The Mister - Page 67

Her eyelashes flutter over her dark, dark eyes, but she gives nothing away.

Shit.

“You’re a bright, talented woman, Alessia. And you’re free. Free to make your own choices.”

“But I’m not.”

“You are here. I know you’re from a different culture, and I know we’re not economic equals, but that’s just an accident of birth….We are equals in every other way. I’ve fucked up. I should have told you, and I’m sorry, deeply sorry. But I don’t want you to go, I want you to stay. Please.”

Her fathomless eyes strip me bare as she studies my face, and then she turns her attention to the carved eagle.

Why is she avoiding me? What is she thinking?

Is it the trauma she’s just been through?

Or is it because those fuckers are out of the picture, so she no longer needs me?

Shit. Maybe that’s the reason.

“Look, I can’t keep you here if you want to leave. Magda is moving to Canada. So where you’ll go, I don’t know. If nothing else, stay until you know where. But please don’t go. Stay. With me.”

She can’t run…she can’t.

Forgive me! Please.

I hold my breath. Waiting.

It’s excruciating. I’m the defendant in the dock waiting for the verdict.

She turns her tearstained face to me. “You are not ashamed of me?”

Ashamed? No!

I can bear it no longer. I skim the back of my index finger across her cheek, capturing a tear. “No. No. Of course not. I…I…I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Her lips part, and I hear her just-audible gasp.

Shit. Am I too late?

Her eyes glisten with fresh tears, and my heart clenches with a new and intimidating sensation. Perhaps she’ll reject me. My anxiety level ratchets up several notches, and I’ve never felt as vulnerable as I do now.

What’s the verdict, Alessia?

I open my arms, and she looks from my hands to my face. Her expression uncertain. It’s killing me. She bites her lower lip and takes one small hesitant step, and she’s in my embrace. I wrap my arms around her and press her to my chest. I never want to let her go. Closing my eyes, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale her sweet scent. “My love,” I whisper.

She shudders and starts to sob.

“I know. I know. I’ve got you. You’ve had a terrible fright. I’m sorry I left you on your own. It was a stupid thing to do. Forgive me. But those arseholes are in police custody. They’re gone. They won’t harm you again. I’ve got you.” Her arms slide around me, and she grabs my coat at the back. She holds me as she weeps.

“I should have told you, Alessia. I’m sorry.”

We stand for seconds, minutes, I don’t know. Jensen and Healey give up on us and wander down the stairs.

“You can cry on me anytime,” I tease. She sniffles, and I tip her chin up and stare down into beautiful, red-rimmed eyes. “I thought…oh, God, I thought if they got their hands on you…I’d never see you again.”

Swallowing, she gives me a weak smile.

“And you must know,” I continue, “I’d be honored to call you mine. I need you.” And loosening my hold, I gently caress her face, avoiding the slight red mark on her right cheek. The sight of her bruise fills me with anger, but, taking great care not to touch it, I smooth away her tears with my thumbs. She places her hand on my chest. Through my shirt I feel the warmth. It spreads. Everywhere.

Alessia clears her throat. “I was so scared. I thought I’d never see you again. But my biggest…um, sorrow…um, regret,” she whispers, “was that…was that I never told you that I love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Joy bursts like a million fireworks within me from head to foot. Its intensity leaves me breathless. I can’t quite believe it. “You do?”

“Yes,” Alessia whispers with a timid smile.

“Since when?”

She pauses and lifts a shoulder in a coy shrug. “Since you gave me the umbrella.”

I beam at her. “I felt so good about that. Your wet footprints were all over my hall. So…are you saying you’ll stay?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so very glad to hear that, my love.” I brush her bottom lip with my thumb and lean down to kiss her. I place my lips on hers, gently, but she ignites around me, her fervor taking me by surprise. Her lips and tongue are greedy, urgent, her hands are in my hair, tugging and twisting. She wants more. So much more. I groan as my body comes alive, and I deepen the kiss, taking everything she has to offer. There’s a desperate quality to her demanding mouth. She’s needy. And I want to be the one to fulfill her need. My hands move into her hair, holding her still, steadying her, slowing our pace. I want to take her, here, now, on the landing.

Alessia.

My arousal is instant.

I want her.

I need her.

I love her.

But…she’s been through hell. She winces when I run my hand down her side. And her reaction brings me to my senses.

“No…” I whisper, and she pulls back, giving me a carnal but bewildered and disappointed look.

“You’re hurt,” I explain.

“I’m okay.” She’s breathless, and she cranes her neck to kiss me again.

“Let’s just take a moment,” I whisper, and I rest my forehead on hers. “You’ve had a horrible morning.” She’s extremely emotional, and her ardor may be a direct reaction to being roughed up by those arseholes.

The thought is sobering.

Or maybe it’s because she loves me.

I like that idea better.

We stand forehead to forehead as we each catch our breath.

She strokes my cheek, then tilts her head to one side, and a hint of a smile plays on her lips. “You are the Earl of Trevethick?” she teases. “When were you going to tell me?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and I laugh out loud, knowing that she’s echoing my question from the other night.

“I’m telling you now.”

She grins and taps her lip with her finger. I turn and wave theatrically to the portrait that dates from 1667. “May I introduce Edward, the first Earl of Trevethick. And that gentleman”—I point to the other painting with my thumb—“that’s my father, the eleventh earl. He was a farmer and a photographer, too. And he was an ardent Chelsea supporter, so I’m not sure what he would have made of your Arsenal top.”

Alessia gives me a puzzled look.

“They are rival London football teams.”

“Oh, no.” She laughs. “Where is your portrait?”

“I don’t have one. I haven’t been the earl for very long. My older brother, Kit. He was the real earl. But he never got around to having his portrait painted.”

“Your brother who died?”

“Yes. The title and everything that comes with it were his responsibility until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t meant for the role, for all…this.” I tilt my head toward the suits of armor. “Running this place—this museum—it’s all new to me.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Alessia asks.

“It’s one of the reasons. I think part of me is in denial. All this, and the other estates, it’s a lot of responsibility, and I’ve not been trained for it.”

Whereas Kit was….

This conversation is getting too deep and too close to home. I continue with a slight smile. “I’m very lucky. I’ve never really had to work before, and now all this is mine. And I have to maintain it for the next generation. It’s my duty.” I give her an apologetic shrug. “This is who I am. And now you know. And I’m glad you’ve decided to stay.”

“My lord?” Danny calls up from below.

Tags: E.L. James Romance
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