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I missed you. Yet the words would not come. It would be utterly foolish to reveal her affection after the disregard he had shown her. She should return to the crush of the ball and escape to her room. To be alone with him was highly improper. Society would not care they had been close friends, and he would certainly be livid if he was forced to marry a young lady in her circumstances. Though knowing all of this, she was compelled to continue their conversation, to hear his voice, the cultured yet roughened tone, and possibly once again hear that soft chuckle of pleasure whenever he was amused or delighted.
Oh, if she could only make out his features. He seemed so chillingly uncivil, very different from the laughing young man she had known. How much had he changed? What was he now like? At one and twenty he had been striking. She clearly remembered his swarthy masculine beauty. Eyes that were the grey color of a winter storm, the slant of his cheekbones, the sensual curve to his lips, and dark golden hair that he normally wore in a messy way. His frame had been lean and hard from his many outdoor activities. Did he possess that same arrogant tilt of his head when he spoke?
Confound it.
The need to touch him, to learn his face, arose hot and thick inside her. It was this desire that allowed her to regain her senses. “I must return inside. Will you escort me, Lord Westcliffe?”
She knew the placement of every piece of furniture, the location of every window and door and every inch of grounds of Hadley House; yet tonight’s ball had disconcerted her. Nothing was as it should be. Even the scents that normally guided her were overpowered by the flowers that decorated the ballroom.
“I have missed you as well, Willow.”
She froze.
“You have learned nothing of hiding your emotions. I can see the desire and questions,” he admitted softly, a curious undertone of fascination and something darker evident in his voice. “I would be a veritable liar if I did not admit to missing you.”
She struggled to understand the dip in his voice, the intent that saturated his words. Intimate. Though his words we
re innocuous, they rasped with intimacy. But beyond the intimacy there was anger, and it scraped along her nerve endings.
“You are angry,” she said blandly. It made no sense for her to pretend.
His soft chuckle was mirthless. “Why are you not married, Lady Willow? Your Duke Salop, was he not all you dreamed of? Could it be he found out behind your beauty lay a heart as cold as the winter?”
She flinched but looked to the direction of his voice. “I will not rehash the past with you, Lord Westcliffe. We were both young and foolish…and this is now.”
Footsteps crunched on gravel as he moved closer. Too close. His heat seemed to reach out and caress against her skin.
“I was young and acted like an imbecile, Lady Willow, you were a fickle and unfeeling bitch.”
She gasped at his crudeness, and a wave of sadness rolled through her because underneath his anger she heard the pain. She closed her eyes for she understood, even after all these years, she still hurt whenever she thought of the times they had spent together. The hopes and love that beat inside of her for him. It had caused her torment, to know he had been driven away without knowing the depth of affection she held for him. It had been expected that she would snare a duke. Third sons, no matter how charming, gallant, and handsome had been forbidden to her.
“This may not mean much to you now, but I loved you, Alasdair. My family told me you were not suitable. I was almost persuaded not to love you, and I never got the opportunity to express my regret. My father fought against the idea I wanted to be your wife, and I caved in to his demands because of fear.”
“Almost persuaded?”
She could hear the derision in his voice and wondered if his lips twisted in that way they normally did when he was disgusted. Unable to help herself she reached forward, and her fingers bumped his chin.
He froze.
The need to make him understand burned inside of her. She had longed for such an opportunity for years, never really believing she would see him again. “Yes, almost. I regretted my harsh words, I regretted conceding to my father, and I tried…I tried to visit your home because I—”
“Liar,” he breathed softly against her lips, and her heart jerked. She had not felt him move.
“Alasdair, I—”
“No,” he growled, placing his hands on her hips. “Sweet lies once again spill from your lips, and I am a damnable fool because I want to believe you cared enough to travel to Westerham Park. The only thing I am interested in is to claim what you denied me, denied us.”
Shock made her stiffen, and anger surged in her veins. “I was young, but I loved you with every breath in me. I drove you away with foolish words because I feared my father would destroy you if I did not relinquish the idea of us. But if you loved me as ardently as you professed, why did you not try to persuade me to run away with you to Gretna Green? You left,” she whispered in outrage. “I denied us nothing.”
He jerked her to him, and disconcerting sensations rushed through her. She was acutely aware of him, his size, his hardness, and most of all his scent.
“Unhand me, my lord.”
“Never will you refer to me as lord,” he drawled with an icy bite. “I will only hear Alasdair from your lips when I take what I have long dreamed of.”
“I beg your pardon?” she whispered furiously and pushed at his chest.
He released her, and her anger spiraled because she wished for the strength of his embrace to return to her body.
