Julianne MacLean (6 page)

She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m not sure,” he said, his voice low and husky, “that I
will ever be able to know true happiness, Miss Wilson, even if I encountered Venus herself.”

She stared at him across the table, bewildered by this surprising declaration, and more than a little curious about his meaning. “Why would you think that?”

He said nothing for a moment or two, then he drummed his long fingers on the table. “There is no good reason for me to think it, Miss Wilson.”

The server arrived at that moment, and asked if they wished to have dessert—apples and cream.

Lord Alcester leaned back in his chair. “Apples sound delicious.”

She realized she’d been staring blankly at him. “No…no, thank you, I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

She shook her head. The server went away. Lord Alcester rested both hands on his thighs. “It seems our dinner has come to an end.”

Though she couldn’t possibly eat any more, Adele had to confess, she didn’t want their dinner to end. She wanted to keep talking to him. Proper decorum, however—and the sensible, warning voice in her brain—required her to politely agree and bid him good night.

He helped her up from her chair. “We’ll get an early start tomorrow,” he said, “and meet your mother by noon the following day if the weather holds. Is seven too early for you?”

“Seven is fine. Thank you, Damien, for everything you’ve done.”

Too late she realized she had used his Chris
tian name, when she should not have taken such a liberty. Again, she blamed her indiscretion on the wine and hoped that he hadn’t noticed, when she knew very well that he had.

His eyes were warm. The seduction was gone now. “It has been my pleasure, Miss Wilson.”

Relieved that he had made things respectable again—because she had been quite unable to make them respectable herself—she smiled one last time, then retired uneasily to her room.

Damien lay in bed that night with his arms up under his head, staring at the ceiling and remembering the conversation he’d had with Harold less than a week ago…

“I’ve never given you advice before, Damien. God knows it’s usually the other way around. I feel clumsy even thinking of it, but here it is: Your creditors have been getting more aggressive lately, and things seem to be coming to a head. Maybe it’s time you looked for a bride.”

Damien had known that was coming. He’d been considering it himself. “A wealthy bride, you mean.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult. Not for you, with all your appeal with the ladies. Certainly, if I could do it…”

“You think I should go to America,” Damien had said.

“Yes, I do.”

“But you know how I feel about marriage for profit.”

Harold had stiffened. “Unfortunately, it’s my duty as your closest friend to try again to convince you that not all arranged marriages end badly like
your parents’ did. Some can turn out very well. I’m sure mine will.”

“I would prefer not to leave anything to chance,” Damien had told him.

Harold sank into a chair. “All that aside, Damien, I know how wretched your financial situation has become, and that’s perhaps the point of this conversation. There was another creditor here today…”

Damien rolled over on the bed as a heavy weight pressed upon his chest. He reconsidered his cousin’s suggestion. If there were other women like Adele Wilson in America, perhaps Damien
should
consider it. It would solve a host of problems, to be sure. Money problems, for one.

And after today, there were other problems, too. More than once this evening, Damien had found himself staring across the table at Adele and not just admiring her as he had in the cottage, but truly wanting her for himself. She was so good. She was the perfect woman. Nothing like Damien’s own mother.

He wondered selfishly how much Harold really wanted Adele. How disappointed would he be if he lost her? Was there a chance her father’s business interest in his experiments was what fueled their hasty engagement? Or had Harold, for the first time in his life, fallen in love? It was not unlikely, Damien thought, now that he had met Adele and seen for himself the full measure and depth of her beauty, both inside and out.

Damien shook his head at himself. He should not even be pondering such a thing. Harold’s happiness mattered to him very deeply. Though
perhaps at times, a little too deeply. Everyone had always said so.

Regardless of his feelings of loyalty toward Harold, however, his thoughts darted immediately back to Adele. He imagined her in her bed. He imagined going to check on her. What would happen if he did? Would he stay very long? Would she be glad to see him?

He cupped his forehead in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut, and cursed aloud. “Bloody hell.” He was overwhelmingly attracted to her.

You should not have sent me, Harold. You should not have sent me…

D
amien woke to the sound of a scream in the night, and was out of his bed and into the hall before he’d even realized he was awake. Another scream rent the air—a woman shouting, “Get out!”

Adrenaline speeding through his veins, he ran to Adele’s door and jiggled the knob, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder against it, again and again, until it gave way and opened, smacking against the inside wall and bouncing back.

Damien crossed the moonlit room in two swift strides and took hold of Adele, who was flailing on the bed. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “Adele, it’s me, Damien.”

She sat up and shoved him away and began to slap at him, smacking his face and arms and shoulders until he had to put his arms up in defense.

“Adele, it’s Damien. Wake up!”

She continued to slap at him for a few more seconds, then stopped suddenly. She sat very still, staring at him, and it was only then that Damien noticed the sound of footsteps in the hall and raised voices.

He grabbed hold of Adele’s arms again. “You were dreaming.”

She continued to stare at him. He could see her face in the dim moonlight that beamed in the window, and recognized the look of terror in her eyes. She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. “Thank God.”

She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder, and all at once, his body began to ache with the most unsettling need to draw her up onto his lap, cocoon her in his arms, and press his lips to hers to kiss away the terror. He blinked a few times, feeling very uneasy.

He sensed the presence of others in the doorway behind him, then the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hall and entering the room.

“Are you all right, miss?” a male voice asked. “Do you know this man?”

Damien didn’t even bother to turn around to see who was asking, not when Adele was still trembling. All he could do was sit on the edge of
the bed and touch her the only way he could. He cupped her head in one hand and ran his other hand up and down her damp back.

Adele nodded and sat back. She wiped the sweat from her face. “Yes, I know him. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause such a disturbance.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“No, but thank you.” She looked into Damien’s eyes. “This man is my protector.”

There was a curious silence, then whispers.

“You can all go back to your rooms now,” she said shakily. “Again, I’m sorry to have awakened you.”

Reluctantly, the spectators ambled out of the doorway, still whispering. Damien kept his eyes on Adele the whole time. Her breathing slowed, and she wiped the perspiration from her face again.

Damien reluctantly stood up to leave also—
because he knew that he should
—but he stopped when she took hold of his forearm. Her grip was tight, her palm clammy.

He gazed down at her in the dim moonlight, and his chest heaved with dread. There was some truth to his reputation, after all. He enjoyed making love to beautiful women, and his sexual instincts were presently on high alert, because Adele was, in no uncertain terms, beautiful. More than beautiful. She was exquisitely lush and fresh and innocent. She was nothing like Harold’s deficient description.

He glanced down again at her slender hand
on his arm, and felt the warmth of her fingers. He was
glad
she had stopped him.
Glad
. Because he didn’t want to leave.

But the gladness turned almost immediately to concern, because he found himself speculating again about Harold’s true feelings for her.
Would
he be that disappointed to lose her?

It was a selfish thought. Things would get complicated if he didn’t put a quick end to this attraction and leave now.

She gazed up at him with pleading eyes. “Please don’t go.”

Damien shook his head. She had no idea what she was saying and who she was saying it to. He was a man of questionable repute. A man who desired her. She should not be so trusting.

“Please stay, Damien,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Bloody hell
. His desires were stirring, and all he could think was, “Harold who?” Adele was glowing with perspiration and begging him to stay with her in her bedchamber. She had no idea she was stoking such a dangerous fire.

Damien’s gaze fell to the top of her shift and the smooth expanse of her neck, and he clenched his jaw. He imagined trying to explain an indiscretion to Harold. He imagined Harold’s reaction. Then he felt a painful ache deep down inside himself—an ache that came out of the past, from a day when he was only nine.

Damien remembered the look on his father’s face when he’d told him what his wife—Damien’s own mother—had been doing and
where she had gone. He remembered his father’s sobs and tears. Then he remembered his own tears, not long afterward, when his mother and father were each lowered into the ground.

No. It was not something Damien could do.

Then he noticed that Adele was squeezing her hands together in her lap, and he knew she was still afraid of the nightmare. He felt a stirring of compassion in his gut, and tried to focus all his attention on that.

He swallowed hard, and told himself he would try to ease her fears, but he would make it clear that he could not, under any circumstances, spend the night in the same room with her. Neither his conscience, nor his integrity, would allow it.

Moonlight streamed in the windows and gave the room a spooky, unearthly glow while Adele sat waiting for Lord Alcester’s reply. She gazed up at him standing shirtless before her.

Tantalizing memories stirred in her mind, as she was reminded of statues of nude men she had seen in Paris. She recalled the muscular curves that had mesmerized her, the width and breadth of the shoulders, and the finely chiseled faces. Damien was no less magnificent standing before her now. He could be a god. A great work of art.

Her eyes swept over the smoothly rippled muscles at his abdomen, and she marveled at the sheer brawn of his upper arms. A most surprising shudder of delight pulsated through
her. This—the real flesh and blood of a man—was far more stimulating than a stone statue.

Her innocence exploded to the surface of her being at that instant, and she realized again how little she knew about herself—and life. Before this day, she had not been remotely aware of sexual desire and how it could influence or overwhelm a person physically with its intensity. She had not known the true meaning of temptation. A candy stick could not compare to this.

Feeling dizzy from the awesome display of maleness that stood before her, she inhaled sharply and tried to gather her thoughts. “I
can’t
be alone,” she told him.

For a few awkward seconds, he stared down at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and quiet. “It wouldn’t be right, Adele.”

She wasn’t sure if he was referring to the strict code of behavior they both lived by, where an unmarried lady such as herself would be irreparably ruined if the people in the inn discovered she’d had a gentleman in her bedchamber at night—or if he was referring to something else more specific. More personal. Something unspoken. Something to do with the open way they had interacted at dinner.

“I don’t care,” she said, thinking only of what she needed right now. Him. His protection. His calm.

She realized suddenly that she had just taken hold of his arm again. His skin was smooth and warm. She wanted to run her thumb over the
tight bands of muscle, but she resisted the urge. It was only the second time in her life she’d had to fight hard against something she wanted, something she knew she shouldn’t have—something that would be wrong.

He sat down and gently pried her fingers off his arm, then set her hands on her lap, away from him. He was going to tell her she would be fine if only she would lay her head down on the pillow and draw up the covers. That’s what her mother always used to say when Adele had had nightmares as a child.

But he didn’t say that. “What was the dream?” he asked.

She wet her lips. “I dreamed he came back.”

“Your kidnapper?”

“Yes. He took me out of my bed, and since that night, I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“He won’t be coming back,” Damien said. “You can be sure of that.”

Looking down at her hands on her lap, she nodded. “I know. At least my mind knows it, but when I dream, it feels real. How will I ever feel safe enough to fall asleep again?”

He covered her hands with his own. “You’ve been through an ordeal, and it’s only natural to feel the way you do, but it will pass. Your peace of mind will return a little more each day, every time you wake up safe in your bed.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“It’s hard to say, Adele.”

Somehow, they’d fallen into the habit of using each other’s Christian names. It wasn’t
proper, she knew, but she couldn’t imagine it the proper way.

“But I’m exhausted,” she said, and her voice broke.

Damien’s large, warm hand came up to rest on her cheek. Before she could stop herself, she covered it with her own, reveling in the feel of his soft touch upon her skin, and exploring the strong bones of his hand.

She felt safe
now,
even though her heart was racing and she was, in many ways, flirting with another kind of danger altogether. She was playing temptress with a rugged, wild, hot-blooded man who took great pleasure in the seduction of women.

It was like nothing she’d ever done before. Adele’s sisters would dip into these uncharted waters, not she.
She
was sensible Adele Wilson, who never misbehaved.

Feeling as if she were floating in someone else’s body—a reckless adventurer, perhaps?—she closed her eyes, while he stroked her cheek with his thumb and stirred hungry, unfamiliar longings inside her body. She had no idea where they would lead her.

She didn’t want him to stop, but she knew, any second now, he would. Because this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and they both knew it.

But oh, how good it felt, and how painfully deprived she would feel when he stopped.

Quickly, he slid his hand out from under hers. “Adele, don’t.”

It was a clear warning.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, feeling as if a glass of water had been splashed in her face. She shouldn’t have clutched at his hand like a woman starving for affection. He had meant to offer her comfort and understanding, and she’d tried to take more.

She forced herself to think of Harold. She was engaged to Harold. She wanted to marry Harold.

“I’m just upset,” she said. “That’s all. And scared.”

“You need to sleep.” He said it as if it were an explanation for her behavior just now.

She knew he was about to leave—which was of course what he had to do. He couldn’t stay here with her all night.

He continued to stare at her as if he were struggling with what to do, then he laid a hand on her upper arm. “Try to get some rest. No one is going to harm you tonight.”

Anxiety pooled in her belly. “You’re not going to stay?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

She had the distinct feeling again that there was more to his refusal than simple propriety. It was the unspoken reason again…

“You’ll be fine,” he said, standing. “I’ll be right down the hall, sleeping with one eye open.”

She nodded because she had to, but her hands were still shaky.

He walked to the door and took hold of the knob to close it behind him, but the knob fell
off. He tried to move the door. One of the hinges dropped to the floor with a noisy clang.

Adele sat up on her heels. “It won’t close?”

“No.”

Practicalities sank in. “I can’t sleep here without a lock on the door.”

He glanced up at her briefly. He was not pleased. He returned his attention to the broken door, swinging it to and fro, then shook his head. “It’ll need a new hinge.”

“A new hinge?”

His voice was low and controlled. “You can have my room.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come.” From across the room, he held out a hand to her.

She knew she had no choice but to comply, and was reminded of the way she had felt when she’d first seen him at the kidnapper’s cottage. He was not to be reckoned with that day, and he was not to be reckoned with now. He was tense and in no mood to argue with her, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. She wasn’t sure of anything where he was concerned.

Regardless, she climbed out of bed barefoot, and crossed to him. With his hand at the small of her back, he escorted her down the hall to his room. He opened the door for her, and she slowly walked in and looked around.

This was a man’s bedchamber—the place where Lord Alcester dressed and shaved. It smelled of sleep.

Her gaze drifted to the bed, where the sheets
and covers were tangled together and spilling over the side, onto the floor. There was an indentation in the pillow. His clothes were tossed over a chair in the corner. There was an empty brandy glass on the bedside table. She could see the remaining traces of amber liquid in the bottom.

She looked back at the unmade bed again. A tingling thrill quivered through her. She was going to lie in that bed and put her face on the pillow where he had just been sleeping.

“You’ll be safe,” he said, moving past her to pull the blankets up and tidy the bed. “The lock on the door works, and so does the one on the window. There’s no one under the bed.” He checked, just to be sure. “And I’ll be listening.”

He moved to the chair and picked up the shirt he’d worn at supper, and quickly shrugged into it. He relaxed a little after he did that, though he still seemed tense and a trifle impatient with her.

“Thank you,” she said, not wanting him to think she didn’t appreciate everything he was doing for her. But still, she wished he did not have to leave.

He crossed to the door and paused there a moment. “You’ll be fine here, Adele. I promise.”

Without another word, he walked out and left her alone.

She stood motionless in the center of the room, listening to the sound of his footsteps tapping down the hall. A second later, everything was quiet.