In the Brief Eternal Silence (30 page)

He did chuckle at that. “Ah, the Airing of
Grievances. Have you a scorecard, Miss Murdock?”

“No, I do not. But I am fast believing that I
shall need one, for before I can voice my displeasure at one of
your antics, you are already set upon another, usually worse one.
And,” she continued, “your grandmother spends all of her
considerable energy defending you, when I can not see in the least
where you deserve it.”

Although she was doing no more than lightly
upbraiding him, he frowned as though her words had reminded him of
something. “My grandmother, yes. Tell me, Miss Murdock, how much
did she pry from you of my motives?” She hesitated and he added,
“Come now, you may tell me for I will not blame you. I know how
wily she can be when she has a mind, and you were not up to your
best the night of our arrival.”

Despite his reassurance, Miss Murdock felt as
though she were being called on the carpet. “In retrospect, milord,
I am sure I could have been more discreet, but as she was pressing
quite determinedly for an explanation, I am afraid that I told her.
. .” and she ducked her head down in a guilty little motion of
confession, “that you had offered for me in order to obtain my
horse.”

To which he laughed, a very relieved note in
his voice.

“Well, it is not a lie, is it?” Miss Murdock
asked. “And I had to come up with some kind of explanation for your
ridiculous behavior. I apologize that you did not come out looking
well, but it hardly made me seem any better. Quite pitiful, I
think, it made me.”

“No, no, Miss Murdock. You did precisely
right, I assure you,” he protested. “I feared much worse, believe
me, for the missive I got from her this morning demanding my
audience led me to believe that you had spilled the whole to her,
promptly and completely.”

“Well, that would have hardly been wise,
would it?” Miss Murdock returned. “For despite her great energy and
will, she is quite old and, I think, rather soft-hearted. I am
certainly not going to tell her the extent of your foolishness and
send her into some sort of apoplectic attack.” And she flounced a
little in her seat, very much annoyed that he should think she
could be so dense.

“Of course not,” he agreed, and it charmed
her somehow, to see that she could make his voice shake with
laughter. “I should have realized that you would not. It would have
saved me at least one worry all of today.”

Miss Murdock sobered. “But she is very upset
with you for not coming this evening.”

St. James grimaced. “I knew she would be, but
I could not avoid it.” His gold eyes pierced over to her in the
dimness of the carriage. “And you, Miss Murdock? Were you upset
that I did not come earlier?”

Miss Murdock drew in a steadying breath.
“Indeed, I was, milord! I had something I most expressly wished to
speak with you about.”

He leaned forward and the beam of the moon
from the carriage window found the pale plains of his cheeks and
his high pale brow. “Go on. You have in essence answered one of my
concerns.”

She was suddenly loathe to continue. How
pleasant it could be to just let him carry her along to where he
would. But she had such a dread in her heart of the final outcome
that she could not merely sit back and allow it. “You, of course,
will not be surprised to learn that I have not changed my views on
this arrangement?”

His cheek ticked. “No. That does not come as
a surprise to me.”

“And I fear now that your grandmother has
become involved that the longer I delay in returning home, the more
she will be. . . disappointed in the end.”

“So do not disappoint her,” he told her,
still sitting forward in his seat. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Surely you see that I must?” Miss Murdock
nearly wailed. “I had not wanted to—to actively go contrary to your
plans, but after reflection, I can see no other way. My mere
presence in your grandmother's home gives her a false sense of hope
that we are to be,” and she blushed, which she did not think helped
her cause at all, “married.”

“But we are to be married, Miss Murdock,” he
told her with quiet conviction. “If I had not acquiesced to your
wishes we would be married already. I have spent much of my day
doing a great deal of maneuvering and it all hinges on my marrying
you.” He paused for the briefest of seconds, whether for effect or
because he deliberated telling her something further, she could not
determine, but when he continued, he only finished by saying, “I
can only reassure you that you will be well taken care of, whatever
the outcome of my endeavor.”

“Reassure me?” she asked in a querulous
voice. “You think I could be reassured by the knowledge that I will
be well taken care of in the likely event of your death?” She made
a motion with her hands, as though shoving his suggestion and, in
essence, him also, from her.

As if in accordance to her unspoken wish, he
sat back abruptly, frowning, as usual.

She felt brief dismay that there was no
longer laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Damn it, Miss Murdock!
What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” she cried. “I want nothing but to
go home. I can not deter you from this path you have chosen, but I
do not have to be here to see it.”

“You innocent child,” he said, and his tone
was so close to pity that it made her cringe. “You merely need to
set aside your illusions of what marriage is, and you will find
that I ask no great hardship of you.”

“You are the one suffering illusions,
milord,” she returned. “The illusion that you can control anyone
you wish to serve your own purposes. Then you feel profoundly
dis-illusioned when they do not fall neatly in with your
plans.”

“If you would but serve my purposes, I assure
you, I would serve yours to a degree of fulfillment that I doubt
you can even imagine,” he suggested, his voice low and
dangerous.

“Forgive me, milord, if I feel more
threatened by that statement then titillated,” she said between her
clenched teeth. She was shaking and her hands clutched in her lap.
“I think I can say with certainty that you have absolutely no
concept what I seek in the way of fulfillment.”

“And I say,” he countered, “that you
underestimate me most profoundly.”

“Be that as it may, milord,” she choked,
close to tears and wanting very much to be done with this
interview. “I am not asking your permission to return home. I am
merely informing you out of courtesy so that you may adjust your
plans accordingly.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” he returned.
“And when, may I ask, do you plan to return?”

More steadily, Miss Murdock answered, “The
end of the week. I had not intended as long as that, but I fear
your grandmother was quite adamant that I go to Almacks tomorrow as
it is the first ball of the season, and your aunt is planning a
dinner party, and Andrew— Earl Larrimer has expressed a wish to
show me a few sights in Town before I leave. Between the three of
them, and in light of the expense of the clothing procured for me.
. .” She trailed off, because the man across from her was bearing
that expense, and she dug her nails into her palms and called
herself a fool and vowed that in some manner, she would repay him
every pence, but of course, to say so now would only be so many
words.

He gave a long and profound sigh. “You are
exhausting me

again, Miss Murdock,” he warned her.

“I am sorry, but I see no way to avoid
it.”

“We could avoid it if you would merely stop
being so aggravating, you wretched lass.” He scrutinized her as
though she were a perplexing problem to be solved. “Oh, Miss
Murdock, what am I to do with you?”

Rather than answer his question, Miss Murdock
merely made her point all the more clear by saying, “I think, of
course, that any further contact between us before I leave is
unwise.”

He lifted a dark brow, observed, “We seem to
be at cross purposes, Miss Murdock. I wonder which one of us shall
prevail?”

“It is not a question of prevailing,” she
returned, “but more a question of—Nevermind! I see no reason to
explain to you any further than I already have,” she amended,
flustered, her own unfinished thought unnerving her. “For if you
have no understanding of my reluctance, further explanation will
not enlighten you I am sure.” She closed her eyes in despair at her
own lame answer.

When she dared to open her eyes, he was
frowning, his gaze on her, deep and probing. But all he said was,
“Very well, Miss Murdock. I stand on notice of your planned
departure.”

“And you agree that you will not interfere
and that we will have no further contact?”

“I did not say that, Miss Murdock,” he told
her, and then with a suddenness that startled her, he banged his
cane upon the roof of the carriage, and as the horses slowed and
then did a careful turn in the road, Miss Murdock was given to
understand that it had been his command to return to the Duchess's
home.

She settled back in her seat, hoping that her
face was enough in shadow that he would not notice how dismayed and
unhappy she was.

Self-preservation. That had been the word she
had nearly said before catching herself. Not a question of
prevailing but of self-preservation.

He seemed to be as engrossed in his own
thoughts, his lids hooded over his eyes making him very distant
from her. Where before it had been peaceful to her to leave him
alone in his ruminations, now it made her afraid.

“Your cousin, Earl Larrimer, has spoken of
trying to assist you on your trail of vengeance,” she said into the
silence between them.

The full painful gold of his eyes fixed upon
her. “Indeed? He has said this to you himself?”

“Yes,” she said with defiance. “He voiced the
thought that as long as there were a Larrimer alive that it was
their duty to see this through to the end. How many shall die on
this futile quest of revenge, milord, I wonder, before someone has
the sense to call an end to it?” His brows narrowed into an angry,
frustrated knot upon his forehead in warning, but she continued
unheeding. “If you by some miracle find a woman that will trust
herself to your scheme, and you procure an heir before you die, is
your son to be brought up to continue in this? Is that what you
want? To see your own son sacrificed, and perhaps his son after
him? When and where does it end, milord? Have you asked yourself
that or have you been too blinded by the taste of blood in your
throat?”

He came across the narrow space between them
like that suddenly released spring that she had sensed in him upon
their very first meeting. He grabbed her arms and pressed his face
close to her alarmed one. “It ends with ME, Miss Murdock,” he told
her, his voice savage. “For if I do not do all I can to flush this
enemy out, how am I to know that any son of mine will even survive?
Or Andrew for that matter?”

She blinked, sorry now that she had pushed
him to the very edge with her scathing contempt of what she
considered folly and he considered holy. He was clutching her with
such intensity that she hardly dared breath and she was afraid that
her eyes were very wide. His hands unclenched from her arm a
degree, but he did not release her. He was crouched in front of
her, his face on a level with her own and she could see the erratic
beating of his pulse in his temple. She was aware of his body, taut
and struggling for control.

“Do not push me, Miss Murdock,” he said, his
voice strained. “I understand your reluctance and have some
sympathy for it. But if you continue to insist on going contrary to
what your father and I have agreed upon, you will find that I have
more weapons at my disposal to convince you than perhaps you had
originally counted upon. I assure you, I will not hesitate to use
them.”

“Which should not surprise me in the least,
milord,” she gasped. “For I should have guessed that threats were
not at all beneath you!”

“See to it that I shall not find it necessary
to place you beneath me, Miss Murdock,” he told her with rough
impatience. “For I swear if you continue to provoke me, I shall
resort to it with or without a marriage license.” He raised a brow
at her stunned look. “Many weapons at my disposal, Miss Murdock,”
he reminded her. “And I can not think of any that would please me
more to use.”

“Release me,” she cried. “I would not have
come with you tonight if I had not—!” and she bit her tongue rather
than go on.

“Trusted me?” he asked, and his eyes
glimmered with sudden, damning sureness. “Oh, you can trust me with
your life, Miss Murdock. I just would not be so certain of trusting
me with your virtue.” He did release her arms, and she drew in a
ragged breath of relief that was short lived, for he sat back on
one heel, took one of her agitated hands and raised it to his
mouth, a movement as delicate now as though he were about to
partake of a very fine and rare wine. Just before his lips, he
murmured, “Perhaps you are in need of an appetizer, Miss Murdock,
so that you can fully appreciate how well prepared the meal will
be. I know that I am in need of just a small taste, for you build a
tension in me—” He turned her hand palm up and settled his mouth on
the pounding pulse of her wrist. His eyes burned at her as he
studied her reaction to his tongue tracing the blue vein of it, and
he raised a brow when he must have felt the sudden jolt of her
blood rushing through it and her other hand fluttered somewhat
helplessly to her breast.

He pushed her sleeve up, traced his lips and
tongue up her arm to the soft inside of her elbow, and Miss Murdock
gave a little defenseless murmur, a sighing acquiescence. He pulled
his head back, moved her hand so that he kissed only her fingers,
his breath heavy on their tips. “Make no mistake, Miss Murdock, you
are as dangerous to me as I am to you.”