What a Woman Desires (17 page)

She stiffened and the potency of her stare penetrated his closed lids, all the way to his damn, loyal heart. He had to do this. He had to make her understand whatever they might feel for one another, they would always be mistress and servant. How was he to risk her reputation and his family’s poverty? He would never leave Biddestone and live in Bath where she so clearly belonged. Their unity was impossible.

“Thomas, look at me.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes. She ran her gaze over his face as softly as a lover’s whisper before meeting his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything. I know this is a moment in time.” She smiled wryly. “Maybe an insane moment of madness, but please, for me, don’t regret it. We did what we did and I’ll hold our lovemaking in my memory forever.” She grinned and trailed her nails through the hair on his chest. “I’ll remember lying here with you like this until the day I die, I swear.”

His heart wrenched painfully and shameful tears burned. He blinked and the threat vanished. “We should get back to Miss Jane.” Carefully, he shifted her weight onto the chaise and stood, reaching down for his discarded clothes, his back purposely turned. “They’ll be wondering where we are. I don’t doubt Mrs. Lacey has a good idea already. She’s got a look of knowing about her that one.”

“Are you trying to protect me again?”

He clenched his jaw and jabbed his legs into his trousers, huffing out a laugh. “What happened just now was far from protecting you. I’m just concerned—”

“Good, because right now, you’re protecting nobody but yourself, and well you know it.”

He snatched up his shirt and put it on, his fingers trembling at the buttons. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a coward if you do not face me and admit how much you wanted our lovemaking. That you wish you could have me over and over until neither could live without the other.” Her voice cracked. “Damnation, Thomas, what is wrong with you to not accept this is as hard for me as it is for you? Why won’t you accept I left before because Marksville was killing me? I didn’t run from you, or Jane or anybody I loved; I ran in order to survive.”

He whirled around, his heart aching and his blood roaring. “And now this, me touching you, making love with you, feeling the power of your pleasure around my cock makes it easier?”

She flinched, and Thomas wished his soul to hell for so crudely lashing out at her, but not knowing any other way to vanquish the romantic notions that seemed to be running through her head.

“This is real, Monica. This isn’t about what you, Miss Jane, or I want. We don’t get to choose. Normal people do not get to choose what to do with their lives. They live by the rules and try their best to ensure no one they love and care for gets hurt along the way. Anything else is anarchy and selfishness.”

Her cheeks flushed and she pushed to her feet, her glorious breasts rising and falling in anger as she snatched up her drawers and tugged them on. “And that’s how you see me, I suppose? Anarchic and selfish.” She straightened and fisted her hands on her hips, heedless of what it did to him to see her breasts thrust forward, heaving under the force of her anger. “Well, the estate is mine, Thomas. All of it. Papa has left me Marksville, Mother his money, and Jane . . .” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Jane he has left his apartment here in Bath.” She dropped her chin and opened her eyes. “He’s played every single one of us just the way he always did. So your wish to have me back at Biddestone has come true.”

He stared, his body rigid with tension to see her brief happiness when they’d lain together quashed and instead, her body tense with anger and frustration. “I didn’t wish for you to make the decision to come home under duress. I wanted you to want Marksville. I wanted you to make it your own and take pleasure in it. This doesn’t satisfy me. I can see how unhappy you are.”

“I am unhappy. I’m unhappy and angry, and despising my father with every bone in my body. Bath is my home.” She threw her hands up in the air, the volume of her voice bouncing from the walls. “Bath is my home and he has taken it from me.”

She turned and snatched her chemise from the dressing table where it had landed when he drew it from her body and tossed it aside.

His heart leaped into his throat.

The scars on her back were white and silver against the darker hue of her skin. Crossed and straight; ridged or smooth.

Words failed him as tears of rage burned behind his eyes.

She fumbled and cursed, the material knotting in her hands the more she tried to straighten it. “For the love of God . . .”

The saliva drained from his mouth and he blinked to clear the red mist blooming at the edges of his vision. “What did he do to you?”

She stilled.

He waited, his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his side.

Slowly, she turned. Her eyes met his and they glowed bright with pride and determination. “They no longer hurt and they no longer bother me.”

“What did he do?”

“You know what he did. The scars . . .” She lifted her chin. “The ones you see are of no consequence. What he did to me, I carry in here. . . .” She pressed her hand to her breast. “My skin is nothing more than paper is to pen. It can be read and then the reader chooses whether to remember or ignore. Can you ignore the scars on the outside, Thomas? For me?”

Time stood still as he looked deep into her eyes, a pulse beating in his temple. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, fighting for control, fighting for the strength not to run from the room and smash his way through the prison walls and into Baxter’s cell so he could beat the man to death with his bare hands.

“Thomas? Look at me.” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me you see me as you did before.”

He snapped his eyes open and strode forward, snatching the garment from her hands. He cupped her jaw and brought his mouth to hers. He poured his entire being into the kiss, showing her, proving to her just how much he loved her and how beautiful she would always be.

Her nails dug into his biceps and she returned his kiss, their passion swirling and igniting to a dangerous and potent crescendo until Thomas feared his heart would burst from his chest.

He pulled back and with a final look over her face, he closed his eyes. “This is madness. My love for you is dangerous, Monica. It’s dangerous because no one in this entire world provokes such fear in me.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “If you make me ashamed of what happened between us . . . if you make me feel less than Malcolm and my father have managed, I will stay here in Bath and sell the entire estate to the first bidder.” She swiped at her cheeks, even though her tears continued to fall. “I will only come back, I will only try to make a life in Biddestone if you promise me you will accept our lovemaking and move on. I want to help you. I want to help all the tenants, and the only way for that to happen is for me to return to Marksville with my head held high and you by my side.”

He stared deep into her eyes before handing her the chemise and lifting his hands to her face. He brushed away her tears with his thumbs and looked deep into her eyes. “What do you want from me?” he whispered. “Don’t you understand? I have no choice but to think of my family who rely on me. I can’t do that if I follow my heart and give it all up for you. You have a huge house and lands, but I refuse to be dependent on you. No good can come of what we feel for one another. No good at all. God knows I’d die for you, but that won’t help my family retain their pride.”

She covered his hands with her own, her gaze on his mouth, and she released a defeated breath. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take another moment like the one we just shared. It doesn’t mean we can’t love each other in stolen moments so I have something to live for. I’ll go home and I’ll do my best to do well by all of you, but without you to love I can’t stay there. I just can’t.”

Thomas shook his head, his heart breaking. “I cannot make love to you and then resume being your servant. Why would you even ask that of me? We’ll end up brokenhearted and resentful. Neither you nor I will be happy living that way. This stops now and we think only of our duty to our families.”

“Thomas—”

“We have to, Monica.” He gritted his teeth and dropped his forehead to hers. “But please, do not ever think I say these words because of the scars on your back or the sadness in your eyes. If things were different, if either of us were free . . .” He closed his eyes. “I have to look after everything my father has worked for, or so help me God, I will have abandoned everything that matters to me for something that might perish within a year or two.”

She lifted her head, her eyes full of pain. “You think what we feel will only last for a year or two?”

Thomas inhaled a long breath through flared nostrils. “How could a passion like ours last a lifetime?” He shook his head. “You know as well as I do such a thing is impossible.”

He released her and turned to dress, allowing her the privacy to do the same. For a long time, he heard no rustle of clothes or shifting of her body and sensed her despair and disappointment permeate the room, splitting the chasm between them wide open. Thomas fought the tears in his eyes and filled his soul with the knowledge he had done the right thing by letting her go . . . the gentlemanly thing.

To let her down now . . . to break her heart when it had barely known his was far better than to wait until she fell as deeply in love with him as he was with her. To do that would mean she endured the cruel pain of a million knives striking and twisting in her heart as they did in his.

Monica stared at Matthew Cleaves, Biddestone’s squire, as he leaned back in his chair and steepled her fingers beneath his chin. “I cannot believe Marksville is entirely yours. Your father must have wanted you to run the estate above anyone else to leave it to you. You do accept that?”

She shook her head. “I accept nothing of the sort. He gave me Marksville as a clear punishment for not marrying Malcolm Baxter and doing as I was told.”

Matthew dropped his hands and smiled. “But you’re a wealthy woman now. An independent woman with an entire estate of her own. How can that be deemed a punishment?”

“I don’t want it, Matthew.”
All I want is Thomas
. “I have never wanted it and my father knew that.”

He frowned. “And what of Jane? Is she upset about the will too?”

Monica inhaled. “We are still discussing what is to be done. Jane would’ve gladly stayed here and I would have been happy in Bath. My father turned the tables and gave each of us the opposite of what we want.”

“He gave Jane his Bath apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I, like you, could not have foreseen that happening.” He frowned. “But if you both want the other, can you not draw up papers to reverse the holdings so you have the Bath apartment and Jane has Marksville?”

Monica sighed. “Maybe, but to do so will mean I move back to Bath and leave her to sort out the numerous difficulties here. What does either of us really know about running an estate?” She shook her head, frustration burning inside. “If I go now, I am once more abandoning her as I now feel I did before. She would love Marksville to remain her home but has made it clear she doesn’t want to bear the responsibility of it alone. If the truth be told, I want nothing more than for Mama and Jane to come live with me in Bath.”

“But they don’t want that?”

“No.” Guilt twisted inside Monica. Wasn’t her need to convince her mother and Jane to come and live in Bath all about her own inability to make a life for herself in Biddestone . . . rather than theirs? Wasn’t she slowly beginning to like Marksville, even if she did not love it? Wasn’t she running away once again? She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m convinced moving to Bath would be good for all of us in the end.” She opened her eyes and stared at Matthew, inwardly pleading that he understood her. “Mama would have access to the waters and the best physicians, and Jane would be free to attend dinners and balls with some of the most influential and interesting people in the city.”

He stared, his intelligent eyes quiet in their assessment. “But if it’s not what they want . . .”

“But that’s just it, there’s no saying what Mama wants.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Mama is really not well, Matthew. Her mental health is deteriorating at a rate where she needs to be moved now or not at all. She is looking frailer and more in need of healing every day. I have worked hard for what I have in Bath. How can I sacrifice that for something I don’t want, no longer know, or have any idea of making work for the tenants or us? Yet . . .”

He arched an eyebrow. “Yet?”

Monica slumped back in her chair. “Yet, I have a duty to the people who live and work on the estate to make a decision that is best for them. If all I cared about was me, then I would just toss the deeds to Jane and hotfoot it back to Bath and the theater. I can no more do that than I can say I want to stay at Marksville.”

He exhaled. “If Jane wants the house but doesn’t want to be alone in the running of it, I really don’t think she’ll have to worry about that for long.”

Monica frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean a husband won’t be far around the corner for either of you once people learn of your good fortune.”

Monica stiffened. “Please do not call Marksville or the potential of a husband because of it, good fortune. It isn’t. It implies Jane and I are little more than a note made out for several hundred pounds of income every year. The notion is tainted with the stink of everything I despise about our class.”

Matthew smiled, his kindly eyes shining with amusement. “You are most assuredly a different woman than many. Then again, we’ve known each other since we were children and I see nothing different in you now than I did then. I don’t doubt you’ll find a way that suits you, Jane, your mother, and the tenants come the end.”

Monica groaned and closed her eyes. “How can you find this amusing?”

Matthew laughed. “I don’t. I’m just saying I believe in you. I know you’ll do the right thing . . . I just have no idea what that will be, I’m afraid.”

She snapped her eyes open. “Will I? All I know is I am three and twenty, and Jane twenty; neither of us deserves to be ruled by what our father has done, or what a husband will do. The thing that hurts the most is that the tenants are the innocent ones in Papa’s selfish ministrations.” She stared into Matthew’s eyes. “I need you to help me find someone who might want to buy the estate, or maybe even someone who has loved Jane before her inheritance. I know nothing or no one in the village anymore . . .” Tears burned. “And I am so afraid of getting everything wrong.”

Matthew’s gaze locked on hers, his expression thoughtful as he studied her. Monica waited. She trusted Matthew’s good judgment. Not how she trusted Thomas’s, but Matthew would undoubtedly be another good ally during a long battle.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk. “Your mother cannot be of any help to you at all?”

“None. She has no firm hold on reality anymore. If she did, she would carry out Papa’s wishes to the letter. It is up to Jane and I what happens next, but neither of us has any idea where to begin.”

“Hmm.”

Monica waited as his eyes glazed in thought. Handsome, twenty-six, and comfortably well off, Matthew Cleaves was a perfect catch for any woman . . . it was unfortunate he was married or Monica might have been sitting in front of him urging a match with Jane.

“Well”—Matthew cleared his throat—“mightn’t I suggest a dinner?”

Monica raised her eyebrows. “A dinner?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you host a dinner and invite as many of the gentry in the village as you see fit? You’ll gain a good prospective for how the community feels about your father’s untimely death and you becoming the mistress of Marksville. They have tenants, too, and will be able to advise you.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “They also have eligible sons and a dinner might do some good in rousing your mother. Whatever you decide to do, you will need the support of the community. Opening Marksville’s doors to these people will most likely open doors for you and Jane too.”

Monica slowly nodded as she considered Matthew’s advice. “A dinner is possible, I suppose.”

“And what of Thomas?”

She stiffened, cursing the immediate heat at her cheeks. “What about him?”

“Well, I don’t believe for one moment he’s been quiet on the subject. What has he to say about your inheritance?”

The heat traveled from her face and over her body. Surely it was written all over her face how things had progressed between her and Thomas? A week had passed since their lovemaking and neither had mentioned anything further about her inheritance . . . or each other. Instead, they’d talked of the day-to-day work to be done, Mama’s care, and Dr. O’Connor’s treatment of her mother. Nothing of their passion or feelings.

Blinking back unexpected tears, Monica lifted her shoulders. “What Thomas has to say about Marksville is neither here nor there.”

Matthew barked out a laugh. “I see, and so you’re hoping not to upset the tenants but are going to employ Thomas as little more than a groom now?”

Thomas’s distance over the last few days twisted her heart. “That’s what he is. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

“He is so much more than a groom.” Matthew smiled. “Your father relied on Thomas as a man would a son. Mr. Danes would never say it, but Thomas was his constant, his support, and the first place he went in order to discuss the managing and prosperity of the estate.”

Monica swallowed. “In other words, Thomas could run Marksville with his eyes closed. Is that what you’re saying?”

Matthew nodded. “Exactly, but at the end of the day, he needs his job. Thomas is a proud man, Monica. Any brusqueness on his part would have been provoked. Are you two not getting along?”

The heat at her cheeks blazed hotter. “We’re . . . we’re getting to know each other again.”

“So you’ve haven’t had crossed words?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem agitated, uneasy even, just by me mentioning his name.”

Dragging her gaze from Matthew’s astute appraisal, she glanced toward his study window. “We’ve disagreed from time to time, yes.”

He exhaled. “Well, if you take my advice, I would ensure he knows how important he is to you and Marksville. Include him in your plans and take his opinions onboard. Thomas knows what he is talking about and would only say things that he knew to be right and felt deep in his heart. The man deserves for you to accept what he has to say and do your utmost to honor it.”

Monica faced him, words freezing like ice water on her tongue.

Thomas’s words resonated in her ears and her eyes burned with traitorous tears. She lifted her chin. “I will. From now on, Thomas’s wisdom will also be mine.”

“Good. Then send out those invites to as many of the influential people in Biddestone as you can manage . . . maybe even ask Thomas to join you at the table. That way, he will be able to hear firsthand what is being said.” Matthew sighed. “I will do what I can to help you and Jane, but I truly think Thomas is the man to lean on right now.”

Monica’s stomach knotted. Hadn’t she been telling herself that from the moment she returned and laid eyes on him? She forced a smile, stood, and clasped her reticule in front of her to hide her trembling hands. “Thank you. I’ll get those invitations issued and you will be there, of course?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Matthew stood and came around the desk, holding out his hand, gesturing for Monica to leave the study ahead of him. “Why don’t I go upstairs and see if I have a dinner jacket for Thomas to borrow?”

Monica smiled. “That would be very kind, thank you.”

He nodded and left her alone in the hallway. When Matthew disappeared upstairs, Monica gripped her reticule a little tighter and stared blindly at a spot on the opposite wall. Matthew was right, Thomas mightn’t want her as his lover, but he did want what was best for Marksville. One way or another, they would find the new owner of the estate.

A few minutes passed before Matthew’s footsteps on the stairs jolted her from her thoughts. Monica turned and smiled. “You found something.”

He held out a jacket and trousers. “I’m sure the jacket will be a little tight considering the size of Thomas’s shoulders compared to mine, but if he agrees, it will do for the dinner.”

“I’m sure he will. If there’s one thing Thomas loves, it’s Marksville. Enduring an ill-fitting jacket for an evening will be easy compared to what he’s prepared to do for his family.”

Matthew smiled and with a hand on her elbow, led her to the front door and out into the bright July sunshine.

She hesitated on the doorstep before turning to face him. “Oh, I almost forgot. What is your opinion of Dr. O’Connor?”

Matthew frowned. “Well, he’s young but keen to be a valued member of the community as far as I can tell. Why do you ask?”

Monica opened her mouth but struggled to find the right words or questions to articulate her deliberations. “He’s . . . I want to like him. Something appeals to me about him, but I’m not sure what. I think he’s ambitious and maybe a little smitten with Jane, but it’s more than that. I think he truly loves Biddestone and everything about it.”

“And?”

“And another part of me is reluctant to trust him.”

“Why?”

“Well, he suggested to Papa to put Mama into an institution for a start.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. But when I challenged him, he promised not to suggest such a thing again and the matter was laid to rest, so maybe I was hasty in my judgment of him.” She shook her head. “I just . . . there’s something in his gaze that leads me to think the man is desperate to be accepted above anything else.”

“And that leads you to distrust him?”

“No, it leads me to
want
to trust him.” She met Matthew’s eyes, her heart heavy in her chest. “When I look at him, I see far too much of myself. He’s lonely, Matthew. More than that, afraid he always will be.”

“Will you invite him to attend the dinner?”

Monica nodded. “Yes . . . yes, I will.” She smiled. “Who knows? Maybe the good and lonely doctor might be the perfect candidate to take over Marksville.”

Matthew laughed. “Well, that’s quite a plan. I wouldn’t think he would have that sort of money. Plus, he has no personal knowledge of the people who work there. Who is to say if he did take on the estate, he wouldn’t move them all on? Isn’t their future your main priority?”

Monica’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right.” She inhaled and waved her hand in a gesture of nonchalance, even though her new plan to court Dr. O’Connor to the idea of Marksville gathered momentum. He seemed a reasonable man. Surely, if she told him the importance of keeping the tenants in their homes and jobs . . . “Well, anyway, I’d better go before Jane comes looking for me. Look out for that dinner invitation.”

With a smile, she made her way down the steps and along the street, all the while feeling the weight of Matthew’s curious stare at her back. With each step Monica covered, her resolve to make the upcoming dinner a success burned brighter.

 

“But you are still thinking only of yourself.” Jane slapped her hand onto the bedcovers beside her. “When will you stop being so selfish?”