In Your Arms Again (24 page)

Octavia tossed her hair. One thick chunk slid forward to curve down around one partially exposed breast. “Is that less hypocritical than changing them to suit as you go along? I made promises. And I beg your pardon, but my face is somewhat above where you are staring.”

Caught.
“I know.” Not just where her face was, but what
she was saying. “You promised me you would always be there if I needed you.”

She pulled the sheet up to cover herself. How could she conceal herself from him, of all people? She could try to hide it all she wanted, but her body was as familiar to him now as his own.

“So did you,” she reminded him. “Looks like we both lied.”

What the hell…
? “I never lied.” He was scowling again.

“Neither did I, but we were children. Neither of our lives is that simple anymore.” She lifted her chin, as if daring him to disagree. “Nothing is simple.”

“No,” he agreed. “If things were that simple, you and I would not be in this bed.”

“Or I would at least have the decency to feel remorse for being here.”

If she had hit him with his own shoe he wouldn’t have been more stupefied. “You don’t?”

Octavia sighed. Her fingers came up to touch his cheek. It was a light caress at best, but it tightened an invisible band around his chest so fiercely, it was difficult to breathe. “I do not. I have many regrets in my life, Norrie. This will not be one of them.”

She had a way of knowing what to say that completely drained all of the fight out of him. He couldn’t be angry at her—at circumstances, at her grandfather, at the whole world, even—but not at her.

“Come here.”

She did, moving into his embrace without hesitation.

“I was always there for you in my heart,” he admitted when her head was safely tucked in the crook of his arm, her gaze averted.

Soft lips brushed his throat. “So was I.”

They fell asleep with those words, and all their possible implications, hanging above them.

There was something incredibly intimate about wearing a man’s clothing, Octavia realized later that morning as she and North took their breakfast. She sat across from him at the little table in his office, clad in his dressing gown. The dark blue brocade was soft and well worn and smelled distinctly of soap and North. The next time he donned it, the gown would smell of soap and her. Would he like that? Would he even notice?

Yes, of course he would notice. He was every bit as attuned to her as she to him, though sometimes in entirely different ways.

Silently sipping her coffee, she studied him as he read through the various reports his officers sent him. He wore trousers and a shirt and that was it. His feet were bare, and the open collar of his shirt revealed the strong column of his throat and the golden upper expanse of his chest. The stubble on his jaw, and the disheveled curls on his head, only added to his piratelike appearance.

How the upper classes would tsk-tsk over him. He would never be a polished gentleman. No matter what he did he would never truly be accepted in that—her—world. No wonder he created his own then. He lived in a world that was neither lower nor upper class. A world where he alone made the rules and reigned as he saw fit.

How she envied that. The only expectations placed on North were the ones he alone orchestrated. He wasn’t bound by promises or the fear of besmirching his family name. Of course, it wasn’t as though the Ryland name was all that pure to begin with. He was fortunate that way, even though he probably wouldn’t see it. He didn’t have to pretend to be
something he wasn’t just so his past wouldn’t taint his relations. He didn’t have the guilt of leaving friends and loved ones behind to start a life that he both enjoyed and despised. She didn’t mind admitting that while she liked the comforts money and consequence afforded, she could do without all the posturing.

But North was just North. The lines around his eyes and mouth, the unfashionable tan and stubble, were the things that set him even further apart from her world. And they were the things that made her heart ache every time she noticed them.

“I love you, Norrie.”

He looked up from his papers. Reaching across the table, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I love you too.”

There was nothing different in his inflection, nothing in his expression that gave her any indication that the love he spoke of was as deep and terrible as hers. He loved her as he had always loved her—as a friend. A dear and special friend, of that there was no doubt, but a friend all the same. She knew he would do whatever she asked, would do whatever he could for her.

Anything except love her as she wanted him to. And she did want him to love her, she realized that now. She had never forgotten her girlish love for him, and being with him again had allowed it to blossom into something more mature and painful. He was her best friend, her lover, her only. He was the most important person in her life—the one person who had seen her at her best and at her worst. The one person who knew all her secrets—well, all except for how she truly felt about him. He was the one person she trusted above all else. If North claimed he could stop the sun from rising she would believe him.

So she believed that he loved her, even though she knew he did not. Not in the way she wanted. This was one time when Beatrice would be wrong. Octavia would not get her way.

It was for the best. She knew that. And yet that foolish young girl within her wept a little bit. For years she had entertained the notion that he had felt the same about her all those years ago, and maybe he had. But he didn’t now, and now was what mattered.

Still, he was her Norrie, and she would always be his Vie. Surely there was some satisfaction to be had in that. She simply had to look.

“Do you suppose it is usual for friends to make love?” God, why do this to herself? He was not going to give her the answers she wanted.

He choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Good Lord, Vie. Wait for me to swallow before you ask something like that.”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry at all. “Well, do you?”

Wiping his mouth with his hand, he had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I do not know. It seems to be usual for us at any rate.”

“Do you think others have a friendship like ours?” She toyed with the serviette beside her plate.
Do you think other women set themselves up for heartbreak as I do?

“A man and woman cannot be friends without it leading to something physical.”

That was just
wrong
, but she didn’t want to argue with him when he so obviously did not want to discuss it. Instead of upsetting her, his dancing around the subject gave her hope. The only time North avoided a discussion was when he feared making himself vulnerable. And he was the kind of man who was only vulnerable to people he cared about.

Of course, she knew he cared about her. She just didn’t know how much.

“I like to think our friendship is special.” Why could she not just leave it alone?

He met her gaze. “The most special of my life.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

His expression changed to one of deep sadness for a split second before being engulfed in blankness. “I regret that I will not be there to see you marry Spinton.”

Oh he knew how to turn the knife! Regardless of his own feelings for her, he wasn’t going to let them get out of hand, nor was he about to allow her to entertain any romantic notions. No doubt he thought that sex instantly changed things for a woman. How like a man. The only thing sex did was let a woman know she had some control over a man. Her feelings were the same as they always had been.

North Sheffield was still her favorite man in the whole world, despite the fact that he was sometimes purposely stupid.

God love him, he was doing all he could to make leaving him behind easier for her. It was she who made it so very difficult.

But for now, they were together, and she refused to accept that in a few hours they might never see each other again.

Time for a change of subject. Drawing the neck of the dressing gown closer around her like armor, she asked, “When are you going to the paper shop?”

He folded the last of his letters and set it aside with the others. “As soon as Francis reports in. If he found our shooter, then I won’t need to go the shop.”

Octavia sipped her coffee. “You could go anyway. The man with the gun might have been hired.”

North’s hand curved around his own cup, not bothering with the delicate handle. He scowled at her. “I am not leaving you here alone.”

“I will not be alone.” There were servants there, for heaven’s sake!

“Unprotected.”

“You cannot protect me forever.”

“Not forever, no.” His cup hit the saucer with a loud clank. “That will be your husband’s job.”

Another twist. “Yes.”

“But for now it is mine.”

And so was she. He didn’t have to say it aloud; she could hear the possession in his tone. It unsettled her—thrilled her.

Her gaze fell to the table. “There is the problem of my reputation.”

That threw him off—she could hear it in his voice. “What?”

“If people find out I am here alone with you, my reputation will be ruined.”

He made a scoffing noise. “I often bring people here for protection. Everyone knows that.”

Octavia traced the gilt edging on her cup with the tip of her finger, purposely avoiding his gaze. “Yes, but you have been seen flirting with me in public, remember? People will assume the worst.”

He hadn’t considered that. His only thought had been her safety. She smiled inside.

“Until I find the culprit, you are not safe at home.”

She didn’t want to go home. She shamelessly wanted to stay with him, but she didn’t want her reputation—and those of Beatrice and Spinton—to suffer for it.

“You could have Beatrice come here to act as a chaperone.” Holding her breath, she raised her gaze to his once more.

His expression was dubious at best. “She might suspect we’ve been…intimate.”

“I think we could convince her otherwise.” That was true. Beatrice would believe what she told her because Beatrice would want to believe it. And even if she didn’t, who cared? Octavia wanted to stay with North, and to be honest, she didn’t give a fig how she managed to accomplish it.

He still did not seem convinced himself. Could it be that he did not want Beatrice around because he wanted Octavia all to himself? And was it awful of her to wish it?

In the end, he must have seen that it was the only solution. “Fine,” he growled. “Send for your cousin.”

Victory! She had managed to keep herself in his life for at least a little while longer. “I will do so directly. How is your arm?”

“The same as it was when you asked ten minutes ago. It is fine.”

It had been much longer than ten minutes, and obviously something
wasn’t
fine because his mood was quickly deteriorating.

He didn’t want anyone else to intrude upon their world. He didn’t want to share her.

He filled his cup from the silver coffee pot and offered to do the same for her. She shook her head. “You might also want to send a note round to Spinton.”

“Oh?” Why would she want to do that? Beatrice was their go-between.

“Yes.” Now it was he who avoided her gaze. “He is your betrothed.”

Who was he trying to remind, her or himself? It didn’t matter; it was a sharp reminder for both of them.

“You are right.” She chuckled feebly. “Although he may decide he does not want me after this.”

North’s gaze pinned her to her chair. “Spinton will still want you. Any man would.”

Octavia’s chest tightened. Did he include himself in that statement? “You have a higher opinion of me than I deserve.”

“That is not possible.”

“Stop it, Norrie.” She was blushing now, and thoroughly uncomfortable. She was engaged to one man and sharing
the bed of another. Could he not see just how undeserving she was?

“You are a good person, Vie. You are loyal to a fault. If you make a promise you keep it. Spinton will never want a better countess than the one you will be.”

“Yes,” she agreed, a tad more bitterly than she intended. “Because I will remind myself daily how things might have been had I followed in my mother’s footsteps.”

He squeezed her hand again, this time more forcibly. “Because you
are
a lady, Vie. You are honorable and loyal, and your being here with me does not change that.”

Oh but it did. Could he not see that? Being with him made her
want
to be dishonorable and disloyal. One word—actually three words—from him and she would be seriously tempted to toss all those promises to the wind and say to hell with being a lady.

But hadn’t she been the one to say she didn’t want things to change between them? Stupid, stupid. At the time she’d been afraid that he had meant they couldn’t be friends anymore, that they couldn’t be anything. But now…Now she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t been referring to a change for the better. A change to something more intimate than just friends.

Whatever he had meant, it didn’t matter now. He would never tell her, just as she would probably never tell him. For all their blustering, they were both cowards beneath it all, scared of losing their friendship, scared of being rejected because their lives had been full of loss and feeling unwanted.

And now their lives were so different. He wouldn’t want to be part of the world she lived in, and she didn’t know if she could live in his. Watching him put himself in danger time and time again was not something she could do. But could he be happy doing anything else? And would hearing about his exploits be any easier than living through them with him?
She was giving herself a headache. Why did she insist on dwelling on these things?

“Promise me you will be careful today if you find the man who shot you.”

The glacial gleam in his pale eyes told her he would not make any such promise. “I am going to make certain he never bothers you or anyone else again.”

Could he hear himself? “For God’s sake, North, it was you who got shot, not me!”

Her outburst seemed to startle him almost as much as it had her. Wonderful, now she was going to cry on top of it.