Price of Desire (6 page)

Still, whatever his own part in the play, he had lost the little that remained of his innocence on that day, when he learnt the fullness of her betrayal.

She walked with steady tread to the cabinet and filled a glass
.
Laying it on the table by the unlit fire, she turned, her eyes lowered
.
The candle softened her features, highlighting their simple perfection
.
He swallowed and spun away
.
He would not be deceived again
.
She’d already made the warmth of his welcome clear.

“I will check on Matson and then retire
.
I wish you the best for the night.
”
Her gaze moved to the footman arranging the trunk in the corner
.
He could sense the sharp words she did not say
.
“I assume you can make your selections from the library quickly and spare us further difficulties
.
I should be clear that we have nothing to speak of beyond your selections
.
I hope I am understood.”

His cheeks spread in a knowing smile
.
She glanced up and he let his eyes rake over her, stopping at hips and bosom, before rising to settle on her lips
.
His unwilling hands still longed to touch – even with all he knew
.
She shuddered, stiffened and turned towards the door
.
He felt the sting of her rebuff
.
The only weapons at his disposal were words, words that he let surround her like a practiced caress.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, my lady
.
Besides, I don’t like to do anything too quickly
.
I like to take my time and make sure I don’t miss anything
.
The most wonderful treasures can be found in this fashion
.
Don’t you agree?”

Her feet froze at the door
.
“No, Major Huntington
.
You may have the advantage of superior military knowledge, but I believe nonetheless that, with an orderly plan of attack, speed is a virtue.”

He frowned
.
“Once, I believe, I made you think you otherwise.”

She didn’t answer, but scurried from the room.

“And Lady Burberry,” he called, as she sped towards the stair
.
“You wouldn’t have anything to hide that my treasure hunt might reveal, would you
?
Something of mine you’ve avoided mentioning
?
I always make sure to claim what is mine.”

He couldn’t be sure whether she’d heard him or not.

The nerve of the man, bursting into her home uninvited
.
Well, perhaps not quite uninvited, but still he could have given some warning
.
Rose had no doubt that he had planned and enjoyed her anger and confusion
.
He clearly delighted in causing her pain.

Every cold, heartless word had stabbed at her.

Where was articulate and warm man, so full of life, that she’d encountered all those years past
?
Even the angry, but emotional soldier who’d stormed at her during her husband’s memorial would have
been preferable to this frozen
iceberg of a man.

His words had been ready and full of sting, but his tone – his tone had lacked all edge of fire
.
The very lifelessness of his voice twisted each verbal dagger deeper.

She curled her stocking-covered toes into the carpet
.
At least, he hadn’t noticed her feet
.
She’d felt vulnerable enough standing there shoeless as he commented on her impropriety
.
It had been bad enough that the floors were cold – one more ice-blooded comment
from him and she’d have . . .

No
.
She could not afford to give him such power no matter how her body – and her mind
–
reacted to his presence
.
At future meetings she would have to remember that they were, in fact, little more than strangers
.
She would show him how a true lady acted
.
She’d not share another drop of emotion.

She rang for a maid to loosen her gown and without further ado settled herself for bed
.
She would give no further thought to that man, that devil come to torment her
.
She fluffed up her pillows, closed her eyes and prepared for sleep with the same calm with which she approached slumber most evenings
.
She would not be unsettled.

Blasted, bloody man
.
Blasted, gorgeous man
.
She could still feel the heat from his body as he’d towered over her, her eyes level with his well-muscled chest, the still familiar scent of his body wafting towards her, surrounding her
.
She opened her eyes and recited all the curses John had so lovingly taught her
.
She tried to concentrate on that, to remember the laughter in John’s eyes every time some particularly dastardly term passed her lips
.
But those dratted emerald eyes kept replacing John’s quiet brown ones, setting off shots of flame in her belly, making her heart race
.
Despite all the pain he’d caused her, Wulf had been her secret dream for five long years.

And now he was in John’s room
.
Oh, not the true master chamber, next to her own, but the small sitting room near the library that John had taken over when his illness made movement difficult
.
He’d so enjoyed being surrounded by his papers in the early morning hours before the rest of the house awoke
.
She closed her eyes and tried again to concentrate on her husband, on the intense concentration she’d find on his face as she slipped down the inner servants’ stair to check on him
.
The inner stair that ran down from her unoccupied dressin
g room connecting her to . . .

Drat.

Biting her lip, hard, she stretched and reached over to feel along the edge of the small bedside table
.
Her fingers paused as she touched the carved sandalwood box Burberry had brought back on one of his trips
.
She eased the box open
.
Her hand slipped in and slid past the battered edge of a worn letter, the silky glide of a tattered bit of green ribbon
.
Deliberately she clasped her fingers around the cold iron key to the stair
.
Matson was, as always, efficient
.
She brought the key to her face and rubbed the chilled metal against her lips, wishing it would cool them.

Why did he have such an effect on her
?
Even now, when he slammed h
er with words, while not deigning
to grant inflection to his voice, he drew her as no other man
–
ever
–
had, giving rise to these inner flares of anxiety, dread, and desire.

Desire.

That was what it was and she was not afraid to face it squarely as she lay in her solitary bed
.
She desired Wulf, wanted him, from the depth of her womanly core
.
Despite his taunting words and icy stare, he made her feel small, delicate
.
She remembered well how dainty she felt draped across that hard chest, his sparse hairs tickling her nose, how cared for she’d felt when his arms surrounded her, drawing her tight.

She rolled on her side, staring at the dressing room door, the key still pressed tight to her lips
.
It was really not surprising
.
Only with him had she ever loosed herself to passion, therefore
,
only with him did passion spring unwelcome
.
He had been her fantasy
.
It should not be surprising that the reality was so . . . unsettling.

If she’d had more experience, had a more normal marriage with John
–
not that she objected to the one she’d had
–
then these unexpected tingles would not be running from the tips of her toes to the budded peaks of her breasts.

Swallowing one deep breath after another she considered the facts
.
She had been intimate with Major Beowulf Huntington
.
She had betrayed her marriage vows and she refused to regret it
.
She had accepted the consequences of her actions and managed to live with them
.
Only that next day, when she’d known Wulf’s fierce anger at her betrayal, had she felt the singe of remorse
.
And then she felt the child quicken in her belly
–
the child that could not be her husband’s
–
and all regret was buried in the wonder of a miracle
.

She refused to feel guilt now over what could not be changed.

It was only the knowledge of the coming child that had drawn John back from darkness in those remaining years
.
From the moment he’d known of her pregnancy, a new vigor had taken him
.
He had lived years longer than expected
.
And, John had never questioned her, had expressed only delight in her pregnancy and then her daughter, a daughter sprung of her willingness to accept and follow her desires
.
She would do anything to keep her daughter safe.

She sat up in bed and drew her knees forward, wrapping her arms around them
.
She hugged herself tight, as for the first time in years, she deliberately sought out the memories, let herself indulge in her secret dreams.

The sun had been so hot that day, lighting fires under her skin
.
When she first saw him standing at the crest, felt his eyes stroke her body before rising to meet her own, saw the slow easy smile light his face as their glances caught and held, her fate had been set.

She should have fled in that instant, that moment, that second
.
She had sensed the danger and embraced it, caught it to her and held it tight, a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

Caring for John had worn her out
.
She did not begrudge him an iota of her care, her love, but didn’t know how much longer she could manage
.
She sat beside him most nights, watching his frail limbs writhe and stretch
.
She bathed him with cool water, and whispered words of comfort, but she no longer knew how many words he comprehended as he turned from her, turned from the pain of life.

She loved him so much, he had given her herself, and now he was leaving her, not suddenly but by slow degrees, as of sands being plucked and weighed in small pinches, a few grains leaking at a time
.
The doctors said it could be weeks or years
.
They did not understand why he had suddenly grown so much worse. Could there be anything more painful than watching a loved one fade, become less than himself, until only whispers of the original man remained?

That exhaustion, the inability to face the future without her beloved husband, led her to seek the inexplicable escape offered by those depthless green eyes.

Yes, she should have run the moment those eyes met hers and she smiled, before his low voice rumbled about her
.
She should have escaped before their fingers brushed, before his arms closed around her
.
Once she’d felt that hard, masculine torso pressed tight against her, it had been far too late.

In retrospect she’d justified her actions, remembered how John had always encouraged her, told her that his own increasing failings should not inhibit her further growth as a woman
.
She’d always demurred, laughed at the thought of even considering another man
.
In truth, she’d never felt temptation, or been overcome by desire for any other man
.
Swearing endless fidelity to her husband presented no difficulty to a woman who never even dreamt of passion.

And then, emerald lightening flashed, and she burned to the core.

They lay entwined on the ground, the bramble roses finally uprooted before them
.
His eyes locked with hers and one heavy, masculine hand lifted to brush a smudge from her cheek
.
The heat from that single, innocent touch flushed her face and sped her breath
.
Moisture spread against her cheek, and catching his hand between her own, she brought it before her eyes
.
A thin gash tore across one finger, blood welling from it
.
Without thought, unmindful of the dirt, she brought it to her lips and kissed it
.
The salty tang of his blood and the musk of his sweat filled her senses
.
Her eyes lifted to his again and she watched as his pupils grew large
.