Her Secret Affair (31 page)

A page rustled as he turned it. He could have gone away while she was sleeping. Instead, he sat reading, waiting for her to awaken, and his very presence opened a bright window of hope, letting in fairy-tale dreams of happily ever after.

I’ve never wanted any woman as much as I want you.

It was not a declaration of love, but the utterance of a truth she craved nonetheless. Awash with yearning, she slipped quietly out of bed and padded toward him. From the edge of her vision, she noticed the signs of vandalism in the gloom, but nothing could mar the shining image of her beloved.

“Justin?” It felt strange and wonderful using his given name, an intimacy still new to her.

He looked up sharply, his gaze boring into her. He did not return the smile she flashed at him. His face was solemn, his expression chiseled from granite. She sensed immediately that something in him had changed, though she could not say what. His shadowed green eyes traveled from the crown of her tumbled hair down over her unclothed body.

Feeling suddenly shy, she paused by the bedpost. It had seemed perfectly natural to walk naked toward him. But under the force of his frown, she crossed her arms over her breasts in a hopelessly inadequate attempt to cover herself. Anxious to decipher his mood, she stared back at him, taking in the charmingly rumpled black hair, the noble cheekbones and inflexible jaw, the unbuttoned shirt that showed the hair on his flat abdomen, a dark arrow that pointed straight down to his …

Her gaze landed on the opened book in his lap.

The rivulets of heat inside her chilled to icicles. Her lips parted, but only a thin gasp emerged.

He sat reading
The True Confessions of a Ladybird.

In a horrifying flash, she remembered him undressing her, inadvertently breaking the string that secured the hidden pocket. She had been frantic lest he realize what he’d done. So frantic, she had wriggled out of her gown and petticoat and drawers, letting them drop over the fallen memoirs. She had enticed him into bed, and from the moment he’d come down on her, she had forgotten everything but Kern.

Until now.

She flew across the room. “Give that back to me.”

“It’s too late.” He snapped the slender volume shut. “I’ve already read it.”

“Give it back,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No.” He sat unmoving, infuriatingly calm as he regarded her. “First we talk.”

She was tempted to lunge at him, to wrench the memoirs out of his thieving hands. But she was stopped by a vision of herself, naked and wrestling with him for the book. She cursed the involuntary pulse beating in her loins. At the moment she wasn’t feeling amenable to letting him touch her.

She spun around and marched to the bed. With trembling fingers, she snatched up her chemise and yanked it over her head. The crumpled linen garment floated down to her knees, giving her a modicum of modesty as she stormed back to face him. “That book belonged to my mother. You have no right to steal it.”

“I haven’t stolen it. And I have every right to know exactly what the memoirs say. There might have been a clue that you missed.”

“Then tell me what it is and give the book back.”

She held out her hand. He ignored it. Still holding the dainty volume, he cocked his head to regard her. “You think Trimble is your father.”

She told herself to deny it, but no words came to her tongue. Now he knew. Knew the name of the scoundrel who had set so little value on his own daughter. Trimble had tossed her away as if she were a bit of rubbish. It shouldn’t hurt. And yet it did.
It did.
In her heart dwelled that lonely little girl who pretended her father was the king.

“I understand now,” Kern went on, “why you acted so strangely around him. He’s the man who shared your mother’s secrets. The only man she didn’t call by the name of a god. The only man she truly trusted.”

Through dry lips, she found her voice. “Promise me … you won’t demand an explanation from him. I wish to do that myself.”

“I’ll make you no such promise.”

“Why not?” she cried out.

“Because you may have come to the wrong conclusion about Trimble. He might
not
be your father.”

Isabel took a step backward. “I beg your pardon? I’ve had far longer to think about this than you have.”

“It’s just a feeling I have. Something I need to investigate.”

“Your investigation is over.” She didn’t want him asking questions of Trimble. If Trimble didn’t wish to acknowledge her, then so be it. Praying her voice wouldn’t shake, she said, “Now give me the book.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kern arched one eyebrow. “That isn’t all I learned. I also found myself enlightened about your mother.”

“Oh? Did you realize how justified you are in ridiculing her?” Pacing before him, Isabel hugged her midsection, trying to ease her pain. It was no use. She felt stripped raw by his poking and prying into her past. “Did you enjoy reading about all her encounters with men? Quite titillating, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “I’d already seen one of the passages pertaining to my father—the copy you sent to him before we met. The rest is no more explicit.”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings,” Isabel snapped, anger overheating her. “It’s one thing to know Mama was a whore, and quite another entirely to read about her and her lovers in exquisite detail. Everything they did together, where they did it, when they did it.” She took a shuddering breath. “The memoirs only confirm how indiscriminate she was, how far removed from
your
definition of a lady…” To Isabel’s horror, her voice broke. A hot moisture stung her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

Mortified, she swung away, but Kern tossed the memoirs onto the side table and caught her by the waist, tumbling her onto his lap. The stiffness drained out of her and she latched tightly onto him. He pressed her face to his shirt while she sobbed out her rage and grief. All the while, he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words she dared not heed. Surely he understood that her mother’s misdeeds tainted Isabel, too. How could she ever hope he might regard her as more than a mistress? No woman of her background could marry a nobleman.

Marry.

In her heart, she acknowledged the wrenching, impossible truth. She wanted to be his wife, to bear his children, to sleep beside him each night, and to walk proudly by his side at
ton
functions. She wanted him to know her ill-favored upbringing and to cherish her nonetheless. With all the fierceness of yearning, she wanted to be Lady Kern.

With his thumb, he lifted her face and gently caught a stray tear that clung to her lower lashes. “Isabel, I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said gruffly. “Believe me, that was never my intention. And you’re wrong about my reaction to the memoirs. For the first time, I can see Aurora as a person with hopes and dreams.” The admission sounded halting as if he still wrestled with the truth of it.

The conflicting feelings inside Isabel poured out. “Many viewed her as a disgusting creature. But she was my mother, Justin. She did try to do her best for me.”

“Yes, I can see that now. And she loved your father, whoever he was. What they shared was more than a sordid, meaningless affair.”

“She let him use her. She deliberately seduced him.”

“Praise God she did. Else you might never have been born.”

His hard mouth quirked into a half-smile, lending a rakish quality to his heartbreakingly handsome features. His hand lay heavily on her shoulder, his fingers massaging away her tension. The bitterness lost its power over her, burned to cinders by the steady flame of her love. And by the gratifying certainty that Kern did not regret their tryst.

Her insides curled into a sweet knot of erotic longing. She lolled half naked in the lap of a muscled, virile male. A possessive look darkened his eyes, and she thrilled to the heat prickling over every inch of her skin. His gaze dipped to her breasts, and he surely saw the coral points straining against the fine fabric of the chemise.

His hand descended slowly. She held her breath in delicious anticipation of his caress. But he cupped his palm over her belly instead, his touch warm and firm.

“Isabel,” he said in a strange, gravelly voice. “You may be carrying my child.”

She could only stare at him as his meaning sank in and filled her with irrepressible joy and overwhelming panic. “Merciful God. I hadn’t even considered…” Her voice trailed away as she grappled with the awesome possibility of nurturing his baby inside her body, of giving birth to his son or daughter. And she remembered her loneliness as a girl, the empty feeling of never having known the love of a father.

She clutched his shirt and informed him, “If indeed I’m pregnant, then I’m not letting you walk away as my mother did my father. Our child will never suffer as I suffered.”

“Of course not,” Kern said. “Apollo was a cad for abandoning you. Before God, I could never do as he did. I could never, ever cut myself off from my own child.”

Her heart thrummed against her rib cage. Was he saying he would marry her, then? And what if she weren’t pregnant? Would he still cleave to her, make love to her, ask her to be his wife? A hundred questions crowded her mind, and she ached to know the answers. “What about Helen?” she whispered. “What will we tell her?”

His fingers flexed around Isabel’s waist. His features tightened with guilt and regret, and his gaze shifted to the shadows of the bedroom. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a low, tortured voice. “I honestly don’t know.”

Isabel forced out, “Do you love her?”

He brought his brooding gaze back to her. “I’m very fond of her. Though not … like this.” His hands moved caressingly over her hips, then stilled. “But it isn’t a question of love. It’s a question of honor.”

Her heart constricted as she understood his indecision. They were trapped in a quandary, loath to hurt Helen and yet realizing Helen stood squarely in the path to their own happiness. Kern had to be suffering the torment of the damned for breaking his betrothal promise. He was not a man to shrug away a vow—and she could not admire him were he so cavalier.

What had happened tonight had not been just another sexual romp for him; he had led a monastic life, a life of true nobility. Yet he hadn’t said he loved her, either. Isabel drew a painful breath. No man had ever spoken those three magical words to her, and her soul hungered to hear them from Kern.

He touched her cheek, the darkness of regret glittering in his eyes. “I must go now,” he said.

Panicked by the fear that he might never return, she snuggled closer to him. “We have this night,” she whispered. “Oh, Justin. Don’t leave me yet. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Don’t you know I want to stay?” he said in a gritty voice. “But I cannot in all conscience—”

He sucked in a harsh breath when she swung her leg over and shamelessly straddled him. She sat facing him, her hands on his chest, registering the thunder of his heartbeat. She could feel his heat, his hardness swelling beneath her. A rush of sensual longing almost made her swoon. “You were saying?” she prompted coyly.

“Minx,” he muttered. But he didn’t push her away. His fingers wove into her hair, and she needed no urging to lean closer to his tantalizing mouth. Their lips were a breath away from the kiss that would keep him with her, perhaps win his affections forever—

A loud rapping on the outer door broke the erotic spell. His hands squeezed possessively around her waist. “Bloody damn,” he snarled.

Isabel jerked around and stared into the gloom of the boudoir. “My aunts. Oh, dear heaven. I forgot all about them. They mustn’t find us together like this.”

She scrambled off his lap, but he caught her wrist before she could dash for her clothes. “Isabel, wait. Do you trust me?”

Tenderness welled in her breast. “Of course.”

“Then let me take the memoirs.”

“No!”

“Listen,” he commanded. “The book should be locked in a bank vault. If you don’t believe me, take a look around you. There’s someone who will stop at nothing to find it.”

She glanced uneasily at the destruction in the shadowed bedroom. The intruder had stabbed Aunt Minnie … Isabel swallowed hard. “But it’s all I have left of my mother.”

“I know. I’ll keep it safe for you.” His thumb rubbed gently along her inner wrist. Then the chilling aspect of a stranger iced his eyes. “I shall inform each of the men that I now possess the memoirs. It’s the least I can do to protect you.”

Without taking her gaze from him, she groped on the table for the small book and pressed it into his hands. “As you desire, my lord.”

Just as quickly as it had appeared, his dangerous look vanished, replaced by one of moody intensity. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back. Her knees wobbled, and at that moment she would have promised him the sun and the moon and the stars if she could.

But all she could offer was her heart.

The rapping sounded again, and she dove for her gown, skipping her petticoat in her haste to dress. Kern pulled on his coat and tucked the slim volume into an inner pocket. As he knotted his cravat, she thought with a pang that he had never looked more elegantly handsome. Or further beyond her reach.

He came to her and swiftly buttoned the back of her gown, then turned her for a brief, stirring kiss. “Isabel, I wish…” He paused, his voice tortured. “I can’t make you any promises. It would be wrong of me. You do understand that.”

“Yes.” The admission chafed at her. In the days ahead, she would have to sustain herself on the crumbs of memory.

The muffled sound of quarreling voices came from the passageway. Bracing herself for an awkward scene, Isabel opened the door.

Diana stood in the murky corridor, a flickering oil lamp held in her hand. The other aunts crowded in behind her. They fell silent at Isabel’s disheveled appearance, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. Four sets of accusing eyes looked from Isabel to Kern, who stood just behind her. His hand closed, warm and reassuring, around her shoulder, and she had to resist the urge to lean back into his protective strength.

Diana’s elegant mouth pinched tight. “Well,” she said, her tone grating. “We came to check on your progress in finding out the identity of the prowler. Too late, it would seem.”