Authors: Kate Hewitt
‘Nothing
in life is perfect.’ Jacob gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘We must embrace the
imperfections in the world as well as in ourselves in order to achieve peace or
happiness.’
She
turned to him. ‘Do you believe that?’
‘I
try,’ Jacob replied wryly. ‘I have no trouble believing the world possesses
imperfections,’ he added. ‘Or that they exist in
myself
.
But to embrace them …’ He trailed
off,
glancing at the
garden with a frown, and Mollie wondered what he was thinking.
‘You
seem to know quite a bit about Zen gardens.’
‘I
spent some time in the East. My first building project was in Nepal.’
‘Really?’
Mollie had had no idea he’d travelled so far in
his years away. She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Thank you for taking me here,
Jacob. It’s been a wonderful experience.’
He
turned to her with a smile. ‘Yes, it has. I’ve enjoyed watching you take
everything in.’ Mollie blushed with pleasure at this admission. ‘I’d like to
take you out to dinner,’ Jacob continued.
‘As a way to finish
a wonderful day.
Did you bring anything to wear in the evening?’
Mollie’s
blush deepened. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, for the very
fact that she had made her think he knew she’d been hoping there would be such
an occasion to wear it.
‘Good,’
Jacob said briskly. ‘Why don’t we go back to the hotel and freshen up? Our
reservation is for eight.’
Jacob
prowled through the living room of the hotel suite as he waited for Mollie to
finish dressing for dinner. He felt restless and edgy, and that numbing control
he kept around him like a comforting blanket seemed to have slipped away
completely.
Coming
to London had been a bad idea. No, he corrected himself
savagely,
bringing Mollie to London had been a bad idea.
He’d
enjoyed it too much.
Moodily
Jacob gazed out at the cityscape laid out before him; the darkened streets
twinkled with a steady stream of cars and taxis. He’d fully intended to keep
his distance from Mollie; hadn’t that been the point of his sordid little
proposition?
Even
if it had, Jacob could not pretend to himself that he’d been relieved when
she’d rejected him. He’d been disappointed.
He’d
wanted her. He wanted her still. He wanted her warmth and sweetness, found
himself
seeking the suddenness of her smile, the lightening
of her eyes to amber, the barest brush of her skin, like warm silk. And while
he’d told himself he’d brought Mollie to London for her own sake, so she could
escape the confines of Wolfe Manor and actually enjoy herself, he knew he was a
liar.
He’d
brought her to London for his sake.
His pleasure.
He’d
loved seeing Mollie looking so interested, so excited, so vibrant and alive.
He’d loved sharing the sights of the expo with her, of hearing her talk and
exchanging ideas and simply being together. He’d been alone for so long,
contained, controlled, and yet when he was with Mollie, he didn’t feel alone.
He didn’t feel lonely.
It
would be so easy to get used to that feeling, to revel in the companionship, to
surrender to the desire. For Jacob knew he didn’t want just companionship; he
wanted surrender. Sex, if he was going to be blunt.
To bury
himself inside the yielding softness of her body, to lose himself in the
sweetness of her kiss.
A chance to forget who he was
and what he’d done and maybe even find something new.
Something
better.
And
yet he knew that was impossible. There was nothing new or better—not for him.
And he couldn’t bring Mollie down with him, down into the darkness and chaos of
his own mind, the danger of his memories, and he knew he would if he let
himself get close to her. Care for her, and let her care for him. Sex alone
would accomplish it, for their relationship had already moved past a soulless
sexual bargain. It would mean more to Mollie. It might even mean more to him.
He would sully her with his own sin, and the truth of
who
he was—who he could become if he allowed himself the opportunity.
He’d
already seen the darkness in himself, the darkness that had caused his father’s
death and his family’s fracture. He couldn’t bear for Mollie to see it.
Jacob
swung away from the window, impatient with his own maudlin musings. He’d had
plenty of time to get used to the darkness of his own soul. He lived with it
the way others lived with a more obvious handicap.
Constant,
endurable.
Just.
Yet
in his bleaker moments he felt as if he were filled with nothing
but
darkness; it seeped out through his
eyes, his pores. People felt it. He knew Mollie did; he’d seen her look at him
with a sad, puzzled frown, a little wrinkle of distress marring her smooth
forehead. And he knew he couldn’t explain.
How
did you tell someone about the blackness of your soul? How did you admit the
things you’d thought and done, and how they tormented you still? How did you
seek absolution from the one person who could never give it?
Yourself.
He
could never forgive himself for what he’d done. He’d relived the moment of his
father’s death over and over; he saw it night after night in his dreams. And
while he knew that memories were faulty and dreams hardly reliable, what he
remembered made him wonder.
Doubt.
What he remembered
made him afraid … of himself.
‘I’m
ready.’
Jacob
whirled around, blinking several times before he could focus properly on the
vision in front of him. Mollie frowned.
‘Jacob?’
she said, hesitation in his name. ‘Are you all right?’
Too
late Jacob realised he was scowling ferociously, still in thrall to his
memories. He made himself relax, felt his face soften into something close to a
smile.
‘Sorry,
I was a million miles away.’
She
took a step forward. ‘It wasn’t a nice place, wherever it was.’
‘No,’
Jacob agreed quietly. ‘It wasn’t.’ He gazed down at her, taking in her slender
frame swathed in lavender silk. ‘You look beautiful, Mollie.’ The dress clung
to her curves and made his palms ache to touch her. She’d attempted to tame her
wild curls into some sort of smooth chignon, and he could see the soft,
vulnerable curve of her neck. Her skin was pale and covered with a shimmering
of golden freckles. He wanted to touch his fingers to that hidden curve, brush
it with his lips,
feel
its petal-softness as he had
that night in the study. He took a step away.
Tonight
was about control, not only of his body, but his mind. Jacob knew he would need
every lesson he’d learned during his time in Nepal, every shred of experience
and practice, in order to resist the greatest temptation he’d ever faced, far
more than a whisky bottle or a clenched fist: the intoxicating sweetness of
Mollie Parker.
‘THIS
is lovely.’ Mollie gazed around at the restaurant on Park Lane with its heavy
linen tablecloths and tinkling crystal glasses. The menu was so heavy she’d
laid it in her lap, and when the waiter had brought a basket of rolls she’d
actually dropped hers on the floor.
She
felt completely out of her element, inexperienced, nervous,
ridiculous
.
She’d seen the looks women had given Jacob, lascivious and full of longing.
Then they’d looked at her, incredulous and envious, and Mollie knew they were
wondering what she could possibly be doing with Jacob Wolfe. She was wondering
the same thing. The gardener’s daughter and the lord’s son, and she had an
awful, horrible feeling that Jacob was taking her out tonight simply out of
pity. Perhaps that was what the whole weekend had been about: a mercy mission.
‘Do
you think so?’ Jacob asked, and he sounded amused.
‘Because
you’re frowning quite ferociously at the moment.’
‘Am
I?’ Mollie felt herself add a flush to the frown and she suppressed a groan.
‘Well, if I am, it’s only because I dropped my roll and I hate doing things
like that.’ If she couldn’t be sophisticated, she might as well be honest.
‘You’re
frowning that much over a roll?’ Jacob said, and he sounded even more amused.
‘It’s
not the roll,’ she explained. ‘It’s the fact that I’ve never been in a
restaurant like this, or had a weekend like this, while you’ve been sipping
champagne out of a silk slipper your whole life!’
Jacob
said nothing for a moment. He went still, as Mollie knew he always did. It made
him utterly inscrutable—and annoying.
‘Sipping
champagne out of a silk slipper,’ he repeated musingly. ‘Now, I’m quite sure
that’s something I’ve never done.’
‘Because
you don’t drink champagne,’ Mollie returned, the words slipping out before she
could stop them. ‘Do you?’
‘No,
I don’t,’ Jacob confirmed quietly. Mollie gestured towards his untouched glass.
‘And
you’re not going to drink that, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Why
did you pour it, then?’ Curiosity, a need to understand Jacob, drove her to the
demanding questions.
Jacob
hesitated for a single second. ‘Because I didn’t want you to feel
uncomfortable,’ he finally said, and colour rushed once more into Mollie’s
face.
‘Oh.’
She lapsed into silence, and Jacob reached across the table to lightly lay his
hand across hers. Despite the gentleness of the touch, Mollie started as if
he’d just prodded her with a live wire. The warmth of his hand covering hers
flooded through her body, made heat pool deep inside of her.
‘Mollie,
what’s wrong?’
Mollie
looked at him; all the harsh remoteness had softened into an expression that
was both serious and
sorrowful,
and a sudden,
inexplicable lump rose in her throat so she could barely speak.
‘I
don’t know. I suppose I’m a bit … self-conscious. We’re so different.’
‘That’s
not a bad thing,’ Jacob said quietly, and suddenly Mollie’s discomfort about
the difference in their life experiences seemed ridiculous—and unimportant.
‘Don’t
say that,’ she said, leaning towards him. ‘It’s not true.’
‘You
don’t know what’s true,’ Jacob said, his voice light, although his eyes looked
dark, blacker than ever.
‘Then
tell me,’ Mollie said, imploring, and Jacob just shook his head.
‘Hardly dinner table conversation.’
Mollie
suppressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘I don’t mean who we are as people anyway. I
mean class.’ There. She’d said it.
‘Class?’
Jacob
repeated in blatant disbelief. He sat back in his chair, folding his arms, one
eyebrow arched. He was so clearly sceptical that he made her feel as if she
were living in the pages of a Victorian novel while he had a wholly modern
outlook on life.