“Geoffrey grumbled and talked about rich young pups sowing wild oats, but I wouldn’t listen. I wanted to be loved, I wanted so terribly for someone to care, to want me. When Tony asked me to marry him, I didn’t think twice.”
“You married him?”
“Yes.” She looked at him again. “I know I led you to believe that I hadn’t married the baby’s father. It seemed easiest.”
“You don’t wear a ring.”
Color washed into her face. The shame of it. “I sold them.”
“I see.” There was no condemnation in the two words, but she felt it nonetheless.
“We stayed in Paris for our honeymoon. I wanted to go back to the States and meet his family, but he said we should stay where we were happy. It seemed right. Geoffrey was furious with me, lectured and shouted about me wasting myself. At the time I thought he meant my career, and I ignored him. It was only later that I realized he meant my life.”
She jumped when a log fell apart in the fire. It was easier to continue if she looked at the flames, she discovered. “I thought I’d found everything I’d ever wanted. When I look back I realize that those weeks we spent in Paris were like a kind of magic, something that’s not quite real but that you believe because you aren’t clever enough to see the illusion. Then it was time to come home.”
She linked her hands together and began to fidget. He had come to recognize it as a sign of inner turmoil. Though the urge was there, he didn’t take them in his to calm her. “The night before we were to leave, Tony went out. He said he had some business to tie up. I waited for him, feeling a little sorry for myself that my new husband would leave me alone on our last night in Paris. Then, as it got later and later, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started feeling frightened. By the time he got back, it was after three and I was angry and upset.”
She fell silent again. Gabe pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and spread it over her lap. “You had a fight.”
“Yes. He was very drunk and belligerent. I’d never seen him like that before, but I was to see him like that again. I asked him where he’d been and he said—essentially he told me it was none of my business. We started shouting at each other, and he told me he’d been with another woman. At first I thought he said that just to hurt me, but then I saw that it was true. I started to cry.”
That was the worst of it, Laura thought, looking back on the way she’d crumbled and wept. “That only made him angrier. He tossed things around the suite, like a little boy having a tantrum. He said things, but the gist of it was that I’d have to get used to the way he lived, and that I hardly had a right to be upset when I’d been Geoffrey’s whore.”
Her voice broke on the last word, so she lifted the glass and cooled her throat with the water. “That hurt the most,” she managed. “Geoffrey was almost like a father to me, never, never anything else. And Tony knew, he knew that I’d never been with anyone before our wedding night. I was so angry then, I stood up and began to shout at him. I don’t even know what I said, but he went into a rage. And he—”
Gabe saw her fingers tighten like wires on the soft folds of the afghan. Then he saw how she deliberately, and with great care, relaxed them again. With an effort, he kept his voice calm. “Did he hit you, Laura?”
She didn’t answer, couldn’t seem to push the next words out. Then he touched a hand to her cheek and turned her face to his. Her eyes were brimming over.
“It was so much worse than with my uncle, because I couldn’t get away. He was so much stronger and faster. With my uncle, he’d simply struck out at anyone who didn’t get out of the way in time. With Tony, there was something viciously deliberate in the way he tried to hurt me. Then he—” But she couldn’t bring herself to speak of what had happened next.
It was a moment before she went on, and Gabe sat in silence as the rage built and built inside him until he thought he’d explode. He understood temper, he had a hair-trigger one of his own, but he could never understand, never forgive, anyone who inflicted pain on someone smaller, weaker.
“When it was over,” she continued, calmer now, “he just went to sleep. I lay there, not knowing what to do. It’s funny, but later, when I talked with other women who had had some of the same experiences, I found out that it’s fairly common to believe you had it coming somehow.
“The next morning, he wept and he apologized, promised that it would never happen again. That became the pattern for the time we were together.”
“You stayed with him?”
The color came and went in her face, and part of that, too, was shame. “We were married, and I thought I could make it work. Then we went back to his parents’ home. They hated me right from the start. Their son, the heir to the throne, had gone behind their back and married a commoner. We lived with them, and though there was talk about getting our own house, nothing was ever done about it. You could sit at the same table, hold a conversation with them, and be totally ignored. They were amazing. Tony got worse. He began to see other women, almost flaunting them. They knew what he was doing, and they knew what was happening to me. The cycle got uglier and uglier, until I knew I had to get out. I told him I wanted a divorce.
“That seemed to snap him out of it for a while. He made promises, swore he’d go into therapy, see a marriage counselor, anything I wanted. We even began to look at houses. I have to admit that I’d stopped loving him by this time, and that it was wrong, very wrong, for me to stay with him, to make promises myself. What I didn’t realize was that his parents were pulling on the other end. They held the financial strings and were making it difficult for him to move out. Then I discovered I was pregnant.”
She laid a hand over her belly, her fingers spread. “Tony was, well, at best ambivalent about the idea of having a child. His parents were thrilled. His mother immediately started redecorating a nursery. She bought antique cribs and cradles, silver spoons, Irish linen. Though it made me nervous, the way she was taking over, I thought that the baby might be the way to help us come together. But they weren’t looking at me as the baby’s mother, any more than they’d looked at me as Tony’s wife. It was their grandchild, their legacy, their immortality. We stopped looking for houses, and Tony began to drink again. I left the night he came home drunk and hit me.”
She drew a careful breath and continued to stare at the fire. “It wasn’t just me he was hitting now, but the child. That made all the difference. In fact, it made it incredibly easy to walk out. I called Geoffrey, buried my pride and asked for a loan. He wired me two thousand dollars. I got an apartment of my own, found a job and started divorce proceedings. Ten days later, Tony was dead.”
The pain came, dull and low. Laura shut her eyes and rode it out. “His mother came to see me, begged me to bury the divorce papers, to come to the funeral as Tony’s widow. His reputation, his memory, were all that was important now. I did what she asked, because—because I could still remember those first days in Paris. After the funeral I went back to their house. They’d told me there were things we needed to talk about. That was when they told me what they wanted, what they intended to have. They said they would pay all my medical expenses, that I would have the best possible care. And that after the baby was born they would give me a hundred thousand dollars to step aside. When I refused, when I had the nerve to be angry at what they were suggesting, they explained that if I didn’t cooperate they would simply take the baby. Tony’s baby. They made it very clear that they had enough money and influence to win a custody suit. They would bring out the ‘fact’ that I had been Geoffrey’s mistress, that I had taken money from him. They’d checked my background and would show that due to my upbringing I would be an unstable influence on a child. That they, as the child’s grandparents, could provide a better environment. They gave me twenty-four hours to think it over. And I ran.”
He didn’t speak for several minutes. What she had told him had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had asked for her story, had all but demanded it. Now th
at he had it, he wasn’t at all sure he could handle it.
“Laura, no matter what you were told, how you were threatened, I don’t believe they could take the child.”
“That isn’t enough? Don’t you see? As long as there’s a chance, I can’t risk it. I’d never be able to fight them on their terms. I don’t have the money, the connections.”
“Who are they?” When she hesitated, he took her hand again. “You’ve trusted me with this much.”
“Their name is Eagleton,” she said. “Thomas and Lorraine Eagleton of Boston.”
His brows drew together. He knew the name. Who didn’t? But because of his family’s position, it was more than a name, more than an image. “You were married to Anthony Eagleton?”
“Yes.” She turned to him then. “You knew him, didn’t you?”
“Not well. Barely. He was more—” More Michael’s age, he’d started to say. “He was younger. I met him once or twice when he came to the Coast.” And what he had seen hadn’t impressed him enough to have him form any opinion. “I read that he had been killed in a car accident, and I suppose a wife was mentioned, but this past year has been a little difficult, and I didn’t pay attention. My family has socialized with the Eagletons occasionally, but they aren’t well acquainted.”
“Then you know they’re an old, well-established family with old, well-established money. They consider this child a part of their … holdings. They’ve had me followed all across the country. Every time I would settle in a place and begin to relax I’d discover that detectives were making inquiries about me. I can’t—I won’t—let them find me.”
He rose, to pace, to light a cigarette, to try to organize his thoughts and, more, his feelings. “I’d like to ask you something.”
She sighed tiredly. “All right.”
“Once before, when I asked you if you were afraid, you said no, that you were ashamed. I want to know why.”
“I didn’t fight back, and I didn’t try hard enough to fix what was wrong. I just let it happen to me. You have no idea how difficult it is to sit here and admit that I let myself be used, that I let myself be beaten, that I let myself be driven down so low that I accepted it all.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“No.” Her chin lifted. “No one’s ever going to take control of my life again.”
“Good.” He sat on the hearth. The smoke from his cigarette disappeared up the draft. “I think you’ve had a hell of a time, angel, worse than anyone deserves. Whether you brought some of it on yourself, as you choose to think, or if it was just a matter of circumstances, doesn’t really matter at this point. It’s over.”
“It’s not as easy as that, Gabe. I don’t just have myself to worry about now.”
“How far are you willing to go to fight them?”
“I’ve told you I can’t—”
He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “If you had the means. How far?”
“All the way. As far and as long as it takes. But that isn’t the point, because I don’t have the means.”
He drew on his cigarette, studied it with apparent interest, then tossed it into the fire. “You would, if you were married to me.”
Chapter Five
She said nothing, could say nothing. He sat on the hearth, his legs folded up, his eyes very cool, very calm, on her face. Part of the enormity of his talent was his ability to focus on an expression and draw the underlying emotions out of it. Perhaps because he did it so well, he also knew how to mask emotions when they were his own.
She could hear the logs sizzling behind him. The midmorning sunlight sparkled through the frost on the windowpanes and landed at his feet. He seemed totally at ease, as though he’d just suggested that they have soup for lunch. If her life had depended upon it, Laura couldn’t have said whether it meant any more to him than that.
Using the table for leverage, she rose.
“I’m tired. I’m going in to lie down.”
“All right. We can talk about this later.”
She whirled around, and it wasn’t anguish or fear he saw on her face now, it was fury, livid and clear. “How could you sit there and say something like that to me after everything I’ve told you?”
“You might consider that I said it because of everything you’ve told me.”
“Oh, the Good Samaritan again.” She detested the bitterness in her voice, but she could do nothing to stop it. “The white knight, riding in full of chivalry and good intentions to save the bumbling, inept female. Do you think I should fall on my knees and be grateful? That I would blindly let myself be taken over again, fall back into the same pitiful, destructive pattern a second time, because a man offers me a way out?”
He thought about controlling his temper, then rose, deciding to let her see it. “I have no desire to control you, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to stand there and compare me with some weak-minded alcoholic wife-beater.”
“What then—the knight on a white charger, selflessly rescuing damsels in distress?”
He laughed at that, but his anger was still on the edge. “No one’s ever accused me of that. I’m very selfish, which is another reason for my suggestion. I’m moody—you’ve been around me long enough to know that. I have a temper and I can get angry. But I don’t hit women, and I don’t use them.”
With an effort, she pulled her emotions back in and forced them to settle. “I didn’t mean to imply that you did, or to compare you with someone else. It’s the situation that’s comparable.”
“One has nothing to do with the other. The fact that I have money only works to your advantage.”
“I didn’t marry Tony for his money.”
“No.” His tone softened. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. But in this case I’m willing to accept that you marry me for mine.”
“Why?”
Something flickered in his eyes and was gone before she could read it. “That might have been the wisest question to ask first.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She already regretted the outburst of temper and harsh words, as she invariably did. “I’m asking it now.”
With a nod, he roamed the room, stopping before the nearly completed portrait. He stared at it, as he had stared at it countless times before, trying to understand, to define, not only Laura, but himself.
“I feel something for you. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s very strong. Stronger than anything I’ve felt before.” He lifted a finger to the face on canvas. He wished he could explain himself completely, to himself, to her, but he’d always expressed himself best through painting. “I’m attracted to you, Laura, and I’ve discovered recently that I’ve been alone long enough.”
“That might be enough, almost enough, for marriage, but not for me, not to me. Not with what you’d be taking on.”
“I have some debts to pay,” he murmured, then turned to her again. “Helping you, and the child, might just clear the slate.”
Whatever anger she’d felt evaporated. It only took the kindness and the grief in his eyes. “You’ve already helped us, more than I can ever repay.”
“I don’t want payment.” The impatience, the edge, was back in his voice. “What I want is you. How many ways do you want me to say it?”
“I don’t think I want you to say it.” The nerves began to eat at her again, and she twisted her fingers together. He meant it. She had no doubt that he meant what he said. The prospect of being wanted by him both thrilled and terrified her. “Don’t you see, I’ve already made one terrible mistake.”
He crossed to her, gently drawing her hands apart and into his. “You’re not indifferent to me?”
“No, but—”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
Some of the tension seeped out of her. “No.”
“Then let me help you.”
“I’m going to have another man’s child.”
“No.” He took her face in his hands because he wanted her eyes on his. “Marry me, and the
child is ours. Privately, publicly, totally.”
The tears came back. “They’ll come.”
“Let them. They won’t touch you again, and they won’t take the baby.”
Safety. Could what had always eluded her really be only a promise away? She opened her mouth, knowing that agreement was on her tongue. Then her heart turned over in her chest and she lifted a hand to his cheek. “How could I do this to you?”
For an answer, he put his lips to hers. The need was there, she couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend it away. She tasted it as his mouth drew from hers. She felt it when his hand skimmed through her hair to brace, both possessive and supportive, at the back of her neck. Instinctively, wanting to give, she lifted her other hand to his face. They rested there, comforting.
She wasn’t the only one who had demons, Laura thought. She wasn’t the only one who needed love and understanding. Because he was strong, it was easy to forget that he, too, might have pain. Seeking to soothe, she drew him closer into her arms.
He could have sunk into her, into the softness, the generosity. This was what he wanted to capture on canvas, her warmth, her spirit. And this was what he was forced to admit he would never have the skill to translate. This part of her beauty, this most essential part, could never be painted. But it could be cherished.
“You need me,” he murmured as he drew her away. “And I need you.”
She nodded, then rested her head on his shoulder, because that seemed to say it all.
Due to fresh flurries, it was three days before Gabe risked a trip into town. Laura watched him as he downed a final cup of coffee before pulling on his coat.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“I’d rather you took your time and paid attention to the roads.”
“The Jeep drives like a tank.” He accepted the gloves she held out to him but didn’t put them on. “I don’t like leaving you alone.”
“Gabe, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Things have changed. My lawyers have probably sent the marriage license.”
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