Chapter Nineteen
Minutes after her discussion with Islington, Zeph could not recover her ability to navigate a party.
She asked a Ramsey footman to hail Ashley’s groom to take her home.
A young footman opened the door to her and, with thanks to him, she hurried up to her room.
After checking that her little red book was tucked into the far shelving of her bookcase, away from anyone’s notice, she pulled the bell for her maid.
Minutes later, wrapping her quilted blue silk robe around her muslin night rail, Zeph thanked the girl for her services and dismissed her.
She went to sit before her goodly fire to watch the flames dance up and away, like so many of her dreams burned to ashes. Feeling sorry for herself, she mourned that she sat there one more night, once more alone, once more yearning for a man who would not have her.
Yet she knew in her soul he loved her.
He loved her.
In a moment, she shot to her feet. She had been denied, refused, rejected by others. Even her own father had not always honored her.
But she had survived. Prospered. Even after the brutality of the two guards in the Conciergerie.
Sliding her bare feet into her soft wool slippers, she pulled her robe around her, flung her red silk cape over her arm, and trotted out the door, down the stairs, all the way down to the kitchen, where the housekeeper sat with the cook, chuckling and clearly enjoying a bit of whiskey.
They jumped to their feet.
“Miss?”
“Miss Butler?”
“Has Friendly gone to bed, do you think?” Zeph did not wish to disturb the old fellow, but he might stay up to receive Lord and Lady Ashley.
“No, Miss Butler,” said the housekeeper with her sweet, pudgy smile. “He just went up. I will get him for you.”
“I want the town carriage. A groom. A footman.” Zeph could not know who guarded her these days. She saw no one usually. Just sensed eyes upon her back. “And…and they can return here right after I arrive at my destination.”
Their faces fell.
“Miss, are you certain—”
“I am, Mrs. Roberts,” she said with conviction to the housekeeper.
The lady’s gaze fell to Zeph’s robe and slippers. “Ah, miss, I would not want anyone to think we saw you go and—”
“I will tell everyone I insisted. I must go. I will leave a note for Lady Ashley where I am, but I will go. Now.” Zeph arched her brows.
“Of course, miss,” the housekeeper said. “I will fetch a footman to go to the mews.”
*
No. 15 Queen Square
London
“Where is he?” she demanded of Rafe’s butler when the man finally opened the front door. “In his study? His bed?”
“Miss Butler, this is irreg—”
“I know, Simpson.” She patted his shaking hand, her gaze traveling up the staircase. “I do know. But tell me where he—”
“His sitting room.” The man looked at her with hope in his tired old eyes. “He came home not an hour ago, and he called for whiskey and cognac. I took them to him, but—”
“Good. I’ve a taste for that myself. I will call you if I need you.” She met his gaze with forthright intent. “But I plan not to.”
“Miss. Do make him happy again, will you?”
“My only goal in life, Simpson. My only goal.”
She took the stairs at a clip. Outside the door to his suite, she caught her breath and her reason. She turned the handle to the door. A little click and she shot inside.
She fell back against the door to close it. Fingering the key, she jiggled it and it came away into her hand.
Across the room in a large wing chair, he startled.
But said not a word. He was limned in shadows.
Save for the high fire in his grate and two candles near him, his stark features were revealed in arrogant grays so evocative of his character.
Oh, but she saw him. All of him. She could find him anywhere, even in hell, where, amazingly enough, he had once found her.
“Zephora.” He would soon order her out in that gruff voice of his that she heard in her sleep and every waking hour.
“You cannot make me go.”
He scowled at that. “Did you—?”
“Come in the Ashleys’ small town coach? Yes.”
“So the servants there know—?”
“They do.” She took a step forward. “Now those here know, too.”
“Gus will panic.”
“I left a note.”
“This is not wise.”
In answer, with her hands behind her, she fingered the key, then dropped it in her cape pocket. “You left,” she accused him.
“There was nothing there to entertain me.”
“I was there.” She could feel the sad devastation in his gaze like a eulogy. She would not let him bury their happiness any longer. “I entertain you.”
He did not argue that. “I told you long ago that barging in on someone was not a way to endear you to them.”
She took one step forward.
He warned her off with a sidelong glance. “You went off with Islington.”
“He wished to talk, dear man.” She liked the fellow. He’d confided that he loved a lady who once, long ago, forsook him. He knew not why, but he still believed love the best basis for marriage. “Charles told me he was not going to propose to me.”
That made Rafe blink. “He needs a fortune.”
“He does not want mine.”
Rafe snorted. “Others will come.”
“Pity the fools.”
She still expected him to order her away. When he did not, she measured in heartbeats how long she might have to convince him how he needed her.
Slowly she strolled toward him, dropping her cape to the carpet with a shrug, allowing the blue silk robe to part and sway as she strode toward him. Then she lost it, too, to the floor.
He sucked in air as his gaze held to her attire. Could he see through the translucent white muslin night rail? A better plan of seduction she could not have devised.
She continued her march toward him.
“This is a bad idea, Zeph.”
She lifted a shoulder in response.
He took up the glass he held in one hand and lifted it to his lips. He swallowed…and she could hear how difficult that was for him.
She would fix that.
Then, right in front of him, she knelt. Her fingers splayed over his thighs. They were muscular, sculpted, and hard as stone, bare beneath his banyan. “We cannot go on like this. Your staying away, my provoking you. That is not the way we know the best of each other.”
“I want the best for you.”
She was wistful about that. “You are best for me.”
He did not refute her.
She slid her hands farther up his thighs to his hips. His reaction was quick, rigid, and large. She bit her lips to keep from smiling. “I know who you are.”
Rafe grunted. Then took another drink.
“But I have learned I do not know who you think I am.”
Rafe stared at her. Amid the shadows of the room, she could see the beloved contours of his strong face, his ever-vibrant eyes. He was hollowed out.
But she was here to fill him up with all he required.
She slid her splayed fingers higher on his hips. His muscles jumped. A movement of the satin at the apex of his legs told her of his need of her.
Good. She would go on.
“Am I too aggressive? You think me a nuisance? An irritant?”
He shot to his feet. “No! By God, no.”
She fell back, her palms to the carpet.
Weaving like a blind man, he stepped away from her and ran his hand through his wild hair.
He strode to his sideboard. She could not see his face, but she heard how he poured another draught of liquor for himself.
He did not turn to her, but downed whatever was in his glass.
He plunked the crystal down, and she was surprised it did not shatter.
Then he spun to face her, shock lining his features when he saw she had remained on the floor.
She was undone. What did she not see that kept him from her? “There was no man in that room tonight whom I want for a husband…save one.”
He stilled.
“And you left me.” She could not catch the sob that came out with her words.
“Oh, God above, my darling! What was I supposed to do?”
She got to her feet, and not elegantly so. But her advantage was that her night rail had a very loose bodice and, without looking down, she could tell her nipples were teasing the lacy edge.
“You should have stayed. We could have danced again.”
“A second time?” He cursed. “I would not ask.”
She harumphed. “I would.”
“No. You know what that would have meant.”
“Scandal! Shocking! A female’s invitation. Oh so not done.” Playful, she was near him once more. This time she ran her arms around his waist and snuggled near. He was big and warm, her massive bear. And he let her have him.
“I adore Charles,” she told him. Rafe’s banyan spread wide, and she dropped a kiss to his hairy, naked chest.
He cupped her cheeks and drew her up to lock his gaze with hers. His eyes glistened like black diamonds. “No, you don’t.”
“For choosing to marry for love?” She liked winning arguments with this obstinate man. “Everyone should.”
He moved his mouth.
Considering that, are you?
She pressed her whole torso to his length. “You should.” You can. You will.
He narrowed his gaze at her. But did not push her away from him.
She tried to smile and failed. “I will.”
He froze. He was made of ice. But she would have him!
She rose on her toes. “Kiss me.”
“No.”
“I want you.”
“No!”
“I do. You cannot change that.”
“You think you care for me because I took you from that dungeon.”
“My dear fellow! I love you because you showed me how kind and tender, how respectful, a man could be toward a woman.”
“You don’t know… You are so young.”
“Ah.” She rubbed the tip of her nose on his. “And your years have taught you some falsehood that I try to prove wrong but cannot?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, but in fierce proximity to her, she felt the harder press of his manhood. He had wanted her as he sat in that chair…and now he needed her.
She would not let her advantage slip away. “Years are no barrier to love, dear sir.”
“I could die.”
“Soon?” She arched a brow and let her hand slide down his ribs to his firm, hot groin. My, my. He was impressive.
He clamped his hand over hers.
“I doubt it,” she chided him. “Besides, mischance and disease mean I could die just as soon.”
His face turned mellow. His hands gripped her tenderly. “You won’t. You will live long and well.”
“Thanks only to you.”
He shut his eyes. Shook his head. “Leave me.”
Leave him? That is not what he wants. But is that what he expects? Always? “If I go now, Rafe, you will live alone, a crusty old creature who threw away his only chance to live with utter joy. Oh, my sweet man, how can you condemn us both to that sorrow?”
“You confuse love with…”
Gratitude? She’d be damned if she let him say it again, even think it from now on.
Once more, her hand went to his groin. His manly attributes were very long and very sturdy. “Is this your show of…what? Friendship?” She snorted.
He cursed quietly.
She could not tell if she had won or lost. But at an impasse, once again, she stepped backward, her heart melting at his feet.
She spun, snatched up her cape and robe, and strode to his door.
But there, she swirled to face him with one last argument.
“I love you, Rafe Durham. I will love you no matter the time, the day, the circumstance. You cannot argue me away. I remain. You cannot forsake me. I will follow. You cannot ignore me. I live in your heart.”
She had only enough time to grasp the knob before he had her flat against the wall.
His lips were in her hair. On her ear. Her shoulder. His hands were chains around her breasts. With a jerk, he turned her in his arms.
His lips were a breath from hers. “If I have you, you will belong to me.”
Triumph sang through her veins. She sank to him and let her cape and robe drop to the floor. “Have me, then.”
He gulped and ground her against him. “If I have you, you will never leave me.”
“Never.”
Tears dotted his long black lashes. “I want you—God in heaven knows I do. I could lay you down a million times in as many beds, but if I do, I will not be able to stop myself from taking all of you.”
“You have my heart, my soul. Take the rest of me.”
“Sweet girl,” he whispered, remorse in his gravelly voice and in his torn and shaking body, “I am a man used to giving all and taking all from a woman. Zephora, darling, I dare not give you babies.”
That shocked her. She blinked, thinking how to get past this snag. “I do not know if I can give them to you.”
“I had a midwife examine you, sweetheart.”
“What?”
“I called for a midwife when we were in Orleans. You were delirious still, but I wanted her to tell me if you were hurt, ruined for any family you might want.”
“And?” Delight blossomed inside her that he would regard her so highly as to summon a midwife to tell her to what extent she had healed.
“She heard the tale and said you had been badly used, but she saw no damage. Still, she could not declare you were capable of intimacy or of bearing children.”
“Oh, Rafe.” She would tell him later of the same diagnosis by Gus’s midwife. “How will we know unless you make love to me?”
“Zephora! I could be kind and gentle and, in unknown ways, still kill you!”
She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled at his curls. “I will kill you, my tormenting man, if you don’t make love to me, keep me, have me, have me…” She was weeping now. “Have me.”
He took her hands from his hair and pressed them around his waist. “You are more than I ever asked of heaven. You are the sun to my skin. The earth of my reality. The strong, sure air of life. I love you. I love you.” He dropped little kisses to her eyes.
“Have me.” As ever, she wanted to get lost in him. “Have me for tonight and all the nights and days of our lives. Have me for joy and sorrow. Have me.”
“Know this.” He brushed her hair back from her cheeks, and his gaze bored into her own. “If I take you to my bed, you will not leave my arms until you marry me.”
“That will be hours,” she whispered as she kissed him over and over, “and days. But from this moment on, I am yours.”
He hesitated, this chivalrous man.
She would not countenance his rejection now. With a shrug of her shoulders, she allowed her gown to slither to her feet.
“Zeph.” His voice was a prayer, his gaze a declaration of how he surrendered to her.
Then, in one instant, his whole body changed, from daring lover to ravenous male. He took a step, her hand in his, but she was so stunned by his change of heart that she stumbled over the gown.
He growled and swept her up into his arms, then took her through his sitting room to his massive bed. There he placed her delicately in the middle and crawled over her. “I would never hurt you.”
“You can’t. I know that, Rafe. Don’t you see that you are the only man who never would?”
He dropped his forehead to the valley between her breasts. “Oh, my sweetheart, how do you think so well of me?”
She started to tell him why.
But he hushed her. “Talk to me tomorrow, will you?”
She lay perfectly still. “What do I do now, then?”
“Sigh for me. Moan for me. Tell me you want me.”
“Now, tonight, and all our tomorrows.”
“That is my Zephora, bold, bright, Lady of the Winds.”
“You talk too much.” She turned wicked and pushed the heavy satin from his shoulders to bare the expanse of his magnificent chest and corded arms. “I want you naked, mine, this banyan on the floor, and… Oh my.”