Son of a Duke (28 page)

Nora brought her legs up, running the heel of her foot along his calf, felt the muscles ripple in response.
 

Nathan was doing something to her neck, that spot just behind her ear.
 
And then he was in front of her again, framing her face with his hands.
 

"Are you still all right?"
 

Nora nodded because she could not speak.
 

"All right. Um, I am going to-"

Nora nodded, cutting him off.
 
Her stomach had stopped fluttering, and the first icy fingers of fear were started to creep out.
 
She grabbed Nathan's face and kissed him, kissed him with all she had in her.
 
He broke off the contact, moving his lips to her ear.
 

"It's all right," he whispered.
 
"It's all right."
 

And then she felt another part of him, pushing at her.
 
She remembered something else pushing at her.
 

"Nathan," she whimpered.
 
"Hurry."
 

Nathan kissed her and pushed all the way into her.

She was on the floor.
 
It was hard against her back.
 
The side of her face that he had struck was numb.
 
He ripped at her pants.
 
She fought him as instinct rebounded.
 
Her fingers bled from scratching at him.
 
Her head pounded.
 
He struck her again.
 
Her hands fell away, her strength to hold them up gone.
 
He was pushing at her.
 
She pleaded with him to stop.
 
He laughed at her.
 
The sound ricocheted in her head.
 
Sensation was blissfully fading.
 
He tore her from the inside.
     

"Nathan," she gasped, surfacing sharply.
 

"That's it, Nora.
 
Open your eyes.
 
Look at me."
 

Nathan was above her, brushing away the tears that she did not know stained her cheeks.
 

"It's me, Nora.
 
Nathan.
 
You are safe.
 
I am not hurting you."
 

"Oh, Nathan."
 

Nathan was no longer inside of her.
 
She felt that almost instantly.
 
There was a quilt covering her, wrapped tightly around her body, and Nathan had his robe on again.
 
She felt cold.
 

"Oh, Nathan, I am sorry.
 
I am so, so sorry," she whimpered as if she were a lost little girl.
 

Nathan bent his head, shushing her, and softly kissing her lips.
 

"This is not your fault," he said.
 

Nora struggled with the quilt and pulled her arms out, wrapping them around Nathan and drawing him closer.
 
She held on as Nathan lay on his back pulling her against his side.
 

He held her until the tears finally stopped.
 
And although he had not said a word, she could feel the tension in him.
 
She could feel his reluctance to let her suffer the hurt in her memories.
 
She felt his helplessness in the way his arms remained stiff around her.
 
She recalled the dark look that sometimes crossed his features, his own pain, and she wanted him to know that this was not his fault.
 
That this was something she would need to conquer.

"I was nineteen," she finally said, "Head of the upstairs maids."
 
She cleared her throat.
 
"I was putting out the new set of towels for each of the guests in the east wing.
 
I did not know he was in the dressing room."
 

She listened for a moment to Nathan's heartbeat below her ear before going on.
 

"He locked the door and put the key in his pocket.
 
He was smiling, a cruel, mean smile.
 
He struck me once across the face, and I fell.
 
I never got back up."
 

Her voice got stuck as her throat closed.
 
Nathan's arms tightened around her, but the stiffness remained.
 

"He pushed up my skirts and ripped my pants.
 
I scratched at his face until I drew blood, but he just struck me again.
 
I do not remember much after that.
 
There was just a lot of pain."
 
She swallowed.
 
"And then Michael, the stableman, was shaking me awake.
 
The floor was covered in blood.
 
My blood.
 
And my first thought was I had to get it cleaned up quickly."

Her voice disappeared then, so she just stopped talking.
 

The fire crackled in the hearth beyond them.
 
She watched the flames shorten and grow.
 
She rubbed her cheek against Nathan's chest, liking the scrape of skin against skin.
 
But still his embrace was tight with a pain she could not name.
 

"Who was he, Nora?" Nathan asked after a while.
 

"No, Nathan," she shook her head against him, "I will not tell you more.
 
This is a burden you needn't carry."
 

"Who was it, Nora?" he asked again, an edge she had never heard in his voice before.
 

She leaned up on her elbow to look him in the face.
 
The darkness was there, and she suddenly grew tired of not knowing what caused his pain.

"No, Nathan.
 
It does not matter who he was.
 
He's a horrible human being, and that is punishment enough.
 
I do not care what he did to me, because I got Samuel.
 
And now-" Her voice was disappearing on her again, but she pushed it out.
 
"And now I have you."
 

Nathan nodded.
 
"Yes, you have me."
 

She leaned down and gently touched his lips with hers.
 

"Then I have everything I need.
 
Except-"

Nathan's expression remained dark even as she went on.

"What is this about?" she said, drawing her hand down the side of his face.
 
"Sometimes there is such sadness in you, and I do not know why."
 

Nathan made a move as if to get up, and Nora stopped him, her hand firmly on his chest.
 

"I told you my pain.
 
Now you must tell me yours," she said, refusing to let him slip away from her, "It is only fair."

Nathan's head relaxed against the floor as his eyes drifted to the ceiling.
 
When she thought he would simply ignore her for the rest of the night, he finally spoke.

"Jane," he said, and Nora waited knowing there must be more.
 
"Jane's first husband was..." his voice trailed off, but Nora knew enough to finish the sentence for him.

"Jane's first husband abused her," she said.

Nathan brought his gaze back to hers, the darkness suddenly receding from his gaze.
 

"You know?" he asked, and Nora nodded.

"She told me once.
 
It was one of the times she told me stories of you as a little boy, and how grateful she always was that Richard came into her life.
 
She loves you and Alec very much, Nathan."
 

Nathan's face was a mask of confusion, but Nora did not understand what was so troubling to him.
 

"Jane told you about...him?"

The last word came out as if Nathan were afraid to speak it.
 

Nora nodded.
 

"Of course, she did.
 
It is something in the past, Nathan.
 
The past can no longer hurt us unless we let it."

Nathan sat up.
 
The motion was so abrupt Nora would have lost her balance had Nathan not grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Jane...talks to you about these things?"
 

Nora nodded.

"She once told me that the only way she got through her first marriage was seeing you and Alec.
 
She called you her boys.
 
She said no matter how difficult it was she would keep moving forward because you simply delighted her."

Nathan did not speak.
 
He merely sat, staring at her as if she had suddenly grown another head.
 
So she continued.
 

"Jane could not have children, Nathan.
 
That was likely one of the reasons her husband was so abusive.
 
Jane could not fulfill her duties as a wife, but the man was already stuck in the bargain so to speak.
 
He was an earl, I think.
 
To have no heir for the title is quite upsetting, I know, but not so upsetting that one's wife deserves to be beaten."
 

Nathan still did not speak, and Nora grew worried.

"Did you know how much you meant to Jane?
 
How much you still do?"

Nathan finally blinked, finally spoke, but his words did not make sense.

"I thought I could not help," he said.

Nora frowned.

"What do you mean?"
 

"I saw Jane after...her husband would beat her.
 
She was always so sad, and her skin was mottled with bruises.
 
I would see it, and I would hate it, and I would hate it even more that I could not help her."
 

Nora finally understood and smiled, raising a gentle hand to his own bruised face.
 

"You did help, Nathan.
 
You helped by bringing joy into her life."
 

Nathan's face relaxed although he did not quite smile or even return to the jovial Nathan she was growing used to seeing.
 
But it was better than the perplexed and disbelieving Nathan of moments before.
 

"And you helped me, and you helped Samuel.
 
More than you can imagine."
 

Nathan pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping so tightly about her, the breath rushed from her lungs.
 

"I need you, Nathan," she whispered as she could not get the breath to speak louder.

"I need you, too, Nora," he said, and the most incredible feeling of warmth flooded through her.

Eventually, she pushed back.

"Then you need me well rested and ready for whatever is going to happen next, because although I have my Samuel back, I have a feeling this is not over."
 

Nathan shook his head.

"I am afraid you would be right."
 

He stood and helped her up.
 
She kissed him one more time and drew away to gather her discarded clothing.
 
Nathan helped her put her shift back on.
 
He found her slippers and her stockings.
 
Together they buttoned the gown enough for her to be decent during the short dash back to her own bedchamber.

"Good night, Mr. Black," she said with her hand on the knob, looking over her shoulder as the firelight danced across Nathan's soft smile.

"Good night, Miss Quinton," he returned, and then she let herself out of the bedchamber, slipping into the darkness beyond.
 

~

Three blocks over and across the park in the Earl of Stryden's townhouse, Sarah reassured herself that she was just going to check on him.
 
That was a normal, everyday occurrence.
 
It was a humanitarian act, really.
 
From one person to another, a show of concern was typical.
 
Even from an orphan to an earl.
 

Oh, right.
 

Sarah adjusted the tie on her dressing gown for the fifth time and knocked resolutely on the door.
 
When Alec said, "Enter," she jumped.
 
Breathe.
 
She had to breathe.
 
And she had to open the door and go in.
 

He was sitting on the sofa staring at an empty fireplace.
 
The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
 
She took only two steps inside, staying behind Alec's line of vision.
 
She had suddenly lost her nerve.
 

"What is it, Sarah?" Alec asked, without looking back at her.
 

He, too, wore a dressing gown, but his feet were bare.
 
She shivered in cold for him.
 

"Sarah?"

"I was just seeing if you were all right," she whispered, knowing he could not possibly have heard her.
 

"What?" Alec asked, finally turning around.
 
And then he stood, a look of concern on his face as he came toward her.
 
"Sarah, what is wrong?"
 

She knew she was shaking, and she knew she could probably tell him it was the cold.
 
But she did not want to tell him it was the cold.
 

"I am cold," she whispered though, unable to say more.
 

"Is that all?" he asked, studying her face.
 

"Yes," she lied.
 
"How are you feeling?"
 

"Fine," he answered too quickly for her.
 

"Are you sure?"
 
She saw where the bruises had darkened to a dull purple on his cheeks and jaw.