Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 7

Seven

W ell. Damn.

This was becoming a problem.

Ezra emptied his tumbler of brandy before filling it again. His eyes stayed on the roaring fire crackling in the hearth but his mind was very much on the young woman who’d escaped to her rooms almost as soon as they’d returned to the house.

He didn’t know whether to go out to the stables and thank the lad for interrupting them, or to wring his skinny neck.

Having her body pressed against his, for even the short journey back to the house, had been the most exquisite torture. Wrapping his hands around her waist, feeling the soft curve of her hips beneath his fingers.

Yes, it was a very good thing they were interrupted or he’d have been tempted to lift her skirts right there in the stables.

The longer he spent around her, the more desperate he was for a taste of her. His mind wandered to that conversation in the woods where she’d spoken of true love’s kiss and his stomach twisted a little. He was as far from true love material as one could get, yet he would never want to stop Lady Calista from getting her wish, even if it seemed like romantic tosh.

He’d just have to keep his bloody hands to himself, that was all. In any case, the house would be full to the brim with suitors for her in a couple of weeks. He ignored the lance of jealousy at the idea. It was beyond foolish and meant nothing. It was just that competitive streak of his, that’s all. He’d always wanted what someone else had. Unless it was boring or responsible.

Ezra emptied the tumbler once more, knowing that if he didn’t stop, he’d be in his cups by dinner time. But what else was there to do? When the weather had cut their hunt short, David had returned to steal a few hours with his wife and then see to some business affairs with his steward. And then that blasted Mrs. Faust had arrived with her flock of cackling hens to call on Marianne and make more demands of Calista, so he’d been hiding here alone for over an hour.

Hiding here and drinking and thinking of kissing Calista.

It was maddening and would cause nothing but trouble.

Yesterday he’d had the thought that he needed to visit one of his mistresses. Today, the idea of it left him less than satisfied. Well, maybe there’d be a widow or a bored wife at this Christmas Eve ball that would enjoy a fumble.

To his horror, he couldn’t imagine anyone in the role of a fumbling partner other than Calista. All that golden hair was undone and wrapped around his hands. Those giant, heart-wrenching eyes were lambent and hazy with desire. Lips glistening and swollen from his kisses.

Damn, indeed.

The commotion of visitors leaving was something positive, at least. The door to the music room where he’d holed up opened and he assumed it was a servant to tend the fire, but the soft ‘oh’ told him it was her. Calista.

He turned to look at her, pasted on a charming smile, and gave an elaborate, carefree bow like she hadn’t been haunting his thoughts for hours. “Ah, my dear lady. I hoped if I stayed here long enough I might get to hear that angelic voice again.” He kept his tone deliberately light but there was also some truth in what he’d said. She really did sing like an angel. Last night, he’d only requested music to give her a break from the odious creature harassing her. He hadn’t expected to be utterly mesmerized by her in the process.

She quirked a brow in a way that he was utterly charmed by. “Oh? So you weren’t just hiding from our guests then?”

That’s exactly what he’d been doing.

Ezra pressed a hand to his chest and gave a good impression of being appalled by the accusation. “You insult me, I would never be so ill-mannered.”

She giggled, even as she shook her head. “You, Lord Tilton, are incorrigible. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Oh, frequently. I take it as a compliment. Now, come and sing for me. Keep me entertained before I have to make polite chitchat to Marianne’s guests at dinner again.”

“You will no doubt be greatly pleased to hear there are no guests tonight since we assumed you would be hunting well into the evening. So you’re safe.”

“Ah. Well then, come and keep me entertained so I’m not bored to tears from our lack of guests.”

“I only came in here to rest,” she argued, and he noticed for the first time a book clutched in her hands. “The light is better in here than in the library.”

“Rest?” Suddenly he was as worried as a mother hen. “Are you feeling unwell from being stuck in the snow?”

It hadn’t been long but he knew she had something of a delicate constitution. The flash of irritation in her eyes was surprising, as was her biting tone. “I am not so fragile that a little snow lays me out, Lord Tilton.”

Ezra was taken aback but he saw it then, the hurt behind the anger. And he realized that something about the question had upset rather than annoy her. “I didn’t think it had,” he answered evenly. “Forgive me, I am not actually used to caring all that much about other people.”

The statement, while true, felt more like a confession. For he was beginning to care for her, and it was bothersome, to say the least.

The silence stretched between them before she heaved a sigh. “No, it is I who should be apologizing,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just.”

“Just what?” he pressed when she turned her eyes to her feet, dropping his gaze.

He thought that perhaps she wouldn’t answer but then she squared her shoulders and looked back at him. “I’m sure you’ve been told that I was rather unwell for a time?”

Rather unwell? She’d nearly bloody died. But he wasn’t about to argue semantics with her.

“I had heard something like that, yes,” he said carefully. She swallowed and it took everything in him not to be distracted by the delicate slope of her neck.

“I was quite sick,” she continued. “And my family, Marianne especially, they were wonderful. They nursed me back to health and took care of me and I am grateful beyond words for their care.”

When she didn’t continue, he took a step toward her until only inches separated them. “But?” he pressed gently.

“But – but it’s enough now. I’m better. Perhaps I’ll never be as healthy and hearty as I was before I grew sick but that doesn’t mean I need to be watched every second. Or fussed over. It doesn’t mean I’ll fall over at a gust of wind or take to my bed if I’m caught in a shower.” The words spilled from her as though they’d been pent up for years. As though a dam had opened. And Ezra realized that it probably had. Who would she be able to say such things to, after all? The very people who were doing the fussing? Not likely.

He felt strangely honored to be the one to listen to her woes, to be trusted with the truths she kept hidden from others.

“I feel so guilty when I think of the time they all spent helping me get better,” she continued in a whisper, and it broke his heart that she was holding on to such misplaced blame. “And so guilty when I have these moments of resentment. I just worry sometimes that all anyone will ever see me as is a delicate, weak girl who can’t withstand everyday life.”

Ezra’s heart twisted and he had to clench his fists to keep from pulling her into his arms. She had vulnerabilities, but she had strengths, too. Her kindness was a strength, her wit, and her determination to be independent. But listing all those things wouldn’t do her any good.

“Let me ask you something,” he said instead. “If it was the other way around, if Marianne had fallen ill and you’d had to take care of her, would you resent her for it?”

Her eyes widened at the very idea. “Of course not,” she said sternly.

“So then if she felt guilty about it, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it? Because there would be nothing to feel guilty about. And would you continue to treat her as though she couldn’t do anything, or would you fuss a little, not because you saw her as weak, but because you love her and perhaps felt a little protective?”

She sighed as she caught his meaning. “I would probably fuss,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t see her as a weakling.”

He nodded then paused before asking the next question, hoping she wouldn’t be insulted.

“And if she spoke to you honestly, if she told you how grateful she was for your help but that she sometimes felt smothered by the overprotectiveness, would you resent her for her honesty? Or would it make you realize that perhaps you had been smothering her? Would you happily take a step back and allow her to live because she asked you to?”

Calista didn’t answer, instead, she stared at him, open-mouthed, before her lips twitched. “Did I say you were incorrigible?” she asked by way of an answer. “I should have said you were a know-it-all.”

He grinned in response. “And I would have chosen to interpret that as you calling me uncommonly wise and thanked you for the compliment.”

They’d moved past the moment she was annoyed with his worrying and he wasn’t about to return to it so a change of subject felt necessary.

“Now,” he said brusquely. “Stop trying to distract me from my request by telling me your secrets and sing me a song.”

Her jaw dropped once more, no doubt at his audacity, but it had the required effect. She laughingly complained that he was a mannerless oaf. But he still got to sit back and have her sing to him.