One Night Is Never Enough Part 34

"Roman." The voice held warning. A warning laced with some unidentifiable emotion. And like before, her body instinctively reacted to the threat underlying every aspect of Andreas, and her shoulders rose and tightened.

Gla.s.s shattered somewhere behind her.

Andreas thumped his own bottle down roughly, and she found the needle plucked from her hand. She blinked at her empty fingers. Shock overpowering everything else.

"Out! All of you. Now," Andreas barked, holding the needle, threaded and still attached to him.

And it was as if everyone had a pressing urge to use the commode, as they all stumbled over each other trying to get to the door. She stared at the madness.

"You, out too," Andreas hissed at her.

She bristled and opened her mouth to respond, but something in Andreas's eyes stopped her. Something neither cold nor cruel. Something almost approaching fear. And it stopped her.

She looked from one of his dark eyes to the other, and in other circ.u.mstances she might have been surprised to notice that his eyes weren't inky black-they were a very dark blue. And as if the realization that Andreas wasn't a fathomless pit, and instead was just very, very dark, made a difference to her worldview, she rose and stiffly walked to the door.

Roman stood rigidly by the sideboard, gripping a bottle, aggression vibrating underneath his skin. His mouth tightened as his eyes slid past her, still not fully meeting her gaze. Saying nothing.

But as she touched the handle of the door, the words came, dark and harsh, as if torn from him.

" Do not leave this floor. "

She gripped the handle, turned it, and walked stiffly into the hall, where a gaggle of men and boys s.h.i.+fted uneasily. She shut the door behind her just as the shouting started.

Charlotte curled into Roman's plush seat and idly moved pieces on the chessboard. The yelling-and a few conspicuous thumps and sounds of breaking gla.s.s-had ceased half an hour ago. There hadn't been a peep since, though neither Andreas nor Roman had emerged. They had either killed each other or worked through the argument, as stupid men did.

Bill, who had been the only one to remain with her-having sent the others to various defensive stations or tasks-had looked relieved, so she was inclined to the latter view. Some of the words had penetrated the wood, though most of the time it had been obvious that they were too aware that there were others near.

Still, it had become evident that Roman felt he had endangered her life. That he would always do so. Andreas had not been kind, saying she had been in as much danger the day before, and yet he hadn't cared then.

That hadn't gone over well.

She had finally given up waiting outside and numbly walked to Roman's room, which had already been thoroughly searched for intruders and cleared, and closed the door behind her.

She had then leaned against it for long moments, with her eyes closed and a delayed whimper on her lips. Finally, after gathering herself, she had moved to the table-not a desk, for there were no desks in his personal rooms-and sat in his cozy, well-loved chair.

Roman was going to push her away. That much was clear because that's what stupid people did.

Stupid people like she, too scared to grab the good that she could have.

Smart people like she, with enough regard for others to understand that her actions didn't impact just her alone.

She moved the white queen, dragging her rigid hem along the squares.

She should let him push her away. Make it easy.

Make life easier. Make life safer. Make life so less vibrant and bright and warm.

She heard a door shut down the hall, then Roman's door opened. Andreas strode inside, dark and deadly, though the sinister air that usually surrounded him was conspicuously absent, and there was a slight hitch to his stride. Probably more to do with the loss of blood than anything else.

He regarded her for a long moment, taking her measure. She took his right back. She figured that she had poked a needle through his flesh, she might as well tell him to go to h.e.l.l too.

"If you are here to tell me to stay away from Roman, you can-"

He gave a humorless laugh, eyes dark. Dark blue. "I'm not." It was hard to hold his piercing stare, truly, but she did so, determined. He lifted his chin, regarding her as if she were a mangled insect that somehow still managed to stay alive. "If you make him happy, then I will tolerate you."

Only the stubborn urge not to allow him to flummox her moved her tongue. "That is very sporting of you." At least, that's what she figured she should say. "Thank you."

She couldn't read his expression for a moment. "But just because I know why he likes you," he said, "doesn't mean I have to like you."

"Of course." She smiled without humor. "I'd hardly think you a man to be swayed by cool manners or a pretty face."

His finger nearly vibrated as he jammed it in her direction. "If you think he likes you because you are beautiful or finely mannered, then you are as stupid and useless as I once thought you."

She blinked.

He turned and was almost to the door before he stopped and angled his head slightly back toward her. "Oh, and thank you for st.i.tching me up."

And then he was gone.

Roman had tried to grab Andreas before he entered the room, but even injured, his brother was a slippery b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Andreas exited again, an unreadable expression on his face. Roman moved to walk past him, but Andreas's hand shot out, gripping his forearm.

"Don't be an idiot." Then he strode off, likely heading somewhere to get soused.

An idiot? That was what he had been to think that everything would be fine. That he could control the chaos when he wanted to. That nothing could touch him.

He hadn't much cared that anything could touch him before. He still didn't. But that it could touch Charlotte . . .

He could feel the lingering coil of absolute fear. f.u.c.king unpleasant emotion. His hand shook. An inch to the left, and he would have killed her.

From his post just outside Roman's door, Bill tilted his head in question. Roman wanted to shake his head and walk right by his room. Even with the door wide open and her able to see him do it. Better than seeing that overlay of her face lifeless and frozen. s.h.i.+t, he had just admitted no more than a few hours past that one of his fears was- She appeared in the door, her features very much alive. "Are you not going to come in, Roman?" Her voice was soft. Almost as if she understood what was going through his mind.

But then again, maybe she did.

His feet took him toward her, unwillingly, and he entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. But he couldn't meet her eyes. All of his cute games. His plans and traps. His excitement that maybe . . . just maybe . . .

"You did not endanger me." Soft, so soft, her voice as it attempted to absolve him of d.a.m.nation.

He gave a brittle little laugh. Andreas had already rung him up one side and down the other, and that hadn't helped. He opened his mouth to say so.

She touched his cheek, making him meet her eyes. Bright blue rimmed with gold. "Everything is well. See?"

And she gently pulled his head down, her lips gliding over his forehead, over his eyelids.

One hour earlier, and he would have had something easily witty to say to that.

"Everything is not well, Charlotte."

She took his hand and pulled it to her throat, to the heavy beat in her neck, then down her chest and around her waist.

He shuddered, then slowly withdrew his hand. "I'll have One-eye and three of the others escort you home."

"Why?"

"You will be safe with them."

She gripped the open edges of his s.h.i.+rt, giving him a shake. "I will be safe with you. "

" I know. " He grabbed her wrists against her chest, spinning and pinning her to the wall. "Because I would skin anyone alive who dared to touch you."

He could feel her heart beating nearly through her chest. A black, ruptured emotion slithered through him. She was afraid of him.

She pulled his mouth to hers, almost savagely, and he shuddered under the onslaught of need that rushed through him. To possess her. To keep her. To protect her. To never let her stop pulling and kissing him as hard as she was able.

Every dark desire that he had first felt for her remained true, but with the certainty that she would push back to dominate him too. Equally.

What he wanted from her. Needed from her.

But what was best for Charlotte ?

He pulled away, breath harsh. "Go home, Charlotte."

"You are being foolish." She stepped toward him again.

He pivoted and walked around the table, picking up the decanter of One-eye's specialty-for he needed all of his wits about him-putting furniture between them, not letting the desire to chain Charlotte to his bed overtake him.

After all, she had been threatened there. The thought spilled a cool river of ice down his spine. "Don't tell me of foolishness." He gripped the gla.s.s cylinder. "I cheated to win you that night, Charlotte. After the way the Delaneys spoke of you, after seeing you in the market, trapped, then digging into your charity works, seeing you again in the Hunsdens' shop? Wanting to meet you the normal way, but knowing then that would never be possible?"

She reached a hand toward him, eyes wide and full of emotion at the serial confessions, but he pushed backward, even with the furniture already lodged between them.

"I cheated. Do you know what could have occurred if Trant had proven that? And now? That I have been poaching a highborn woman considered incomparable? They wouldn't need to pa.s.s legislation against us. And do you know the games I've played with you? And with everyone around you?" He gave a humorless laugh. "Do you?"

"Don't tell me of your regrets," she hissed, anger replacing all of the softer emotions in her face. "Not now when you are obviously beyond sense. I regret nothing. " She slashed her hand through the air.

His personal motto. And at the same time, regret slithered over every thought he now possessed.

What was best for Charlotte? The answer was obvious. And for once he needed to overcome his selfish desires.

"Go home, Charlotte."

"So that's it?" She straightened, her lovely pride stiffening her frame. "You are finished with me? Finally?"

He discarded the gla.s.s and moved so quickly across the room, around the furniture, that he saw the surprise that she couldn't hide.

"No." He touched her chin, made her meet his eyes. Charlotte needed society and the life she had been born to, and he would put her back on that path, but he wouldn't let her believe herself a pa.s.sing fancy in order to do so. "I would never be finished with you, Charlotte."

Something far more contorted than simple confusion graced her face. "Roman." And her voice was soft, questioning. "Do you think you might come to love me? If you weren't . . . giving . . . me back? Someday? Just a little?"

He was frozen. Absolutely frozen. He couldn't speak a word. She lifted her chin a notch and pressed a soft kiss to his lips at his nonresponse. And still he remained frozen. He saw her walk to the door and grab Bill's arm. Heard their footsteps filing down the hall. Leaving.

Leaving. Never hearing his whisper that he already did.

Chapter 21.

S he hadn't seen him in a week. Always looking to the shadows, desperately hoping he would be there. Fearing what his absence meant. Both to what lay broken between them and to his own safety.

But she only saw the men shadowing her. Bill usually, and sometimes "Lefty," a man she had seen so often that she had forced him to introduce himself. Milton had appeared a few times. She'd even seen Andreas once, waiting outside of an event in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes dark and grumpy.

But no Roman.

She had taken the warnings Bill had given her to heart and not sought Roman out. She would not put Roman in more danger by going to the h.e.l.l just yet. Bill said "soon."

The only problem was she didn't know what would happen if and when "soon" finally came. She wondered if a single word had ever caused such anxiety.

"Charlotte, I say, what the devil is wrong with you? You have been as grouchy as a troll and as jumpy as a three-legged foal."

She pinned Emily with a look, but her sister smiled in response.

"Come on, Charlotte," Emily coaxed, pulling ahead of her, walking backward. "Race you home. The morning was a dead bore. Please? For me?"

Charlotte bit her lip, feeling the memory of hot eyes upon her, releasing and holding her, spurring her forth. She started running, uncharacteristically giving in to her sister's demand.

Emily whooped as they raced.

They arrived home flushed and slightly breathless a few minutes later.

"Brilliant," Emily exclaimed, tugging off her outer garment as soon as they were inside. Charlotte smiled at her, blood pumping, feeling better than she had in days.

"Mr. Chatsworth is closeted with Mr. Trant," her mother said from the parlor, without looking up from her st.i.tching.

Charlotte stilled, her fingers on the edges of her pelisse.

Making an offer.

She didn't respond, and her mother's eyes suddenly met hers, brows raised. Asking the silent dark question of whether she cared-of whether her lover would care.

Charlotte removed her pelisse slowly, handing it to their butler along with her reticule. "Is he?" she responded calmly. "For how long has Mr. Trant been here?"

"An hour now."

Hammering out details.