by Lavinia Kent
Wulf remained in the shadows, but his voice pulled at her. “No, I cannot say I’ve ever been punished for thinking – even in the army. You seem to have managed well despite the – hardship.”
If only she could see his expression. Did his voice sound with compassion or mockery? It should be possible to tell, but his tone was so flat, so careful.
She pulled her shawl about her and let her words flow again, “It was only his death that had made me fully understand how special his gifts had been. He’d taught me how to manage his estates and then given them over to my care when his illness debilitated him.” She paused, and then resumed, her own voice carefully even. “He was the sweetest and most considerate of bedmates. He spent hours teaching me the most intricate battle strategies and never demurred or suggested the details were too bloody for my delicate ears. He’d even laughingly encouraged me to try fencing lessons.
“And he listened. That simple courtesy may have been his greatest gift. For the first time in my life, a man took me seriously and credited me with a mind.
“I will never go back to what I was before we met. I refuse to let his death diminish the woman he made me.”
Wulf did not answer, but he stepped forward, his head bent. He stood there, inches from her, their breaths mingling.
“Is he why you cry?”
His words spoken after the long pause caught her off guard.
“No. I do miss him, every single day. But, it was not his memory that brought my tears.”
“Why then?
For the first time she lifted her face to him.
“I am not sure. I cry for what isn’t, but that makes no sense.”
“I would like to disagree, my lady.” For the first time the title did not sound an insult. “I cannot, though. I really do not know what you mean.”
What was he thinking? He sounded so gentle, so much the man she had dreamed of on their first encounter. She steeled herself. She would not be fooled. She had heard his anger and fury and knew better than to risk. Her own desire to believe could not be trusted.
“It matters not. I am just melancholy – lonely. Have you ever been surrounded by people and yet felt all alone.” She smiled bitterly, expecting no answer.
“Yes, I have been lonely. Stood in a field full of men and been alone.”
She closed her eyes against his understanding.
He continued, “It was thoughts of you, of what we had that kept me sane. I hated you, but cherished the memory, the magic of it.”
She bowed her head, again, fastened her gaze on the ground. “But the magic is gone.” He stepped closer, and lifted a hand, a finger brushed her cheek. She held firm, would not be swayed. “It was only a dream. You made that clear at the funeral and then again on your arrival here. Every word you speak tells of your disdain of me. Yes, the passion is still there, the fire and burning – but where is the missing – I don’t even know what it was – but I was not alone that summer day.”
His hand dropped and she felt him turn away from her. He took a step away. She imagined he stared up at the endless sky. He did not deny her words.
She filled her lungs with the crisp evening air. “The hour is late and I should turn in. I must be up early.”
It would be her only chance to play with Anna. She turned her face back to the shadows, scared her thoughts would show. She could not think of Anna and him together. Her chest constricted at the very thought.
“Marry me.”
The word whispered around her, seeping into her very pores. She knew the tears still streaked her face and yet still more welled in her eyes.
“I can’t.”
He had moved towards her again, his heat embracing her, letting her know that she was not alone.
“Marry me.”
It was almost a prayer.
“Please don’t ask this of me. It’s not what either of us wants. Or needs.”
He stepped back then and the cold of the evening wove between them, separating them by more than space. For the first time the moon caught his features. His eyes gleamed coolly in the pale light and Rose knew she must have mistaken the warmth of his voice.
“How dare you presume to know what I would want or need? You know nothing of me and never have.” The gentleness was gone. “If you had known me four years ago you would never have brought me to betray my honor. Never placed us in this position where all I can do is offer for you.”
“You never bothered to ask more than my name. I may have not told all, but I would never have lied. You cared only for your pleasure.”
“You can say that now. I have tortured myself enough over the years with the guilt of the questions I did not ask, but who knows what would have happened if you had mentioned a husband.”
Rose wanted to slap the bitter words from his mouth, to lay her palm hard against his bristled cheek. But, he spoke only the truth. She’d thought only of herself on that hot afternoon, not of what it might cost him.
She conjured up the image of him lying back against the stones with Anna cradled across the crisp linen of his shirt. She bit down on her lip and turned her own face into the shadows.
“None of that matters. I cannot marry you. You are not what I need in a husband. I am sorry. I truly do wish I could give you what you want, but you yourself have just made it clear how things stand between us. You do not want me.”
He laughed bitterly. “I think I have proved quite adequately in the last weeks that a lack of wanting is not the problem.”
Heat rose beneath her bloodless skin. “No, you are right wanting is not the problem – we have passion, but liking is our difficulty. Can you say you like me or even care for me in any fashion?”
“What has that to do with marriage?”
It was her turn to laugh.
“And you wonder that I will not wed you? Liking has a great deal to due with matrimony in my mind.”
“I would doubt that. For a moment I believed your story of Burberry and how things stood between you. I thought perhaps you really were the woman I imagined all those years . . . It made a pretty fable, but you forgot I knew the truth. If you had cared for Burberry as you claim we would not share a child. You do not betray those you love and respect.”
She would have thought he paled at his own words, but it must have been the clouds trailing across the night sky.
“What was between John and myself has nothing to do with you.”
“I would dispute that statement. My proof sleeps above.” He gestured to the nursery windows.
“I did not betray my husband, but you could never understand that.”
“Then marry me and prove to me you do have some honor, that you did not put it away when you let down your skirts and first put up your hair.”
“You have no rights to the secrets of my marriage, but I can see you will not let it rest. Do you really believe that I cuckolded John? Took him for a fool?”
“I think matters speak for themselves.”
“I had not shared John’s bed for several years when we met. His pain was such that even the gentlest of touches could burn. You told me once even a simple soldier knew his sums, do you doubt an admiral could do the math?”
“Then how?”
“John wanted my happiness above all. He fretted at all that he deprived me of and hinted constantly that I should continue to grow as a woman. I always laughed. And then I met you. I had been dealing with his loss for so long. I spent my days watching my best friend die. I felt myself slipping away along with him. I was frozen in despair.
“Then you took my hand and it burned me through. I truly believed that I could take a day out of time and no one would suffer.
“When I found I was with child I approached John with fear. I could not bear to hurt him further – he lived with so much pain. I was not prepared for his pleasure. He delighted in my condition – truly had meant every word he said.
“Anna truly was his daughter in spirit.”
For the second time,
he touched her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him harshly, a boy pulling a reluctant puppy. He held her near, staring down at her tear-streaked face.
“Is this true?”
“Why would I lie?”
“You did not speak the truth at the time.”
“I’ve already said that you did not ask, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never thought to see you again.”
“And that made it right?”
“I did no harm to my husband.”
“Marry me now and make everything right.”
“Marrying the wrong man will not make everything right. No matter how many times you ask. It cannot be.”
His fingers bit into her arm. “Why? Just tell me that.”
“You are not the husband I need.”
“I should have known better. What lady would marry so beneath her? You have titled lords at your beck and call. Why would I dream you’d deign to entertain a penniless ex-soldier anywhere but your bed?”
“No, that’s not . . .”
“I don’t really care. Don’t know why I’ve denied your true colors for so long.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at its immaculate order. “I guess I didn’t want to admit that I was such a fool, such a victim of beauty and fire. You are right. That long-ago encounter was only a dream. It’s magic unreal. I knew you had a heart of ice beneath those perfect breasts, but I thought maybe your daughter’s need for a father would melt it some. I should have known without a fat purse to lay at your door I’d just be left a beggar.”
“No, you just aren’t listening . . .” She gave it one last try. “Would you let me manage the estates, trust my decisions before your own?”
“Of course not.” He didn’t even look at her.
“Then you are not the man I want, the man I need. I want a husband, a man like Burberry, who will respect me for all that I am – not just what happens in the bed chamber.”
“Why would I trust the whim of a lady on important matters? A man would be a fool to trust his fortune to untried hands. Now tell me what prevents our marriage.”
“You do not even take my concerns seriously, not listen to all I have told you of my life, my experience, and yet you think I should marry you.”
“You are talking nonsense, making excuses. You don’t need to worry about these things. I can adequately care for you and Anna. I may no longer be the heir to an earldom, but I learned my lessons well. I will handle your affairs with competence.”
“Have you heard nothing that I’ve said.”
“Just say something that makes sense. Ladies do not manage estates, not when there is someone else to help. Just admit you want a title and a fortune. I may surprise you.”
He would never accept her as she was. “Go ahead think what you like. You’re right, I am just a slightly used baggage after another title and rich husband. That’s the only thing you’d believe any way.”
He turned and walked away.
Damn him. If only had listened to a word she said. How was she supposed to find a solution when the blasted man didn’t even hear her? She’d tried being calm. She tried using reason. Why couldn’t he be the one to watch his temper, the one to try and imagine himself in his position? Hah, the big lummox of man should try being a lady for even one day, then he’d learn not to question her every word.
She pulled her shawl tight and turned back towards the house. She refused to let him ruin everything.
Chapter Ten
The first bright streaks of dawn crossed the sky as Wulf stared at his mirror, irritation prickling along his skin. He had not slept the night before, his thoughts restless and unformed. He should have told her the truth about his opportunities. He’d been so distracted by his own internal debate he doubted he’d heard half of what Rose said last night. It wasn’t as if it had made sense, anyway. Ladies did manage estates. Undoubtedly, she had a competent manager who knew when to let her think she was making a decision.
Hmm, maybe he could do the same. If he accepted his uncle’s legacy he’d have a decent future to offer her and he could let her think she played a part in its management. Still, was it worth going against his instinct, accepting Holly House, if it would secure Anna’s future, secure Rose as his wife?
Yes.
It was not a large price. It might bring him all he ever dreamed. He closed his eyes and pictured Anna running up the long brick walk. He could feel her leap into his arms as he swung her around – only too meet Rose’s glare.
Even in his dreams she refused to cooperate.
He didn’t want a wife who saw only his purse, no matter what his reason for wedding her. Besides he didn’t have a title to offer and she might hold out for that. Why should she settle for the great hulking likes of him?
He stared at himself in the mirror, seeing the rough features and plain dark hair. His large awkward frame was of little use off the battlefield. He should never have left the army. It had offered him a home for near a decade. Soldiering was all at which he’d proved proficient in recent years. Even his debt to Westlake had only been paid with death. What did it matter if the war was truly over and that after Waterloo he had dreamed of blood and mud for months? If the smell of gunpowder still never truly left him?
If he had stayed in the army he would never have met Anna, never have held her in his arms and felt the glory of loving her. Never known the pain of knowing he would lose her. He picked up his riding crop and swung it hard against his leg.
He marched down the stairs and headed for the stables as the first fires of dawn spread across the sky. Emotion drove him to consider actions he would once never have imagined. He would do anything for his daughter – he’d accept the legacy, his misgivings be damned.
Rose had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. She tossed and turned half the night wondering if she’d done the right thing.
Yes, Wulf held her in no high regard and his opinions on the role of women were clear, but she’d seen him with Anna, seen the soft glow that could come into his eyes when passion was spent. There were many marriages built on less than parenthood and passion.
It just wasn’t what she wanted.
She roused herself out of her bed and went to the tray set before the window. A hand placed on the smooth china pot revealed that the chocolate had long gone cold. She hadn’t even heard the maid come in.
Was she wrong? Should she have said yes? It was not the marriage she had dreamed of, but there could be no better father for Anna than her true sire.
Wulf was Anna’s father.
“Wulf, Major Beowulf Huntington, is Anna’s father.” For the first time in her daughter’s life Rose spoke the words out loud. Even John had never known. He had never inquired into the circumstance of her conception, had taken the gift of a daughter and been endlessly grateful for the chance to love her.
John was gone. Not all the tears and all the wishes in her heart could bring him back. But Wulf was here. Anna’s father was here. Could she really think of searching for another man when Wulf was ready to make the offer?
She swallowed down a cup of cold chocolate, pursing her lips at the slight bitterness. She needed to think. If he did ask again what would she say? Was the desire for a well-ordered life really reason to deny her daughter her father, really reason to put aside the flickers and flames of passion that no other man could ignite?
Yes, it was. She needed to think with her head, not her heart. She would provide best for her daughter by finding a man who would give them both safety and security. She could never marry a man who did not see friendship and liking as part of package
She rang for her maid. She did have guests and, no matter the heavy thoughts that swirled around her, she had other responsibilities.
An hour later, dressed and coiffed, she prepared to go and take responsibility. If only she didn’t wish they’d all just disappear and leave her time to think. It was hard to search for a husband when she had so little desire to speak with her suitors. She s
trode towards the library, past the cracked door to Wulf’s bed chamber, skirts swirling, then drew to a sudden stop.
She gaped in disbelief. She’d known he was angered by her refusal, but this was too much. This was too much.
She marched into the room and stared about in horror. Furniture lay this way and that, several books lay spines splayed and pages ripped, bedding spread disregarded in various heaps. Wulf’s travel cases were knocked on their sides their contents spewing forth. It was unbelievable what a man in a temper could do.
It was even more unbelievable that nobody had heard a sound. She walked further into the mess, noting that for all the disorder and disarray, not a piece of glass was broken, not an item smashed. This was not the work of a man in a temper, but an ice-blooded, meticulous one. Nothing that would create a racket had been damaged.
Then she saw the portfolio. John’s maps. With a heavy heart she walked forward and paused on the far side of the bed. The leather folder lay ripped open, its satin lining slashed and torn. The maps were crumpled and bent below. Several looked as if someone had peeled them into long strips. She bent and traced the remains of a winding river with one hand.
If she’d had any tears left from last night she’d have shed them now.
The bastard. She straightened and glared about the room. How could she have even considered changing her mind? He really was the cold-hearted beast he seemed. No doubt he’d seen her peaking around the corner and his attention to Anna was only an act to sway her.
He’d accused her of being after money and title. No doubt he spoke only what he knew. He was the penniless soldier, not she. He was probably after her funds and properties. The reprobate. She’d tell him a thing or two, let him know that being a lady was not a curse, but that a lady could bloody well curse when her ire was raised. All the suppressed emotions of the last week coalesced in one hard fury.