“You cannot work for him.” He stabbed a finger toward the empty doorframe. “No matter what there is to gain, the loss—” He swallowed. “Our agreement, Mrs. Dart. Do you remember?”
She did. She regretted it. “Give me a reason to stay other than an agreement.” She strode closer to him, lifted her face so they were almost nose to nose.
“Because I want you to.”
“Not good enough.”
“Because we work well together.”
She growled. “Ihatethat one.”
“Because… because?—”
“I love you, you daft fool!” She pounded a fist against her chest. “Iloveyou, and I will stay for nothing less than your love returned. Not an excellent working partnership. Not reason and logic. Not an agreement.” She thumped her fist against his chest. “Fate, Andrew. And love. Can you give me that?” It’s what she’d been searching for, what she wanted most.
When he did not answer, could not answer, she shrank from him, her arms heavy at her sides. There was something worse than loneliness. This.
She left the room, and he let her go.
Twenty-Two
For the second time in a little over a month, Andrew found himself galloping through the rain, rushing frantically toward a goal. Not Scotland this time. Briarcliff. And no damn wedding called him home. Despite his attempts to call one into being. When he slammed into the entry hall, he was soaked to the bone. Again. But this time, there was no Amelia to pin to a wall and kiss with relief. There would be no Amelia ever again. Very well. But she would not have to suffer the indignation of working for that scoundrel Tidsdale. And because she would not back down, and because he could not control her, as she loved to tell him, he would make the damn agreement with Tidsdale void.
There would be nothing to hold over Amelia’s head when Drew left Briarcliff.
“Andrew!” His mother rushed down the stairs toward him. “What has happened to you?”
“I need the painting. My inheritance.” Theo had sold his, given the money to his wife. But he’d earned it with the art from his own hands. All his brothers but Atlas had earned it, so far as he knew, and Atlas had a wife now, so perhaps Drew knew nothing. Drew was going to take it without having earned it.He’d never wanted the inheritance or the work he must do to earn it. None of that mattered now.
“Of course. But first, a change of clothes.” She ushered him upstairs. As had Amelia. History repeating itself. This time his fears justified. “I had a dream last night. Of you. You stood before a house. And it was on fire. I see now the element was wrong. Rain brought you here instead.”
Amelia had brought him here. And she was fire, a flame that had leapt into his body and soul.
His mother stopped before his bedchamber door. “Matilda would have a bath and a plate of food sent up. Do you want those things?”
“No. I want nothing but the painting.”
She nodded. “I’ll have that sent up instead.” She turned to leave him.
“You’ll ask no questions? Demand no answers?”
She inhaled slowly. “I have come to understand I should make no more demands of my sons. I have asked too much of all of you already. And I am sorry for it. This is the first time you have returned home for reasons other than a funeral or a wedding. I’m only glad you are here.”
Hell, was he really going to cry? Why would he? He cleared his throat. “The painting, please, Mother. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes, dear.” She patted his face and smiled, and he shrugged away from her and into his chamber. The same one he’d occupied since boyhood, the walls lined with books, the same quilt on the bed, the same curtains. He shed his clothes and dressed in dry ones, and then the knocking came. Banging really.
He’d expected his brothers sooner than this. They were growing soft with marriage.
“Come in,” he called.
Raph entered first, followed by Atlas with a cloth-covered square nestled under one arm.
“Welcome home,” Raph said, closing the door and leaning a shoulder against it.
Atlas rested his package on the ground. “Dare I hope you’ve come to wish me felicitations on my marriage?”
Drew scowled. “That, I’d like to know more about.”
