The Wild Child

by Mary Jo Putney

  But Meriel’s yearnings for passion and closeness were bringing change whether she wanted it or not. It was time to begin clearing the air. “Were you listening when Lord Maxwell first came to Warfield?”

  “Kyle Renbourne. Viscount Maxwell.” Her eyes glinted. “A major prize in the Marriage Mart.”

  One of the ladies must have used that term. He smiled, but only briefly, for the reminder of Kyle was sobering. He had been torn between loyalty to his brother and to Meriel. Now his reckless self-indulgence meant that he was irrevocably committed to her, and Kyle would never forgive him. Burying his pain at that thought for later, he said bluntly, “I’m not Lord Maxwell.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Not Renbourne?”

  “Yes, but Dominic Renbourne, not Kyle. I’m Lord Maxwell’s twin brother.” He grimaced. “I’m not proud of this, Meriel. Since we look enough alike to fool people who don’t know us well, Kyle asked me to take his place so he could be elsewhere. Though I didn’t want to, he was…persuasive. I thought coming to Warfield would be a simple matter. I would say little, let you become accustomed to me—or rather, someone who looked like me. Then leave.”

  Catching her gaze, he said intensely, “I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, but I have. That changes everything.”

  To his relief, she didn’t recoil in horror, but neither did she declare love for him as he had secretly hoped. Instead, she regarded him with coolly assessing eyes. “So. No wonder you seemed different. More dangerous.”

  “Me, dangerous?” he said, genuinely startled. “Kyle can be an awkward devil, but I’ve always had an easy disposition.”

  Ignoring that, she said, “Kyle is a hard name, all edges. I like Dominic better.”

  “Good. I hope you like Dominic well enough to marry me, since I have well and truly compromised you.” He took her hand. “Though I’m not the prize in the Marriage Mart my brother is, I do love you. I hope that’s good enough.”

  She drew away and sat up. One end of the sari lay within reach, so she pulled the fabric loosely around her, though the sheer silk emphasized rather than concealed her nakedness. “Such a passion you have for marriage. I do not share it.”

  A chill went through him. He should have known that speech would not instantly resolve all differences. “Only wedded couples are supposed to behave as we have.”

  Her brows arched with disbelief. “You have never mated before?”

  “I have known other women, but none like you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “None so rich?”

  His jaw tightened. She had picked up a great deal of cynicism in her overheard conversations. “None has been so rich,” he agreed, “but it is not your wealth that draws me, Meriel. I would gladly marry you even if you were penniless.”

  She cocked her head to one side, the golden earrings swinging with a faint, teasing tching. “You have a fortune?”

  “No,” he said steadily. “A small independent income, but not a fortune.”

  “So your brother, who is rich, wishes to marry me for my money, while you, who are poor, do not.” She injected an unnerving amount of disbelief into her voice.

  He sighed. “This is a question that must be answered by faith, not proof, sprite. You either believe me or you don’t.”

  Her mouth twisted. “And what do I know of men? How can I judge?”

  “You can listen to your heart,” he said quietly.

  “My heart says that change is coming too quickly.” Her cynicism vanished, leaving stark discomfort. “For a woman, marriage means trusting her body and property wholly to the ownership of a man. When I was drawing mehndi on Jena Ames, she told me what had happened to her. Why should I risk that when I don’t have to?”

  Why indeed, if she didn’t love or trust him. Fighting down his resentment at how easily she dismissed his declaration, he got to his feet and pulled on his trousers and shirt. The brazier had burned out, but heavily scented smoke still clouded the room, so he drew the draperies back from a window and opened the casements. Then he leaned out and filled his lungs with clean, damp air.

  He thought back on the affairs he’d had. Though he’d never been a womanizer, he’d experienced his share of the delights of the flesh. He’d lain with randy widows, lusty maids, and sometimes bored wives. But he’d never been involved in a relationship where either party thought their liaison was anything more than a passing pleasure.

  Until Meriel, where “till death do us part” seemed like the only possible outcome for the intimacies they had shared. Most gently bred young ladies would agree wholeheartedly, but she was not like anyone else. Not that he wanted her to become conventional at the price of her magical uniqueness—but marriage was one convention he dearly wished she would embrace.

  The increasing clarity of his thoughts reminded him of an earlier question. He turned, folding his arms over his chest. “What did you burn in the brazier?”

  “Mostly frankincense.” She began to braid her hair. “A little opium.”

  “My God, opium?” He stared at her. So that was why his thoughts had been scrambled, and his sorely tried willpower had finally snapped. “How could you?”

  She shrugged. “You were so stubborn. Strong measures were required.”

  Her casualness was a forceful reminder of how different she was. She truly did not see the outrageousness of her behavior. Wanting to make her understand, he asked dryly, “What would you think of a man who used strong drink to seduce a lady?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Despicable.”

  So she had learned at least some morality from her guardians. “Is it any more right that you used a drug to persuade me to do something against my will?”

  She froze, her braiding hands still. “You seemed willing to me.”

  “My body certainly was,” he said sharply. “But my conscience forbade sexual intimacy because it would be wrong. Though it wasn’t easy, I had managed to behave honorably—until you saw fit to drug me.”

  Her face tightened. “Why do you think our mating was wrong?”

  “Because you are betrothed to my brother, not me.” He frowned, seeking the right words. “And even more because no man of honor should take advantage of a young woman whose judgment is impaired. Such behavior is beneath contempt.”

  Her eyes narrowed to feline slits. “You think me mad?”

  “Not mad. But your upbringing has been so unusual that you cannot fully understand society’s dictates, and why they should be obeyed.”

  She resumed her braiding. “Your honor is safe, Renbourne. I was the evil seducer, not you.”

  He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “What matters is not blame, but consequences.” He hesitated, realizing he must ask an awkward question, not only to satisfy his own curiosity, but because the answer could make a difference in their situation. “Have you ever…lain with another man?”

  She sighed, her anger draining away. “No, though I was not virgin. In the zenana, there was talk of giving me to a neighboring rajah as a concubine. My hair made me a great novelty, and it is not unknown for small girls to become brides in India. Concerned because I was so little, one of the older women, Asma, used a stone lingam to remove my maidenhead.”

  He would not have understood if he hadn’t seen a lingam during his school days. The son of an Indian army officer had produced one to impress his classmates, and the boys had passed around the crudely carved male organ with fascination and nervous laughter. He was appalled to think of a delicate child being subjected to such a barbaric ritual. “How horrible for you.”

  “It was kindly meant, to spare me undue suffering.” She crossed her arms on her drawn-up knees and rested her head on them, hiding her face. “Asma was whipped for tampering with me, and it was decided that I should be given back to the English. Perhaps Asma foresaw that might happen.”

  He could only dimly grasp how alien her experiences had been. No wonder she was frank about subjects that would make a more sheltered girl swoon, or that she had returned
to her own people permanently altered. Trying to be as matter-of-fact as she, he said, “Despite the lingam, you were a virgin, which means that marriage is the proper course. Would that be so bad? I had thought you cared for me.”

  Her eyes softened, for he hadn’t quite managed to keep emotion from his voice. “You know I do, but that doesn’t mean I want marriage.” She gazed at him pleadingly. “Can’t we stay as we are? These last weeks have been so happy.”

  He sighed. “That’s not possible, sprite. This visit is courtship intended to lead to marriage. The world would be horrified if we chose to live together unwed. Your guardians would never permit it, even if I’m willing to be seen as a seducer of innocence, which I am not. If we don’t marry, I must leave.”

  Her jaw set stubbornly. “I am Lady of Warfield. How dare anyone censure me!”

  Shades of her medieval ancestors. History books and ancient journals lined her bookshelves, and had obviously affected her thinking. “This is the world we must live in, Meriel. If you were a widow of mature years, you could offer me some post such as business manager and we could be together if we were discreet about it. But you are young and beautiful and thought to be disordered in your wits, which is very different.”

  She scowled. “That is not just.”

  “Perhaps not, but the time has come to pay the price for your years of doing exactly what you wanted and letting the world think you mad,” he said bluntly. “Even though you are now speaking, it will take time for your family to accept you as a sane, intelligent woman capable of making her own decisions.”

  She drew her sari more closely, like a shawl. “I will talk only to you.”

  He almost groaned with exasperation. How could she be so intelligent and so blind at the same time? “You can’t just pretend nothing has happened. If necessary, I’ll tell the ladies that you can speak as well as they do.”

  “They won’t believe that unless they hear me with their own ears.”

  He bit off an oath, knowing she was right. If he claimed that she talked to him without offering proof, the ladies would think his wits were disordered.

  “You may want to deny change, but what if you are with child? It’s possible, and pregnancy is not something that can be ignored. If you bear a baby outside of marriage, it would be a social outcast because of our immoral behavior. Would you want that?”

  She gasped and laid a hand on her belly, as if she had not considered the possibility. He had a brief, crazed vision of her choosing to marry Kyle, then bearing Dominic’s son as heir to Wrexham. That would certainly be a younger son’s vengeance for the injustice of fate.

  Wrapping her arms around her knees again, she began to rock like a distraught child. He swore at himself for upsetting her. Even more, for letting this situation develop. The opium couldn’t have affected him if he’d had the sense to stay away from her.

  He left the window and knelt beside her, petting her bare arm comfortingly. “I’m sorry for alarming you, sprite. If you aren’t with child—and probably you’re not—your life can stay just as it is now. I will leave, and you’ll forget me soon.” Though he was painfully aware that he would not forget her.

  “No!” Her head whipped up, and she stared at him. “Can’t you be my business manager? I can be as discreet as any old widow.”

  The idea was dangerously tempting. To be with Meriel without incurring the wrath of his family, or the rest of the world…but it wasn’t possible. “That’s not good enough, Meriel. I want us to hold our heads up before God and country, not hide in the shadows like adulterers.”

  “It shouldn’t matter what others think!” she said passionately.

  She had the soul of an aristocrat, or a democrat, he wasn’t sure which. “Unless you live alone in a cave, other people’s opinions matter.” He caught her gaze, wanting to impress her with his words. “The choice is yours, Meriel. You can refuse to marry anyone, and have your life of freedom. Or you can marry me.” He swallowed hard. “Or Kyle, or some other man. But I will not be your illicit lover.”

  She closed her eyes, as if she could block out his words. With her hair pulled back and the skin taut over her cheekbones, she no longer looked like a child. She was a woman, and tired. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. “But I…I need time to accept so many changes. Will you not grant me that?”

  “We have a little time, until my brother returns from his journey.” He opened his arms, and she leaned into his embrace. “Perhaps another fortnight. By then you might know whether or not you are with child.”

  Meriel sighed and rested her head against him. Overwhelmed with tenderness, he brushed a silken tendril of hair back from her temple. She was like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, horrendously vulnerable but determined to survive in a strange new world. He could only imagine how much courage that took.

  He bent and gave her what was intended to be a comforting kiss. Her head tilted back and her lips molded to his. As he felt the first stirrings of arousal, he had a brief, fierce battle with his conscience. What was wrong earlier was wrong still, and this time he didn’t have the excuse of opium to haze his judgment.

  She slid one hand under his loose shirt. “At dinner, I liked knowing that beneath your gentleman’s garb, you wear my mehndi on your skin.”

  As her fingers fluttered teasingly across his chest, his resolve wavered. Their situation could hardly be worsened from what it was now. And gods above, he wanted so much to make love to her, body and soul, to show her the depth of his caring.

  He pulled the sari from her shoulder and kissed the graceful henna lines that curved around her breasts. The designs were so primitive, so un-English. They made it easier to forget the world of rules and strictures that lay outside their sanctuary.

  With his tongue, he began to trace the mehndi down her body, tasting the faint salt of her skin as he inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of rose perfume. Her choked gasps were the richest of aphrodisiacs.

  This time when they came together, both were fully aware of what they did.

  Meriel had decided to sleep in the tree house, to avoid the leave-taking of Wrexham and Lucia in the morning. Dominic would have liked to stay with her, but better not to draw attention to his whereabouts during the night. He drew her into one last kiss before descending the ladder, murmuring, “Sleep well, sprite.”

  “I’ll dream of you,” she said with a soft laugh. “Dominic.”

  It was the first time she had called him by his given name. Hearing the word on her lips made departure feel as if he were chopping off a vital part of himself.

  Even worse was walking alone through the night, haunted by a terrible fear that never again would they be so close.

  Chapter 26

  As Lucia hugged Dominic, she said under her breath, “Well done, Dom. You look so stern this morning, I almost thought you really were Kyle.”

  He grinned as he released her. “Try to behave yourself, little sister.”

  She widened her eyes with mock innocence, then turned to offer effusive farewells to her hostesses. Guests and ladies were gathered beside the Wrexham coach, with the Warfield residents uniformly eager to see the earl go. As the departure rituals were observed, Dominic gave silent thanks that no one had mentioned the awkwardness of the previous evening’s dinner.

  His gratitude was premature. After formally thanking the ladies for their hospitality, his father turned to him. Keeping his voice down, he asked, “Did you catch that little minx and give her a lesson in courtesy last night?”

  For a paralyzed moment, Dominic’s mind played pictures of the lessons actually learned. Collecting himself, he answered, “I explained the need to conform to society’s expectations. I believe my words may have had some effect.”

  “I hope so.” The earl shook his head, his expression troubled. “I don’t hesitate to say that I am having grave doubts about this marriage. I know Amworth said the girl was normal once, but she certainly isn’t now. I can’t see her as the Countess of Wrexha
m, nor the mother of a future earl. Perhaps the betrothal should be ended.”

  Dominic felt a surge of pure fury. How dare his father treat Meriel first as a rich orphan to be exploited, then as a madwoman with no value or feelings? Barely in time, he reined in his anger and said in his flattest voice, “For me to withdraw from the betrothal would be a grave breach of honor.”

  “Yes, but all along the understanding has been that the girl must be willing. Surely you can persuade her to change her mind.” The earl gave a raucous laugh. “See that a handsome stableboy is hired. One lusty enough to hold her attention so you can bow out gracefully.”

  “You appall me, sir,” Dominic said icily.

  The earl squinted at him nearsightedly. “Where is your humor, boy? You can’t think I was serious. She may be mad, but she’s a lady still. Deserves better than a stableboy, even if she isn’t fit to be a countess.”

  Dominic swallowed, sensing that he was very close to giving himself away. “My apologies, sir. Lady Meriel inspires…protectiveness.”

  “Obviously,” the earl grunted. “Do your best, Maxwell. I want no scandals, but I shan’t weep if the girl decides against marriage.”

  Ironically, on this issue Wrexham and Meriel were in accord. “I have no more wish for scandal than you, sir,” Dominic said woodenly. “Have a safe journey.”

  As he watched his father turn to the coach, Dominic felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to ask the question that had gnawed at him for half a lifetime. When he was younger, he hadn’t dared ask, and in more recent years he hadn’t had the opportunity. Using Kyle’s inflections with extra care, he asked, “Why did you send my brother and me to different schools?”

  Wrexham halted, frowning. “Why the devil do you ask that now?”

  “I’ve always wondered.” Which was true, even if little else Dominic had said today was the truth.

  “You were too close to each other. If you’d gone to Eton together, you’d have ended up with only one life between you,” the earl said gruffly. “That would have been bad for you, and worse for your brother. You needed to be separated while you were still young enough to make other friends.”