“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “You are, however, worth every penny.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew they were the wrong ones. He’d only enforced the notion of a commercial transaction when he’d been trying to tell her how much he wanted her.
In for a penny, he thought. “Would you be interested in doubling that amount?”
Her face drained of color. “Get out.”
He knew how ridiculous he must look, looming over her in his old bedroom, his much-loved childhood bunny in his hand. For some goddamn reason he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he really needed to.
He shrugged. “You’ll need to give me the direction of your bank so I can have the money transferred.”
“I don’t want your goddamned money,” she said between her teeth. “I just want you to go away.”
Instead of walking away he moved closer, but she held her ground. “You were the one who brought money into our relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
He moved closer. “Of course we do,” he said. She was right there, so close, tension radiating through her body. He dropped the bunny, took her arms and pulled her close. “Harpy,” he added softly, and kissed her.
He was prepared for a battle. He was prepared for rage and then, please God, an eventual melting. He never expected she would slide her arms around his waist, holding him tightly, as she let him kiss her, as she started to kiss him back with such endearing awkwardness that his blood caught fire. He wanted her, needed her, so badly. He needed to lose himself in her, drown in her, die in her, he loved. . .
She yanked herself out of his arms, a second before the door opened and Mrs. Patrick appeared, a young maid behind her. “There you are, Master Brandon!” she said jovially, missing any tension between the two of them, Emma’s reddened mouth, the brightness of her eyes, his own upheaval. “Your room’s all ready for you. Would you two be wanting dinner down in the dining room, or would you prefer a tray up here?”
“If you don’t mind I’d prefer a tray,” Emma said before he could say a word. “I’m very tired. I’m certain Lord Brandon would like to go out this evening. He must have old friends he wished to visit.”
And with those simple words she broke him.
Emma watched Brandon walk out of her room without another word, and she felt sick inside. Why had she said that? She had, in effect, told him to go out and try to kill himself again. She knew his old friends had been deviants and satyrs, she had seen the results of their work when she’d found him in this very room, trying to put an end to his existenc
e. What if she’d been too late? What if she’d opened the door and he’d been hanging there, dead, gone forever, lost to the dark world he’d entered.
And now she’d just told him to go back there. He hadn’t missed it, either. His face had gone still, blank, and he’d simply walked away from her.
She could feel him on her mouth, the taste of him, the demand of him. She could feel him on her breasts, pressed against his hard chest as she’d held on to him. She could feel him in her belly, the growing hardness pressing against her, something she no longer thought of with revulsion. He’d been warm and strong and hard and she wanted him back.
She turned away, hugging herself, cursing herself and then she stopped thinking, moving on instinct alone, through the door and out onto the landing that looked down over the broad staircase. He was going quickly down the steps, his head bowed, and she couldn’t stand it. He was going out to die, all because of her wicked tongue, and she couldn’t let that happen. If it did, she would die too.
“Brandon!” She leaned over the railing, not even considering what she was doing.
He stopped his headlong pace, turning to look up at her from that endless distance. She was the slightest bit nearsighted, and she couldn’t read his expression, but she could imagine it.
“Mrs. Cadbury?” His voice was frosty, and she should have been abashed that she’d used his given name for the very first time.
“Lord Brandon,” she amended hastily. He didn’t move, and she cleared her throat. She felt like such an idiot, such a thoughtless, evil fool. “Lord Brandon,” she said again. “I . . . I didn’t . . . forgive me . . .” She couldn’t put her regret into words.
She squinted, trying to draw him into focus, but it was hopeless. “There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Cadbury,” he said with stiff politeness. “I will wish you a good evening.”
“Where are you going?” She heard the intake of breath behind her and knew that Mrs. Patrick had overheard her grossly inappropriate question.
There was a long moment of silence. “I haven’t yet decided,” he finally said. “To church or to the devil or someplace in between. Pleasant dreams.” Before she could say another word he was gone.
Chapter 25
Emma was alone. There was no one to keep her from walking out the door and heading straight back to her rooms by the docks. She could hire a hackney, or she could even walk, straight out of his life and this time he wouldn’t come after her.
It was beyond stupid to even consider it. She’d been so fixated on getting away from him that she hadn’t examined the situation with her usual calm deliberation. She’d spent her life surviving by sheer grit and her ability to use her wits. Now was hardly the time to stop using her brain, even if it did have the unfortunate tendency to turn to pudding any time she got near Brandon Rohan. She needed to be practical, not let herself get distracted by what she could never have. Something she shouldn’t even want.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it appeared as if someone was most definitely trying to kill her. There was a chance that all three incidents—the fire, the near drowning, the attack at Starlings—were coincidental. There was a likelier chance that dogs could talk and pigs could fly. She’d been going around with blinders on, fixated on the one man who had ever been able to make her feel, make her long for something more, and she’d been foolishly reckless.
Resolutely she pushed him out of her brain. Discipline, my girl, she told herself firmly. Your first task is to stay alive. Mooning over Brandon Rohan is a complete waste of time if you end up dead.