Hugh Talverton smiled sardonically. “Yes, she did, my dear sir, however not quite so obviously. Excuse me, I will see if I may make amends for us all,” he stated softly, his lips twisting up in one corner with amusement as he followed Vanessa.
She fled out of the parlor and across the foyer to slip into the dining room. Curious, Hugh walked faster and opened the dining room door in time to see her slip out the French doors on the other side of the room. He rounded the long table and stopped, peering out onto the heavily shadowed gallery. He could just make out her slender figure slumped against a column, her shoulders heaving.
Silently, he slid out the partially open door and glided to her side. His heart pounded and tore at the confines of his chest. He stared down at her. “It’s all right, love,” he murmured, taking her shoulders in his hands and turning her to face him. It agonized him to see her in such pain.
She turned easily, and in the pale moonlight he searched her face. His jaw slackened. She wasn’t crying. She was laughing!
His surprise must have been evident upon his face, for her laughter increased until she was nearly hiccupping with wild hysteria.
“I—I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “In some ways, I feel I should still be crying; however, as I ran from the parlor, the humor of all your actions did not escape me, and belatedly I recalled your and Trevor’s expressions when you realized Paulette had beaten you at your own noble game!” She laughed freely again, her eyes shining up at him.
Hugh looked down at her, the moonlight softening her features beautifully. His breath constricted in his chest.
“You think it funny, do you,” he growled deep in his throat. His hands were shaking as he grabbed her shoulders and roughly pulled her against him, his breath now coming rapidly, echoing the pounding of his pulse. He lowered his head, claiming her lips in a bruising kiss.
Vanessa struggled against his sudden onslaught. She pushed at him, pounding on his chest. Panic engulfed her as the strange tingling she sometimes felt in his presence began singing along her nerve endings.
His arm went around her to still her struggles, the other creeping up to caress the back of her neck, holding her head still and urging her closer.
A sensual weakness robbed Vanessa’s limbs of strength, her writhing and pounding growing weaker as Hugh stole her very soul through his lips. She relaxed against him, a little mew of helpless enthrallment rising in her throat.
He felt her relax, felt her give herself into his care. His senses soared with masculine power, glorying in her feel and the quick tightening in his loins. Then he heard her little whimpering sound, and his heart stopped. His breathing ragged, his eyes glazed and glinting feverishly, he gently released her, setting her a foot away, his hands sliding slowly down her arm, capturing her hands.
Vanessa staggered before she could force her pliant knees to hold her upright. With an odd, remote part of her mind, she was aware of a cool breeze blowing between them, evaporating the heat of their embrace. Louisa and her mother were correct, whispered a distinct little corner of her mind. Love soared in her and through her, beyond description. She understood her sister’s dreamy reflection on the emotion; in reality, it wasn’t one emotion, but a myriad of bright, coruscating feelings; light through a prism.
She looked at Hugh in wonder. She saw him inhale deeply, close his eyes, and turn his head up to the bright moon as he slowly exhaled. He opened his eyes, his hands convulsively clenching hers.
“Oh, God, Vanessa, I’m sorry,” he whispered raggedly. “I had no right . . .” He dropped her hands and turned to lean against the gallery railing, fighting to regain his sanity. Never before had a woman shaken him to the core as Vanessa had. He was lost and ashamed. “If you choose now to avoid me as you do Wilmot, I’ll understand.” He turned back to look at her, a slight self-deprecating smile on his lips. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand, and I’ll not trouble you as he does.”
A vague smile touched her lips. “Please, enough of your nobility.”
“But you belong to Trevor,” he cried, anguish resonating in his voice.
“Do I?” she asked in a faraway dreamy tone touched with humor.
“Yes!” he affirmed harshly, turning away from her again.
“Why is it that everyone around me feels the necessity to make my decisions for me and assign themselves the thankless job of my protector?” she asked whimsically. A pensive little frown wrinkled her brow. “It is very lowering, you know. I have always prided myself on being a thinking, rational woman, with an even above-average comprehension of the realities of life.” She blinked, struggling with the sensual haze that remained swathed about her.
He laughed shortly, a harsh, heavy sound. “You are all that and more. Your father’s called you his bright star.” His tone lowered until it was a mere whisper that Vanessa could barely hear. "And you are my bright particular star. Shakespeare had the right of it,” he said with a grim smile.
Vanessa frowned sharply as her mind cleared. The last threads of the sensuous haze were blown away by the freshening breeze. Anger and confusion rushed to overcome her. “So what is this all about? Did you just seek to take something before Wilmot got it? Is this a game of masculine superiority?”
He whirled to face her. “What? Vanessa, no. On my honor, no.”
“Well, what then?” she asked, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so confused! You raise feelings and fears and joys inside me that I’ve never felt before.”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “They’re feelings you’re meant to feel, but not with me,” he said softly.
“Why?” she demanded. “It’s been coming. You can’t tell me you haven’t felt the pull between us.”
“Yes,” he admitted harshly. “But in this maze we tread, Trevor is your salvation, not me.”
“Why?” she demanded again, her voice rising as she struggled with her tears. They were tears of loss and tears of embarrassment, and they flowed from her very soul.
He raked his hand distractedly through his hair and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping. “Once before Trevor and I courted the same woman, Julia,” he recited flatly. “I thought I loved her, but she showed me my love was only a toy, a prize at the end of a game. She was right, and she chose Trevor. Again, I am attracted to the same woman as Trevor, and I want her with even greater hunger. Luckily, Julia showed me how false my affections are, something I am too close to see.”
Vanessa stared at him in shocked surprise, then a wave of shimmering anger curled and roiled through her. “I don’t believe what I am hearing,” she gritted out. “You would bow out of a courtship because of Trevor and some dead woman?” It was incredible. How could he be so blind and so—so naive?
