War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 (8 page)

“So you’re not hanging out for a convenient mistress?”

“No, I am not.”

She met his dark gaze and could see no falsehood there. Only devastation and a stark attraction she was too honest to deny. She was not desperate enough to take the position of mistress, even if he was to offer it to her.

Mad to even think of it. She was not the type men turned to for that kind of solace. She made her decision. “I will stay.”

“Thank you.”

He thanked her? He could dismiss her for the way she spoke to him. “You really want me to stay as your friend?”

“Would I say anything if I did not?”

A friend. Yes, she could do that. So foolish to imagine anything else. Feeling vaguely idiotic, she scraped back her chair and got to her feet. “I should go about my duties.”

“Must you?” He followed suit, standing with her. “If you are expected, then you must of course go, but I would like to show you something first.”

“Very well.” She tried to lower her voice and her chin, to appear the perfect servant. At least he was paying her, which was more than her parents did. “I do have the time. Although we are still only two in the nursery.”

“When the new maid arrives, I wish you would stay to supervise,” he said. “I have engaged someone, and she will arrive by the end of the summer.”

“That is good news, sir.” It was, because they would be able to spread the duties thin. The two nursemaids could take care of the night duties. The babies were growing up, and they would not require that for much longer.

Perhaps in time, when he married and set up his own nursery, he would want her to stay on to supervise it, if she did a good job.

The notion lanced through her like a physical hurt. She could pretend to everyone else that she did not care, but already this man had crept into a part of her she considered invulnerable. Her heart ached when she thought of leaving this place. Leaving him.

What nonsense! All this was sorrow at leaving the only home she had known and venturing forth into a new place. Her sense of being lost, and the tendency to cling to anyone who was kind to her. He wasn’t kind to her, he wanted a companion. Companions earned more, but she would not bring that up now. That would bring her closer to a step she was determined never to take.

What was it one of the most scandalous old ladies said to her once? Ah yes—
Men don’t look at the mantelpiece when they’re poking the fire.

The import of the shocking words did not strike her until much later, which was probably as well, since the lady said it in public and clearly expected more of a response than the polite nod Ruth afforded her.

The mysteries of the bedroom would remain secrets as far as she was concerned.

Her only concern was for the boys, she told herself firmly. They had gone from being wraiths in her mind, justices to be righted, to living, breathing children. She could no longer deny the place they had found in her heart.

Ruth followed the duke from the cheerful breakfast parlour to the main stairs, and up to the main floor. The duke preferred to breakfast on the ground floor, Mrs. Brindlehurst told Ruth, so that he could go outside if he wished, or even bring outside in, if he caused the long windows that led on to the south terrace to be opened.

They did not go out that way, and used the staircase that wound up from the back of the house, in the hall that contained huge wall paintings, depicting the hall as the Garden of Eden. To describe it as ostentatiously magnificent did not do it justice.

The duke took little notice of the splendour but led the way upstairs. Their feet echoed around the empty space, the only sound in this part of the house. The furniture was sparse, but not covered, as many of the rooms here were, and the floor polished. Every part of the house that was occupied was kept spotless, thanks to Mrs. Brindlehurst’s excellent management with the minimum of staff.

He strode past the entrance to the great enfilade of state rooms, the doors firmly closed on their shrouded grandeur and along the wide corridors of the showy part of the house. They entered a part of the house Ruth had not yet entered, past the second courtyard, and into a part of the building that was obviously older. When she peered into an open door, she caught sight of elaborate plaster friezes bearing traces of paint, in a style long dead. The furniture was more ponderous, the floors highly polished but worn, and of oak.

“I told you my ancestors renovated much of the house. They ripped out the old rooms and reconstructed new ones.” He glanced back at her, slowing only slightly, and then carried on walking. They turned a corner, and he paused before a set of double doors. “Are you ready?” His smile transformed him. When she first met him she had considered him the most handsome man she had ever met, but his smile added an intimacy to that, made him appear less distant, more approachable.

If she were not careful, it could prove her downfall. Then, so could any number of things.

He flung open the door and Ruth lost her breath.

The room was not remarkable by the standards of this house except for one feature. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. They were ranked shelf upon shelf, so high and so numerous Ruth would need to work for many years to read even a quarter of them. Large windows ranked along one wall, shelves in between so the deep recesses served as reading niches. With the curtains drawn, the effect would be of several small rooms, or an enclosed bed space, since each niche was furnished with a seat. A table stood in the centre of the room, with books stacked high.

“You may use this if you wish,” he said.

Without realising it, Ruth had taken several steps inside. She breathed in, the glorious aroma of paper and ink assaulting her nostrils.

“You may wish for a study, when you are doing the nursery accounts or making plans.”

“It’s beautiful.” Her face glowing, she turned to face him.

He glanced around, a wry smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. I like to read too. I trust you won’t mind sharing once in a while? The main library contains most of the valuable books. My father possessed volumes of improving sermons and the like bound in matching calfskin, more for decoration than actually to read. This is where he spent most of his time.”

So that was why the room was open and, as well as the books, the scent of furniture polish lingered. “I cannot possibly impose on you,” she said, because it was polite to do so.

“You said you enjoyed reading. You will be no imposition at all.” He came up behind her, forcing her further into the room. Nearer to temptation.

“Consider it a bonus. You cannot possibly spend all your days in your room or in the nursery wing. The babies sleep much of the time, or so the nursemaid tells me, and your special talents will not come into play for some time yet.”

“Years,” she said absently. Governesses did not generally enter the household for some time after the child’s birth. “But there is plenty to do.” She could not bear it if he sent her away.

“Educate yourself, then. Discover what is here, and what you can use in future times.”

Years?
Had she really said that? Ruth swallowed. How could she imagine she would settle here? She was young, and any wife the duke chose would most likely want her out of the house. Without further children appearing, Ruth’s time here would be limited in any case. Boys generally had tutors. Except tutors cost more. The duke had not seemed particularly parsimonious, except for his insistence on a small staff. She could assume he would be looking for tutors for the boys as time passed.

That still gave her ten years or so. By then she would be nearly forty, safe as far as wives were concerned, more employable. Once she passed the milestone of thirty she could relax into spinsterhood, no threat to anyone.

“This room has a very tranquil atmosphere.” She walked around the central table, heading for the windows. The view was, as it was out of nearly all the windows of the house, breathtaking. Past the gardens stood a carefully constructed view, trees and small pavilions dotted about. “From here it looks like paradise.”

She hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud until the duke came and stood next to her, looking out at the same view. “It looks good close up too. I employ an army of gardeners to keep it up.”

“Why do you not employ more in the house?”

He turned away and leaned against the shelves, folding his arms. “Ah, we come to it, do we? That is your second question of the day. Shall we keep it until tomorrow, or would you like this one on account? Don’t forget that gives me two questions before you may ask another one.”

“I will ask many questions,” she said, a little breathless because he was standing so close to her. “May I only ask one a day?”

“Only one to which I will answer honestly, whatever it costs me.” His eyes gleamed. “That is the one you may insist on. I will answer this in one of two ways, but I will not lie to you in either one. However, if you take this as tomorrow’s question, then I will answer fully.”

He watched her, waiting for her response. His concentration on her gave her the strangest feeling, as if he could see right into her soul.

“I will have this as my next question,” she said.

“Then here it is—I don’t sleep well.”

When she frowned, he laughed, a full, rolling laugh. “You look like my answer is such a disappointment! I should tell you I turn into a monster and the house becomes a labyrinth, should I not? That is the sad truth, Miss Carter.”

Had he noticed her growing sense of attraction for him? Was that why he reverted to the formal name? Ruth could not object. She should be relieved, but only now did she realise how much she missed his familiarity. “Just that?”

He watched her, smiling. “A little more, then. When I can’t sleep, I’m restless. I prefer to wander, rather than to sit in my room and moulder. Here is another secret. In this weather, I tend to sleep as nature intended. Shocking, is it not? When I suffer a sleepless night, I sometimes roam the house in that state.” He moved his face closer to her, so she could feel his breath on her cheek. “So be warned, Ruth. Do not leave your room at night unless you are willing to confront the occasional sight of a naked man.”

What could she say? That deep down, she had a desire to see him like that? Or that he should restrain himself. Why should he, in his own house? It could be sleepwalking, when a person was fully asleep or partly awake.

He was abrupt, unexpectedly kind, then abrupt again, and God help her, his behaviour excited her.

Even now, holding the full truth back, he teased her with the answer, too plain, explaining nothing. She was not used to people treating her that way, being interested enough in her to bother playing with her.

He was disturbed, but not in a dangerous way, at least not dangerous to
her
. How she could be sure she did not know, but she was.

With her heart pounding in her chest, she did not move away. Instead, she did the opposite. Before she could lose her nerve, she touched her lips to his cheek and then pulled away abruptly. She had shocked herself.

Turning hastily, she ran out of the room. The sound of his laughter followed her.

* * * * *

The joke was on Marcus when he woke in the middle of the night and found himself wide awake and restless. He’d turned, grabbing Virginie and hauling her to him, ready for another bout of explosive, mindless coupling.

She wasn’t there. She was never there these days. Instead, his ex-lover was halfway across the country, married to someone else, sharing his bed.

It was only right. What Marcus had shared with Virginie was not love, but lust that grew more desperate as time went on. The more they plunged into the bottomless abyss, the worse it became. Their insatiability for each other had been endless.

They would have ended up killing each other with the strength and frequency of their passion. By the time they worked out what was going on, they could have been dead. They had begun to infect the other people in London, the power of their joining driving those close by to a frenzy of thoughtless insanity.

Nobody could help them because the spark that began their affair had disappeared, replaced by something else, an addiction that only increased the more it was fed. Virginie escaped, and only Marcus was left. Every night he craved her. No, he craved
it
.

He had not realised he’d left his room until he found himself in the corridor that led to the nursery. Everything was quiet. The boys were sleeping through most nights, or so the nursery maid told him.

What the hell was he doing here?

He was going to her. To Ruth.

In her he found peace. When she was close by, his turbulent spirits eased and he could think clearly. He became the person he had once been, so long ago he could hardly remember.

With the spirit of one of the most powerful gods inside him, Marcus had lost himself. For some reason she’d brought him back. With Virginie he was all god, but Ruth made him feel more human, Marcus instead of Mars. He stood, breathing deeply, taking in her essence. He was not close enough to find complete ease. Should he risk it and knock on her door?

She would bolt. Not just from her room, but from the house. He could bear this agony if he stood here for just a moment longer…

A door opened. Riveted, he watched the sliver of light glimmering from a single candle. He didn’t need to see her to know it was her. From the minute she had eliminated the barriers between them, he’d known.

Her shocked gasp rang around the space, but she did not scream, nor did she retreat. She stood, the candle casting a golden glow on her face, making her eyes sparkle in the dark. She said nothing. Her hair fell over one shoulder, fastened into one long, neat, plait. He could use that to bind her to him, to hold her in place while he kissed her senseless. She wore a plain dark wool gown, hastily pulled on so her pure white night rail peeped through the join in the middle.

He stayed where he was, ignoring the urge to take the three strides that lay between them. “I told you,” he said.