The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

“I would never do that.”


“I know I’m being foolish. I scarcely know you. What is it that we have—three weeks’ acquaintance? It’s not possible to fall in love in so short a space of time. I don’t even want to marry you.” She scrubbed at her cheeks and then wadded up his handkerchief. “I don’t. I just want something to look forward to at the end of this ordeal.”

It couldn’t be him.

“But you’re right,” she said. “I know you’re right. I can’t imagine myself as one of them, either. I’ve only just found myself. To take on another pretense so soon… No. I wouldn’t want to, either.” She looked up into his eyes. “So this is the end, then.”

No.

Oliver hadn’t let go of her. “These next months won’t be easy for you.”

“No, likely not. But I’ve survived thus far, and I imagine I’ll continue to do so.”

“If you ever really need me, let me know. I’ll come.”

She blinked, looking up at him, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement. “Why?”

“I should say it is because I owe you. One day, you’ll realize how great a favor you did for me today.” He shook his head. “I would say that I owe you a debt of gratitude. But that’s not why I offered to come. The truth, Jane, is that if you need me, it will give me joy to be at your side.”

“You’ll be married.”

He didn’t want to think about that.

“I won’t be unfaithful to her, Jane—but marriage can’t erase friendship. And no matter what else we might have been, we are friends.”

The silence seemed soft as velvet and yet darkly dangerous. “What might we have been?”

They both knew the answer to that. But if he spoke it aloud, he’d give it life. He’d make it real. He’d change it from an insubstantial wish into a solid possibility.

Instead, he set his finger against the divot at the base of her neck. Her breath caught as if snagged by his touch. Then he dragged his fingertips up, up, up the smooth expanse of her throat. He felt her swallow.

By the time his thumb reached her lips, he ached all over. That possible future he refused to acknowledge aloud filled him. It pushed against his skin, clamoring to be let out.

“This,” he whispered, and leaned in. “This, impossible girl.”

She made an inarticulate sound in her throat as their lips touched.

He couldn’t change her past. He refused to let go of his future. That left only the present: the warmth of her kiss, that sweet taste of something that might have been…and the bitterness of a love that would not be.

She kissed him back, lips to lips, and then tongue to tongue. She kissed him until he wasn’t sure who was kissing and who was kissing back. The kiss took on a life of its own, roaring through his blood. As if somehow, if he kissed her hard enough, he could avoid the past and the future altogether. He might stay in the present forever.

He pulled back before that impossible future became all too probable.

Jane looked up at him with wide eyes. “I hate your future wife,” she said simply.

“At the moment, I’m not much in charity with her myself.”

She set her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again. This time, though, the kiss didn’t overwhelm. It reminded. This was the last time he’d feel her lips, the last time he’d taste her breath. It was the last time he’d trade his body for hers, nibble by nibble. This was the end, and they both knew it.

He finally drew away.

“If you ever need me, Jane…” Those words came out a little hoarse.

She let out a short, sharp breath. “Thank you. But I won’t. I’m stronger than that.”

“I know. But…” He swallowed and looked away. “Nobody should feel alone. Even if you don’t need me and won’t ask for me, you should know that I’ll come. That no matter how difficult things are or what you must bear, you’re not alone. I can’t change anything else.” He reached out and drew a finger down her cheek. “But that much,” he said, “I can give you. The sure knowledge that if you need me, you need only send word.”

“Care of the Tower in London, Mr. Cromwell?”

She was trying to make a joke of it, but her voice shook.

“Care of my brother in London. The Duke of Clermont.” He leaned his head against hers. “I can’t give you anything else, Jane, but I can give you that. You’re not alone.”

Chapter Fifteen

A lamp shone in the entry of the house, and a glimmer of light echoed from down the hall, marking her uncle’s study. Other than those feeble hints at illumination, though, the house seemed cold and empty. Colder and emptier now than it had been a month ago. Oliver had transformed everything, and now he was gone.

She’d done the count in the carriage on the way home. Four hundred and fifty-three days remained.