He chuckled as if he could read her mind, then strolled the perimeter of the room, stopping at the window to look behind the curtains. “Nothing here.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Perhaps I should check under the bed.”
“If you wish, although I daresay I would have noticed if there was someone lurking under my bed.”
“One would hope so,” he murmured. He bent down, glanced under the bed, said, “Nothing here either,” then straightened. “Now that we have made certain of your safety, I should take my leave.” He started toward the door.
“Wait.” She stepped to block his path. “Don’t go yet.”
“Why?” His expression was innocent, but his eyes gleamed wickedly. Blasted man. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Probably more. Yet he was not about to make this easy for her.
“Well, I thought…we are both adults now…It might well clear up quite a few…” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Would you like to kiss me?”
He folded his arms over his chest and stepped back to lean insolently against the bedpost. His gaze flicked over her, and she resisted the urge to pull her wrapper tighter around her. “I kissed you the other night. Have you forgotten so soon?”
“Not at all.” She frowned in irritation. “I was simply wondering if you’d care to do it again.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she said with disbelief. “What kind of question is that?”
“Short and to the point.”
“I thought…Never mind.” She whirled and stalked to the door. “You’re right. You should go now.”
She grabbed the doorknob, and without warning, he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders holding her still. His voice was soft beside her ear. “I should very much like to kiss you again. I have not forgotten what it was like.”
“It was just a few nights—”
“No. Long before then.” He drew her back against him.
She held her breath.
“I remember the warmth of your lips on mine. And I remember so much more. All of it,” he whispered against her neck. “The way your hair glowed in the moonlight. And how your scent reminded me of summer.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head against him, his words leading her back to another life.
“I remember the silken softness of your skin next to mine.” His hands slipped up and down her arms. “And the way you shivered beneath my touch. And the way I trembled at yours. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I remember the warmth of your arms around me.”
“And the way your body fit with mine.”
Her blood pulsed in rhythm with the movement of his hands. “As if they were made one for the other. How could I forget…”
The mad insanity that dashed aside all reason? The insatiable hunger? The indescribable joy?
“I remember everything.” She twisted in his embrace to face him and braced her hands on his chest, the heat of his body warming her fingertips and washing through her. She stared into his eyes. “The first time we kissed. And the first time we lay together. And the first time you told me you loved me.”
“And I remember the last.” His arms tightened around her. His gaze bored into hers and the years vanished.
“It was a lifetime ago,” she whispered, raising her lips to his.
“Or was it yesterday?” His lips met hers tentatively as if he were as afraid as she. A yearning she’d long forgotten rose within her. Her lips parted and their breaths mingled. He gathered her closer and deepened his kiss. A kiss of exploration, of discovery, of reunion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tighter to her.
His lips slipped from hers to kiss the line of her jaw and her neck and the base of her throat. His hands slid slowly down her back to cup her buttocks and hold her firmly against him. The hard evidence of his need pressed into her. Waves of shock and excitement and recognition coursed through her.
She gasped for breath, gently pushed out of his arms, and stepped back. He stared at her silently, his eyes darkening with desire. She met his gaze but didn’t say a word. There was no need.
Slowly she undid her wrapper and let it drop to the floor. Her hands trembled. She unbuttoned her nightgown and slipped it down over her shoulders. It drifted lightly to her feet. And still her gaze locked with his.
He drew a ragged breath.
She stepped out of the circle of her clothes and moved to him. Her blood pounded in her ears and she could barely breathe.
For a long moment he stared and she waited, her body tense with anticipation. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. And still neither said a word.
He laid her on the bed and she watched him undress, his actions as deliberate as her own had been. She’d never seen him fully disrobed and she drank in the look of him. The muscles of his arms rippled with his movements. His shoulders were as broad as she’d thought. The planes of his chest were defined and strong and lightly dusted with hair, tapering lower to the juncture of his thighs and his hard erection. Her heart beat faster.
He stepped to the bed and lay down beside her and pulled her close into his arms. For a moment they lay still and she reveled in the feel of her skin next to his. She raised her face to his and their lips met. At once, desire gripped her with an unrelenting power and all gentleness between them vanished.
Her hands, her lips, moved over him with a selfish need to know, to remember. He caressed her with touch and teeth and tongue, everywhere at once with an urgency that rivaled her own. They were a tangle of limbs and flesh and spiraling heat. Passion filled her senses and her soul.
Once more she shivered at his touch and he trembled at hers.
Yesterday met and melded with today. There was no past and no future, only the ecstasy of being in his arms. She was a girl lying in a stables with the boy she loved. She was a woman hungry for the man she’d never thought to know again.
The years blurred and vanished and there was nothing in the world save him and her and here and now.
He entered her and she gasped at the shocking feel of intimacy and the stunning sensation of rightness. They moved together in total harmony, one with the other, their bodies greeting each other with the certain knowledge she’d never forgotten; theirs was a match as perfect as a key in a lock, a hand in a glove, a star in the heavens.
Until at last the throbbing ache building within her tore free in a blinding release she’d known only in her memory, only in her dreams. He arched against her and gasped. And she clung to him with a need greater than passion, stronger than desire. He gripped her tighter and shuddered in her arms.
She wanted to laugh, to weep, to stay in his embrace forever. With no consideration of the past, no concern for the future.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms tighter around her as if he knew her thoughts. And for the moment it was all she wanted, all she needed. They lay together for minutes or hours, and for now it was enough.
And in the last moment before sleep claimed her she wondered if it was indeed enough. Or nothing at all.
For long hours he lay beside her and watched her sleep. Studied the curve of her cheek against the pillow, the slightly parted set of her lips, the unconcerned line of her brow. He’d never seen her sleep before. And even in their youth, he’d never seen her so at peace. The woman at his side scarcely looked a day older than the girl he had left so long ago.
He resisted the urge to trace his finger along the line of her profile. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to have her beside him like this every day for the rest of his life. The need for her had burned within him since the moment they’d first met, and had never died.
And what of Rachael? He was certain she loved him, but he wasn’t as sure that she was willing to acknowledge and accept her feelings. She had joined him with a passion that matched his own, yet somehow he’d sensed a subtle reservation, as if she was willing to set free her body but nothing more. The emotion between th
em had been too intense for words before they’d made love, and afterwards he’d known she didn’t wish to talk. He hoped last night had not been a mistake, yet even if it was, he could not regret what had passed between them.
Her eyelids fluttered and he wondered if she dreamed. And if she ever dreamed of him. God knew she had filled his dreams for as long as he could remember.
Would his plan work? And if it didn’t, what would? Did she simply need more time? Was he hoping for far too much from her, entirely too soon?
He brushed a kiss across her forehead and slipped out of bed. The day would dawn at any minute, and regardless of her comments about her reputation, it wouldn’t do to have the servants find him here.
He stood and stared down at her sleeping form.
He had waited ten years for her and he would never give up. He would win back her heart even if it took another ten years.
Even if it took forever.
Ten
“LORD LYNDHURST HAS left, my lady.”
“He’s left?” A sick weight settled in the pit of her stomach and she sank into a chair at the breakfast table. Again. Deep down inside, hadn’t she expected it of him?
“My lady.” Concern shadowed Mayfield’s face. “Are you quite all right?”
“Yes,” she said, abruptly surprised to find it was true.
She was indeed all right. Not destroyed. Not devastated. But calm and collected. Oh, there was a dull ache in the vicinity of her heart, but it was nothing more than a pale imitation of what she’d once known. No doubt because now she was on guard against this very thing. Not entirely fair to him, perhaps, but then when was life ever fair? Certainly not in her experience.
At once realization struck her: if she didn’t trust him, in this of all things, how could she possibly love him?
Obviously she didn’t. She was right when she’d hoped to find the answers in his arms. And if the pain now was a pale imitation of the past, it stood to reason so was the joy she’d found last night.
“My lady.” Mayfield cleared his throat. “He requested I deliver this.” He handed her a note and a card.
At least this time he hadn’t left without an explanation. She unfolded the note calmly and scanned the message.
My dear Rachael,
The time has come to resolve the matters between us. Please grant me the privilege of a few moments in private at tonight’s ball.
Yours always,
Jason
She ignored the surge of relief at the knowledge that he hadn’t abandoned her after all. And ignored as well the foolishness of her own conclusion that he had. Still, it had served a purpose. She now at least knew her own heart.
She studied the card that accompanied the note. It was an invitation to yet another ball at Lady Bradbourne’s.
“How odd,” she murmured, and glanced up at Mayfield. “It’s been but a few days since Lady Bradbourne’s last ball. This is for tonight. Surely it’s a mistake.”
Mayfield shrugged. “Lady Bradbourne is well known for her eccentricities.”
“I suppose.” She turned the card over in her hand. She had no doubt as to its legitimacy. Even so, it was exceedingly strange, even for Lady Bradbourne.
She stared unseeing at the invitation. Yet wasn’t there a sense of fitness and irony about it? The path that had begun with a ball a decade ago would come full circle at another ball.
Of course she would meet him. It was the perfect place to tell him there could never be anything between them. Certainly they would see each other as the years went on. Given their unique family connection and their respective positions in society, that could not be avoided. But tonight she would bid him good-bye as she had never had the chance to do before. And if she still held a part of his heart, she’d return that as well.
Tonight the circle of their lives would close.
For the final time.
Rachael absently handed her cloak to a footman. Her heart thudded in her chest and there was a tense ache in the back of her throat. Jason was no doubt already here. Waiting for her. Well, she was ready. A passage from George’s letter popped unbidden into her head.
As I write this letter, it strikes me how many times I reflect on what I should have done. At the end of one’s life it seems a pity to have so much as one thing one should have done yet did not. And to have, as well, far too many regrets.
Regrets? Would she regret the action she would take tonight? Would she, too, reach the end of her days reflecting on what she should have done?
She stepped through the archway into the grand Bradbourne ballroom and froze.
The massive room was gaily decorated. Fresh flowers bound with silken ribbons overflowed urns and adorned tables. Candles glowed from crystal chandeliers. The musicians who’d played at the New Year’s ball were once again positioned in a low balcony overlooking the floor. But not another guest was in sight.
She’d been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to note the ease with which her driver pulled up to the mansion. Or the noticeable lack of carriage traffic outside. But now she couldn’t fail to see, save for servants, she was alone. Short notice or not, Lady Bradbourne’s balls were always a crush. Even the hostess herself was not in evidence.
Mayfield appeared at her elbow. “My lady, if you would follow me.”
“Mayfield?” She stared in disbelief. “What on earth are you doing here? And what is going on?”
“All will be answered in due time, my lady. Now if you would be so good as to follow me.” He turned and started across the dance floor.
“Mayfield,” she said sharply. He didn’t so much as hesitate, and she had little choice but to trail after him. “Where are the other guests, Mayfield? Where is Lady Bradbourne? And what are you doing here!?”
She didn’t like this one bit. Scrambling after Mayfield like a puppy. And not knowing what was afoot. The whole scene had the uneasy feel of a dream in which one has no control and is directed by unseen forces. Nervously she cupped one hand with the other and rubbed her thumb across a hard spot centered in her palm beneath her glove. Surely there must be some mistake? Perhaps there had been a cancellation and the servants had not been notified.
But they are my servants!
This made no sense whatsoever. The sensation of a waking dream deepened and her stomach fluttered with apprehension.
“At the very least, Mayfield, tell me—”
“My lady.” The butler stopped so quickly she nearly stumbled into him. He swung open French doors leading to the terrace, then stepped aside. “Your presence is requested in the garden.”
“In the garden? That’s absurd. No one goes into a garden at this time of year. Mayfield, I demand you stop this—”
No one but a seventeen-year-old girl meeting her love.
Her breath caught.
Jason?
A footman approached, one of her footmen no less, and handed her cloak to the butler. Vaguely she wondered if Cook, too, would appear at any moment.
“You will need this, my lady.” Mayfield placed the cloak around her shoulders. “Now then, I would suggest…” He gave her the tiniest push, and in the back of her mind she noted he would have to be chastised for his impertinence, but right now all she could do was walk out the door.
Her feet seemed to carry her of their own accord across the terrace and down the steps into the garden and to the very spot where she’d once waited for her life to begin.
She heard footsteps behind her and knew without turning who was there.
“You are late, my lord.” She fought to keep her voice steady.
“I was unavoidably delayed,” Jason said softly. “It will not happen again.”
“And do you have a carriage waiting to take us to a ship bound for America?”
He chuckled. “Not tonight. However, it can always be arranged. Anything you wish can be arranged.”
She drew a deep breath and turned to face him. “Anything?”
“As long as I have the willing coo
peration of your staff and Lady Bradbourne. She has rather a romantic nature, you know.” He smiled his crooked smile and her heart twisted. “Do you like what I’ve done?”
“It’s very impressive.” She shook her head and smiled. “I can’t quite believe it. It’s rather…well…perfect.”
“I meant it to be.” His tone was abruptly serious and he stepped closer. “Rachael, I cannot change the past. I wish to God I could. But we can, in truth, start again. We have another chance at the life we always should have had. The life we can have now.”
“No.” She pushed aside an unreasonable sense of panic and stepped back. “I—”
“I love you, Rachael. I never stopped.”
“But I don’t love you. I realize that now.” She struggled to keep her voice level and ignored a growing pain that belied her words. “I know I did once, but that girl is gone and the woman before you doesn’t know how anymore.”
“I don’t believe you.” He moved closer. “And even if I did, I don’t care. And for now, perhaps my loving you is enough.”
“Not for me,” she said, anger abruptly sweeping aside all else. “And surely not for you. You deserve far better than that. George deserved better than that. I loved him, but never, never the way I loved you.”
She shook her head and fought for the words to make him understand. To understand herself. “There’s no passion left in me. I know that now. What we had between us was ended by circumstances long ago. It cannot be recaptured.”
“Can’t it?” He was silent for a long moment. “Are you so certain?”
“Yes!” She nodded. Was she? “I wish I wasn’t.”
“I will not give up.” His voice was quiet. “I gave up once, twice before. I will not make that mistake again. You own my soul, Rachael. You always have and you always will.”
“You’re not listening to me. I cannot give you what you want. What you should have.” She turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he acknowledge the truth and be done with it? “You can’t arrange life as you’ve arranged this evening.” She turned back to him. “It’s finally at an end, Jason.”
Secrets of a Perfect Night Page 21