Dark Obsession (30 page)

If he could only believe he hadn’t sent Tom from that cliff, he might be free to love her. God knew, the temptation to do so sometimes proved more than he could withstand. Earlier, in the drawing room, how easily he might have taken her in his arms. Had she sensed his yearnings? Had she heard it in his voice, felt the lust stalking through his body as he’d leaned over her? Had she detected the tremors of restraint shaking his frame? No, of course not. He’d merely frightened her—again.

Seemingly far away, he heard Chad talking to Jonny, but as if transfixed by a spell cast by the blustering weather beyond the glass, neither he nor Nora moved. He met a gaze brimming with questions and regret, and with longing too. Did she see the same in him?

Only when Jonny trotted over and relieved Nora of her basket did the spell release its grip. With an awkward nod she moved away, and he followed her to the others, thinking how normal this all might seem to the casual observer, the four of them safe and dry and sharing a few simple moments before supper. A little family, happily at home together.

It was a dream so painfully sweet, he might almost have accepted a devil’s bargain to make it true.

When they reached the table, Jonny turned to her, an improvised spray of primrose and pansy clutched in his hand. His eyes large and solemn, he held it out to her.

‘‘For me?’’

He answered with a nod and a thrust of the little bouquet, a gesture so simple and sincere it made Grayson’s throat constrict.

‘‘Oh, you dearest boy. Thank you.’’ She gathered the flowers and held them to her face. ‘‘These are my very favorites. How did you know?’’

That earned her a fragile smile. She put her arms around the boy and squeezed, holding on until he began to squirm.

Gray tousled Jonny’s hair, wishing he could bring smiles to Nora’s face as easily, and almost envying Jonny’s secure place in her heart. But like him, Jonny was trapped within a past so tragic, so desolate, he needed more than love to free him. He needed the truth. He needed the strength to forgive his elders.

He needed a miracle.

"I have something to show you," Nora told Grayson immediately following supper, once Chad had engaged Jonny at the parlor chessboard.

Her expression discouraged questions until they reached the relative privacy of the stairs. Until then, he felt content to merely walk with her, close at her side, where he could easily imagine slipping an arm about her slender waist, a gesture so carefree that, again, he might nearly have traded his soul to make it real.

She took him to her studio, explaining along the way about how she and her maid had devised a spacious canvas for Jonny, intended to encourage him to express anything and everything on his mind.

‘‘A brilliant idea,’’ he said as she opened the studio door. ‘‘I wish I’d thought of it long ago, when he first stopped speaking.’’

‘‘Why would you have? Drawing and painting are second nature to me. They are what make me a rather quirky character, in Mama’s opinion.’’

‘‘She is correct, if by quirky she means beautiful, brilliant and entirely original.’’

The light of a nearby wall sconce caressed her glowing cheeks. Her lashes fluttered downward to shield her thoughts. She sidestepped away, took the candle from its holder and brushed by him into the studio.

He felt like an ass. He hadn’t meant to flirt, not by any means. No, theirs was not a relationship amenable to such trifles as flirting. It never had been, not weeks ago when circumstances had first forced them together, and certainly not now, with their present lives shaped by such misfortune.

As he watched her use the candle to light two lamps inside, it saddened him that he’d never had the chance to flirt with her, or court her as a beautiful young woman deserved to be courted.

‘‘Come in,’’ she called to him with a note of mild impatience. A bed linen lay spread at her feet, and as he moved to her side, he saw the bright designs that covered the first yard or so of fabric.

‘‘Look at how many of these yellow circles he’s drawn,’’ she said with a sweep of her hand. ‘‘Have you any idea what they could mean?’’

Grayson crouched and traced a finger around one of the dozen or so disks painted among Jonny’s other illustrations. ‘‘Suns, perhaps?’’

‘‘Yes, that occurred to me too.’’ She knelt beside him, so close he imagined he could feel the heat of her shoulder against his own. ‘‘But see how he’s drawn half circles within each one. Instinct tells me there’s something important about that, a deeper meaning than a mere copying of everyday sights.’’

‘‘An artist’s instinct?’’

‘‘I suppose you might call it that. . . .’’ Her chin angled over her shoulder, her gaze traveling to her shrouded easel, where his portrait lay hidden. The memory sent a shiver across his shoulders. Her gaze darted back to him. ‘‘I’m afraid I’m not terribly confident in my instincts lately, so perhaps I’m mistaken about Jonny’s designs.’’

‘‘I am. Confident in you, that is.’’ His hand closed around hers. It felt so small and warm against his palm, so delicate. Some possessive instinct stirred to life inside him. But if he had learned anything about her in recent days, it was that she was by no means delicate, no flower to be preserved and protected. He pressed her hand to his lips, turned it over, nuzzled her palm. Need mounted inside him, painful, making breathing difficult.

He held her open palm against his cheek. ‘‘While I’ve been fighting my demons, you’ve been making a difference in Jonny’s life. And mine. I think if it weren’t for you, I might have . . .’’

She drew her face close to his. ‘‘Might have what?’’

‘‘Given up. Given in.’’ His head sank between his shoulders. ‘‘I don’t know.’’

Her free hand cupped his jaw and gently but firmly forced him to look at her. ‘‘Do you still want me gone?’’

For an instant her features blurred behind a blinding wave of panic. Want her gone? Good God, no. Her light touch, now a soft caress across his face, had the ability to anchor him to this world, to life. He’d be entirely adrift without her.

But what of her? Surely her world had been more tranquil, more rewarding, with her paints and brushes and artist society, than her life here at Blackheath Grange, than anything he could offer her.

She must have sensed his inner battle, for she came swiftly to her feet, hands on hips, eyes glittering down at him. ‘‘Never mind what you
think
I should do,’’ she said severely. ‘‘You must decide what you want me to do. No more lying to me or to yourself.’’

‘‘Nora, wait.’’

She was already at the door. Without turning she said, ‘‘I’m going to see Jonny off to bed. Should you decide you have anything to say to me . . . you may seek me out afterward.’’

Would he? His body clenched around an aching desire to be with her, hold her, love her. Could he trust himself not to hurt her? Frighten her? Could he restrain his demons long enough, at least, for one night’s bliss in her arms?

Or would he instead prowl the house, sleepless for hours, and then finally rouse his groom to have his horse saddled? Could another reckless ride across the darkened, storm-drenched moors banish this particular demon—the one that refused to see the sense in letting Nora go?

Only by severing his ties to her could he ensure her future happiness, a future free of his past and of the ghosts that haunted him because of it. The part that loved her knew that to be true. Grimly he looked down at Jonny’s yellow circles and acknowledged that the worst part of him, the hardened, selfish part that had caused so much sorrow—Tom’s downfall and death, Jonny’s silenced spirit—still couldn’t manage to see past its own needs.

And, dear God, he needed Nora. So the question was, Did he need her more than he loved her?

Nora tucked Jonny in, bid him good night and returned downstairs. If Grayson decided he wanted to see her, the logical place for him to find her was in her bedchamber. But she had no intention of making matters easy, nor of waiting like a docile wife to attract her husband’s notice. No, if he wanted her, if he had anything worthwhile to say to her, he would have to come find her—in the very room he claimed to abhor.

No more shrinking from things that couldn’t be changed. If their marriage was to have a ghost of a chance at succeeding, they must each be willing to brave anything and everything—together.

But as she opened the library door, she discovered the room already occupied.

Standing at a bookcase in a circle of lamplight, the Earl of Wycliffe whirled when the door creaked, his expression registering surprise. An open book sat cradled in one hand, its pages gently fanning. Several books spanned the desktop. Three or four lay at his feet.

‘‘Nora!’’ Flashing his easy grin, he pressed his free hand to his heart. ‘‘You startled me. I’d thought you’d retired. Don’t tell me you’re another night owl like that husband of yours.’’

‘‘No. In fact . . .’’ She moved into the room. ‘‘Sometimes I wonder if Gray sleeps at all.’’

‘‘He seems excessively troubled. More so than last I saw him.’’

She nodded. ‘‘It’s this house. . . .’’ She trailed off. How could she explain about the ghosts that had been haunting both her and Grayson? Chad would think she’d taken leave of her senses.

He shoved the book he held back onto the shelf, went to her and took her hand in his. ‘‘You’re correct about this house. It’s full of sorrow, Nora, and is certainly no place for newlyweds. Add to that the possible danger Gray discovered, and it’s obvious the two of you should take Jonny and return to London. Or, if you like, you may consider my Grandview at your disposal.’’

Nora was already shaking her head. ‘‘I do thank you, more than you can know. But we must remain here. I cannot fully explain the reasons, but it is of vital importance, to both Grayson and Jonny, that we all remain at Blackheath and . . .’’ How could she put it without revealing the strange, unearthly goings-on here?

And then she knew, because ghosts or no ghosts, the answer was the same. ‘‘We must face the past head-on, not run from it. We must all come to terms with what happened and learn to live with it. Live and move on, as a family.’’

‘‘You’re very brave, Nora.’’ A sad smile tugged Chad’s mouth. ‘‘I only hope Gray knows what a fortunate fellow he is.’’

He kissed her hand and released it, and bid her good night. On his way out, she called to him.

‘‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’’

He turned, an eyebrow raised. ‘‘Have I?’’

‘‘Your book. I assume you were searching for something to read, yes?’’

‘‘Oh. Yes, of course. I, ah, didn’t find what I was looking for.’’

‘‘I see. Good night, then.’’

After he left, she returned the books he’d left lying on the desk to their rightful places on the shelves. She scanned the titles and, like the earl, found nothing to interest her. No, that wasn’t quite true. This library contained no shortage of fascinating volumes. But none that could compete with the one question that claimed her thoughts tonight.

Would Grayson come find her?

She had left the door open, allowing the light from Chad’s lamp to spill across the threshold. Surely for a man intent on being with his wife, that presented invitation enough. Drifting to the settee facing the hearth, she sank into the lush comfort of the down cushions. Outside the squally winds sent their somber echoes spiraling in the chimney. She considered calling for a footman to light the fire, but, tightening her shawl about her shoulders, deemed the room and the down cushions beneath her warm enough.

So she settled in to wait . . . and hope. Swinging her feet up, she stretched out and slipped one of the velvet throw pillows beneath her cheek. . . .

She awakened with a gasp on her lips and a weight across her shoulders. She struggled to sit up, discovering an arm pinning her in place.

‘‘Shh. It’s only me.’’ Grayson crouched on the floor beside the settee, his face level with hers. His arm relaxed but its embrace remained, his fingers curling about her shoulder beneath her shawl. ‘‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’’

A smile spread across her lips. ‘‘I didn’t know if you’d come. I’m glad you did.’’

He shook his head and studied her, his lush lips parting. ‘‘Why are you still here?’’

The question sparked a little flame of guilt that heated her cheeks. ‘‘I’m sorry. I should have waited for you upstairs in my room, but I was rather angry earlier and supposed it would be a sort of justice to make you come to me here. It wasn’t very nice of me, especially as I’ve yet to learn why you avoid this room.’’

His blue eyes darkened, and shadows fell across his cheeks as his head went down. ‘‘Tom and I argued in this room the last time I saw him alive.’’ He flicked a nod toward the open space in front of the desk. ‘‘We were standing just there when I told him to go to the devil. By the end of the day, he had.’’

‘‘Oh, good heavens, had I known that, I never would have—’’

‘‘It doesn’t matter. This is merely a room. These four walls are not responsible for what happened.’’ The rest of the thought went unfinished, but its echo reverberated in Nora’s heart.

‘‘Gray, men argue. Brothers say regrettable things.’’ She gripped his free hand. It was rigid, as cold as a grave. She rubbed it between both of hers, trying in vain to warm it. ‘‘But they are not each other’s keepers. Perhaps you wrong your brother in believing you drove him to take his own life . . . or to do anything. Perhaps he was stronger than you think, and some other reason entirely caused his death.’’

‘‘God, how I want to believe that.’’ His arm tightened around her, his fingers almost digging into her shoulder as he held on. ‘‘But when I asked why you were still here, I didn’t mean in this blasted room, I meant here with me, in this marriage.’’

‘‘Oh.’’ Her first thought was the simplest. She loved him. But if she told him that, he’d only tell her not to, and claim he wasn’t capable of loving her in return. So she said the one thing he could not refute. ‘‘I am here because I wish to be. Can you understand that?’’