Cheryl Holt (15 page)

“I find myself forgetting, as well,” she admitted.

The torment that had plagued her—that she’d offended him with her brazenness, that she was acting too boldly, that she had pushed him beyond some personal limit—had been torture. Relief flooded through her that her fears had been groundless, and she sagged against his lean body, overwhelmed by the smell of his skin, by the starch and soap in which his shirt had been laundered.

For a long while, he hugged her tightly, so tightly she could scarcely breathe. “I’m terribly enamored of you,” he said, “and I can’t seem to exercise better judgment.”

At his stunning admission, her heart did a desperate flip-flop, and she shut her eyes against the actualities, wanting his words to be true, to be true forever. “That’s not such a bad thing, is it?” she inquired.

“Oh, Abby . . .” He buried his face in her hair, then shifted away, slipping his fingers into hers. “Come sit with me?”

Eagerly, she nodded, and he led her to the small sofa. When she commenced to seat herself next to him as she had previously, he reclined against the arm and drew her down until she was stretched out across him and resting between his thighs. She fit neatly into the space, her hip and stomach pressed against his erection, her breasts against his own. His lips hovered inches from hers, a warm sigh sweeping across her cheek and, just when she thought he
might kiss her again, he impelled her to relax, and she was snuggled against his shoulder.

Oh, this was sweet! So very sweet! Unable to resist, she kissed against his nape, and in response she earned herself one on the crown of her head. They remained joined as she adjusted to the novel sensation generated by the intimate contact, his hands lazily massaging her back, hair, hip, thigh. Overcome with a vast sense of contentment, she could have kept on in perpetuity. There was nowhere else she wanted to be; no other place that she belonged.

“What are your days like?” she murmured happily.

“My days?”

“Yes, your days. When we’re apart, I can’t help but ruminate about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I realize that, but I do anyway. I wonder who you’re with, where you are, how you’ve spent your time.”

“Boring tidbits, to be sure.” A laugh rumbled through his chest, making it rise and fall, and she laid a palm in the center, liking that she could feel his heart beating so slowly and steadily.

“Not to me,” she insisted. “It seems as though we’re very close, but in fact, I know nothing about you at all, and I would like some substance to round out my imaginings.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Let’s see . . .” she mused. “How about your home? Where do you reside?”

His hesitation was so prolonged that she decided he wasn’t going to answer, or perhaps he didn’t wish to tell her. Finally, he said, “I live in a three-story row house here in the theater district.” As though he needed to justify the location, he added, “It’s convenient for my mother.”

“She’s an actress?” He stiffened imperceptibly—if she hadn’t been in his arms, she might not have noticed—but he seemed to be bracing himself for the cutting remark he expected to follow. When none came, she was rewarded with a kiss against her hair.

“She doesn’t take to the stage all that much anymore.
But the theater is in her blood, and she can’t leave it alone. She’s quite involved at the Chelsey.”

“That’s where she began her career?”

“Yes”—she could perceive his nod—“she does a little of everything, raising money, directing, and teaching. Occasionally, she acts when there’s a part in which she’s interested.”

“I don’t recall that I’ve ever seen her on the stage, but I hear she was quite something in her day.”

“She was,” he agreed, chuckling. “She still is.”

“What’s she like?”

“Oh . . . how does one characterize one’s mother?” He pondered his description, then said, “She’s extremely dynamic. Talented, tough. Determined and strong-willed.”

“Very beautiful?”

“That, too, even after all these years.”

“And your home, does your brother abide with the two of you?”

“Yes, and he assists me with the running of our gaming establishment.”

“How did you get involved in owning such a business?”

“Our father gave it to us.”

Shocked, she reared up to look him in the eye. She couldn’t fathom any father buying his children a gambling house, especially Edward Stevens. “Your father? The Earl of Spencer?”

“The very one,” James proclaimed. “ ’Twas after we returned from France. He hoped that gainful employment might keep me off the streets.”

“Did it?”

“Well, in my day, I had acquired a deserved reputation as a
terror.”
As he grinned in that mocking way he had, she could just picture how he’d been a young man full of trouble and mischief. He clarified, “My father’s family had always owned an interest in it, and he bought out the other two members so that we could have the sole management of the facility. I had just gotten married, and he theorized that it would smooth things over if I had a reliable income, but . . .”

He shifted uncomfortably, gazing across the room, witnessing a replay of old memories. With a shudder, he complained, “ ’Tis old history, Abby. I don’t like to talk about it.”

From the anguish in his voice, it was evident they were poised on the edge of subjects he never shared with others, but she wanted him to share them with her. She felt connected to him as she’d never been with another, and by the very nature of their association, he should be able to tell her any tale. His secrets would readily become her own. After all, to whom could she possibly mention them?

His attempt to avoid discussion of his marriage was highly informative, and though she hated to acknowledge her pettiness, she was privately pleased that his experience had been less than satisfactory. Somehow, she’d started to regard him as her own, and she had difficulty envisioning him linked with another woman, especially a long-deceased wife.

Gently, she prodded, “Your marriage wasn’t happy, was it?”

“No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “She was very miserable, inconsolable over her fate at having to wed me. She took it out on my mother and Michael. ’Twas dreadful.”

“Why did you go through with it?”

“I was young,” he said, as if that explained all. “I allowed others to convince me that it was the proper route. My father, mainly, but it turned out to be a frightful decision. I’d never do anything so foolish a second time, no matter the pressure, no matter the cost.” Appearing puzzled by his own ardency, he rested his hand on her neck and snuggled her, once again, across his torso, her face burrowed into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe I just confessed so much to you. I never talk about her or that period with anyone.”

“I’m glad you confided in me, though.” He didn’t respond, but she didn’t care. She lay still, letting his smell surround her senses, and cherishing the fact that he’d given her such a stunning glimpse into his private affairs. The
silence lingered, and she finally revealed, “I met your father the other night.”

“Good old Eddy.” He snorted disdainfully.

“Gossip has it that the two of you are quite close. Isn’t that true? Do you not get along?”

“One does not ‘get along’ with the Earl of Spencer. One just stands back.”

“Is that how you view him? I find him to be extremely pleasant.”

“I suppose you would. He can be charming when he wants to be. Unfortunately, some of us aren’t graced with regularly witnessing that side of him.”

“Did he act badly toward you and your mother? Is that why you dislike him?”

“I don’t like him
or
dislike him.”

“I can tell that’s not true.” James’s acrimonious opinion of Edward didn’t jibe with the funny, overwhelmed gentleman she’d stumbled upon at Caroline’s party, and she couldn’t make the two versions of Edward Stevens combine into one person. “What did he do to you and your mother that was so horrid?”

“He didn’t
do
anything. He’s simply very good at walking away from his responsibilities.”

“You’re overwrought and—”

“One day . . .” he rudely interrupted, “one day, he was there, living in our home and part of our lives, fully involved in our family, and the next, he wasn’t. I was five years old, and we moved to France in the middle of the night. I didn’t see him or hear from him again until I was nineteen.” Without warning, he set her away and rose to his feet, crossed to the sideboard, and poured himself a brandy. Then he sauntered to the window and stared out at the street below, pensively sipping the amber liquid. “I’m not sure how one ever comes to grips with such an event, so spare me your drivel about what a
pleasant
fellow you perceive him to be.”

Mortified by how thoroughly she’d distressed him, she grasped that this was exactly the type of debacle she deserved
for brashly plunging ahead without respecting the intricacies of the situation. When she’d befriended Edward, she’d imagined there might be consequences, and she was just now discovering what some of them were.

She remained seated but turned to stare at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to disturb you.”

He downed the contents of his glass. “ ’Tis simply an old wound that seems to have never quite healed. I’ve spent my life being advised of what a
great
man my father is, and I’m rather tired of it. I don’t mean to vent my frustration at you, but I don’t need you extolling his virtues to me.”

“Please forgive me. I didn’t realize he was a painful topic.”

“How could he be anything but? He broke my mother’s heart. She never recovered.”

“What did he do?”

“He married . . . one of your kind.”

The insult was expertly delivered, and she caught herself peeking down, checking for flaws, and finding many. His furious regard encompassed none of the good and all of the bad that were represented by her station. “He had to, James. Surely you comprehend the sacrifices his position required him to make.”

“He wasn’t
required
to marry anyone he didn’t wish to marry. He simply felt that Mother wasn’t worthy of him. That
we
weren’t worthy of him.”

“Oh, James . . .” she chided sadly. “Is that what you really believe?”

“ ’Tis what I
know
. What I’ve always known. That’s why we fled to the Continent. My mother couldn’t stand to stay and watch what he was about to do to the three of us.”

From across the room, his eyes bored into hers, and the intensity of his gaze alarmed her. When he spoke again, goose bumps prickled on the backs of her arms.

He said, “I’ve been thinking about our meetings.”

“What about them?” Her heart pounded between her ribs. Would he quit visiting her solely because she’d
quizzed him about his family and referred to his father? The idea didn’t bear contemplating.

“I have made a commitment to you, that I would tutor you regarding sexual matters. I shall honor my pledge; however, we must contrive some modifications.”

His pronouncement fell into the silence like a leaden ball. “What sorts of ‘modifications’?”

“We should just go about our lessons. You oughtn’t delve into my personal life, and I won’t interrogate you as to the details of your day.”

“Why can’t we learn more about one another?” She sounded as though she were pleading for a few scraps of his attention, but she couldn’t desist. “I’ve never encountered anyone like you before. I want to understand you. You’re fascinating to me.”

“So?” he barked edgily. “What does your
fascination
have to do with anything? With us? If we meet on the street, will you stop and chat? If I’m with my mother, will you beg an introduction and ask about her latest play? If I’m with my brother, will you tease him about his lack of marital prospects? What exactly is it that you hope to accomplish?”

“I’m merely curious about you,” she answered evenly, striving to remain calm, and unable to credit how agitated he’d become over her simple questions. “ ’Tis not a crime.”

“No, ’tis not,” he ultimately agreed. “But to what purpose do you inquire? There can never be anything for us beyond this room.”

“I grasp that,” she retorted quietly, but was it so terrible to pretend that the reality was otherwise? Like it or no, he was a bright ray of sunshine in her dreary existence who had completely illuminated her world. For a change, she had something to look forward to, and someone to think about. “What can it hurt for us to become better acquainted while we are here together?”

“ ’Tis not a question of ‘hurt,’ Abby,” he said more gently. “I simply fear that you are indulging in silly daydreams.”

“Why do you find it ’silly’ that I would like to be your friend?”

“I suspect you are calling it
friendship
, but you are picturing another image entirely. Perhaps you fancy that I will become so swept up in these encounters that I will marry you, and we will live happily ever after.”

His statement was so close to the mark that she could hardly deny it. She’d never been a proficient liar, and she wasn’t about to attempt bluffing away her increasing attachment. Secretly, she’d fantasized about proclaiming their relationship around the kingdom, going against the tides of her society, and flouting convention while reaching out and grabbing what she dangerously coveted.

It was ridiculous, girlish wishing, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t have defined why she was so positive of the possibilities where he was concerned, but an amour between the two of them seemed to be an eventuality she could make come true.

Now was not the moment to be timid. She gestured about the parlor, indicating the small space and what occurred between them inside it. “Would it be so awful for us to hope for more than this?”

“Oh, Abby . . .” He closed his eyes, her query painful to hear. “What if you had me? What would you do with me?” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I already went through this with my bride. She was convinced we would have the most illustrious romance of all time—”

She sharply cut him off. “Don’t compare me to her.”

“All right, I won’t.”