Undesirable Liaison (23 page)

He stood transfixed,
staring at the torture in her face, aware of the hammer of his
heart and the deep trench of hideous disappointment caving into his
chest.

Florence covered her
face with her hands and sank down again into the hollowed wood,
gripped by despair. She had said it, and the shocking truth she had
known would be there was visible in his countenance. He was
horrified, as was to be expected. Inevitably, he must despise her.
At least she would be spared the humiliation of his again
mentioning an impossible bridal.

But Jerome was
effectively silenced on that head. He had known it inside himself.
He had not wanted it confirmed. A sense of corroding
disillusionment enveloped him. Yet he felt her pain too, and sought
for words to bring comfort. They did not come easily, nor could he
school his voice to match their intent.

‘Don’t use such words,
Florence—not of yourself. You forget. I know what a woman is who
earns to herself such terms. Abusive terms. They are not yours.
Don’t try to wear them.’

Her hands dropped, and
the deadness in her tone was mirrored in her face. ‘Yesterday I
might have agreed with you. Not now.’

Jerome erupted. ‘I tell
you, no! I may have mistaken you, but it was because I wanted to,
don’t you see? Good God, woman, can’t you see the difference? You
say your mother became a man’s mistress. Does that therefore make
her a courtesan? How many men, Florence?’

‘One.’ A glare began in
her eyes, and he gloried in the rise of her natural spirit. ‘One
man.’

‘You see! Do you know
what I discovered in London?’

‘I have a shrewd
notion.’

Arrested, Jerome stared
at her. ‘You realised what my late wife was?’

‘If you mean, had I an
inkling of her way of life, yes. If you are asking me how many
lovers she may have had—’

‘I don’t need to ask
you. There were a minimum of two with whom she lived. But I have it
on excellent authority—Pinxton’s as you must very well guess—that
there were others to whom she turned in her—’ with a snorting
disgust ‘—search for love. To the last I thought I must have failed
her, been partially to blame. With her death, I have been forced to
see the truth. What she sought I cannot tell you, but it had naught
to do with love. With lust, perhaps, but not for her husband. For
all I know, there were others before she ran away with Bodicote.
There must have been. She was adept at concealment. Adept at
evading my attentions—as you are not, Miss Florence Petrie.’

‘I have scarcely had a
chance to demonstrate that,’ she cut in, though the bitter note in
his tone could not but cut at her.

‘But Letty,’ he
continued unheeding, ‘did not find me to her taste, though I was as
hot for her as I am for you.’

‘Then why did you marry
her?’ demanded Flo without thinking.

Jerome let out a harsh
laugh. ‘It was an arranged marriage. I arranged it. Or rather, I
entreated my father to do so. He was reluctant, for he saw from the
outset what Letty was. Whether she was coerced into agreement, or
whether she was dazzled by my rank, I cannot tell you.’

He dropped down before
her suddenly, seizing her hands, an intensity of desire in his
voice that spoke to her depths.

‘However it was,
Florence, she gave me not one tithe of the response I found in you.
She was a whore, to use your ugliest word. She sold herself into
marriage, just as she lusted her way out of it. But you—! You gave
in to a violence of need that would brook no denial, and that is
all you did.’

Flo’s breath caught,
and her unruly blood ran havoc in her veins. ‘But I have destroyed
myself, for all that. I cannot deny the turbulence you induce in
me—’

His hold tightened and
he made to draw her to him as if he would kiss her. Florence pulled
back.

‘Pray don’t! You will
put me in ferment, and I must speak.’

Jerome released her,
thrusting to his feet. ‘Then I had best withdraw from you, for I
can’t help but reach for you if I am this close.’

He backed away, and Flo
felt bereft. Wounded too, though she suppressed the instant
thought. She knew it was desire with him, and only desire. She must
hope for nothing more.

‘Go on,’ he said, a
trifle of impatience in his tone.

Florence discovered she
had forgotten her intention. Irritation flared. ‘You provoke me
beyond endurance!’

Jerome threw up his
hands. ‘What have I done now?’

‘I don’t know any
longer what I meant to say to you.’

‘Then don’t say it, for
it can’t have been important.’

‘It was excessively
important!’

‘Then you ought to
remember it.’

Flo gave vent to a mewl
of frustration. ‘Jerome, if I had a background that permitted me to
marry you, I would not. You are the most unfeeling monster this
world has ever known. I am desperate, and all you can think of is
to carp and scold—and all because you cannot contain your demon of
need.’

For a moment or two he
glared at her in silent impotence, her words playing havoc with his
conscience. And then he flung up one hand.

‘Guilty!’

He looked so absurdly
vulnerable Florence was unexpectedly touched. A wisp of a smile
curved her lips.

‘You are absolved.’

For an endless moment,
he stared into the sudden softness at the blue eyes. Through a haze
in his mind, he saw her rising, and he moved towards her as she
moved. He had no thoughts, no words. When she reached him, he took
her face between his hands and devoured it with his eyes. And then
he bent his head and the tender flesh of her lips were under
his.

The kiss was gentle.
Jerome was conscious of growing warmth, but not the scorching heat
that had afflicted him these two days past. He wanted her, but he
wanted to savour her. He released her mouth, and his fingers played
against the skin of her cheek, while his imagination painted for
him the same olive hue upon the form he had dimly seen last
night.

‘I’d like to unclothe
you here and now,’ he said softly, ‘and trace my fingertips all
about your body. I want to know you by touch alone.’

Flo was intensely
moved. She managed only the obvious. ‘You can’t.’

‘I know I can’t. Not
here and now, at any rate.’

‘Not ever.’

Jerome’s finger came
across her lips. ‘Don’t say it. You know it’s useless.’

She swallowed
painfully. ‘But what are we to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ he
admitted, tracing her eyebrow with a touch that teased, setting her
pulse aflutter. A slight smile softened his features. ‘I don’t much
care, to tell you the truth.’

Nor did Florence just
at this moment. But the problem would not go away. She sighed
deeply.

‘You had best set me up
in a cottage then.’

Jerome shook his head.
‘I won’t demean you.’

Flo refrained from
pointing out he had already done so. Why say it, when they both
knew she was as much to blame? Without thinking, she sank into his
embrace, laying her head against his shoulder. It was comforting to
be held in his arms, to feel his hand caressing the back of her
neck. But the indulgence could not be permitted for long. After a
moment, she drew away, lifting her hands to hold them against his
chest.

‘There is only one
thing to do, Jerome. I will have to go away from here.’

She saw the change in
his eyes, a quick frown pulling his brows closer. He had been
loosely clasping her arms, but his grip tightened now.

‘You know I can’t let
you do that.’

There was a thickened
quality to his voice, and Florence guessed he was upset again. She
tried to soften it.

‘Not immediately
perhaps.’

‘Not in the foreseeable
future.’

Flo’s breath shortened.
‘Jerome—’

He let her go and
thrust away. ‘No! I don’t want to hear it!’

She snapped. ‘Oh, don’t
be childish! It is not a matter of choice, for heaven’s sake!’

‘It’s your choice. But
it won’t do you any good. I won’t let you leave.’

‘You don’t own me,
Jerome.’

‘Oh yes,’ he said on a
guttural note, seizing her arms again. ‘Oh yes, I do! You came to
me a virgin, and I claimed you. That makes you mine.’

Staggered, Flo could
only stare at him. The glare at his eyes was burning hot. Words
teetered on the edge of her tongue. Violent words, of protest and
indignation. She wanted to scream at him that he was mad. And
perhaps he was, a little. Mad with desire? To say he was being
unreasonable was an understatement.

Bewilderment swept
through her, and she tried to give it voice. ‘Jerome, I don’t
understand you. What do you want of me? You will not make of me a
kept woman, and you can’t marry me. I can’t live in your house and
be your mistress, but you know what will happen if I stay. I
must
go.’

He released her, but
the smoulder of his glance did not waver, and his tone changed to
one of deadly determination.

‘I will not be betrayed
by a woman a second time. You gave yourself to me, Florence Petrie.
To me, and no other. You leave at your peril.’

Chapter
Nine

Florence felt
as if she had strayed into nightmare. In this mood, she could make
no impression on him, though she longed to retort in kind. Was
Jerome naturally this possessive? Or was the hurt too deep for
sanity to prevail?

She met his
fiery glance, unknowing how compassion crept into her own eyes. Her
hand came up, and she brushed back a loose strand of his dark
locks. Jerome flinched, but puzzlement accompanied his frown. Flo
touched a finger to her lips and took the imprint of her kiss to
his mouth, in a gesture vaguely remembered from her father.

‘I don’t know
what you mean by peril. Can I be more in danger than I am here with
you?’

Something
flickered in his eyes, and the burning resentment died out of them
a little.

‘I wanted to
kill her.’ He spoke as if from far away. ‘I couldn’t endure the
thought of her with another man.’ His gaze searched her features.
‘Do I deceive myself? Have I confused her with you? Or you with
her. No two women could be more dissimilar, but I ache for you as I
ached for her.’

His words sent
a chill through Florence. She withdrew from him a step. Her tongue
was too quick for her.

‘When you have
fathomed it out, be sure to tell me. Then perhaps I may retire from
this situation with a shred of dignity left to my name.’

Bewilderment
swept across his face. ‘You are angry. What have I said to make you
so?’

‘If you can’t
see that, my lord Langriville, then we are poles apart.’

She was turning
away, her features stiff with resentment. A sensation of panic
overtook Jerome, and he grasped at her shoulders to keep her
there.

‘Wait! Don’t
you dare walk away from me!’

Her hands came
up, beating his away, and the fire in the blue eyes was menacing.
Fleetingly, he wondered if she would hit him again.

‘What did you
expect? I should be flattered to be ruined because you have
confused me with your wife? Was it to punish her that you took me?
If that is the way of it, you are despicable beyond belief!’

Appalled,
Jerome knew not whether to berate her for a senseless simpleton, or
to fly to his own defence. He did both.

‘You wrong me,
you idiotic wench! Did I not just say that I ache for you?’

‘Or is it her
in me?’ she threw at him. ‘Despite that I in no way resemble her,
you are confused as to which is which.’

Stung, he
dragged her closer, glaring back into the fierce resentment of her
gaze.

‘I didn’t mean
that. I was thrown into memory by the thought of you leaving. Can’t
you understand?
She walked out of my life
.’

The hurt in both face
and voice cut through Flo’s inner fury. She found she was shaking,
and a palpitating rhythm disturbed the flow of breath to her lungs.
Despair gripped her, and she knew she must get away from him.

‘That is your past,
Jerome. Not mine.’ She tried without success to control the tremor
in her voice. ‘I will not be ruled by it. You cannot keep me
here—by force, or any other means. I will not be a substitute for
what you have lost.’

For a long
moment, he continued to stare at her, while the burning dark of his
eyes slowly altered.

In no condition
to take in the meaning of the change, Flo stood, half mesmerised,
willing herself not to break down. At last he lifted his hands off
her shoulders and stepped back, a heavy frown beetling his
brows.

Florence made
herself turn, suppressing a half-acknowledged wish he would stop
her. But Jerome neither moved nor spoke, and Flo, having taken a
dozen paces unmolested, could not forbear looking back.

His eyes were
upon her, but he gave no sign. Nor was there any softening in the
hard line of his features. Florence left him there, treading ground
without seeing where she put her feet, a leaden feeling crowding
into her chest.

***

A night
undisturbed by anything more eventful than a fit of weeping had a
beneficial effect. Perhaps the bout of tears, which had overtaken
Florence before she fell asleep, had done much to alleviate the
pent-up emotions of the past days. Reasoning thus, she was able to
teach herself a modicum of quiescence.

Since it was
Sunday, Flo was free of duties, and able to languish in bed while
the family attended church. Belinda spent time with her, engaged in
mending at first. This was soon discarded in favour of a game of
ducks and drakes borrowed from the playroom, the board precariously
balanced on Flo’s bedclothes. Her sister’s gaiety was infectious,
and the hideous situation into which Flo had fallen was permitted
to slide into the background for a while.