...from Regal Reward
“Why? So you can drain what life my father still has left in him?” Marielle words seethed from her shivering lips. She could no longer contain the turmoil within her or her own emotions that betrayed her. “You’ve no understanding of a family bond. I can only imagine what my father must be going through. He’s already lost my mother, my sister… Oh, how could you possibly understand?”
“Perhaps I understand more than you think.” York had no desire to tell her of his own losses, that he’d been there too, felt the loneliness and emptiness when a family’s torn by death and separation.
“Are you so insensitive?” Marielle continued, ignoring his response. “My father has never stopped mourning. He was unable to go on, unable to see me…” She stopped. What am I saying? I am being undone. “What kind of a man are you? Were you reared by beasts? Was your own father as cruel? Have you no understanding of what you are doing to my family, my fiancé?’
“Stop!” York snapped, clenching her arms so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Let me go! Can’t you see that you’re hurting me?”
York loosened his hold, but hardened his heart, a more natural state; a state he’d found to be his salvation. Through clenched teeth, he whispered slowly, gruffly, in a measured tone. “If you care at all about your safety, you must never say a word against my father. Do you understand?”
“I…I’m sorry. I did not mean to…” Marielle felt his simmering rage, shivered in fear at the change in his countenance. “I must leave this place!”
York wrapped his arms around her, held her close; she didn’t resist. He believed despite the way they’d come together, or his own treachery at taking her away from her home, that they both wanted more. He knew he’d overreacted to her words, frightened her. But she’d responded to his touch when she awoke in his arms. Now, he wanted to lay her down, take her, set her on fire, feel her need of him too, but the mention of the Craymore name… She had unknowingly opened a wound he’d spent years covering up.
As a measure of calm returned, he broke the silence.
“I’d like to go home too, my true home. I desire to walk the lands my father and I walked together and touch the rich mahogany banister that Martin and I slid down when we were children, much to my mother’s chagrin.” He smiled as the old images came to mind; then his body stiffened. Why was he telling her this? He’d been careful never to reveal his vulnerability to another nor allow himself the luxury of sentimentality.
The air seemed colder between them. Marielle looked into his eyes; saw a cloud of pain pass through, then anger. She kept silent, waited to hear more.
“But your damned future father-in-law made that impossible and I will correct the injustice. He’ll suffer just as my family has done. You’ve become the key to correcting a grievous wrong, and I’ll let nothing stand in my way until I’ve avenged that wrong. Regretfully, you’ve become the catalyst to reach my goal, and I will reach it. Craymore is going to suffer for his evil deeds.”
“What are you saying? Lord Craymore has been our neighbor and a respected member of the ton for many years. How could someone like you …?
“Why would a scoundrel like me have any connection with a lord and gentleman such as Craymore, a man held in such high esteem by the king and the courts?”
“I didn’t mean it quite that way. I mean…you’re not at all common. Actually, you’re quite a contradiction. You can be brutish and yet your language and even your bearing is more like that of a nobleman. I don’t understand any of this, or you.”
“You might say I’ve lived a double life; my earlier life very different from my life on the streets. Quite contradictory, I must admit,” York grimaced at his admission.
“One minute, your behavior is demonic, the next considerate, almost tenderhearted.”
York loosened his grip and sat down on the bank facing her, grinning at her choice of words. “Tenderhearted? Hmn, I must be more careful to protect my sinister image. I assure you, I can be quite sinister.” He reached out, grasped her hands in his.
Bea, seeing a place in which to settle, crawled between them. The friction between them turned to laughter as Bea’s bottom wriggled into the comfortable spot.
York stared at Marielle, at her moist lips. His eyes slid down over her body. Her damp chemise clung to her, outlining her full breasts, her nipples lifting upward beneath the thin gauze.
Marielle followed his eyes, gasped, grabbed Bea to cover herself.
York, a wide unabashed grin settling on his handsome face and acutely aware of his own arousal, stood, looked about, found her garments and tossed them to her. “I’ll take Bea back to her pups, and give you time to make yourself presentable.”
Marielle pushed Bea swiftly towards him and scrambled to her feet holding her garments clumsily against her. As she dressed, she could hear his laughter fading in the distance. “Damn him to hell,” she muttered, as she attempted to swirl her wet, tangled hair into a chignon and straighten her damp and wrinkled garments.
Meanwhile, her mind replayed York’s words concerning Lord Craymore, his father, and her role. What could her future father-in-law have done to his family? Yet, she could not dismiss his admissions or ignore the disturbing feelings he aroused in her; worse, she realized she didn’t want to.
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