CHAPTER SIX
Mara had little sleep that night. The image of Roarke and the pained look of anguish on his face before he’d cursed her to the depths and stormed out of the room had been burned upon her brain. It had nearly killed her to push him away. She thought it had hurt when she realized she would never see him again, but she was wrong.
This was so much worse.
And for what? What could he possibly hope to achieve? A reconciliation was out of the question, for she had made a devil’s bargain all those years ago, had even given up her very existence to disappear in the back streets of London with a new identity, confident that Roarke would never find her.
Alas, she hadn’t planned on fate’s unwanted interference.
Closing her eyes, she could still feel the pressure of his mouth, her lips tingling with the recollection. It made her wonder how long it would take to fully succumb to that power, for it hadn’t lessened over the years but intensified.
She recalled quite vividly the first time she’d ever methim.
Having started out as a scullery maid at Eversleigh Hall, Mara was given the role of Lyra’s personal ladies’ maid within weeks of her arrival. The prior viscount, Roarke’s father, had given her the job, supposedly based on her merits, but she really felt it was because her father had pleaded her case, hating to see his daughter performing such a lowering task of servitude.
Developing a special accord with Lyra almost immediately, Mara still wanted to make a good impression belowstairs. She didn’t want anyone to think that she’d gained her position by improper means, thus she often took on tasks that were rather unnecessary. Such as that particular morning, when she’d offered to take down a heavy breakfast tray to the kitchens so another maid could have a moment alone with her footman fiancé on a trip to the village. Mara had been struggling with her oversize obstacle when the silver suddenly went crashing to the floor in a noisy cacophony. Thinking that she had run into one of the other footmen, she cringed and immediately fell to her knees and began to gather up the fallen items, all the while muttering an apology without even looking up.
Naturally, it was with some surprise when a tanned and muscular forearm came into view. She froze as a firmly sculpted hand with a sprinkling of golden brown hair carefully lifted a broken teacup from the pile.
The first thought that went through her head was that he wasn’t wearing any livery. The second…
A shiver went through her before she slowly lifted her gaze.
Before her knelt a young man much too handsome for words. His mouth seemed to be cocked in a habitual grin, while his hazel eyes sparkled mischievously.
She was completely mesmerized, though she quickly allowed her lashes to flutter downward. While she had never met the future Viscount Eversleigh, seeing as how she knew everyone else in the household, it only stood to reason that this was the young master down from school for the holidays.
She tossed a hundred different things about in her head for something to say that didn’t sound idiotic or childish, but he took the opportunity from her. Lifting her chin with one finger, she had no time to react before that firm, warm mouth pressed against her own. It was only for a moment, but Mara couldn’t have wished for a more appropriately perfect, if not utterly surprising, first kiss.
Pulling back, his words were little more than a whisper, almost as if he were thoroughly enchanted, “What is your name?”
With a shy smile, she had murmured back, “Mara Miller.”
Thrust back into the present, Mara clenched her fists.
Such musings must be suppressed. She had to remain strong until Roarke eventually gave up his pursuit—or he grew to despise her so fully that there would be no turning back. It would devastate her if the latter came to pass, for while Roarke had believed she was dead, at least she knew that he didn’t hate her.
This time around, it would be a certainty.
But she would do what she must to keep Lily safe, even if that meant destroying herself in the process.
She had been torn last night, half afraid that Roarke was going to kiss her—and completely hopeful that he would. After he’d pulled away, not only had she felt guilty, but she’d felt cold and more alone than she had since leaving Eversleigh Hall all those years ago. It was so much easier to close herself off from Roarke when he was acting the brooding, scorned male, as opposed to when he was sympathetic and caring…
Sometimes the look in his eyes was filled with a mixture of emotions: warmth, nostalgia, and yes, even a spark of something else…somethingdeeper.
It was duringthosemoments when she had to clamp her lips together, for those three damning words she yearned to say came perilously close to spilling forth.
It had been ages since she had allowed herself to bring to mind anything relating to her past, finding that any recollection of her previous life with Roarke was just too difficult to bear. But since she had been catching up with Lyra about old times, the memories were steadily creeping up on her—the bad, as well as, the good.
Being around Roarke in the flesh once more, when he spoke to her in civil tones, she realized that their former camaraderie was just as strong as ever. She’d forgotten how easy he was to talk to. Back then, they used to spend hours conversing about nothing in particular, but always finding something to say, and when a silence did descend, it wasn’t awkward or forced. They had always had a special, unique kinship, regardless of their differences in class and position. There was a mutual respect that had blossomed into something far more than just physical desire and friendship.
She still felt it.
But unfortunately, such emotions were dangerous. To unearth them now would bring certain disaster.
Andthatterrified her.
Unfortunately, until Bentley was located, she would be forced to rely on Roarke’s hospitality a bit longer. She wanted to be close at hand the moment information arrived, and she knew that going anywhere else wasn’t an option at the moment, for she had nowhere to go. The fire had made sure of that.
