Authors: Heart of the Storm
Rexanne Becnel (30 page)
C
yprian sat the rawboned saddle horse under a dreary sky, in the meager shelter of a yew tree. Most of the countryside was barren, the stripped skeletons of trees and the brown remains of heather and nettle stalks, all shivering in the bitter blasts of the north wind. A solitary bird—a raven, it appeared—fought the wind, but otherwise, he and his horse were alone. The restless animal stamped a fore foot and blew a plume of frosty breath into the frigid air, but Cyprian ignored the horse’s impatient desire to return to its warm stall. The carriage had turned out from the gate. Eliza and Aubrey were leaving.
yprian sat the rawboned saddle horse under a dreary sky, in the meager shelter of a yew tree. Most of the countryside was barren, the stripped skeletons of trees and the brown remains of heather and nettle stalks, all shivering in the bitter blasts of the north wind. A solitary bird—a raven, it appeared—fought the wind, but otherwise, he and his horse were alone. The restless animal stamped a fore foot and blew a plume of frosty breath into the frigid air, but Cyprian ignored the horse’s impatient desire to return to its warm stall. The carriage had turned out from the gate. Eliza and Aubrey were leaving.
The window curtains were closed, all but one, and Cyprian caught a glimpse of Aubrey’s face, pale against the dark carriage. Then the curtain fell, and in a minute the vehicle was gone, round a bend of century old hedgerows.
It was for the best, Cyprian decided as he shifted in the saddle and tried to work the stiffness out of his back. Maybe now he could get on with his life. Maybe now he could get a decent night’s sleep again. Once he got the hell out of England, things would be better and he would forget about his half brother—and about his cousin-by-marriage.
But Cyprian knew that would never happen. He would never forget. Not entirely.
With a violent curse he turned the eager horse and urged it into a reckless gallop. Across the field gone brown and dry, even in the hanging mist, he pushed the rangy animal until they seemed to fly as one across the frozen earth. It was almost like sailing, he thought as the icy wind tore at him and stung his eyes until they teared up. He could use the power of this horse like he used his ship, to swoop down on the unsuspecting and to escape his pursuers.
But there was no one to swoop down upon today, nor anyone to escape either. With another curse Cyprian slowed the plunging animal, then gradually brought him around, and urged him back toward the cottage. Time to return to his ship. Though it was late, he could not stay here tonight. He’d let Xavier know he was going. Then he’d be off no matter the dark, the weather, or anything else. He’d get out of England and as far away from his father and brother—and Eliza—as he possibly could get.
A light burned in the kitchen when he rode up. Or perhaps it was just the fire in the hearth. Cyprian shivered. He was wet and cold. Maybe Ana would heat him a stein of mulled wine before he left. A big one, enough to warm his body and dull his mind.
“Rub him down well,” he told the stableman. “And give him an extra portion of mash. We’ll be off again soon.”
“Aye, Sir. I’ll see to his needs. Reckon the missus inside will see to yours,” he added with a wheezing chuckle.
“Yes,” Cyprian agreed absently. Ana would see he was well fed, but she’d probably give him her own version of a tongue lashing about letting Eliza leave. Though she seldom said much, when she fixed her dark
slanting eyes on a person, there was no doubt whether it was approval or disapproval she felt.
slanting eyes on a person, there was no doubt whether it was approval or disapproval she felt.
But he had no intentions of enduring her black stares this evening. He’d eat, then he’d leave. And if Ana and Xavier didn’t like it, the hell with them.
The kitchen was empty, but the smells of dinner lingered and Cyprian’s stomach growled as he latched the door behind him. He was grateful for the solitude and surprised also to see that Ana had bothered to leave a setting for him at the big table. But even as he approached the pot of soup and lifted the lid to sniff, his stomach rebelled. He was hungry but he couldn’t eat.
With a sigh that was more a groan he put the lid back and turned to look for something to drink instead. Warm, cold, he didn’t care. He just wanted something strong, something that would deaden his mind and kill the emotions that tore at his insides. But as he started to remove his gloves, a sound drew his attention and he turned around.
“Ana, where are you hiding the—”
The fact that Cyprian stopped in midsentence could be interpreted one of two ways, Eliza grimly thought. Her fingers tightened together in a knot that she pressed harder against her stomach. He was shocked and pleased, or else shocked and extremely annoyed to find her still there.
“Eliza.”
“Hello, Cyprian.”
A long, awkward silence ensued and Eliza cast about desperately for something to say. “Let me help you with your coat.” But when she stepped forward, he did not make a move to cooperate.
“You’re still here,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, it seemed.
“Yes. Xavier and Ana took Aubrey to his parents. I stayed,” she added quite unnecessarily. Cyprian’s face was still; his expression was unreadable and his eyes—
his beautiful dark blue eyes—were shuttered so that she could not read any facet of what he was feeling.
his beautiful dark blue eyes—were shuttered so that she could not read any facet of what he was feeling.
“Why are you—” He cleared his throat and began again. “Why have you stayed?”
Eliza turned away. She was suddenly unable to bear the intensity of his stare. Why had she stayed? If she answered honestly she would bare her very soul to him, bare it and leave herself completely vulnerable. But then, she’d known it would come to this when she’d decided to stay.
“The thing is …” She paused and took a shaky breath. Then she turned and faced him. “The thing is, Cyprian, I … I love you. There’s no use pretending I don’t.”
He stiffened, just a little, but she saw and it was like a cruel slap across her face. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back slightly on his heels. “I think you’re attracted to me, Eliza. But that’s just physical. It’s not love.”
“Yes, it is!” she burst out. “It
is
love. The only reason you deny it is that you have no idea of what love is. You’ve hated for so long that you can’t understand love. But I understand it, so don’t you
dare
tell me that what I feel for you is only lust!”
is
love. The only reason you deny it is that you have no idea of what love is. You’ve hated for so long that you can’t understand love. But I understand it, so don’t you
dare
tell me that what I feel for you is only lust!”
In the aftermath of her outburst he only stared at her with a confused expression on his face, as if he could not understand or else did not want to. More than anything Eliza wanted to flee that look, to flee the fact that he was not responding the way she wanted him to. He hadn’t said he loved her. But she was done with fleeing, she reminded herself. She’d started this confrontation; she might as well finish it.
With a courage borne of desperation—and the most intense longing she’d ever known—Eliza loosened her tightly clenched hands, took a slow, steadying breath, and forced herself to walk right up to him. Then she
reached for his left arm and drew it from behind his back.
reached for his left arm and drew it from behind his back.
Without saying a word she began to remove his leather glove, tugging at each of the fingers in turn until she could slide the entire glove off. She held the leather garment in both hands for a moment, aware of his warmth lingering there. Then she placed the glove on a nearby chair and raised her gaze up to meet his.
She removed his other glove the very same way, but their gazes remained locked this time. And with every tug, every slide of his fingers from the fine leather, Eliza felt some small barrier between them slip away. For him it might simply be lust, but for her it was love. No other word came close to explaining this all-consuming emotion, this mingling of desire and adoration and an insane need to soothe all his hurts, past, present, and to come. She wanted to make him happy, for perversely enough it seemed the only possible way for her ever to be happy. It was mixed up and impossible to explain, but Eliza knew it was true.
The second glove came off and she set it aside. Then with fingers that shook, she reached for the buttons of his overcoat.
“Eliza.” His hand came up to circle her wrist and stay her movement. But she continued at her task even within the warm hold of his hand.
One button; a second. A third. And all the while his eyes grew darker until they seemed to suck her in. It was a dangerous thing to seduce a man, the one sober part of her mind recognized. Dangerous when so much more than merely your body was involved. Then she parted the front of his damp cheviot coat and slid both her hands against his waistcoat, palms pressed to the warmth and hardness that lay just below the pekin and the fine wool challis of his shirt.
He muttered low, an epithet muffled by a groan that seemed wrenched from the deepest part of him. One of
his hands lifted to her hair. He stroked it once, then again before he frowned and began to pull the pins free. He removed her snood and watched almost distractedly as the thick twist of her hair spilled free down her back. Once more he stroked her hair with the gentlest of touches, all the way down to her waist, and all the while Eliza stared up at him, her breath caught somewhere in her midsection, her eyes held by the tortured look on his face. He was the same fierce man who’d terrified her less than a month before. But now he was the one who looked terrified. No, not terrified. Torn. He was drawn to her; that was plain. But he was torn by the vast differences between them. If only she could make him forget all the ways they were different and dwell instead on all the ways they were alike. All the ways they were so well suited.
his hands lifted to her hair. He stroked it once, then again before he frowned and began to pull the pins free. He removed her snood and watched almost distractedly as the thick twist of her hair spilled free down her back. Once more he stroked her hair with the gentlest of touches, all the way down to her waist, and all the while Eliza stared up at him, her breath caught somewhere in her midsection, her eyes held by the tortured look on his face. He was the same fierce man who’d terrified her less than a month before. But now he was the one who looked terrified. No, not terrified. Torn. He was drawn to her; that was plain. But he was torn by the vast differences between them. If only she could make him forget all the ways they were different and dwell instead on all the ways they were alike. All the ways they were so well suited.
“I love you, Cyprian,” she whispered again as with renewed effort she worked the buttons of his waistcoat free and slid her hands beneath it to circle his waist. “Even though you don’t want me to, I can’t help it.”
Without warning his arms came around her, crushing her to him as if he meant to draw her right inside himself. As if he meant to hold onto her forever.
“I want you to,” he muttered against her hair. His lips moved, kissing her brow, her eyes, then finding her mouth.
Eliza wanted to dissolve into that kiss, to wallow in it, to drown in it and never come up for air again. But even as his hold on her tightened, Cyprian drew back just enough to stare deeply into her eyes. “Ah, damn, Eliza. You’re so innocent. This will never work.”
“You want me to love you,” Eliza countered, smiling up at him. Her heart swelled almost to bursting with joy at the implication of his reluctant words. He wanted her to love him! “You want me to love you, Cyprian, and I do.”
“I wanted you to, yes. But how much chance does a
sheltered woman like you have against a man who deliberately sets out to seduce her?”
sheltered woman like you have against a man who deliberately sets out to seduce her?”
“How long are you going to continue to confuse lust and love?” she demanded, not in the least deterred by his continuing resistance. She could taste love on his kisses and it was the thrilling taste of the sweetest sort of triumph.
She gripped the loose edges of his waistcoat and tugged until he bent down to her and their faces were but inches apart. “You could never make me fall in love with you. You made me willing in other ways,” she admitted. “But loving you …” She paused as her emotions rose to form a lump in her throat. “Loving you was my own idea. You didn’t make me love you, Cyprian … and you can’t make me stop.”
Their gazes held for one long torturous moment. If only he would believe her.
If only he felt the same.
Then with a groan of capitulation his mouth came down on hers. Eliza’s eyes closed, but she did not need to see to know, nor even to hear the words he murmured in incoherent snatches between kisses. He cared about her. Whether he called it love or not no longer mattered to her. He cared, perhaps as much as she did.
He swept her up in his arms, all the while devouring her with kisses. Her lips parted and he fit his mouth ever closer, sliding his tongue inside, drawing hers back into his mouth. He tasted and searched and delved deep, rousing her to fiery passion in a matter of seconds. All her fears that he’d reject her, that he’d turn her overture down, dissolved now into a soaring, sizzling triumph.
Then he sat down on a bed—when had they gone up the stairs and found the bedchamber where she’d laid a fire, fearing to anticipate success, but needing to? He nestled her on his lap and circled her with his arms. “I’m sorry, Eliza, for everything I said before.”
“It doesn’t matter. I love you.”
“I shouldn’t have walked out—”
“You came back. I love you.”
“No,
you
stayed. There’s a big difference.”
you
stayed. There’s a big difference.”
“I love you. I love you, Cyprian Dare. I just couldn’t run away from that fact any longer.”
He looked down at her. The room was dim with only a faint light coming in through the open door. But Eliza could see everything she needed to see. Cyprian’s face had never been so earnest; his eyes had never been filled with such a clear emotion. She could feel the intensity of it in his touch even. He fairly thrummed with it, and she thrummed with an answering intensity. She circled his neck with her arms, seeking to pull him down to her. But he resisted and his eyes searched her face as if he might discover something new there. He smoothed a stray curl back from her cheek, then caught the tendril in his hand and rubbed it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.
“I never expected … this,” he murmured. “I never expected you.”
Eliza nuzzled her cheek against his hand. “I never expected to love someone like you,” she answered honestly. “Nor did I ever expect that love could be so … so completely overwhelming.”
“Yes.” He stared down at her and their eyes connected. Their souls connected. “So completely overwhelming.”
Then he kissed her, a simple press of his lips to hers, of flesh to flesh, as millions of couples must have done over the course of a million years. But it was so much more than that. For Cyprian gave her his heart in that kiss; he gave his heart into her keeping. But just as importantly to Eliza, he took her heart most tenderly into his own care. She felt it in the sweet, almost chaste way his lips moved upon hers. She heard it in the steady thud of his heart beneath her fingers, and felt it in every
portion of her body. I love you, Eliza, she heard. Only you. Always you.
portion of her body. I love you, Eliza, she heard. Only you. Always you.
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