The Taste of Innocence (43 page)

Instead, he stood there, looking down at her, and she saw the first crack appear in his wall, saw it widen, saw the whole edifice sway, buckle, then fall, tumbling down until there was nothing left, no barrier between them.

For a moment, silence reigned, absolute and compelling, then he drew a long, painfully tight breath, blindly moved to the armchair opposite and sank down, his eyes never leaving hers.

Unshuttered, no more shields.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

The words were low, riding on a wave of emotion. She knew he wasn’t referring only to the orphanage.

Slowly he sat back, his jaw tensing, his eyes still on hers. “About everything. About us. But…the orphanage. We have to deal with that now. For the rest…we can talk about that later.”

It was a question; he waited for her answer—her agreement. Recognizing that the sudden about-face had left him emotionally giddy, that he wasn’t as sure, as confident in dealing with the emotions between them as she, knowing it was mid afternoon and Barnaby was somewhere in the house, no doubt impatient to join them, she inclined her head.

He drew a fractionally easier breath. “Tell me about the accidents. And the offers.”

She did, quickly and concisely; he was more familiar with the situation than Barnaby, so it didn’t take as long.

When she finished, he studied her for a moment, then said, “What you don’t know…”

Succinctly, Charlie told her of Barnaby’s mission. He didn’t need to explain the connection; from the arrested look in her eyes, she saw that immediately. He described the various avenues they’d each been pursuing—he extracting a detailed understanding of railway finances from Malcolm while Barnaby and Gabriel concentrated on identifying parcels of land the villain might target on the likely route of the Bristol-Taunton line.

Grimly he concluded, “It seems we weren’t thinking far enough ahead, and so looked in the wrong direction.” He glanced at the door. “We should get Barnaby—I left him studying the map in the library.” He looked back at Sarah.

The news of their villain and his past had alarmed her; she’d seen the need to focus on the orphanage, on how to protect it. She nodded. “It’s time for tea. We can have some while we talk.”

Rising, he tugged the bellpull; when Crisp appeared, she ordered tea while Charlie sent a footman to summon Barnaby. “Tell him to bring the map.”

Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated around a low table set between the chaise and the armchair, with the map spread out upon it.

After confirming that Quilley Farm would indeed be vital for any rail link between Taunton and Watchet, and that therefore their villain was all but guaranteed to be behind the offers and accidents, Barnaby reported on his investigations to date. “Nothing yet from Montague, but he liked your suggestion of searching for the source of funds—he thinks he knows how to get some answers. And Gabriel and I identified a few properties that might interest our man between Bristol and Taunton, but we found no evidence he’s been active around there.”

He grimaced. “Now it seems we weren’t focusing sufficiently far into the future, but with the London-Bristol line only just in the earliest stages of syndication, with the Bristol-Taunton line to come after that, who would have dreamed our man would already be working on a third-generation line?”

“You said it yourself.” Charlie lowered his cup. “He’s cautious. Unless you were a local involved in goods transport and so aware of the growth in the region and the growth to come, there’d be little reason to imagine a line from Taunton to Watchet would be built. Certainly the commercial imperatives wouldn’t be obvious.”

Barnaby humphed. “He’s cautious and clever. And devilishly in the know.”

Sitting back, they sipped, and discussed what they knew of the man, and how to learn more. Sarah set down her cup. “I really don’t think those solicitors are going to tell us who he is.”

“Leave that to me.” Balancing a small notebook on his knee, Barnaby jotted down the names of the three firms. “They’re all in Taunton. Interesting that he made each offer through a separate solicitor.”

“Less risk the solicitors—they’re all legitimate local concerns—would find his continuing interest in the property unusual.” Charlie grimaced. “Even if you do get a name, what are the odds every name will be different, and will be companies rather than a person?”

“True.” Barnaby looked up. “But the solicitors had to have been contacted by someone, whether by letter or in person, and they must have reported back, presumably to that same person. We might get some clue there.”

“Perhaps. Meanwhile”—Charlie met Sarah’s eyes—“we’ll do what we can to make the orphanage safe. Then we’ll have to wait for our villain’s next ploy.”

A far from satisfactory situation, but by the time he followed Sarah into their bedchamber that night, Charlie was resigned to that being all they could sensibly do. Sarah’s latest refusal had lobbed the ball back to the villain; the initiative was now his.

Together with Barnaby, they’d spent the evening, through dinner and later, considering ways and means to protect the orphanage and its occupants. Not a simple task. When Sarah had suggested guards, Barnaby had grown grave and pointed out that this might well prove their one real chance to catch this villain, who had already killed several times and whose scheme was putting so much at risk. With the stakes so high, they shouldn’t do anything to alert him to their interest; if he got the slightest hint they were watching, waiting for him to show his hand, he’d draw back and disappear.

When all was said and done, there was a whole country and a plethora of railways in the offing; if he slipped away from them here, their chances of catching up with him elsewhere weren’t good.

Sarah had been concerned for the children and staff, but had, very reluctantly, agreed. For himself, Charlie was torn. Allowing those he viewed as under his protection to remain at any risk what ever did not sit well.

Closing the door, shutting them in, alone, he paused, watching as Sarah walked slowly, still absorbed with her worries, to stand before one window. All the other curtains were drawn, but that window remained unscreened, the view over the lake and the gardens at night illuminated by the rising moon. A single candle on her dressing table and the fire burning steadily in the grate were the only sources of light in the room.

Through the flickering shadows, he studied her, her slim, slender back, the regal set of her head, the soft curls of gilded brown tumbling over her nape. Felt again the reality that she was his.

And remembered, vividly, all he’d felt earlier—all he’d had to shove behind a mental door so he could function and deal rationally with Barnaby and her, with searching for the villain and protecting the orphanage. He’d managed, but…

The self-horror still remained. He hadn’t understood, not until that moment in the library when Barnaby’s revelations had ripped the veils from his eyes, just how deeply he’d been fooling himself. He’d convinced himself that his duty to the earldom had to come first; in reality, he had no duty more sacred, more fundamental to his life, than the one he owed her.

He’d stormed into her sitting room driven by so many emotions he hadn’t known which was dominant—fury, fear, rejection, hurt—sheer panic that he’d created a situation where she’d been in danger and he hadn’t even known. Those emotions had left him shredded inside. Then her question—wasn’t that what he’d wanted?—had brought him up short, left him facing the outcome of his emotional cowardice. His emotional withholding.

For it had been that, consciously as well as subconsciously. But he couldn’t any longer pretend.

She was the center of his life—from her all else he wanted, all he needed, flowed. Family, heirs, the family-centered life he’d known all his life and had blithely assumed would continue to be his—for all that and more, she was the hearthstone.

She stood at the heart of his heart. He’d put her there, then tried to deny it.

Now, at last, he understood; in his mind he could see Alathea smiling. Could almost feel her patronizingly patting his cheek.

Sarah was still standing before the window, staring out. Worrying about the orphanage and, perhaps, wondering about them. About him. He’d needed the moment she’d given him that afternoon, the time to find his feet again, the time to let his whirling, compulsive emotions settle and clear. For that, he owed her…this.

He stirred, then slowly crossed the room. He halted beside her, shoulder to shoulder; sliding his hands into his pockets, he looked out as she did. “About us—all the rest.”

She glanced at him, then waited.

He didn’t meet her eyes but focused on the glass, spoke to her shadowed face reflected there. “I made a mistake and I hurt you, and for that I’m more sorry than I can say. But what’s done is done, and nothing I can do can rewrite the past. However, if you agree, if you’ll accept it, I’d like to start again.” He paused, jaw tensing, then clarified, “To try again.”

She shifted her gaze from his face to the glass, meeting his eyes as if in a mirror. She waited.

He studied her face, drew in a breath. “I…have trouble, difficulty, handling…accommodating what’s between us. I don’t like and actively resist anything likely to control me. All that’s grown between us…what happens every night only confirms just how powerful what I feel for you is. That’s why I fought it.”

He paused, searching for words, for what he needed to say. Through their reflection, her eyes held his. No more pretending. His lungs tightened; his jaw did the same, but he went on, “Ignoring my instincts—turning my back on my fears—and accepting all that I feel for you will…not be easy. Adjusting will be worse, but openly acknowledging it and responding…” He drew in another tight breath, searched her eyes. “That’s going to be…a challenge. In this room, I can manage, but outside that door…”

Holding her gaze, he forced himself to say, “I know what you want, but I can’t promise I’ll instantly reform. All I can promise is that I’ll try. And keep trying…as long as that’s what you want.”

Sarah blinked, several times, to clear her eyes. Never had she expected to hear such words—such an admission—from him. Had he changed, or had she? Or had they both?

He was watching her, waiting; unheralded, the gypsy’s words replayed in her mind. Is complicated. Indeed.

Your decision, not his.

She’d thought the big decision she’d had to make was to accept his offer, but perhaps this was the real acceptance—now she knew what he was like, and he knew her, once they’d stripped all the veils away and both knew what the other wanted, and were honest about what they offered in return…

She drew breath, and nodded at his reflection. “Yes, that’s what I want—what I can’t imagine not wanting, not ever. But…” He’d been honest—so much more so than she’d expected; she had to be the same. “I’ll probably be watchful. Don’t read that as expecting the worst…read it as not being sure.”

His eyes narrowed on hers. After a moment he said, “You don’t trust me.”

She raised her brows. “With my life, yes. With my heart…”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then his lips twisted and he looked down.

“Perhaps…” She waited until he looked up again, met her eyes again in the glass. “Maybe that’s what’s the true cornerstone of marriages like ours. Trust. Me trusting that you won’t, despite any occasional lapses to the contrary, backslide and shut me out again. Bruise my heart again. That when this threat is past, you won’t revert to how you’ve been. And you trusting me that I won’t—ever—use what’s between us to try to control you, to force you into doing this or that. Perhaps that’s what we need—that trust.”

He held her gaze for a long, long moment, then he turned and faced her.

She turned to him.

He raised his hands, gently framed her face. Tipping it up, he looked into her eyes, his own unshuttered. “Perhaps.”

His gaze dropped to her lips and they throbbed. The time for talking was past. He bent his head and she reached for him.

The kiss was like ambrosia and they were hungry, both needy, greedy for confirmation after the emotional upheaval. Both needing each other and nothing more.

Clothes shed like petals, sliding to the floor, discarded veils. Hands whispered over naked skin; lips touched, brushed, caressed. Lingered. Soft sighs drifted, gentle moans, hitching breaths.

The candle guttered; pale moonlight washed over them as he lifted her, as she wrapped her legs about his waist and he lowered her and filled her.

As they moved together, lips fused, bodies merging, that power rose inexorably between them—completely, openly, without reserve, they surrendered to it.

And let it rage.

Over them, through them, within them.

He lifted her and brought her slowly down; she clung, and released, and clung again, more tightly. Savored every instant, and knew he did the same; she tasted his delight through their kiss, and had no thought to hide her own.

Long fraught moments passed as they communed in the shadowed dark, he, she, and the power that held them. That linked them, joined them.

Until delight became soul-deep plea sure, and plea sure became passion; until desire caught them and fused them. Until the conflagration within them cindered every last thought they possessed.