Page 104 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
She stroked behind its ears, and it purred. “You like that, don’t you? I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.”
Setting the kitten down, she rose and walked from the room. One more place she wanted—needed—to see.
She took the stairs slowly, one step at a time. Her heart sped up and she forced it back into calm with long deep breaths, a trick she’d learned so no one could tell when she was anxious or nervous. It was the reason Somerdale had not realized she dreaded leaving with Wigmore that night, the reason he and her father had never known how much she disliked going to Stillmeadow. Wigmore had convinced her that herwickednessmust be hidden from everyone. She’d become quite adept at creating a façade to hide the ugliness she experienced in life.
It was her shame, her humiliation to bear. She had come to believe that somehow she was at fault, she brought Wigmore’s attentions on herself. She was unworthy, she was impure, she deserved—
She shook off the thoughts. No one deserved what she had endured. She understood that now. Because of Drake. Strange that as much as he’d hurt her, he’d helped her as well.
Stepping into the bedroom was like stepping into a cocoon of safety. The room was tidy, no clothing scattered on the floor. It smelled of him: dark, masculine, strong, powerful. She wandered over to the bed. The covers weren’t rumpled. She saw no evidence that he’d slept there. No evidence that she’d ever been curled in that bed, nestled against his side.
Would she have been there if he’d told her who she was? Had he spoken the words, “You are Lady Ophelia Lyttleton” would she have remembered anything? Would it have made a difference? Or would she have thought it was all simply preposterous?
Hearing the creak of a floorboard, she turned her head to see Drake standing in the doorway, dressed to perfection, neck cloth knotted, waistcoat buttoned, jacket snug across his broad shoulders. Dark hair curling, dark eyes penetrating.
“Marla told me you weren’t here,” she said flatly, striving not to let him know how her heart was thundering, her nerves quivering.
“I wasn’t. But I needed to put out some coins for Jimmy. Today is one of the days he cleans up after Rose. And I just—” He shook his head. “The residence felt different, smelled different when I stepped inside. I knew you were here.”
He seemed to be measuring his words as though he thought if he spoke the wrong ones, she would run off. When in truth she despised the distance separating them. But the thought of him being closer terrified her. She wanted to run her hands over his shoulders, across his chest, through his hair.
“You’ve acquired another cat, I see.”
“Her name is Orchid.”
She couldn’t help but smile with the realization that he was keeping with her tradition of naming them after flowers. “It’s my favorite fragrance.”
“I know.”
The solemnity of his words tore at her heart. Of course he knew. He knew everything about her, all her darkest secrets. But then she supposed that was only fair, as she knew his as well.
“How is your aunt?” he asked.
“Recovering quite nicely, considering Wigmore had been poisoning her.”
“Bastard. He wanted you back that badly.”
Her heart lurched. “I don’t think it had anything to do with me.”
“You said you were close to her and you’d not been back since your father died.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach roiling. Drake was right. The only thing that would cause her to return was her aunt’s ill health. Wigmore had known. Then to cover his sins, he would have continued to poison her until she died so she couldn’t contradict his tale that Phee arrived at Stillmeadow and then ran away. She opened her eyes. “I’m glad he’s dead. We can’t really ever know everything about a person, can we?”
“No, not everything.”
But one could know enough, she thought, enough to fall in love. All those various emotions she felt toward Drake were still swirling about. She didn’t know what to do with them, so she ignored them and turned the conversation to something that had pleased her. “I couldn’t help but notice that you took my advice regarding your front parlor.”
He took a step toward her. “Why are you here, Phee?”
So he wasn’t going to let her lead them into casual banter. She should have known. He always asked far too many questions, always needed answers. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know.”
Her gaze darted to the center of the bed, to where she had been happiest. “I keep thinking about the night we were together.”
“Had I known of your past, I’d have gone more gently.”
She peered up at him. He was only inches away now. “But you still would havegone.”
“Yes.” He lifted his hand and very slowly, as though giving her a chance to move away, to step beyond reach, he cradled her cheek. “But I should have told you who you were. I should have told you everything.”
