Samantha James (21 page)

What a fool she was.

Audrey brought her a tray in her room. Anne picked at the meal. Audrey helped her undress; she dismissed the girl and sat down in front of the dressing table. Faith, but she was pale! Tugging the pins from her hair, she dropped them in a pile. A tug of the ivory combs that secured her chignon sent the heavy curtain of her hair tumbling around her shoulders.

Picking up a silver-handled hairbrush, she pulled it slowly through her hair. The monotony of the movement was somehow soothing. The confrontation with Simon had left her drained. She didn’t want to think about the consequences of the day. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She didn’t want to think about anything.

So distant was she that she didn’t hear the connecting door open.

But she heard it close.

Anne went completely still, the brush still
poised in her hand. Her senses were suddenly screaming, her throat suddenly parched.

She couldn’t see Simon, but she knew he was there. He stood in the dark. He stood in the shadows, his heart in shadow.

Then all at once he was behind her. Anne stared at his reflection in the mirror. She sucked in a breath.

Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, strong and warm.

Slowly he pushed down the straps of her nightgown, baring her to the waist.

Paralyzed, Anne couldn’t move. Her heart tumbled to a standstill.

His hands slid down, closing around her breasts. His fingers splayed wide, filling his palms with firm, jutting flesh, as if staking his claim. Anne couldn’t tear her gaze away from the mirror, riveted by the sight of his hands on her—his fingers so brown, her flesh so fair—a sight that was almost unbearably arousing. He toyed with the tips, deliberate, tantalizing play that sent a tremor all through her. Her lips parted; her hairbrush was still suspended in midair.

The brush was plucked from her hands. Anne had one single, mind-spinning glimpse of his eyes, silver and glittering. Without a word he caught her up, turning her in his arms. Anne’s first thought was that he’d been drinking.

He hadn’t.

“I need you, Anne,” he whispered in an odd, strained voice. “
I need you.
” Within was such despair that she could have wept.

His mouth closed over hers; he pulled her tongue into his mouth, a kiss as starkly erotic as his hands on her breasts. It obliterated her will, that kiss, eroding any protest she might have made. Her knees turned to pudding; she would have fallen if not for his almost crushing hold. Trapped not by him, but by her own desperate desire. Everything inside her ignited into a raging conflagration.

All that mattered was Simon. All that mattered was now.

She gave her mouth with a strangled, half stifled moan. Her arms crept around his neck. Reason was forfeit; her heart was forfeit. She didn’t submit, didn’t surrender. There was nothing of triumph or victory in his embrace, just a wild desperation that equaled her own.

Powerful arms swept her high. She was dimly aware of the door between their rooms bucking wide. She felt the mattress beneath her, then Simon alongside her, as naked as she. His mouth captured hers. Anne’s fingers scaled his back. Her fingers ran over the ridges of his scars. He stiffened, but he didn’t gainsay her. With the pressure of her palm, she pushed him down. Her lips brushed over the uneven boundary of the scars, then kissed every inch of those
horrible scars until a low, muffled exclamation broke from his lips.

Borne back to the pillow, he feasted on her breasts, dipped his tongue into her navel. With one hand he dragged his fingers through the furrowed valley of her sex, driving her half mad. Fiery shivers coursed the length of her. Just when she thought she could bear no more, one sleek, hard shoulder nudged her thighs apart. Her eyes flew wide at the sight of his dark head ducking low.

It was beyond bliss, beyond imagining. With his thumbs he widened her cleft; with his tongue he played her, plied her, pleasured her beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Anne fell back beneath the delicious onslaught, writhing against his mouth—his tongue—until at last she exploded.

When she surfaced, Simon was on his knees between her thighs. Parting her with his knees, he pushed his rod inside her, stretching her to the brink, sealing her mouth—sealing her body. Anne moaned. He pierced deep. With every driving lunge, he touched the gate of her womb, entered her soul. She yielded all; he withheld nothing. A hand beneath her buttock, he urged her against him, then held her tight, spewing inside her again and again almost violently. It was like a tempest, the furious rise of a storm that left them both gasping.

Little by little, the strength seeped from Simon’s limbs. His fingers slid through her hair. He rolled to his side, a long, sinewed arm sprawled across her waist.

He slept within minutes.

This was the first time they had slept together—all the way through until morning.

Simon slept heavily, not rousing even once.

It was a far different matter for Anne, however. Carried along by the tumult of the day, she barely closed her eyes that night. Her mind twisted and turned first one way, then the other—in much the same manner as her feelings!

Eventually, daybreak sent its first pale fingertips into the room.

Simon lay sprawled on his stomach. Holding her breath, she extracted herself little by little, easing herself away. One last tug on a chestnut skein of hair from beneath one sculpted biceps, and she was free. It had been like that throughout the night; he’d wrapped himself around her body, twisted his hand around a lock of her hair, as if to capture and hold her bound to him forever.

Anne wasn’t quite sure she could have explained it, but she didn’t want to be with him when he woke. She wouldn’t be in his bed—and not his heart.

By morning, she had come to a decision. And she was going to do something she’d never done before…

She was going to run.

She was, she realized a while later, relieved when Simon didn’t show for breakfast. She was, in fact, already back in her room when she heard him going down the hall toward the stairs.

It wasn’t long before she heard a knock. “Come in,” she called.

Simon stepped inside. He took in at a glance the trunk half filled with clothing, the neat little pile of stockings laid on the bed.

Anne’s pulse was suddenly thudding. Her demeanor, however, was calm. “Good morning,” she greeted. She finished folding the nightgown in her hands and placed it on the bed.

Simon’s gaze slid from the nightgown to her face. “What’s this, Anne?”

Guilt flashed through her at his quiet tone. She thrust it aside. Smoothing her skirts, she cleared her throat, praying for a calm she hoped wouldn’t desert her.

“I’m just packing up a few of my things.”

He glanced at the trunk. “More than a few, I’d say.”

Anne cleared her throat. There was little point in prolonging this. She might as well just come out with it.

“I thought I’d join Caro and Alec at Gleneden.”

Simon’s gaze sharpened. “This is rather sudden.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Through some miracle she managed to sound normal.

Simon gave her a long, slow look.

Anne clasped her hands before her to still their trembling. Doubt and despair suddenly crowded all through her. Damn it all, why did he have to look at her like that? He made her feel almost guilty!

He stepped close. Anne was aware of his gaze moving over her face.

“Shall I come with you?”

“No!” That was the last thing she wanted! But she’d made it sound like a condemnation…

Frustrated, Simon looked at her. He took a breath.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with wanting to see your family again, does it? It’s about last night.”

Anne’s control was suddenly tenuous, her mouth tremulous. It was folly to love him. Folly to remain here. Now that she loved him, well…the stakes were too steep.

I need you,
he had said. But Anne wanted more than need. More than passion.

She wanted more than he could give.

She swallowed. “I can’t do this, Simon. I can’t go on like this. It’s too hard. It hurts too much. I—I have to go. I
need
to go. We need to be apart. It’s best for both of us, I think.”

If it’s best, then why does it hurt so much?
Anne ignored the nagging little voice in her head.

Silence, thick and despairing, hung between them.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked.

The question tore at her conscience. Anne fought it off. There was so much turmoil churning in her breast, she could barely stand.

“How long, Anne?”

Her throat constricted. “Must you make me say it? I don’t know when I’ll be back, Simon. I don’t know
if
I’ll be back.”

His gaze snared hers. “I don’t want you to go,” he said.

“You give me no reason to stay!”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Something sped across his features. Pain?
Regret? She wasn’t sure. Her vision was misted so that she could barely see.

His eyes bored into hers. It spun through her mind that he saw so much…he saw
too
much.

“You can’t go, Anne. You can’t. I—” His tone was taut, his expression almost gritty. “I don’t want you to.”

Anne couldn’t say a word. His declaration made her ache inside…

“Damn it, Anne. You—you love me.” His tone was barely above a whisper. “Your eyes give you away every time you look at me…”

No, she thought brokenly. No.

The agony she heard in his tone pierced her to the quick. He caught at her hand—he caught at her heart.

Anne broke away, trembling, her eyes filled with tears.

“I—I don’t know where I belong anymore. I don’t even know why I’m still here…” The admission came low and choked. “Everything’s been said. So please don’t stop me. Please don’t make it harder than it already is. If you care for me even a little, then…just let me go.”

His eyes captured hers. His long, scraping silence nearly shredded what little remained of her composure.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said finally. “Perhaps it’s what’s best.” He paused. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Duffy
told me this morning there’s a wheel on the carriage that’s being repaired.”

Anne gave a wooden nod. “I’ll leave in the morning then.”

Simon headed from Anne’s room to his study. There he headed straight to the bottle of whisky. The bottle and glass in hand, he sank down into his chair.

An hour later, the bottle and glass—half full of the brew—sat before him on the desktop.

He hadn’t touched it.

Just let me go.

Anne’s plea played through his mind, an endless litany. He couldn’t forget her expression today—and last night. Her face was so pale, her beautiful blue eyes tear-bright and wounded. It was like a brand on his soul, that look, like a driving blow to the heart.

Her finality pierced him to the quick.

Her tears had said so much…all that she could not.

His heart squeezed. Was she so unhappy then?

You’re breaking my heart
…
do you even care?

He’d robbed her, he realized. He’d robbed her of so much! Anne needed to be surrounded by those she loved—and those who loved her. But the one thing she needed was the one thing he would never allow himself to have.

Oh, God. He’d been so selfish. She gave so much. And he gave so little.

To return to a life without Anne…the thought made everything inside him cave in.

He’d been lost for so long now. But Anne…she was like a candle in the night. A beacon in the dark. She lit his way…

She lit his life.

There was a terrible tightness in his chest.

When had he become such a coward?

How could he let her go?
How?

The thought thundered through him, taking hold, until it beat like a drum in every pore of his body.

A rending pain tore at his insides. He couldn’t stand to think what life would be like without Anne. And if he lost her now…

Then he would know what it was like to be
truly
lost.

Then he would know what it was like to be
forever
lost.

Mid-afternoon, Anne changed into a walking gown and sturdy boots. The house seemed so somber. She felt suddenly stifled. A breath of air would do her good, she decided.

The weather was lovely, rather warm though it was early October. High overhead, the sun played games; it sneaked behind puffy white clouds, then slipped free.

Her path took her along the ridge to the north of Rosewood. She walked and walked, her head down, her thoughts a rather lonely companion. She hadn’t figured out how—or when—she was going to tell Simon the news of his impending fatherhood. It wasn’t her intention to keep it secret. Even if she wanted to, she knew she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Simon might not want this baby, but he still deserved to know of its existence.

Lightly she touched her belly. As much as it pained her to admit the child she carried might grow up without his—or her—father, an unswerving certainty filled her breast. She would love this child enough for both of them.

As for what the future might hold for both her and Simon…she wouldn’t speculate. She wouldn’t hope. As much as it pained her, the future would simply have to play out. Perhaps they would divorce, scandalous though it was. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Either way, Anne knew she would never marry again.

And she was reasonably certain that Simon wouldn’t either.

At Gleneden, perhaps, the answers she sought would come to her.

A puff of wind snatched at her hat, loosening the ribbons. Anne caught it and looked up.

Dark, boiling clouds had smothered the sun, she saw. Ahead of her, the moorland lay covered in shadow. Glancing over her shoulder,
she saw that the house was but a speck in the distance. She hadn’t realized she’d come so far.

A sudden eddy of the wind made her shiver. She wore neither shawl nor wrap, nor did she carry a parasol. It was no longer a question that it might rain—but when. Even as the thought sped through her mind, she felt her head pelted by raindrops. The wind whipped her skirts. Lightning split open the clouds ahead.

Oh, dear. Simon, she suspected, would not be pleased if he discovered she was out in such weather.

Indeed, Simon wasn’t.

Back at Rosewood, Simon entered Anne’s room. Her maid stood near the armoire, her arms full of Anne’s gowns.

“Aggie…Audrey,” he corrected, “where is your mistress?”

“I believe she was headed out for a walk, sir. It’s been quite some time now. I don’t believe she’s returned yet.” The girl’s eyes flitted toward the window, where clouds had suddenly blotted out the sunlight.

Simon had already whirled, bolting headlong down the stairs. He was in a dead run when he clamored into the stable. A mighty crack of thunder shook the ground.

Ice ran through his veins. He rode from the stable at breakneck speed. To say he was perturbed to discover his wife caught out in such weather—again—was scarcely an exaggeration.

But far stronger was the choking fear that swept inside him like the blackest cloud. He wasn’t sure he could ever be rational. Not about this—

Indeed, it was quite odd the way it happened…At the crest of the hill above the manor house, he stopped. The curtain of rain was so thick and gray, he could barely see. Then, suddenly, lightning flashed. And then he saw her in a blaze of light…

His darling Anne…Framed against the sky, against the storm, a sodden little figure trudging up the hill toward him, the wind whipping her skirts. Raw emotion seared his soul at the sight of her. She gave a wave…

He gave her his heart.

She was waiting when he leaped down to the ground.

“I know what you’re going to say.” She had to shout in order to be heard above the storm. “I promise you I shan’t go out again without—”

That was as far as she got. An arm snaked around her waist, he’d already seized her and dragged her up on tiptoe against him, his mouth on hers. On and on he kissed her; Anne’s hair was streaming, their clothing dripping. And all the while the wind wailed and thunder raged and the skies wept…as he wept.

He was still kissing her when the winds lost their fury and blew calm and peaceful, when the air began to warm and sunlight splashed the earth below.

When he finally summoned the strength to release her mouth—and it did indeed take every ounce of willpower he possessed—he discovered his wife’s arms still linked around his neck, her eyes closed.

“Simon?” she whispered.

He nuzzled her cheek. “Yes, sweet?”

With a breathy little sigh, she opened her eyes. “May we go now?”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, his own curved up in a faint smile. “And where would you like to go?”

“Home,” she said simply.

“An excellent choice, my love.”

Once they were home, Simon saw Anne safely to her room to bathe and change. Audrey was there, waiting. But before he left Anne, he ran his knuckles over her cheek.

“When you’ve finished,” he said quietly, “we need to talk.”

Anne bit her lip. “I know.”

He took quiet note of her anxious uncertainty, but Audrey had stepped up. Lightly he touched Anne’s hair.

In his chamber, he shed his wet clothing and changed into breeches and a clean white shirt. Anne was still closeted with her maid. He heard the splash of bathwater, so he went downstairs to his study.

Before long, he went back upstairs. But Anne
wasn’t there. And, he discovered, she was nowhere in the house.

Puzzled, he stepped outside. He wasn’t quite ready to let his concern give rise to full-blown alarm just yet.

As so often happened, the storm left in its wake a glorious, golden day. The late afternoon sunlight left the outside world alive with color, gilding the leaves of the trees. Raindrops shimmered like jewels. The air was damp and tangy with the scent of grass and earth.

On the terrace, he paused. A second later his steps carried him down the path toward the rose garden. Exactly why, he couldn’t say, for he ventured there but rarely. Yet he found himself lured by some strange, indefinable force.

He peered down the pathway, only to be brought up short by the sight that met his eyes.

His heart stilled.

Anne was kneeling on the ground in front of the three white rose bushes where Ellie and the boys were buried.

She was talking…talking to Ellie.

“He loved you so, you know,” she was saying. “And I’ve thought—oh, perhaps this is silly!—that if I were more like you, that he might come to love me too. Would you have liked me, I wonder? I should like to think you do. That you would have. I love him too, you see. I—I love him rather desperately…”

At the wobble in her voice, Simon felt his
throat constrict. God. Oh, God. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He truly didn’t. Yet no power on earth could have stopped him from listening.