Chapter 20

20

Nathaniel feltthe word escape his mouth, hardly able to believe he had said it.

He had thought it countless times over the years. He’d lived it. Breathed it. He’d gotten himself where he was because of that dark secret.

But saying it out loud was like releasing a demon he had kept under lock and key.

It was terrifying. Painful.

And yet completely liberating.

She’d never again look at him the way she had when she’d seen the terrace, the lanterns, and the irises. The way he wished she’d look at him every day for the rest of their lives.

His confession had wiped the tender look off her face. Instead, confusion and hurt distorted her features.

“You?” she asked. “Whatever do you mean?”

He inhaled sharply, fresh night air cutting through his clenched throat like knives. He looked away from her, into the darkness of the city. “I was fifteen, the twins were one, and Hazel was three. We were on our way to London from our country estate, Kelford Manor, and it was late at night. Papa had summoned us to London because he wanted to throw a ball for the king and queen and required my mama to do it. We rode through the darkness but planned to stop at an inn shortly, where we would retire for the night and resume our way to London the following day. The twins were sleeping, cradled in Mama’s arms, and Hazel was nestled against me. The carriage suddenly stopped. I heard the horses neigh and male voices. Then the shots of pistols.”

He felt Calliope tense against him, her arm wrapped around his shoulders, although she couldn’t encompass the whole width of them.

“The smell of gunpower was acrid even through the glass windows,” he resumed, reliving his memory of that dark night. “Then there was silence. They killed our coachmen and our footmen, who were also our guards. Mama’s eyes were so white against the darkness. I was terrified. There were muff pistols under the seat of the carriage, I knew, and I told her to stand up so that I would get them. She did, and I grabbed them, hiding them behind my back.”

A painful knot gathered in his neck, his chest feeling like it was going to burst.

“Then one of the highwaymen appeared in the window staring right at us and opened the door. He told us to get out and give them all our gold, jewelry, everything. Mama and I got out, but she left the girls inside.

“There were seven or eight of them, all had pistols in their hands. Mama told them she’d give them everything and started to remove her rings, her necklace. Her purse. When one of them told her to also take off her dress, I took the guns from my waistband and fired. I shot one of them in the leg, but the second pistol missed.”

His throat felt like it had suddenly shrunk and was as dry as the stone under his fingers.

“They became enraged. Started yelling. Cussing. One of them leveled his pistol and fired at me. I knew I was dead. Saw that blast of fire as though painted against the night. The flash of hot, prickly awareness that I was finished.”

He swallowed. It was hard to talk through his tight throat.

“But there was no pain. Nothing pierced me, ripped through me. The bullet intended for me never came. My mother had jumped in front me.”

He looked at Calliope, and saw a tear roll down her cheek, her eyes wide on him.

“I thought I would die. Instead, my mother lay dead at my feet,” he finished.

And finally, the tears he hadn’t allowed himself for fourteen years fell.

Calliope pulled him close, wrapping her slim arms around his large frame, and although she couldn’t reach all the way around him, he felt surrounded by her sweet, gorgeous body like a protective blanket. For the first time in his life, he let go and wept. For the first time, he felt like he wasn’t alone, like there was someone else who would listen and understand.

Since that night in the moonlit meadow, surrounded by dead people, cradling his beloved mother in his arms, he had felt alone every day of his life.

Until now.

“It wasn’t your fault, Nathaniel,” she whispered. Her face was pressed against his, and he felt her tears against his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” he whispered. “I had the pistols, and I couldn’t protect her. I should have died instead of her.”

“No, no.” She shook her head, her breath hot and urgent against his face. She took his face in both hands and made him look at her. She was slightly blurry from his tears. “No!” she said firmly. “You are not to blame for those thugs having ambushed you. Several grown men fell victims to those bandits. You were only fifteen—you can’t expect an adolescent to have fought off a band of killers.”

Warmth spread through his chest. He had never heard anyone say out loud that he wasn’t to blame. The only people he had told were his father and the coroner, but he had never told them what it did to him. That, perhaps, he had died with his mother, after all.

“My father thought the same thing I did, Calliope,” Nathaniel said. “When he saw me alone and heard Mama was dead, he crumpled into a ball. And in a pained, broken voice I had never heard from him before, told me, ‘You should have protected her!’”

“No!” cried Calliope again. “He should have sent more men with you—armed men. He shouldn’t have demanded that she travel so hastily that your carriage was on the road at night. It was his expectations and ambitions that killed her, not you, a fifteen-year-old who loved her.”

The truth of those words hit him like a cannonball. For the first time since that night, he stopped and considered the truth beyond what he had believed. He felt his tears slowing and blinked. Somehow, it became easier to breathe.

“It was a terrible, unthinkable event,” Calliope said softly, still holding his face in her hands, her eyes so full of empathy and love, his breath caught in his throat again. “She loved you very much, and she wouldn’t want you to live your life blaming yourself for something she did out of love. She gave you life—twice, as any loving mother would in a heartbeat.”

She kissed him then, and he wrapped his arms around her, marveling at the initiative she took. He could taste the salt on her lips, his tears mixed with hers, and he kissed her like there would never be tomorrow, because he didn’t want this to end. For the first time since that night, he felt understood. Appreciated.

“Thank you, Calliope,” he whispered against her lips. “Thank you.”

She chuckled without breaking the kiss. “Thank you, too, Nathaniel. For earlier… And for this wonder.”

William…his blood seethed just from thinking of that damned name. “No man can insult you and walk this earth unpunished,” he said as he looked at her.

Her lashes were still wet from tears, big eyes shimmering with something. He helped her to sit on the quilt he hadn’t used in fourteen years. It smelled musty, but he recognized every pattern Mama had carefully sewn. Not a task for a duchess, but she had enjoyed doing that in Kelford Manor when Papa was in London and she was free to do whatever she wanted. The fabric felt soft and thin under his fingers.

He poured wine into two glasses and handed one to Calliope.

“What happened with that bastard?” he asked. “Why did he dare to call you those terrible words?”

Calliope looked down at the quilt, her face turning red even in the bluish moonlight. “Because he saw me doing things a well-bred duke’s daughter shouldn’t do.”

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“Their family are neighbors of Grandhampton Court, and they spent summers visiting us. I grew up knowing William, and he was the object of my first girlish love. I adored him. Good-looking. Confident. Brave. Smart. A friend of my brothers. When I talked about detective stories that I loved, I thought his teasing was his way of showing he liked me back.”

She swallowed.

“There was one book in our vast library…one book I shouldn’t have found. You have it, actually.”

Nathaniel raised his brows. “Which one?”

“Villains and Velvet.”

He was just taking a sip of his wine, and hearing that title made him choke. He barely contained his wine in his mouth. He swallowed. “Villains and Velvet? You read it when you were an adolescent girl?”

He could see the beetroot blush on her face. “Yes.”

He needed to hide that book better. He imagined his sisters finding it and didn’t like it one bit. “What did you think of it?”

“I liked it,” she said quietly, her big eyes sheepishly meeting his from under her lashes. So unlike her. He remembered now how she had dropped it when she’d found it in his bedchamber. “It was the first time I realized my body could feel pleasure like I had never felt before.”

“I daresay,” he said hoarsely.

“But when I was reading it… I tried to do what the people in the stories did. I sat in the library…behind a desk, hidden…and touched myself.”

Nathaniel’s mouth went dry. She was so pliable, so wonderfully responsive when he caressed her, he was sure she was very sensual. And yet he saw fear in her eyes, and she had stopped him…and those tears… William… Anger started rolling in his whole body, fists clenching. He had an inkling where this was going.

“Let me guess. Did he see you?” he asked softly. “With the book? Touching yourself?”

Calliope looked defeated and nodded. “He did.”

Nathaniel suppressed a vile curse. “What did he do?”

Calliope didn’t reply for a long time, and her chest began rising and falling quicker and quicker. Her blush spread down to her chest, and her eyes filled with tears again. Goddamn it to hell, the urge to crush the bastard was itching every inch of his body. Instead, he put the glasses aside and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Her warm, small body fit so perfectly against him.

“He laughed at me,” she said. “He called me a whore. He pinched me right here.” She indicated a place above her collarbone. “It felt like that pinch branded me. A whore.”

“Despicable bastard,” gritted out Nathaniel. “I really should murder him.”

“Spencer had heard him, although I don’t think he saw me touch myself, thank God. But Spencer pummeled him for calling me that and for pinching me. After that, our families fell apart, when William complained that Spencer had hit him. Spencer never told anyone why. It was enough humiliation without that.”

She was quiet for a while, fingering the glass.

“And then William appeared the same day I went to the Admiralty. He wanted to marry me.”

“I remember you mentioning his name.”

“Yes.” She looked up at him, and the sadness in her eyes killed him. “But I’m so glad I’m married to you.”

What was she doing to him…? It was as though her words hit him right in his core, mending the torn edges of his spirit.

“You don’t hate me?” she whispered. “Don’t want to laugh at me? Don’t think I’m pathetic?”

“He’s a piece of swine shit, Calliope, and you couldn’t be further from what he called you.” He cupped her face and planted a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Even though I was reading and enjoying an erotic book at twelve?”

He looked deep into her eyes. “Darling, you could be reciting bawdy songs at the top of your lungs in front of the queen, and I would still think you’re the most desirable woman alive.”

He kissed her. He wanted to give her just a sweet, reassuring kiss, but one was not enough. One would never be enough with Calliope. He kissed her again. And again. It must be her scent that always did it for him, stirred his blood with hunger. He came to her lips again and again. Deeper. Deeper. She responded with the same hunger. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pulled herself closer to him.

And then he was devouring her mouth, his loins growing tight and hot. She pulled him down as she lay on the quilt, and he was on top of her. And when a beautiful moan escaped her throat, it shot a bolt of desire right into his groin. He pulled away from her slightly, barely able to catch his breath.

“Calliope,” he murmured. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to at all. I want you too much.”

She looked at him with her hooded eyes, then gave a sly smile that drove him mad. “I don’t want you to stop. I want you to finally show me what it’s truly like to be in that erotic book.”