Seven Nights to Forever (34 page)

“Many men conduct their business affairs from the country. Once the Season’s over, I will still need to go to Town on occasion, but I intend to spend the majority of my days here, with you.”

After tying the belt at her waist, she turned to face James, who now stood beside the bed, the gauzy dawn light caressing every inch of his bare skin, highlighting the strength and the power of his body. “You aren’t allowed a mistress, James.” She watched as a muscle ticked along his jaw. Saw the flash of hurt, but still she pressed onward. “You told me yourself. Your wife will refuse to sponsor your sister if she discovers I was here for a week. And you want me to remain for the foreseeable future?”

He scowled. “Not the foreseeable future. Indefinitely. Unless you grow tired of the place, and then we can sell it and find another.” His controlled exhale filled the room. “She will never find out.”

“Because you plan to hide me in the country.” She couldn’t do it. Absolutely refused. It didn’t matter if it was a little town house on the edge of Mayfair or a country estate. She had promised herself years ago to never again become a man’s possession. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust James implicitly. He would never physically harm her. The man wasn’t capable of such action against a woman. But being kept on the side, hidden away, only allowed occasional glimpses of the man she loved . . . It would slowly destroy her.

His eyes softened, the mounting frustration replaced with compassion. He breached the distance between them, stopping to stand before her. “Rose, it is not because of you. I’m not ashamed of you. You do understand that, don’t you? It’s the best I can offer. The only solution. At least for now. If Rebecca marries well, then I can demand a separation. Until that time . . .” He sighed. “I want to be with you, Rose. Don’t you want to be with me?”

Yes
, she wanted to scream, but she somehow kept it inside. He was so close every breath held the clean, pure scent of him.

“I have been happier with you this past week than I have ever been,” he said, filling the silence. “
We
are happy together. Do not try to deny it.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t have to end, Rose.”

He reached out, as if to take hold of her hand. Just before his fingers brushed hers, she stated quietly, “You have a wife, James.” There it was. The one obstacle his love could not overcome.

He went still, hand hovering over hers.

“Even a separation won’t change that. You will always belong to another.”
And you can never be mine.

Jaw clenched tight, he let out a short, low grunt, turning on his heel to grab his trousers from the floor. “She doesn’t want me.” he said, yanking them on. “Never has and never will. I wasn’t her choice and she wasn’t mine.”

“You are still her husband. You belong to her.”

“She does
not
want me!” A flick of his wrist and the placket was buttoned. “I have not shared my wife’s bed for years, nor will I again.”

“Don’t you want children?”

“Yes. With you.”

She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, wished she had never heard those words from his lips. How could he be so cruel? “But they would be bastards.”

“Hell, Rose.” He dragged his hand through his hair, further disheveling the short strands. “That would matter not to me. I would love every child of ours.”

“I know you would, James.” And she did. He would make a wonderful father. A man a son would aspire to be like and a daughter would adore. “But love can’t take away the stigma of being a bastard. You would sentence a child to that fate?”

He let out a growl of purest frustration. It rumbled through the room, the force of it pushing her back a step. Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingertips to his temples in a clear attempt to gather himself. “Then I will continue to ensure you do not get with child.” He looked at her with an expectant glare, as if that concession alone should gain her assent.

“James, that isn’t . . .” He obviously didn’t understand. “You are still hers, and she has not given you up. Therefore, you cannot be mine. I won’t take another woman’s husband away from her. I left my first protector the moment I discovered he was a married man. At Rubicon’s it is only one night. I suspected you were married after our first evening together, and I know I should not have—”

“Don’t say it.” His words snapped between them, so sharp they stung. “Do not turn me into a regret.”

“Never. I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.”

Jaw set, he stared at her for a long moment. “You understand the situation I am in?”

“Yes.”

“And still you refuse me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head toward the windows, unable to look at him for fear her resolve would crumble.

“You still have a brother to spoil. A family estate to shore up. I take it you intend to return to that house on Curzon Street.”

Hugging herself tight, she nodded. Just the thought of another man touching her . . . Thick and viscous, disgust slid over her skin. She wanted to recoil, yet she kept the revulsion from her features, knowing James would jump at the chink in her armor. Poke and pry, until she admitted how very much she dreaded even stepping foot in that house.

“I offer you carte blanche, a home of your own, security, and that you refuse?” The confusion, the pain clear in his voice. “You would rather continue to work as a whore than live under my protection? I thought you loved me.”

She kept her gaze fixed on the trees beyond the window, as a tremor began to seize her arms. “I do, James. With all my heart.”

“Yet you would condemn me to . . . her,” he spat the word, as if it left a foul taste in his mouth, “for the rest of my days.”

Rose couldn’t answer. Could not even nod. Couldn’t acknowledge the heavy, aching truth in his accusation.

Her resolve teetered, precariously close to the edge.

His breaths quickened to harsh, rapid pants, the slightest of stutters behind each sharp inhale. The sound ramped the tension in the air, ratcheting it ever tighter.

“I love you!”

Startled at the outburst, her head snapped to him. His chest was heaving, biceps bulging, hands balled into fists at his sides. And then before her very eyes, the anger, the frustration, the fight drained out of him, leaving only the pain. His arms went limp. His breaths shallow yet deep, as if he were on the edge of exhaustion. He gave his head a slow, weary shake. “I love you, Rose,” he whispered hoarsely.

She bit her bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood. Her soul screamed, pleaded for her to rush to him, throw her arms about him, promise him anything, do whatever it would take to ease his pain. But she made not a move.

The tranquil, happy life he had envisioned for them could not be, no matter how much his heart needed it.

He drew himself up straight, a blank mask falling over his features. “I’ll call for Mrs. Webb to have your trunk packed. We best leave soon. If we change horses frequently, we can arrive in London tonight.”

“We? You will see me back to London?” A lesser man would leave her to her own devices, push her out the door with only the clothes on her back. But not James.

He couldn’t hide the hurt at her assumption. “I gave you my word, Rose,” he said, as he pulled on a shirt.

“I did not mean to imply—”

He held up a hand to stay her. “Mrs. Webb will see to your packing shortly. Best change into something appropriate for the journey.”

With that, he left the room, not even looking at her as he passed.

The door snapped shut.

She buried her face in her hands. It took all of her effort to hold back the tears. She focused on each breath, focused on pushing the riotous mass down to a manageable level. A long day stretched ahead of her, and she knew she could not even begin to vent this horrendous agony tearing at her chest until she reached London.

THE
rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves was the only sound that broke the silence as the carriage wound its way through the darkened streets of London. Rose had barely spoken more than two words to him since they had left Alton. Only the required politely murmured “thank you” when he had helped her from the carriage while the driver saw to a change of horses at the posting inns.

Part of him was still shocked she was sitting, silent and still, across from him. He should be alone, just about to stop at an inn for the night. He should have spent the morning lazing in bed with Rose. She should have kissed him good-bye around midafternoon. A bit melancholy at seeing him go, but happy and secure in the knowledge he would soon return to Honey House and to her.

Instead, they were blocks away from Madame Rubicon’s. Had departed Alton before nine, early enough to have no need to stop at an inn for the night along the way. And his offer had been met with a resounding refusal.

The woman had a resolve of steel. He had countered every one of her arguments, offered her free access to a fortune of rather ridiculous proportions, had given her his heart on a silver platter. The only thing he hadn’t done was drop to his knees and beg, and he’d been damn near close to it.

But she had stood so firm he knew the effort would have been futile. She would not have relented, and he would have only humiliated himself. He had enough experience with humiliation. He’d rather not bear it from Rose’s hand.

She wanted all of him. That was clear to him now. All or nothing. To stay with him, she needed his name. The one thing he could not give.

At her core, Rose was a daughter of a country gentleman. Those staunch, loyal values bred into her. It didn’t matter that Amelia despised him, loathed him. He was married, and as Rose had so clearly told him, she would not take a woman’s husband away from her.

Cursing Amelia to hell wouldn’t resolve the situation. If not her, then it would be another. He had known since he was an adolescent that he would marry a lady. That he would do whatever necessary to hand Rebecca her fondest wish.

At the time, he could never have predicted his decision would have him depositing the woman he loved with all his heart at a goddamn brothel.

The carriage turned left onto Sloane Street, taking them ever nearer to that house, and he was powerless to do anything to stop it. He turned his attention from the view beyond the window. The passing streetlamps illuminated her profile, her gaze fixed on the neat rows of town houses. She was fooling no one, most of all him, with that indifferent mask.

The desolation was evident in the slightest of furrows marring her brow, in the shoulders that were no longer ramrod straight. She didn’t want to return to that suite of rooms above Rubicon’s office.

It was within his power to give her the means to walk away forever. She wouldn’t accept him, but perhaps he could convince her to accept his aid nonetheless.

He cleared his throat. “I understand why you work at that house, Rose. No woman should ever feel forced into such a situation. But you needn’t feel that way anymore. Allow me to give you fifty thousand pounds. I’ll take you to your home in the country. We needn’t even stop in that back courtyard. You never have to walk into that building again.”

Looking down at her clasped hands and not him, she shook her head. Shadows now obscured the interior, cloaking the details of her beautiful features.

“It’s a gift, Rose. I heard what you said this morning. I don’t agree with it, I wish to God you didn’t feel that way, but I respect your decision. I’ll leave you at your front door. If you don’t want me to see you home, allow me to secure you a private carriage to take you there safely. I have more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. Let me help you.”

“Please don’t ask me to take any more of your money, and please don’t try to force it upon me. I’ll simply return it.”

“But Rose—”

“Thank you,” she said, cutting him off, all abrupt politeness. “But please don’t, James. I can’t accept it.”

The carriage slowed to a stop. With the slightest of hesitation, her hand fluttered up to her chest, fingertips tracing the outline of his heart then skimmed up, following the delicate chain to her neck.

Desperation grabbed hold of him. “Don’t.”

Hand stilling, she looked up.

“Don’t even think of returning it,” he said, low and determined. “I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it. That you will not stay with me, that you refuse my aid, does not change that fact.”

“I would never think of returning it, unless you asked it of me,” she murmured, pressing her palm to the stone.

“Good.” He nodded once, short and curt, satisfied she understood.

Of its own accord, his gaze strayed to the window. The light streaming from the two windows illuminated the flagstone path leading to the door he had knocked on eight times. Seven for each night he had sought Rose, and once for the morning to finalize arrangements for the holiday that was at a close.