The Whisper Of Wings (30 page)

"Please don't stop me. I'll only take what I have to," she swore, weeping bitterly now, her shoulders shaking with every sob.

"Where would you go, Michaela?" he gently reminded her. God, to see her in such pain was tearing him apart.

Her weeping was momentarily interrupted as she contemplated his words. She knew what he meant. He meant that she had nowhere to go. And he was right. Deflated, she slumped onto the bed. "Does it matter?" She shook her head, then buried her face in her hands. "Does anything matter anymore?"

"It matters a great deal to me," he whispered.

She stopped weeping and stared up at him, not quite certain she'd heard right. He gazed back at her, and there was something in his eyes that she'd never seen there before, something like pain.

Christopher silently opened his arms. Never thinking to refuse him, Michaela stood up and moved toward him. And then she was in his arms, wrapped in the peace and security he offered. It was all she needed.
He
was all she needed.

"No one will ever hurt you again, Michaela. Ever. I promise you that," he murmured against her hair.

Christopher rested his cheek against her hair, breathed deeply of the fragrance of her, reveled in the feel of her in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything, that he had her novels safely in his possession, that Yelvington was no longer a threat. She need never go back to her family again, and she could remain here with him forever if that's what she chose to do. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know that she was safe. But he wasn't sure if the timing was right.

"Something inside me snapped when I saw him touching you. I nearly lost my mind," he told her.

"I'm just glad you were there," she answered, her cheek pressed against his chest. She tipped her head back to look up at him. "Oh, Christopher, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused you."

His heart twisted as he looked down at her, all his resolve flying in the face of reason. She had called him by his given name. For the first time since she'd come to them, she had actually spoken his name. Coming from her soft lips, it sounded almost angelic. He was captivated by the beautiful image she made in her nightgown. She felt so right in his arms, like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there, her warm body pressed against his, so provocative.

Suddenly, his hands were in her hair, the strands spilling out over his clenched fists, and he was pulling her closer, claiming her lips with his. He groaned against her mouth and crushed her to him. He couldn't deny himself anymore. He had to touch her.

His lips were on her mouth, on her throat. He pushed aside the robe so he could feel the soft, rounded swell of her shoulders. He couldn't stop himself. He was reckless as he raked his lips across her tender flesh, claiming the tender bud of her mouth, her name falling from his lips over and over again. She sighed against him, returned his kisses with a fervency that matched his. She melted into him, her beautiful, tempting body brushing his, making him rigid with need. He molded her to him, pressed her tightly against his masculine core. When she moaned against his mouth, he nearly lost his mind. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could have her now, take her with all the fire and passion he longed for.

"Oh, Christopher," she sighed.

He knew he was bruising her mouth with his own, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. This passion had gone too long suppressed. It cried out for freedom, with a voice far too powerful to ignore any longer. He couldn't have stopped it if he'd wanted to.

His hands left her hair to trail down her back. Silk frustrated his fingers, and he tugged it away, anxious to feel her bare skin beneath his hands. He heard something rip beneath his onslaught, and she gave a little cry of something like pleasure. It jolted him to his senses: the torn cloth he still clutched in his hands, the little cry that reminded him so much of the cry of fright he'd heard fall from her lips only moments ago when she'd been under attack by James Telford.

He lifted his head and stared down at her, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. She was looking back at him, her eyes glazed with desire, her lips red from his impassioned kisses. God, how he wanted to touch her more, to make love to her. But he couldn't. She trusted him, and he couldn't bring himself to destroy that bond, so fragile between them. He was behaving like an animal, no better than James Telford.

Ashamed, he let go of her nightgown and took a few steps away from her. She stared at him, a look of surprise on her face. He half turned away to hide his body's response to their passion, but he didn't turn his eyes away from her. He couldn't. He had to drink her in, had to remember the way she looked just now, wanting him, her hair falling disheveled about her shoulders, her eyes pleading with him to tell her what was happening, to tell her why he was rejecting her.

He reached out and gently traced her cheek with his palm. Then he bent forward, started to place his lips on hers for one last kiss, but he never quite made it. He knew if he kissed her again, he would never stop. He would never be able to tear himself away. He raised his head, traced his thumb along her jaw, and then turned his back on her. He had to force himself to leave.

It wasn't until he was safely locked in his own room that he realized he hadn't told her about her freedom, hadn't explained. He'd needed to get away so badly that he had inadvertently left her with nothing. He pounded a frustrated fist against the mantelpiece and glared down into the empty grate in the fireplace.

No matter his desires, he would have to stay away from her, at least for a time, long enough to convince himself that he didn't want her, didn't need her.

Indulge yourself.
It was one of Gerald's favorite sayings. But would he be so quick to allow it given the present circumstances? Would his only son despise him for what he'd done? Would Michaela even tell him?

Blast, he was in an agony of indecision. Wanting, needing. Not knowing. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless. It was not a feeling that made him proud.

Michaela stood in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the closed door Christopher had so recently disappeared through, her torn nightgown trailing from her bare shoulders. She touched her lips and smiled. Though he had left so abruptly, without any explanations, she didn't necessarily feel rejected. She'd never been kissed like that in all her life. Surely, it meant something. At the very least, she knew he wanted her. That in itself was something.

She shivered at the memory of him standing there in the middle of her room, his bare chest heaving with passion. She'd traced her fingers down his lean back, across his broad chest, down his muscular arms, and it had felt good. Forbidden. Exciting. And warm.

She turned away from the door and accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Stunned, she took a step closer to peer at her image. She looked...beautiful. At that moment, she saw what Christopher had seen, and for the first time in her life, she thought she was beautiful. She smiled again. It was Christopher. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel intelligent, strong, capable. And most importantly, he made her feel worthy.

No, she didn't see this night as rejection. Quite the contrary, it gave her hope, a hope she intended to cling to. She mattered to him. He had said so. And that was all she needed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Christopher sat in his office brooding. He had stayed awake most of the night contemplating his next action. He didn't like James's threats, and he fully intended to do something about them. It was not an easy prospect he faced now, but he must. It was time. Perhaps it was long past time.

When Michaela chanced by the office, he got up and went out into the hall to call to her. She stopped halfway to the kitchen and turned back to face him, her eyes hopeful, eager, as if she had wanted him to notice her, to call to her.

Portia and James had slipped away late in the night, and Michaela was glad to see them gone. She had awakened that morning with a sense of peace and well-being that she hadn't enjoyed since their arrival. And the memory of Christopher's body pressed against hers, his hands in her hair, his lips on hers remained with her, bringing her a joy she'd never known before.

No one had spoken about the incident with James Telford, rather they avoided any mention of it, and Michaela was grateful for that. She didn't want to talk about the experience. It had been too harrowing, too embarrassing for her, and she wanted nothing more than to put it behind her. But that one, blissful moment with Christopher.... Oh, how she longed to speak about it, to repeat it.

Christopher smiled. She looked lovely as ever. He hated to have to tell her the news. Especially after the way he'd held her in his arms last night, the way he'd left her without an explanation. Would she see it as rejection?

"I'm afraid I must leave again. I have some pressing business that needs my immediate attention." He faltered for a moment, hating to disappoint her. "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."

She glanced away, uncertainty clearly written in her face. He took a step closer, reached out to take her hands in his, to reassure her. But he didn't quite trust himself to touch her, so he dropped his hands back down to his sides before they made contact.

"I'll be fine," she murmured, putting on a bright facade for his sake, a strength she certainly didn't feel. She didn't want him to go away. Not just now. But if he must, there was nothing she could do about it. She had no hold on him. Their relationship had yet to be defined. How could she be presumptuous enough, bold enough to ask him not to leave?

Christopher smiled, relieved that she seemed to understand. "Well, then." He took a step away, giving a slight, almost uncertain nod of his head. He felt damnably awkward around her now.

"Journey safely," she said.

His smile broadened. "That I will."

He stared at her for a moment longer, on the verge of asking her, just to reassure himself, if she would be there when he returned, if she would wait for him no matter what occurred. But the words never came.

Still feeling awkward, he went back into his office to make the arrangements. It would be hell leaving her behind. This time they would be separated by miles of ocean. But his trip was necessary. And when he returned....

When he returned, he would tell her all those things that he hadn't yet.

In the days that followed Christopher's departure, Michaela spent most of her time with Gerald. He was thrilled with his classes at the university. She was delighted to share in his enthusiasm, and listened avidly to his every word. His eyes sparkled whenever he spoke about architecture, and she thought he'd never looked more like his father than when he was talking about what he loved. She was happy for him, happy that he had found his niche in life.

But even Gerald couldn't keep her from missing Christopher. He'd been gone for almost a week without making any calls home. Whatever had taken him away must have been vital, so pressing that he couldn't even drag himself away to reassure his family that he was safe. She tried to keep herself occupied so as not to think about it, but in those moments when her hands and her mind were idle, she worried incessantly. Was he safe? When would he return? When Gerald was home, it wasn't so bad, but when he was off attending classes, she was often given to worrying. The house seemed empty without either man there, especially Christopher.

In his absence, she had decided that upon his return she would tell him the truth about everything, whatever the consequences. She refused to deceive him any longer. She loved him too much. The decision was like having a weight lifted from her chest. She felt alive, and freer than she ever had before. Until the call came and took it all away from her again.

When she heard the phone ringing in the foyer, she rushed to answer, hoping it was Christopher calling to say he would be home soon. But when she recognized the harsh voice on the other end of the line, her newfound sense of contentment was shattered.

"Michaela?" the voice queried.

For a moment, Michaela was frozen in place, her heart pounding painfully against her ribcage. She'd never expected anything like this, couldn't even imagine how her mother had known where to find her. And when the import of it finally hit her, a tight band seemed to clinch across her chest so that she had difficulty breathing. My God, he knew! He'd known all along. Why hadn't he said anything?

With a cry of dismay, she slammed the receiver back into its cradle and raced out of the room. Confused and afraid, blinded by tears, she ran out of the house and stumbled across the immaculate lawn. She didn't know what she was doing, where she was going. She only knew that she must get away. If he thought to send her back.... Oh, God, she could never go back there. Never.

Christopher came home to an oddly silent house. Loosening his tie, he went to his office and laid his briefcase on his desk. He glanced around in consternation. He'd been eager to get back, should have been relieved now, but he wasn't. It was too quiet in the house. Something felt wrong.

He left his office and went down the hall to the kitchen. Mrs. Avery was there, up to her elbows in flour. She glanced up when he came in, obviously surprised.

"Why, Mr. Standeven, I didn't hear you come in. I had no idea. You didn't ring to tell us."

"I wanted to surprise Michaela." He frowned. "Is she out riding?"

"I don't know. I thought I saw her flit down the hall just an hour ago."

He stared back at her, his mind churning with all the possibilities.

"She was writing earlier. I assumed she still was. She can go for hours without...." Mrs. Avery trailed off when she realized he was no longer listening.

Christopher turned away, intent on going to Michaela's room. He was still surprised that she hadn't seen the Duesenberg from her window and met him in the hall when he came in. He had expected as much, had wanted her to, had dreamed that she would. The fact that she hadn't made him uneasy, and he couldn't seem to stifle the fear that she might have left him.

Mrs. Avery stopped him before he made it to the door. "There was a phone call. It seemed rather urgent."

He turned back, his scowl deepening. He didn't like the sound of Mrs. Avery's news. All his business was accounted for. There should have been no urgent phone calls for him. Unless....

"Who was it?"

"A Mrs. Dunne. She sounded very angry and wanted to speak to you right away."

Christopher felt something awful constrict inside his chest. Now he knew something was wrong. "When did you say you last saw Michaela?"

"Just an hour ago." Mrs. Avery frowned. She'd sensed Christopher's anxiety, and absorbed a little of it for herself. "Is something wrong?"

"Where is Gerald?"

"At the university. He should be—"

"Call all the servants together at once. I'm going to Michaela's room."

He left Mrs. Avery standing there looking stunned, her sentence unfinished, and took the stairs two at a time. He literally ran down the hall and almost forced Michaela's door off its hinges, he was so anxious to find her. God, please let her be there.

A quick sweep of the room, and all his hopes were dashed. He went to the desk and searched its contents. Everything was still there, oddly in order. But there was no Michaela. He panicked. She was gone. Blast it all, she was gone. He felt it in every cell of his body.

His adrenaline was pumping so hard, so fast that his hands were shaking by the time he found the servants all huddled in the hall below. Mrs. Avery stared at him in despair, her hands wringing together in agitation. He ignored her for the moment to address Leo, ever hopeful that the man had seen Michaela. But the stable master assured him that Michaela hadn't been riding all afternoon.

"Get Gerald back here now," he ordered, then turned back to the servants. "I want a full account of every minute of this day. I want to know everything that has taken place. Mrs. Avery, tell me every detail of the conversation you had with Mrs. Dunne.
Every
detail."

By the time she had finished telling him everything, his face was set in grim lines. There had been two phone calls. Both were only minutes apart, but Mrs. Avery had answered only one of them. He was certain now that Michaela had answered the first, and she'd reacted just as anyone might have expected. She had run.

"Search every nook and cranny," he ordered, beside himself with worry now. My God, he couldn't live if she was gone. He simply couldn't live.

As the entire staff jumped to do his bidding, Christopher hurried to the stables and saddled his stallion. Leo saddled another mount, and together they set out to comb the woods.

The day was nearly gone by the time he finally found her. She was in the forest, curled up against the root of a hug oak tree. He pulled the horse to a halt several yards away and motioned for Leo to go back to the house.

"Tell the others that she has been found," he instructed.

While Leo moved away, Christopher dismounted his horse and tethered it nearby, still staring at the forlorn figure that lay against the tree. She looked helpless and fragile. He was so relieved to find her. He only hoped that she was all right. She didn't look well.

As he approached, he realized that she was asleep. Her hair fell across her face in a tangled wave, half hiding her face, but it was easy to see that she'd been weeping. All the evidence was still there.

He went to his knees beside her and gently shook her awake. She opened tear-reddened eyes and looked up at him, uncomprehending at first. Then, as if it were only natural, she went into his arms, reaching up and twisting her own arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she had hoped for him to find her.

Michaela didn't even think about it. She just reveled in the safety he offered. He was here. He had come for her.

Christopher pulled her closer, his cheek resting against the top of her head, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotion raging through him. He had found her! She was safe! Thank God, she was all right. If he'd lost her for good.... He didn't even want to think about that. It was too painful a prospect.

"We searched for hours," he murmured against her hair, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her back. He couldn't get close enough, almost needed to pull her inside himself to feel whole again. "I feared the worst."

His words jolted Michaela back into reality, and she started to weep uncontrollably. "Why did you come? Why couldn't you leave me here to die in peace?"

"The answer is simple. I can't live without you," he told her, still holding her tight. "I realized that the moment I discovered you were gone. I thought I would die right then and there. I had visions of spending the rest of my life looking for you and never finding you."

Michaela was sobbing so hard, so caught up in her own misery, that his words didn't quite register. "I'm so ashamed," she wailed against his chest.

"It's all right, my darling. There is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to fear any longer."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew? Why did you let me go on deceiving you?"

"I didn't want you to hate me for prying into your personal affairs," he admitted. "For that I am sorry. But for the outcome, I am grateful. I couldn't help myself. I needed to know so much more about you than you had offered. And it turned out for the best that I did pry. You're safe now."

"It was never my intention to deceive you," she mumbled, sniffling as she clung to him. "I was just so terrified of being sent back. I couldn't marry Geoffrey. I just couldn't. I was so alone, so afraid. You were my only hope, my shelter. My wings. You did so much more for me than you'll ever know."

She drew back to look up at him. He was smiling down at her.

"When my mother called...I thought I'd lost all that. I thought you would hate me for lying to you," she managed through her tears.

"I could never hate you," he assured her, stroking a few tendrils of tear-dampened hair away from her face.

Her tears began to subside as she gazed up at him, and he saw a spark of renewed hope glistening in her eyes.

"Honestly? You really understand why I did it?"

He nodded. "I understand perfectly. And I don't blame you. Your mother isn't the nicest of creatures."

"I think my father made her that way," she murmured, still gazing up at him with something like awe. She believed him when he said that he didn't hate her, didn't blame her. She trusted him. She really trusted him with everything now, implicitly. "I didn't know what to do, where to go. This place...you...it's all I have now."