Because he still did not think of it in those terms, not truly. He was a bloody usurper, claiming a life he could never truly own. Wanting what would forever be beyond his reach. Stupid. Foolish.
Weak.
So damned weak when he needed to be strong.
“You already indicated you would not have agreed to come here had you known Harlton Hall is mine,” he said instead, unwilling to confess his vulnerabilities to her.
She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive posture, her eyes flashing. “I wish to leave.”
“No,” he bit out.
Color rose to her cheeks at last. “You cannot command me.”
She was stubborn, the bloody woman. But she was no match for him. “Try to leave and see what happens.”
Her nostrils flared. “Perhaps I will.”
When she made as if to storm away, back down the hall to the staircase, he caught her arm. His grip was tight, though not punishing. “Ara, stop.”
“Do not call me that, and do not presume to touch me.” She attempted to sidle free of his grasp but he held firm.
“Do you know what I think, Ara?” He stepped forward, into her body, her skirts crushed between them, the brim of the hat she had yet to remove nearly grazing his jaw. “I think you have forgotten you truly are at my mercy.”
Her eyes spit fire at him. “Release me.”
He would not let go of her. He never had, and he never would. Not in this moment. Not in the matter of her safety.Good God, not ever. They were inextricably linked now, for the remainder of their lives. Their son was the common bond between them.
But not the sole one.
The sound of footfalls and commotion reached him before he could respond, and he recognized it as domestics making short work of the trunks, beginning to unpack the carriages they had brought from the train station. He was not finished with her or this dialogue yet, and so he marched into the nearest chamber, pulling her behind him and closing the door at their backs.
Locking it.
Perhaps the time for their battle had come at last.
“What do you think you are doing, Mr. Ludlow?” Her voice was unnaturally high, breathless.
He pivoted back to her, wondering if she was nervous to be alone with him. Surely she did not think he could possibly do her harm? He was duty-bound to protect her. He studied her face, searching her gaze, trying to make sense of the dynamic between them.
“I am taking the opportunity to have the dialogue we should have had days ago, when you admitted I am the father of your son.” Though he strove to keep his voice cool, he could not quite excise the slight edge from it.
Her countenance turned wary. “As far as I am concerned, we have nothing left to say to each other on the matter.”
“I beg to differ.” He stalked closer to her, unable to keep his distance.
He wanted to undo the ribbon ties of her hat. To tear it from her head and reveal her lustrous copper locks. To kiss the frown from her lips, to lift her skirts and bury his aching cock deep inside her.
Realization hit him as he reached her, the scent of roses and a crisp summer day seeping back into his senses. The sweet, luscious scent of Ara and love and the forbidden. Of the young woman she had once been, of the nights when they had learned each other’s bodies.
Her transgressions against him did not matter as he stood there before her. His want for her was elemental. She was all he had ever desired, from the instant he had first spotted her watching him in the woods that fateful day. He had returned again and again, knowing she had been waiting, watching. Needing to know her. Longing for her.
Her eyes burned into his, and he had to touch her. He lost all control of himself, his hands framing her lovely face. The same face he had loved so long ago, only now she had lines etched ever so faintly alongside her mouth and her eyes. Were they the marks of laughter or sadness? Why did he envy whoever had made those marks? Why did he hate all the years that had kept him from her?
“Clay,” she whispered.
There, before him, her façade crumbled and fell. He saw not the Duchess of Burghly but a woman who was frightened and alone. He saw the girl who’d claimed his heart. He saw, simply, Ara. His anger remained, swirling in his gut, but it was supplanted by the overwhelming need to take her in his arms.
He had to know one thing. His heart, body, and mind clamored with the need.
