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‘Jo. Oh, God, Jo. You’re mine. That is why you cannot stay. You know what will happen if you stay in the village. Every day I will have to stop Jamie from coming to see you. And every night I will have to stop myself from thinking—she is so close. In a little house in the village, alone in her bed, maybe thinking of this...’ His hand curved over her breast, his thumb flicking at her nipple, teasing it into a hard nub. She moaned and he scraped his teeth down the side of her neck, as if to punish her, then suckled the skin, adding heat to heat.
‘I will be thinking—I can walk there now. In my mind I can see every stone and tuft of grass and stalk of heather on the way. I’ll know that when your cottage comes into view I am only five minutes from being able to do this...and this... And I’ll have to lie there, in my bed, knowing that you are so close and as far from me as if you were a myth. And one day, you will meet another Alfred and I will have to watch...come to your wedding... God help me, I’m not strong enough, Jo. It will break me.’
He held her against him, his lips on her hair, breathing her scent, trying to secure it in his mind.
‘When I’m sane I want you to find someone who will adore you, and care for you, and love you as you deserve to be loved, Jo. I want you to have a family...’ He felt her breath choke with the pain he knew she shared. He knew without looking her eyes were burning like his. ‘But it’s also a lie. I don’t want you to ever love anyone. I can’t bear to think of anyone... Oh, God, this is unbearable. I can’t do this. I need to go. Angus will see you back to the castle.’
He strode away from the garden, from himself.
* * *
After a moment Jo sat on the bench, watching the purple cluster swinging a little in the breeze, like a brace of chimes.
It didn’t help that for the first time she had heard a real echo of her feelings in his voice. That he might care...really care for her beyond the lust that had taken them by surprise. She knew that cleaving—the need for him to be happy and the fury that he might be.
He probably would be in the end. Content at least. There would be other children and he would love them as much as Jamie and that would bring him joy and fill his life and one day he will wake up and perhaps discover he truly cared for Tessa.
Her nails bit into her palms.
He was right. To stay would be a worse torture than leaving. It would be a slow death, especially now that she knew he truly cared. She would be so tempted to use that against him, to bring him to her exactly as he had described. To take agonised pleasure in imagining him awake as she in the middle of the night, thinking of her while another woman slept beside him. Waiting always for the next chance encounter, building her whole life around the echoes of his.
She could not stay.
Chapter Thirty
‘Good day, Your Grace. Not that we are not honoured to see you again so soon after your last visit, but perhaps you should have sent word so we could prepare for your arrival...’
Caught in his cloud of shame and misery, it took Benneit a moment to realise he was unwelcome. Lady Aberwyld was looking haughtier than usual, but her hands were pleating the fabric at the edges of her tambour frame and her cheeks were flushed.
‘I apologise for incommoding you, Lady Aberwyld, but I must speak with Lord Aberwyld. And Lady Tessa.’
Her eyes flickered about the room, as close to panic as he had ever seen her.
‘Lord Aberwyld is out with the steward and dear Tessa is a trifle under the weather. Perhaps...’
‘No, I am not, Mama.’ Tessa entered the room, her voice and movements sharp.
‘Tessa! Return to your room immediately. Your father forbade you to leave it.’
‘I know he did, but I saw Lochmore ride up. You may have disposed of my sisters as you saw fit, but I will not allow you to do the same to me. I wish to speak with Lochmore. Alone.’
Lady Aberwyld surged to her feet, her cheeks purple with anger and fear.
‘Be silent and go to your room, you ungrateful child. You have everything...everything...offered you...’
Tessa was nearly as red as her mother.
‘Not everything, ma’am. And not what is important to me.’
‘What do you know of what is important? I knew I should never have allowed you to spend that year with your aunt in Glasgow. She crammed your foolish head with girlish nonsense. This is real—you will marry Lochmore and be grateful to find yourself a bridegroom everyone in the Highlands will envy you for!’
