The Samurai That I Loved

第50章

"I hate him...I truly hate him." Eliza whispered aloud to no one from the bedside. Her vacant eyes looked towards the window, knowing she had to eventually return to the garden party but being unable to move a single muscle. Her body was still emotionally heightened with the intense sparkling release Yoru had drawn from her. It was a disastrous feeling to be mingled among a brutal cacophony of spurned pride and shame.

How fitting of him to give her exactly what she wanted while burying her heart with it at the same time. Happy birthday, indeed.

She turned her head to notice he had left her wooden hand and cream silk glove on top of the coverlet next to her, but to her further irritation, her rose pouch was wretchedly gone once again. The explosive humiliation and outrage seemed to snap her out of her frozen trance like a tethered whip being lashed out with a horrendous sting. Reaching out, she angrily adjusted the hand onto her wrist and slid the glove over it before standing to her feet and marching towards the door.

"That bloody bastard. If I see him again, I'll...Oh, I hate him!" She stammered in heated mutters while her slippered feet carried her down the hallway, then stairs. The sky blue of her skirts swished around her legs as the long puffed sleeves billowed around her arms with every step she took.

She had hurriedly pinned her curls back into a coiled coiffure with loose strands framing her face, adding a little softness to the overall terrifying expression she wore. It was no wonder when the maids in her path looked up and hurriedly stepped to the side to avoid careening with her ladyship.

Even a few of the footmen who walked by cast her stunned looks of worry at the drastic change from her normally demure and emotionless self to this enraged, fiery woman now striding with a vengeance towards the back terrace.

If Yoru had gained any intelligence over the last ten years, he would know better than to remain at the gathering with a scorned woman on his heels.

~•~

Yoru was in a stormy frame of mind. His dark eyes narrowed beneath furrowed black brows as he strode over the backlawns with a predatorial gate. The way he dealt with Eliza had left a sour taste inside his mouth and a deep festering regret that he couldn't understand for the life of him.

He knew she had wanted him, needed him, but to what extent he did not know. Did she ever care for him? Was he still just playing the fool?

Why did he have to harbor such an unfathomable, deep, intense love for her after all these damn years?

She had already destroyed his heart once, but now he felt as if he were willingly hurling himself into the roaring fires of her desire to burn him entirely all anew and for what?

Lust?

Pure, carnel, selfish pleasure?

No.

His feelings were far beyond such simplicity. If he wanted a warm bed, he could easily find one anywhere. But with Eliza...there was life. And the irony about life was that death always followed. He wasn't sure if he was prepared for that. Not again.

Therefore he took, he gave, but he would be damned if she ever became aware of his incredible depth of vulnerability.

Besides...he truly had no idea what he was doing anyway. Ever since she reentered his life, he quickly realized he was spun off his axis and now careening out of control headfirst within his emotions. Why did this always happen around her? Why was his heart and logic so closely interwoven that he made a perpetual moron of himself?

Scowling in darkened frustration, he cleared his throat and attempted to loosen his shoulders. Walking up to Hopkins and Radford, he corrected his expression to one of pleasant greeting, hiding the fiery brooding of his true nature beneath the facade.