B006DTZ3FY EBOK

by Farr, Diane

  The lamp was steady in her hand. Her head was high. Filled with virtuous resolve, Cynthia closed the door behind her and started down the passage toward the stairs.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when Derek fell into step beside her. She gasped, and he lifted a finger to his lips to warn her to silence. His eyes were laughing, but with mischief, not mockery. He placed his arm around her waist and pulled her farther down the passage, away from the door she had come through.

  The touch of his hand did not help Cynthia’s state of mind. “You nearly startled me out of my wits,” she hissed, trying to sound more outraged than she felt. Her heart was leaping with gladness as much as fear. “Where did you come from?”

  “The statuary niche.” He grinned down at her, utterly unrepentant. The sight of that grin—a grin she found attractive enough at a distance, now only inches from her face—sent a flutter of joy and desire through her.

  She actually felt herself weakening. This was going to be harder than she had thought.

  Meanwhile, the hand at her waist was guiding her, gently but inexorably, down the passage. “Much as I enjoy hunting you down,” he remarked, “I couldn’t take the chance that I might miss you. I decided the best course was to wait outside your door.”

  “Did you hear what was said?”

  “No. Tell me.” He led her to a window seat beneath a tall, gothic arch of many-paned glass. In daylight hours, the huge window lit the stairs and landing. In the darkness of near-midnight, the expanse of glass was opaque and black. She sank down onto the stone ledge and Derek sat beside her.

  “I can only give you fifteen minutes. I promised Mama I would return by midnight.”

  His brows flew up. “Does she know you are with me?”

  “Of course not. I told her I was going to fetch a book that I left downstairs.” Cynthia shivered, suddenly dispirited again. “The glass is cold.”

  Derek moved immediately to warm her, placing his arm around her and pulling her close against him. For half an instant, Cynthia resisted. Then she surrendered. After all, this might be—no; would be—her last chance to nestle into the arms of the man she loved. Tears rose in her throat and she swallowed hard to keep them from reaching her eyes. She must not cry. She had only fifteen minutes.

  “Derek.” She laid her head against his shoulder. It felt divine. “I have come to bid you goodbye.”

  She felt him go very still, and rushed into speech before he had time to recover and interrupt her. “There is no hope for us. They will never let me marry you.”

  “Are you telling me that you don’t want to marry me?”

  “I am telling you that I cannot. That my parents will never agree to the match. I suppose you will say that we ought to defy them—”

  “Yes, I jolly well will.”

  “—but I can’t. It would be very wrong of me.”

  “What nonsense is this?” He took her by the shoulders and held her away from him, the better to see her face. “I know you feel the same things I feel.” His eyes, dark and compelling, held hers. “I know it,” he repeated softly.

  Cynthia nodded miserably. “I suppose I do. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s the only thing that does matter. And if you think differently,” he added dryly, “I doubt that you can explain it to me in fifteen minutes.”

  “I must try.” She took a deep breath. “Derek, pray listen to me. And try not to argue with me, or I’ll get muddled.”

  His expression was grim. “Very well. Fire away.”

  “I’m afraid I must confide some things about my family that I... that I hope you will keep private.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Thank you.” She took another breath to steady her nerves and pressed her palms together, thinking. There was no easy way to say what must be said. The words that would convey the information quickly were, alas, blunt. She steeled herself, and began.

  “My father is, in many ways, a wonderful man,” she said quietly. “But he is greatly addicted to sport. Racing in particular. And—and he is, perhaps, overfond of drink.” She could feel herself blushing. She dropped her eyes. “It is an unfortunate combination of traits.”

  “Yes, I can see that it would be,” said Derek. Compassion sounded in his voice, but she sensed the wariness in him, too. She did not blame him. If she meant to bid him farewell, he was under no obligation to make it easy for her. “It’s a common enough problem, one hears. Is he badly dipped?”

  “Dipped? You mean—have his losses been heavy? Yes, I think so. It’s not the sort of thing one discloses to one’s children, so I haven’t been told in so many words. I don’t know the extent of it. But I definitely have the impression that our straits are rather... dire. And have been, for some years.”

  “There is no need to tell me the entire story. I can save you a little time.” His voice roughened. “When you rejected me in London, I made a few inquiries, trying to understand what had happened. To make sense of what you had done. I learned enough to be sure of one thing: your family’s ardent desire is to auction you off in the marriage mart, and the sooner the better. You are, as I suppose you know, a valuable commodity.”

  Cynthia flinched, and Derek’s voice gentled. “What is less clear to me, my love, is why you consent to be used in this fashion. Why should you sacrifice yourself to line their pockets?”

  The endearment sent her emotions spinning. I must not cry, she reminded herself desperately. No matter what he calls me. “It’s not so hard to fathom, surely,” she said, but she was unable to keep her voice from quavering. “’Tis the way of the world. It has been ever so. Daughters are given in marriage to advance the fortunes of their families.”

  She saw anger spark in his eyes and held up her hand, palm out, in a gesture beseeching silence. “You did agree to hear me out, and not to argue with me.”

  He clamped his mouth shut with a visible effort. “I did,” he said through his teeth. “Carry on.”

  “I can easily imagine what you thought of me,” said Cynthia softly. Her throat tightened again at the memory. It was painful to recall the stunned expression on Derek’s face that night at the ball... even more painful, to her, than the anger and bitterness he had shown when encountering her again. She could understand his bitterness against her; her conduct had been despicable. But she must have hurt him deeply, for him to still be that angry with her after so much time had passed. She hadn’t meant to hurt him that deeply.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hide the pain and shame she felt. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for my coldness to you, but I am more sorry for—for the other.” She opened her eyes again, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It was wrong of me to encourage you.”

  “Hang it all, don’t apologize for that!” He gave a strangled sort of laugh. “I liked that part.”

  She knew he was trying to make her smile, but she could not. “No. It was a mistake. I should have known better. I should have... resisted the temptation.”

  He studied her face, trouble in his eyes. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well.” He took a breath and blew it out, seeming perplexed. “Having done so in the first place—encouraged me, I mean—I do wish you had gone on as you began. Why drop me a hint to come to that wretched ball, for example, if all you meant to do was humiliate me?”

  Cynthia winced. “It must have seemed very odd.”

  “That’s not the word I would have used. But ‘odd’ will do.”

  She looked down, staring at Derek’s knee rather than his face. It was a singularly attractive knee; large and well-shaped. She looked back at her own lap instead. “I didn’t mean to blow hot and cold. I wanted... well, you must know what I wanted.”

  “It would still be pleasant to hear it from you.”

  She smiled faintly. “I wanted to dance with you.”

  “Is that all? Never mind. I shan’t press my luck.” The warmth in his voice would be her und
oing. She dared not look up. He said softly, “What changed your mind?”

  “I had to change it. That day in the park,” she said hesitantly, “I was with the Hendersons. You remember that.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced fleetingly at his face, then away again. “Mr. Henderson did not recognize you at first. It was only after we rode on that he remembered where he had seen you last, and who you were. He told me... he told his wife and me... that you were Lord Stokesdown’s secretary. At first he was a little offended that you had dared to approach him. And then he seemed to think it an excellent joke. Laughed at your audacity, and tried to tease me, you know, by vowing it was my beauty that had lured you to overstep your bounds. That I had drawn you to the carriage and so forth. He didn’t mean anything by it. He didn’t really guess that we had met before. It was all in jest. But—” She could feel herself blushing, but she forced herself to meet Derek’s eyes. “Derek, pray understand.” Her voice broke. “I was so frightened when I learned... when I realized...” Her voice trailed off.

  There was really no decent way to tell him. Why had she not foreseen this? Any set of words she chose would still convey the insult. And an insult, she saw now, it clearly was.

  But he finished the sentence for her, in a deadly quiet voice. “You realized that I was poor.”

  She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks. “Oh, how vile it sounds.”

  “Truth is often ugly.” He looked angry, but she knew it was injured pride that he felt. “How poor did you think I was, Cynthia? Too poor to support a wife? Did you take me for the sort of rogue who casts out lures to respectable females, with never a thought of marriage?”

  “No, no, I never thought that!”

  “At any rate, you have certainly explained the abrupt change in your behavior.” Disgust turned down the corners of his mouth. “By the time I saw you at the ball, you had discovered that I was not the wealthy man you thought me. And you treated me accordingly.”

  “I had to do it, Derek. Don’t you see?” She laid her hand on his sleeve and lifted pleading eyes to his. “Can’t you understand? I was trying to be kind.”

  “Kind?” He recoiled from her. “Is that your notion of kindness?”

  “Yes.” The hand she had laid on his sleeve was trembling. “I knew I could not allow you to pursue me. I thought it would be easier for you, then, if I made you hate me.” Her eyes filled with the tears she could no longer suppress. “It worked, did it not? Derek, pray tell me that it helped you. Tell me... tell me my suffering was not in vain.” Her breath caught on a sob. “You don’t know what it cost me to humiliate you.”

  He looked dumbfounded. She took a deep and struggling breath, fighting back her tears, furious with herself for betraying such weakness. She lifted her hands to her face and dashed the shameful tears away. “I’m sorry,” she said, gulping. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.” Her fists clenched in her lap. “I never manage to keep my promises to myself, where you are concerned.”

  He immediately reached to take her in his arms. Cynthia shrank back, pressing her hands against his chest to keep him at bay. “No!” she said in a strangled voice. “Don’t be kind to me. And whatever you do, don’t touch me.” She found she was laughing and crying at once. “You will only make matters worse.”

  Silently, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, trying for a little dignity. She mopped up her tears and took several deep breaths. “I have now wasted two precious minutes.”

  “You’ve wasted nearly ten,” he told her softly. “If what you meant to do was bid me goodbye, you have wasted all your time thus far.”

  She glanced apprehensively at him. “What do you mean? I have tried to explain to you—oh, I see. You mean I haven’t explained it.”

  “Cynthia, my love, you cannot explain it.” He spoke with utter conviction. “The moment you admitted that your feelings matched mine, your cause was lost.” A tiny smile played at the edges of his mouth. “I shall never let you tell me goodbye,” he whispered. In his eyes was complete confidence, and infinite tenderness.

  He took the handkerchief from her suddenly-nerveless fingers, touched it lightly to her damp cheeks, folded it, kissed it, and returned it to his pocket. All the while, she stared helplessly at him, her thoughts tumbling chaotically. She had muddled it somehow. Somehow, she had failed to make matters clear to him. For surely, if he understood, he would let her go. It was the correct thing to do. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

  And if he did not?

  Her imagination balked. It was inconceivable. How could he not? If she told him to keep his distance from her, he had to honor her request. She thought she had said it plainly, but evidently she had not. She would say it even more plainly. They were running out of time.

  She faced him squarely and seized both his hands, earnestly leaning forward in her eagerness to claim his full attention, to make him understand. “Derek, please. Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I hoped I had made it clear to you. I am bidding you farewell not because I want to, but because I must. I am heartily sorry if it pains you, but whether it pains you or no, you must accept it. As I have done.”

  “Cynthia, my love—”

  “I am not your love. I can never be your love.” Her eyes frantically searched his, and found only refusal—and tenderness. She shook her head despairingly. “Don’t you understand? I have a duty. Duty has a stronger claim than emotion. My parents gave me life. They gave me a home, an upbringing, an education. I would not even exist if not for them. And the Bible strictly admonishes us to honor our mothers and fathers. It would be wicked for me to disobey them in this. They have pinned all their hopes on me. Marrying where my duty lies is the sole way I can repay them for all they have done. If things were different—if I had a sister, perhaps, who might take my place...” Her voice trailed off, then grew strong again. “But I do not. And it is silly to repine. My life is what it is, and there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  His brows had drawn into a troubled frown. “You realize, I suppose, that I am no longer the poor man I was three years ago.”

  She nodded, miserable. “I know that you have inherited Crosby Hall, although I am not quite sure how it happened. But ...” Hope stirred in her heart. She caught her breath. Was it possible Mama was mistaken about Derek’s estate? Was he, after all, wealthy enough to help her family? “How—how large an estate is Crosby Hall?”

  He looked even more perturbed. “What an indelicate question, my dear,” he said wryly. “But since you are so frank about what matters to you, I will answer with equal frankness. It is fairly large, and it is prosperous. It provides me with what the world calls a ‘respectable’ income.”

  Her heart sank. “Yes. That was my impression.”

  “What! So downcast? A respectable income is, I take it, insufficient?”

  She had offended him. It could not be helped. “Derek, I wish there were time for me to tread lightly on the subject, but the clock may chime at any moment—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand you.” His face had set once again in grim lines. “You require great wealth, and will not marry for less.”

  “Cannot.” She shivered. “I have more than myself to consider. More than my own wishes. My entire family looks to me. They depend upon me to mend our fortunes.”

  “I will ask you one question. And think before you answer, Cynthia; this is important.” His eyes were very dark and serious, his expression unreadable. “Is it only your parents who want you to marry a rich man? I need to know, sweetheart, so tell me truly. Everyone wants a comfortable life. But how important is it to you, to have luxury at your command? Would you feel deprived if you could not have the best of everything? If you could not spend unthinkingly, buying whatever took your fancy?”

  The idea was so absurd that it startled a laugh out of her. She had never had a life of luxury. Her family had been financially strapped for as long as she could remember. Mama h
ad gone to tremendous efforts to conjure up the appearance of wealth, merely to launch Cynthia upon the world. Cynthia had had habits of economy instilled in her at a very early age. Apart from the needs of her parents, she cared nothing for great wealth. Indeed, she wouldn’t know what to do with it. She started to tell Derek so—and then stopped herself.

  He had given her a way out.

  All she need do was confess to having a mercenary heart. It would be a false confession, but perhaps God would forgive her this tiny lie. She would tell it in pursuit of a much greater good: forcing Derek to accept the inevitable.

  Because if he did not... if he did not help her to turn her back on him... she feared she would not have the strength to do her duty. Her weakness for him was like Papa’s weakness for drink. It would lead to ruin if she indulged it. The resentment she felt toward Mama lately, her increasing restlessness, her inner chaos—all were the result of her feelings for Derek Whittaker. These feelings were wrong. They didn’t feel wrong, but they had to be; they were having a harmful effect. Not only were they making Cynthia miserable, they were leading her to rebel against her parents’ God-given authority. Why, even now, as she contemplated telling this little white lie—this lie in an excellent cause—her heart was rebelling. Her traitorous heart was begging her not to lie to Derek. Not for any reason Not ever.

  She dropped her eyes and stared steadfastly at the knot in his cravat. “Well,” she said cautiously, “I think you are right when you say that everyone wants to be comfortable. I suppose that some people are able to be comfortable with less than others. Some people require a—a great deal more than others, in the way of material goods, before they truly consider themselves comfortable.”

  “I am asking what you require, Cynthia.”