Wayward One (30 page)

Her lips tasted like salt. Tears. She’d lost control. Of everything.

She took a deep breath, trying to rewrap herself in what she knew. It was difficult when he’d stripped her soul bare.

She couldn’t bear to be owned. Nor to own another. Such a huge responsibility was more than she could handle, and there were no guidebooks written for the task. Nothing she could consult. No rules.

Just them. Together. For an eternity that would stretch beyond the world crumbling around them.

She couldn’t do it.

She wiped her cheeks furtively. Such tears were only a sign of her weakness.

He’d felt her. He pulled back, then replaced her hand with his own. His thumb stroked over her cheek, taking away the tears. Or spreading them wider.

“What’s this?” he whispered. For such a hard man, he could become so open around her. Without shields. It wasn’t safe to walk through the world like that. Who knew what dangers abounded.

For a long-spun minute, they stared at each other. At their hips, they were still joined. Moisture seeped from her, marking him. His and hers. More togetherness.

Maybe. Maybe she could reach out and take hold of everything he offered. The recklessness wouldn’t matter if it were only them together. If she always hungered for him, if he truly loved her, he’d be there to sate her.

The door to the parlor swung open abruptly.

Victoria squeaked and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t— That is, I was looking—”

Sera jerked her leg off Fletcher’s hip, then yanked her skirt down. Fletcher didn’t move away from her. He couldn’t. His pants were open, and he still sported a state of dishabille that wasn’t easily repaired.

A shocking, violent rush of jealousy overtook her vision with red, that Fletcher might be seen half dressed, even by her best friend.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Victoria said again. She left and swung the door shut, her glimmering eyes and half-hidden smile promising she’d be after details. Details Sera could never give. What happened between her and Fletcher thrived in privacy and darkness.

Normally.

Slick wetness pooled in her bloomers. She passed hands over her bodice and her slamming heart. Her dress was quickly neatened, but not the rest of her. If her limbs had been loose from climax a moment ago, now they were positively shaking from fear.

Fletcher’s head was bent as he put himself to rights. He tucked his shirt into his waistband, then buttoned his trousers. He’d never taken off his jacket, so all he had to do was slip the buttons.

She’d thought to see the same raging embarrassment writ on his features. They’d been caught having relations in her friend’s house. A duchess’s house, for that matter. Relations was hardly the word.

This had borne no resemblance to their late-night visits. This had been sex. To drag forth a word from long ago,
fucking
—but for his terrifying declaration.

They’d been caught. Outside every possible bound of good society. Not just breaking the rules, but flaunting them. Only the most depraved couldn’t withstand their urges to the point that they must indulge in another’s house. It had taken years, but she’d finally proved herself as the charity case unworthy of her largess.

To be caught nearly in the act made it worse.

But no embarrassment colored his cheeks. No humiliation contracted his features.

In fact… She dipped her knees, the better to see his lowered head.

He was holding back a smile. His eyes twinkled.

Bloody twinkled.

While she was more humiliated than she’d ever been in her life. Mortification turned her cheeks cold and locked her neck into a vise.

And he was on the verge of laughing.

He lifted his eyes, looking up at her from under his heavy brow. “I know you’ll be mad,” he choked, “but I can’t help it.”

Her hands curled into fists with her fury. She pushed it down, pushed it away. Quick motions shook her skirts into place. She walked to the door—slow, careful steps, as the evidence of their wickedness made itself known with a slickness across the tops of her thighs.

He stepped up behind her then curled his big hands around her upper arms. He bent over her shoulder, decorating the top with light kisses. “Don’t be mad. The look on your face…”

That he’d found her humiliation and terror amusing did nothing to ease the steely length of her spine. Even her corset had nothing on keeping her back rigid. She vibrated within herself.

She held up a hand. “Stop.” Her voice was cold. “Not now. Not here.”

She wouldn’t compound her sins with beginning an argument. She wasn’t sure if she knew how to begin to describe her upset.

It wasn’t him, so much as what he tempted her into doing. Into being.

Violations piled on temptations and poured over wickedness.

How would Victoria ever be able to step foot in this room again? For God’s sake, how would her friend ever look at
her
? All because Sera had been absolutely unable to say no to Fletcher.

He would always have that power over her.

If anything, it would only get worse. To take the last few weeks as indication, she only became weaker around him. Weaker
to
him.

Sera floated through the rest of the evening in a haze, though it was mercifully short. They made their farewells to first the hostess, then Victoria and Lottie. Victoria grinned at her. Confusion washed over Lottie’s face as she looked between them all. Lord Linsley and his wife waved from across the room as Sera and Fletcher waited for the carriage to be brought around.

Through it all, Fletcher never lost his happy attitude.

His shoulders were thrown back, and a smile lurked at his mouth. Smug satisfaction of a job well done lifted the angle of his chin.

The bloody, goddamned bastard.

Despite spending the entire ride home trying to think of epithets, Sera couldn’t think of any more. Her education was sorely lacking in that realm.

When the carriage bumped to a halt at the curb, Fletcher leapt out and held his hand out for her. She couldn’t stand to take hold of his fingers, not when one look recalled how unyieldingly he’d gripped her less than an hour ago. She descended unaided.

A tight frown crossed his mouth but was shaken off by the time they stepped in the house side by side.

Hareton stood ready to wait on them. Fletcher assisted her with taking off her cloak, grazing her bare shoulders. She was fairly sure it was a deliberate provocation.

The man was a provocation to her just by breathing. Seeing his big chest lift against the finely cut waistcoat and jacket only made her think of the powerful muscles underneath. The same ones she’d explored in the dark.

She walked away up the stairs without waiting for him. She couldn’t even begin to know what to say anyway.

So much tumbled inside her. She could hardly pick through the threads long enough to make sense of any of it. A tangled, snaggled ball of embroidery thread had taken her body. The bloody red of the lust she shared with Fletcher. The cold blue of her fear. The pink of her humiliation. All of it swirled hopelessly together. Atop it all was a thick layer of ice, keeping her numb.

Sera’s room was empty. A fire crackled in the grate. Her nightdress and gown draped over a clotheshorse next to her dressing table. Mary was likely downstairs, nodding off on a kitchen stool, waiting to be called. There was no way Sera would yank the bellpull.

The silence in the room already crashed against her ears.

It only got worse when she clicked the lock on the doorknob.

Her feet shushed over the thick carpet across the room. The snick as she locked the door to Fletcher’s adjoining room sounded as loud as cannon fire.

She should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.

She barely had time to strip free of her bodice. The buttons marching up her back made it difficult to wrench free without assistance, but she managed. It cost the lives of a few pearls, but in her current mood she couldn’t care. Let Fletcher absorb the expense.

He certainly seemed ready to absorb everything else. He didn’t
care
about anything. How could she believe his declaration of love when he seemed to thrive on insouciance for every other social stricture?

She pushed the dress down to a puddle, then untied her bustle. It dropped to the floor to pile with the silk in a brace of wood and padding. Her petticoats had just fallen in a fluff of useless cloth when a quiet click alerted her to the door she shared with Fletcher.

She turned and looked at it. The knob wiggled, then paused. Wiggled again as he was obviously confronted with the locked door. She could imagine his confusion. She’d never thought about locking that door before.

He knocked.

She didn’t answer as she shoved her arms into her dressing gown. Though he couldn’t see her, she felt exposed in her current state of undress.

He knocked again. She pulled the sash tight enough that it bit into her waist.

His voice came through the door, low and harsh. “Open this right now, Sera.”

She gulped. “No.”

A long pause spun out. “Sera, please. I’m sorry I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it.”

If he thought that was the extent of her problem, he had no idea. But then she could hardly fault him when she could barely untangle the mess of her own thoughts.

“Please open it,” he said.

She couldn’t stand to hear him beg. She was across the room, brass latch twisting under her cold fingers, before she could think it through.

That was always her problem with him. No more.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Once the door swung open under his hand, Fletcher couldn’t seem to make himself step through. He wrapped one hand around the cool wood of the doorjamb.

Though she’d already undressed from her evening fineries, Sera looked as beautiful as ever. A purple robe skimmed over her curves. Her hair was parted down the center and arranged in the style her maid had created earlier. Only he—and Victoria—knew the pink color of her perfectly shaped lips was because of him. Because of the things they’d done together, finally without feeling like he was hiding them both.

How clearly she said that she didn’t want to speak to him, all without once opening her mouth. She’d wrapped her arms over her chest. Graceful fingertips traced the squares of emeralds still at her neck—then dipped to curl around her mother’s locket.

He’d given that gift to her. Held it safe through the years, much like he’d held her safe and protected.

If it took him until the sky fell, he’d make sure she understood that would never stop. He’d protect her and her sweetness with his very soul, if that was what it took.

She turned away, tucking her arms so closely about her middle that her shoulders bowed. He didn’t like seeing her like that, and particularly didn’t like being the one to have caused it. The slightly scandalized, very amused look worn by Sera’s friend had been too much for him to withstand. He’d laughed.

Perhaps he’d have to buy Sera a pretty bauble to apologize. He’d heard of diamonds bought and rubies gifted to appease feminine sensibilities before, though he’d never thought he’d be in the market for such a purpose.

He rather liked the idea.

He made no noise as he walked up behind her, but the line of her neck curved further anyway. Though some women would show the effects of being packed in an overcrowded ballroom for hours, Sera still smelled mostly like her flowers and a little bit like him. Like she’d floated above it all, except for her time with him.

Curling around her from behind was easy. Aligning his arms with hers when she held them so rigidly was more difficult. He rested his chin on her shoulder. A lock of silken hair brushed his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“In the morning, I’m going to Victoria’s house.”

He smiled against the tender skin under her ear. “That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me your every coming and going. You’re a grown woman.”

The way she refused to look at him began to send trickles of worry all the way down to the soles of his feet. She pushed free of his arms. “No. I mean I’m staying there.”

“For a visit?” He didn’t want to understand, but a niggle worried at his brain. The most base part that often warned him of danger in dark alleys. “Why bother, if you’re both simply in London? Or is she going to the country for a while?”

Strain marked a white circle around her mouth. “I can’t be around you.”

“Pardon?”

“You…” She drew in a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “I can’t be here anymore.”

“You’re my wife,” he said. He’d earned the right to keep her by that title. To claim her. He’d be damned if that meant easily letting her go.

“I know. I—I think we made a mistake.”

“You what?” Marrying her had been one of the smartest things he’d ever done. He lunged forward, but she jerked back a step. Sweet Christ, that hurt. He held out a hand, palm up. “Sera, I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I know, trust me on that.”