Page 91 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
He felt as though he’d taken a full body blow, as though the house had just toppled down on him. “What? Are you mad? She never had a kind word for me.”
She smiled softly. “I don’t recall you having very many for her either. You two skirted around each other as though you feared if you ever got too close there would be a conflagration.”
God, there had certainly been that. They’d scorched and singed each other with their passion and desire. Unfortunately, in the process he might have destroyed her. “She irritates the devil out of me.”
“Which was her purpose. I think she was frightened—possibly terrified—by what she felt for you.”
“Only because she considers me beneath her.”
“Perhaps. Or mayhap she sought to convince you both of that so she wouldn’t have to deal with what she felt. It’s also possible that she wanted the distance because she didn’t consider herself worthy.”
He laughed at that, a deep harsh bark that reverberated through the room. “I have never known anyone who put herself so high up on a pedestal.”
“When one is that high up, Drake, she can’t be touched. I have always wondered why she put such distance between herself and men. Not only you. I suspect that if word got out about your little ruse, several men would cheer.”
He’d flatten each one who did. “I’m not telling anyone. What happened is strictly between Phee and me,” he ground out.
As though considering, she cocked her head to the side. “I like the way you say her name, as though she’s special to you.”
She was special. Not that he could admit it without coming across as a total ass. Had he known how remarkable she was, he would have treasured her from the beginning.
Grace rose, walked over to a small table of decanters, and poured a splash of rum—her spirit of choice—into two glasses. Hers had been an uncommon upbringing. She swore, cheated at cards, smoked cigars, and drank. She could survive in a man’s world if she needed to. The duchess had seen to that.
Now Grace brought him a glass, then clinked hers against his, before taking a swallow. He was not as delicate. He downed his contents in one gulp. He had an irrational urge to prove he wasn’t a gentleman, to be barbaric, uncouth, uncivilized.
But she wasn’t watching him. She was staring at the amber liquid, tapping her dainty finger against the side of the tumbler. “As close as Phee and I are, I know that she has never shared everything with me. To be honest, there are things I haven’t shared with her, so I’m not faulting her for her discretion. But when she was younger, before we had our coming out, she would spend a good deal of the summer with her aunt. She would always invite me to join her there, would insist upon it actually. I was given my own bedchamber, treated like a princess. After all, I was the daughter of a duke. But without fail, Phee would always slip into my room near midnight, crawl into the bed, and snuggle against me. She would be cold and shivering, no matter how warm the weather. She forbade me to ask questions or to say anything about her presence there. I was young, naive, but I often wondered what it was she feared in the night. To this day, I haven’t a clue. I’ve never pressed. We all have our secrets.”
He needed more rum, a full tumbler this time, because he could not help but believe that something was dark at Stillmeadow, something that had been responsible for her journey into the Thames.
“Did she explain how she came to be in the river?”
Slowly she shook her head. “She doesn’t recall that part. Dr. Graves doesn’t believe that to be unusual. It was no doubt traumatic, and he believes that sometimes our mind strives to protect us from bad memories. He’s treated men returning from wars, survivors of railways disasters. They might remember what happened before or after, but not during.”
“Vexley wasn’t involved,” he said with conviction. Considering when he’d found her, he knew she hadn’t had time to arrive at Stillmeadow, hadn’t had time to be abducted.
“No. Lovingdon went to see him only to discover the man somehow financed his way to America. So what happened that night is still a mystery. Although right now, Phee’s biggest worry is striving to come up with an explanation for Somerdale. She’s quite insistent that he not learn where she spent the past several nights. She fears it would be disastrous.”
“That Somerdale would force her to marry me?”
“There is that possibility. In the heat of the moment you both said things that left nothing to my imagination.”
“I need to speak with her, Grace.”
She nodded. “I assumed that was the reason behind your visit, but I’m not certain she’s yet ready to see you. Perhaps you should give it a few days.”
“A few days won’t lessen how much she despises me. I daresay a year, a decade, a century will not be long enough as far as she’s concerned. But I need to see her tonight, before she talks to Somerdale. And we need to be alone. I won’t go near her, I won’t touch her. If I could think of a way so she wouldn’t have to breathe the same air that I do, I would make it happen. It was never my intention to destroy her, and I know I can’t put things right. But I can make amends.”
Reaching up, she touched his cheek. “You need to know, Drake Darling, that in spite of everything, I still love you as a brother. I trust you. We can only hope that my belief in you is enough for Phee.” She lowered her hand to her side. “Let’s see if I have any luck at convincing her to give you a chance.”
Phee peered from behind the curtain onto the front drive. Why hadn’t he left yet? She’d seen the hansom arrive, had been looking for it actually, although she’d have never confessed that to anyone, but she had known that sooner or later he would come here. He would try to talk with her. She knew so much about him. How much easier it would all be if she didn’t. If she didn’t know the feel of his hands gliding along her throat, over her breasts, across her stomach. If she didn’t know the sensations created when his mouth followed the same path. If she didn’t know what it was to spread her legs for him, to have him rising above her—
She slammed back the memories, wouldn’t recall everything that happened in his bed. But it was so hard not to consider every moment spent with him, every minute detail of her time with him. Unfortunately, she saw it all in a different light, now. It was no longer beautiful and joyful. It was tainted by his deception, by whatever game he’d been playing.
She knew all about games and the ugliness that initiated them.
Still, she’d not been able to look away as he walked from the cab to the front steps. He was properly decked out like a gentleman. Jacket, waistcoat, neck cloth, hat, gloves. So handsome in his rough way. She wanted to rush down the stairs into his strong arms, wanted him to hold her. Everything had seemed right with the world while she’d been with him—until her memories had returned.
All along he’d known who she was, what she was. Had known what she wasn’t. All along he’d lied. He’d led her to believe she was someone other than who she was. That he was someone different.
