“It was you, wasn’t it?” she said slowly. “Owen was in love with you.” She remembered the day in the park when she had asked Owen if he had ever wanted to wed and he had hesitated for one betraying moment before replying. She knew now; the answer had been, yes, he had been in love. Yes, he had wanted to marry.
He had wanted to marry her sister.
She waited for Joanna to contradict her. She waited with a slowly sinking heart where hope dwindled from a tiny spark to nothing at all. She wanted Joanna to deny it more than anything in the world because the lovely warm confidence she had started to feel in her relationship with Owen was so precious but so fragile. Against the odds she had come to trust him. For a few moments her mind had even started to accept that it might be safe to love him. Her feelings for Owen had been just for her, something new and unspoiled. She had only just started to find her way. Now, as she felt the happiness ooze from her, Tess wondered if it had all been based on shifting sand.
“It wasn’t really like that,” Joanna said after a moment.
“Tell me how it was, then,” Tess said. Her words came out flatly when in her head they sounded like a scream.
“Owen helped me when David treated me very badly,” Joanna said in a rush. “You know that my first marriage was not happy.” She paused and then as Tess nodded she hurried on. “David assaulted me and Owen paid someone to protect me, that is all. It was one of the boxers from Tom Cribb’s tavern. You may remember that I was a Lady of the Fancy before I married Alex, and went to all the boxing matches.” Joanna was chattering now, the words spilling over Tess’s head and rushing past her unnoticed like a river in full flood. Owen had helped Joanna when she had been in trouble. Well, that was not so bad. Any decent man would surely have done the same. Except … Tess felt doubt nibble at the corners of her mind. Owen had protected her when she had been in trouble. Perhaps he had some sort of compulsion to rescue women in distress.
“But by then, of course, I was married to Alex,” Joanna was saying, and Tess realised that her sister was still talking, quickly, almost feverishly, avoiding her gaze, shredding the heads of the roses until they looked as though they had had a very bad haircut. “Owen knew I was not happy,” Joanna said, “and it is true that he did ask me to elope with him, but I refused and I am sure that he thought no more of it.”
Tess found her voice. “Wait,” she said. Another roll of sickness beat through her. “Owen asked you to elope with him after you had married Alex?”
Again she waited for the denial, because she knew that Owen and Alex had been friends and comrades for years and years, and surely no man would put a woman before that unless he truly loved her and believed her worth smashing to smithereens years of trust. Unless he loved her body, heart and soul, the way she now realised she wanted Owen to love her.? …
The deep blush in Joanna’s cheeks deepened further. Her expression was furtive but Tess thought there was also a hint of triumph there. She was sure of it. From the nursery Joanna had always wanted everything first, the prettiest clothes, the new dolls—not the books; Merryn was allowed those, since they bored Joanna—the attention, first from their parents and brother, later from men…. Joanna had always been first. Tess simply had not expected her to extend this to being first with her husband, any of her husbands. But particularly not this husband since he was the only one she loved with all her heart and soul.
“I see,” she said. Her voice shook, echoing the tremor inside her. She stood up. Even her legs felt a little shaky. “And you were never going to tell me this?”
“I didn’t tell you because it was all over a long time ago,” Joanna argued. She had got to her feet as well. She put a hand out, took Tess’s hand in hers. Hers was warm, as warm as the gentleness in her blue eyes. Tess wished she could believe Joanna was sincere, but she was racked by cold doubt and fear now. It was horrible to imagine that Owen had married her only because he could not have Joanna. It was equally impossible not to think it. And even if he had not, he must have loved Joanna so much, so very much—and here the jealously scored her again with its deep claws—to have wanted her to run away with him.
“It meant nothing,” Joanna repeated.
Tess snatched her hand away. “It does not mean nothing for a man to ask you to elope with him,” she said. She felt a spurt of anger. “Don’t belittle both of you by pretending!”
“Well, no.” Joanna was frowning, confused. Tess could see that she was groping for words, words to put matters right or at the least not to make the situation worse. Unfortunately there were no words that could do that.
“As I said, it was a long time ago and I daresay Owen has forgotten,” Joanna said.
“You have not forgotten!” Tess burst out. She smoothed her skirts in jerky little gestures, creasing and recreasing the lavender silk. Her throat burned with hot tears. She hated herself for her jealousy. She hated that she felt it, that she could not control it. It was like a canker eating away at her.
“Lady Martindale wanted you to decorate the house,” she said. It was another vicious little pinprick, the thought of her sister renovating the Clarges Street house that might under different circumstances have been her own. She gave a shudder. “I feel as though you’re present in every aspect of my marriage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Joanna said, sharply now.
“How would you feel if you thought Alex was in love with someone else and that he only married you as second best?” Tess burst out.
A rueful expression touched Joanna’s eyes. “Perhaps I understand that better than you think,” she said. “When I married Alex I was haunted by the ghost of his first wife.” She spread her hands. “But my jealousy was needless and that is how it is for you and Owen, Tess. Ask him. He’ll tell you the truth.”
Tess rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. That was what she was afraid of. Owen would tell her the truth because he always did. And she was not entirely sure she wanted to hear it.
She started to walk towards the door. It seemed a very long way.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Joanna said suddenly, from behind her. “Tess, all I want is for you to be happy.”
Tess stopped. Her chest felt constricted, as though it was bound very tight.
“Tess …” Joanna said again, and Tess could hear the tears in her sister’s voice now.
Her shoulders slumped. She turned. “I know,” she said, through the huge lump in her throat. She wanted to be angry with Joanna, wanted to blame her, but it was not possible. She remembered her sister giving her a home after she had been widowed for a third time, remembered Joanna’s dogged attempts to reach out to her even though she rebuffed her time and again. It was impossible to hate the sister who loved her and it was unworthy to want to.
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” she asked. “I don’t think I could bear that.”
“No!” Joanna looked horrified. “I never even kissed him! I promise you.”
Tess nodded. They looked at one another and then they grabbed each other and hugged very tightly.
“I’m sorry,” Joanna said, muffled. “Tess, I’m so sorry….”
They hugged again.
“Go to him,” Joanna said, loosing Tess, giving her a little shake. “Ask him.” She looked dubious. “Or don’t, if you prefer not.”
“I only wish he had told me of his own accord,” Tess said.
She felt miserable as she walked back to Clarges Street through the melting snow. The November wind was bitter even though the sun was out. Tess felt the raw chill on her feverishly hot cheeks. Her eyes felt gritty and sore with suppressed tears and the cold made them sting. Her nose was red. There was little to recommend marriage, she thought, when it totally ruined one’s appearance.
Her gloom deepened when she stepped inside the house. It was so dark and murky, overlooked by those ghastly marble busts and stone statues. In a flash of despair she imagined how Joanna would have stamped her mark on the house and made it bright an
d welcoming and somehow her own.
“Is it true that you wanted to elope with Joanna?” She burst in, flinging open the door of the library. She had not intended to accost Owen like this, but now the jealousy was driving her hard again and she could not hold her tongue. There was a pain about her heart. She had never realised that love could hurt so profoundly.
Garrick Farne was with Owen. Tess registered his presence then ignored him. She planted herself in front of Owen’s desk.
“Well?” she demanded.
Garrick got to his feet. “I don’t think you need me anymore, do you, Rothbury?”
“No,” Owen said. He eyed Tess thoughtfully. “I am sure I can make a hash of this on my own, thank you, Far ne.”
Garrick grinned. He bowed to Tess and went out.
Tess slapped her gloves down on the table. “Is it true that you—”
“I heard you the first time,” Owen said curtly, cutting her off.
Tess stared at him. He had always been so patient with her, so courteous, that she was utterly unprepared for a different reaction. There was a hard, angry light in his eyes. With a shock to the heart Tess realised that this mattered to him. It mattered a great deal. She felt sick despair twist in her stomach.
“Yes,” Owen said. “Yes, it’s true. I asked Joanna to run away with me. I was in love with her.”
She had not even asked that and he was offering the information. Anger at the obtuseness of men in general and her husband in particular lit Tess with a vivid fury.
“So you married me because you could not have her?” she asked sharply.
The darkness in Owen’s eyes deepened. The hot, angry atmosphere of the library simmered up several notches.
“That is unworthy of both of you,” he said, biting off the words.
All Tess wanted to hear were the words Joanna had spoken—that it had been over a long time ago, that it had meant nothing to him, that she was the one who mattered now. But being a man, he was not going to say the right thing.
“Every time,” she said slowly, “when we have been together, I thought you were thinking of me. I can’t bear to think that you were thinking of her whilst making love to me.”
“I wasn’t,” Owen said.
“Perhaps you have some sort of obsession with rescuing damsels in distress,” Tess continued, as though he had not spoken. The pain sliced through her and she could not prevent herself from inflicting it on him too. “You should consult a physician for a cure before it happens again,” she said.
“I don’t need a cure,” Owen said. He got up and came around the desk. Tess could feel the controlled fury in him as he walked slowly towards her.
“Teresa,” he said. “Don’t do this. Don’t break something so fragile.”
“I am not the one spoiling things!” Tess said furiously. “Were you ever going to tell me, Owen? Or did you think I would never find out?” She turned away. The ache inside her was excruciating. “I trusted you,” she said. “I told you every last one of my secrets. I never realised that you told me nothing in return. Now I know why.”
There was a long, heavy pause in which even the tick of the clock on the mantel seemed to slow and then Owen grabbed her and kissed her. There was no warning and no time to prepare. It was so utterly out of character that her mind reeled with the shock. And this time he was not being careful. His kiss was fierce, harsh and glorious.
“Does it feel as though I am thinking of anyone but you?” he demanded, as his lips left hers. “Does it feel as though I want anyone but you?”
The turbulent expression in his eyes demanded an answer. It demanded honesty from her.
“No,” Tess squeaked. Her heart was beating hard against the silk of her bodice. She thought she should have been frightened by the anger and violence she sensed in him but she was not. Throughout the past ten days he had shown her nothing but tenderness. He had come to her bed every night and made love to her and it had been blissful. But always he had held something back. She had not realised it at the time but she recognised it now. Owen had been careful and considerate with her always, putting her needs and desires first. Not once had he betrayed her trust. He had treated her with absolute tenderness. Now Tess found she did not want that gentleness anymore. Now there was an edge of darkness in him and she responded to it instantly. There was fire here that he had not shown her before and a wild passion. She had sensed that depth of emotion in him but she had never experienced it. Now she felt her own passion rise to meet his.
She stared into his eyes. Her lips parted. Owen made an inarticulate sound and dragged her back into his arms. His mouth came down on hers again, blotting out all thought.
OWEN HAD NEVER INTENDED TO lose control. He had been angry with Tess for her demeaning of his feelings and for the way she had confronted him, but he had intended to talk the matter out calmly and with restraint. Then he had made the mistake of kissing her instead.
All week he had been holding himself back when he touched her, making love to her with exquisite care, trying to make certain that he did not frighten her by asking too much of her too soon. It had been bliss but it had been torment too. To hold her delicious, lush body and treat it like china when he wanted to claim her with everything he possessed, to exercise iron constraint over his own needs and desires when he wanted to plunder her and drive them both to the far shores of pleasure … The strength of his feelings had consistently shocked him. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Tess. Yet it was not simply lust. It never had been.
Owen kissed her again and felt her response, eager and totally unrestrained, and the shock and sheer visceral power of it pushed him right over the edge. He dragged her down onto the wide chaise longue and yanked her close beneath him, moulding every last one of her curves to his, feeling her softness and the heat in her. Her mouth opened beneath his and he kissed her deeply, hungrily, his mind reeling when he heard her voice, a broken whisper, begging for more.
He raised himself above her and searched her face with an urgent gaze. Her eyelashes fanned thick and black against her flushed cheeks. Her lips were parted, stung rosy with his kisses. She was panting.
“These have to go,” he said. She was wearing far too many clothes. So was he. He dealt summarily with the buttons and bows on her bodice. Her hands bumped his, impatient as he. Something ripped. Was it his clothes or hers? He did not care. He stopped to kiss her again, and lost himself in the maelstrom of feeling. He felt her hands against his bare chest and groaned.
Her bodice hung open but her skirts, obdurate as they were, were never going to oblige him. He dropped his head to her breast and took her in his mouth so that she cried out. The need that drove him was sharper than anything he had known, blotting out reason, blotting out thought. He lifted her skirts, slid a hand up her thigh and met the hot, damp centre of her. She cried out again and he stroked her, loving the way in which she lifted her hips to beg his touch. She was all heat and fire as he drove her on, his mouth at her breast, his fingers at her core until she trembled for him so much he could wait no longer.
His body was hard and aching. He tossed her skirts and petticoats up to her waist, spread her wide, lifted her hips and pushed deep into her heat. He had not intended it to be so quick but he was beyond control now. She came immediately, with a keening cry, and her body closed around his in pulses so tight and smooth that he almost lost his mind. He thrust into her over and over, deeper and deeper, his hands braced against the rough velvet of the chaise, plunging into her sleek, warm body hard and fast as he possessed her with relentless intensity. He could not seem to quench his need; it left him shaking. He wanted to conquer her completely and claim her forever.
He felt Tess’s body gather again and clasp his and he shattered too in a climax so powerful it left him dazed. He had never fallen so swiftly and so completely in all his life and he had certainly never lost all restraint with any woman.
They were both breathing hard. Owen rested his forehead against hers,
utterly shocked at his total lack of control and the fierce way he had taken her.
Tess opened dazed eyes, so deep and vivid a blue that his heart clenched. She smiled at him and raised her head a little to kiss him. Her lips, deliciously soft, brushed his. He could feel her smiling against his mouth. Owen thought of Joanna then but only to dismiss her ghost, so pale now in comparison to the deep feelings he had for Tess. Loving Joanna, he thought ruefully, had been something of a habit for him. It was only now he realised how hollow those emotions had become over the years, how empty of real feeling.
“We were supposed to be talking,” he said slowly.
“I’m sorry.” Tess looked impossibly pleased with herself. “I misunderstood.”
She looked so tousled and so slumberous that Owen was ambushed by a sharp desire to kiss her again, to make love to her over and over until he had possessed her with the ravenous need he felt within. He forced himself to draw back, sitting up on the sofa, pulling her close into the curve of his arm.
Regret, bitter and sharp, pierced him for the way he had used her.
“No,” he said. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
She shifted beside him; he felt her touch his cheek, her fingertips soft against the roughness of his stubble.
“I’ll never understand sex,” she said drily. “I thought it was delicious. Unimaginably exciting. And then you apologise.”
Owen grimaced. “I was rough. I treated you with less consideration than I should.”
“Consideration.” Tess’s voice had warmed into humour. “I can bear a great deal less consideration if it means that you make love to me like that, Owen.”
Owen glanced quickly at her. She was snuggling into his embrace, her cheek rubbing his shoulder, all dishevelled clothing and lush, warm woman. His senses tightened even as he rejected the renewed arousal of his body.
“You don’t understand,” he said roughly. He felt weighted down with regret. “I don’t lose control. I cannot. It’s too dangerous.”
The sleepiness fled her eyes at his tone. She sat up, a little away from him, tucking her feet beneath her rumpled skirts.
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