The Love List (29 page)

Anger and annoyance surged.  “I had thought better of you, Miss Wilmott.  What is it to be?  A letter of recommendation?”  He leaned toward her, balancing on the balls of his feet.  “Shall I open my kitchens to any urchin with a token?  Or perhaps donate a country house for your orphans?” 

She perched herself on the edge of the desk and leaned right back toward him.  She laughed, but it emerged soft and nearly as raspy as a purr.  “Oh, no.  I’m afraid the price shall be much higher.”

He shot her a warning look.  “Name it.”

She only raised a brow.

He blew out an exasperated breath.  “What?  Have you come to seduce me?  Do you think that since your name will be blackened in any case, that I might as well take advantage?  My God,” he spat, “you don’t think much of me!”

“I admit it crossed my mind,” she said on a sigh.  “It’s what Hestia subtly urged me to do—to take what happiness I could from a bad situation.  I seriously considered it.”

“And did you consider that I would have a say in it?”  He reached for her chin, grasped it and forced her to meet his eyes.  “By God, you are damned lucky that I am a man of honor.”

“A man of honor, yes,” she breathed.  He could feel the excited beat of her pulse beneath his fingers.  “But also a man with too many secrets, too many reasons to keep the world at bay.”

He let her go.  “I don’t care how many tight dresses you borrow, I will not make you my mistress.”

“No,” she agreed.  “Though it would be heady, wouldn’t it?”  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, an action which strained both her décolletage and his resolve.  “As you once said, there does exist all that excitement and desire between us.  To give it full expression?  To indulge ourselves with the freedom to talk and laugh as we like, to kiss and  . . . touch when and where we wanted?”  She cracked an eye at him and he struggled to contain his racing pulse and wayward mind.  “It would be heavenly.”

He silently agreed while his insides vibrated in anticipation and need.

“And then it would be awful, miserable, once we had to part.”

He swallowed.  “Yes.”

“I couldn’t bear it—the pain and the loneliness.  I’m not strong like you.  I fear it would destroy me, to be forced to wall myself up, to close myself off and live alone with my pain.”

Like him.  Denial ripped at his chest, fighting to get out.

“Since none of that is acceptable, I began to look at the situation as a puzzle, a problem to be solved, as I am wont to do.  And I have to say, once the distractions are stripped away, the solution becomes obvious, if somewhat terrifying.”

He couldn’t see a solution.  And he felt only dread at the thought of hearing hers.

She smiled at him with all the patience of a saint.  “The answer is for me to at last ask for what I really want, not just what I think I might have.  To dream, Aldmere.  To summon my courage and ask for all of it.  The whole thing.”  She drew a deep breath.  “For you.  All of you.”

Horror must have shone of his face.  “You haven’t a clue—you don’t know what you are asking.”

She sighed.  “No, I likely don’t.  It would cause a horrid scandal, wouldn’t it?  The great Duke of Aldmere married to the princess of the broad sheets—the girl who courted her own ruin?  Such a furor.  And likely a hundred ramifications we can’t foresee.”

“Damn the
scandal.
  It’s the aftermath that you don’t know enough to predict.”

She shrugged.  “Yet here I am.  And I will tell you what I do foresee.”  She pointed a finger at him.  “I know you won’t be easy.  You are taciturn, close-mouthed and have a shell like a lobster.”  Her gaze softened.  “But you are so damned tempting, with your broad shoulders and your thick hair that I don’t think ever
can
be mussed.  You have a quick mind and a wicked tongue.  You know how to laugh, even if you only do it on the inside.  You are observant and attentive.  And secure enough in your own strengths to allow me mine.” 

His heart pounded.  Though how it should do so when it also ached so awfully was beyond him.  He wished she were mocking him, but she was right—and oh, so incredibly wrong.  They were two of a kind, but they could never be one. 

She climbed off the table, rounded it, and came to stand before him.  “I want complicated,” she said in a whisper.  “I want impossible.  I want you—always.  And I want you to want me, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t.”

Regret made him abrupt.  “You’ve run mad.”

She dropped her head, biting back a smile.  “You don’t disappoint, your Grace.  But I’ve learned a few things in the past months, not the least is how to value myself.”  She stepped close and tension hung thick, almost visible between them.  His skin flushed, fever hot, when she placed a tiny, soft hand on his chest. 

“Blame yourself,” she said gruffly, “since you had a large part in it.  But I’ve been worrying about something since my mother died.   A worry so deeply etched that I almost wasn’t aware of it.  Until I accidentally discovered the place I belong, I hadn’t realized how badly I’d been missing it.  And the bad news, Aldmere, is that I belong with you.”

He drew breath, but she wasn’t finished.  “I’ve been so afraid of feeling helpless, and I thought that needing help, or anyone, was giving in to it.  But I was wrong.  I’m only giving in if I don’t ask for what I need.  So I’m asking.  And I won’t be leaving without a promise—or a damned good explanation.”  She cocked her head.  “And I’ve learned enough about you to know which of those things would be more difficult.”

He paled and wished he’d got away with buying her a house.  Instead she was searching for something far more dangerous—and it felt like a betrayal.  He’d trusted her not to ask.

“We both know what lies between us,” she said.  A note of shyness crept into her voice.  “Yet you don’t want me as mistress or wife.  At the very least you are going to explain why.”  Her other hand strayed up to her hip again and he blanched.  “I suggest you begin by telling me about your friend with the bottle green coat.”

White hot rage roared up inside of him.  He wanted to push her away, to slam his fist onto the desk and shout at her, have her tossed from the room.  If anyone understood the magnitude of such a question, she did.  Damn her.  When he’d given her the weapon of confidence he hadn’t expected her to use it against him. 

“We had an agreement,” he answered tightly.  “None of this has any part of it.”

“It’s time for a new agreement.”  She gripped his arms.  “Come, Aldmere,” she wheedled.  “I’m not asking for anything I’m not willing to give.  Do you think it’s easy for me to stand vulnerable before you like this?  I never thought I would give anyone this sort of power over me again.”

“A wise thought—you should have listened.”

“I can’t help it.  You’ve ruined me.”

He bit back a snort.  “I’m trying
not
to ruin you.”

“It’s too late, damn you!  Now, I’ve brought you the List and I’ve bared my soul.  It’s your turn.  Grab your manhood with both hands, if it helps, and
tell
me about that green coat!”

He spat a filthy curse and turned away from her.  He would, damn her to hell and back.  He would tell her the sordid, sad tale, though it would be like cutting open old wounds with dull glass.  And at last she would understand that she was asking for the impossible.

He stepped away, needing space and a measure of dignity.  Wiping a hand over his mouth, he crossed behind the padded chair in the corner, leaned on it with both hands and hoped the shadows in the room hid some of his pain. 

“Aldmere?” she coaxed.

He should have taken her when he had the chance.  He could be running his hands over those curves instead of eviscerating himself.  But she’d been so damned brave.  And she was right about one thing.  As neither of them was going to get what they wanted, she at least deserved to know why.  And when she heard the truth, she’d realize how damned fortunate she was that he hadn’t taken her up on her offer.

“It’s a long tale.”

She settled back onto the edge of the desk.  “We have time.”

He took a few moments to gather his thoughts—and to fight against the restrictions of a lifetime.  “We visited Russell Abbey when I was a child,” he began.  “The ducal seat.  I believe I told you I was fond of my grandfather.”

He saw her cast back.  “The sweets in the drawer, yes.”

“I was just a boy.  The Abbey was lovely back then, thriving and ripe with all of my grandfather’s care.  I enjoyed our visits.  I especially enjoyed escaping from Tru and the nursery staff to explore the forests.” 

He sighed and stood straighter.  This was the easy part.  “When I was at the great age of nine years, my particular favorite was to play the heroic bandit a là Robin Hood.  I had a sturdy bow I’d constructed of willow and twine, and I shot all manner of wicked twig knights during that visit.  I was busy one day, constructing my sturdy woodland hideaway, when a real arrow landed but an inch from my foot.”

She made a shocked sound. 

“The real surprise was to see the shooter.  He was my age, and yet near a half a foot shorter than I.  Strong, though, as he proved when we proceeded to pummel each other.”

“You fought a boy smaller than you?”  She sounded disapproving. 

“I had to.  He had a real bow and he shot it at me.  Honor demanded it.”  He laughed.  “We bloodied each other and promptly became fast friends.”  Pushing back, he stood straight but kept his position behind the chair.  “His name was Bard and he was the son of the gamekeeper.”

“Ah, thus the arrow.”

“Yes.  Our friendship grew with each visit my family made, but it was when I had the title thrust upon me that we truly became close.”  He moved around and sat in the chair.  “You cannot understand what it was like.  My parents were gone, Tru had been sent away.  I was given no time to grieve, only pushed into a demanding routine.”  He sighed.  “For years I did what I had to do.  I studied, learned, dressed and acted as my trustees wished.  I denied all of my own interests and passions.  Damn it, my life was not my own—except for during the hours I spent with Bard.”

He sat back.  “Lord, what a grand time we had, whenever I could steal a few hours away.  We rode, explored the estate, learned together to hunt and shoot, and later, to pursue the wenches in the local taverns.”  Despite himself he grinned.  “I bought him that damned green coat, and a pair of buckskin breeches to go with it, just so he wouldn’t have to wear homespun when we were visiting the local villages.  At first he wouldn’t wear it.  But I poked at him until he did and then some chit told him it brought out the green in his eyes.”  He laughed.  “He wore it constantly after that.”

She chuckled.  “A great motivator.”

“At any time, but especially at that age,” he said with a grin.  “We were interested in the same things.  New things.  Modern ideas, science, and weapons.”  He sobered a little.  “His parents welcomed me into their home, of course.  What choice had they?  But I had to go.  Sometimes I think that their tiny cottage, with its drafts and smoky peat fire, was the only place I could relax and remember who I was.”

He paused for a moment, gathering strength.  “His parents were wary, though, especially when we waxed rhapsodic about our plans for the future.  They wanted him to stay and take over his father’s position as gamekeeper, but Bard was mad for the French wars, following accounts of every battle and strategy, pouring over every news item.”  He pressed his lips together.  “They were afraid I would encourage him.”

“You did, didn’t you?”  Her voice had gone soft.  “How could you not?”

He couldn’t answer her directly.  “When I came into my majority, we escaped.  Left the Abbey and went to London, both of us.  We thought ourselves such men!  Young bucks about Town.  Yet we were busy and productive too.  I was working with the Clapham Sect.  Bard was furiously researching the war.  I took my seat in the Lords and spoke not only on abolition, but also on the war effort, hoping to stir up discussions on ways that we could better supply and support our armies.”

“You gained your reputation as a skilled orator then?”

“I did gain a bit of attention.”  He let loose a wry grin.  “Bard said I could talk birds from the trees and sell sour milk to a dairyman.” 

“And I would imagine that all of that research only fired his enthusiasm for going to war himself.”

She’d taken a seat across the room.  Meeting her gaze was not an option.  He picked out a vase on the mantle, focused his attention there.  “We were extremely drunk one night.  Full of ourselves, proud of some small victory that I don’t even recall now.  Bard had just discovered that it was possible for a man to go to the war as a Volunteer—attach himself to a company at his own expense, in the hope of being in the right spot when a vacancy arose.”

He covered his eyes with his hand.  “I was a firebrand that night.  Impassioned.  Eloquent in insisting that one of us must break free of our bonds and follow our hearts.  I daresay it was the greatest speech I’d ever delivered.  Bard’s objections were cast aside, one by one.  The fire banked within him flared high.  I pledged to finance him.”  He breathed heavily for a moment.  “He wrote his parents a letter immediately.  He ignored their protests and began to interview every soldier in London, trying to settle on a regiment.”

He swallowed.  “What could I do?  Even if I did have second thoughts after I sobered up, it was too late.  I’d given him my word and I’d never seen him so happy.  Within weeks he’d made his decision.  I had to live up to my promise.  Hell, it had nearly been my idea!  I bought him his uniform and gave him the money he needed.”

“He must have been so grateful.”

“Lord yes—and thrilled to be in his dusty Spanish encampments.  His letters were full of enthusiasm for every aspect of his new life.”

She cleared her throat.  “He died?”

“He waited nearly two years before a non-purchase post as a subaltern opened.  He was ecstatic.”  He swallowed.  Waited for the pain to ebb a little.  “And then he was dead.  In his first battle.”

“How terrible.”  Her sympathy floated across the room on a whisper.

He nodded.