And he would not even give her that.
Nine
Before the clock struck ten, Drew slipped into his borrowed bed. His trunk had been delivered at some point—though clearly not by Bernard since he’d busied himself with being chased by Mrs. Dart’s companion. So who had done it? Thank God it had been delivered. It gave him a bit of peace to know he’d ride away on the morrow in his own clothes. His own gloves. His own damn smalls.
He closed his eyes.
And Mrs. Dart appeared in the darkness, wearing pink and looking startled, her curls falling out of her coiffure as he backed her against the castle wall, raindrops dripping down his forehead and soaking into her skin.
His eyes popped open.
None. Of. That.
But the clock struck midnight before he finally found sleep, before he could close his eyes without a startled, pink-cheeked Mrs. Dart appearing before him like a specter. But sleep did come. Finally. And then…
A castle. A wall. A princess pinned against stone. Soft under his frantic hands. Stone turned to feather, and the world tilted, and his body was hot and hard atop hers, her lips soft and givingbeneath his. He pushed her shift, silver in the moonlight, above her hips and pressed between her legs. She pulled him closer, her voice a soft breath in his ear, an invitation.Lord Andrew, she said, in a voice tart and sweet and familiar.
He woke sweating with a gasp and pushed damp hair out of his eyes. Somewhere in the castle, the clock finished its third chime, and the moon spilled through his window. Hell. He was hard, and his body needed release, and—as he had many times in his life—he took his shaft in hand to grant it. Only, flashes of feeling and arousal dripped from the dream into his waking memory. Something had felt familiar, but what? No details but for soft flesh and urgent moans from pretty pink lips. He brought himself release with a few quick pulls, and the fragments of his dream, exhaustion, and satiation took him once more into slumber.
Where more dreams knit themselves with his bones, leaving him heavy and tired when the sun finally rose and sliced across his eyes, waking him from a restless sleep.
He’d slept longer than he’d meant to, and he slung heavy legs over the side of the bed and dressed in his own clothes with sluggish movements and slipped from the house without breaking his fast.
The stable hands were up and about, and one ambled over to greet him. “Morning. Lord Andrew, I presume?” The man with steel-gray hair and a full beard spoke with a thick Scottish accent. “I’m Mr. Scott. The lads and I retrieved your trunk yesterday.”
“Thank you.”
“Going for a morning ride?”
“Going home.”
“The coach you came in?—”
“Can remain here for now.” Drew tapped his toe. Too many questions. “I’ll take one of the horses I brought.”
“Your driver? Your outrider?”
More questions. “They can return the coach to me when it’s repaired.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man hauled a saddle into his arms, and Drew stepped out of the stable and into the open air, turning to study the house, castle really, behind him. He’d not seen it clearly as he’d marched through its doors yesterday, focused as he’d been on one single task—find Mrs. Dart. But the yellow morning offered clear light to look at his leisure. Large and gray and square, the castle sat on a rolling field of green that stretched out on three sides. Each corner boasted a turret, and every brick, as well as every blade of grass, appeared well-cared for, as if time had no power here. On the fourth side, at the castle’s back, the ground fell away after an expanse of wild, winter garden. A sheer cliff dropped into crushing ocean waves below, which whipped salt through the air and into Drew’s lungs.
His own familial home… damp and deteriorating because his father hadn’t cared… flashed through his mind. Drew growled and stomped back into the stables, trying to ice over the red-hot emotions, but that was an impossible task when he could not give name to them. He slowed, forced his eyes closed and his breathing to march at a steadier pace. He’d been fine until he’d viewed the castle, that symbol of wealth and prosperity he’d not even known existed. Damn Mrs. Dart for hiding it from him!
He winced. Jealousy? Was that what this glowing steel-hot pain shooting through him was? Jealousy served no purpose. A useless emotion. Just because his own father had squandered his family’s fortune did not mean he must scowl at everyone who’d not suffered the same financial fate. Besides, Drew had always been glad it had happened. If his family had not been destitute and debt-ridden, he’d never have looked for work as a tutor, and that experience had led to his agency.
He’d wrestled his life away from the hands of fate and made it what it should be. And he remained glad of it.
But Mrs. Dart had kept her secrets when he could have been… He froze. Likely even the blood in his veins stilled. And on numb legs, he returned outside to stare at the castle once more. Was that why he felt jealous? Was that why he raged at Mrs. Dart? Not because she’d kept her secret. Not because she had the familial wealth and security he’d always lacked, but… Because had he known her financial status, he could have been courtingher.
She would have been the top name on his list. A viscount for a grandfather, a rich one at that. And more important than that, even, she knew and understood his dreams—the agency, its expansion—and was part of it all, helping to bring it to life. There would be from her, no tears over missed dinners and late nights working. She would understand. Because she’d be working, too. True, he could ask her to fund his agency instead, but he’d not taken a single handout or loan so far, and he would not begin now. Besides, a financial partner would have control. A wife would not.
Hell. He’d been wasting his time. She’d wasted it for him. Who needed a list with Mrs. Dart by your side?
“Mr. Scott,” he called out into the stables. “I won’t need that horse saddled anymore. I’ve decided to stay a while.”
He strode for the house, energized despite the night’s lack of sleep, and pushed through the front doors with the confidence he always felt when he had a plan and made his way up the stairs, stopping right outside Mrs. Dart’s bedchamber door. She always preferred to sleep late when she had no pressing matters. She’d still be abed. He straightened his jacket, his cuffs, his gloves, then knocked.
Silence.
