Hunting the Hero (The Wild Randalls 4)
Her eyes closed and Constantine ached to pull her into his arms and tell her not to. Yet he would know her secrets. All of them.
A shudder shook her slender body. “I was sixteen, alone and afraid and so desperately hungry that I’d begun stealing from farmhouses. One day I wasn’t quick enough in leaving. I’d lingered to straighten my hair when I spotted the lady of the house’s hair comb. How foolish that decision was. Her husband caught me and made me earn what I’d taken.”
The cold, emotionless retelling caused gooseflesh to rise on his nape.
“And what did you think of me when we met?”
A sad smile crossed her face. “When I saw you, I thought to spend a night with a man purely because I wanted to.”
“I did pay Mrs. Cohen well for your services the next morning.”
“I didn’t do it for the money, or the bet. I just… wanted to touch you.”
“As did I.” He moved closer. “A lucky coincidence for my daughters. They have grown in confidence and contentment since you came to live with us.”
“Children are easy to please. They do not see the wickedness behind the hand that guides them.”
“You’re a little hard on yourself. You did what you had to.”
She set her hands to his chest. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I’m listening. I’m sorry about the farmer who caught you and every other man who took advantage of your desperation. It was more or less what I expected. Everyone has baggage in their life.”
“Have you slept with so many men?”
He grinned. “No men at all. But women, that’s another matter.”
As he hoped, her eyes brightened with possessive fire. “How many?”
He laughed then and caught her face between his hands. “Shh, now, little vixen. I’d no idea you’d be so jealous.”
Her arms twined around his neck and she looked up at him with a fatuous expression that belied her mood. “How many were there, Constantine?”
“One hundred and three wenches, not counting you or my wife. I’ve kept an accounting of such matters from the beginning.”
She stared hard at him. “That’s a lot.”
“I was a wild young man sowing my oats as my father once put it.” He shrugged. “I had nothing like your explanation to make my behavior understandable. You sold your body to survive.”
Constantine brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Rosemary. A name that finally suits you. I promise you, I do not hold your past against you. I thought you the bravest woman I’d ever known even when I didn’t know your real name or connections.”
He could sense her wavering and took advantage of her distraction. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, savoring the sweet passion of her lips. His pulse raced as her arms tightened about his neck. He kissed her passionately, as if this was the first of many. He hoped so because he feared he would never find another lover like her. He wanted to imprint her on his soul and make them inseparable.
He eased back eventually and met her gaze. “If the price of keeping you in my life means a permanent break with Romsey, then I will do so without reservations. I would make any sacrifice if it meant you would share my life. All you have to do is trust me.”
After a long moment, Rosemary’s chilled fingers slid across his op
en hand and captured him in a tight grip.
CHAPTER 28
ROSEMARY STUDIED THE far horizon as the sun set behind a thick bank of clouds. If not for Constantine’s hand firmly clasped about hers, she would have fled the carriage and given up this foolishness. Ahead lay Romsey. A place she despised. The only bright spark on the horizon was seeing Willow, Maisy, and Poppy. They were adorably innocent and, according to Constantine, utterly miserable again without her.
The carriage rattled over the small bridge and revealed the looming bulk of the abbey in the distance. She squeezed Constantine’s hand, but the panic she expected had left her. She felt no anxiety at being so close to the cause of her suffering. How strange. The sight didn’t fill her with the same dread that sometimes invaded her dreams. The abbey appeared perfectly ordinary in the daylight.
She eased her grip on Grayling and leaned toward the window. The last time she had been here she had been a girl of sixteen and easily impressed with the grandeur of her surroundings. But beneath that pristine exterior was a purpose that had filled her with revulsion and anger.
The main doors opened and servants trouped out to line the front stairs in wait of their arrival. Behind them came three women and one small boy. It made for a pretty picture, but the ones she longed to see were not on the stairs yet.