Chapter Nineteen
His mouth crashed down on hers, the strength of his body bearing them backwards to the wall.
She came up hard against him and her better judgement.
The last thing she ought to do was make love while she was angry.
But her hands were tearing at his cravat just as his were shoving her skirts up in great handfuls of silk and lace, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was angry or who she was angry at.
Him because he’d said the words, or her because she believed them.
Or because she was too scared to believe them.
Far better to believe the worst of him or to believe that sticking to the plan was the only chance they had for true happiness.
She made a fist and pounded at his chest, biting out words between rough kisses. ‘How. Dare. You. Say. You. Love. Me. Not now when we are so close to the end, when we can have everything we wanted. You are changing the rules.’
‘How dare you not believe me,’ Alistair growled, hips grinding against her, his mouth hot at her neck, his hand busy between their legs with his clothing.
Her own core was sweating for him, wanting him to hurry in the hopes that sex could outpace anger, that there might be some clarity in the climax that most assuredly waited them.
‘How dare you—’ She gasped the last of her resistance for form’s sake.
She no longer knew what she accused him of, everything, nothing.
Of loving her, not loving her, of using her body to vent his frustrations, of changing a plan that might have been flawed from the start…
She felt fabric shift, his straining member free at last. She hitched a leg about his hip, her breathing ragged and rapid.
He lifted her to him, spearing her with a swift, glorious assault, obliterating in its roughness.
This was a fierce meeting of bodies, punishing and purging in its intensity.
Climax came rapid and raging. She was a rag doll in the aftermath, too grateful for the support of his body, the strength of his arms. It was a mystery how he managed it.
His own breathing came in jagged shards, and there was sweat on his brow.
She’d brought him to this just as he’d brought her, and there was guilt aplenty for the both of them.
If he was ashamed of his behaviours, she was ashamed of hers.
Mostly, she was ashamed of having brought him to this point where he hated himself because of her.
And yet his remorse tonight was all the proof she needed that she was right.
She could not make him happy, not in the sense of a forever happiness.
Why couldn’t he see that? He was unhappy even now because she’d demanded it of him.
It had nothing to do with the ruse. The ruse was simply to persuade her parents she and Alistair were unsuited to life together.
There were many ways that might have been accomplished, but for her sake, he’d chosen a way that would spare her the burden of social scrutiny by taking all the blame himself.
‘What are you thinking, Iz?’ His voice was a hoarse rasp at her ear as he set her down far more gently than he’d picked her up.
She found her feet. ‘I was thinking just how truly bad we are for each other. Just look at us, fighting and rutting like stags in mating season. It’s best that we shall be done with this soon.
We’d tear each other apart if it went on much longer.
’ She tried for a smile, for a laugh, and failed at both.
Alistair’s eyes were desire-dark. ‘I think we’ve already done that.’ There was hurt in his gaze. She’d once thought it was impossible to hurt him. Perhaps that was her fault, too. In a few months he’d look back and realise what a narrow escape he’d had—that they’d both had.
He stepped back from her, slowly tucking in his shirt and adjusting his trousers, his gaze tortured with pain and with hope—hope that she’d change her mind as he’d changed his.
‘Is that what you truly want? I am yours to command.’ Eleven words that held her future, their future, and meant so much more.
What do you want me to do tomorrow? If there is an ounce of redemption left for me with your father or if you truly want the engagement broken, my actions tomorrow at the horse race must signal those intentions.
Am I to be redeemable, or I am a reprobate beyond resurrection?
She smoothed the lace overnet of her gown, hoping it would hide the rumpled silk beneath, buying herself time.
He was asking her to decide the impossible: the fate of another—more than that, the fate of someone she cared for, and he was hoping she’d choose him.
Her conscience rallied. Do not be weak. Do not stray from the plan.
Do not be clouded by angry sex against a wall and words he said but did not justify when you challenged him.
She drew a shaky breath. Eddington had given guests a tour of the stable earlier in the evening, keen on showing off his entry for the race tomorrow, a mare named Black Diamond’s Promise.
The horse was a long shot, an attractive, black, unproven Napoletano who was not perceived to be the equal of the field and certainly not the equal of Lord Danton’s regal chestnut thoroughbred from England, Lorenzo.
‘Place a large bet on Eddington’s horse, Black Diamond’s Promise,’ she said softly, hoping to ease his pain with her tone, even if her words could not. His beautiful eyes shuttered. She’d sealed their fate, taken his hope.
‘I’d already planned to,’ he said matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t just asked her to contemplate a life together and she’d refused.
She cleared her throat trying to match his sang-froid. ‘Will you come back to the party with me?’
‘No. I think I will walk home. Tell your parents I’ve gone on ahead.’
Alarm knifed through her. ‘Walk? In the dark? Are you insane? The streets are not safe this time of night, and you will stand out as a worthy target.’ She meant his clothes, the sapphire ring that glinted back on his finger and the fact that he was alone. It wouldn’t take much to outnumber him.
‘I will be fine. If I feel unsafe, I will hail a cab.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘But I would feel better if you took at least some of the money from tonight’s winnings. There’s something I mean to do with the rest of it.’
She studied him for a long moment and gave a little nod.
Did he really think she didn’t know him well enough to guess?
‘You’re giving the money away, aren’t you?
To families in need. You don’t have to do it on the way home in the dark, though, do you?
Can’t this wait until daylight?’ If something happened to him, she’d not forgive herself.
He shook his head and made his way to the door. ‘I don’t think I have that kind of time anymore.’ He turned. ‘Ismay, don’t wait up for me.’ Ismay. Not Iz.
Damn him. He’d left first and, by doing so, had managed to get the last word. Again. A jade’s trick, in the words of the bard. And he’d made it clear she’d had the last of him, angry and sweating, rutting on a wall. She’d made her bed and now she could lie in it…alone.
And she did. All night until she heard his soft footfalls in the hallway as he passed her door on the way to his own room shortly after the clock struck two and she knew he was home safe.
* * *
The race was to take place shortly after three o’clock on the country roads near Lord Danton’s estate where they’d gone to shoot grouse—an adventure that seemed another lifetime ago to Ismay, although there were similarities between the occasions.
Today, too, the six-mile carriage drive was fraught with tension in close quarters.
Her usually voluble father was taciturn as he sat beside Alistair.
He’d been displeased with Alistair’s behaviour, and with hers, at Eddington’s party.
In Alistair’s absence she’d been the one to hear his lecture on decorum and disappointment when they’d gotten home.
Alistair might as well still be absent for all the attention he’d paid her today, not that she’d given him much chance.
She’d finished eating by the time he’d come down for breakfast, and she’d spent the early part of the day in her room studying her notes on earthquake patterns and the mountain, trying to make heads or tails of the increasing activity on Vesuvius.
‘Who do you favour today for the races?’ her mother said in an attempt to break the conversationally chilly confines of the carriage, but even her question sounded strained, as if politeness was something she had to reach for.
It was a sign of how far things had deteriorated in her family’s regard for Alistair, a man they’d once been excited to receive.
Guilt poked at her—no, it stabbed at her.
She’d not meant to ruin a good man, and yet that was the cost of their ruse.
Ismay, you never did know when to stop.
Alistair offered her mother a smile, but it lacked his usual warmth. ‘I plan to wager heavily on Black Diamond’s Promise.’
Her father gave a snort. ‘That’s money already lost. You’d do better to wager on Lorenzo.
He’s the favourite, and there’s a reason for that.
He’s a tall, leggy runner. He’ll eat up the ground.
The odds on Black Diamond’s Promise are twelve to one, the highest in the field.
Even Danton’s green gelding, Phaeton, would be a better choice. ’
Alistair gave her father a nod of consideration. ‘Respectfully, sir, I like the looks of Black Diamond’s Promise. She’s hardy. Sturdy.’
Her father lifted a shoulder. ‘Not even Eddington thinks she’ll win. He’s just coming for the attention and to help Danton round out the field. She’s pretty, but that’s all.’
Ismay bristled, her nerves already on edge, her feelings raw and exposed after a sleepless night. ‘Surely being pretty isn’t a reason to disqualify her. Pretty women can be intelligent and strong, too.’