When she was alone, she exhaled slowly, relief removing a weight from her shoulders. She knew she could not avoid Clay forever.Not Clay, she corrected inwardly, yet again. ButMr. Ludlow.She could not avoidMr. Ludloweach day, but she could certainly refuse to do his bidding this morning.
Indeed, perhaps the answer was to keep to her apartments as much as possible until the horrible criminals responsible for Freddie’s murder were imprisoned and the threat looming over her like a thundercloud would dissipate at last. She stood and wandered to the window, where the curtains had been tied back to reveal the gloom of a foggy London day over St. James’s Square. From her chamber, she could spy the familiar bronze statue of William III astride a horse even on days such as today, when the bleak gloom rendered seeing to the other side of the street a nearly impossible feat.
How was it possible her world was the same—the statue, the street below, the sounds of horses’ hooves and jangling tack, the yellow fog, the carpet beneath her feet, all of it the same—and yet Freddie was no longer in it? And how was it that the one man she had done her damnedest to forget had returned to her because of Freddie’s death?
She wanted to rail against the wrongness of it. The unfairness. Ara pressed her palm against the glass pane, absorbing its coolness. She took another deep breath, wishing she could somehow banish him from Burghly House. That she could rewrite history and undo time so she could save Freddie and never have to see Clay Ludlow again.
A sturdy tap sounded at her door. Likely Marks or another of the domestics, returning with her breakfast tray. “Enter,” she called without turning away from her perusal of the street.
She preferred country life to the city, but Freddie had made his home in town, and she had accompanied him. Why did she remain here now? How she longed to return to Kingswood Hall with its sprawling forests and undulating hills. But she could not go back there, not ever again. She was not welcome in her family home, and even if she was, nothing remained for her there. When she had married Freddie, she had severed all ties with her family.
Thank heavens for Freddie. He had been her savior.
The door opened behind her and still she did not look as footsteps sounded.
“You may place the tray on my table and go,” she said.
But the footsteps came nearer to her instead of retreating. And they were heavy, not at all the light tread of Marks but the heavy, sure thump of a man. A flash of terror bolted through her.Good God, what if someone had somehow slipped inside Burghly House with the intention of doing her harm?
Heart hammering, Ara spun around, a scream in her throat as she launched herself at the unknown interloper. She collided with a wall of chest. Large hands spanned her waist in a tight grip. She clawed at the dark jacket and charcoal waistcoat, tears clouding her eyes as all the fears swirling inside her came to a head.
“Ara, calm yourself.”
The deep voice scarcely penetrated the haze of panic infiltrating her mind. She pummeled the chest with her fists, but it was hopeless, for the chest was muscled and broad. This man was immense and immovable. Solid as a mountain.
He was…
“Ara, it is me.” He caught her wrists in firm grips, yanking her against him so she toppled into him. And there was his scent, leather and musk. And there was his voice once more, which she should have recognized, rumbling against her breasts. “It is Clay, Ara. You are safe.”
She stared up at his familiar visage. The wide, angular jaw covered with dark whiskers, the slash of his nose, his dark, glittering eyes, and the mouth that was wide and full. That she had once loved to kiss.
Tears came. Her entire body shuddered. Great, wracking sobs emerged, and she could not control them. She had no power over her body’s response to the terror that had overtaken her.
“Ara, hush.” He cupped the back of her head, pressing her face to his chest. “I would never hurt you. You have nothing to fear from me.”
How wrong he was. He could hurt her. Had already done so more than anyone before or after him ever had. But the hurt he spoke of and the hurt he had dealt her were two different forms.
She attempted to stifle her humiliating sobs to little effect at first. The steady thrum of his heartbeat against her ear, reminding her of another time when she had listened to those beloved thuds. Slowly, the madness left her. She became aware of herself in stages. His hands, large and warm through the fabric of her morning gown, stroking her spine with steady, soothing calm. Her arms, somehow wrapped loosely around his lean waist. His mouth on her crown, his hot breath scalding.
“That’s it, love. Calm yourself.”
Love.
That lone word, emerging from him, pierced a tender part of her she had no longer believed existed. There had been a time when she had been his love. When she had loved him so fiercely it had swallowed her whole, and when she had believed in his love for her too. To hear him say it now, so effortlessly, as though the word carried with it no significance at all…
She jerked away from his hold, trying not to notice how right being back in his arms had felt. As natural as breathing. Shame licked through her as she thought of how much she had revealed. Until now, she had been so careful to hold tight the reins on her emotions with every interaction between them. To never allow him to see how very affected she was by everything around her. Losing Freddie. Clay’s reappearance in her life. Justeverything.
“How dare you enter my chamber?” she demanded, dashing at the fresh tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You have no right to come here unannounced and uninvited, Mr. Ludlow.”
“Ara.” He moved toward her, a hand outstretched.
She stepped back, for she knew if he touched her one more time, she would be lost. “You will refer to me by my title whilst you are beneath this roof.”
He stilled, his expression hardening into the rigid lines she recognized all too well. “Forgive me for the lapse,Your Grace. It was not my intention to give you a fright. It was, however, my intention to speak with you this morning as I previously made abundantly clear.”
How was it he could suck all the air from her lungs with one biting look, one remonstrating sentence? She gritted her teeth. “I believe I mademyintention clear toyou, Mr. Ludlow. I do not wish to speak with you over breakfast. Nor do I wish to speak to you this afternoon, this evening, tomorrow, or any day thereafter. We have said all that needs to be spoken already. You are here to protect me. That does not require an audience with me.”
His lips thinned, and she noticed how well-defined his philtrum was, even with the shade of whiskers masking it. Once, she had kissed him there, unable to resist.
