Her lips, her tongue, and her hands had broken a duke into pieces.
Just a few days past, she would have denied she was capable of such inhibition, but with Ashbey she could be feral without embarrassment—greedy, raw, and grasping. If Ashbey revealed even a fraction of what they’d done, she would be ruined forever.
The thought should have made her feel vulnerable. It did not. She placed her hand against his stubbled cheek. “Are my secrets safe in your keeping?”
“You may trust me, of course.”
He wanted her trust. He’d already given her his.
Twice, Lady Stone had driven him to exhaustion. She’d done things he’d never ask a lady to do, and yet, as she lounged by his side, she looked as angelic as ever. How had she survived with this part of her intact, this guilelessness?
There was so much he did not know. It seemed wrong, somehow, to accept her intimate surrender and refuse to know her life.
“Were you happy, at first, in your marriage?”
She looked just as surprised at his question as he was at having asked it. He did not want to know about her marriage. He did not even care.
Except that he did care. Very much.
She replied after hesitation, “In a manner.”
“You’ll have to explain.”
Warily, she gazed into his eyes, weighing something in her mind. He passed her test.
“When we first arrived in England, Octavius’s father was still alive. He lived in a Rectory with Aunt Hester, and Octavius’s brother Simon. That was before Simon joined the Navy. Octavius’s father was a rector, you know.”
He had not known. Nor did he particularly care. He wanted to know her experience, her feelings. He didn’t give a damn about anyone else. And, he was envious—resentful, even—of her unceremonious use of the admiral’s Christian name. But, he continued to listen, because he’d asked, but also because he would never scorn anything she wished to give.
“Octavius and I were supposed to live with the family, too, but Octavius wanted to be close to the sea. So, we rented the third flat above a baker in a small village not too far north of Bath. I don’t know if I was truly happy, but I was as content as I’ve ever been in that village.”
He’d take her back to that village if he could—it couldn’t be far from where they were. Together, they’d make new memories, washing away the poison her husband had left behind.
Only he wasn’t anyone’s prize, was he?
“I’d read about England, of course. But I’d never actually seen a castle. You cannot imagine how thrilling it was to be able see one out my window—it didn’t even matter that the Castle had been damaged by fire.” She chuckled. “I cannot believe I have actually slept in a castle, now.”
Certainly, other castles had been destroyed by fire. But none so close to Bath.
“What,” he wet his lips, “was the castle’s name?”
“Oddly enough, no one would tell me. Some sort of superstition. Even the vaguest of questions about the family were refused.” She shrugged. “We did not reside there long enough for me to earn anyone’s confidence. In less than a month, Octavius was called back to sea, and I went to live with his father.”
Strange—for once—to be grateful for the same superstitions that had left him haunted and alone.
She stretched out and sighed. “I wished with all my being that someone would rescue that ruin and make it whole, love the castle for all it had been and all it could be once again.”
...rescue the ruin and make it whole.
She said the words as if all he needed to do was replace rafters, grind down damaged stone, and simply build again. Nothing connected to Wisterley was ever simple.
Her words lacerated in ways she could never know. They didn’t just lacerate, they rolled open stone-blocked lairs of fire-breathing beasts.
For the castle to be whole,hewould need to be whole. He held no such illusions.
“Were you happy in your marriage?” she asked.
The question left him cold. Though it was fair. He’d asked her the same.
