Seduce Me, If You Dare by Alyssa Clarke
Chapter Fifteen
Two days after his wife's quiet exit from the library, Oscar realized something was bloody wrong. It wasn’t that Prue was angry that she had not known he required a fortune to re-establish his family fortunes. He had never seen such hurt in her gaze before, and he had placed it there. God damn it! He rubbed the spot over his chest that ached like a physical ailment.
There was something different in her eyes. They no longer glowed or shone brightly with her hopes and dreams. Her mouth smiled but only so far and the smile did not reach her eyes. She touched and joined him in his bed with the same desperate passion they had enjoyed with each other, but afterward, she did not curl up into his embrace and fall asleep in his arms, instead she slipped from his bed and retired to her room. Shutting the door between them softly.
Tonight, he had been to White’s, but he had been unable to concentrate on any of the conversation around him. The words had swum around him, and he had not contributed to the discussions. He had nursed his brandy and departed early. Reaching home after one in the morning, Oscar had retired to his chamber, discovering that the constant ache and doubt in his heart made him irritable. Now that he was home, he could not sleep, and that nameless restlessness still plagued him.
Oscar's bed felt cold. He wanted his wife beside him…always. He sighed, rubbing his jaw. He pushed off the bed, grabbed his banyan and tied the sash. Then he padded over to the connecting door, but he did not open it. An unknown emotion stirred violently inside his chest. Wrenching the door open, he walked over to his wife’s bed and saw that it was empty.
Oscar made his way from his room and down the winding stairs to the lower floors. A light shone from beneath the library door. Opening it, he faltered as his eyes fell upon his wife. She was curled in an overstuffed armchair in front of the fire, with an open book loosely gripped in her clutches. She was sleeping.
Careful not to wake her, he curved one of his hands under her shoulder and the other at her hip and lifted her, taking his countess to her bedchamber. Quietly shutting the door behind him. Once he had carried her safely inside, he placed her on the bed and tucked the covers around her. Oscar did not return to his chamber but shed his banyan and slipped in beside her.
“Why are you here?” she asked grumpily and sleepily.
“It feels cold without you,” he admitted softly.
She made no answer, and they lay together in the dark as the time ticked by in endless minutes. They seemed to shift closer at the same time and met in the middle. Prue ended up wrapped around him like a vine. Her cheeks against his chest, and her legs hung around his hips. A deep contented sigh went through him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt the dampness on his chest and realized his countess silently wept.
The touch of those tears on his chest cut deep into his heart. Worse, he felt like he was losing a part of her that he could not live without. Stop being a damn whimsical arse, he scolded himself, staring into the dark ceiling. Yet Oscar could not escape the feeling that if he did not try to understand his countess, he might lose her forever.
That thought he could not fucking bear.
The very next morning,Oscar stared at his butler with total incomprehension.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Her ladyship left this letter for you, my lord. She instructed me to hand it to you tonight, but I…I decided not to wait.”
Tonight?A glance at the hallway clocked revealed it was only two p.m. Oscar took the letter with a frown and walked down to his study. This morning he had not broken his fast with her, for he had to leave early on business matters with his bankers. Tearing the letter open, he read it.
Dear Oscar,
I have decided to withdraw to the country for the remainder of the season. I do hope you enjoy your stay in town. I believe it prudent to mention I will not be at your country seat, should you be alarmed to not find me there should you visit.
Yours,
Lady Wycliffe.
The note was succinct and lacking the warmth and liveliness he had come to associate with his wife. A peculiar dread clawed its way into his body and dug into his heart. Painfully. She was not retiring to their country home. Prue had not even mentioned where she traveled. He noted what the letter did not say, charming words in the vein that she had bestowed on him last week whenever they parted. It was as if she had once again retreated inside a shell, only he feared this one was not from shyness but profound hurt.
The agonizing awareness caused him to stumble as the realization pierced him.
Do you not believe in love?
Now he understood the ache in her voice when she’d asked that question on their return journey from Hyde Park. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bloody hell.” His wife was in love with him, and he had not seen it. His heart pounded in a manner it never had before.
Do you love me, Prue?
Odd, he had not wondered before, but now a desperate need for her affection burned through his blood. Oscar closed his eyes, recalling the tender way she would brush the unruly lock of hair from his forehead. How she would teasingly kiss his nose down to his mouth. The way she returned his lovemaking with breathtaking passion and trust. The closeness between them when they slept together and how they chatted long into the night and shared all manner of subjects that had piqued their interests. They had not just discussed the weather as she had once teased.
There had been an increasingly warm look in her eyes that had warmed him daily. That look had been her growing love and admiration.
And what had he felt but a similar desperate ache that grew daily until it was like a vice around his heart? Once he saw her, his damn heart jerked before it calmed in a comforting way. A mere kiss from her could see him content for the day. And whenever he worked, he anticipated the end of his duties so he could spend time with his wife. What he felt for her extended to more than just protecting and caring for her. He had to see her smile. Had to see her happiness. And his damn chest hurt thinking of the wound he had dealt her that she would choose to put space between them again.
And he had hurt her because he had not paused to think about why it meant so much to her or why the idea of making an alliance with an heiress would ravage her so. He had been so dense, so foolish to fail to realize that his own happiness depended on her. Oscar had to see her. He could not bear her going a damn night, not knowing how he felt. If when he told her she still wanted to leave, he would give her that space no matter how much it killed him. She deserved everything she wanted to be happy.
Striding from the study and calling for his horse to be readied, he faltered in the hallway.
Damn it all to hell. He did not know where his wife was.
Approximately twenty minutes later,Oscar was allowed entry to 48 Berkeley Square, a three-story townhouse, its interiors decorated with elegant femininity and grace. It was evident that a gentleman did not live at the premises, and he had yet to move from the hallway.
Striding down the hallway behind the butler, too impatient for the man to announce his presence, Oscar stopped. Five young ladies were running down the winding staircase, and when they saw him, they skidded to an alarming halt, their expressions varying degrees of shock and curiosity.
“My lord,” a pert voice said. “I was not at home to callers.”
The imperious lift of her chin and haughty expression on her lovely face clued him into her identity. She was also vaguely familiar. “Your Grace, I presume?”
She tossed back her hair, and he saw that the duchess wore no shoes, only silken stockings. “You presume correctly, Lord Wycliffe. Gentlemen are not allowed on the premises.”
“I will leave, as soon as you reveal the whereabouts of my countess.”
“I am not aware—”
“Prue would not have left without informing her…friends. Please do not insult me by pretending otherwise.”
The duchess gave him a critical once over.
“Are we to have this conversation in the hallway?” he snapped.
“Yes,” she said with a mocking smile. “I am sure when Prue is ready, she will send the appropriate correspondence informing you of her whereabouts.”
“I must see my wife today.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And why is that Lord Wycliffe?”
“There are important things that she must know that cannot wait.”
“What are those things?”
“None of your business, duchess,” he said flatly.
She flushed in apparent mortification. “How can I tell you where she is when I do not know if you will cause her hurt by—”
“I would never deliberately hurt my wife in either words or deed. They are things that will let her know she is entirely necessary to my existence, and without her happiness and love, I am just a shadow of a man. I do not want her to sleep even one night believing things that are not true.”
The duchess graced him with a radiant smile while a few ladies who had paused on the stairs in various states of deshabille squealed.
Bloody hell. Oscar had forgotten their frozen and inquisitive audience. He carefully did not look at them to preserve their modesty, even though the quick glance earlier had only shown loose hair and bare feet.
“She is off to Kent to stay at a charming and peaceful cottage my husband owns. She is only ahead of you by an hour at most. I shall get the directions for you.”
The duchess then hurried away, still not inviting him to sit. He thought her refreshingly rude and honest. A few minutes later, he galloped down the streets of London and toward his wife.
Prue did notlike that she was running away from facing Oscar for another night. It had proved too difficult to protect her heart when he took her into his bed and ravished her until she was limp with exhausted pleasure. How could she get inured to the man if she was around him daily and assaulted with such sensual pleasures? It was better she shut up her feelings away from the man, without his every touch and kiss hammering at the wall she had fought so determinedly to erect. She had been trying to give him what he wanted, to be his correct countess who would smile and make polite conversation and never expect anything more from him. They had married for their mutual benefit, and he had her money, and she had the title he had bestowed on her when they married. She would do nothing to disgrace him, but she valued her dowry and his title less than a loving heart. She no longer found herself prepared to accept such a sterile existence. Better by far for them to live their own lives apart. Then she could grieve for the love that would never be and eventually her heart would harden and stop yearning for him and his caresses.
Even accepting all this, every jostle of the carriage over the ground reminded her that she was leaving him and would be apart from him. Perhaps for a few months, perhaps for longer, perhaps it would be forever. Her departure was necessary, and its reasons were sensible, she told herself over and over. She doubted that Oscar would miss her or even try to understand her reasons. Still, she had to leave and would take the time to heal herself. It was the correct decision, she told herself once more. Then the wretched tears would flow again.
She stiffened her spine as the carriage slowed. Brushing aside the carriage curtains, she barely made out the outline of a large figure on a horse riding alongside them. Her heart lurched at the thought they might have encountered a highwayman blasted through her.
“What is it, my lady?” her maid asked.
“I am not certain why we are slowing, Martha; surely we have not reached our destination already.”
Reaching over, she took up the cane, which held a hidden sword and firmly gripped it. The carriage stopped, and the door swung open, to reveal her husband, who faltered into profound stillness at finding the tip of a rapier at his throat.
“I should have known skewering a man was a part of your repertoire.”
That dry wit had her heart stuttering and a warm feeling settled deep and low in her belly. Her heart raced exquisitely as her joy at seeing him merged with the agonizing pain and loss at leaving him. She could not fully separate the tangled enigma of emotions she felt for the dratted man.
“I thought you might be a highwayman,” she said defiantly, lowering the blade. She could not bear to look at him while she sheathed the rapier and asked, “Oscar, what are you doing?”
He hauled himself into the carriage to sit opposite her. A glance at her maid saw Martha scurrying from the carriage and closing the door behind her.
“Oscar, I—”
Her breath faltered as he traced the line of her cheek. His touch seemed tender, the stark lines of his face harsh with regret. Sudden hope rattled around inside her chest. Tamping the wild cravings stirring in her breast, she awaited his answer.
“I love you,” he said simply, shocking her witless.
“I…what?”
“From a lad of eighteen, I knew my inheritance was in shambles. It was why I attended my studies so diligently. I needed all the knowledge I could get to turn it around. I have sold paintings and antiques to raise money for investments. They yielded handsome returns, but it was not enough. I knew from I was five and twenty that I needed to marry an heiress to help me. Yet it was not until years later I saw you that I felt that something different…and unexpected awakened inside me. I felt that, before I even knew you were a damn heiress.”
Oh!
“Then I learned your age and thought ‘she is too young for me.’ I was a man of nine and twenty with varied experiences, and you were a chit fresh out of the schoolroom. I turned the other way and resolved to ignore you.”
He reached into his coat and handed a small, framed picture of her.
“Look at it,” he said gruffly.
Prue lowered her gaze to the portrait. It was of her, fresh-faced and laughing, standing near a pond in Kensington Gardens. Her heart squeezed. “This…this day was before my very first ball. My parents took me here only my second day of being out in London.”
“This was the first time I saw you, and I still cannot explain what compelled me to paint you and keep this portrait in my bedchamber.”
And she had never noticed it. Prue lifted her head to meet his stare. “Oscar—”
“I love you,” he said again.
“You are not allowed to take it back!”
“Not even under torture, I would do so.’ He paused, seemingly searching for the right words to say before he just let it all out.
“I know it to be more than a damn word. It is the way my heart beats every day for you, Prue. It is the way I long for you five minutes after I leave your presence, and it is the way whenever we are together, it feels like peace…and happiness. I do not want polite distance and hurt between us ever. Just passion, love, trust, and friendship.”
Her chest rose and fell raggedly. “You wretched beast, to make me have worried so!” She thumped his chest and embarrassed herself by sobbing.
“Forgive me, my wife, please,” he murmured.
She flung herself at him and hugged her arms tightly around his neck. It was as if a dam holding all the pain, doubts, and fears she’d held inside her cracked, and she cried it out, her face buried in his throat. “I love you, Oscar. So very much.”
“I am a fool for not realizing it sooner.”
She sniffed delicately, gripping him even tighter as if she feared he might vanish. “Yes, you should.” Something tender swelled inside her chest. Prue laughed and pulled back, staring up into his eyes. “You love me!”
A crooked smile slanted his face. “Certainly more than anything I could have ever imagined.”
She rained kisses over his face, sighing when he kissed her deeply. Prue’s heart so was happy she felt fit to burst. As he deepened his embrace, she thought, ‘I love you, Oscar, with all my heart.”