Tears burned her eyes as she stumbled to the bed and struggled to strip off the beautiful, never-to-be-worn-again gown.
Cinderella, home at last among the shattered fragments of her dream.
Frustrated and furious, Beau paced the moonlit paths. Damn Mac and the randy Lady Ardith for choosing that particular chamber for their blatant display. He wanted to pursue his Sparrow, comfort her, recapture the magic shattered by that unintentional glimpse of mindless coupling, but some inner sense warned him she was too upset now for him to attempt it.
Tenderness softened the edge of anger. For all her mature calm, she was such an innocent, ‘twas little wonder she’d been shocked. He’d been dismayed, as well, and he had far more experience than she.
Though brutal honesty compelled him to admit, had that unfortunate episode not occurred, he’d have been driven as urgently as Mac to unbind the spangled cloth veiling the lady he wanted so badly, to gently tutor her through every nuance of pleasuring and being pleasured. Even now, the desire to do so still thrummed in his veins.
But only when she was ready, only as far, as fast as she would willingly follow. Unlike the meaningless tryst they’d stumbled into viewing, their eventual joining would contain a joy and tenderness that fired lust into something purer and more lasting. A single night would not be nearly sufficient to satisfy his craving. No, he wanted all of her—heart, mind, as well as body—for the indefinite future.
She knew that—didn’t she? A niggle of doubt troubled him. Surely she didn’t think he’d lured her to the garden only to use her body with the sort of casual carnality they’d inadvertently observed?
The doubt occurred only to be dismissed. They had shared the burden and worry of Kit’s illness, chatted of books and herbs and philosophy, touched each other’s thoughts and emotions in countless small, significant ways before ever their bodies touched. She couldn’t possibly think he viewed her as an object of temporary dalliance.
No, she’d been startled, repulsed, a reaction he treasured for the modesty and discretion it displayed. Nonetheless, just to be sure, he’d proceed carefully tomorrow, treat her with a special gentleness that, combined with a night’s sleep and the prosaic perspective of daylight, would erase from her mind the event that had caused so abrupt and dissatisfying an ending to their walk.
She would leave today, Laura decided as she looked out through the raindrops slipping down her window-pane. Clouds enveloped the garden in a mist-shrouded drizzle, changing the silver walkways, urns and plantings of last night into soggy brick and sodden earth utterly devoid of magic.
As her life must be. She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the plain brown bombazine. The gown seemed heavier than she remembered, its muddy hue uglier compared to the frosted emerald of the dinner dress. A little brown sparrow, Lord Beaulieu had called her, unnoticed and insignificant.
So she was. So she must be. And if desire could so blind her to that fact, if her protective instincts had eroded so badly that she could stray as far from that role as she had last night, then she must depart at once.
For the truth was, scold herself ever so severely in the fastness of her chamber, she knew if the earl were to walk in the room this minute, her hands would still itch to resume tracing the contours of his body, her mouth yearn to meld with his and see what new delights he could teach her. It shamed and horrified her to discover within herself such a deep vein of carnality, but in the stark light of morning, she was too honest to deny its presence or power.
Intensified by admiration and affection, such a force would be nearly impossible to resist. And if fully satisfied in a connection both physical and emotional, it would create a bond that would shatter her soul to sever.
She’d likely given him her heart already, a gift he’d never sought and surely wouldn’t appreciate. At least if she prudently fled now, she might avoid completing the disaster by bonding with him in body, as well.
A leaden despair settled in her gut. Even if they both wished it, there could never be anything legal or permanent between them, nothing beyond a fleeting, temporary liaison. Besides, she had only her girlish fancies to suggest that the earl even desired her for more than assuaging the same need for which Lady Ardith had met Dr. MacDonovan.
She had more self-respect than to stoop to that.
Kit Bradsleigh no longer required her round-the-clock presence. Her garden needed tending, her dog craved companionship, and she ought to seek the solitude necessary to reconstruct the boundaries that protected her.
That isolated her.
She reached out to stroke the silky lightness of the dinner gown, still draped on a chair where she’d abandoned it last night. She closed her eyes, allowing herself for a moment to relive the feel of Lord Beaulieu’s arms around her, the taste and touch of his tongue. A ragged sigh born of pain and loss slipped from her throat.
Then with quick, efficient moves she donned the brown gown, hung the spangled emerald dress back in the wardrobe, and left the room.
* * *
After handing Peters the chessboard, Laura turned back to Kit Bradsleigh. “I’ll be coming by daily to check on you and follow any orders Dr. MacDonovan leaves for your care.” Written ones, she hoped. After last night, she’d rather not meet the doctor again in person.
Kit eased himself painfully back against the pillows. “Both of you … deserting me at once.”
“Dr. MacDonovan has sicker patients to tend. And I’m close by. Soon you’ll be able to get downstairs to dine and receive callers, so I daresay you’ll not be so bored.” She smiled. “Most of them probably won’t beat you at chess.”
He grinned back. “Like a challenge. Besides, I’m not … quite myself yet. I demand a rematch.”
“Soon,” she promised.
As she rose to depart, though, he caught her hand. “Can’t begin to thank you—”
“Nonsense!” she interrupted. “I thought we’d settled this long since.”
He shook his head. “With you so stubborn and me so incapable, we just … stopped discussing it. But you must know … our family considers your service an unredeemable debt. Beau especially.” He paused, stifling a cough. “No, let me finish. We’re a small family … just Beau, Ellie and me. Parents killed in a carriage accident …! was too young to remember. But Beau was there … in the carriage. He seems to think it his duty now … to protect us from all harm. And after this, you, too. Should you ever need us, need anything, you have only to ask.” He paused, unsuccessfully trying to keep the gasp from turning to a cough.
Laura took his hand. “There is no obligation.”
Gripping his shoulder to damp down the cough’s vibration, Kit once more shook his head. “Lifelong vow,” he said when he could breathe again. “Word of a Bradsleigh.” He squeezed the hand she held.
Protect her from all harm. Oh, that the Bradsleighs or anyone else could do that! But despite his influence, even the mighty Earl of Beaulieu was not above the law. Whatever safety she found must come, as it had since she’d chosen this course, solely from her own efforts.
“Rest now,” she urged, gently withdrawing her hand. “I’ll stop to bid you goodbye before I leave.”
