Seven Nights to Forever (31 page)

With her hand on the knob, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood.

“I love you,” she whispered, needing to say it once, to give voice to the all-encompassing force filling her very soul.

She had fallen in love with James.

With a client.

A heart-wrenching moan erupted from her throat, one of purest desolation. She gripped the knob tightly, determined not to crumple to the floor in a heap. Once before she had indulged in that luxury, given in to the anguish, let it consume her, and had vowed never to do so again. Like a sole beacon on a never-ending sea, she clung to that vow. She had broken every other promise she had made to herself, but she would not break that one.

For she didn’t know how long, the sounds of her stuttered breaths echoed in the room, seeming to surround her. Then summoning her strength, she took a deep breath. Let the air fill her lungs, let it out on a long exhale, and then forced her hand to unclench from the brass knob and turned from the door.

Just looking at the sunny yellow bedchamber made those tears well up anew. It suddenly felt wrong to be at his home, pretending as though she and James belonged together. A façade of domestic bliss with a whore.

Being with him was the very definition of dangerous, because it made her yearn for even more. For the husband she had dreamed of as a girl. Then there had only been vague notions, but this was what she had wanted. Dreamed of. A man who would look on her with kindness. Who would take her in his arms and hold her close, as though he never wanted to be parted from her.

And it could never be.

How she wished it could, though. Her soul begged for him, needed him. Needed to be able to just be near him.

But their time together could never go any further than this. Nights behind closed doors and a few stolen days far removed from prying eyes. She had known it since the moment she’d laid eyes on James, but she had made her choice all those years ago. Had chosen Dash, chosen her responsibilities, over the mere possibility of this, and she could not take it back now simply because her heart refused to heed all logic.

She should not have agreed to come to the country with him.

Should not have given herself a glimpse of what she could never have. Hell, she should have let him leave on their second night together. Let him walk out the door never to return, sparing her this agony that would be with her always.

But if nothing else, she had learned her lesson well and would be sure to never repeat her mistake again.

Her gaze focused on the clock on the bedside table. Noon had not come and gone yet. She knew what must be done, and she needed to do it now.

JAMES’S
attention strayed once again from the report on his desk to the empty leather couch. Perhaps he would join Rose. The thought was tempting indeed. Just knowing she was in bed, alone, kept his mind from the latest delivery from Decker.

He tapped the end of his pen on the desk. He certainly wouldn’t get much more accomplished sitting here. The idea of lazing away the afternoon in bed had taken root and refused to be pushed aside. Rose’s soft bare skin pressed against his, lingering over every kiss, every touch. And he wouldn’t make an arse of himself this time.

If she truly wanted to rest, if she hadn’t simply been bored by keeping him company—and he wouldn’t blame her, he’d be the first to admit he wasn’t the height of excitement when he was tucked behind his desk—well, then he would keep his hands and his mouth to himself. As it was, they had already indulged once today. Right here, in fact. Her beautiful backside had been perched on the edge of the desk, legs spread wide enough to accommodate his shoulders. He swirled his tongue around his mouth, still able to taste her. Even the rich coffee hadn’t been able to wipe away the memory of the distinctive sweetness of her body.

Thick and lush, arousal wound its way into his veins. He had her not two hours ago and already wanted more. Would he ever get enough of her?

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head.

No, he didn’t believe he would ever have enough of Rose.

He slipped his pen in the silver pen holder beside the inkwell. The report be damned. It wasn’t often the opportunity presented itself to spend an afternoon in bed with a woman. Surely no one would blame him for not letting it slip by. In any case, the small pile of papers on his right was proof he had succeeded in getting something accomplished that morning . . . something other than giving Rose an orgasm, that was.

Hands braced on the desk, he was just about to stand when a knock sounded on the door.

No. She had gone upstairs not a half hour ago. His lips quirked at how quickly his mind had jumped to her and the accompanying little surge of excitement. Just the possibility of seeing her made him happy in a way he had never felt before. He was a man well and truly smitten, and he found the state quite suited him.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened to reveal Mrs. Webb. Her somber expression, the gravity in her hazel eyes, took him aback.

“Is something amiss?” he asked.

She nodded once, a slow reluctant bob of her gray head. “Mr. Archer, your guest is departing.”

He could not have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

“Miss Rose. She is departing.”

As if to give credence to her words, the clop of hooves and the crunch of wheels on gravel passed by his study window, the unmistakable sound of his carriage being called to the front door.

His eyes flared as his stomach dropped. Mind flooded with shock, he bolted up from his desk. Mrs. Webb stepped aside just in time so he did not need to slacken his stride as he rushed through the doorway.

The sight of Rose in the small entrance hall brought him to an abrupt stop.

Dark cloak about her shoulders, she was tugging on her gloves. Mr. Webb picked up the trunk at her feet and took it outside.

The front door snapped shut, jarring him from the numbing blanket of shock.

“Where are you going?” The answer was obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask “Why are you leaving?”—it would make it too much of a reality.

She went still, one hand poised above the back of the other, fingertips gripping the edge of a black leather glove. Her profile revealed nothing. Eyes downcast, the fan of her lashes brushed her cheekbones. “I think it best I return to London.” Her voice was low, the words measured and careful.

The prevailing question in his mind popped out. “Why?”

Her gaze darted about the entrance hall, pausing just over his shoulder before returning once again to her glove. One quick tug righted the glove and then she clasped her hands before her. “You said I could leave whenever I wished,” she said, looking not at him but at the front door. “I wish to return to London now.”

Confusion seized his brain. Had he done something wrong? They had had such a wonderful morning. He thought for certain she was enjoying herself. Three long strides brought him to her side. “Will you at least do me the courtesy of explaining why?”

She pierced him with the saddest of eyes. “I need to leave,” she whispered, pleading with him, her voice cracking.

His first instinct was to reach out, take her in his arms, hold her close. But she was so damn brittle she appeared on the verge of breaking. As if one touch would shatter her.

Something had clearly upset her. What, though, he hadn’t a clue and he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of her while they were in the entrance hall with Mrs. Webb hovering down the corridor.

“All right,” he said, even though every fiber of his being rebelled at the notion. Wanted to hold on tight to her and never let her go. But he had given her his word and couldn’t very well refuse her request.

She flicked up the hood of her cloak. The hesitation before she placed her hand on his proffered arm cut to the quick. The team of four stood waiting just beyond the door. Their chestnut backs were already being to dampen, their leather harnesses glistening from the light misty rain. He helped her inside the carriage and then followed, taking a seat on the opposite bench. He rapped on the ceiling and with a jangle of harness, the carriage departed.

“Why do you need to leave?”

She shook her bowed head. It couldn’t be much beyond noon, yet the gray skies cast the interior of the carriage in twilight darkness, leaving him unable to discern her features from within the dark shadow of her hood. He wanted to flip the darn thing back, not let her hide. But it felt like it would be too much of an invasion of privacy.

“Please, stay with me.” It was the only thing he could think to say.

Her grip tightened on her clasped hands, so tight he was certain her knuckles had gone white under her gloves. “I can’t.”

“Why? Rose, I don’t understand. Was it something I said? Something I did wrong? If it was, please tell me and it will never happen again. I assure you I did not mean to give you cause to leave. I want you to stay. I . . .” Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “I’ve never been so happy in all of my life than when I am with you,” he admitted. “This holiday, our time together, is very important to me. Please don’t cut it short. Don’t leave me now. I’m not prepared for it.”

The carriage turned left onto the road that bordered his property, taking them farther away from Honey House and closer to London with each passing second. He did not even want to think about having to let her go. Ever. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t aware only two days remained of their holiday. He could damn well count and they had left London five days ago. Still, when he was with her, when they were together, the concept of it ending was not one that even nudged his mind.

Now she was making him face it. Head-on, with no opportunity to turn away and ignore it. The thought of not having her in his life hurt horribly. Returning to London, not being with her, not waking with her in his arms . . . he didn’t know how he could return to his life. How could he face a woman who loathed the very notion of him after he had been with Rose?

A harsh wince crossed his face as he flinched against a sharp knife of pain. He wanted to drop to his knees, plead with Rose. Offer her everything he had if that was what it would take to gain her agreement to stay with him for two more days, to prolong the inevitable. But he had given his word to see her back to that house on Curzon Street whenever she wished. Pushing her too hard, forcing her hand, would be akin to a betrayal of her trust. Remaining silent, however, wasn’t an option. He had to fight for her to stay.

“Please, Rose, just two more days.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught the passing trees along the side of the road. The team of four was moving at a nice clip. With each rhythmic stride, a tiny bit of hope died. Each bit withering away, providing space for that once familiar hollow emptiness to fill his chest.

Rose remained silent and still. She was past the point of slipping through his fingers. She was gone. Had made the decision to leave him the moment she’d requested the carriage without informing him, thus refusing to even take him up on his original offer to see her back to London.

Desperation clogged his throat, but he somehow managed to voice one more “Please.” He dared to reach out, to cover her hands with one of his. A tremble racked her body, the tremor radiating up his arm, squeezing his heart. Her breath caught, a faint little sound, but one he heard as if she had shouted.

And then she nodded.

He blinked. “You will stay?”

Another silent nod.

“Thank you,” he said, as the purest, sweetest relief washed over him, sagging his shoulders. At his rap on the ceiling, the carriage slowed to a stop and he gave the driver the order to return to the house. Then he shifted to sit beside her. Hand shaking, he pulled back the hood.

Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Her lashes were wet and spiky, glistening like black satin. He read the hurt in every tight line of her body. In the rigid set of her shoulders, in the compressed line of her lips, in her eyes clamped shut. And the sight nearly broke him.

Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her onto his lap, needing to offer whatever comfort he could. Chin tucked down, she looped her arms about his neck and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Rose, will you tell me why you wanted to leave?” he asked gently and with a fair amount of hesitation. He had gained her assent to stay and didn’t want to risk losing it, yet he needed to know.

He felt her small hand curl into a fist against his nape. “I love you, but it hurts, James,” she whispered against his chest. “Because I know I will never be a woman whom you can be proud of. That it makes you uncomfortable when your sister even mentions my name. I can’t fault you for it, because it’s what I am. Unfit for polite company. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish it was otherwise.”

The letter from Rebecca had pushed her to leave him? His mind refused to wrap itself around how that had led them to this point. He was aware she had explained it, but the jumps in logic were simply too large to—

His heart skipped a beat. “Did you say you love me?”

“Yes. I told myself I wouldn’t. Promised myself. But how could I not love you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, bowed his head over hers. “Say it again,” he pleaded desperately, his heart and soul hanging on her next words.

He felt her shift within his arms. Soft lips brushed his jaw.

“I love you.”

Clinging tightly to her, he struggled to regain his composure. Hell, he was the one who was supposed to be comforting her. But he had given up hope so long ago of ever hearing those words from a woman.

Rebecca loved him and told him as much often enough. But this was so
very
different.

“James?” Rose asked, concern clear in her voice.

“It’s all right,” he murmured hoarsely. He took a deep breath, swallowed hard to clear the constriction in his throat, and then opened his eyes. “It’s just that it feels very good to be loved.”