The Light in the Darkness (14 page)

She sensed that he was dreadfully drunk, but she could not pull away. His long fingers held her arms so tightly and his hopeful silver eyes held her pinned. “Grey,” she said in what she hoped was a reproving tone. “Let go of me.”

“I can’t,” Grey whispered. One of his hands released her arm and reached up to stroke the smooth curve of her jaw. Jennifer froze at the peculiar sensation of his strong, calloused fingers caressing her soft skin. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can never let go of you. Oh, God, I want you. And you want me too. Please tell me so.”

She could not look into those brilliant silver eyes and lie. “I do,” she admitted faintly. Heaven help her, it was true. There was something so blatantly masculine about him, clad as he was in a ruffled linen shirt that was open at the neck, exposing part of the solidly muscled expanse of his chest. There was something terribly compelling about his sharply chiseled features, thrown into sharper relief than ever by the faint light of the candle. Grey was more than attractive, more than handsome. He was irresistible.

“Say it,” he commanded softly, eyes gleaming with something more than hope. Jennifer saw the powerful emotion in his eyes, recognized it for what it was with feminine instinct, and helplessly responded to it.

“I want you,” she whispered, less shyly now.

The expression of raw, elemental passion on his face left little doubt that he returned the sentiment in full. How he could want her so powerfully, so desperately, when he had rarely even acknowledged her presence in the past she could not fathom, but it was evident that he did. She was
unable to bring herself to question fate. Slightly dazed at the direction events were taking, she repeated, “I want you.”

The crystalline truth of those words shocked her. She had thought herself attracted to his younger self, a man with Grey’s arrogance and charm, but with Edward’s passion. Somehow that man was before her now. He came slowly to his feet, staring down at her with all the passion that was his nature etched clearly on his handsome face.

And Jennifer felt the first passion of her life welling up in response. She did not struggle when his lips touched hers. The thought of struggle never occurred to her. Instead she responded eagerly, joyfully, wrapping her arms ardently around his broad shoulders, reveling in the strangely delightful sensations his caressing hands and lips aroused. Even when his lips opened and his tongue delicately stroked hers, she did not recoil in shock, only pressed herself closer to him. The taste of apple brandy on his lips was so intoxicating, his arms around her so warm and solid, that she wondered dizzily if she were dreaming. It had to be a dream. Reality had never been this wonderful.

It was no dream. His questing hand on her breast, his mouth moving caressingly down the sensitive flesh of her throat, all were real. The emotions she had kept bottled inside for so long flooded powerfully through her body and her mind, destroying all conscious thought and volition. She could only moan in helpless pleasure and press her soft body closer to his hard one.

Even when he pulled her down onto the Oriental carpet she made no protest. She could not have formulated an objection had she wanted to. This was what she wanted, this was all that mattered. Every dream she had ever had was fulfilled as he kissed her with ever greater ardor. The weight of his body pressed her into the soft carpet, and she reveled in the sensation. She was helping to ease his grief, and she knew joy for the first time in a very long time.

His hands slid gently over her skin, pushing aside the voluminous folds of her gown and boldly investigating the silken warmth of her calves and thighs, sliding up further to the wet warmth between the golden curls at the junction of her legs. Jennifer bit her lip to keep from crying out at the extraordinary sensation. Her hips began to move in an insistent rhythm that was foreign to her. When at last he pushed her skirts up, his heated flesh seeking hers eagerly, she moaned and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “Grey,” she whispered into his ear, wishing she could tell him how much the sensations he was evoking meant to her, how much she loved being close to him, how much closer she wanted to be to him. He shuddered as her warm lips brushed against his ear.

“Oh, God, Diana,” he moaned. “I love you so much.”

Diana.

Jennifer stiffened involuntarily in shock and horror, but it was too late. His body forced its way into hers, ripping her apart. She cried out in sharp agony, wounded in body and spirit. Above her Grey’s eyes snapped open and he stared at her with bewildered confusion, as if awakening from a dream. He could not stop himself, but finished in three quick thrusts, then withdrew hastily.

The instant his weight lifted from her body, Jennifer curled into a defensive ball on the floor. She wanted to get up and run from the chamber, but her legs would not obey her commands. Her passion had dried into dust the moment he had moaned out Diana’s name. The sudden, humiliating realization that he had imagined he was making love to Diana sent embarrassment flooding through her, making her stomach tighten with nausea. She had never felt so ill in her life. Ruthlessly she cut off her emotion and buried it, deeply, where she would never feel it again.

If this was what emotion felt like, she wanted no part of it. No passion. No love. Nothing. The empty barrenness she had felt before she met Grey was so much safer. The recollection of Grey’s voice calling out for his dead wife
slashed through her brain, and she realized bitterly that she had been a naive fool.

Grey was resting his head on his hands as he sat beside her on the carpet, but this time he was not crying. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I had no idea you were a virgin. You just—you seemed so willing—and it was so easy to pretend you were Diana—” He shook his head. “I used you. I’m sorry.”

He got to his feet and hastily left the room. Jennifer lay curled on the carpet for a long time, feeling the blood seeping slowly from between her legs as though her soul were bleeding. At last she got up, rearranged her clothing with shaking fingers, and sat down at the desk to stare dully at the candle flame until at last it flickered out.

Grey did not return to the study.

Grey could not seem to dismiss the incident from his mind the following morning. An unfamiliar but extremely unpleasant sensation of guilt dogged him as he sat in the gloom of his study, glowering darkly at the green paneled walls.

He had not intended to harm his wife. True, he admitted, he rarely concerned himself with other’s feelings, but he had never wanted to cause such hurt as had been evident in Jennifer’s huge dark eyes before her face lost all expression.

The entire event was a blur in his mind, blurred not only by alcohol but by his intense longing for a woman he wanted desperately and could never have again. At first, deep in his memories, he had actually believed that Jennifer was part of his dreams. Her hair, though darker than Diana’s, was blond, her face beautiful, and he had been seduced by her soft voice and even softer body. By the time he realized she was no dream he had been unwilling to let her go. And he had no idea that she was still a virgin.

To himself he admitted he’d known she was not Diana long before she’d stiffened in his arms and cried out in
anguish. Her skin was golden, her flesh smooth and muscular. True, she was beautiful and blond, yet her body was entirely unlike Diana’s pale, soft, voluptuous figure. She was strong in a way no woman of his class could ever be, made powerful by years of backbreaking work. And oddly enough, he had found her strength, her smoothly taut body, to be incredibly attractive. He had not been able to stop himself.

No, he corrected himself with vicious honesty, he had not
wanted
to stop himself.

He remembered her soft voice consoling him, her hands stroking his hair, and a wave of self-disgust shook him. She had only been trying to help him, to comfort him, and he had rewarded her by causing her mental and physical pain. The more he concentrated, the more blurred his memories became. Irritated though he was by his inability to separate dream from reality, he nevertheless recalled that she had been warm and passionate and loving. And he had taken advantage of her innocent, open response and hurt her, badly.

At last, self-recrimination gnawing at him in a most unusual way, he leaped to his feet and stalked into the parlor, where Jennifer sat at the keyboard. Engrossed in working out some prettily complex composition of her own on the harpsichord, she did not hear him until he cleared his throat. At the sound she spun around, eyes wide.

He welcomed her show of fear, for it was preferable to the emptiness that had filled her haunted eyes last night. And yet he felt that he should reassure her, if possible.

An apology would have been the logical place to start. But Grey, being male, did not apologize easily. Instead he cleared his throat again, almost nervously, and said gruffly, “I’ve been thinking.”

Jennifer said nothing, only averted her gaze and stared intently at the ornate silver buckles that adorned his shoes as though they were the most fascinating things in the world.

“A few days ago,” Grey said hesitantly, “I promised to teach you to ride. Why don’t we start today?”

Her large eyes flew to his face.

“Please,” he added.

Jennifer was stunned. She had never heard Grey ask for anything before. Uncomfortable though his presence made her, she knew an apology when she heard one.

“All—all right,” she stammered.

Grey’s stern face relaxed visibly. “Good. Change into a habit and come along. I’ll be at the stables finding a suitable mount for you.” And turning, he strode from the chamber.

That first day, Grey helped her mount and showed her how to sit in the sidesaddle so that she could ride without constantly fearing that she would fall from the horse’s back. Despite her initial, obviously uncomfortable reaction to his hands touching her, she allowed him to gently help her into the saddle. Soon she stopped recoiling from his touch and forced herself to pay attention to what he was saying.

Then he began to lead the docile gray mare in a circle. After a few terse commands—“Sit straight in the saddle. And don’t saw on the horse’s mouth that way, damn it—” Jennifer began to relax and found herself sitting more easily on the horse’s back. Then Grey had her walk the horse across the pasture and studied her.

She was a natural horsewoman, he mused. Straight carriage—no doubt due to Catherine’s schooling—gentle hands, a reassuring voice. The little mare appeared to trust her rider. And then Jennifer turned the horse back toward him, and he saw that she was smiling openly, clearly happy with her accomplishment, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was beautiful.

He had never before realized it so clearly as he did in that moment. She was wearing a scarlet habit of camlet, a coarse worsted mixed with silk, which was styled in the
fashion of men’s clothing, having a separate, high-necked bodice over a waistcoat. The habit had sleeves that covered her arms to the wrists, in contrast to her usual gowns, nearly all of which ended in cascades of lace at her elbows. Atop her amber hair she wore a black tricorne adorned with a feather. The outfit flattered her, even while it concealed more of her slim figure than did the fashionably low-cut gowns she usually wore. The color emphasized her vivid coloring and bright hair. And the smile lit up her entire face in a way he had never seen before.

He realized that she rarely smiled, and he resolved that he would make her smile more frequently.

When she rode back across the pasture and looked down at him for approval, he nodded. “Very good,” he said briskly, ignoring the curious emotion that was slowly seeping through him in response to her youthful beauty. “In a month you’ll be riding as if you were born on a horse.”

She smiled again, more hesitantly this time. Grey did not tell her how beautiful she was, but he thought it, and found that it was difficult to tear his eyes away from her.

By the end of the week, she and Grey embarked on a ride through the forest. Grey rode his bay stallion, and the delicate gray mare cantered easily by his side. Despite the time they had spent together this week, and despite Grey’s curiously social mood, Jennifer still found herself quite uncomfortable in his presence. It was difficult to look at him without remembering that awful night when he had seduced her.

“You’re very quiet,” Grey observed at length. It was odd, after all these years of resenting company, that he should be the one trying to draw her out. A scant week ago he would have discouraged all attempts at conversation. But a week ago he had not been so painfully conscious of his own depravity.

“I’m concentrating.”

Grey glanced over at her. Her lovely face was, indeed, set
thoughtfully. “Don’t try so hard,” he advised. “You’re doing fine.”

Jennifer glanced at him, found his gray eyes intent on hers, and looked away hastily.

Grey sighed. His efforts to get to know the girl he’d married and brutally used were, so far, fruitless. Which was, of course, no more than he deserved. He struggled valiantly to keep the conversation going. “Do you like Greyhaven?”

“It’s lovely.”

It seemed impossible to get more than three words out of her. Grey sighed again and racked his brain for other subjects.

“You have adjusted remarkably well to life as a member of the gentry,” he remarked at last. “I am … impressed by your capacity to learn.”

The moment he made the inane remark he realized how incredibly condescending it sounded. But at least it did provoke a response. Jennifer lifted her head and met his gaze, her green eyes rapidly darkening with a contemptuous expression that suggested his opinion was of no interest to her whatsoever. “Indeed.”

“Truly,” Grey said, realizing with embarrassment that he had offended her and that he should try to make amends. Consequently, for the first time in his adult life he permitted his tongue to leap forward without the guidance of his brain. “It seems remarkable that any woman could learn so readily, let alone a woman of—” He stumbled to a halt, suddenly aware of the insulting nature of what he had been about to say and of the frigid expression that was slowly settling over her features. “Of your, er, few opportunities. That is—”