Page 33 of The Dravenhearst Brides

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Merrick whispered.

Margot’s eyes sprang open. The shift in his mood was evident, the words tinged with yearning and ache.

“Like what?”

“Like this.” He gestured at the two of them, hopelessly tangled up in each other and the bed sheets. “I didn’t know what I was giving up when I decided…”

“When you decided not to wed? To be celibate?” She wanted to talk about it, wanted him to talk about it. Desperately. She held her breath and kept her head buried in his chest. She didn’t want to spook him with eye contact.

“Well, yes, that.” His voice rankled with bitterness. “For me, the two are mutually inclusive. I’m not comfortable being vulnerable with just anyone, Margot, and I only make promises I can keep.”

“I like that about you,” she murmured into his chest. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

“Because it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? To prefer the company of oneself instead of others?” he asked. “It’s only that…over the years, I’ve grown very comfortable being alone. I like being alone—I genuinely do. It’s familiar. Reliable.”

“You mean safe.” She completed his thought, understanding.

“Yes. Safe, you could say. People are unpredictable, and I’m a creature of habit. In bourbon making, it’s the uncontrolled variables that lead to destruction.”

Margot realized what he meant and raised her head from his chest. Now was the time to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to destroy you, Merrick.”

I’m going to love you. The words rose unbidden, sudden as a bolt of lightning. Images followed. An entire lifetime with him. A house full of children. A working distillery with barrels and bottles full of bourbon. Magnolias in bloom.

Her palm moved to her stomach, fingers splayed there. Seeing it. Believing in life and happiness and love, not destruction.

She reached for his hand. “I know what it feels like to be damaged beyond repair,” she murmured. “I know why you like being alone. Because people can hurt.” She took a deep breath. “But loving someone is not destruction. It’s the beginning, not the end.”

He stilled at her words. Didn’t speak for several moments. “Loving someone, huh? Is that what’s happening between us?”

She knew him well enough to hear the question within the question: Are you in love with me? Do you choose me? Do you love me?

Not yet, her mind said.

But we might, her heart answered. We might very soon.

She’d gone too long without answering.

He fumbled, trying to fill the gap himself. “You don’t owe me anything, Margot. I don’t want you to feel—”

“It took me years to realize this,” she said, holding her gaze steady. She would not blink. She would not look away. “I would love my brother all over again, just to lose him. It would be worth it. I’d lose him all over again, just for one more day of loving him. Wouldn’t you?”

He chewed on his cheek, considering this. “No.”

“No?”

“I wouldn’t.” He looked away. “I…I don’t feel the same. I’m sorry. My life, my losses—they’re different from yours.”

“Your mother?” Even now, while lying in bed with him, the specter of Babette loomed.

“I suppose. She wasn’t much of a mother though.” He looked away.

There was pain, so much pain, in his words. Margot’s heart broke for him.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “She was just so damn unreliable. Maybe it wasn’t all her fault.

Ruth has told me, tried to help me understand”—he cut his eyes to hers—“there was more going on than I realized. Things with the house and my father…things an eleven-year-old boy couldn’t possibly understand.

But I don’t forgive her. I don’t forgive her for it, and I sure as hell wouldn’t go back to love her harder.

If I could go back, it would only be to tell myself not to walk into the rickhouse on that horrible morning, the one when I found her. ”

“I can’t imagine—”

“No. You can’t.” His tone was hard now. “That’s what I meant when I said my loss is different from yours. I feel very differently about it. Angry. It’s been twenty years, and I’m still so goddamn angry.” His hand ripped through his hair.

Margot wavered. “If…if that’s what you need to feel, then—”

“I don’t want to feel it,” he exclaimed. “But I do. It’s the only thing I feel when I think of her. She was always so selfish, even in death. She tried to ruin the only thing I had. The distillery is all I’ve ever had.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is. I sure as hell never had her. I’m not sure anyone ever did—me, my father, Ruth, all her stupid flings…no amount of love was ever enough. She sucked everyone around her dry.”

“You knew?” Margot was aghast. “You knew about the cheating? You were just a child.” She thought of the brown-eyed man in her dreams. Had that relationship ever died? Or had he simply been the first of many?

“Of course I did.” Merrick laughed bitterly. “She didn’t try very hard to hide it. Why do you think—”

“Did your father know?” Margot interrupted. This seemed a critical piece of the puzzle. It would certainly give credence to Ruth’s theory about Richard. Give motive for violence, even murder.

“That he was being cuckolded?” His expression soured. “He knew, but he didn’t do anything about it. He loved her too, loved her just enough to be afraid of losing her but not enough to make her want to stay. That’s the worst way to love someone, I think. Loving them small.”

“I see.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want a life that looks beautiful on the outside but rots on the inside. That kind of life falls apart when even the slightest bit of pressure is applied. Trust me, I know.” His smile, when it came, was sad. “When the going gets tough, people leave. That’s what they do.”

“Merrick.” She sighed heavily, thinking of her dreams, the pull of this family’s ghosts. “What if there really is a curse? What if she didn’t have a choice?”

“There’s no curse, Margot. We always have a choice. She made the wrong one—a very weak and cowardly and selfish choice.”

“Huh.” She leaned back, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s only…she has an awful lot of power over you. For someone you say was weak.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t reply.

“I’ve met your mother.” Margot knew she was treading in dangerous territory now. “She wasn’t weak, and she sure as hell wasn’t a victim. Your memories don’t square with mine. I think there’s more to her story.”

He gripped her face between two hands. “I don’t want you sticking your nose into my family’s past. No good can come from kicking that hornet’s nest, and there’s nothing to be gained from digging up ghosts.”

“You’ll never be free of her otherwise.”

“I can be. I am.”

“You’re not.”

He breathed heavily, her face still between his palms. Warm and steady.

“Besides,” she continued, “there’s no curse, right? So there’s no harm in digging.” She raised an eyebrow, challenging him with his own words.

“Right,” he replied weakly.

“It’s settled then. I’ll give her your regards, shall I? When I see her tonight?”

He laughed mirthlessly, dropping a hand to cover his eyes. “Tell her to fuck off for me, will ya?”

“Ever uncouth, Mr. Dravenhearst.”

“I think you’ll find I can be all sorts of uncouth where you’re concerned.

” He dragged her closer, close enough to press his lips to hers.

To slide his tongue into her mouth. To slip his strong, broad thigh between her legs, applying pressure, encouraging her to grind down and ride.

“Stay with me,” he whispered into her lips. “Choose me, not her.”

“Always.”