Seven Nights to Forever (29 page)

The shame in her voice cut right through him. By God, he was an arse to berate her so. She certainly had not told him he should have taken Amelia in hand long ago. He had received nothing but quiet understanding because she knew what it felt like to sacrifice all for another.

Turning, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. A tremble racked her body. “I understand. Sometimes one must forsake one’s own wishes for another.”

He held her close until the tension eased from her body, until she leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his chest.

How desperate she must have been to seek out Rubicon’s. A young woman from a good family pushed to sell herself. No woman should ever be put in that situation, and he had been a party to it. Laid those pound notes on the madam’s desk, just like all the others before him. And he certainly did not even want to think about the fact that she had likely been untouched by a man before she had first walked through those scarlet double doors.

Or had she?

He furrowed his brow, the numbers catching in his mind.

Five minus four was not zero.

“Rose, if you’ve only been at Rubicon’s for four years, how did you get the funds for Dash to attend Eton that first year?”

The tension returned, stiffening the body pressed against his. She pushed free from his hold and made quite the little project of adjusting her skirt about her knees.

He let the question hang between them. After a long moment, she dropped her hands to her lap on a sigh that held a distinct note of resignation.

“I didn’t always work at Rubicon’s,” she said, clearly grudgingly. “When I first came to London, I did so intending to find a protector.”

“And did you?”

“You are intent on your questions today, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Yes, I did find a protector. Two, in fact. The first did not last long. He neglected to inform me he had a wife. The second . . . he was what prompted me to seek out Rubicon’s.” Staring down at her hands, she traced the leather-covered button on the back of one of her gloves. A slight frown tugged the edges of her lips. “I should not have been so hasty in my selection. But I wasn’t with Lord Biltmore but a handful of weeks, and since I chose to part ways with him, I couldn’t very well ask him for more than the few baubles he had given me. But the headmaster at Eton demanded payment, and then more letters arrived. Gentlemen claiming my father owed them vast sums. And the creditors. A couple of them knocked on my door. I did not have the luxury of time. He seemed a gentleman, and I blindly believed a title meant a man was one. But . . .”

She did not need to fill in the void. Her entire body went rigid. A wince creased her brow. The visible shudder racked her frame.

“You were with him for a year?”

She nodded once.

“He is why you don’t like to leave Rubicon’s?” Her reluctance on both occasions when he’d asked her to leave her suite of rooms. This had been the source.

Teeth digging into her plump bottom lip, she nodded again, worry written all over her beautiful face. “He said he would never let me leave,” she admitted in a thin whisper. “I slipped away in the dead of night, with nothing but the clothes on my back, and struck a deal with Rubicon. She gained a new employee. I gained the security of her house and the ability to refuse a client, if need be.”

“His name, please,” he bit out, the demand short and clipped.

“Why?”

“So I can show him how it feels to be on the receiving end of a man’s fists.”

Rose shook her head. “No. He has likely forgotten about me by now. I do not want him reminded.”

It took every ounce of self-control to keep the rage building within out of sight. The last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to be frightened of him. To look on him with those panic-stricken eyes. “He never has to know why he is receiving the lesson. The important thing is that he does get it.”

“Please don’t, James,” she implored, clutching his arm, her fingers digging into the muscle with surprising force. “I appreciate the gesture, but it is over and done with. No good can come of you seeking him out now.”

“It’s not a goddamn gesture. He
hurt
you.”

“And he won’t do it again. Rubicon has seen to it. She’s assured me she had him managed. I am safe there.”

Pulling free of her grasp, he shot to his feet, impotent frustration surging within. “You should not need the protection of a brothel’s madam. Hell, you shouldn’t even be there, Rose.” Fists clenched at his sides, his breaths coming hard and fast, he stared down at her.

Head bowed in submission, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, hugging herself tight.

The sight of her frightened and scared killed every trace of anger pounding through his veins. Obliterated it, as if it had never been there.

By God, he had practically been screaming at her. What the hell had come over him?

He dropped to his knees. That she drew up tighter, almost flinching when he touched her, nearly shattered his heart. “You deserve better,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the end. “You cannot understand how much it pains me to know there is a man out there who hurt you. Who took advantage of you.” He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and tried to will his hands to stop shaking.
Please, don’t let me have lost her trust.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I should not have yelled at you. You did nothing wrong.” Shifting to sit beside her, he murmured, “Come here.”

With her head still bowed, she turned in to him, burrowing against his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Relief poured over him. He had not lost her trust after all.

Many, many long moments later, when the geese had abandoned the water for the bank on the opposite side of the pond and the nearby trees’ shadows had begun to lengthen to stretch across the grass, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“We are an odd pair, you and I, are we not?”

He swore he could feel her smile against his chest. “Indeed we are.”

“Shall we head back home? Webb will have supper on the table soon.”

“All right,” she said, tipping her face up to his.

One sweet kiss. Just one, else two would become more and then they wouldn’t reach Honey House until dusk. Lifting free from those tempting red lips, he stood to help her to her feet. With her gloved hand in his and his coat in the other, they made their way back to the horses.

GATHERING
her shawl about her shoulders, Rose got up from the wrought iron bench on the back terrace. Clearly the clouds had not heard her wish that they hold off for a bit. Not even a handful of minutes after she had sat down, the gray sky had given way to a light, misty rain. Yesterday’s sun had only lasted a day. Something that should be expected from an English spring. Still, it would have been nice to be able to spend the afternoon with James touring the countryside. Now they would be confined to the house, likely for the duration of the day . . . though that was not necessarily a hardship. She could think of a few ways, and one way in particular, for them to entertain themselves.

She pulled open the back door and went into the house, giving a nod to Mr. Webb as she passed by the kitchen on the way to the study. James had not explicitly stated it, yet she knew he had not been with a woman since he had married. It renewed her determination to give him a wonderful holiday. He certainly deserved it. From what he had said, the man didn’t do much of anything but work. On their first night together, all those days ago, he had told her his intention was to spend every waking moment at his office. She thought it an odd comment at the time, but now she knew why he preferred his office over his home.

He was a man who spent his life putting others before himself. Something she well understood, and something he had recently demonstrated yet again.

After a quiet dinner last night he had taken her to his bed and simply kissed her. Nothing else. Not even one heated touch that had hinted at a need for more. Even this morning he had held back. She did not doubt his desire for her—the erection that nudged her thigh when he had awoken her with a kiss had spoken for itself. But the moment her fingers had brushed the silken skin, just one glance, barely long enough to feel the heat of his body, he had pulled back. A kiss on her forehead and then he had swung his legs over the side of the bed with a cheerful declaration that breakfast would soon be waiting for them.

It was one of the many traits she adored about him—how he tempered his desires for her. After their ride yesterday afternoon, she had felt so exposed, so laid bare. A distinctly uncomfortable sensation. Confiding in James had not been easy. In fact, it had been the most difficult thing she had ever done. But she’d held tight to her trust in him, answered all his questions, placed her very self in his hands, and been rewarded with nothing less than compassion.

All right. So he hadn’t merely held her hand and nodded his understanding. He had his own opinions about how she should handle Dash, and she wouldn’t put it past him to strangle Lord Wheatly with his bare hands if ever given the opportunity. But rather than put her off, his responses now warmed her soul. It felt . . . good to know he cared enough to want to protect her, even if in Dash’s case, his intent was to protect her from herself.

Last night James had sensed what she had needed and given her exactly that. His strength and his patience. He had given her time to get comfortable with the notion that he knew her secrets. Time for that instinctive need to hide from his knowing eyes to fade to nothingness. He would continue to hold back, keep his own desires and needs tightly leashed, patiently waiting until he received a nudge from her that she once again welcomed his advances.

A nudge she fully intended to give him. And with the way his gaze had kept lingering on her chest throughout breakfast, she had a strong premonition he would be more than receptive.

Smiling, she raised her arm and rapped lightly on the oak door.

WITH
a deliberate motion, James crossed out the name. The
Juliana
was due for a retrofit once she returned to port, and he wasn’t of a mind to delay the lucrative voyage to the Far East. Closing his eyes, he mentally ticked through the ships in his line. Not the
Wilmington
. The
Prosperous
was still at Canning Dock undergoing repairs. At 350 tons, the
Katherine
was too small for the task. He wrote
Ambrose
in the margin. The ship should be back from Portugal by the time he returned to London. A couple of weeks to unload, ready the ship, and offer the crew a bit of leave.
Perfect.
He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk drawer to write a note to Decker to use the
Katherine
for the regular route to Portugal in place of the
Ambrose
.

At the knock on the door, he called, “Come in.”

He looked up to see not Mrs. Webb but Rose standing in the doorway, a cream shawl about her shoulders. No more than ten minutes could have passed since she’d left him to his work. Not that he minded the interruption in the slightest, but still, given how fragile she had seemed since their discussion by the pond, he couldn’t help but be a bit concerned by her unexpected appearance.

“Is there something you need?”

“Yes. The weather is being uncooperative today.” She tipped her head toward the windows. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d care to take a short break.”

All traces of her earlier reticence were gone. The smile that had once held a distinct echo of vulnerability was full of confidence. Where last night she had seemed as delicate as the ivory muslin gown she had worn to supper, now stood a woman secure in herself.

Taken aback by the abrupt change, he opened his mouth then shut it. The teasing glint in her light blue eyes indicated she had something specific in mind, yet he stopped himself from leaping to what could be the wrong conclusion. “What sort of break?” he asked, keeping his features schooled in an expression of mild curiosity.

Her answer was to shut the door. She reached behind her back. The click of the lock sliding home echoed in the study.

A bolt of anticipation shot through him. The pen in his hand clattered to the surface of his desk, the letter to Decker long forgotten. She let the cashmere shawl slip from her shoulders, fluttering to the floorboards. His pulse sped up as he watched her walk toward him, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm that left no doubt as to her intention. Yet . . . they were in the study. “Here?”

She rounded the desk, trailing her fingertips along the edge. His cock jumped, recalling the ever so brief brush of those adept fingers the moment before he’d forced himself out of bed that morning.

“Yes. Here.” She arched a delicate brow. “Unless there is a reason we shouldn’t.”