Page 31 of Dukes All Night Long

He cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “That I wouldn’t touch you. It’s why I left England. I didn’t have the money for something as silly as a Grand Tour, but I had to make some excuse. If I’d stayed and watched you be wed to another man, I would’ve lost my mind.”

“I beg your pardon.” Her mind flashed through her past, rewriting scenes of her brother introducing her to high-ranking aristocrats week after week.

She thought he was only bragging about his new contacts.

How he was making a name for himself in Parliament.

But now it made sense. He was parading her in front of potential suitors, like a show pony.

But she hadn’t been attentive or interested in any of them, thinking of her own education, her own plans, which had not included marriage after Archie had left for the Continent.

She slumped in the tub. “I didn’t know.”

“How did you not realize?” Archie asked, his eyes feeling hot on her skin.

“Why would I?” she asked, splashing about as she slipped from her moorings.

“I am single-minded to a fault, Archie, and I wanted you. And—” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Those months after he left were so painful.

Even the years afterwards. It’s not that she had all her dreams tied up in a man, it wasn’t, but he was the puzzle piece that was supposed to come next, and then everything would slot in around them.

“—and I couldn’t see a point to meeting anyone else.

I thought you didn’t really like me as I liked you.

That I was a silly girl with stars in her eyes, and you were the great seducer. ”

He nodded slowly, as if realizations were crashing upon him as they had crashed upon her. His head lowered to his hands, and when he found the mask still tied on, he ripped it off and threw it in the corner with such force that it ricocheted off two walls.

Her wet arm shot out of the bath, wanting to touch him, reassure him, tell him she didn’t mean to blame him for any of this. But Archie pulled back, out of reach.

“When your brother asked me to keep my hands off you, I was happy to agree. You were young, and I was cavorting with older women. They bought me nice clothes, took me to horse races, gave me good food and fine wine. I thought I cut quite the dashing figure. But then—” His voice broke.

“Then we all grew up. And I realized what I was exchanging, my body for trinkets, like any opera singer or professional mistress. I didn’t have control of the assignations—not when they started, not really, and not when they ended.

Money buys an awful lot of things, you know. ”

Her arm, now cold in the air, retracted back into the bath. She clutched the edge of the tub, listening with her heart open and pulpy and already broken. “I do know.”

“And then, you had your debut, and you were so fresh and innocent, smart and lovely.” He shook his head sadly. “I felt dirty and unworthy in comparison. Your brightness shone when I danced with you. And I was so jealous I wanted to eat my gloves when you danced with other men.”

He had certainly not looked as if he wanted to eat his gloves at the time, but she would take his word for it. She hated seeing him lavishing attention on the married women around the periphery of the dance floors.

“When you asked for a kiss, how could I not grant it? But it had to be restrained and chaste, because you were so undamaged, so na?ve. I wanted to start a new life with you so badly. To tell your brother to bugger off with his rules, sweep you up to some rustic cottage where wildflowers would bloom under your every step. But that rustic cottage had holes in the roof, and I had no money for repairs. I couldn’t ask you to exchange your beautiful, burgeoning life for one of struggle. ”

Tears sprang to her eyes. No one had ever said such lovely things to her. Had ever cherished her, watched her, wanted her. And she was no longer that girl: unblemished and unhurt. “We can’t go back and fix it, Archie.”

“No,” he said, noticing her emotion. “We cannot. But we can go forward.”

*

Archie was used to the feeling of resolve.

Often, it was a matter of bringing himself to yet another party, another smile, another meaningless compliment to a woman he almost loathed.

But tonight’s restraint had tested him sorely.

He ought to be downstairs, whispering flirtations into the baroness’s ear.

Instead, he was in a bathing closet, confessing his heart to a woman who, prior to his intervention, had not had a bath in over a year.

It wasn’t a smart decision. But he was sick of losing himself week after week in a dogged pursuit of wealth.

He wanted something noble, something real.

And there was nothing more real than Sibyl.

She had been a child, an annoyance, and then an ideal, and now a possibility.

He would have to throw away everything—the money he dreamed of, his houses that creaked for refurbishment, every comfort he’d ever granted himself.

But if he did, he could be with Sibyl. Finally.

No more baronesses, no more widows. No more prowling ballrooms and dinner parties, and he could banish from his mind the pages of Debrett’s that had occupied space. She was here. Within reach, asking him to be hers. And he could at least offer her better than a limestone cave.

He stood, and with a mind to scrub her back as she had requested, he divested himself of his coat and cufflinks. He rolled up his sleeves. She watched him, curious and quiet, those rose petal lips parted.

“Before I scrub your back for you, Sibyl,” he said, doing his best to control his tone, his body, his everything.

“I want you to know that I am unable to do anything by halves. If I grant you this request, I’m granting them all.

I am with you to the end, money be damned.

We can elope, or we can confront your brother, or we can disappear into the American West for all I care.

But the only way you are going back to that cave by the eastern woods is if I’m moving in with you.

And I’m afraid that with those low ceilings, I will be concussed on a regular basis, so I’d prefer if we shared my London flat, instead. ”

Her mouth opened, surprised. “What are you saying?”

He picked up the rag from the wash bucket. “I’m saying, turn around.”

“And if I do?” she challenged, but her mouth curved into a whisper of a smile.

“Then you’re saying you are all in on this gamble, too.” He reached forward, dipping the cold rag into the hot bath, very near her slim shoulder. She shivered at his nearness, and he kept his eyes rapt upon her. “We won’t have two shillings, but I am used to such affairs.”

Her eyes searched him for a moment, debating, considering, and it was as if he could hear her mind churning gears like a machine.

Good Lord, he wanted to kiss her. But she needed to come to this decision without his influence.

And, like all good seducers, he knew by her wide eyes and parted lips that she would say yes, if only he could hold out.

The more he pressured her, the more she would skitter away.

He squeezed the wet rag in his fist, water dripping into the bath.

“As long as we don’t live in another cave.” And she turned her back to him, looking over her shoulder with a questioning glance.

He chuckled and set to work swabbing the delicate expanse of her back. Her shoulder blades stuck out and he could trace the ridges of her spine. It hurt him viscerally to see this stark reminder of her difficulty. Even with her up against the edge of the tub, she was still too far away.

His valet would murder him, but in the moment, Archie could not care less as he knelt on the wet tile floor in his good trousers.

He was able to lean forward and kiss the wing of her shoulder blade.

It was a start for him, a start to kiss every bit of her, to cherish her and tell her in words and in deed that he loved her.

She startled at the contact, a rush of air escaping her lips, but then she leaned back into it, turning to look over her shoulder again.

And there she was—whole and vulnerable, the same girl who’d begged for a kiss that night in the garden—this was Sibyl as unadulterated by hardships and disappointments as the day they’d first met.

This was Sibyl choosing him, asking for him, trusting him.

And damn him if he wouldn’t give her everything he had.

He leaned over the tub, reaching to cup her chin, giving her time to adjust her body in the tub, yes, but also to give him time to look at her.

He wanted to catalogue every freckle and line, to examine the angles of her cheekbones, and the exact hue of her lips.

As if he were a naturalist and she a new species.

He kissed her, the softness of her a welcome sensation.

He’d kissed many women, of course, but none of them had held his heart so purposefully.

And her response was so gratifying—a quiet moan that could have easily been drowned out by the splash of water—a subtle drop of relaxation in her shoulders, a sag of surrender to the desire she’d craved.

There was no part of this woman he couldn’t love, and there was a feeling of inevitability for this outcome.

As if their meeting, decades ago, as children, had sealed a fate that had been deterred by a promise.

But even honoring that promise had come at a price—misery for both of them—and Archie was tired of paying that bill.

He dipped his hand into the warm water, running from her shoulder, down her arm. His hand came across to cup—

A scream.

Screaming. Archie pulled back, landing on his arse as his brain tried to understand what was happening.