Unlocked (Turner #1.5)(22)
“There we are,” he said, pulling away from her and offering her his arm, polite and gentlemanly once again. “Then I shall settle for making you happier.”
Elaine was never quite sure how she made her way home. Her mother’s happiness burbled over in the carriage, but Elaine barely felt capable of containing the beat of her own heart.
She watched the Mayfair houses roll past, one dark shadow passing after another.
They went by Westfeld’s house along the way, a few short streets from her own home. The front windows were alight, and she could imagine him arriving home to his butler and his servants and…and was there anyone else? His mother stayed in the country; he had neither brothers nor sisters. And at this moment, with the memory of his lips still burning against hers, she was all too aware that he was not married. She could see the savage edge of his smile. I am not going to pretend that I want you for anything other than mine.
Her hand rose and curled at her throat.
Was that what she had made him do? Pretend?
The carriage jolted to a halt in front of her own home. Once she was safely ensconced in her room, the evening ritual required none of her attention. She was washed and undressed. Her hair was combed and then braided. But when she tried to sleep she felt his mouth on hers. The sheets against her skin brought to mind the strong band of his arms around her, the tightly-controlled tension of his muscles. And when she shut her eyes, she could see his eyes boring into hers.
He loved her. He loved her still.
Sleep eluding her, Elaine pushed out of her bed and threw her window open to the night air. The wind against her shoulders was as cruel as a cold exhalation.
She could look into his eyes forever. She tingled when he was near. She had stopped scoffing in disbelief at his pronouncements months before. Instead, when he’d told her all would be well, she had wanted to believe him.
His kiss had been as soft as breath itself, and nearly as vital. When had that happened? When had he begun to light a room by entering it? When had she begun to look for him when she first arrived at a party? When had she started to think of him first when she heard something amusing?
Over these last months, she’d altered, too. She no longer held back, hiding her head in the sand like some stupid creature. If she had hated him for what he’d made her into all those years before, she had come to love herself. Whatever resentment she’d harbored had blown away.
He loved her, and it hurt him.
He was close, so close. She could trace the route to his bed down streets lit by dim gas lamps. As she leaned out her window into the chill, the row of three-story houses vanished into the murky night before she could identify his. Ten years ago he’d hurt her. But today…
Elaine took a deep breath of cold air and held it in her lungs, held it until her chest stung.
He’d told her he could move the world, if only he had a lever long enough. Of course there was no need for him to identify a place on which to rest it. Over the last months, he had become her fulcrum: an immovable bulwark in which she could repose all her trust. He loved her.
She loved him back.
The realization folded over her, silent as the city street beneath her window. Two streets down. A mere handful of houses.
She could wait until she saw him next. She might signal her change of heart to him through any number of methods—fans, touches, even a whisper in his ear when next they were together. But no. All of that felt wrong.
She thought of him alone tonight with his bitter, savage smile. They had caused each other quite enough pain for a lifetime. If she was to make him happy, she wanted to start now.
Elaine took a deep breath, closed her window, and then rang the bell for her maid.
Chapter Nine
Sleep eluded Evan.
In point of fact, he hadn’t yet tried to succumb. After retiring for the evening and dismissing his yawning valet, his bed had seemed too empty and white to contain him. He’d retreated instead to the low fire of his library and poured himself a half tumbler of brandy.
Tomorrow, he’d berate himself for his idiocy. Tomorrow, he’d ascertain whether he’d completely ruined his chances. But for tonight—hell, tonight, he’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back. Tonight was time for celebration. He raised his glass in the direction of her home and took a hefty swallow. The spirits burned his tongue, but slid down smoothly.
He set the glass on a table, and the hushed clunk it made seemed to echo in the night—as if that quiet tap had repeated itself behind him. He paused, cocking his head in confusion.
The sound came again—not the echo of glass hitting wood, but the low, firm sound of the knocker on the door being struck. He stood and hastened to the front before the noise woke one of his servants. Somehow, he knew what—whom—he would see awaiting him before he fumbled open the bolted locks.
Still, when he threw the door back, he felt as if he might have been dreaming. Elaine stood on his front stoop, a heavy white cloak wrapped about her. The moon, high overhead, illuminated her pale hair with an ethereal glow. She seemed so bright against the darkness of night that, for one moment, he thought himself snow-blind in a mountain pass, dazzling light reflecting off her.
But this was no dream. The cold air of the night was giving him gooseflesh. Besides, if he’d dreamt of Elaine on his doorstep, he’d have wanted her naked, and damn the remnants of winter. He also would have conjured her up by herself, and she’d brought an entourage with her. A maid and a footman stood behind her.