Confessions of an Improper Bride, page 20
“We already discussed this. It’s best he doesn’t hear anything about our trip.”
Rising, he advanced on her. “Is it? I don’t know, Serena. It seems like everything that comes out of your mouth in Langley’s presence must be a lie.”
Her cheeks heated once again. “That’s not true.”
“The foundation of your engagement has been built on an untruth, hasn’t it?”
She blinked hard. She would not—could not—allow Jonathan to make her feel guiltier for what she had done. She felt horrible enough without his judgment.
“Will is a good man.”
He recoiled a little. Despite his reaction, she knew he agreed with that simple truth.
“I won’t hurt him,” she continued. “I refuse to hurt him.”
Reaching up, Jonathan stroked a finger down her cheek. She fought with all her strength not to lean into his touch. She tried not to look at his lips, to think of his kiss.
But she did remember the feel of his skin against hers, and her traitorous body flared in instant recognition from the memory, and from his nearness. She squared her shoulders. Feeling her tension, he dropped his hand.
“I don’t want to hurt Langley, either,” he said. “He is a good man. My friend. But—”
She raised her hand to stop whatever he was going to say. “Then that is all there is to it. I am very grateful that you’re taking me to my sister. But beyond that, there cannot be anything between us. After this is finished, we must do our best to stay away from each other.” She hesitated and then added in a low voice, “It’s too dangerous.”
His lips twitched at that, and a flash of victory shone in his eyes. “Is it?”
She jerked her gaze away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the plain white plaster of the wall beyond. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “Lord.” There was a tinge of desperation in her voice. “It hasn’t faded, has it?”
“Whatever it was that started everything between us? No.”
She turned back to him, suddenly feeling utterly helpless. Why couldn’t she feel this pull toward Will Langley instead of Jonathan Dane? Will was the better man, the safer man. Even Jonathan wouldn’t dispute that.
“It’s too late, Jonathan.”
He gazed at her, his eyes probing. “Is it? Are you sure?”
In that moment, she looked deep into those blue orbs, and inside them, she saw the truth: He wanted her back. A fiery thrill ran through her, but she gritted her teeth and squelched it.
“Yes. I’m engaged to Will. To renege on the promise I made to him…” Her voice dwindled. If she were to break off her engagement to Will, it would prove to the world that she was truly the wicked sister. The one who should have died in the cold waters of the Atlantic, but hadn’t.
“You aren’t promised to anyone.” Jonathan’s voice was gentle. “Meg is. And as you said yourself, your mother made that promise. Not you.”
And she’d gone on all summer perpetuating the untruth. Pretending. Lying. She shook her head, despairing inside but trying so hard not to show it. “No. No, I cannot…” She couldn’t. For Will’s sake. For her sisters’.
“Is that what Meg would have wanted?”
She surged backward until her knees hit the sofa cushion. “Don’t. Don’t you dare make an assumption as to what Meg would have wanted.”
But, oh, God, could he be right? In trying to be more like Meg, had she forgotten to consider what Meg’s wishes might have been? Yes, Meg would want their sisters to be safe. But would Meg have wanted her to marry Will?
No. Of course she wouldn’t. Meg knew Serena could never love Will as she had.
Yet, it was too late. She couldn’t go back now. She was to be married in a month’s time!
Her breathing had turned ragged—how had that happened? She fisted her hands at her sides. Jonathan specialized in seducing women with his words, with his masculine charms. He would lie to her and whisper how beautiful she was, then he would wheedle something from her. Something Will had already claimed and she wasn’t at liberty to give.
“Come here, Serena.” Jonathan’s voice was low, settling squarely between command and pleading.
No, she wouldn’t go near him. To do so would be to betray herself. To betray Will. She wouldn’t take one step closer.
A long silence ensued. Serena clutched her arms around her. She saw the stiffness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. What was he really thinking?
“It has been so long,” he rasped. “So long since I touched you.”
That soft kiss in Aunt Geraldine’s stables, the one that had made her float for hours afterward, hadn’t been that long ago. It seemed like yesterday. “You touched me eleven days ago.”
Well, that statement made it clear that she’d been counting. She tried to keep her face expressionless, but like Meg, Jonathan could see through her masks. It was so odd that he was the only person besides Meg who could read into her true emotions.
“Too long ago,” he murmured. “And it wasn’t enough.”
“It was too much.”
He blew out a breath. “I’ve missed you, Serena.”
“Stop.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You won’t seduce me, Jonathan. I won’t allow it.”
A muscle moved in his jaw, and he leaned toward her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Do you think that’s what this is? A seduction? Do you think I want to betray Langley? Do you think I want to be in this position? Want you in this position?”
“If you don’t want to be here, then you must stop. Go away. Go to your room, and I’ll go to mine. We needn’t speak of this.” She turned toward her bedchamber, but he caught her arm and jerked her around to face him.
“I want you, Serena. I’ve always wanted you.”
“You no longer know me.” Her voice was cold. She certainly didn’t know him, either. Not after what he’d become in her absence.
“Oh, but I do.” His hand was firm on her arm. “You haven’t changed.”
She stared at him in disbelief. He couldn’t be more wrong. “I’ve changed immeasurably, my lord. I’m not the same naïve innocent you fooled into loving you.”
He flinched visibly at that.
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them at bay. “You’ve changed, too. You are no longer the young gentleman I trusted with all my soul.”
Why, after all the pain he had caused her, did every inch of her traitorous skin cry out for his touch?
“I never meant to hurt anyone. Especially you.”
“But you did. And not only me, Jonathan. I’ve heard so many things—wicked things—about you.” She sucked in a breath. “Jane said it was untrue, but I’ve even heard you had a child out of wedlock.”
She wanted him to deny it. To hear his denial would once and for all close the book on that topic.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. “I’ve never fathered a child, Serena.”
Her knees felt weak with relief.
“But that doesn’t matter,” he continued. “None of it matters. Not now. You’re right. I did become someone different after I lost you. But you came back. And you brought those parts of me I thought I’d lost forever deep in the Atlantic along with the woman I’d always love.”
This was not at all what she had expected when she’d returned to London. She had thought she’d already overcome her desperate, unrequited love for Jonathan. She’d recovered from her heartbreak. She had truly believed she had moved on and could make a good wife to Will.
She had been wrong, so wrong. She still wanted Jonathan Dane. Desperately. Madly. Coming to London had been a terrible mistake. She’d thought she was doing it for her sisters, but she’d lied to herself and to everyone else. She’d done it for herself. She’d done it because she wanted to leave Antigua. Serena had grasped on and clung to the only reason she could find to return to London and learn what had become of the man she’d once loved.
His voice was low, steady and earnest, as earnest as it had been when he’d held her in his arms so many years ago. “I always wanted you, Serena. Only you. You’re the only woman for me.”
Serena’s breath caught and her lips tingled. The wanton woman deep within her clawed for release, but she fought it with all her strength. He stood before her, still and tense. The air surrounding them seemed to crackle.
Before she knew what she was doing, she lunged forward. Placing one hand behind his head, she pulled him forward and pressed her lips to his. Despite the chill in the room, his lips scorched her. Her chest tightened. Her heart surged against her ribcage, banging out the message she had suppressed for so long.
You need this.
You need him.
You always have.
He pressed closer to her, opening to her kiss. When his tongue touched her lip, searching, seeking, a loud knock sounded on the door.
She jerked back.
For several torturous moments, they stared at each other. She broke the eye contact first, yanking her gaze to the floor.
The knock sounded again, impatient.
Sighing, Jonathan went to open the door. It was a serving maid to the rescue, bearing a tray with their dinner. The girl placed dishes on the small round walnut table, and then curtsied and left. Neither Jonathan nor Serena had moved a muscle while she’d been in the room.
Why had she done that? Why had she touched him? Why, why, why?
She was mad, she was insane, she was stupid. How could she reveal her weakness?
Serena had known from the beginning the man was a danger. She almost wished he’d live up to his reputation in her presence. Perhaps she could have encouraged him to find some barmaid from the tavern downstairs to bring back to their rooms. If she actually saw his debauchery in action rather than hearing about it, then surely she’d be able to control her wicked urges in his presence.
But he had behaved like a gentleman. A gentleman who’d cared for her and her family, was deeply sorry for the mistakes he’d made, and who’d never stopped wanting her. He was behaving like a gentleman who wanted her back.
No. She thought she’d read it in his expression, but he hadn’t actually said that. Perhaps he merely wanted to tumble her again to see what it would be like after all these years.
Serena walked to the table and looked down at the plates that had been placed there. It appeared to be a roasted bird with a side dish of some gelled substance she couldn’t identify.
Jonathan pulled out the chair across from her and sat slowly, as if every move he made took great effort. He bowed his head over his food as if in prayer. When he looked up at her again, his blue eyes were bright as sapphires.
“Was there anyone else?” he whispered. “Before Langley, I mean. Was there someone in Antigua?”
She’d thought she couldn’t get any stiffer, but she’d been wrong. “That’s none of your business.”
“Tell me. Please, Serena. I need to know.”
She took the seat across from him and violently stabbed a piece of partridge with her fork. “No,” she snapped. “There was no one in Antigua. There was no one… ever.”
He inhaled sharply, and something resembling a groan resonated in his throat. “Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Not even Langley?”
She didn’t want to answer that. She shouldn’t answer that. But she did. “No. Not even Langley.”
“How can that be? You are so… surely many men have asked for you.”
“You are the only one. First… and last.”
Admitting this to him was a simultaneous relief and pain. Some part of her, some demon, wanted to say she’d had as many men as he’d had women. Then she could rub his face in it.
“I am not so virtuous as you, I am sorry to say.” Was it her imagination, or did color tint his cheeks?
“I’ve been aware of that for some time now,” she said dryly.
“And you despise me for it.”
Yes. As long as she held on to her self-respect, she must despise him for it.
“Can we talk about something else?” she asked. “Please? I’m tired of rehashing the past.”
“I agree. Let’s talk about something neutral.”
They sat in silence for long minutes, both of them busying themselves with eating. Finally, she looked across the small space at him, trying to give a light laugh that instead sounded bitter. “So, I suppose we have nothing to talk about anymore.”
Everything had changed. Before, they’d talked and talked. They’d conversed for hours on end, each of them fascinated by whatever it was the other had to say. Now it was all discomfort and tension between them.
“I doubt that,” he said.
She looked up at him, challenging him with her eyes.
“Tell me about something pleasant that you’ve done since we last knew each other,” he said. “Something unrelated to what happened between us. And then I will tell you something I’ve done.”
“All right.” She paused, racking her brain for a good memory from home unrelated to Jonathan, and then relaxed a little as she remembered a small happy part of her life in Antigua. “My father kept Guinea sheep, and we bred them after he died. Occasionally the mothers die when the lambs are born. I built a nursery for them in our barn, to foster them and care for them until they were big enough to go out on their own. Sometimes I slept out there with the babies to help them stay warm and feed them when they grew hungry.”
He smiled. “You built a nursery for them with your own hands?”
“I did.” Servants and slaves had been in short supply by then.
“I can easily picture the Serena I knew building nurseries and fostering lambs.” After a short silence he said, “My memory was about a baby, too.”
Spearing a piece of partridge, she raised her brows. “Was it?”
He nodded. “About two years ago, on one of my mandatory visits to see my mother at the ancestral pile in Sussex, I encountered a wagon with a broken axle on the side of the road. A man was bent over a figure lying there—it was his wife. At first I thought she was dead, that the crash had killed her. But in fact, she was laboring with child, and they had been in pursuit of the midwife, who had gone that morning to one of the neighboring villages. It was too late for me to take my horse to fetch the midwife myself. The babe was ready to make its appearance.”
“Goodness. What on earth did you do?”
“Well, I thought I’d try to ride for help even so, but then the lady let out a particularly bloodcurdling scream and the husband fainted dead away. I couldn’t leave her alone.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “What happened?”
“I delivered the babe myself. A healthy girl.” He laughed. “The husband didn’t wake until the child was squalling in her mama’s arms.”
“Jonathan…” Serena was speechless.
He shook his head, smiling wryly. “I was with strangers and yet it was a singularly beautiful moment in my life. I will never forget it.”
“That’s a wonderful story.”
“The family lives at Stratford House now. Turned out the man had skill in gardening, and I hired him on when our old gardener died. I’m the child’s godfather. Her name is Abigail. I try to see them every time I find myself forced to visit the place.”
“You must be very proud.”
He grinned. “Well, I suppose it was rather fortunate for them that I turned up at that moment. But it could have been anyone, really. I did nothing special.”
The last part of the statement was said with no guile, and Serena thought he truly believed anyone would have done what he’d done. But he’d probably saved the child’s life as well as her mother’s, then he’d given the family a position on his estate.
“That was good for me to hear,” she said softly.
His lips twisted. “Why is that? Have tales of my wickedness and debauchery been the only news you’ve heard of me?”
“I am sorry to say it… but other than Jane and Will saying that you’ve changed in recent weeks, yes.”
Jonathan met her gaze evenly. “It is how I wanted to be known.”
“Why, Jonathan? Why on earth would a man want to be known as an unscrupulous rakehell?”
“I haven’t cared about anything or anyone. I haven’t wanted to care. When you died, or when I thought you died, rather, you took everything that was good in me with you.”
“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t have.” She flung out a hand. “Look at how you helped your gardener and his wife. There obviously was a deep well of goodness left in you.”
“Perhaps you are right.” He took in a deep breath. “But when you died, Serena, it felt like a piece of me was destroyed and a devil took over part of my soul.”
“And where is that devil now?”
“Gone.”
She shook her head. “It can’t be so simple.”
He stared down at his food. “Everything has changed. The world has turned upside down. I don’t know who I am anymore. All I know is…”
Serena slid to the edge of her seat. “What?” she asked breathlessly.
“I still want you.” His voice broke to a whisper, and he looked up at her, his eyes pleading and haunted. “I want you near to me, to talk to you. To touch you. To be with you.” He reached his hand across the table. “Come closer.”
Unable to resist the command, she rose and stepped around the table until her gown brushed against his knees.
He kept his gaze steady on hers. “Do you remember? Our walks in the park? Our long talks? Remember how we used to trade books? Our letters? I kept them all.”
“Yes.” She remembered it all, and more. She remembered how she couldn’t keep her hands off him. How each brush of his skin had driven her wild. Had that changed?
She lifted her hand and stroked her finger down the bridge of his nose. It was a different shape now, slightly crooked, with a small bump in the center. “What happened to your nose?”
“Broken.”
“How?”
“In… in a fight.”
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
He shuddered, whether from her touch or from a memory of the fight, she didn’t know. “It did.”
