“Come,” he murmured. “I want to show you something.”
She stared at his outstretched fingers, then up to his face. For the first time, there was something open about him. Perhaps she was only hoping for the best, but on his countenance she saw an honesty and a true desire to share a moment with her.
And she had no choice but to take his hand and allow him to lead her wherever he chose.
Chapter Thirteen
Christian didn’t know why he was leading Ava away from the garden, over the rolling hills, down a hidden path and to a small, rickety bridge over the lazy river that cut through the middle of the property. But he was doing just that.
“Mind your step,” he cautioned as he stepped out onto the old wooden bridge. “I doubt I could save you if you started to drown.”
“We’ll hope it won’t come to that,” she said, gingerly feeling her way across the half-rotted beams. “What in the world is this?”
He stepped onto solid land on the other side of the river and offered her a hand of assistance to the shore.
“A child’s bridge,” he explained. “I think my grandfather must have built it, but it hasn’t been maintained since I don’t even know when.”
She nodded, saying nothing else as she followed him through an overgrown path in the woods.
“You aren’t planning on murdering me, are you?” she asked with a laugh to her tone that wasn’t entirely humor-filled.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Great God, I’ve had you in far more compromising positions than this one,” he said. “And I have not killed you yet.”
“How very comforting,” she said with a shake of her head.
“You could outrun me,” he added, motioning to the cane.
She shut her mouth and motioned for him to lead on. He did so, his mind racing as he picked his way through bramble and bush until there, in a small clearing in the middle of the woods, he saw what he had been seeking. A place he hadn’t visited for decades.
“A playhouse?” she asked.
He couldn’t blame her for the question of her tone. The little house, which had once been painted white with blue trim, was now very worn down. There was a hole in the roof, the door was cracked in half and the windows were shattered.
“Once it was,” he said with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t exactly send a child in there now.”
“Unless you didn’t like him,” she suggested with a smile.
He found himself smiling in return even as he stared at the house with a twinge of pain. “Yes, I would have to truly despise him, you are right.”
“Was it yours?” she pressed, moving forward with care. The little house was about as tall as she was, and she bent to peek into the windows.
He nodded. “My sister’s and mine. We would play here when we visited with my mother many, many years ago.”
“Your father built it?”
He snorted out an angry laugh. “My father? No. He wouldn’t have thought of it unless he could use it as punishment. My grandmother had it placed here for us.”
She glanced at him, and he immediately regretted the very honest but highly emotional response.
“I remember your father a very little from when I was a girl. I believe I would have feared him even if our families weren’t at odds. Was he truly that hard?”
He pinched his lips together. Unwanted memories of his father and his swinging fists came back to him in a cacophony of pain and brutality.
“He was,” he choked out. “He liked to win. When he didn’t, he found someone to pay for it.”
He hesitated at the words that had just fallen from his lips. They sounded very similar to his plans for Ava. Only he wasn’t making her pay through physical punishment, but with ruination and emotional despair.
The latter he had some experience with. Shame crept into him at the realization. Shame and self-loathing that he was so very like a man he had hated, feared and longed to please at any cost.
“I am sorry,” she murmured.
He shrugged as if these thoughts didn’t cut him to the core. “We were safe here,” he admitted. “I suppose that is something.”
She nodded. “You are lucky. My mother’s family all but shunned us after her marriage. When she died, it was even worse.”
He looked at her briefly. Through the filtered light and shadow of the forest, she was even prettier, which he had not thought possible. The light picked up every tone of her skin, every highlight of her hair. She looked soft and approachable, kind and gentle as she watched his every move.
And some part of him wanted to melt into the comfort her expression implied.
“I thought your aunt on your mother’s side was your chaperone?” he asked instead, ignoring those improper impulses.
She let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, she is. And I do appreciate her taking me out despite her misgivings, but she makes it clear what a hopeless case I am. And how being affiliated with our family only brings her down. It can be very unpleasant.”
“And your father and brother never intervened on your behalf?” he asked.
“Father was close to the end of his life by the time I came out and felt the full weight of her contempt. He never knew what to do with me, and by that time he no longer cared. His hatred was what drove him in the end, not any love or protection. My brother tried a few times to soften her attitude, but he was, as you know, as caught up in all that being a Windbury entails as our father. I suppose I was lost to them. An unimportant piece on the chess board which obsessed them.”
Christian flinched. Had his sister felt the same way? Now that he tried to remember, he couldn’t think if he had been present with her enough. If he had paid enough attention.
Of course, he hadn’t even known she was involved with Ava’s brother until it was too late, so perhaps Matilda had felt neglected in the shadow of his hate.
“Now that the estate is yours, perhaps you should have this place repaired,” she offered, her voice cutting through his unpleasant thoughts the way it so often had over the past few days.
He blinked. “What? Repair it? Why?”
She tilted her head. “For any children you may have in the future, of course.”
He swallowed. Children. Yes, he supposed that was his duty, but he very rarely thought of the future in those terms. Often he simply thought of one of his cousins taking his title when he was gone. It would certainly end this war if he cut away the remnants of his line, for his cousins didn’t give a damn about anything except money.
But now she said the word, and his mind flashed to laughing children racing through the forest to find their playhouse. Of children with bright eyes like his sister and reddish hair like Ava.
He spun away from her with a gasp of pain and shock. Why in the world would he allow that image to pierce his mind?
She moved toward him, hand outstretched to offer help or support. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”
“No,” he growled, jerking away from her. “Let us go, our luncheon should be ready soon, and we have a short walk ahead of us.”
She hesitated and her hand fell to her side. “Very well. Lead the way, Your Grace. I will follow.”
He didn’t acknowledge those words, but clutched his cane and hobbled away from the playhouse. Away from the past. Away from the woman who made him remember what he wished to forget, and wish for what would never be.
The spread awaiting them as they curved around the bend in the river was appetizing, but Ava could hardly enjoy the sights of fresh fruits, crusty bread, cheeses and meats awaiting her.
Not when Christian had not looked at nor spoken to her for almost fifteen minutes.
He had granted her a glimpse into his past. Into his personality. But the moment she acknowledged that, he pulled away from her and ran as far and as fast as he could without physically sprinting.
And though she had no foolish designs on changing him, the fact that he could cut her off with such ease caused an ache in her hear
t that she didn’t fully understand.
She dropped down on the picnic blanket and picked up one of the plates that had been set there by servants who had, once again, vanished into the ether.
“Would you like me to plate for you?” she asked, looking up at Christian.
He didn’t respond, but just stared at the blanket in distraction.
“Christian?” she pressed.
“Hm? Oh, yes. Thank you.”
Her brow wrinkled as she began to pick and choose through their options to fill his plate. She couldn’t help but wonder why he suddenly seemed so concerned.
And then he showed her.
Slowly he began to ease himself to the ground. Although he was very obviously trying to maintain a façade of unaffected ease, his face twisted with the effort, and there was no doubting how much pain the effort caused.
She set the plate aside and jumped up. “Let me help you,” she said as she reached for his arm.
“No!” he barked, pulling away and nearly causing himself to fall. He managed to sit down and set his cane aside. He was panting with the exertion of the mere act of moving to the ground.
She returned to her place on the blanket, cheeks burning from his rejection. “Why didn’t the servants set up a small table here rather than a picnic blanket?” she asked as she went back to her work, though she wasn’t exactly seeing the food in front of her anymore.
He shook his head. “Why would they do that?”
“Because it would make it easier, less painful for you,” she said, trying to control her tone when his responses frustrated her so deeply.
He folded his arms. “I have made it clear to them that I do not wish to be coddled. In time, I will overcome this, and I do not want them treating me differently after a momentary glimpse of weakness.”
Her lips parted, but any frustration she had felt faded to be replaced by sadness. Even pity.
“Why do you look at me in that way?” he asked.
“Because your statement makes me so sad for you,” she said without hesitation. If emotion was to be her mode of peace, she wasn’t about to shirk from it now, even though Christian’s face was bordering on thunderous.
“You feel sad for me,” he repeated blankly. “You dare pity me.”
“What you said is piteous indeed,” she said grabbing for her own plate. “You are not weak, Christian, you were injured in a terrible accident. Your body is still recovering and by pushing it past its limits, you risk setting yourself back even further. But your stupid, foolish, stubborn pride won’t allow you to ask for help.”
“Seeking help is the best way to give your enemies ammunition in their attacks,” he said. “Why would I be so imprudent?”
“Do you believe everyone to be your enemy or just your loyal servants?” she asked.
He leaned back. “You assume my servants are loyal. That could very well be a flawed argument.”
“I know your servants are loyal.”
He rolled his eyes. “You haven’t even seen my servants, you said so yourself.”
“That is why I know their loyalty. You say they do not approve of what you have done, but not one has come to me offering to help, asking after me. Instead of betraying you, they hide away from me and simply do your bidding, quietly and with not a hint of treachery in sight. And then there is Sanders.”
Christian shook his head. “What about Sanders? What could you have possibly gleaned about my butler after all of a week in my home when you have seen him but twice?”
“This morning, I saw him watching you with great concern. He worries about you, Christian. He cares about you. Anyone with eyes could discern it.”
He shifted, and the discomfort he exhibited was not just about his injuries. “You speak too freely about the thoughts of servants.”
“Why should I not do so?” she asked. “You spoke to me of isolation, Christian, but you are lucky. You are isolated by choice, not by circumstances out of your control. You choose to be alone, you choose to lock people out, you choose pain. So yes, I pity anyone who would be so bull-headed.”
“You are all opinions, aren’t you?” he said, his teeth clenched.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps I am too free with my opinions. And you may, of course, take them or leave them as you see fit. It is your life, after all. I could not ever presume to change you in any way, not with how you feel about me. But I would like to say that if you want to prove me wrong, perhaps you should allow someone to help you.”
He laughed. “And who should be that lucky one, Ava?”
She drew in a breath. By some miracle, she had gone this far—she might as well go farther.
“Me.”
He had taken a bite of something as she hesitated, and he began to cough. He stared at her through narrowed eyes as he regained his composure.
“You? You wish to help me?”
“Do not be so incredulous. Why would I not offer help to someone in pain?”
“Because your name is Windbury,” he snapped, an animal baring his teeth when he was cornered and uncomfortable.
She folded her arms. “How little you know about me and how much you assume.”
Her quiet words made his face soften from angry to…something else. Something she couldn’t quite place. But at least it wasn’t contempt or hatred.
“Are you trying to tell me that if I allowed you to help me bear this pain that has resulted from the accident, you would not return to London when our bargain is over and report each and every one of my weaknesses to your brother for him to exploit?”
She stared at him, so cold and hard in his demeanor, and yet sometimes so gentle and so giving in his actions. He was her lover, no matter how that fact had come about. She wanted him, even now when he was building a wall between them.
“Trust me. When I am with you, I do not think of my brother,” she all but whispered.
He straightened up at her admission. “What do you think about?”
She swallowed. Honesty. Emotion. Those were her armory, as difficult as they were sometimes to bear.
“I think about you touching me,” she admitted. “I think about your arms around me and your body inside mine. I think about pleasure. Perhaps that makes me a fool. Perhaps you don’t believe me. Either way, I do not care. I offer you help because I am connected to you, whether you like or admit that or not. Will you take it?”
He was utterly silent for a very long time. He stared at her, those piercing blue eyes burrowing into her, reading everything she had ever felt or thought or hidden from the world. His stare made her feel naked, exposed. And yet, she could read nothing in it that told her how he felt. He was too good at hiding that from the world. From her.
“If you think you have some kind of magic that will ease my pain, I won’t stop you from employing it. Though I fear you will waste your time,” he finally murmured. “At the very least, it will put us in a bedroom together. When you fail, I will ease my pain another, more pleasurable way.”
She shivered as his gaze swept her with lazy possessiveness. With a shaky hand, she lifted a fig to her lips. “Then let us finish our luncheon and go back to the house to begin.”
Chapter Fourteen
Christian stood in Ava’s chamber, waiting for her. As soon as they had returned from their walk, she had taken Sanders by the arm and led him away, whispering to him even as she called for Christian to meet her upstairs.
How this situation had come to this, he did not know. He was so far from his original plans, he could no longer see them fading off in the distance behind him. That should have mattered more to him.
It didn’t.
The door behind him opened, and he turned to find Ava there with three servants behind her. The men were carrying trays of various items, bottles and bowls containing liquids, most of which he couldn’t immediately identify. The room was immediately filled with spicy scents, though.
“Set them on the table,” Ava said with a motion of one hand.
> The servants should have looked toward him for verification of her order, but to his surprise, not a one did. They behaved as if Ava belonged in charge of their activities and simply deposited the items on their trays.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” one of the footmen asked.
“No, thank you. Though give us two hours and His Grace might enjoy a steaming hot bath in the adjoining room.”
The young man gave a slight bow of deference. “Of course, my lady. We will fill the tub in a while. I will knock on the adjoining door when it is ready. Good afternoon.”
Christian couldn’t help staring in shock as the servants filed from the room, each nodding to her, and shut the door behind them.
“And you say they have loyalty. They hardly acknowledged me at all,” he said once they were gone. “It seems they have all gone over to your side.”
She looked at him, her eyes twinkling with humor at his ill-tempered response. “Oh yes, you have much to fear from me speaking to them for more than two minutes put together. I have convinced them to share all your secrets.”
He stared at her, dark hair trailing little auburn tendrils around her face. Her eyes were bright, her face flushed slightly pink. And she was smiling.
That smile was the most powerful part of her. It sucked a man in. It made him wonder how to make her smile every day for the rest of her life. What a thing that would be, to wake up to that smile. To see that expression as the last image in his mind every night.
“I have no doubt you could convince them to do just that,” he said. “You could convince anyone.”
She drew back in surprise at his statement, but then shook her head. “We should get to the matter at hand.”
He nodded. “I agree. Where should I be for your magical ministrations?”
She smiled. “The bed, but first you must remove your clothes.”
He had taken a step toward the bed at her answer, but now he stopped and slowly faced her.
“I believe we discussed this earlier,” he said softly, trying very hard not to get angry.
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