“What happened?” Lucas asked.
She shifted and her gaze slid away from his. For the first time he had the sense of something painful that she was holding back.
“My father broke my betrothal,” Christina said. Her voice was colorless now. “My mother died and he decided he needed me to help care for the younger children. They had nursemaids and governesses and tutors but it was not enough. They needed the love of a mother.”
“Which you provided.” Lucas could feel his anger catch and burn. “Why could he not provide the love you all needed?” he demanded. “Why not remarry if he wanted a wife and mother?”
Christina made a slight gesture. “Papa was not really capable—”
“Of loving anyone other than himself?” Lucas said.
“I was going to say capable of coping,” Christina said. “He never could care for himself, or for anyone else.”
“So he took your dream of marriage and broke that instead.” Lucas’s fury was so intense he had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice quiet. “And your betrothed?” he said. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t fight for me, if that is what you mean.” Again her tone was dry and he liked her for that tartness, that refusal to show self-pity. “He told me I had to abide by my father’s wishes, and then he went to London and married an heiress with sixty thousand pounds. It was then I recognized that I had wasted my love on a man who did not deserve it.”
“He was a worthless scoundrel,” Lucas said.
He wanted to find her spineless fiancé and kick his teeth in. He wanted to punch the coward who had been happy to take Christina MacMorlan’s virginity but who, when it came to the point, was not man enough to claim her for his own.
Claim her...
His body tightened with a blinding wave of possessiveness and lust.
Christina MacMorlan was his to claim now, and he would not let her go. She was his in every way that mattered.
It felt as though she had wrapped herself about his heart.
The thought was terrifying, and yet at the same time, instinctively, in the very depths of his soul, he knew it was right, inescapable, destiny.
“I am sorry,” he said.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “I was unprepared, I suppose,” she said. “These things hit you harder when you have no experience to help soften the blow. When I loved I never held anything back. It was a mistake.”
“No,” Lucas said. “Your only mistake was to trust a man who was not worthy of you.”
He allowed his gaze to drift over her, over the slope of her bare shoulders and the curve of her breasts beneath the soft folds of the blanket. He wanted her, not only in the physical sense but also in a far more complex way. For the first time in years he felt fear, fear that he would lose something so infinitely precious, so important to him, that the loss of it would push him as close to breaking as he had ever been. And he sensed in that he and Christina were alike.
Christina caught his glance and a little frown touched her eyes.
“Lucas?”
He moved closer to her, took her hand in his. “Both of those were appalling betrayals,” he said carefully. “Your father breaking your betrothal, your worthless fiancé failing to stand up to him... They must both have hurt you a great deal.”
She shrugged, but he sensed the tension in her now, wound tight, as though she knew he was not going to let this go this time. “I was disappointed in them,” she said expressionlessly. “McGill was weak and my father was selfish. You have said so all along—” a faint smile curved her lips “—and I know that you are right. But...” She stopped.
“But that was not what hurt you the most,” Lucas said.
She stiffened. It felt as though he had suddenly come up against the most forbidding barrier of all, utterly solid, impossible to breach, a deep, terrible grief that she would never allow herself to release.
“Christina?” he said.
She turned toward him and he was shocked to see the fierce glitter of tears in her eyes. She looked angry and forlorn at the same time, a furious angel, and a heartbroken child.
“None of it would have happened if she had not left me,” she said. The words burst from her. “I loved her. I needed her! I was only eighteen.”
“Your mother,” Lucas said. He felt a huge rush of sorrow and compassion for the girl she had been. “You needed your mother.”
“I never thought things would change.” The glitter in Christina’s eyes intensified. A big teardrop splashed onto the rock by her hand. “I was happy. I thought I knew what the future would be and then, in an instant—” her voice faltered “—I wasn’t safe anymore,” she said. “Everything had gone.”
“Sweetheart,” Lucas said. He gathered her into his arms. He could feel her trembling, little sobs that racked her whole body.
“You tried to take her place,” he said. “You have been caring for people ever since.” He drew her closer, stroking her hair gently as her tears dampened his chest. “Hush, it’s all right.” He kissed her wet cheeks and she clung to him as though he was the only safe thing in a stormy world. “You’re safe now. Everything will be all right.”
She burrowed closer still. “I was so frightened,” she whispered. “There was no one to help me. Papa, McGill...”
“They failed you,” Lucas said. He brushed the damp hair away from her hot cheeks. “I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I’m sorry that they let you down when you most needed them.”
She shook her head but she held on to him all the more tightly.
“Christina,” he said, knowing he meant it, “I’ll never leave you. I swear it.”
She went very still. “Lucas...” She sounded shaken, and when she looked up her gaze was wary. “But—”
“There are no buts,” Lucas said, “no reservations.” He kissed her. “Marry me,” he said. He had meant to wait to ask her but he could not. He knew he should give her time but suddenly it felt as though he did not have any. He wanted to tell her everything, to lay the whole truth before her and at the same time reassure her that he would always be there for her.
She was quiet, and for one terrible moment Lucas thought that she was about to refuse him, and the world felt a very empty place indeed.
She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest again. “Lucas, are you sure?” She still sounded uncertain.
“Yes,” Lucas said. “Very sure. I want you. I want to marry you.” Urgency possessed him with the need to tell her the truth. “Listen, Christina,” he said. “There are things I need to explain—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “In a moment.” She hesitated. “It will be difficult for you.” Her tone had changed. She sounded brisk and practical. “You do realize that? People will talk. There will be slights and sneers. Society will demean you at every turn. You have already endured the stigma of being a fatherless bastard.” She looked wretched all of a sudden. “I cannot ask you to become an outcast again for my sake.”
She was still thinking of him. With a rush of understanding Lucas realized that she was anticipating a huge scandal, people calling him a fortune hunter and ripping his character to shreds with their malice. She had not even considered what they might say about her because she was so considerate of his feelings. Protectiveness stole his breath.
“You are the sweetest and most generous woman there is,” he said. “But if I had to walk barefoot through hell, I would still want to marry you. It would still be worth every step.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Then I will be honored to be your wife.”
They sat there for a while clasped in each other’s arms, and then Christina got to her feet. Lucas felt a sense of loss, a feeling that he was not complete without her.
“I really must go,” she said. “We will talk about this tomorrow. I need to go to the whisky still this evening.” She was hunting for her clothes, dressing haphazardly. She sounded brisk, efficient. Lucas was aware of a very strong urge not
to let her go, as though this moment between them could never be recaptured. He felt a sense of dread, formless but powerful, in the pit of his stomach.
“Christina,” he said, suddenly urgent, “please promise me that you will give up the whisky smuggling.”
He saw the faint light shimmer on the expression in her eyes, the astonishment that he should broach this here, now. Urgency grabbed him, drowning out all the other things he was going to say.
“One day,” he said, “it will be you Eyre is coming to arrest, not one of the other members of the gang. Get out before it is too late.”
She touched his cheek. “I will,” she said. “This is the last batch of peat-reek. I promise.”
“You say that,” Lucas said, “but Eyre—”
Something came into her eyes then, a shadow of puzzlement and suspicion. Lucas knew at once, with a lurch of the heart, that in his fear for her he had given himself away. He had robbed himself of the chance to tell her the truth in the way he wanted.
“You seem very well acquainted with what Mr. Eyre thinks,” she said quietly. “How can that be?”
Lucas took a deep breath. “Because I’ve been working for Lord Sidmouth,” he said. “I am the man he sent to bring your smuggling gang down.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“NO,” CHRISTINA SAID. But she already knew that it was true. She could see the guilt in Lucas’s eyes. For one long, terrible moment she wished the question unsaid, wished just to be ignorant, and happy in that ignorance. But it was already too late. A swarm of memories was pressing in on her; she remembered the smugglers capturing Lucas on his very first night in Kilmory when he had been spying on the cliffs. She thought of all the questions he had been asking and the fact that he had met openly with Eyre.
Lucas was not a servant. He had never been a servant. No wonder he had not been remotely deferential. He was a man accustomed to decision and command, authoritative, forceful and powerful.
Everything fell into place, forming a pattern of deception so bright and painful Christina was only astonished she had not seen it before. Lucas had hidden in plain sight and she had been so foolish, so besotted, not to see it.
She felt cold. She started to shiver and wrapped her arms about her. Suddenly her clothes seemed too thin, too flimsy to protect her. She needed something as a defense against him, and against the terrible, appalling images that were in her mind of the way she had made love without holding back, and in return he had lied to her.
“Let me explain—” Lucas started to say, but she shook her head, putting her hands over her ears. She felt so sick she could not even look at him, and she did not want to hear any more of his lies.
He had said he respected her and cared for her. “Don’t say a word,” she said. “Please. Don’t speak to me.”
Disgust and despair swept through her, making her shake with mingled anger and mortification. She felt hot; her stomach ached with sickness. Those who said that there was no fool like an old fool were correct. She had been dazzled. She had fallen in love with Lucas and it was all a fantasy. What hurt the most was the self-delusion. She had wanted it to be true and so she had believed it. She had seduced herself with an illusion. She blamed herself even more than she blamed him.
“I don’t suppose that your name is even Lucas Ross,” she said quietly. “And you are most certainly not a gardener—or a footman.” Anger flared in her, sudden and hot. It felt good, better than cold misery.
“I should have seen it from the first,” she said. “You were the worst damned servant there ever was—you did not even pretend to keep to your place. But I was so besotted I couldn’t even see it!” She made a sound of disgust. “Well, you are sacked, Mr. Ross, or whatever your name really is. You will pack your bag and leave Kilmory at once.” Then, realizing that she was about to be sick, she rushed into the closet, slamming the door behind her. She only just made it in time.
She was dimly aware that Lucas had followed her into the room. She wished she had bolted the door. But it was too late; he wrung out a cloth in the cool water from the bowl on the dresser and held it out to her, then when she refused to take it he went down on one knee beside her and wiped her face as though she was a child. She hated to admit it, but it did help her to feel better. He picked her up then, again as easily as though she was a child, and carried her back into the main room, putting her down on the sofa and crossing to the Armada chest where he started to rummage through the contents.
“Go away,” Christina said.
He ignored the instruction. “I am looking for a shawl for you.”
Christina slid off the sofa and fetched one herself. She saw his face darken at her refusal to accept his help. She ignored him, wrapping it tightly about her.
“Christina.” He had come back to her. “Please—hear me out. Let me explain to you why I came here—”
“I don’t think that there is any possible explanation that can excuse you, Mr. Ross,” Christina said. She looked into his eyes and felt another wave of despair.
“How it must have amused you to play me,” she said, trying to hide her hurt behind sarcasm and hearing the hollowness in her own voice. “You are a fine actor, Mr. Ross, but what a role, making love to the old spinster aunt. I hope they pay you well.”
“Stop it,” Lucas said. He sounded angry. He caught her elbows and drew her close. She tried to resist but it was hopeless; she was too tired and miserable, and anyway her body betrayed her, recognizing his touch, softening under it, wanting him still. She could have screamed in frustration. He was the last man she wanted to comfort her and yet she longed for him to take her in his arms and hold her and tell her he loved her.
“It was not like that,” Lucas said. “It was never like that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Christina said wearily. “Let me go,” she added quietly. “Let me go now.”
Lucas released her at once and she felt even worse, cold, alone and so lonely it felt as though her heart was cracking in half.
“It matters,” Lucas said fiercely. “It matters more than anything in the world. I regret nothing that happened between us, Christina.”
Almost, she believed him. He looked so sincere. She had thought she could read his face so well, but she did not know him at all. She had not recognized his lies for what they were.
“You put at risk everything I cared about,” Christina said. She felt the protective fury surge through her again. “You endangered the people I love, the clan I work so hard to protect.” Her voice shook. “They are my life, Lucas, and you wanted to destroy it all.”
She saw Lucas’s eyes darken with anger. He was holding on to his temper with an effort and somehow the knowledge made her even more furious when he had no reason to be angry and she had every reason.
“I protected you,” Lucas said. He spoke very quietly. “I did not tell Eyre about the whisky still. He could have arrested you days ago if I had spoken up.”
“Am I supposed to thank you?” Christina snapped. “I am sure you had your reasons.”
She saw some expression flicker in his eyes and knew she had hit on the truth. She felt another wave of sickening misery.
“What was it?” she said. “What was that reason?”
For a moment she was not sure he would answer. She saw a muscle tighten in his cheek. The line of his mouth and jaw was set hard, inflexible.
“I did not come here solely because of the smuggling,” he said. He spoke slowly, as though he was reluctant. She understood that. So much damage had been done already that she shuddered at the thought of more devastation. He looked up; met her eyes.
“I came to find out what happened to my brother,” he said.
She saw it then. She saw it in the slant of his cheek and the angle of head and the gaze of his dark eyes. She saw it and wondered how she could have been so blind before. Peter Galitsin had been a boy, and Lucas was most definitely a man, but the resemblance between the two of them was undeniable.
“Peter G
alitsin,” she whispered. She put out a hand to steady herself. The wall of the Round House felt chill against her hot palm. She remembered the questions Lucas had asked about Peter’s death. He must have believed that the smugglers were connected to the murder. She felt sicker still, but there was nothing left in her stomach to be sick with.
“What is your real name?” she asked. It felt like a trivial question in a way, particularly when she had no idea whether he would tell her the truth or not. Desolation chilled her again. He had misled her in more ways than she could count.
“My name is Lucas Black,” Lucas said. “Peter and I were half brothers.”
Christina felt another flash of bitterness so sharp it felt like a dagger thrust. “So the tale you spun me about being illegitimate—”
“Was true,” Lucas said harshly. “I was born out of wedlock to a Russian princess and a Scottish laird.”
Christina gave a slight negative shake of the head. She did not know how to believe him now. She could not disentangle truth from falsehood. She remembered Lucas talking about a misspent youth on the streets. She thought of the passion with which he had spoken of the scars of illegitimacy. Could it all be lies? She was not sure if it even mattered. She could never trust him now.
“I suppose you suspected me of killing your brother,” she said with a flash of pain she could not hide. “That was the reason you did not denounce me to Eyre before. You were waiting to find out if I was guilty.”
Lucas squared his shoulders. “I cannot deny that was how it started,” he said. “I thought that the smugglers had something to do with Peter’s death. You are their leader. So yes, that was what I believed to begin with.” He gave her a very straight look. “But I had not been more than a week in your company before I knew that could never be the case. You would never do such a thing.”
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