Dark Obsession (25 page)

"I ... I ..." As though cornered prey, Nora backed against his bureau, hands twisting behind her. Guilt glittered in her eyes while mortifiication fllamed her cheeks. She looked about to turn and bolt the way she’d come.

He wished she would, wished with all his being that she wasn’t here now, staring at him with her wide, innocent eyes and her open, ingenuous spirit.

What would she see? How lost his brother had become in his last months of life? And how indifferent Grayson had been during that time?

Even if Thomas hadn’t been directly involved in smuggling, someone had been using his land for criminal purposes. The Tom that Grayson had known, the honest, generous earl who had cherished Blackheath Grange above all else but his wife and child, would never,
ever
have allowed such an outrage.

That he
had
allowed it, or had remained ignorant of it, gave testimony to how far his life had fallen apart, how desperate and distracted he had become in the end. That is what the ghosts wanted Grayson to know when they led him to the headland today. . . . The full consequences of his actions, or lack of them, in the year—no, years—leading to his brother’s death.

And now, with Nora cowering against his bureau, her beautiful face filled with alarm and uncertainty, his culpability for her and for Tom and Jonny, felt like a jagged weight of granite cutting into his shoulders.

He crossed to the corner of the bed, leaned against the curtained post and folded his arms across his chest. He supposed the pose made him look cavalier. In reality he needed that post to shore him up, because he feared his strength might fail him, that he might land flat on his face.

‘‘If you wished to speak with me,’’ he said with false calm, ‘‘you might have simply knocked on my door. Even if you had merely wished to snoop about my room, I’d have let you in.’’

That produced an instantaneous transformation. Her shoulders squared, her chin swung up and her eyes fired off hot little flares that singed his flesh.

‘‘Knock?’’
A hand shot out from behind her back, flailing his soggy neckcloth at him. ‘‘Did
you
knock before breaking and entering my chamber last night?’’

‘‘I broke nothing when I entered, and yes, I did try knocking first.’’ When she looked thoroughly unconvinced he added, ‘‘Softly, and at both doors. I didn’t wish to disturb you if you were sleeping. I also tried both knobs, but you seemed intent on barring my way.’’

‘‘Oh, and so you took it upon yourself to steal in like a common thief?’’

‘‘On the contrary, I stole nothing and left something. Did you see my note?’’

‘‘Yes, I saw it.’’

‘‘And?’’

His gut clenched as he waited for her reply. He had been so certain when he wrote that missive last night that he was doing a noble thing in urging her to leave. Today he felt more convinced than ever.

But the desire to grab her and hold on tight pulsed through him as the silence stretched. As he watched an inner battle toss shadows across her lovely features, he questioned his ability to ever let her go, to face the rest of his life—and his demons—without her quiet strength and steady faith to anchor him.

All the more reason for her to fly free. For in the end he’d only drag her down, as he’d dragged Tom. . . .

She stepped away from the bureau. ‘‘Are you wet?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘You are. You’re soaked through. Especially your trousers. Where were you? Out in the rain?’’

‘‘It doesn’t matter.’’

‘‘You’ll catch your death.’’

‘‘I doubt it.’’ He ran his fingers around his decidedly damp collar, then wished he hadn’t.

‘‘What have you done to your hand? How did you get those scratches on your face?’’

He balled the injured hand in to a fist. ‘‘You read my note, Nora. What are you going to do about it?’’

‘‘Yes, well, I’m not leaving.’’

‘‘It would be for the best if you did.’’ Even to his ears, the statement lacked the smallest shred of sincerity, while the intensity of his relief convinced him he hadn’t a noble bone in his body.

‘‘I resent your telling me what I should and shouldn’t do,’’ she said.

‘‘Never mind what I tell you. Haven’t the past several days spoken well enough?’’ He pushed out a grim laugh. ‘‘Surely you can’t deny having had the inclination to end this unfortunate marriage of ours.’’

‘‘I did not marry you expecting heaven-sent bliss.’’

‘‘To say the least.’’

‘‘But things have changed since then.’’ She twisted his neckcloth between her hands. ‘‘I’ve discovered you don’t despise me any more than I do you.’’

‘‘Perhaps you should.’’

‘‘No.’’ She came closer, and he pressed tighter against the bedpost. ‘‘Don’t you see? There is something here worth holding on to.’’

Yes,
her
. She was worth holding on to. But what would she have in return? Something empty and insubstantial. A lie of a husband.

‘‘If you’d only talk to me, tell me the truth of what’s troubling you. I know what you said about your brother but—’’

‘‘You didn’t believe me? Did you think I spoke metaphorically about pushing my brother over that cliff?’’

‘‘I don’t believe you did any such thing. You’re not capable of . . .’’

Her words faltered as he shoved away from the post. She backed away quickly, hitting the bureau with her shoulders and rattling the drawers.

‘‘Aren’t I, sweet Nora?’’ Reaching her, he wrapped his hands around her slight hips and tugged her against him. ‘‘How can you be so certain?’’

She went rigid against him, but didn’t pull away. ‘‘I know perfectly well—’’

He dipped his head and cut her assertion short by covering her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, painfully, teeth biting into lips. Her muffled protest vibrated inside him while her hands slid up between them. He only held her tighter while his tongue pushed into her mouth to duel with hers.

He heard the catches in her throat, felt the tension of her resistance. But he watched himself go on frightening her with his devouring kisses and crushing embrace. Just as he had once watched himself beleaguer Tom with angry words. Unable to stop. Loathing himself. Wishing he were different, stronger, better.

And then . . . it all changed.
She
changed. Took control somehow, slowing their kisses until each one lingered sweetly, softly. Until his senses swam in pleasure. Until his anger and grief melted into the fire smoldering between their joined mouths.

Just as he began to believe he might warm his frigid heart in her arms, she broke the kiss and pushed him to arm’s length. Dampness from his shirt darkened the front of her dress, making it cling to her breasts in wanton invitation.

She panted for breath but regarded him unblinkingly, one eyebrow quirked above the other. ‘‘I think you need me more than you know.’’

‘‘And more than I wish to.’’ The words escaped before he could catch them. Triumph sparked in her eyes.

With a scowl he pulled free of her grasp. ‘‘Go, Nora, get out,’’ he commanded, knowing he must be adamant or he’d end up gathering her in his arms and burying his soul in her lusciously willing body.
Losing
his soul, and endangering hers. ‘‘Leave Blackheath Grange.’’

‘‘I’m not going anywhere.’’ Slipping his cravat around the back of his neck, she held the trailing ends and pulled him close. Her breath heated the cold skin inside his sodden collar. ‘‘I married you and I’m in this for keeps, despite your attempts to frighten me away. You didn’t murder your brother—’’

‘‘Damn it, Nora—’’

‘‘No, damn
you
for feeling so guilty about his death that you’re willing to punish everyone around you for it.’’

‘‘That isn’t what I’m doing.’’

‘‘Yes, it is.’’ Her fingers encircled his arms, digging in. Tipping her chin, she peered fiercely into his eyes. ‘‘Tell me the truth. How did your brother die?’’

He yanked free, turned and stumbled to the bed. Sinking onto the edge, he dropped his head into his hands. ‘‘I don’t know for certain.’’

‘‘What do you
think
happened?’’

She had followed him, stood so close her scent floated dizzily through his head.

‘‘I think he jumped. Jumped because he’d got himself into trouble he couldn’t get out of, and because I refused to be of any help.’’

He raised his face to her all-too-trusting one and willed himself to say what had haunted him for nearly a year. ‘‘Tom committed suicide because of me, Nora. Because when he bankrupted the estate, I told him he was a worthless failure. That he’d disgraced the entire family, shamed the Clarington name and failed his son. And so he went out to the cliffs that very day and repaid his debts with the only thing he had left— his life.’’

‘‘Surely you can’t know that for certain.’’

He nodded miserably. ‘‘I believe I found evidence today that Tom had resorted to extreme measures to recoup the funds and property he’d lost. He’d become desperate, and I . . .’’

‘‘No, Gray. It can’t have been your fault. You can’t be responsible for another man’s actions, not even your brother’s.’’ Her hand came down on his shoulder, light, tender, filled with infinite compassion.

He couldn’t endure such undeserved trust; it set off a fury inside him. Not at her, but at her damned propensity to believe the best of him despite the facts. He leapt to his feet.

‘‘Don’t patronize me, Nora. You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’’

‘‘Oh, but—’’

‘‘No! This is who I am. This is your husband.’’ Turning back to the bed, he grabbed the bedclothes in both hands and with a howl of frustration dragged them from the mattress and flung them to the floor. Pillows flew, sending a lamp on the bedside table crashing to the floor.

Nora bit back a cry of dismay. He whirled on her, backing her across the room. ‘‘See me for what I am and don’t talk to me about what you do not understand. It doesn’t matter if these hands pushed him or not.’’

He held them up as if to wrap them around a neck, sending her lurching out of reach. ‘‘It doesn’t matter whether or not I wished him dead that day. The result is the same. I drove Tom over the edge. I’m the reason he’s dead and all that’s left of the Clarington name is a shadow of a boy who won’t speak.’’

‘‘Jonny can be helped. . . .’’

‘‘Not here. No one can be helped in this house.’’ Advancing on her again, he trapped her against his writing desk. He framed her face in his hands, feeling the heat of her fear in his palms. ‘‘You know it too. You feel it. The very walls are closing in on us, strangling us with their history of death and obsession. This house is haunted by its past, and your only chance is to get away. Take Jonny and go somewhere you’ll both be safe.’’

‘‘Only if you come with us.’’

He released her with a sharp laugh. ‘‘Oh, no. I belong here. Here with my brother.’’

‘‘Do you see him?’’ At her whispered query his heart went still. The blood drained from his head as she continued, ‘‘Does your brother’s spirit appear to you?’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’ But the tremor in his voice belied his show of ignorance.

‘‘You just said it. This house . . . is haunted.’’

‘‘I only meant—’’

‘‘Gray, I’ve seen a woman, late at night. . . .’’ She wrinkled her brow as if disbelieving her own words.

‘‘What woman?’’

‘‘I don’t know. She’s appeared to me several times now, always wanting me to do something, go somewhere, find . . . something.’’

‘‘You’ve been dreaming.’’ Yes, he wanted her to be imagining things. . . . Couldn’t bear the notion that his demons might be haunting Nora as well.

She shook her head. ‘‘I’ve told myself that, but this last time she seemed entirely real, and I know I was awake. She always wears a lavender dress and speaks in a lovely musical accent—’’

‘‘Charlotte.’’ The name grated from his throat.

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘Never mind. You have to leave, Nora. For your own safety.’’

At long last he knew the truth—his ghosts were real and he wasn’t insane. But this could prove infinitely worse. If Tom’s ghost haunted him, there would be justice, retribution. But if so, it must be his alone to bear. He would not see Nora or Jonny hurt by whatever price he must pay for Tom’s death. That much he swore. ‘‘Leave now or so help me . . .’’

‘‘I won’t run away. You need me—’’

‘‘Damn it, Nora, why won’t you listen to me?’’ He grasped the nearest thing within reach, the clock on the desk, and hurled it against the far wall. Shattering glass, splintering wood and the brass workings showered the floor.

Nora’s cry echoed through the room, in his ears. He saw the color leach from her face in the instant before her hands shot up in front of her to shield her from . . . from him. He started to reach for her, halting when her eyes widened around a feral kind of fright rimmed with dawning comprehension, with dismay. They stood immobile, panting, for several seconds. Then she did as he’d earlier hoped—she whirled and disappeared into the secret passageway.

Hearing her panicked tread creaking along the wooden floor above, his heart broke at the same time relief surged through him. Perhaps now fear of him would send her to safety.

He pressed both hands to his head, squeezing, trying to crush the memories, the pain, and the knowledge that in marrying Nora he had come agonizingly close to touching happiness again, only to have it pulled beyond reach forever.

Nora stumbled over the high threshold back into her room, catching herself against the side of the angled wardrobe. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks but she dashed them away. Knuckles blanched, fingers trembling, she pressed a fist to her stomach and choked back a sob. Her breath came in violent bursts. Chills racked her, brought on only partly by the dampness clinging to her dress, transferred there from Grayson’s clothing when he’d kissed her.

Grayson. He was surely mad. Not because he was seeing ghosts, for if that branded him insane then she must wear the same label. No, that his tormentors were real she didn’t doubt. But the violence that torment unleashed in him . . .