Until You (17 page)

“I’m sorry.  Please Nicholas, let me…”

“No,” he interrupted.  “Whatever the hell this is, this was, it is over!  Do you understand me?”  When she didn’t answer quickly enough, he gave her a jarring shake, snapping her head backwards as tears spiked her lashes.  “Do you?”

“Yes,” she cried.

Immediately he released her, and then turning his back he walked purposefully to the door.

Ashleigh felt as if her legs had turned to jelly.  No one had ever spoken to her so harshly, or treated her so unjustly.  What had she done that was so terrible?  She had acted out of love, never out of artifice or duplicity as he assumed.  A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek as she watched him walk away.  When he reached the door, she couldn’t help herself, and softly spoke his name.
 
“Nicholas.”
 
He hesitated for just a moment, and with what little dignity she had left, she spoke with quiet pride.  “Whatever I may or may not be, I am
not
a trollop, and you know it.”

Nicholas faltered, his hand on the door handle, momentarily arrested by her softly spoken declaration.  He had never before spoken to anyone with such intentional cruelty and callousness.  He despised himself at that moment, knowing he should turn around and beg her forgiveness for having said something so heartless and cruel.  He wanted to, but in truth, he knew that it was better this way.  It was better if she hated him, better for both of them.  If her feelings for him
were
sincere, if she honestly believed that she cared about him, then it really was best to end it now.   For either way, he would never be able to give her what she wanted.  He sighed heavily, and then, instead of turning to apologize as he should have, as he would have liked, he pulled open the door and walked from the room, hating himself.

Staring at the closed door, Ashleigh sank to her knees, raising her hand to her mouth to muffle her sobs.

Nearly two hours later, Tiffany knocked softly upon the door of Ashleigh’s bedchamber.  “It’s Tiffany.  May I come in?” she called.

“Of course,” Ashleigh replied, pushing back the bedcovers and sitting up.  She hadn’t been asleep, merely staring at the dark ceiling overhead, as she had been for the past hour.

“Are you alright?”  Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, Tiffany eyed her with concern.  “Have you been crying?”

“Perhaps a little,” she admitted.

“Oh no.  Whatever happened after you left the theater?”

Seeing the distress on Tiffany's face, Ashleigh tried to appear nonchalant.  “Nothing really,” she hedged, knowing she could never reveal the truth, not even to Tiffany.  It was far too humiliating.  “He was just angry, because he thought that I had deliberately followed him to London.”

“But that’s ridiculous.  Did you tell him that wasn’t the case at all, that is was my father’s idea?”

“I tried, but…” she shook her head, her sentence unfinished.

“Oh Ashleigh, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It is for the best I think.  He is obviously not the man I thought he was,” she said, her tone resigned.  There was only so much she was willing to take, and Nicholas Leighton had finally pushed her to her limit.  When he’d walked out that door, her romantic idealism had gone right along with him. 

Tiffany took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her expression sympathetic.

“I'm so sorry I ruined the night for you,” Ashleigh said, with an apologetic smile.  “Is your father furious?”

“
You
didn’t ruin anything,” Tiffany stated firmly.  “And as for my father, well, you know my father,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“I wish he hadn't created such a scene.  I cannot even imagine what everyone must have been thinking the way he practically dragged me out of there, as if I was a disobedient child escaped from the nursery.”

“Well, I know something that might cheer you up,” Tiffany began with a devilish gleam in her eyes.  “When the duke returned to the theater, he and the countess had words.  I do not know what they said to each other of course, but her expression was absolutely livid.”  She paused for dramatic effect.  “I caught a glimpse of them after the performance as well, when we were leaving, and neither of them looked too happy.”

It didn’t matter, not anymore, but for Tiffany’s sake she tried to act as if she cared.

The ride back to
Sethe
Manor the next morning was uncomfortable to say the least.  Ashleigh and Tiffany sat silently against the rear of the carriage, while the marquis sat directly across from them, his icy gaze riveted on the passing scenery, his demeanor aggrieved.  He hadn't said a single word to her since the horrible incident at the theater, even after she had attempted to apologize, a curt nod having been his only acknowledgement.  Oh well, Tiffany’s father had never seemed to care much for her anyhow.  She wasn’t going to let it bother her.  She had far more important things to focus on.

After Tiffany had retired to her own room the night before, Ashleigh had laid awake long into the night, thinking.  She had replayed the events of the past weeks over and over in her mind.  Regardless of what may or may not have happened to him in the past, she could no longer continue to justify Nicholas’ unwarranted behavior.   He had absolutely no right to treat her as he had that night, or upon any other occasion for that matter.  In truth, he had unjustly tried and convicted her for the crimes of others from the moment they first met, whether he was willing to admit it or not.  If he couldn’t see that, well then, obviously she had misjudged him, giving him far more credit than he was due.  Hurt and angry, she had vowed to put Nicholas Leighton out of her mind for good. 

Now, as they traveled the road back to
Sethe
manor, she remained determined to do just that.  She had far too much pride to continue to court rejection.  She just hoped that someday the Duke of
Sethe
would realize exactly what it was that he had given up, for she would have loved him with all of her heart, if only he had let her.  Unfortunately, by then it would be too late.

Two days had passed since Ashleigh had left London, and for two days Nicholas had remained in a black mood.  He was guilt-ridden and ashamed, for him two rare and vastly unpleasant emotions.  The hurtful words he had spoken in the heat of anger repeated themselves over and over in his head like a constantly beating drum.  Whatever her objectives may or may not be, no one deserved to be treated the way he had treated her, and he damn well knew it.  Women had been throwing themselves at him for years, and many of those women had been much more forward and brazen than Ashleigh St. John ever had.  Yet, he had never once treated any of them as despicably as he had treated her.  So why her, why now?  He knew the answer dammit.  It was because he’d never wanted any of those women half as much as he wanted her and that was his fault, not hers.

He knew what he had to do.  He had to return to
Sethe
Manor and apologize to Ashleigh for his appalling behavior.  He didn’t expect her to forgive him, for his behavior had been inexcusable, but the very least he could do was to tell her how sorry he was, and that he hadn’t meant the horrible things that he had said.  He didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t, but of course, it wouldn’t change anything between them.  After he made his apology he would return to London, where he would remain until her grandfather returned and she no longer resided under his roof.  Although he staunchly refused to consider that his feelings for her might be anything other than lust, he had to admit that Ashleigh set his blood on fire like no one ever had before.  There was something about her, something unique and extraordinarily alluring; something he couldn’t quite define, but it was something he found far too appealing.  For that reason alone, he would keep his distance.  He simply had no other choice.

Late the following afternoon, Nicholas began his return journey to the country.  Not wishing to be confined to the coach, he decided to ride, but unfortunately his mount picked up a stone approximately halfway between London and
Sethe
Manor.  Forced to walk him the remaining distance, it was after dark when he finally arrived at the estate.  Not surprisingly, he discovered that both Ashleigh and his grandmother had already retired to their rooms for the evening.  It was probably for the best he reasoned, for the long, unexpected walk had definitely soured his mood and he owed Ashleigh a proper apology, not one tinged with irritability.

Having missed the evening meal, he chose to ignore his hunger rather than rousing the kitchen staff, ultimately closeting himself in the library with a book and a full bottle of brandy.  He would speak with Ashleigh in the morning, and make his apologies then.

As he sat idly before the low-burning fire that had been started in the hearth, it wasn’t long before the potent liquor began to take effect.  After the fourth glass, his hunger no longer troubled him and his mood had decidedly improved.  In fact, he was feeling quite good. 

Sitting within the quiet confines of the library, he noted the faint noises as the servants finished the last of their tasks and then eventually took themselves off to their beds.  After a while, the house grew silent.  Despite the quiet, he seemed unable to concentrate on the book he held and eventually tossed it aside; focusing instead on the brandy that once-again filled his glass.  Staring into the dark swirling liquid, he sighed.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to keep Ashleigh out of his thoughts.  Raising the glass to his lips, he drained it in one long swallow.  Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes, but her image stubbornly refused to go away.

He hated the effect she had on him, the damnable attraction that seemed to pull him toward her against his will.  When he was with her, even near her, he seemed to lose control of his emotions, of his common sense.  It was a physical desire, but it was something more too.  It was maddening and a little frightening.  He didn’t want to feel that way about her.  He didn’t want to feel that way about any woman ever again.

He sat quietly for several long minutes, lost in thought, listening only to the sound of fire popping and crackling in the hearth, until a faint noise shifted his gaze toward the library door.  For a moment he sat mesmerized, watching as the door slowly opened and Ashleigh, as though conjured by his inner musings, stepped inside, softly shutting the door behind her.  She wore a thin, ivory-colored silk wrapper that clung to her body like a second skin.  His eyes drank in every glorious detail.

As Ashleigh turned from the door, she noticed the fire burning low in the hearth and sensed she wasn't alone.  Her eyes quickly scanned the room until they came to rest upon Nicholas, casually sprawled upon a sofa in a shadowed corner of the room.  What is he doing here, she wondered?  He was supposed to be in London.  She took a small step backward as he sat up and then rose from the sofa, pinning her with his steady gaze.  

“Wait,” he said, when it looked as if she might turn and bolt.  Slowly Nicholas approached her, his bare feet silent as they moved across the floor.  Like a rabbit caught in a snare, she stood transfixed, silently watching as he advanced.

His shirt, pulled free of his trousers was unbuttoned nearly to his waist, revealing a hint of his muscular chest and taut abdomen.  Without conscious thought her eyes moved downward along the open
vee
, and then snapped back up as he drew near.  Her cheeks flamed scarlet.  Completely flustered, she sought to make a hasty retreat.  “I'm s-sorry,” she stammered.  “I c-couldn't sleep, so I thought I might…read for a while.  I didn't know that you were here.  I swear.” 

He stopped directly in front of her.  She blinked twice and he watched in fascination as her long dark lashes fluttered against the tops of her cheeks.  Distracted, he tried to focus, to remember what he’d wanted to say.  An apology, yes that was it.  “I came to apologize, for the things I said in London.  Things I didn’t mean,” he said quietly, his speech slightly slurred from the amount of brandy he had consumed.  “But you had already gone to your room for the night.”

“You came to apologize?”  Ashleigh’s eyes widened, her voice revealing her surprise.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.  In fact, you have every right to despise me.  I would hardly blame you.”

She stood mesmerized by his soft tone and the sudden tenderness she saw in his gaze.  “I do not despise you,” she replied honestly.

He gazed into her wide emerald eyes, the alcohol clouding his thoughts and loosening his tongue.  “You were right about me you know, as much as I wish it wasn’t so, I
am
far more interested in you than I ought to be.”  Slowly, he reached out and grasped a strand of hair that had fallen forward over her shoulder, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

Ashleigh caught her breath as his hand brushed lightly against her breast.  His movements were relaxed; his manner of speech slightly off, his eyes the tiniest bit unfocused.  “Have you…been drinking?”

“Indeed I have.”  He smiled slightly, a sardonic tilt to his lips.  “I confess, I have been trying to drink you out of my thoughts,” he said, his voice a husky whisper as he continued to toy with her hair.  “What is it about you?” he asked, more to himself than to her.