Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice

by Abigail Reynolds

  She picked up the book to return it to the shelves. Just before she tucked it in next to Calder's other novels, she opened it to the dedication as she had so many times in the last two weeks. To her surprise, his handwriting appeared here as well. He had signed his name below it, and added a word so it now read 'To Cassie, who will always understand why."

  Chapter 16

  CASSIE TRUDGED HOMEWARD IN the cold, pulling her coat tightly around her. If she was going to make a habit of working late, she ought to start driving to the college. Even an affluent town like Haverford had crime, and she knew better than to walk deserted streets in the dark. Of course, she had told herself the same thing every day for weeks and set out each morning planning to return home at a reasonable hour. But when the time came, staying at work seemed more palatable than facing the emptiness in her apartment, especially on a Friday night with an interminable weekend ahead.

  She couldn't stop thinking about Calder. It was strange that no one seemed able discern the change in her, that part of her had been ripped away. The continual ache was so deep it ought to show in her face, but apparently it didn't, though a few people had commented that she had lost weight. It was easy to skip meals when she was working late.

  Sometimes she wished for someone she could tell about her problems, just to be able to say, "I'm in love with a man and I can't have him." But that would only lead to questions she couldn't answer, so she kept the secret and the pain inside, hoping someday she would no longer feel as if half of her were missing.

  Turning down the driveway to her house, she scuffed the dried leaves underfoot, stirring up the smoky scent of mold. She wished it would snow more often in Haverford. The whiteness of snow would relieve the endless dull brown that was wintertime.

  She stopped abruptly when she noticed a man standing in the shadows by her door. He wore a long dark overcoat, his hands in his pockets. Adrenaline rushed through her as she took a cautious step backwards, almost losing her balance.

  "Cassie, it's me."

  She would have recognized his deep voice anywhere. It had been playing constantly in her dreams for the last three weeks. As if it were still a dream, she rushed up the steps and into his arms. The sheer physical relief of his embrace overwhelmed her.

  He held her tightly, his cheek pressed against her hair. She didn't want him to let go, to break the spell, or do anything that might bring back the reality of their impossible position. She needed this too much.

  But finally she knew something had to be said, and she loosened her grip on him. "How long have you been here? You must be freezing."

  "Not long. I didn't call because I was afraid you'd tell me not to come. But no one knows I'm here, so you don't need to worry."

  "I wasn't worried." She hadn't even thought about it. She was too grateful he was there. "Come upstairs and get warm."

  Calder followed her up the two flights of stairs and waited as she unlocked the door and went in. She had barely closed the door behind them when his arms came around her again. It didn't matter to her why he was there as long as she could keep kissing him, drowning all the emptiness of the last weeks in the passion he could create in her. She didn't want to think of anything but his lips, his hands, and his body.

  Finally he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. "I don't know what it is about you," he said, his breathing uneven. "No other woman makes me lose control this way."

  "It must be the special biologist pheromones. That hindbrain at work again." She caressed the back of his neck with her hand.

  "I thought you might be angry at me for coming."

  She ought to be upset, but instead she felt something perilously close to joy. "I'm not."

  He kissed her hard. She pressed herself against him as she felt him tugging her shirt out of her waistband. But when his hand encountered the flesh of her back, she involuntarily yelped and pulled away.

  "Your hands are freezing." She took one of his hands between hers and chafed it.

  "I'm sorry." His dark eyes were fixed on her.

  She had to slow down, to ignore the tingling in her skin, the desire for his touch. Just because she longed to feel his body against hers didn't mean it was a good idea. She needed to know why he was there before she made herself any more vulnerable. "How about some hot chocolate? I could use a cup, and your hands need some warming up, at least if you're planning to put them on me any time soon."

  The tense look on his face dissolved into a slight smile. "By all means, bring on the hot chocolate."

  He followed her into the small kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her as she poured milk into mugs and placed them in the microwave. "You're making me nervous, watching me like that."

  "I'm sorry. It's good to see you."

  "It's good to see you, too. I've missed you." The words came out before she realized she was saying them. Embarrassed, she hunted for the cocoa mix in the crowded cupboard. When he made no reply, she set the canister down on the counter with unnecessary care. "I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing to say."

  "It wasn't the wrong thing. I just don't have words for it."

  She should have recognized he was in his monosyllabic mode, the one she used to think of as rudeness. If only she understood what it meant. "One of the most eloquent writers of our generation and you don't have words?"

  His expression warmed at her teasing. "You have that effect on me."

  Something inside her relaxed. "That could make for a very one-sided conversation. Would you pass me the cinnamon? It's on the shelf behind you."

  Their hands touched as he gave her the spice bottle, their eyes holding until the microwave pinged. She took out the hot milk and began to stir in the cocoa, grateful for the distraction. She dusted the tops with cinnamon and handed one to him.

  "Thanks."

  Returning to the living room, she sat down on the couch with her feet curled under her. After a moment, Calder settled himself by her side and put his arm over her shoulders.

  Cassie wrapped her hands around her mug, the mingled aroma of chocolate and cinnamon wafting past her. She felt oddly tentative with him. They'd never been together like this. It had always been either talking or sex, nothing in between. There had been no opportunity to develop little rituals. They weren't supposed to be together in the first place.

  "How are you?" she asked, for lack of a better place to start.

  "I've been better." He paused, as if searching for words. "I tried to stay away."

  "Without complete success, I take it." It felt so right to be there with him. She took a quick sip of her hot chocolate. It burnt the back of her mouth.

  He set down his mug abruptly. "Cassie, these three weeks have been hell. I miss you every minute of the day. Don't bother telling me I can't miss what I never had, because I've already told myself a hundred times."

  She laid her head on his shoulder. She shouldn't be so happy to hear he had been struggling as well. "I know. I'm months ahead on my lecture prep because work is the only thing that distracts me."

  He exhaled slowly, as if he were fighting to restrain himself. "I've thought about what you said. Maybe it's not reasonable, but I need to know what the trouble is, what happened that's keeping us apart. It's making me crazy."

  Her pleasure faded into a vague nausea. "That's a lot to ask."

  "I know. It's not fair to ask when you've already told me you don't want me to know. I'll try to understand if you still can't tell me. But I'm having a very hard time with not knowing." He hesitated as he spoke, as if expecting her to stop him.

  Fear was the one thing that could overwhelm her need to touch him. She stood and walked to the fireplace, her breath tight in her throat. Crouching in front of it, she picked up an old newspaper from the pile and began to crumple it sheet by sheet. She took her time arranging the paper under the fireplace grate, then took a piece of wood into her hands, examining it as if the answer could be found somewhere in the splinters of wood and bark.

  "Harboring a
fugitive," she said. She placed the log carefully in the fireplace and set two more around it.

  "Is that so serious?"

  Her hand froze on the matches. "Since I don't have a criminal record, I'd probably get the minimum sentence under federal guidelines. Given that the offense was second-degree murder, that would be thirty-three months. You decide how serious almost three years in prison would be."

  He crossed the room to kneel beside her. "I didn't mean to imply it wasn't important, just that it's not the same as… Never mind. I don't know what I'm talking about."

  "That's right. You don't." She struck a match and touched it to the crumpled newspaper. She refused to look at him, her eyes on the small, yellow flame.

  "Have you talked to a lawyer about this?"

  "I don't need to talk to a lawyer. I'm perfectly capable of looking it up on my own." She blew on the flame, watching it shoot up in response.

  "Not everything is in the statute books. Would you be willing to talk to one, or could I talk to one without using your name?"

  She shook her head silently.

  "What about Dave Crowley? He's a good lawyer, and you know him. Could I talk to him?"

  "No!" She might only see the Crowleys once a year, but she didn't want to lose their good opinion.

  Calder put his hand on her arm. "Cassie, how would you feel if I were in trouble and I wouldn't let you help?"

  "There's nothing to help with. I did it, I knew what I was doing, and I need to make sure no one ever finds out."

  "No matter what it costs."

  She sat back on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I didn't foresee a situation like this at the time. It's too late now."

  "What if it isn't too late? What if there's something we can do about it?"

  She knew it was his concern and love—or what he called love—speaking. If only she could give him what he wanted, what they both wanted. He was so sure of himself, so insistent. She would have to tell him all of it. Perhaps then he would understand why he had to stay away.

  "It goes beyond the legal problems. It's the dirt they could rake up on my family. If they were just poor and uneducated, I could live with it. But drug abuse, crime, gangs, some low-grade prostitution—it's all there. My sister would sell her life story—and her body—to the first person who offered her fifty dollars, and it would be ugly. I couldn't ever stand up in front of a class again."

  "Maybe they'd be impressed with the obstacles you've overcome."

  "Maybe, or maybe they would laugh behind their hands." Cassie stood, dusting off her knees, and returned to the sofa, avoiding Calder's eyes.

  Calder followed her. When he put his arm around her this time, she found no comfort in it. "Cassie, it's you, not your family, that matters. Everyone has some embarrassments in the family somewhere."

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his face. "I'm not squeaky clean myself. There's enough about me to give your parents heart failure just knowing you're in the same room with me."

  "Like what?" Calder's voice was rough.

  "Let's see—my first lover was black. That would be enough right there, wouldn't it?" She waited numbly to see if he would take his arm away. None of her friends would think twice about this piece of her history, but this was Senator Westing's son, a southern aristocrat. "He'd be happy to talk about me, too. He was proud of being the one who finally got me in bed, even if it was my idea. Not that I wanted to, but I needed him."

  "You needed him?" Calder's voice was altogether too level.

  She shook her head. "Not that way. For protection."

  He reached out and put his hand over hers silently, but she could hear the question he was trying not to ask.

  It didn't matter anymore. She already felt miles away from him. "Girls in my neighborhood who didn't have someone to protect them were fair game. I chose Jamal as a better option. I'd known him since we were kids and he'd always been good to me. And he liked me enough to be willing to use a condom, provided I bought it."

  "Did he protect you?" Calder's tone was neutral. So the withdrawal had begun.

  "He didn't have to. He was in a gang, so nobody was going to mess with his girlfriend."

  "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

  She could feel Calder's tension and wondered whether he was sorry he came back. "I don't need pity. I did what I had to. I hung with the gang, did a little petty thievery for them. There are worse lives."

  "The fugitive—was that Jamal?"

  "Jamal? No, I haven't heard from him since I got on the bus to go to college." She paused, looking into the fire. "That was my brother."

  "Your brother?"

  "Ryan. He's in prison now. I don't want to talk about him." She picked up her hot chocolate again, but its warm sweetness couldn't soothe the pain inside her. "So you can see I'm not the kind of woman you can bring home to meet your parents."

  "I don't care what my parents think. I'm even more impressed with you now than I was before."

  She shook her head. "Thanks for the compliment, but that's not how the rest of the world would see it."

  "I bet it never stopped Erin from thinking well of you."

  "Erin doesn't know any of this. Nobody does." Her words seemed to echo in the air.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers. "Thank you for trusting me with it."

  The odd thing was that she was glad he knew, even if they never saw each other again. "I don't think you'll repeat it, and you don't intersect with the rest of my world anyway."

  "I will if I take the job at Haverford."

  The shock almost made her spill hot chocolate across her lap. "You said you were withdrawing your application."

  He looked down, as if fascinated by something on the floor. "I know. I couldn't do it."

  "What do you mean? All you have to do is write a letter."

  "A letter that meant I was giving up my last hope with you."

  "Calder, haven't you been listening to anything I've said? You can't be involved with a woman like me. Your family would disown you." It felt hypocritical to say when she wanted him to stay, but it was true.

  "It wouldn't be the first time. That's why I went to Ecuador, but that's another story."

  Her throat was tight. Needing distance, she stood and went over to her desk and then turned back to face him. "Then what about me? Even if I survived all these revelations, what happens to me in a year or two when you move on? I'm left with everyone knowing my humiliating past and nothing else."

  "What makes you so sure I'll be moving on?"

  "Because I'm a realist. You're Calder Westing, and I'm the girl from the slums." She rested her hand on a pile of scientific journals, feeling the slick paper beneath her fingers. This was her life, and she had to defend it against him. And against herself.

  "I'm a man, and you're the woman I love."

  "It's not that simple. You fell in love with a woman who doesn't exist. I made her up so no one would know the truth."

  The desperation in her voice must have finally impacted him. "I fell in love with a woman who smiled when she saw me enjoying myself. A woman who was witty, intelligent, dedicated, and loyal. A woman who loved the salt marsh so much I could see it sparkling all over her, just like the bioluminescence. A woman who was excited by her work and what it meant. Now tell me what part of that doesn't exist."

  Cassie turned away so he wouldn't see her tears. "I guess you can be articulate enough when you want to."

  She heard his footsteps and felt his arms go around her. "Did you really think this would change how I felt?"

  She nodded, hiding her face in his shoulder.

  "If anyone should change their opinion, it's you," Calder said, his voice rough. "I'm being the selfish rich boy you thought I was, thinking only about what I want and not caring that you'd be the one paying the price."

  She looked up at him then and touched her fingertip to his lips. "I know you care. You're just used to the idea you can have things if you want them
badly enough. I've never been under that illusion."

  "Isn't there any in-between ground? Some way we could see each other a little, without anyone finding out? If I took the job here, no one would think twice about it if I'm seen with you occasionally."

  The urge to say yes was almost overpowering. "I want to be with you. I really do. But it would be dangerous."

  He slipped his hand under her blouse again, letting it rest just above her hip. "We could cover it up. Maybe your friend Tim would be willing to pretend to be your official boyfriend for a while. You could go up to see him and I'd meet you there."