“You are correct that I am here to protect you, madam,” he agreed, his tone formal and cold and bloodless, much as he would speak to any stranger. “To enable me to perform the task assigned me, I do need to speak with you, however. Regardless of how displeasing you find such a condescension. More specifically, I wished to speak to you regarding the safety of your son, given he has exhibited an alarming tendency to wander and elude his governess.”
She stiffened. “The threat was made against me and not Edward.”
He shook his head slowly, his dark gaze unreadable. “That is immaterial. I am not as certain there is no danger for the young duke. While I am beneath this roof, it is my duty to see to the safety of him as well as you.”
The ominous note of warning in his tone settled into her belly like a leaden weight. It had been difficult enough these last few days, dealing with the fear of an unknown foe wishing to do her harm and take her from her son. But she had foolishly allowed the Duke of Carlisle’s words to reassure her Edward was safe. To think now he too could be in danger left her ill.
She swallowed the bile, hating to allow him to see her weakness for the second time since his invasion of her chamber, but unable to control her emotions. Edward was her son. He was all she had, that innocent, brave, beautiful little boy.
“Have you…” she wet her dry lips, struggling to find the words before continuing, “have you found evidence to suggest Edward is in peril as well?”
Her voice broke on the question. More vulnerability she did not wish to show him. But she had no pride when it came to her son. She would crawl on her hands and knees for him. Would beg. Plead. Walk through fires or broken glass. She would lay down her life to save his, and without a thought.
“I have not.” His gruff tone held a surprisingly tender undercurrent. “It is not my intention to make you fear, Your Grace, but I am greatly concerned the child’s governess is ineffective at her duty. For me to perform my task here properly, I need to know you and the lad are safe at all times. There cannot be a question of that. There can be no weakness, for if the enemy senses even the slightest opportunity, he will strike.”
She could not be certain if she believed he did not want to make her fear. Indeed, where Clayton Ludlow was concerned, she was not certain of anything. The mountain of a man who had stormed her chamber was nothing like the young man who had stolen her heart. He was scarred, savage and intense, arrogant and icy.
His jibe from the night before returned to her.
There is only one manner in which I would like to ride you, madam.
He had intended to shock her, she was sure. To use his vulgarity as a weapon against her. But then he had held her son so gently in his arms. Her son. His son. Their son.
Their son who could be in danger. Her baby boy. Her only light in the darkness of her days. If those murderous bastards harmed him…if they killed him…
Dear, sweet God.She tried to speak, but words would not emerge. Her mouth was dry, her hands clamped on her silk skirts so tightly her knuckles ached from the force. And yet she could not move. Could not speak as her past and her present and her greatest fears collided in one ugly, vicious burst of emotion and pain.
“Ara?”
His worried voice seemed to reach her as if from the other end of a tunnel. Her vision swirled, sweat beading on her brow, a wave of nausea so intense she feared she would cast up her accounts roiling through her. She could not seem to catch her breath. Could not seem to remain standing. Her knees gave out, and she would have crumpled to the floor in a heap of skirts had not those large, strong arms caught her.
Caught her and held her. She gasped for breath, and it washimshe breathed in. Only him, always him. The man she had once loved. The man who had abandoned her. The man who had broken her heart. The father of her son.
“Ara,” he said again, his lips over her ear. Grazing her. Branding her. “Ara, inhale slowly. Take your time. It is shock. It will pass.”
She wanted to obey his soothing voice. Wanted to listen, but her corset seemed to grow tighter with each breath she struggled to make, and darkness clouded her vision. She felt as if there were an invisible pair of hands on her throat, choking the life from her.
“Ara, speak to me. Say something.” He gave her a slight shake as if to snap her out of whatever had come over her.
But it did not work. She still could not catch her breath. Could not form a word. Her head seemed too heavy for her neck, and she lowered her forehead to his chest. This madness had seized her once before, on the day of Freddie’s murder. It would not leave until she succumbed to the darkness.
“Damn it to hell,” he growled against her ear, and then she was being scooped—effortlessly—into his arms, held to his broad chest as if she were a babe. He carried her across the chamber.
As she struggled for breath, she was dimly aware he had not taken her to her sitting room but to her bed. He folded his massive body onto it, still cradling her, whispering in her ear.
“Hush, love, it will pass.” His fingers moved with nimble skill over the line of buttons down the back of her gown, opening them.
Her bodice gaped as he made more progress, but she did not protest. Could not protest if she wished. Her every focus was upon inhaling and exhaling, getting her galloping heart to calm, and making her mind and body cease conducting war against each other. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his throat. Her nose pressed into his flesh. He was so very warm and alive. His skin calmed her, the scent so familiar, the thrum of his pulse reassuring.
Once, she had loved to lay her head over his heart when there had been nothing separating them. She had drawn the shape on his chest with her index finger, a doodled heart that meant he was hers. But he was not hers. He had never been hers at all, had he?
Tremors shook her as he found the laces of her corset and plucked the knot. She ought to be appalled at the liberty he had taken with her. She ought to push away from him, shake this spell of weakness that had attacked her. She should never have allowed him to take her in his arms in the first place, or to remain in her chamber when it was disastrous for him to be here.
It did not matter that she was a widow or that he was charged with her protection. No good could come of his presence in her chamber. In her bed.Dear God, they were on her bed. Her heart had slowed now. She was better able to think. To breathe. In, out, slow and deep.
“That’s the way of it, love. Steady now. Breathe in and out,” he rasped, his hand traveling up and down her spine in a steady, soothing caress. The other hand had found its way into her hair, cupping the base of her skull and gently massaging her scalp with his long, expert fingers.
How did he know just how to hold her? Just how to calm her? She did not want to move. She never wanted to move. His arms were so warm and strong, his touch so much gentler than she would have imagined.
