Chapter 15
T hroughout the evening’s performance, Opal and her brother, Lord Linley, remained involved in a tense row.
Strathearn knew so because he’d positioned himself strategically so that while he engaged the guest beside him in conversation, he could freely observe the pair.
It’s also how he’d discovered Opal’s seat vacant. Something had befallen her. Something Lord Linley was aware of, something that’d left Opal’s eyes and features ravaged before she left.
He’d scoured his household. He’d paid a visit to each spot he knew Opal favored—or in the case of the flower room, cherished, and he hadn’t turned up so much as a trace of her.
Why, panic eventually sent Strathearn streaming above stairs to her guest rooms, those chambers he’d discovered years earlier were her favorite. There, he’d found only her maid as annoyed at being interrupted packing Opal’s garments as she’d been suspicious of his appearance—which she rightly should be.
Strathearn had no place seeking Opal out and certainly deserved to be called out for visiting her chambers. He hadn’t given two shites.
His search of the household complete, Strathearn stood in the middle of Grand Hall. With his hands on his hips, he did a slow, restless circle on the Bianco Carrara marble tiled floor.
It was as though she’d simply vanished into thin air.
Strathearn seethed.
What if the bastard rejected Opal? Impossible. But then, the only thing England was known for other than fog, rain, and tea, was doltish noblemen.
He’d kill the blackguard who’d been responsible for her sadness throughout the recital, resurrect the scoundrel, and murder him all over again for wounding her.
Or what if it wasn’t that the fellow rebuffed Opal’s affections, but that Opal’s brother didn’t approve of the match? That idea took root and froze Strathearn in his tracks. Lord Linley hadn’t ever had a problem with Grimoire—who could? But did he know the identity of Opal’s sweetheart and took issue with the gentleman? He frowned. That would certainly explain the uncharacteristic enmity between the sib—
“Ahem.”
Cursing, he spun and faced his loyal butler, Mr. Burrell.
“Burrell,” he greeted, his neck hot.
The tall servant inclined his head. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
“No apologies necessary.” I was just lost in thought about a stunning minx who I have absolutely no business lusting for or chasing after. “Is there something I might help you with, Burrell?” he managed to calmly ask, even as his gaze did an impatient sweep of the foyer.”
“I hope I’ve not offended you, Your Grace, but I took the liberty of giving the stable hands the evening off.”
Befuddled, Strathearn just looked at his servant. Burrell had started out in the Renwick household when Strathearn was but a young man. With two decades in of service, Strathearn had more of a relationship with him than anything he’d ever had with the late duke. The last details Burrell came to him with were staff assignments.
“I trust your judgment comp—”
“Though Mr. Boucher intended to remain working, I insisted he too might retire for the night.” Burrell held Strathearn’s gaze, and nodded pointedly.
What in hell was the man on about?
“Uh- thank …you, Burrell?”
Strathearn made to head back from the route he’d traveled and conduct a second search of places Opal always sought in his household. He’d likely failed to cross paths with the lady and—
“Lady Glain has certainly done a most exceptional job with the house party, would you not say, Your Grace?”
“Indeed.” This time, Strathearn had to fight harder to tamp down his impatience. “I—”
“If you were perchance in need of a reprieve from the evening’s festivities, the stables, quiet as they are for the evening, might be just the place you’d go to find that…uh, rest, Your Grace.” Burrell held his stare.
Strathearn stilled as the servant’s meaning became clear.
Catching the distinguished fellow by the shoulders he planted a loud kiss on the cheek. “I don’t pay you enough, Burrell.”
Burrell, more like an older brother than a servant to Strathearn, snorted. “You pay me ungodly sums, Your Grace,” he called out as Strathearn raced outside.
He didn’t look back. “I owe you a raise, Burrell.”
“You provided one during the Christmastide Season, Your Grace.”
“Yes, overdue, entirely.”
Laughing, Burrell brought the doors shut.
A short while later, Strathearn quietly entered the vacant stable. His brief moment of levity with Burrell faded. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he peered about. Amidst the occasional whinny of his prized horses and the crunch of hay while they stomped about their stalls, Strathearn heard it—a faint, but distinctive, sniffle.
Dread twisted at his stomach muscles.
Then, he found her. The sight of her proud, regal shoulders slumped and the slight shake that occasionally rocked them hit him like a fist to the gut.
Standing here a helpless, silent observer while she silently wept alone in his stables, Strathearn realized how wrong he’d been.
He’d thought there couldn’t be a thing more miserable than watching Opal marry some undeserving cur.
This though? Seeing the effervescent, enchanting, Opal Carmichael hurting and defeated wrecked him. A tight knot of grief cinched about his throat.
Funny, he had a wealth of experience at affecting the role of carefree rogue, but in this instant, with this woman, Strathearn fought to come up with a suitable—with any hint—of easy charm.
In the end, he realized how wrong it was for him to stand as a voyeur to her sorrow. She deserved more than that.
“I wondered where you’d gone,” he said quietly.
Opal’s slim, narrow back went proudly erect.
Discreetly, she rubbed her tear-stained face upon the smooth cheek of his beloved stallion, Zephyr. “Did you?” she asked, guarded as he’d never heard her.
Strathearn’s heart cracked.
With a relaxedness he didn’t feel, he joined her at the stall. Together they studied the majestic black stallion in silence. Strathearn fished a handkerchief from his jacket and offered it over.
Wordlessly—and reluctantly—his proud Opal accepted the embroidered cloth. To preserve her pride, he made a show of stroking Zephyr’s neck, while Opal wiped away the evidence of her sorrow.
At his side, Opal froze. “She was all things good,” she whispered.
Askance, he faced her.
Opal’s gaze remained directed upon Zephyr.
“As kind and gentle as a spring breeze, you said. You named Zephyr in honor of your mother.”
“I did.”
Her lips drew gently up at the corners, and it was everything he could do to keep from kissing that very mouth he wickedly hungered for. But even more than that? He wanted to keep seeing her radiant smile.
Opal rested her cheek on the top of the railing. “You have a way of making me feel like I’m the only person in the world you share secrets with.”
“You are,” he confessed before he could call the admission back.
Opal’s lips parted in that surprised little way of hers and Strathearn gave thanks for the dark quarters that—hopefully—hid his flushed cheeks.
While he revealed little to nothing about himself to anyone, speaking openly with Opal came somehow naturally. Hell, he’d even withheld painful parts of his past from Grimoire—his sole friend in the world.
“It just feels natural speaking with you,” he said quietly. That raw admission only served to remind Strathearn the same couldn’t be said about Opal—at least, not this time in their relationship.
He slid Opal another glance. “Given all this talk of openly communicating with one another…”
Opal’s expression became wary. “Yes.”
“I believe you promised to share something with me this evening.”
Now, he’d discover the man whom she’d given her heart and self to, and the moment Strathearn did, he’d have to contend with a harsh, inescapable reality.
And try to not kill whichever charming house guest was responsible for her current state.
I believe you promised to share something with me this evening…
When Locke discovered her here, the despair that’d sent her fleeing the recital vanished, and only ebullient joy remained. His desire to see Opal was so great, he’d abandoned the beguiling Lady Emerald!
When in truth, it hadn’t a thing to do with a desire to see Opal. It’s just he was that determined to discover the identity of her imaginary sweetheart.
If she weren’t about to turn into a blasted watering pot, she’d have laughed.
“That’s why you sought me out?” she whispered, detesting the catch in her voice.
“What…?” Strathearn looked at her with such a dazed confusion she could almost believe his act. “I…?”
Opal hopped off the bottom rung and glared at him. “Are you here on behalf of Abaddon?”
“No!” His affront was too real to be false.
Opal sharpened her gaze on him. “ Glain ?” The betrayal in that brought her voice up an octave.
“No,” he gritted out.
There was a warning there.
To hell with him.
The truth crystallized in her mind.
Dampness collected on her palms. “Flint,” she exhaled.
His blond brows snapped together in a ferocious line.
“Have a care, love,” Locke cautioned. “I’ve been eminently patient, certainly more patient than any gentleman would be at having his honor called into question.” He took sleek, panther- like steps toward her. “The one and the only reason I’ve come is because you solicited my help this week and vowed to share your sweetheart’s identity.”
Her trust in this man outweighed any and all unease; it’s why her breath caught and her belly pooled with warmth and awareness and not dread as he backed her against the wood stall, and took her lightly by the arm.
Furious with herself for responding to his slightest touch, and to keep from drowning with misery, she fed the flames of her anger.
“You may rest assured, Your Grace,” Opal forced her chin up at a defiant angle, “it was always my intention to tell you. You needn’t have given up Lady Emerald’s delightful company.”
Locke’s eyes formed menacing pinpricks. “My God,” he whispered. His fingers suddenly spasmed around her arm.
She seized up. She’d revealed her insupportable jealousy. That coupled with Locke’s indifference of Opal made her want to howl and weep.
He released her like he’d been burned, and with his gaze growing ever blacker, he did a sweep of the stables.
Opal frowned. What had angered h—?
Her silent question went unfinished as he whipped his focus back on her. “You are meeting him,” he snarled like an angry lion.
“Him?” Baffled, she shook her head.
“Don’t lie, Opal. I chose that seat next to Lady Emerald because it afforded me the perfect vantage to observe you throughout the night.”
From the ashes of desolate dreams sprung a well of hope. “Y-You did?” That’s why he’d joined the widow in that particular chair, in that particular row?
“That’s right, ma fee .” His nostrils flared, putting his fury on full-display. “Lest you forget, I’m one of society’s worst rogues—”
“I’ve not forgotten,” she grumbled. As if she could.
“It takes little for a man of my reputation to deduce the reason for your quarrel with Lord Linley.”
Opal twisted her fingers in her skirts and prayed for the stable floor to open and swallow her up.
“You do?” she asked weakly.
Locke bared his gleaming, even, pearl-white, teeth. “Lord Linley, a gentleman of sound judgment knows where your affection lies,”
I’m going to cast up my accounts.
Her eyes slid closed.
Locke, however, remained set on torturing her. “Based on your and Lord Linley’s volatile exchange,” he jibed, “your brother heartily disapproves of the man you’ve gone and fallen in love with.”
“What?” she blurted.
It was her turn for complete and utter confusion.
He scraped a furious stare over her person. “As your brother should,” he hissed. “Given the fact you’ve secreted off to my bloody stables to meet the damned bastard.”
“ That’s the conclusion you reached?”
“What other one is there?” Locke fired back.
Flummoxed, Opal rocked on her heels. My God, what if all this time, Flint was…right? What if the reason for Locke’s concern and anger even now, and his having followed her to the stables in the middle of the night’s festivities, was, in fact, because he actually held some affection for her?
Feeling shy as she’d never been with him or anyone, Opal laid her palms upon his chest.
His rigid pectoral muscles jumped.
In order to carry through with everything that’d brought her to this moment here with Locke, Opal needed to be forthright and honest—in her yearnings…and feelings. Were she to duck and hide this night, he’d never see the woman she’d become—a woman who loved and hungered for him. When this night ended, however Locke felt—or did not feel—about her, she was determined to experience lovemaking with him.
Opal lifted her gaze and spoke without preamble. “I…wanted to be with you tonight.”
Confusion brought his eyebrows together. “At the recital?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to be alone with you.”
His taut brow relaxed. “Ah, you wanted to tell me the name of—”
“I want you,” she said bluntly.
Opal succeeded in stunning him into silence.
His blank expression and the rigidity of his muscular frame caused her to falter.
For him, she could swallow her pride.
Opal took a breath. “I desire you, Locke.”
His eyes flared a fraction. “That’s normal,” he squawked.
A smile tugged at her mouth. “Because all women desire you?”
“Yes.” His brows shot up. “No. But…yes?” he finished so sheepishly-boyish, she fell in love with him all over again. “Opal, I’m terrible. The absolute worst.”
“You aren’t. You are all that is good.”
Locke pounced. “That’s the thing, I’m really not. I’m a bloody rogue. I’ve gambled, drank, and…and…worse.” His voice sank to a whisper. “You are my best friend’s sister-in-law. I’ve done things with you and want to do things with you that mark me thoroughly loathsome.”
How to make this man see he was more than good? He defined honor and goodness and kindness and generosity and compassion. But to tell him as much, to profess her love now, would only scare him away.
Locke believed himself capable of only offering a woman desire. She’d begin with that.
“I enjoy being in your arms, Locke. Does that make me a bad woman?”
“No!”
“And what about the man who’ll soon be my husband.” Reality intruded on her joy and again tears threatened. “Am I sullied and whorish for having experienced pleasure with you?”
Rage contorted his features. “No!” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.
“You’re certain?”
Locke drew her up on tiptoe and brought her body flush with his. “I’m certain that you are a desirable woman who deserves to know pleasure and be pleasured, and any man who’d judge you for your body’s yearnings doesn’t deserve to stand in your shadow let alone have you in name.”
Locke’s eyes darkened; the color deepening as he centered a searing gaze upon her mouth.
Opal’s heart beat faster. He wants to kiss me in the same way I yearn for him to.
A familiar ache stirred between her legs.
“Locke?” she whispered.
His response came strained and guttural. “Hmm?”
Opal traced the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Will you teach me about passion?”
When he answered, Locke sounded like he was strangling. “Teach you about passion?”
She nodded.
Of course, he’d have to be looking at her, and not, say, the ceiling, to have noticed her unspoken confirmation.
“I…” Love you with all I am and all I will ever be . “Trust you,” she settled for. “Aside from you, my brother, and Abaddon, I don’t trust any man, and I, for most obvious reasons, certainly cannot put this request to them .” She forced a smile.
Her attempt at humor landed far from the mark.
To Opal’s ever-lasting mortification and hurt, Locke eyed the exit in that same way he’d done after mistaking her identity at their reunion earlier this week.
He took a step toward the door. She could not let her pride get in the way. Not when, in so doing, she risked leaving his home without not only his love, but the joy of being in his arms. Which also meant, Opal would be left with her virtue intact for the stranger her hateful sire would bind her to.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
His body sagged with such palpable relief it landed like another fist to her heart.
He spoke on a rush. “It is fine. You are young, and of course, have questions about desire and passion and wish to experience both, and you will , Opal, with,” his voice dipped and his tone became sharper, “some good, decent, fellow…”
Opal replaced the step he’d placed between them, with one of her own, and the rest of his assurance went unfinished. “I wasn’t finished, Locke,” she murmured. “You misunderstood the reason for my apology.”
Locke’s guard immediately went up. He eyed her with a healthy dose of wariness. “Oh?”
“I was apologizing for not being clearer.” Before her courage deserted her, she lifted her gaze to his, and finished the rest. “I want you to make love to me.”