A Passion for Pleasure(92)
“I will love you,” Clara whispered against his mouth, her breath hot on his lips, “if you will recognize that the very core of who you are will never change.”
A month ago, Sebastian would not have believed the truth of her remark. Yet being back at Floreston Manor did remind him of the pleasures of his youth when anything was possible. For the first time in months, seated at his old piano, he had felt music flow through his blood again.
He stepped away from Clara. He knew the cost of keeping secrets, but he had entrusted her with his. And he had revealed too much of himself already to give her this fragile admission.
“If you…” His voice tangled around the words. He swallowed and forced them through his throat. “If you will love me, Clara, you must do so without any conditions whatsoever.”
Catherine Leskovna sat in a private room at the Albion Hotel, her dress a plain black chintz, her graying hair pulled back into a chignon. The set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the firmness of her expression—all spoke of the regal countess she had once been. Only her dark eyes, brewing with untold desires, gave any indication of the impulsive gypsy blood that ran through her veins.
Benjamin Hall, the Earl of Rushton, fought an assault of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His hands clenched on the rim of his hat as he stood in the doorway and looked at her for the first time in three years.
“Hello, my lord.” Catherine’s voice sounded uneven, less cultivated. “I assure you no one aside from Darius and Sebastian…and you…knows I am in London.”
“I expect the situation will remain that way, madam.” Rushton advanced, anger tightening his shoulders.
“Yes.” She rose, as if to put herself on equal footing with him. “I will do nothing to cause further difficulties.”
“Forgive me if I find your promises less than assuring.”
Catherine studied him, her eyes unnervingly perceptive. “You’ve been well, Darius told me. I’m glad to know that.”
“I haven’t come here to discuss my health. I came to confirm your departure from London, which I expect will occur with great haste now that you have interfered with my family.”
“I did nothing of the kind, Rushton. I only wanted to know what happened to Sebastian. Despite everything, they are still my children.”
“Your children whom you deserted.” Another bolt of anger, this time on behalf of his five children. “Now you know how they all fare, and you can take your leave.”
“I want…will you not allow me to remain in contact with them?”
Rushton’s teeth came together hard. “They’re adults, Catherine. And though I consider you persona non grata, I have no way of preventing them from associating with you, should they choose to do so. Clearly this incident with Darius has proven that. But mark my words, if I hear the slightest hint of rumor, I will denounce you again.” Tension knotted his back. “And if you dare do a thing to harm Talia either personally or publicly, I will find a way to have you thrown into prison.”
Catherine’s eyes flashed, but she stepped back and nodded. “Talia would never agree to see me. Neither would Alexander.”
“To their everlasting credit.” Rushton turned to the door, hating the anger and regret churning inside him. “You’ve wreaked enough havoc upon their lives, Catherine. I suggest you never try to contact them again. You have lacerated us all with your deceit.”
Although he didn’t see her face, he almost felt the cloud of despair that descended over her. He steeled himself against caring. Darius had told him about the death of Catherine’s husband, and while Rushton felt a degree of sorrow for the loss of a young soldier, he could not bring himself to experience any sympathy for his former wife.
“I loved him,” she said.
Rushton stilled. “Him.”
“I didn’t know anything about love until I met him,” Catherine continued. “I didn’t know what love felt like. And I blame myself for that because I never expected more. I never thought that either you or I deserved more from our very dull marriage.”
Damn her to all hell.
“Our marriage was as it should have been,” Rushton said through gritted teeth. They’d had a marriage encased in propriety and respectability, one that produced five children and was the envy of many of his peers.
Rushton crushed the edge of his hat in his fists. His chest ached.