A Matter of Choice (22 page)

Then he touched her.

He stepped beside her as if she were the only woman he wanted to be near and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Her heart pounded with greater ferocity, her skin ignited beneath his touch. Then, he gently pulled her closer and looked down at her. Her heart soared in her breast.

The bottomless depth of his midnight eyes was her undoing. The yearning she saw, the emotions he didn’t try to hide, emotions that consumed her with a need, a hunger only he could satisfy. How could she give up what they’d shared? The magic she’d found with him.

At that moment, she knew her former fierce bravado, boasting of what she would do if he strayed even once, hadn’t prepared her for the hurt such a decision would bring. Her heart ached because of what she feared had happened in the garden between Lady Paxton and her husband. But she knew her heart would break if she walked away from him like she’d threatened.

With that knowledge, she reached a monumental decision. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him. He needed to know she had. But then what? She cared for him too much to let something like that happen again. She wanted him to know she wouldn’t give him up without a fight.

“Ladies.” He greeted her circle of friends. “Thank you for taking such good care of my wife while I was gone.”

“It was our pleasure,” Phoebe answered for them all. “Although I fear she missed you. That must be the reason her mind was so occupied while you were gone.”

Joshua joined in the laughter but when he looked at her, his face sobered, a hint of concern filling his eyes. She turned away, not wanting him to see anything troubling in her gaze.

“Have you attended the opera lately?” Phoebe asked him.

“No, but my wife mentioned she’d like to attend. Verdi’s
Rigoletto
just opened last week. It came to us from Venice.”

“Perhaps you’d like to join Fortiner and me next week Thursday. We’ve invited a small group to join us.”

“We’d love to,” he answered, but Allison had a hard time concentrating on the plans that were being made. “Then, after the performance, my wife and I insist you join us for a midnight supper.”

All the ladies oohed and aahed in anticipation of being chosen to attend the first function hosted by the Marquess and Marchioness of Montfort.

“Splendid,” Joshua said in answer to their nods of acceptance and exclamations of delight. “Now, if you will excuse us.” He looked at her. “The orchestra is playing a waltz.”

Allison took his proffered hand. She wanted to escape her sisters and the other ladies to be sure, but more importantly, she wanted to have Joshua to herself. Wanted to cling to him and make what she’d seen go away.

He led her to the dance floor and pulled her into his arms. She stepped closer and he gathered her to him as if she were the only woman he wanted in his arms.

He was an excellent dancer. Each turn was a display of intricate movements. His hand pressed against her lower back and sent a fiery brand that raced through her. His nearness and warmth created a delicate balance between raw hunger and passionate desire.

The picture of Lady Paxton pressed against him, her arms around his neck, her lips reaching for his, flashed through Allison’s mind. She was desperate to erase all memory of her. Desperate to be the only woman Joshua wanted. Desperate for him to love her so completely he wouldn’t turn to anyone else.

“Joshua?” Her voice was barely audible above the music. “Take me home. Please.”

He looked down on her and his smile faded. He stopped while the other dancers flew around them. “Are you all right?”

“I want to go home.”

He nodded and held out his arm.

“Your sister is straight ahead.” He nodded to where Phoebe stood with Mary and Tess and the others. “We’ll bid our hostess good night, then take our leave.”

She stepped with him to the other side of the room.

She remembered little of their farewell except Joshua’s reminder of the midnight supper he’d arranged following the opera, Thursday next.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked while they waited for their driver to bring round their carriage.

“Just tired.” She was glad he draped his arm across her shoulder. She ached to feel his arms around her.

He pulled her into his embrace and she placed her cheek against his chest and breathed in his masculine scent. She would not lose him. She would not let the indiscretions start already. She couldn’t survive if they did.

He held her until their driver pulled their carriage to the curb, then helped her inside and sat beside her. “What’s wrong, Allie?” He turned to face her. “Did something happen tonight? Are you ill?”

“Of course not. What could have happened?”

He placed a finger against her cheek and turned her head so she looked at him. “You’re frightening me. What’s wrong?”

She had to tell him. She couldn’t keep it to herself. “I saw you. With Lady Paxton.”

He lowered his hand and sat back. His features turned hard, the look in his eyes unyielding. For a long time he remained silent. When he spoke, his voice held a hollowness she’d never heard before.

“Nothing happened, Allison.”

She closed her eyes and looked away from him. “I saw you.”

“I don’t care what you think you saw. Nothing happened. You have my word.”

Her heart pounded in her breast, a strange wariness overpowered her. She wanted nothing more than to believe him. Wanted nothing more than to take him at his word and pretend what she’d seen hadn’t happened.

“Or isn’t my word enough?”

A muffled cry caught in the back of her throat.

“Is it, Allie? Is my word enough?”

It was her choice. To believe him or not. To let seeds of doubt take root in their marriage which would grow like weeds until they choked out all the good things. All the love.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t survive a marriage like that.

“Yes. It’s enough. I just…”

“Lady Paxton thought I was still interested in her attentions. I explained that I was not and left her on the terrace and came back to you. I won’t betray you, Allison. I gave my word. Being faithful is too important to me.”

She knew it was. But what wasn’t clear was whether being faithful was important because she’d asked that he not humiliate her, or because he’d lose everything if he strayed.

She was suddenly as frightened as she’d ever been in her life. “Please, kiss me. I need you to kiss me.”

“Oh, Allie.”

“Please.”

She lifted her lips to meet his and he kissed her with a desperation that matched her own. His lips ground against hers, deepening an already suffocating kiss, and still she begged for more.

“Oh, Allie. I’m sorry you saw that. I’d give anything if you hadn’t.”

“I know. I know.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. By the time they reached their townhouse, their passion was at a frenzy. “Love me, Joshua,” she whispered when their carriage stopped.

“Bloody hell, woman.” Joshua kissed her once more, quick and hard. He helped her out of the carriage without waiting for a footman and together they raced across the portico and through the open door.

They stopped long enough to give Converse their cloaks and hats and gloves, then made their way up the stairs and to their room.

She welcomed him with open arms, pulling him to her, touching him, kissing him, opening herself to him. With his mouth pressed against hers, he slid his naked flesh over hers, his muscles quivering beneath her touch. He rested against her, hard and ready, and Allison wanted to have him inside her more than she ever wanted anything in her life.

“Take me, Joshua. Make love to me. Let me be enough.”

Joshua thrust his hips forward, making them one together. He wanted to go slow but she wouldn’t let him. She needed him too badly. Wanted him too desperately. Needed to erase every hint of Lady Paxton.

As if he sensed her urgency, Joshua found his release the same moment she found hers. With a great cry, he shuddered above her then collapsed atop her. She held him close, never wanting to let him go.

Their completion came too soon, yet there was no chance either of them could have made it last longer. Not this time. She had too much to prove. She wanted to give him so much of herself that he wouldn’t think of anyone else. Would never want anyone else.

Ignoring the tears that streamed from the corners of her eyes, she held him to her. And prayed what she had to give him was enough.

Lady Paxton
let her burgundy satin pelisse drop from her shoulders and fall into her butler’s waiting arms. She’d just come from one of her frequent carriage rides through Hyde Park and wanted a few minutes to herself before she went upstairs to dress for tonight’s round of parties and balls. Perhaps Montfort would be there. Her heart stirred at the thought.

“Have tea sent to the library,” she informed her butler as she walked across the black and white marble flooring to the room that had been her late husband’s library. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

With her back pressed against the hard, cool wood, she let her husband’s presence surround her. She’d kept this room exactly as he’d left it, as a shrine. A place she could come whenever she needed a reminder of the hell she’d endured to become a countess.

His life-size portrait hung above the mantle. His piercing gray eyes honed in on her as she moved about the room; his sardonic smile grinned at her in mocking humor.

She took a step closer and glared at him as she’d done so often when he was alive.

May he rot in hell.

She let her gaze roam from one side of the room to the other. The mahogany paneling that engulfed the room was so dark as to be nearly black, an apropos reminder of the late earl’s charred soul. His very spirit lived here. His evil presence. There was nothing within these four walls that was soft or showed any sign of tenderness. Even the sun seemed to dull as it crept through the windows. Everything about this room portrayed a harshness and cruelty that had been his trademark.

A shiver raced up and down her spine. The air weighted with a dank heaviness, a suffocating reminder of the man who’d occupied it.

Lady Paxton fought a resurging eruption of intense loathing and hatred. She’d paid in spades for the freedom her title afforded her. And had rejoiced like a newly freed prisoner when her husband’s heart gave out and he died. She vowed she would never give any man control over her again. Never.

She unclenched her hands and rubbed the palms where her nails dug into her flesh. Only when the door opened and a maid carried in a tray of tea and small sandwiches did she sit gracefully on the dark maroon sofa as if her past weren’t filled with painful memories.

“You have a guest, my lady,” her butler announced when the maid left. “The Duke of Ashbury.”

Serena couldn’t hide her surprise. Or her fear. Everyone knew Ashbury had lost his hold on sanity since his oldest son and heir, Philip, had died. His volatile temper made him a man to fear and avoid.

“Tell the duke I’m not receiving, Simpson,” Serena said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Ashbury’s harsh voice slurred from the doorway. “The duke doesn’t give a bloody damn if you’re receiving or not.”

Serena’s gaze darted to the hulking figure swaying inside the doorway.

Ashbury couldn’t be more than in his mid fifties, yet looked fifteen years more. His clothing was wrinkled and unkempt, his overly-long graying hair stuck out from his head like a madman’s. He wore a maroon tailored jacket over his silver brocade waistcoat, yet neither was buttoned, and the cravat around his neck hung at an odd angle. The wild look in his eyes made him appear as if he were teetering on the brink of madness, and from the smell of stale liquor that permeated the room, he was thoroughly inebriated and had been for quite some time.

“How dare you walk into a lady’s home uninvited,” she said, rising to her feet. “Simpson, show His Grace to the door.”

Simpson took a step forward then stopped when Ashbury turned his head and glared at him.

“It’ll take more than your puny footman to kick me out, Lady Paxton, so you might as well save your employee a cracked skull and invite me in. I’m not leaving until you and I have a discussion.”

Serena studied him, noticing the way his eyes darted from side to side, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the way he staggered where he stood. Something told her if she insisted on evicting him, Simpson would come out on the losing end of the battle and she would be left unprotected until she could summon one of the gardeners.

“Very well, Your Grace.” She held out her arm to bid him enter. “If you insist.” She turned to her butler. “Simpson, fetch Carver from the garden and wait in the foyer.”

The butler scurried to do as he was told. When she turned back to face the duke, a lopsided grin contorted his features.

“Prudent and wise, my lady,” he slurred, leaning against the small table at the end of the settee. “Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?”

“Tea, Your Grace?”

“Hardly.” The tone of his voice contained a frightening anger. “I prefer something a little stronger. Perhaps some of the fine brandy for which your late husband had such a penchant?”

She lifted her eyebrows to indicate she thought he’d already had enough to drink. When he ignored her, she went to the decanters of liquor and filled two glasses.

Ashbury took the glass and studied it. “Paxton was always proud of his fine stock. He had only the rarest wines, brandies and ports. Do you know what I suspect? I suspect he smuggled them in.” He took a swallow of his whiskey. “Excellent.” He lifted his glass in salute. “Of course, you would know more of his activities than I.”

His hooded look indicated there was a hidden meaning to his words, but she refused to rise to the bait. Just as she refused to encourage him in conversation.

“I forget now, Lady Paxton. How did you and Lord Paxton meet?”