by Music Box
“Bryce.” She whispered his name, and the sound was an exquisite blend of profound emotion and newborn desire. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing his mouth against her skin, and Bryce responded to her need, branding her with his kisses, blazing a path along the hollow between her breasts. Her wrapper had fallen open, the thin muslin of her gown providing little barrier between Bryce and his goal. He could clearly make out the perfect swells of her breasts, flushed with need, their nipples tight with desire.
He lowered his head, surrounding one taut peak with his lips, tugging it into the warm cavern of his mouth.
Gaby cried out again, this time in wonder, and Bryce repeated the caress, drunk with longing, wild to taste more of her—all of her. He shifted to her other breast, frustrated by the interfering garment that hindered his quest. With that thin scrap of cloth between them, he was unable to savor her as he craved to do—deeply, totally—to fulfill the burgeoning need that surged through his veins, pounded through his loins. He needed her naked, clinging, reaching for him, and taking him inside her melting warmth. He needed her urgent, wild, as desperate for him as he was for her.
He needed her now.
Raising his head, he gauged the distance to the bed, then gazed into Gaby’s eyes, recognizing the wonder and longing that mirrored his own.
“Bryce,” she breathed, stretching up to kiss his throat, “make love to me.”
It was her words—the meaning they conveyed, the essence of which he was only now discovering—that stopped him, shattering the aura of unreality that had governed the past few sequestered minutes, leaving the truth staring him in the face: he was on the verge of taking Gaby to bed.
With a harsh groan, Bryce took hold of his senses—whatever fragments of them still existed—and set Gaby on her feet, shaking his head as he denied her, denied them both, the fulfillment they sought. “Ah, Gaby …” His voice was raw, hoarse, rough with unquenched desire and unimaginable feelings. “I can’t. Not now. Not here. Not like this.”
Not ever, his conscience ordered reflexively.
His conscience was dead wrong. That Bryce knew—suddenly, unequivocally, and with every fiber of his being. This union was as inevitable as that of dawn melding with day, as natural and irrefutable as it was right. He’d just been too blind, too stubborn, too terrified, to see it.
Still, the timing, the location, the circumstances—those were all wrong. In fact, the very idea that he’d almost allowed this to happen—caused it to happen, here, now—was totally insane.
“What in God’s name am I doing?” he muttered, fighting desperately to regain rational thought and control. In one purposeful motion, he drew Gaby’s wrapper together, then tugged her into the circle of his arms, as if the very warmth of her could shed some light on this madness. “I’m seducing you,” he supplied. “In Hermione’s house, no less. Under her roof—the fine woman who kept me alive, made sure that I became all that I am. A woman who trusts me. Whose family trusts me. And Hermione notwithstanding, I have no right to be doing this. Not now. Not when you deserve so much more. Dammit. What in the name of heaven was I thinking? More apropos, why wasn’t I thinking at all? Gaby”—he framed her face between his palms—“I can’t begin to explain—”
“Why have you no right?” Gaby blurted out, confusion and uncertainty clouding her features. “And why did you stop? Was it because of me? Am I the one you’re protecting?” As always, her heart was in her eyes. “If so, don’t. I want to be with you, desperately. What’s happening is not an impulsive act, at least not on my part. I’ve dreamed about our making love since last week when you kissed me good-bye. I’ve prayed it would happen. Bryce, don’t you understand?” She laid her palm against his jaw. “I love you.”
Gaby’s pronouncement sank in, its impact heightened by the delicate strains of “Für Elise” playing softly in the background.
“My beautiful Wonderland,” Bryce murmured at last, his voice husky as he turned his lips into Gaby’s palm. “That’s the most magnificent declaration I’ve ever heard, much less been offered. Thank you.”
“I don’t want your thanks. I want your love. Or do you still not believe such love exists?” She stepped away, crossed over to shut the lid of her music box.
Stark silence prevailed.
Bryce sucked in his breath, grappling with feelings he couldn’t fathom, couldn’t assign words to, still reeling as reality crashed into place. “Gaby.” He came up behind her and gently turned her around to face him. “We have a lot to discuss. And, yes, our feelings—yours and mine—are among those things. But tonight is not the time. Your bedchamber is not the place.” He swallowed. “I’ve already betrayed Hermione’s trust as it is.”
“What about Miss Talbot?” Gaby asked softly, her eyes searching his. “Have you betrayed her trust as well?”
“Yes.” Bryce never averted his gaze. “I have. Far more extensively than you mean, more extensively than I could begin to fathom.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor did I. But now I do.” Bryce’s thumbs caressed Gaby’s cheeks. “The fact is, I started betraying Lucinda’s trust long before I took you in my arms tonight. I started doing so nearly a fortnight ago—the morning Crumpet brought you rushing up to my carriage. I’ve been dishonest with Lucinda since that moment. And I’ve been dishonest with myself as well.”
“I see.” Hope shimmered in Gaby’s eyes. “Does that mean—”
“Not tonight,” he interrupted, laying a forefinger across her lips. “There’s too much to say and not enough time in which to say it. Tomorrow. After I’ve had a chance to collect my thoughts, come to terms with the deluge of emotions that are churning inside me—emotions I never even knew I possessed.”
“All right,” Gaby whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “When tomorrow?”
Her impatience made him smile. “I’m meeting with Thane and Hermione right after breakfast. How about the instant we’re finished?”
“Can’t you delay the meeting?”
“I wish I could.” Staring into those magnificent blue eyes, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, Bryce was tempted to do more than postpone his meeting. He was tempted to carry Gaby to her bed and damn the consequences to hell. Determinedly, he subdued that impulse. “Gaby, I’ve got to walk out of here, take up my post outside your door. Now. While I still can.”
Reluctantly, Gaby nodded. “Bryce?” She caught his wrist, staying his departure. “I appreciate everything you just said about trust. But, with regard to Aunt Hermione, I hope you realize that, caring for us both as she does, she’d be delighted if we happened to begin caring for each other.”
“I don’t think she’d regard what just happened as caring for each other,” Bryce returned dryly. “She’d regard it as my taking advantage of you. And she would be right. In fact, this was the very type of behavior she begged me to protect you from should I be called upon to oversee your future. Little did she suspect that when the situation arose, I would be the offender rather than the protector.”
“Oversee my future?” Gaby frowned, her expression puzzled. “I don’t understand. Why would you be called upon to oversee my future?”
Bryce wanted to kick himself. Damn his muddled state of mind! Hadn’t it compelled him to do enough damage for one night? Now he’d made a stupid, irreversible slip—one that couldn’t have come at a more vulnerable time for Gaby.
“Bryce?” Gaby pressed. “Why would you have to oversee my future?”
The harm was done, Bryce realized, silently berating himself once again. Now he had to face the repercussions.
Catching Gaby’s shoulders in his hands, Bryce braced himself for her reaction. “Because Hermione asked me to. In the unlikely event that she isn’t … able to do so, she wants me to ensure that you are brought out next Season, shielded from the wrong men, introduced to the right ones. She wants to feel secure that you—Oh, Gaby, don’t.” Bryce caught her arms as she tried to twist away from him.
>
“Are you saying that Aunt Hermione asked you to act as my guardian in the event of her death?” Gaby’s voice trembled with emotion.
“Gaby …”
“Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Gaby’s whole body tensed, and she backed as far away as Bryce’s restraining hands would allow. “And you agreed. Is that why you’ve spent so much time with me? Why you were so worried about my questions with regard to intimacy and passion? Why you came here tonight to stand vigil? Has all this been about duty and principles, about your responsibility and commitment to Aunt Hermione? Is that why Miss Talbot has been so understanding about your comings and goings—because she knows I represent no threat to her? Did you tell her I was—”
“I told her nothing.” Bryce hauled Gaby back to him, refused to let her go. “You can’t possibly believe what you’re saying, nor can you possibly believe that what happened here tonight had anything to do with duty or responsibility. Gaby”—he tilted her face up to his—“don’t do this—especially after what just happened between us. Don’t doubt me. Not now.”
Clearly, Gaby was fighting back tears. “Why didn’t anyone mention this guardianship to me? Given that it was my life being decided, didn’t I have any right to know what was being planned?”
“Yes, you did,” Bryce concurred. “But in Hermione’s defense, I must tell you that she dreaded mentioning to you the possibility of her death. She detested the thought of causing you worry or pain. That was the only reason for her silence—and mine. As for my concern for you, yes, it started out of duty. At least that’s what I tried to believe. But I was deluding myself. And after what happened tonight, I think you know that.”
A prolonged silence, as Bryce’s words found their mark and sank in.
“You do know that, don’t you, Gaby?” he pressed, his thumbs once again caressing her cheeks.
Slowly Gaby nodded, her distress receding beneath a more significant, profound truth. “Yes,” she replied softly. “I know that.”
Relief washed through Bryce in huge, restorative waves. “Until morning, then?” he murmured.
“Until morning.” A whisper of a smile touched her lips. “You have much to contemplate, barrister.”
“Indeed I do.” Bryce threaded his fingers through Gaby’s hair, savoring its silken texture against his skin. “In an area that’s totally unfamiliar to me, one that offers no texts for reference or statutes for guidance.”
“You’ll find your answers,” she assured him, that age-old wisdom shining in her eyes. “They’re hovering inside you, waiting to be savored, like the strains of a symphony. I told you, Bryce. You’re capable of far more than you realize. I know it. It’s time you did, too.”
With a rough sound, Bryce drew Gaby against him, lowering his head to seal their mouths in a brief, heated kiss. “Sweet dreams, Wonderland,” he said huskily. “I’ll be right outside your door.”
The sweet dreams were not forthcoming.
Initially it was wakefulness that precluded their occurrence.
Later it was the sleepwalking.
For over an hour after Bryce left her chamber, Gaby tossed and turned on the pillows, unable to shut her eyes, too overcome by the miraculous events that had just taken place in this very room—physical and emotional events that would forever change her life.
Bryce had all but said he loved her, his defenses crumbling in a rush, his thoughts and responses caught up in a turmoil whose cause she only partially understood. Something had happened inside him—a perceptible transition—the end result of which had been the unlocking of a wealth of emotion he’d never before acknowledged, much less allowed himself to feel. And his reception at Nevon Manor was only part of that transition’s cause—its culmination, Gaby suspected. Something else had incited it—an event in London, perhaps, that had caused Bryce’s confusion, the internal battle he was now fighting. And unknowingly, Gaby had intensified that battle, beckoning him into a situation that had toppled his reserves, pushed him over the edge.
Thank God.
Rolling onto her back, Gaby stared at the ceiling, her heart pounding with excitement, her thoughts leaping from one memory to another.
Her lips still tingled from Bryce’s kisses, her breasts throbbed from the erotic tugs of his mouth. Dear Lord, the way she’d felt, the way she still felt—was this the miracle of passion? The weak, hot, shivering sensation that had poured through her body like liquid flame, the unfamiliar but relentless need Bryce’s caresses had kindled inside her, the yearning for more that had scarcely begun yet clamored to be heard, intensified in seconds, and prevailed even now—was this the magical exhilaration reserved only for lovers?
If so, not even the most magnificent symphony could compare.
Smiling, Gaby curled up on her side, cradling the pillow in her arms. She and Bryce were each poised on an exquisite threshold: she was about to venture farther into the realm of intimacy, and Bryce was about to start believing in romantic love—if he hadn’t already.
Thank goodness morning was but a few hours away.
It was on that happy thought that Gaby drifted off, her mind saturated with images of the joy yet to come.
The ticking of the clock on the mantel signaled the passing of night—two o’clock slowly becoming three.
Bryce … Bryce … Pictures of the man she loved floated through Gaby’s dreams, then abruptly altered, shattered, and were swallowed up by a wild, deadly inferno. Fire exploded inside her head, all around her, orange flames leaping everywhere, devouring her thoughts, her body.
Mama … Papa … She struggled out of her warm cocoon, scrambled to her feet, groping about until her small hand found the music box, pressed it against her. Desperately she battled the heat, fought her way across the room. Distant voices rumbling, then raised, sharp with pain and fear, were muffled by crackling flames, swallowed up by death. With every ounce of her strength, she shoved against the door, using her nightgown to turn the hot handle, coughing as the smoke invaded her throat.
Suddenly she was outside, the sickening smell of wood mingling with something sweeter, a musky fragrance assailing her nostrils as she pushed toward the grass. Mama! Papa! She had to reach them. Something slammed against her, halted her progress. A towering wall that refused to relent, would not let her pass. No. No. I have to get by. I must reach them. She beat her fist against the wall, managing only to awaken it, cause it to battle back.
“Gaby!” Bryce’s voice came to her from a great distance, commanding her to respond. “Gaby!”
Why did he sound so urgent?
Oh, God, was he trapped as well?
“Bryce …” She struggled weakly, trying to escape the wall and locate Bryce at the same time. “I can’t … the fire … the wall—”
“Gaby, wake up.” Hard hands gripped her shoulders, shook her out of the nightmare.
The wall was Bryce.
Utterly disoriented, she responded, opening her eyes warily, awaiting the cloud of smoke that would inevitably assault them.
She saw only Bryce’s handsome, worried face.
“Bryce?”
The grim lines about his mouth relaxed as she uttered his name, and he drew her to him, wrapped a protective arm around her as he eased her through the doorway and back into her room.
“The sleepwalking …” She was still dazed, but not so dazed that she didn’t realize what had just occurred. “Oh, not again.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m here.” Bryce guided her to the armchair by the window, then lowered himself onto the cushioned seat, tugged her into his lap. “You’re awake now.” He cradled her against him, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions.
Gaby began shivering, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she burrowed into Bryce’s warmth, her music box still clutched in her hands. “They won’t go away. Those horrible memories, like scenes torn from a book.”
“Tell me about them.” Bryce’s breath ruffled the
top of her hair. “Talk to me, Gaby, while the memory is still fresh. Tell me what you’re remembering.”
“You already know.”
“About the fire, yes. You’re trying to get to your parents. Describe it to me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut to seal out the pain but succeeded only in resurrecting the very images, smells, and sounds she was desperate to forget. “I awaken,” she managed in a high, thin voice. “The room is hot. I hear voices—loud, frightened voices that are swallowed up by nothingness. Flames erupt around me. They’re everywhere. I grab my music box, shove my way across the shed. The door handle is hot. I use my nightgown to wrench it open. I tumble outside. Everything is enveloped in an eerie orange light. It smells peculiar—smoky and sweet all at once. I look around, see the wall of fire devouring the servants’ quarters. I run with all my might, but I can’t get to Mama and Papa, no matter how hard I try. My music box falls to the ground, but I don’t care. I just keep pushing at the wall, but it won’t let me through. I see the ground rushing at me, all brown and barren, and then … I see nothing at all.”
Bryce frowned, continuing to stroke Gaby’s back. “The voices you hear in your dream, are they coming from outside?”
“No. Inside—but not in the shed where I am. The men are trapped, though. Both of them. Neither one wants to die.”
“ ‘Men’? ‘Both of them’?” Bryce’s hand stilled. “You’re sure there are two voices, both of them belonging to men?”
Gaby’s trembling intensified. “Yes.”
With a hard swallow, Bryce continued, “They must be nearby for you to know that, as well as to perceive their fear.”
“I think so … yes. In the coal room maybe. Or the woodshed.” Gaby fought her growing panic. “I think the men were talking when I fell asleep. It’s hard to recall. But when I awaken in my dream, the crackling of the flames is the sound that dominates all others. The voices are in the background, broken and indistinct. Then abruptly they’re silent.”
“Do you recognize them?”
“I’m not sure.” Valiantly, she struggled to remember, the attempt heightening her sense of dread. “But I must have known them if they lived at Whitshire.” She twisted around, gazed up at Bryce. “Could that mean something?”