Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(46)

Luke gave her a warning glance, and she went on her way, unruffled as usual.

The sitting room was cozy and well-lit, a little more cluttered and fringed and cushioned than the other parlors in the house. He heard Emma's animated voice as she read aloud from a novel. Tasia was curled at the end of a brocade settee, one slender arm draped across its curving back. She changed position as she saw him, straightening a little and drawing her arm into her lap. The top two buttons of her gown were undone, showing a glimpse of her white throat. Lamplight cast a golden gleam over her skin and gilded her hair. Emma threw her father a quick grin and kept on reading.

Luke sat in a nearby chair and stared at Tasia. Beautiful, troubled, stubborn woman. He wanted her, every inch of her body, every secretive turn of her thoughts. He wanted to wake up in the morning and find her arms around him. He wanted to keep her safe, until she lost the haunted look in her eyes. She stared back at him, her forehead touched with a questioning frown.

You've never smiled at me, he thought fiercely. Not once.

It seemed as if she read his mind. A curve touched her lips, sweet and wry, as if he had provoked it in spite of her wish to hold it back.

It felt strange to Luke, being forced to depend on someone for the first time. He couldn't break down her defenses; she would only resist him more. The only way to gain what he wanted was to let down his own defenses and encourage her to do the same. It would require more patience than he possessed. But somehow he would manage it, no matter what it cost. Nothing was too much to ask, no price too dear, if only she would love him.

Five

With the weekend party concluded, the last few guests departed on Mondy. Luke was free in the afternoon to go to Iris's London terrace. It was time to end their arrangement, and he knew Iris must be aware of it by now. There was only one woman he wanted, and everything he had to give was for her alone. Perhaps Iris would be disappointed at first, but she would recover quickly. In addition to a well-managed fortune, Iris had a circle of devoted friends—and there were at least a dozen men who were ready to flatter and console her. Luke had no doubt that she would do very well without him.

Iris welcomed him into her bedroom with a sensuous kiss, her body covered in only a few scraps of black silk. Before Luke was able to explain why he had come, she erupted into a prepared speech without allowing him a chance to break in.

“I'll give you a few weeks to amuse yourself with her,” Iris said briskly. “When you tire of her, you can come back to me. We need never mention her again. Didn't promise to give you all the freedom you wanted? I don't want you to feel one bit guilty. Men need variety. I understand that. There is nothing that needs to be forgiven. As long as I know you'll come back—”

“No,” Luke interrupted, his voice coming out too harshly. He checked it and took a deep breath.

Her hands moved in a helpless flutter. “What is it?” she asked plaintively. “There's a look on your face I've never seen before. What's wrong?”

“I don't want you to wait for me. I'm not coming back.”

Iris gave a frantic little laugh. “But why should we throw away everything for some temporary indulgence? Don't be fooled by appearances, darling. She's a pretty, waiflike thing who seems to need you…Well, just because I'm not all skin and bones doesn't mean I don't need you every bit as much! And when you tire of her—”

“I'm in love with her.”

An astonished silence settled over the room. Iris's throat worked frantically. She looked away to hide her expression. “That's not something you would say lightly,” she finally said. “I suppose Miss Billings is pleased with herself.”

“I haven't told her. She's not ready for it.”

Iris sneered with sudden outrage. “Dainty, frail creature that she is, she'd probably faint dead away. God, the irony of it—that a full-blooded man like you would fall for a pale little nothing like her—”

“She's not as frail as you seem to think.” In a flash Luke remembered Tasia in the garden, the sweet hunger of her mouth beneath his, the scratch of her nails over his shirt…His blood quickened in response, and he paced across the room like a caged wolf.

“Why her?” Iris demanded, following him. “Is it because Emma likes her? Is it her youth?”

“It doesn't matter why,” he said curtly.

“Of course it does!” Iris stopped in the center of the room and began to sniffle. “If she hadn't come along and bewitched you, we would still be together. I need to know why her and not me! I want to understand what I did wrong!”

Sighing, Luke reached out and drew her against him. He felt a pang of guilt mingled with affection. They had known each other for a long time, first as friends, then as lovers. She deserved far more than he'd been able to give her. “You did nothing wrong,” he said.

Iris rested her chin on his shoulder and sniffled more loudly. “Then why are you leaving me? How cruel you are!”

“I don't mean to be,” he said softly. “I'll always care about you.”

Iris jerked away with a wrathful glare. “The most useless words in the English language are ‘I care’! I'd rather you didn't care at all, and then I could hate you. But you care just a little…and not enough. Damn you! Why does she have to be beautiful and young? I can't even gossip about her with my friends. Anything I say will make me appear to be a jealous old hag.”