Enemy of Mine (15 page)

She moaned and rocked into him once more. Liquid heat shot through his body, making his cock even harder. He rubbed again and again around and over her little nubs. Each time he did, she moved against him. Reaching for her neckline, he tried to extract her breast from her dress, but she was wedged into the damned thing a bit too tightly. Frustrated, he leaned forward and sucked her nipple through her clothes.

She mewled and gripped onto his hair.

Then the carriage came to a quick stop. Erva’s body leaned away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. Glancing at her, he caught her expression. Lord, he hoped it was appreciation he saw, that she admired him as much as he did her. Quickly, he asked, “Will you—will you come to my chambers with me?”

He didn’t wait for her response, but kissed her. Rapturously, she slid her tongue into his mouth again, and he took that as permission. He parted from their kiss when the footman opened the door to the carriage, then after a bit of maneuvering carried her out.

“I can walk, you know.” Erva laughed.

“I fear if I release you, then none of this will be real, that this is a figment of my imagination.” He was surprised he’d been so honest, revealed that much to her, but it was the truth of why he wouldn’t let her go.

A servant opened the door for him, and he caught Paul’s surprised face in his periphery, but swept by the lot of the people in the foyer. He took the stairs two at a time, when Erva whispered, “Are you sure you’re not a figment of
my
imagination?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Do I—” he swung into his chamber and closed the door with a kick. “Do I meet the lady’s expectations?”

“Oh no, not at all, my lord.”

He set her feet down on the ground, feeling something wrench through and around his heart. God, could he have read her wrong?

She lifted her hands to his face and held him in place with her honey eyes. “You exceed all my expectations and then some. You’re—”

This time he lunged for her lips, not letting her finish. He gripped around her waist and pulled her to his body. The rustle from her silk seemed too loud in his dark room, but soon enough he felt her pull at his loosened cravat and finally tear it from him. He laughed as pieces of white fluttered to the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said.

“I wasn’t really.”

He softly chuckled.

She reached up on her toes and kissed him back. His body ached to have her closer, but already she was as close as two people could be...while clothed. He let out a breath, realizing he could take off her clothes as she was already adeptly doing, unfastening each golden frog button with her delicate hands as she kissed down his neck.

“Darling, do you have a cushion?”

She stopped and gazed up at him with one brow arched. “What are we doing with a cushion? Just one cushion? Where are you going to put it?”

He laughed at her deliciously wicked mind. “I meant for your dress’s pins. Or are you sewn in? Shall I retrieve scissors?”

She blinked. “You know how to undress a woman, don’t you?”

However playfully she’d meant the words, they’d come out sounding more tense than he would have liked.

He swallowed. “I—I was married. Did you know that?”

She nodded, and Will realized her shoulders tensed.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done...this...”

“How long?”

The remembrance of his wife came back to crush him until his bones ached, felt fractured multiple times. He hadn’t remembered making love to his wife, but of her rushing outside naked in the middle of the day, begging the chef to make love to her. She’d forced herself on him, while the old man had tried to get away, but she’d been terribly strong, and before Will had caught her, she’d grabbed at the chef’s hand and tried to put it between her legs. Will had had to wrestle her to the ground and take her from the man who had started to cry, more than likely feeling so sorry for the mania Julia possessed. Placing her over his shoulder, Will tried not to notice the whole cooking crew staring at his wife, screaming she wanted rabbit for dinner.

“A very long time, Erva,” he whispered, suddenly not sure he could perform what his body ached to do. He took a step away from the beauty before him, feeling too old for her, too worn, too battered.

“I—I shouldn’t have asked,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

The back of his legs found a couch and he fell into it with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Of course it’s your business, darling. I was planning on making love to you. You have a right to know.”

She blinked and followed him to the couch, but stood a tad out of his grasp. His room held enough moonlight he could make out the line of her cheek, her delicate nose, her swollen lips. Lord, she was beautiful. But like so many things in this life, she was beyond him.

“You aren’t now?”

“Pardon?”

“You aren’t planning to make love to me now?” Her voice shook.

He sighed. Lord, was that hope there on her incredibly lovely visage? Did she really want him?

“You extended to me the courtesy of honesty. I think I should do the same.” He began, but then found words extremely difficult over the tightness in his throat. He cleared it. “I have a reputation, Erva.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You know they call me a scoundrel?”

“Scoundrel?” Her hands fluttered over her heart where they curled in, as if protecting her from him, his past.

“It—it started so long ago, after my marriage, after my wife—”

Erva took a step back. He winced as pain speared through his chest as if that little movement had plunged a sword through him.

After another step away, she whispered, “You—you had a mistress when you were married, didn’t you?”

He laughed bitterly. “Ah, so mayhap you have heard the rumors? What a pig I was for taking a mistress when I was
happily
married. Even when my marriage was less than ideal, I still chased after women, isn’t that right? Tell me, in the version you heard, did I bed an opera singer or a dancer? Or both? There is one version where I have both simultaneously, no less.” He’d barked at her in anger, and she took another step away from him. It pained him, but perhaps it was for the best that she turned away from a wretch like him.

“So...so...so you didn’t take a mistress?”

He didn’t answer, for words had become agonizing to sound out.

“But—but men of this time are allowed to have mistresses. Allowed isn’t a great choice of words, but you know what I mean.”

“No.” He stood suddenly and strode toward her. “I don’t. Nor did I understand what it meant back then, for I would never betray my wife like that. Never.”

“Okay, so you didn’t take a mistress.”

“What does this oh-kay mean? Is it German?”

She shook her head and smiled, instantly diffusing his anger. His shoulders stooped.

“It must have been difficult for both you and your wife to have heard the rumors.”

“She never heard them. She died before they were started.”

Erva cocked her head to the side.

Before she could ask any further questions, Will said, “I—I’ve never told a soul what you are about to hear. Paul knows it, of course, but that is simply because he was there. I’ve never talked to him about it, other than once, when he asked if he could take out an ad against the rumors. I told him not to.”

“Why?”

Walking backwards, he found himself on the couch again. Being so close to her had made him crave to touch her. God, he still wanted her. But soon enough she would know his secret and mayhap run from him.

Bracing for such a reaction, he tried to steady his voice. “The rumors were spread by my wife’s mother as a reaction to the news of her daughter’s death.”

Erva timidly came to stand close to him. Too close, he thought, because with everything in him he wanted to reach out and snag her into his lap.

“By the way,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry for your wife passing away. I know it’s been about a decade, but I’m sorry nonetheless.”

“Thank you.”

“I—I don’t understand why your mother in-law would start the rumors. Your wife died during childbirth. I—I’m sorry for being so blunt.”

He inhaled sharply. “That was the first rumor my mother in-law started.”

“That your wife died in childbirth?”

He nodded.

“Then how did she—God, I’m sorry. I’m grilling you.”

“Grilling me? I don’t feel grilled. But in answer to your question,” he swallowed, feeling his past, Julia, come crashing into the room. She was in all the shadows encompassing the chamber. An eerie familiarity he never knew whether he should warm to or run from.

After he’d told Julia’s mother what had happened, he’d never told another soul the truth. Never even whispered it or retold it to Paul. Nonetheless he felt compelled to tell Erva everything, as if the shadows were coaxing him to do so. “I believe my wife was pregnant, yes.” He croaked. “She hadn’t menstruated for two months. But she might not have been, for she stopped eating about the same time, and the doctor told me that that interferes with a woman’s monthly.”

Erva knelt before him. She carefully held one of his hands, caressing his thumb’s knuckle.

“She had stopped eating?”

“She did that from time to time, especially when she and Miss June fought.”

“Was Miss June a friend of hers?”

This was what he feared to tell her. No one understood Miss June. He hadn’t at the time. But if only Erva could, then this rare bird in his chest, this hope, would fly free. He nodded. “Julia, my wife, often spoke of Miss June. After our marriage I wanted to meet the allusive friend of hers, but being in Parliament took much of my time, and whatever time I did have, I wanted to spend with my wife alone. I—you may as well know that our marriage was arranged, but I loved her. I didn’t grow to love her; I fell in love with her. She was so lovely and funny. God, you would have liked her. She would have
loved
you.”

“You think?”

“Julia would have adored you.” He ruefully grinned at her. “She would have been completely impressed with your pianoforte and singing talents. She could play and sing at home, but not in public, too afraid of crowds. But, oh, she would have loved to listen to you.” He stopped himself from saying that he wondered if she had, even though he didn’t believe in ghosts, didn’t believe in shadows that convinced him to talk more than he ever had, to trust.

He lost his smile as he continued. “About eight months into our marriage I noticed my wife acting, well, differently. She finally confessed to me that she and Miss June were fighting. After two more months of Julia acting more and more beside herself, full of anxiety to the point where she never slept and clawed at the walls, I’d finally had enough, and decided to hunt down this Miss June and confront the ingrate of a friend. I went to my mother in-law who took all day putting off how to find Miss June, until finally she confessed.” Will stared into Erva’s eyes, ready for her reaction. “There was no Miss June. Miss June was not real, for, you see, my wife had hallucinations, heard voices too. My in-laws had tried everything possible to hide that fact from me. Stupid people, I wouldn’t have cared. I loved Julia. I would have had that much more time to investigate how to remedy the many imaginary beings Julia saw.”

Erva leaned closer, held his hand tighter. “Oh my God, she was schizophrenic.”

“What? Another German word?”

“I—yes, I believe it is, but your wife had...um, dementia, delusions, right?”

“Yes,” Will caught the raspy sound of his voice, afraid he hoped for too much. So then he told her the last secret. “She—she became more and more paranoid. She kept fighting with Miss June. She thought Miss June was going to kill her, that her mother was going to kill her. She kept crying, and I—I didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, of course not, honey.”

“The doctor wanted to drill her brain, but I wouldn’t allow that. Making matters worse, Julia overheard the doctor and thought I was going to kill her. One doctor performed a bloodletting, another thought to take her to Bath, I kept trying all different tonics, except I wouldn’t let anyone drill a hole into my wife’s head. All the while, Julia’s behavior grew wilder. I fear she was pregnant. One doctor said that pregnancy would increase her mental disease. But—but—” He let out a sob, then steeled himself from such reactions. “I hadn’t made love to her in so long. However, she—her behavior—she kept trying to seduce men. I can only assume she got her way with one of them when I wasn’t watching over her.”

From kneeling in front of him, Erva crept up the couch and curled close to his side, embracing him. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.”

“You see, I know, no matter what anyone says, her behavior was not her. That was not
her
. I know my wife’s heart, and she wouldn’t have hurt me like that.”

“I don’t think she would have either.”

“So, you see, my mother in-law, rather than let anyone know her daughter was...not well, said that she died during childbirth, rather than tell the truth that she died by hanging herself from the rafters, that I’d found her cold limp body after searching for her for hours.” A tear trekked down his face. “Rather than say a word about my beautiful wife taking her own life in our barn, my mother in-law invented a fairy tale, where my lovely wife died while still dutiful to me, and I, the villain in the story, had betrayed Julia with a tawdry dancer.”