The Marker (32 page)
True to her word, O’Connor brought the fight to him the next morning.
He was awakened early by insistent pounding on his door, which quite nicely matched the pounding inside his skull. He pulled on trousers and stumbled downstairs, bleary from lack of sleep and itching for a drink, only to find Mrs. O’Connor, fully dressed and perfect, standing in his foyer.
“Goddammit, Wetherby, let me in!” a deep voice with a heavy Irish brogue roared.
Nicholas glanced over at Mrs. O’Connor. “Why the hell didn’t you answer the door?” he demanded.
“Not my door to answer, and I’m not your maid,” she said with a shrug, flashing him a bright smile. She was quite entrancing when she smiled. “Besides, I wanted to find out what happens with the two of you. More fun for me this way.”
Forget brave. The woman was clearly mad. He swore under his breath. Turning to the door, he opened it and faced an angry O’Connor.
They had met on numerous occasions, but for the last year, the majority of their correspondences had been done through letters, so Nicholas had forgotten—or chosen not to remember—how enormous O’Connor was. He had a body built for brawling: huge hands, long arms for a good reach, broad chest, tall. And, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, O’Connor had come to fight. Belatedly, Nicholas realized O’Connor was not a man he would normally care to take on, even if O’Connor did have at least ten years on him.
“My wife, Wetherby,” O’Connor said by way of greeting. With one big hand, he pushed past Nicholas and made his way into the foyer.
O’Connor stopped short when he saw his wife, his face gentling. Love—real love—crossed O’Connor’s face, and envy stabbed at Nicholas. As Mrs. O’Connor looked up at her husband, Nicholas truly understood that the love between the two of them was deep and real. She hadn’t lied to him when she said she was O’Connor’s and Nicholas wouldn’t be able to seduce her. He realized how utterly ridiculous his suggestion had been that Lexie’s baby belonged to O’Connor, and why Mrs. O’Connor had laughed so heartily.
O’Connor loved his wife, and only his wife.
Just as he loved Lexie, and only Lexie.
Lexie watched as O’Connor reached for his wife. Claire’s face lit with love for her husband, and Lexie was sick with envy. But it was the love burning in his eyes that broke her heart the most. She would never know what it was to be loved like that, to be treasured as O’Connor so obviously treasured Claire. She caught sight of Nicholas before he saw her, and she watched as he regarded the O’Connor reunion with a dark expression, as if the sight of love so freely expressed repulsed him in some way.
She wanted to hate him.
But even though his handsome face—the face she adored—was a mask of disdain, a pained expression had settled into his turquoise eyes. She wanted to touch him, to tell him how much she loved him so he would understand how much she cared for him before she married Buchanan. But somehow, that seemed unfair—more unfair than marrying Buchanan, even—as if to express what he meant to her before she married would be a betrayal to both of them.
Then those eyes turned to her, and her breath was stolen from her lungs. For a moment, however brief, they may as well have been the only people in the room. Nicholas looked happy, genuinely happy in a way she hadn’t seen before. All because she was here.
Even as her heart swelled with happiness, her stomach twisted with savage regret. Everything she had ever wanted was right here in this room. Despite everything—the women, the brawling—Lexie had to acknowledge she loved Nicholas. He had filled her heart with a happiness she still didn’t believe had ever been hers, a light that had given her such joy though it now infused her with an emotional pain so powerful it was a physical presence in her heart. She loved him despite the fact they could never be. Loving him would, in the end, destroy them both.
Before she even had time to react, Nicholas lay sprawled on the floor, O’Connor standing over him. With a cry, Lexie ran to his side and knelt down beside him. She turned to frown at O’Connor, who stood above them, flexing his fists and glaring at Nicholas, who rolled over and glowered up at O’Connor.
“That was for taking my wife,” O’Connor said simply. He turned to Claire, who cast a sympathetic glance at Nicholas before smiling up at her husband. She, out of everyone, was the least surprised by his conduct. Lexie was mortified O’Connor and Nicholas had come to blows. Claire, on the other hand, seemed amused. “Good holiday, wife?” O’Connor asked.
“Best sleep in five years, husband,” she returned.
Lexie barely paid attention to the exchange as she looked Nicholas over for injuries. She noticed a small trail of blood at the corner of his mouth and a number of fading bruises—the reward of his brawling over the last few weeks, no doubt—but otherwise, he was unhurt. When their words finally registered, Lexie glared at O’Connor and said in a harsh whisper, “You knew she was in no danger?”
Fury bubbled and seethed inside her. O’Connor and James Campbell had spent the better part of the previous evening explaining how, for Claire’s safety, Lexie must return with him to Nicholas’s house. She never would have come, otherwise. Even though she told them Nicholas was a good man who would never hurt a woman, O’Connor had railed at her, fought with her. His temper hadn’t been assuaged. She had only agreed to come because he had demanded she come along as ransom.
She’d come because Campbell told her O’Connor would kill Nicholas if she didn’t, and O’Connor always got what he wanted.
The man had the audacity to wink at her and give her an impish grin, dimples playing as amusement lit features she normally found quite intimidating. For that brief moment, despite how angry she was with him, she understood what Claire saw in her husband. His gaze shifted between Claire and Nicholas, who sat on the floor rubbing his chin. “If I thought for even an instant Claire was in any danger, you’d have a lot more to worry about than a just a sore jaw.”
O’Connor placed his hand on Claire’s shoulder. Lexie didn’t doubt he would have killed Nicholas if he had even suspected there was a possibility his wife might get hurt. He lived for her and the boys, and, as she had witnessed firsthand, he would react first and ask questions later when it came to the safety of his family. Lexie found herself grateful O’Connor had never believed there to be any danger.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t furious with him for dragging her here to face her own broken heart.
Allowing the anger to rise and drown out the hurt, she stood and said angrily, “How dare you? Why bring me here then?”
O’Connor began to say something, but Claire put a restraining hand on his arm. “Because you need to have this out with him,” she said in her gentle way. “You need to tell him.”
Lexie became aware of Nicholas rising to his feet. O’Connor looked down at Claire and said, “We should be getting back to those savages you call boys. I’m sure they’ve run Guillermo ragged by now.”
Claire smiled up at him. Teasing, she said, “Who are you calling savages? That wouldn’t be a stab at my heritage, would it?”
O’Connor laughed and tweaked her chin. “Certainly not. Though I will say they get their heathen ways from your side of the family.”
“Blame Jamie. It’s clearly his fault,” Claire responded with a laugh. They’d obviously had this conversation before, and Lexie was jealous for yet another example of the domestic bliss the O’Connor family shared. O’Connor ushered his wife toward the door.
In a rush, Lexie cried, “What about me? You can’t leave me here!”
Claire turned away from her husband and approached Lexie. She gave her a gentle hug and said, “You will always have a place with us should you need it, but you need to tell him. Make him understand. This is where you need to be.” She turned her glittering dark eyes to Nicholas. “Remember what I told you, Mr. Wetherby. It’s up to you now.”
“You can’t leave me here, Claire!” Behind her, she sensed Nicholas bristling. Panic set in and her heart began to race. She couldn’t tell him about any of it: about how much she loved him, about the baby, about the deal she had brokered with Buchanan and why she needed to honor the debt. She doubted he would even care if he did know. Tears filled her eyes, and while Claire’s gaze was sympathetic, Lexie knew she would refuse. Claire wanted Lexie to do the right thing and tell Nicholas, as if things would just work out, because, according to Claire, things always tended to work out. But Lexie was not lucky like Claire. To tell the truth would mean only heartache and death. The decent thing to do was to lie to save him.
“Work it out, Miss Markland,” O’Connor said over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him as they left.
Lost and alone, Lexie watched them go through the window.
Slowly, she turned to face the man behind her. “Nicholas.”
“Alexandra,” he responded, and the bitterness conveyed in that single word broke her heart. Something inside her shattered at the thought he would one day speak of another woman the way he had once spoken of her, that she would never again hear him say her name with affection. His voice remarkably calm, he asked, “Would you care for something to drink?”
She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth, and shook her head. “I shouldn’t be here, Nicholas.”
He turned and walked into his study and she reluctantly followed, drawn to him as a month drawn to a flame. “Why not?” he asked with feigned mildness. She could see his anger bubbling below the surface, evident in the slant of his mouth and the glittering of his eyes.
Hot tears gathered, and she willed them not to fall, but failed. “You know why.”
Nicholas turned from her, his shoulders stiff. “Ah, yes, Mr. Buchanan. I had quite forgotten.”
The tears continued to fall despite her best efforts. Had their time together meant so little to him he didn’t remember her promise? He must remember. Her first, instinctive reaction was that he was a liar, but that made the idea of leaving so much harder. Better to believe him a cad.
“So surely you can understand why I can’t be here,” she said, twisting her hands. “If he finds out...”
Nicholas took a long breath. When he turned back to her, he had a glass of what she took to be gin in his hand. Odd. Nicholas had always preferred whiskey or brandy. She hadn’t even known he kept gin in the house. “He is liable to be furious, I’m sure,” he said with a mildness that belied the anger wreathing his features. He took a long drink, turned and poured himself another glass. Remembering her father, recalling the stench of Buchanan’s breath the last time he had threatened her, she took a step away from him.
That one, small action broke through Nicholas’s mild demeanor. “Goddammit, Lexie, I’m not your father! It’s water! And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t beat you because I’ve had a drink, even though I’m so furious with you I can hardly breathe! If anyone needs a good beating to knock some sense into her, it would be you, but it won’t happen in this house, and certainly not at my hands!”
Heart hammering, she asked, “What do you want from me, Nicholas?” Her voice rose and broke.
“I want a fight!”
Lexie gestured to the mottled bruises on his side. “Looks like you’ve had plenty of those.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw working. Had it been any other man—anyone other than Nicholas who looked at her with such fury—she would have been terrified, would have run. But Nicholas had every right to be hurt and angry, and she couldn’t look away. “But not with the person I’m really mad at.”
Lexie squared her shoulders. “I take it that person’s me.”
“Goddamn right it is.”
“You bought me, Nicholas, and then someone was generous enough to pay my debt,” she hissed from between clenched teeth. She wouldn’t tell him she knew Claire’s money had been returned to her and Nicholas had released her. “We had an arrangement that has been settled. I owe you nothing.”
“That’s a lie,” he said, and the venom in his voice gave her pause.
She had gotten so adept at the lies and deceit she forgot where they ended and where the truth began. She owed him everything. Here was the only person to make her feel truly valued since her mother died, the only person with whom everything seemed right. He had shown her beauty she hadn’t even known existed. He had opened her eyes to a love and a life of possibilities, a life she wished she had never experienced, because having had it, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to live without it. Treasured memories would never be enough.
Better this pain than the pain of knowing he had died for her.
“Listen, Nicholas. We’re over. There’s nothing left to say.” Her heart broke as she said the words. She would never again see his glittering smile directed at her, never again feel his hands on her body or his lips against hers, or smell the scent of him on her pillow.
The thought nearly broke her.
“You don’t think so?” His deep voice was harsh, his body tense and rigid.
Stomach churning, she sat down, folded her hands in her lap. Without meeting his eyes, she said, “No. I explained everything in my letter. You’d know this if you’d bothered to read it.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and, of their own accord, her eyes flew to his face. Pure, unadulterated fury burned in his eyes, and she turned her gaze back to the floor. “I got your letter.” The softness of his tone lent the words the air of menace.
Heart slamming in her chest, she tried to keep her voice calm when she said, “And you read it?”
“Yes.”
She tried to ignore the sound of his ragged breathing, the unvoiced evidence of his anger toward her. For a long time, she merely sat there, staring at her hands. Finally, he said, “And you really intend to marry Buchanan?” She refused to raise her eyes to his, but she did nod miserably at the floor. “For God’s sake, Lexie,
why
?” His voice shook.
The pain in his voice, the hurt, was unmistakable, even to her, as consumed with her own misery as she was, and she was forced to bring her eyes to his face and acknowledge what she saw there. Grief. Hurt. A pain that went beyond the words spoken between them. “I gave my word,” she said simply. “You aren’t the only one whose word is their bond, you know.”
He pursed his lips. “You gave
me
a far sight more than just your word.”
She found herself nodding and stopped herself. She had given him so much more than just her word, more than just her body, even. She had given him her heart, and without him in her life, she would never again feel whole. Quietly, she said, “I have to do this, Nicholas.”
“Why?”
The tears she tried so hard to keep at bay burned her eyes. Keeping them locked on the floor, she willed them away. “I have to. Please don’t ask me to explain. Please understand I have no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, goddammit! Always!”
She shook her head. “Not always. Not this time. Please. Don’t do this.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me. Do that, and I’ll leave you alone.”
She raised her eyes to his face. She could do this. She could tell this one last lie to save him even if her lips trembled and tears splashed onto her hands while she did it. Raising her eyes to his, she took a long breath to quiet her racing heart, though the effort was futile.
“I don’t love you.”
He set his jaw, the muscle jumping in his cheek as he ground his teeth together. He drew his breath and released it shakily. Her heart broke as she heard her words standing between them, then shattered when she realized the damage her lie had done. She may as well have torn his heart out, from the expression on his face. God, she was the most wretched person in the world. Here was the only man she would ever love, the only person who would ever have her heart, and she’d destroyed him. She consoled herself she would prefer hurt to dead.
He turned from her and poured more water. His back to her, he said, “Very well.”
“I’m free to go, then?” she asked in a voice that broke under the weight of unshed tears.
Without turning to her, he nodded. “You’ve always been free to go, Alexandra. Since the moment you first set foot inside my house. All you ever had to do was ask.”
She cast a glance at his bare back and turned to go, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Heart breaking, she reached for the doorknob when she heard his voice behind her. “Lexie, wait.” The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in his arms, warm and safe. Tilting her head, his lips touched hers.
