Page 43 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

‘Henry! Where are you?’

‘Susan?’

‘Yes, it is me. Where are you?’

He looked over his shoulder. He could not see her. He had come out here to lose himself, but he would happily let Susan find him. He did not have the energy to run anyway; his legs were heavy with the four glasses of port he had drunk at the table, and grief. ‘Here, Susan! In the rose garden!’

After a minute or so he heard her footsteps on the gravel path. Then her voice as she entered the far side of the garden. ‘Henry…’

‘Here!’ he called again.

It was a round garden, with a central circle of roses surrounded by grass, and all about the edges were rose borders and arches. He was sitting on the grass, letting life push him to the floor.

‘Henry…?’ Susan said again as she approached him, only now his name was a question that asked, is anything wrong?

God, yes, Susan, everything is wrong .

‘Can I sit beside you?’

‘If you wish.’ His voice said he did not care, but he did. His heart had found some warmth just because she was near.

She swept the skirt of her dove grey dress and her petticoats beneath her, then joined him on the grass.

The ground was becoming damp as the sky had flooded with the orange, reds and pinks of sunset.

The descending cooler evening air also intensified the perfume from the roses.

He loved this pretty area of the gardens, it was where he had always come to be alone.

Susan suddenly leaned over and wrapped her arms about his shoulders. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ His response was terse and in a low pitch. He had heard those words too much today. He did not hold her in return, but sat as he had been, just within her arms. He was sitting out here beating himself about the head, wishing he had done so many things differently.

When she released him he lifted the bottle of wine he had acquired on the way out here, and drank from it.

He was sitting with his legs bent and his feet wide.

He put the decanter back down on the grass between his legs and rested his elbows on his knees.

‘I suppose you think I am being self-centred?’

‘You have been working hard all day doing everything you can to make your parents’ guests feel comfortable. That was not self-centred. And now I think you deserve time to yourself.’

‘I have been trying hard to do everything my parents would wish of me since the hour I heard William was not well. No, that is a lie. I began doing what they wanted me to do in the spring, when I agreed to court Alethea. I only did that in response to your terse assessment of my self-absorbed nature. That is comical now, is it not?’ He did not look at her.

‘I know, Henry, I am not arguing the point with you. I have seen what you are doing, and it is commendable. ’

Commendable . A sickening word. He preferred the word ‘reckless’, at least that had been true.

She bent up her knees and wrapped her arms about them.

He glanced at her. ‘My family should be supporting each other, but William’s death is dividing us.’

‘I am sorry.’

God, those words were not good enough. No amount of ‘sorry’ would change anything. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised for his temper. ‘I am not myself.’

She twisted sideways, facing him, and touched his arm. ‘I know. You should let yourself cry.’

Cry… A bark of bitter laughter left his throat then he took another long swig from the bottle, willing the wine to seep deeper into his veins.

‘Crying will not bring him back, will it? I wish to scream. I wish to damn well punch the living daylights out of God for taking my brother if He would come down from the clouds and face me. Why William? Why not me when I turned over my curricle?’

‘Your family would be just as distressed if it had been you.’

‘But William would be here, and I would have deserved it. Remember?’

She ignored his spiteful challenge. ‘But then William would be grieving you. He idolised you.’

He stared at her. ‘I hate you sometimes, Susan, the times when you are unbearably and annoyingly logical.’

She smiled as her fingers slid her spectacles further up her nose.

His lips lifted in a shallow smile, and he shook his head. She turned around and clutched her knees again. ‘It is self-centred to want to be the one who is dead,’ she said, in a blunt tone.

A broken bark of humour left his throat. ‘Too much logic, Susan. I do not want to hear that. I feel guilty enough…’ His voice ch anged, the tempo of it breaking with anger, that she knew was distress. ‘He is dead because of me. Did you know that?’

‘You are not?—’

‘Do not deny it. You have just said he idolised me. He did. That was his downfall. He mimicked my recklessness. He would not have become ill had he not fallen from a climb to his tutor’s window.’

‘You cannot know that, Henry?—’

‘I know it.’

He took another swig from the bottle. He had drunk a good measure of it, and his brain swam a little from that and the port he drank after dinner.

‘I still say you cannot know.’

‘I am not in the mood for a woman who likes to have the last word. Leave it be, Susan. I know.’

She sighed heavily. ‘You will make yourself ill, Henry, if you bear all the responsibility.’

‘I have no choice but to bear the responsibility, and a moment ago you told me I was too selfish again. You cannot have it both ways – do not take it all upon yourself – do not be so self-obsessed. How would you rather I be?’

She did not answer.

He drank again. The liquor became a warm rush of oblivion.

‘Regardless, the way I feel is your fault. You made me feel so deeply. You opened my eyes so I see what others feel, and my heart so it will hurt when others hurt.’

He looked at her when he heard her take a breath to speak. ‘And do not say I am sorry, please.’

‘I am?—’

‘Susan!’

‘Sor—’

‘Susan! ’

She took a breath. ‘How was the service?’

‘Awful.’

‘Everyone was so subdued when you returned. It is so sad.’

‘Sad… That is just another form of sorry. An inadequate, pitiful word.’

‘Sorr—’

He glared at her. ‘I am heartily sick of that word.’

‘I do not know what to say, Henry. I have stood and listened to conversation after conversation today, saying nothing, because I am scared of offending someone. I did not want to offend you… Oh.’ Her eyes glittered, brimming with tears and she turned to get up.

He caught her arm. ‘Do not go. I like having you here. I apologise for my temper. I am in a pig-headed mood and you are in the firing line, that is all. Ignore me.’

She sat back down, and he drank another swig from the bottle then put it at arm’s reach. He had drunk enough.

‘Are you going back indoors?’ she asked.

‘No. Hopefully everyone will leave soon, and they are capable of saying their goodbyes.’

‘I wish there was something I could do to help. I have longed to do something to help all day…’

Ah, darn. That is a foolish thing to say, Susan. He knew exactly how she could help him.

Without another moment’s thought he braced the weight of his body with one hand on the grass and turned. His other hand reached out and carefully removed her spectacles. She squinted at him.

‘I cannot tell you how much I wish I had not promised to let you go. I want to go back and be selfish… I have longed to hold you and kiss you all day. ’

He reached over and put her spectacles down by the bottle, losing his balance a little as he turned back around.

‘Henry…’ Confusion clouded her pale eyes.

‘If you want to help me, kiss me.’

She answered by leaning forward and pressing her lips against his.

His palm held her nape and he opened his mouth and kissed her more earnestly, his tongue desperately reaching for hers.

After a few moments, he leaned her back, his hand bracing her neck so she descended gently.

Then he was leaning over her, his forearm resting on their damp bed of grass as his tongue delved into and out from her mouth.

After a moment, he broke the kiss. ‘Susan.’ He said her name over her lips then kissed her cheek, her jaw, and her temple. There was one thing that would take away all the pain.

His hand left her nape and brushed the side of her body.

When he kissed her again, she arched upwards, her body crying out for exactly what his wanted.

She could comfort him. She had all he needed to find comfort.

Her tongue danced with his, while his hand embraced the curve beneath her breast.

Her hand laid on the back of his head, not stopping him, and by not stopping him, agreeing to this.

His hand covered her breast, and squeezed firmly. She sucked in a breath through their kiss. His fingers released and squeezed again. She sighed. His thumb ran over the nipple he could feel hardening through the material of her gown.

He kissed her jaw again and her neck as his thumb continued to stroke across her breast.

‘Henry…’

He looked at her. ‘Susan…?’

She had spoken his name with a sound of awe. He had used her name as a question. He wanted more. He needed all the comfort she could give.

His desire spurred him to open her bodice, free her breast and touch her flesh, but her dress was buttoned all the way up the back and even if he freed those buttons there would then be her chemise and corset to master.

Such clothing did not welcome intrusion.

But her skirt and petticoats. His hand fell and began drawing them up, his hand opening and then clasping in the material and pulling it up as he kissed her again.

Her hand caught hold of his, stopping him. ‘Henry.’ Now there was a note of caution in his name.

He leaned up, looking into her eyes.

Her gaze searched his with a mix of desire, wonder and doubt.

She wanted him physically just as much as he wanted her. She might have turned her back on him for the sake of her sister, but her heart had not turned away.

‘Susan… Will you? Please.’ He asked the question again, his hand still holding a fist full of material. He rubbed it against her thigh, so she could not be in doubt about what he was asking, what he wanted – all of her.