nervous. You will be kind enough to lay aside your blade?" The duke's son watched Alden unbuckle his sword and set it down. He tapped at the rings. "Thank you. Here are your trinkets, sir."
Carrying his coffee, Alden walked to the fireplace and picked up the rings. "You are confident Ι have now redeemed them?"
"Of course. You have the locket?" The duke's son smiled. "Obviously you have had the lady-" Dried powder was caked on his face. "It was sweet?"
His rings slipped one by one into their familiar places. Alden spread his fingers and looked down at them. Either that, or make a fist to wipe the sneer off Lord Edward's face. "Wealth is sweeter."
"Yet you do not in truth have much wealth, do you, Gracechurch? You are sadly in debt, even now."
"My affairs are my own."
"Only after we have settled our wager. The locket, sir."
Alden picked up his coffee. Its heady fragrance filled his nostrils as he took the locket out of his pocket and dropped it onto the table.
"You give it up so easily? Have you no care at all for the lady?"
"Ι am a rake." With a certain ferocious satisfaction, he reveled in the statement. Of course it was true! "Do you really believe Ι have a heart?"
Lord Edward laughed. "No, sir, Ι am sure you have not." He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a handful of paper slips. One by one he tore them to shreds, then pulled out his betting book. He wrote in it, then handed it to Alden. "Satisfied?"
Alden scrawled his signature across the page. The flutter of torn paper fell about his feet like snow. He took another sip of coffee, the burning liquid icy in his scorched throat.
"There is also the matter of the promised five thousand."
"Α banker's draft will be delivered to you tomorrow." Lord Edward held out a note. "My vowel in the meantime."
Alden set down his cup. The fever burned along his bones. Infuriatingly, his hand shook. "You may keep it."
The duke's son raised both brows. "Why?"
"In trade for the lady's jewelry. Ι have a collection of such mementos. It would make a pretty, if trifling, addition." It was a lie, of course, though not one that mattered.
Lord Edward slapped one palm down hard over the locket. "Not for sale, Gracechurch!"
Alden walked away to stare out of the window. His head thundered. The blood scalded in his veins. Beneath his fine jacket, the rose-and-silver waistcoat and all of his lace, he was sweating like a racehorse. God prevent him from passing out now!
He tried to concentrate.
"Everything is for sale, sir. It is just a matter of agreeing on a price."
"Lud! She has cozened you. You do give the lady your heart. How about your pretty hand in marriage?"
It was still raining outside, a dull drizzle, soaking the gardens. Water glistened over statues and topiary. "The lady is not interested in marriage. You hadn't noticed?"
"Faith! You refer to my offer yesterday?"
"You asked her to marry you. Ι am touched."
Lord Edward threw back his head and roared. "Marry her? Ι never had any intention of marrying her. Ι wanted her once - if you think she is delectable now, you should have seen her at sixteen - but now? Do you think Ι would stoop to sully myself with George Hardcastle's leavings? The man's grandfather was a butcher."
It was almost impossible to think through the pounding headache. His joints ached as if they were being attacked by a woodsman's saw. Concentrate!
"Then may Ι inquire why you asked her?"
"To frighten her."
"So your renewed pursuit was a bluff? Ι confess, sir, you leave me nonplused."
"My dear Gracechurch! Pray do not play the innocent with me. You may have no soul, but Ι expect you to understand revenge."
Alden pulled out his handkerchief to blot his dry, burning mouth. "Sadly, sir, your argument loses me. Ι have never pursued anything as tawdry as revenge."
"No, you would rather pursue women, which made you perfect for my purposes."
"The card game Ι was careless enough to lose in London?" He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest to hide the shaking in his limbs. "Delighted to oblige, of course, but you will assuage my curiosity. Was the wine drugged that night?"
"Alas, sir, hardly a question one gentleman asks another."
"Yet you will agree that Ι was oddly light-headed, as you will concede that you allowed me to win in our little encounter with rapiers that morning?"
"Ι will even admit that you were a most worthy opponent, my dear Gracechurch. Ι have rarely been pressed so deuced hard. But certainly you would not have prevailed unless Ι had allowed it."
"How foolish of me not to question that at the time - nor to question my odd lack of judgment that night."
"You were foolhardy," Lord Edward said.
"Indeed. But you had to make certain of getting me in debt, and surely not even you would descend to marking the cards? Can' you tell me your real purpose?"
Lord Edward had flushed beneath his paint. "By all means. Ι wanted the locket."
"If you had wanted only the locket, you could have taken it. After all, you compelled her to come here last night."
"Deplorably crude, but necessary. Will you call me out over it? "
Alden tipped back his head and studied the ceiling. Painful spasms attacked his spine. The patterns in the plaster seemed to move by themselves. Concentrate!
"Ι am tempted. In spite of your admittedly superior skill with a blade, Ι am tempted."
"But you will not?"
"A duel and its cause can hardly be kept secret. Sadly, Ι never make public my dealings with women: a caprice, but one Ι believe Ι am known for. Meanwhile no one else will speak of the events of last night. To do so would be to spread a tale in which Lord Edward Vane looks the fool, something which - after the scandal you survived five years ago - you will never tolerate again. You have thus already sworn all your cronies to secrecy, even though it leaves the lady's reputation untarnished."
"Ι care nothing for her reputation. She may keep it with my blessing."
"Ι thought so. Therefore, no duel - as you planned."
"Tell me, Gracechurch, how did you ever lose a chess game especially to a woman? Ι would like to match you some time myself."
The longing to simply lie down was overwhelming. What a time to contract an ague! "We are playing right now, Lord Edward."
"But this time checkmate is mine. Ι have the locket. Α worth less trinket, of course, but what do you offer me for it?"
He was running out of time. There was no choice but to move straight to the end gambit. "My person."
"Hah!" Lord Edward's coffee spilled to the floor as he flung both hands wide and stood up. "Not Gracechurch Abbey? Not your scattered investments? Only your person?"
The stain spread like blood over the floorboards. The cup had been full. Alden had no collection of ladies' trinkets. He wasn't even sure any longer why he'd said it. "There are others in need of the Abbey."
"But no one needs you? Ι am charmed."
The truth of it burned into his heart. No one needed him. Not his mother, not Sherry, not even Juliet.
"My person is my own to give or take as Ι wish. Ι am offering it."
"You are perceptive, sir." Lord Edward walked closer and stared into Alden
's face. "You have hit upon the one thing that does indeed tempt me."
Alden set one hand on the shutter to steady himself. "Then we have a bargain?"
The duke's son stepped close enough to touch. "No, sir. You entirely misunderstand my revenge. You were never the target, only the tool. She ran away with a butcher's grandson and publicly rejected me. Now it is her turn to taste betrayal."
The bitter taste of the coffee filled his mouth. "Betrayal?"
"Of course. Why else did she sacrifice herself last night? She loves you. Isn't that what all your women do? Give body, heart and soul ω the heartless, soulless Lord Gracechurch?"
"Except this lady. She had other motives."
"Don't underestimate your power, sir! You guess quite correctly what Ι would like from you - it is what everyone wants, man or woman, and my own eclectic tastes are well known, Ι believe. Yet, alas, Ι will forgo even that to know her pain when she finds out what you have done." Lord Edward held up the locket. It glimmered in the dull light as he tossed the gold disk, caught it, and thrust it into an inside pocket. "You took the only things she cares for in this world: her honor and her locket. She loves you and you betrayed her. What's more, you betrayed her to me."
Alden managed to walk to the couch. He clutched the carved back with one hand as he slid onto the brocade seat. The floor spun. Chair legs seemed to dance together in mad patterns of gilt and wood. The blood-dark stain had run into the edge of the fender.
"About the wine that night in London-" He swallowed, pressing his lace handkerchief to his lips. Shivers consumed him. "This coffee, also?"
Lord Edward's voice seemed to boom and echo as if from a great distance. "Perhaps. Yet Ι am surprised to see you so incapacitated-"
Alden laughed then. "You are in luck today, Lord Edward. Nature conspires to help you. Ι believe Ι have influenza."
Heels clicked on the floor. Α strong hand set icy fingers on his forehead.
"Lud, sir! You are burning! Allow me to call your carriage."
It had been madness to risk the coffee, even so little, on top of his illness. Alden leaned back, allowing the couch to support him. "Ι prefer to stay."
Bony fingers ran down the side of his face, outlining his cheek. Lord Edward leaned closer. "Ι am ecstatic that you so enjoy my company." Vicious fingers locked in his hair, pulling his head back.