Secrets of a Perfect Night (25 page)

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “Questions, Rachael?”

“Questions.” She drew a deep breath in an effort to concentrate on something other than the fruit in his hands. “Well, I was curious as to why you didn’t come home at once when George died. He thought perhaps you’d return before his death.”

Jason’s expression sobered. “I fully intended to. I had hoped to wind up my affairs and return to England at once, but I encountered one delay after another. Then war was declared and travel was next to impossible.” He placed the orange on the table before him and gazed at it thoughtfully. She wondered if he didn’t see the fruit at all but rather the past. “I didn’t even receive word of George’s death until nearly a year after his passing.”

“He would have liked to see you again,” she said softly.

“As would I.” He blew a long breath. “It is yet another regret in a lifetime of regrets.”

“Come now, Jason.” Her voice held a teasing note. “Not an entire lifetime?”

“No, not an entire lifetime. A mere ten years. Nothing more.”

“It does rather seem like a lifetime, though,” she said under her breath.

And wasn’t it, in fact? Absently she reached out and traced the etching on the crystal wine goblet with her
finger. So much time had passed since they’d promised to be together always. Their lives had followed separate courses, the road finally bringing them together again to this point. Was it the end of their journey? Would they at last put the past behind them and move on? And would they move on together?

“Did you ever hate me?” She glanced up at him.

“No,” he said simply.

“Never? Come now.” She studied him carefully. “Not even when you learned I hadn’t waited for you? That I had married George?”

“No.”

“I said some hateful things to you when you were last here.”

“Yes, you did.” He smiled in a wry manner. “But I understood why you reacted as you did.”

“So you never despised me,” she said slowly. “And you didn’t tell me the truth when you had the opportunity to because of your concern for George.” She raised a brow. “You may well be a bit too good for me, Jason Norcross.”

He chuckled. “I doubt that.” He paused as if debating whether to continue, then he sighed. “Before you afford me the status of saint, you should know I wrote you dozens, perhaps even a hundred, letters telling you everything. And damn the consequences.”

She scoffed. “I never received one.”

“I never mailed one.”

“Then you are as noble as you appear after all.”

“In deed perhaps, but not in thought. Not in desire.” He drained the rest of his wine and plunked the glass back on the table. “I have no need to ask if you hated
me. It was obvious when last we met. Perhaps a better question would be, when did you stop hating me?”

She stared for a long moment, debating the merits of honesty. If there was to be anything at all between them, there could be no more deception. “When I received George’s letter.”

“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Only yesterday then. Permit me to ask you something else.” He leaned forward, his eyes as intense as his voice. “When did you stop loving me?”

The question hung in the air and reverberated in her veins and in her heart.

Never
! Her breath caught. Why hadn’t she realized it before now? Or had she always known and simply been afraid to face it? Afraid because the passion they’d shared was so deep, so consuming, the pain that accompanied it was just as overwhelming. She’d survived losing him once; she could not do it again.

“Why, my lord.” She forced a light laugh. “You do ask the most impertinent questions.”

His expression darkened. “Perhaps I do,” he said with an air of resignation. He pushed away from the table and stood to stare down at her. “It has been an exceedingly long day and I find I am somewhat fatigued. If you will forgive me, I believe I shall retire for the night.”

“Hiding, are we?” She regretted the flippant comment the moment the words were out of her mouth.

He rested his hands on the table and leaned forward to tower over her. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight “Not at all. In fact, I would not be averse to company when I climb into my bed.”

The shock of his suggestion stole her breath. Or was it the unexpected rush of longing that shocked her? She stared up at him.

“I have nothing to hide from, Rachael. I know full well how I feel. How I have always felt.” He straightened and smiled politely. “And now, my lady, I bid you good night.” He turned and strode from the room.

She stared after him, resisting the urge, the need, to follow.

Why was it all so complicated? Why couldn’t she join him in his bed and be done with it? Why could’t she throw her arms around him and confess her feelings and the confusion that accompanied them?

Why couldn’t she trust him?

No, it was far and away too soon. She’d spent ten long years hating the very earth beneath his feet. No matter what she felt, or thought she felt, she could not hand him her heart so quickly. So easily. She’d ignored her feelings for him for too long to accept them now without question.

She knew now he was not at fault for all that had happened between them, but the knowledge was in her head and not her heart. She was right when she’d said she needed time.

Rachael had vowed long ago never to weep again. Oh, she’d shed gentle tears when George had died, mourning the man who had saved her and loved her. Her husband and her friend. But only Jason had ever had the power to wrench sobs from the depths of her soul.

She would not weep for him again.

The book hit the door with a solid thud and afforded Jason absolutely no satisfaction whatsoever. Of course, he was getting nothing from his attempt to read the bloody thing either. The words swam before his eyes. There was only one thing that could hold his attention tonight.

If the blasted woman had licked her lips one more time, he would have reached across the table and jerked her into his arms, scattering china and crystal and silver. He would have made love to her right there in the dining room in front of the footmen and anyone else who happened by. Furthermore, he suspected her resistance would have been minimal if the kiss they’d shared was any indication. She wanted him perhaps as much as he wanted her, although she may not fully realize it yet.

Impatiently he got to his feet. He was far too restless to retire. He glanced around the room, hoping that Mayfield had seen fit to supply his chamber with a decanter of brandy to see him through the night. Nothing. He could ring for the butler. Or go back downstairs. But then he could well encounter Rachael, and he rather liked the manner in which he’d left her. His parting words should give her something to think about.

He ran his hand through his hair. She did still love him. He was certain of it. Could see it in the stunned look in her eye. A look that came not from anything he’d said but from a knowledge within herself.

He’d seen that look before, in the reflection of his
own eyes when he’d realized three years ago he still loved her. And accepted it once more when he’d seen her again last night.

A knock sounded at his door.

“Come in,” he snapped.

The door opened and Mayfield stepped into the room. “My lord, Lady Lyndhurst summoned me. She said she’d heard a noise in here and was concerned that there may be a problem.”

So Rachael was in her rooms as well and obviously alert enough to hear whatever went on in his.

“There are any number of problems.” Jason sighed. “But that is not one of them. It was simply a book that slipped out of my hands.”

Mayfield’s gaze shifted from Jason to the volume lying on the floor halfway across the room. The butler picked up the book and placed it on a side table. “Will there be anything else this evening?”

“No.” Jason waved him off.

Mayfield hesitated. Obviously there was something he wished to say. Jason blew a frustrated breath. “What is it, Mayfield?”

“May I speak frankly, my lord?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. Apparently the butler had more on his mind than the investigation of an occasional noise. “Please do.”

Mayfield looked as if he was gathering his words or perhaps his courage. “My lord, I, that is, the staff and I, well, we…” He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Should Lady Lyndhurst be harmed in any way, I shall be forced to trounce you.”

Jason stared at the older man. Mayfield had to be on
the far side of fifty and did not appear overly fit. Jason bit back a grin; his words were measured. “And do you think you would be successful?”

“Not at all, my lord.” A determined note sounded in the butler’s voice. “However, my endeavors would be followed by both footmen, the stable master, the—”

“The cook and the housekeeper as well, no doubt.”

“Should it be necessary, my lord.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but I have no intention of causing any harm to come to Lady Lyndhurst.” He studied the butler for a moment. “Why would you think such a thing?”

Indecision flickered across the butler’s face, then he drew a deep breath. “In the year after your visit, the state of Lord Lyndhurst’s health progressed ever downward. In his final days, it was impossible for him to hold a pen, yet there were still a great number of things he wished to put down in writing.”

“Go on,” Jason said cautiously.

“The letters he left for you and Lady Lyndhurst…”

“He dictated them to you, didn’t he?” Jason said with sudden insight. “Therefore you know exactly what they say.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I would wager each and every member of the blasted staff knows as well.”

“My lord, I would never reveal a confidence.” Mayfield’s voice rose in indignation.

Jason lifted a skeptical brow.

“They may have an inkling, I suppose,” Mayfield murmured.

So the servants knew all about the past he shared
with Rachael and had known since George’s death. He shouldn’t be surprised. If anything, it was unusual that they’d been kept unawares for as long as they had. Still, they were a loyal lot, at least to Rachael if not to him.

“Tell me, Mayfield, is Lady Lyndhurst’s letter the same as mine?”

“It has been rather a long time, my lord.” Mayfield drew his brows together in thought. “If memory serves, much of what is revealed in Lady Lyndhurst’s letter was already known to you. While the letters are similar in tone, no, my lord, they are not identical.”

“I see.” Of course, George’s letter to Rachael would be as much a confession as anything else. While the one his cousin wrote to him was more in the nature of an apology with a deep and sincere note of regret. “Well, Mayfield, since you apparently know all there is to know, perhaps you can tell me what it is I should do now.”

“Do now, my lord?”

“Come, come, Mayfield.” Jason folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the mantel. “I’ve known you since I was a boy. You’ve always been able to come up with a decent piece of advice or two when the occasion called for it.”

“I would not presume—”

Jason snorted.

“Very well, sir.” Mayfield stared down his nose and considered Jason. “I would advise you to heed the counsel of Lord Lyndhurst.”

“What counsel?”

“The advice contained in his letter.”

“Mayfield, I have read that letter at least a dozen times.”

“Read it again, my lord.”

Jason stared at him and couldn’t resist a smile. “You always have enjoyed making me work for what I wanted, haven’t you, Mayfield?”

The butler’s expression was impassive, but a twinkle lurked in his eye. “Yes, my lord.”

Jason laughed and bid him good night. The butler nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Jason surveyed the room. Where would the servants who had unpacked his bags have put George’s letters and the various other documents he’d had in his valise? He moved to the secretary, pulled open the center drawer, and found his papers all neatly stacked. He sifted through them until he located the letter, then returned to his chair and sank into it.

There really was no need to read it yet again. He very nearly knew it by heart. Still, if Mayfield said there was advice contained in the missive, then, by God, there was indeed advice. He scanned the single sheet. There was nothing…

His gaze caught on the lines he’d paid scant attention to before now.

Do not allow the actions of others that have heretofore shaped your lives determine what is yet to come. Do not allow the mistakes of the past to eclipse the promise of the future. And do not allow Rachael’s memories to color what is here and now
.

He stared at the passage for a long time. Mayfield was right. George had indeed left words of wisdom for him to follow. The only question now was, how on
earth was he expected to keep the past from eclipsing the future?

He leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared unseeing at the shadows on the ceiling cast by the flickering of candlelight and the fire in the hearth.

What was done could never be undone. He could not vanquish Rachael’s memories. Not of one night at a single ball or anything that followed. He could not wave his hand and magically make the pain of the past vanish as if it had never existed. And as long as that long-ago yesterday overshadowed today, she’d never be able to put it behind her. She’d never be able to admit, and then accept, her love for him.

No—he heaved a resigned sigh—there was nothing he could do to change the past.

But…He narrowed his eyes with the glimmering of a vague notion, a far-fetched idea nudging the back of his mind. Still, it was no more absurd than ensuring the unavailability of every respectable hotel room in the city. At this point he certainly had nothing to lose.

If he couldn’t erase the memories of the past, perhaps he could replace them.

Nine

I
F SHE REALLY
wanted time, he certainly was giving it to her. Far and away entirely too much. It was at once a blessing and a curse.

Restlessly Rachael prowled her bedchamber, discarding the idea of sleep. It was as futile an attempt tonight as it had been every other night since Jason had come back into her life, although she’d scarcely seen him at all in the four days he’d stayed in the house. Or rather, she’d seen him, she simply hadn’t had the chance to speak to him privately.