Page 57 of Tamed By a Passionate Lady
He gazed down at her. She was still sleeping, unaware of the momentous change within him. Her face was sweet in repose, her dark lashes long and curling against her cheeks. He leant forward, just to breathe in the evocative scent of her.
His wife. The wife that he had never loved, had sworn that he could never care for. Hehadtreated her abominably.
The memory of the first time he had laid eyes on her suddenly appeared in his mind. He had been standing in the drawing room of her family home, in Coventry. He had surprised himself, that he had responded to Mrs. Oakley’s invitation. The older lady had written to him, asking how he was, and telling him how much she had loved his mother. She had also told him about how it had been the wish of both of them that their children would marry one day.
He hadn’t known why he had gone through with it, really. Perhaps it had been because he wanted to make his mother proud, to honour one of her wishes. He had been so very young when she had died, and he still harboured a secret guilt that her death had been all his fault.
He had lived at Birkenhead Lodge alone for two years, and the isolation was tormenting him just a little. A wife would be a companion. He could never love her in that way, so it hardly mattered who she was. It might just as well be Miss Adaline Oakley, from Coventry, the daughter of his late mother’s best friend, as anyone. It was all the same to him.
He had noticed her exotic colouring, her wild beauty, immediately, of course. Only a blind man could have missed it. But she was so very different, in every way, from Lydia Hayward. Dark, where Lydia was fair. Tall and curvaceous, where Lydia was petite and fine-boned. The polar opposite of his lost love. And he could not help comparing her to the woman who had stolen his heart and finding her lacking, in every way.
He had known that she had feelings for him, almost from the beginning. The demure way she would look at him from beneath those dark curling lashes, and blush. The way that she was so eager to please him. The disappointment in her face, quickly masked, when she realised that he had no intention of ever making love to her. The times she had tentatively, shyly, tried to take the initiative with him, and he had rejected her.
His face burnt with shame, as he gazed down at her. This truly beautiful creature, who he had just made such passionate love with for the very first time. The pleasure and joy he could have given her over the years. The pleasure she could have given him. If only he had not been such a blind, stubborn fool.
A memory of his wedding day flashed into his mind.
Adaline, walking down the aisle, towards him. He had tried very hard not to look at her. He hadn’t wanted her to see the disappointment in his eyes that she was not the woman he wished to see in that wedding dress. That his heart was heavy, with loss, for the woman he would always love but could never have.
But eventually, of course, he had to look at her. She looked striking, almost ethereally beautiful. And it had been in that moment that he had noticed his best man, Reuben, gazing at her hungrily for the very first time.
It shamed him more than he could admit that he had barely cared.
He had not seen Reuben much in the ensuing years. But then, out of the blue, his old friend had written to him, asking if his younger sister, Isabel, could come to stay at Birkenhead Lodge, for an indefinite period for the sake of her health. He wanted to accompany her, as was proper. And James had seen no reason to deny them.
The house was large. He had always been fond of Isabel, and he was looking forward to spending time with his old friend again. He thought that Adaline would like the company, too. It had only been the two of them, rattling around the big house for so long, and it would be nice for her to have a lady companion, wouldn’t it?
He had been aware, almost from the first moment that the guests had stepped into their home, that Reuben still found his wife very attractive. But he had glossed over it, denying it until that night, at dinner, when he had seen Reuben gazing at her in that same hungry way. Even then he had justified it, knowing that his friend had an eye for the ladies. He had dismissed it as harmless. His friend would never make a play for his wife, and Adaline was as loyal as a pet dog.
He still had not cared. He did not think he would have raised an eyebrow if theyhadindulged in an affair.
He cared now. He cared very much, indeed.
He kept staring at her, his beautiful, passionate wife, as she lay sleeping beside him. He had been blind. He hadn’t realised how wonderful she was, what a gift he had been given, when he had blithely answered Mrs. Oakley’s letter. He had been too stuck in the past, unwilling to move on, to let go. In fact, he realised now that he had wallowed in it, clinging to the memory of Lydia for way too long.
He had almost missed the chance of loving this woman. If not for his memory loss, their relationship would have carried on exactly as it always had. He had known that he desired her, and he had known that she was an exceptional woman. He thought that deep within his heart he had been fighting his love for her, denying it to himself, in his effort to keep clinging to the past. His face burnt with shame, and anger, that he had treated her in such a cavalier way.
He was angry at himself. But he was also very, very angry, at his friend.
He realised now that Reuben had always been contemptuous of him. It had been there in the way that he had spoken to him from time to time, over the years. It had always been quickly masked, so it had been easy to dismiss it. To justify it to himself that his friend was just a little moody, but that he was still loyal.
But it ran far, far deeper, than he had ever suspected.
That contempt was most certainly there, in the way that Reuben coveted his wife. The complete lack of respect was astounding. And he did not know how far his friend had gone in his admiration. Adaline had never spoken of it, but a strange feeling was swirling in his gut, now. Had it only been glances, or had Reuben done other things? Had he made her feel uncomfortable in her own home?
His fists tightened. He felt like getting up and dragging Reuben out of bed, demanding to know what his supposed friend had done to his wife.
Because he knew the truth, now. That memory had come to him, as well.
The memory of what had happened, that day, as he had been gazing out at the ocean, close to the edge of the cliff.
Reuben had been there.
He had turned around, surprised to see his friend. And at that very moment, Reuben Montgomery had pushed him, with all his might, and he had stumbled, falling off the cliff, and landing on the rocks below.
James’ face twisted in the dark. His oldest, dearest friend, had cold-bloodedly tried to kill him.
Chapter 21
