Come Near Me (2 page)

She watched as her husband’s deep brown eyes
flickered betrayingly for a moment as he ran his gaze over her
artfully concealed and revealed body.

He wouldn’t leave. He wanted to. Oh, how he
wanted to. She knew. But he wouldn’t leave her alone tonight. Not
after she had teased him so unmercifully at Lady Petersham’s
insipid ball. She had danced, whirled, flirted, enticed, invited.
Dancing with everyone but Adam. Dancing only for Adam. Salome,
without the veils.
Bring me the heart of Adam Dagenham,
she
had chanted fervently as she smiled and danced and flirted and
laughed.
Bring me his love, as I’ve once known it.

He hated her for the way she acted, but he
had left her no other avenue, no other way to fight, and she lacked
the strength it would take to surrender. And, even if he hated her,
he still desired her. As long as he desired her, she had hope.

“You’re right, of course. I should have
introduced him to you. Maybe next time,” Adam said, reaching for
his snifter of brandy. His ever-present snifter of brandy.

He had never drunk more than moderately when
she’d met him, married him. She had pushed him into a bottle. Just
one more sin he wouldn’t forgive her.

She heard his next words through a faint
buzzing in her ears. “Yes, I’ll definitely introduce him to you. I
wouldn’t want you to think he’s forbidden fruit. We all know your
taste for that, don’t we?”

Sherry lifted the back of her hand to her
cheek as she turned her head from him, recoiling from the verbal
blow he’d struck, stifling a sudden sob. “That’s all in
your
mind, Adam. No one else’s.” Then, squaring her shoulders, she
turned to glare at him. “Stop it, Adam. Just stop it, all
right?”

“Ah, darling, if only I could,” Adam said,
putting down the snifter and advancing toward her once more. His
own cheeks were flushed now, as if with fever. “Wasn’t beauty
enough, Sherry? Wasn’t your every dream come true enough—becoming
the acknowledged queen of London Society? Wasn’t my heart enough?”
She watched, dying inside, as his entire body shuddered slightly,
the involuntary movement almost indiscernible. “Why wasn’t my heart
enough?”

“It was—it is,” she told him, made stupid in
her need, by the love that became so volatile when mixed with
exasperation. “It’s you who have turned away—”

“I’m running for my life, Sherry,” he told
her quietly. “Even as I come to you, inside me, in my head, I’m
running for my life. My sanity.”

“Then go,” she cried out challengingly, her
heart aching, her arms empty. “Just go!”

It was his turn to close his eyes, to look
away. “Dear God,” he breathed quietly, the anguish in his voice
tearing at her, giving her hope at the same time. He looked at her
once more, his dark eyes glowing with heat, with want, with
emotions she refused to understand. “I’m not that strong.”

Against all of her instincts, Sherry backed
up a pace, put her hands out to ward him off. For a moment she was
the near child she’d been when he’d met her, loved her, changed her
life forever. “No, Adam. Please. I’d thought—but, no. Not this way.
Please, not this way...”

But it was always this way. If not love, then
need. If not his heart, then his body. It was all he had to give
her. And she would take anything he would give her. Even shame.
There had never been shame before, but they’d made love before,
created love between them. She didn’t know what it was they did
now.

Her empty arms were filled with him. Her
hands clung as he lifted her, carried her, placed her on the bed
where she lay, eyes closed, waiting. The sound of clothing being
all but ripped from his body shredded her nerves.

And then he was beside her. His mouth claimed
hers. His hands found their way beneath her dressing gown, found
her.

She was light-headed before his mouth left
hers, traveled to her throat, her breast, robbing her of even the
memory of breath. His hands molded her, shaped her to fit his every
need, her every desire.

He kissed her. Kissed her breasts. Kissed her
belly.

He moved lower, became more intimate. Kissed
her again.

“Adam.” His name was a curse on her lips, a
benediction. A plea for love or, if not love, at least physical
possession. Now. Now, before she burst into flame, crumbled into
ashes.

Rising as best she could, Sherry frantically
beat on his back with her closed fists. Pulled at him, urged him
upward, clasped him to her tightly even as he settled himself over
her, buried himself deep inside her.

He rocked against her, in her, driving them
both. Over and over and over again. Taking them higher, higher.
Freeing them from words, from regrets, from memory.

They were together now. One now.

It was all they had left....

~ ~ ~

Midmorning sunlight wove its way through the
ivory-lace curtains, traced dappled patterns on the dish-covered
breakfast table of the mansion in Grosvenor Square.

Sherry, always an early riser, had already
breakfasted in her chamber and was, Adam knew, even now sunk deep
in a hot, fragrant tub. Washing herself clean of him, arming
herself for another day of battle.

He had broken his fast alone, at nine, and
followed his eggs and country ham with a snifter of brandy in the
solitude of his study. But he’d heard the wheels rumble against the
snatches of bare tile floor in the hallway a quarter hour ago, and
knew he’d find Geoff in the breakfast room.

Lord Geoffrey Dagenham. His younger brother.
His beloved, silly, senselessly damaged only brother. His heir
until, as the Marquess of Daventry, Adam reproduced himself. Which
might be sooner than later if he kept repeating the mistakes of
last night.

Adam saw the back of the Bath chair first,
its high, stiff back, its caning—the web it seemed to weave around
his brother, trapping him in its seat, between its large wheels. He
saw the thatch of dark blond hair, then the wide smile Geoff turned
on him, the determined cheer in a pair of sky-blue eyes.

Adam’s gut clenched. A tic began its work
beside his left eye.

“Ah, Adam,” Geoff said, waving his brother to
a chair. “Looking your usual grumpy self, I see. Don’t you ever
weary of it?”

Adam took the chair his brother had
indicated, the table blocking the sight of Geoff’s legs. “Don’t you
ever weary of that chair?”

Geoff shook his head. “I’m much more weary of
your constant references to it, frankly. Besides, I’m not at all
attached to the thing. We’ll soon be able to smash it into
kindling. My latest leech swears it. He may be right, or he may
admire the color of all the gold you’re stuffing in his pockets,
all the money you’ve stuffed in so many pockets as we languish here
in town, on the hunt for miracles. Shall I ring for Rimmon to fetch
you a snifter? I’m well aware of how closely our dear butler guards
you, how he feeds your new vice. Or is he busy filling brandy
decanters? Lord knows that’s occupation enough to keep the man busy
around here of late.”

Adam reached for a cold piece of toast he
didn’t really want, ignoring his brother’s remarks. “Do you plan to
go out today? The sun’s warm enough. Perhaps some fresh air—”

“Ah, yes, indeed!” Geoff interrupted. “Some
fresh air. That should do it. A push through the park, some soft
late-autumn breezes, a bit of sun, a giggle or two from the
nannies, a stare or three from some comely, nubile young sylphs as
they dash by, on the hunt for
upright
men. I do so enjoy my
excursions to the park.”

“Damn it, Geoff!” Adam exploded, tossing down
the uneaten toast. “One minute hot, the next cold. I never know
what to say to you, how you’ll react. And to see you still talking
with her, laughing with her as if nothing had happened? After what
she helped do to you—”

“Sherry did nothing to me I didn’t do to
myself, Adam,” his brother interrupted, banging his fist on the
tabletop for emphasis. “She tried to stop me. And if your head
weren’t so thick, and your pride so stiff-backed, you’d see
it.”

Adam sat back in his chair, rubbed a hand
across his eyes. “Oh, yes. Sherry had nothing to do with it. She
never encouraged any of those mad starts, the games, the ridiculous
dares. And I admit it. I enjoyed them myself. For a time. But then
I warned her, warned you—”

“Lie to me, Adam, but not to yourself. You
did more than enjoy the games,” Geoff broke in. “You joined in with
us, at least for a time. You reveled in Sherry, in seeing Sherry
happy. How could you help it? She’s infectious.”

“So, I understand, is smallpox,” Adam bit
out, shaking his head. “Yes, our flights of fancy amused me, as
they were innocent enough. But then we began the races. Those
damnable races. The first was a lark. And the second. But then it
became dangerous. Our whole
lives
became dangerous. I warned
you, I warned you both. It was one thing for you to openly disobey
me, but Sherry promised me—
promised
me—she’d put an end to
her involvement. And, she lied, Geoff. She lied. When I found her
with him that day, I finally knew
why
she—”

He stood, the tic now working furiously. “No,
Geoff. Don’t object, tell me I’m unreasonable. I won’t allow myself
to beat my head against that particular stone wall this morning. I
didn’t come in here to discuss any of this again. I certainly
didn’t come in here to listen, yet again, as you defend my
indefensible wife, her inexcusable actions.”

“Perhaps you’d be better pleased if you could
just cast off the shameless baggage, darling, and have done with
it?” Sherry asked from the doorway. “I know I most certainly would
oppose a public flogging, but there have been times these past
months a scandalous bill of divorce would have seemed almost a
blessing. Good morning, Geoff. I’m here to accompany you to the
park. If we’re lucky enough to find a chestnut man on the way, we
can crack our treats open under your wheels when we get down and
take our stroll.”

Adam stiffened, then slowly turned toward the
door. He watched his wife’s progress as she floated into the room,
dropping a kiss on Geoff’s adoring head before seating herself
beside him. Geoff took her hand in his, lifted it, pressed a kiss
against her smooth white skin.

She appeared both glorious and beautiful in
her watered-sunshine morning gown, her cheeks still flushed from
her bath, her dark-fire hair a tumble of curls, falling from a
topknot that should look silly but that, on her, succeeded in being
most eminently becoming, endearingly charming in its
simplicity.

Adam died, yet again. It had been like this
for more than three months. It was getting so he barely noticed
each new death.

“Adam?” his brother jibed as the silence
became more than uncomfortable. “If we’ve given you time enough to
withdraw your foot from your mouth, perhaps you’ll ring for Rimmon,
and your wife and I can be on our way? Oh—do you care to accompany
us? You’re most certainly invited. Sherry? He is invited, isn’t
he?”

“Of course he is,” she said, plucking at the
blanket tucked across Geoff’s knees as it began slipping toward the
floor. “Adam?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes so shadowed
with unspoken pain that he nearly forgot, only for a moment. But he
could never forget for more than that moment. It was his curse, and
hers. And Dickie’s victory.

“I think not, darling, thank you,” he said
coolly, already on his way to the hall. “I’ll send Rimmon to you as
I head out, having promised to meet with Mr. Burnell at White’s
just at noon. You may remember my mentioning his name to you? We’ve
four invitations awaiting us for this evening, my dear. Feel free
to pick and choose among them. Or perhaps you’d like to make an
appearance at all four? It makes no difference to me where you
choose to disgrace yourself tonight.”

He wasn’t quite out of earshot when he heard
his wife say, quite deliberately, “You know, Geoff, I’ve been
thinking of a small diversion for you. If I were to procure a Bath
chair of my own, we could take them both to the top of that lovely,
grassy hill in the park...”

Adam slammed out of the house, entirely
forgetting both his cane and to instruct Rimmon to attend his
brother.

~ ~ ~

Sherry looked around at the park, at the
fading, yet-still-magnificent glory of flowers and greenery, and
smiled sadly. She adored London, if not her reason for being here
during the small Fall Season rather than at Daventry Court, where
she, Adam, and Geoff had retired after the King’s birthday in
June.

How happy the Spring Season had been. Her
first Season as a married woman, as the marchioness of Daventry.
She had considered herself the most fortunate woman on earth, to
have met Adam, to have him fall in love with her, to have become
his wife. The Season had passed in a whirl of parties and routs and
balls, visits to the theater, silly, absurd picnics with eight
hundred or more persons in attendance, revels that began in the
early afternoon and lasted well into the evening.

And always, always, with Adam by her
side.

She loved to laugh. Adam loved to laugh.
Their mad, impulsive courtship had been full of laughter and stolen
kisses, from the first. She loved him. Ah, how she loved him. How
he’d loved her. All through that magical Spring Season.

And yet? And yet? How afraid Sherry still had
been that he would wake one day and realize that he desired her,
yes, but that their marriage was a mistake. That he had married a
silly, witless child. For all the wrong reasons. That he was bored
with her.

She’d put her fears away for the duration of
the Season and enjoyed London. But once they’d returned to Daventry
Court, to the quiet of the countryside, Sherry’s fears had
returned. Adam had been so busy with estate affairs that summer,
too busy to laugh with her as he’d done in London. She began to
think his interest was waning, his love disappearing beneath a
mountain of reports on cottages needing thatch and pesky, clogged
ditches to be drained.